Organic tray pin
It was while the tacky white enameled android was putting the second scoop of beans on his breakfast tray that Penrose began to wonder if he was really old. Penrose put one hand flat on his face, feeling for wrinkles. The serving android flipped another scoop of beans out of the cauldron set in its chest. This one missed the tray and dropped on to the tan blanket of Penroses bed. The android ticked and more beans fell on the cot. Lazeer said,We stake out both ends, hide back good with lights out. We got radio contact, so when he comes, whistling in either end, we got him bottled. It was not enough. He was not going to rise above these mountains; they were rising above him. Would you like to take a ride? The Twerlik was only too eager to help. BOB OTTUM, JR. The first robots were pretty shoddyBack in the Seventies.They were uncoordinated and clumsyAnd they thought too slowlyAnd they didnt understand more than a few simple wordsAnd they would wash a dish to a powderIf you didn’t stop them in time.So in August of 1978Arthur Chumley called in the Product Development GroupOf Chumley RobotAnd in they cameWith the latest model.It clanked over to Arthur ChumleyAnd saidHello (klik) Mister (klik) Chumley (klik).And put out its hand.But before Arthur Chumley could shake the handIt had knocked over a gilded bust of himBadly denting the halo.“This is not good,”Said Arthur Chumley.“We must think, we must draw, we must work“To build the More Perfect Robot.“Build me a robot“That does everything our present model does“But has none of its clumsy, uncoordinated movements.“And while you’re at it“Knock its weight down to two hundred kilos.”And he chased them all out of his officeAnd he looked at the sales graphAnd he poured himself a bourbon-and-water.Easy on the water.A year and two months laterIn October of 1979The Product Development Group marched in proudlyWith their robot.It walked smoothly and gracefully over to Arthur ChumleyAnd said“Hello (klik) Mister (klik) Chumley (klik),”And held out its handWhich Arthur Chumley shook.“Make me a Chumley Martini,”Said Arthur Chumley.But the robot did not make him a Chumley Martini.Instead, it said“(Whir) (buzz) (klik) (whir) (klik) (buzz) (paf!)”And blew a $4.79 pentode tubeSignifying Arthur Chumley had said something beyond its grasp.Whereupon Arthur Chumley leaned backAnd folded his pudgy hands over the convenient ledgeMade by his stomachAnd said“This is not good.“We must think, we must draw, we must work“To build the More Perfect Robot.“Build me a robot“That does everything our present model does“And has a complete working vocabulary“To fit its particular function.“And while you’re at it“Get rid of that damn (klik) it makes switching tapes.”And he chased them all out of his officeAnd he looked at the sales graphAnd he made himself a Chumley Martini:Three ounces of gin in a cocktail glassAnd smiled at the portrait of Martini& Rossi.Six years and six months laterIn April of 1986The Product Development Group trooped inWith their robot.It walked over to Arthur ChumleyAnd said“Good morning, Mister Chumley.”And Arthur Chumley turned to the Product Development GroupAnd said“Do you know what’s going to happen if we market this thing?”And the Group members all quiveredAnd shook their headsAnd the robot said it did not.“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen if we market this thing,”Said Arthur Chumley.“The entire American public is going to laugh at us“If we market this thing.“And do you know why?”And the Group members all quiveredAnd shook their headsAnd the robot said it did not.“I’ll tell you why.“Because they have a right to laugh at a company“That markets a robot“That says Good morning’ at four-thirty in the afternoon.”Said Arthur Chumley.And he sat down at his deskAnd put his head in his handsAnd said“This is not good.“We must think, we must draw, we must work“To build the More Perfect Robot.“Build me a robot“That does everything our present model does“And can see“And smell“And hear“And taste“And feel.“And while you’re at it“Cover it with a soft, fleshlike substance“So it looks like a human being.“And just for the hell of it“Give it the ability to perceive a person’s emotional state“From his actions“And know how to act accordingly.”And he had a vice-president throw them all out of his officeAnd he looked at the sales graphAnd he went to the liver bank.Twenty-two years and eleven months laterIn March of 1999The Product Development Group snivelled inWith their robot.It seated the Group ChairmanRemarking about how cold it had been last night.Then it walked over to Arthur ChumleyAnd held out its soft, fleshlike handWhich Arthur Chumley ignored.Somewhat disconcertedThe robot said“How are you, Mister Chumley?”Whereupon Arthur Chumley replied“Miserable. My wife had an affair with my best friendAnd my servants have run off with my planeAnd all my clothes.”And the robot smiledAnd said“You’re joking, Mister Chumley.”And Arthur Chumley leaned forwardAnd said“You’re right. I’m joking.”And Arthur Chumley turned to the Product Development GroupAnd said“I am proud of you.