Second Variety and Other Stories (54 page)

"What is it?"

"I understand he doesn't like to be seen with humans too much."

"Why not?" Ed bristled. "What's wrong with humans? Is he too high and mighty, sitting up there
with robots --"

"It's not that." There was a strange look in Mclntyre's eyes. A yearning, distant look. "It's not just
that, Ed. He's up to something. Something important. I shouldn't be saying. But it's big. Big as hell."

"What is it?"

"I can't say. But wait until he gets on the Council. Wait." Mclntyre's eyes were feverish. "It's so
big it'll shake the world. The stars and the sun'll shake."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. But Crow's got something up his sleeve. Something incredibly big. We're all
waiting for it. Waiting for the day..."

James P. Crow sat at his polished mahogany desk, thinking. That wasn't his real name, of course.
He had taken it after the first experiments, grinning to himself as he did so. Nobody would ever know
what it meant; it would remain a private joke, personal and unannounced. But it was a good joke
nonetheless. Biting and appropriate.

He was a small man. Irish-German. A little lean light-skinned man with blue eyes and sandy hair
that fell down in his face and had to be brushed back. He wore unpressed baggy pants and rolled-up
sleeves. He was nervous, high-strung. He smoked all day and drank black coffee and usually couldn't
sleep at night. But there was a lot on his mind.

A hell of a lot. Crow got abruptly to his feet and paced over to the vidsender. "Send in the
Commissioner of Colonies," he ordered.

The Commissioner's metal and plastic body pushed through the door, into the office. An R Type
robot, patient and efficient. "You wished to --" It broke off, seeing a human. For a second its pale eye
lens flickered doubtfully. A faint sheen of distaste spread across its features. "You wished to see me?"

Crow had seen that expression before. Endless times. He was used to it -- almost. The surprise,
and then the lofty withdrawal, the cold, clipped formality. He was "Mister Crow." Not Jim. The law
made them address him as an equal. It hurt some of them more than others. Some showed it without
restraint. This one held its feelings back a trifle; Crow was its official superior.

"Yes, I wished to see you," Crow said calmly. "I want your report. Why hasn't it come in?"

The robot stalled, still lofty and withdrawn. "Such a report takes time. We're doing the best we
can."

"I want it within two weeks. No later."

The robot struggled with itself, life-long prejudices versus the requirements of Governmental
codes. "All right, sir. The report will be ready in two weeks." It moved out of the office. The door
formed behind it.

Crow let his breath out with a rush. Doing the best they could? Hardly. Not to please a human
being. Even if he was at Advisory Level, Class Two. They all dragged their feet, all the way down the
line. Little things here and there.

His door melted and a robot wheeled quickly into the office. "I say there, Crow. Got a minute?"

"Of course." Crow grinned. "Come in and sit down. I'm always glad to talk to you."

The robot dumped some papers on Crow's desk. "Tapes and such. Business trifles." He eyed
Crow intently. "You look upset. Anything happen?"

"A report I want. Overdue. Somebody taking its time."

L-87t grunted. "Same old stuff. By the way... We're having a meeting tonight. Want to come
over and make a speech? Should have a good turn out."

"Meeting?"

"Party meeting. Equality." L-87t made a quick sign with its right gripper, a sort of half-arc in the
air. The Equality sign. "We'd be glad to have you, Jim. Want to come?"

air. The Equality sign. "We'd be glad to have you, Jim. Want to come?"

"Oh." The robot moved toward the door. "All right. Thanks anyhow." It lingered at the door.
"You'd give us a shot in the arm, you know. Living proof of our contention that a human being is the
equal of a robot and should be afforded such recognition."

Crow smiled faintly. "But a human isn't the equal of a robot."

L-87t sputtered indignantly. "What are you saying? Aren't you the living proof? Look at your List
scores. Perfect. Not a mistake. And in a couple of weeks you'll be Class One. Highest there is."

Crow shook his head. "Sorry. A human isn't the equal of a robot anymore than he's the equal of
a stove. Or a diesel motor. Or a snowplow. There are a lot of things a human can't do. Let's face facts."

L-87t was baffled. "But --"

"I mean it. You're ignoring reality. Humans and robots are completely different. We humans can
sing, act, write plays, stories, operas, paint, design sets, flower gardens, buildings, cook delicious meals,
make love, scratch sonnets on menus -- and robots can't. But robots can build elaborate cities and
machines that function perfectly, work for days without rest, think without emotional interruption, gestalt
complex data without a time lag.

"Humans excel in some fields, robots in others. Humans have highly developed emotions and
feelings. Esthetic awareness. We're sensitive to colors and sounds and textures and soft music mixed with
wine. All very fine things. Worthwhile. But realms totally beyond robots. Robots are purely intellectual.
Which is fine, too. Both realms are fine. Emotional humans, sensitive to art and music and drama. Robots
who think and plan and design machinery. But that doesn't mean we're both the same."

L-87t shook its head sadly. "I don't understand you, Jim. Don't you want to help your race?"

"Of course. But realistically. Not by ignoring facts and making an illusionary assertion that men
and robots are interchangeable. Identical elements."

A curious look slid across L-87t's eye lens. "What's your solution, then?"

Crow clamped his jaw tight. "Stick around another few weeks and maybe you'll see."

Crow headed out of the Terran Security Building and along the street. Around him robots
streamed, bright hulls of metal and plastic and d/n fluid. Except for body servants, humans never came to
this area. This was the managerial section of the city, the core, the nucleus, where the planning and
organization went on. From this area the life of the city was controlled. Robots were everywhere. In the
surface cars, on the moving ramps, the balconies, entering buildings, streaming out, standing in pale
glowing knots here and there like Roman Senators, talking and discussing business.

A few greeted him, faintly, formally, with a nod of their metal heads. And then turned their backs.
Most robots ignored him or pulled aside to avoid contact. Sometimes a clump of talking robots would
become abruptly silent, as Crow pushed past. Robot eye lenses fixed on him, solemn and half astonished.
They noticed his arm color, Class Two. Surprise and indignation. And after he had passed, a quick angry
buzz of resentment. Backward glances at him as he threaded his way toward the human quarter.

A pair of humans stood in front of the Domestic Control Offices, armed with pruning shears and
rakes. Gardeners, weeding and watering the lawns of the big public building. They watched Crow pass
with excited stares. One waved nervously at him, feverish and hopeful. A menial human waving at the
only human ever to reach classification.

Crow waved back briefly.

The two humans' eyes grew wide with awe and reverence. They were still looking after him when
he turned the corner at the main intersection and mixed with the business crowds shopping at the
trans-planet marts.

Goods from the wealthy colonies of Venus and Mars and Ganymede filled the open-air marts.
Robots drifted in swarms, sampling and pricing and discussing and gossiping. A few humans were visible,
mostly household servants in charge of maintenance, stocking up on supplies. Crow edged his way
through and beyond the marts. He was approaching the human quarter of the city. He could smell it
already. The faint pungent scent of humans.

The robots, of course, were odorless. In a world of odorless machines the human scent stood
out in bold relief. The human quarter was a section of the city once prosperous. Humans had moved in
and property values had dropped. Gradually the houses had been abandoned by robots and now humans
exclusively lived there. Crow, in spite of his position, was obliged to live in the human quarter. His house,
a uniform five-room dwelling, identical with the others, was located to the rear of the quarter. One house
of many.

The robots, of course, were odorless. In a world of odorless machines the human scent stood
out in bold relief. The human quarter was a section of the city once prosperous. Humans had moved in
and property values had dropped. Gradually the houses had been abandoned by robots and now humans
exclusively lived there. Crow, in spite of his position, was obliged to live in the human quarter. His house,
a uniform five-room dwelling, identical with the others, was located to the rear of the quarter. One house
of many.

He rubbed his hands. It was always a thrilling moment to come here, to his personal quarters,
where he had grown up, lived as an ordinary unclassified human being -- before he had come across it
and begun his meteoric ascent into the upper-class regions.

Crow passed through the small silent house, to the work shed in back. He unlocked the bolted
doors and slid them aside. The shed was hot and dry. He clicked off the alarm system. Complex tangles
of bells and wires that were really unnecessary: robots never entered the human section, and humans
seldom stole from each other.

Locking the doors behind him, Crow seated himself before a bank of machinery assembled in the
center of the shed. He snapped on the power and the machinery hummed into life. Dials and meters
swung into activity. Lights glowed.

Before him, a square window of gray faded to light pink and shimmered slightly. The Window.
Crow's pulse throbbed painfully. He flicked a key. The Window clouded and showed a scene. He slid a
tape scanner before the Window and activated it. The scanner clicked as the Window gained shape.
Forms moved, dim forms that wavered and hesitated. He steadied the picture.

Two robots were standing behind a table. They moved quickly, jerkily. He slowed them down.
The two robots were handling something. Crow increased the power of the image and the objects
bloated up, to be caught by the scanning lens and preserved on tape.

The robots were sorting Lists. Class One Lists. Grading and dividing them into groups. Several
hundred packets of questions and answers. Before the table a restless crowd waited, eager robots
waiting to hear their scores. Crow speeded the image up. The two robots leaped into activity, tossing and
arranging Lists in a blur of energy. Then the master Class One List was held up -

The List. Crow caught it in the Window, dropping the velocity to zero. The List was held, fixed
tight like a specimen on a slide. The tape scanner hummed away, recording the questions and answers.

He felt no guilt. No sting of conscience at using a Time Window to see the results of future Lists.
He had been doing it ten years, all the way up from the bottom, from unclassified up to the top List, to
Class One. He had never kidded himself. Without advance sight of the answers, he could never have
passed. He would still be unclassified, at the bottom of the pile, along with the great undifferentiated mass
of humans.

The Lists were geared to robot minds. Made up by robots, phased to a robot culture. A culture
which was alien to humans, to which humans had to make difficult adjustment. No wonder only robots
passed their Lists.

Crow wiped the scene from the Window and threw the scanner aside. He sent the Window back
into time, spinning back through the centuries into the past. He never tired of seeing the early days, the
days before the Total War wrecked human society and destroyed all human tradition. The days when
man lived without robots.

He fiddled with the dials, capturing a moment. The Window showed robots building up their
post-war society, swarming over their ruined planet, erecting vast cities and buildings, clearing away the
debris. With humans as slaves. Second-class servant citizens.

He saw the Total War, the rain of death from the sky. The blossoming pale funnels of
destruction. He saw man's society dissolve into radioactive particles. All human knowledge and culture
lost in the chaos.

And once again, he caught his favorite of all scenes. A scene he had examined repeatedly,
enjoying with acute satisfaction this unique sight. A scene of human beings in an undersurface lab, in the
early days of the war. Designing and building the first robots, the original A Type robots, four centuries
before.

enjoying with acute satisfaction this unique sight. A scene of human beings in an undersurface lab, in the
early days of the war. Designing and building the first robots, the original A Type robots, four centuries
before.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he muttered.

Ed's grip tightened. "It's okay, kid. You did your best. Don't worry about it. Maybe next time.
We'll get started practicing sooner." He cursed under his breath. "Those lousy metal tubs. Damn soul-less
heaps of tin!"

It was evening. The sun was setting. The two of them climbed the porch steps slowly and entered
the house. Grace met them at the door. "No luck?" She studied their faces. "I can see. Same old story."

"Same old story," Ed said bitterly. "He didn't have a chance. Hopeless."

From the dining-room came a murmur of sound. Voices, men and women.

"Who's in there?" Ed demanded irritably. "Do we have to have company? For God's sake, today
of all days --"

"Come on." Grace pulled him toward the kitchen. "Some news. Maybe it'll make you feel better.
Come along, Donnie. This will interest you, too."