“I gave you a very difficult task:“To build the More Perfect Robot.“But you did it.“And now I will give you an even more difficult task:“To buildThe Perfect Robot.“Build me a robot that is a companion.“Build me a robot that is a friend.“Build me a robot that can feel emotion“And can pass for human“And that, gentlemen, will be The Perfect Robot.”And he dismissed them from his officeAnd he looked at the sales graphAnd he smiledFor he knew that in a few yearsThe Group would present him with The Perfect Robot.And they didEarly in the May of 2039.Seven years and six months after thatIn December of 2046The people from Beta Centaurus IV came.They didn’t invadeThey just cameAnd they’re our very best friends now.They were interested in our technologyAnd one dayArthur Chumley was talking to one of them in his office.They picked up the language rather quickly.He was telling itAbout the timeAnd moneyAnd effort they had expendedTo build a robotThat had smooth, agile movementsAnd weighed only two hundred kilosAnd had a complete working vocabularyTo fit its particular functionAnd made no damn (klik) switching tapesAnd could seeAnd smellAnd hearAnd tasteAnd feelAnd was covered with a soft, fleshlike substanceAnd could perceive a person’s emotional stateAnd act accordinglyAnd was a companion and a friendAnd could feel emotionAnd could pass for human.Whereupon the Centurian said“He can’t do much of anything you can’t do.“Why not just hire people to do the same things?”And Arthur Chumley chuckledAnd leaned back And opened his mouthTo tell the Centurian why not.And then he closed his mouthAnd excused himselfAnd went downstairsAnd hailed a cabAnd went homeAnd dashed off a few notes to his wife and brokerAnd packed four suitcases with stocks and bonds and moneyAnd closed out all his bank accountsAnd went to the spaceportAnd chartered a small shipAnd disappeared. ... But Frank, what if . . . I dont,’ Mose told him. Inside the abbey Monica was feeling the empty triumph of the conqueror. She had won the Scrabble game by hook and crook. As she totalled her points she cried. Anyhow, they lugged it down to Istanbul (not Constantinople) for the Fair, and proceeded to set it up in the tent near the center of the exposition. After completing the job, they stepped around the corner to the brewers exhibit to sample the wares on display there, and to clean out the little reed pipe which they used to signal the robot to begin its play (alcohol was the perfect cleanser for it). [Hence the phrase, To wet one’s whistle.] Because theyre getting smart, Muller told him. If we don’t do something, they’ll all get smart—smarter than we are. And they’re vicious—you’ve seen what the wild ones are like. Well, we can’t let it happen. That’s why we’ve had this station here all these years—to watch em, because someone way back then figured this might happen. So we can stop ‘em if it does. But there’s just enough softheads around here thatwant it to happen. We don’t want them finding out—or anybody else.” The consultant at the airport tried to talk me into having a mutual; Mack had offered to pay for it. But I stood firm on that. I dont believe in people adding Contacts to their list when the others are real friends. If something were to happen to me, I felt, and somebody other than my wife, or my brother, or my long-time friend from college, were to pick me up, I was certain they’d all three be very much hurt by it. So since there were quite a few customers waiting to make an extra Contact before flying to Europe, the consultant didn’t try too hard. I wanted to see no more. Lazeer was busy, and I got into my car and backed out and went home and mixed a drink.* * * * Im sorry, Dad. I wasn’t mad at you … just sort of crazy. Had to do … this… . He points at the deer. Anyhow, I’m back.” He seemed to have room for only one thought in his head at a time. Now it was to find a way across the water before the enemy came up.It was all very well for Thomas to say scatter and hide, the Ox said. But, as he pointed out, there was no place to hide. Downstream were the rapids, gone wild in the flood. Upstream, water that was dangerous even on a quiet day. We had counted on going back the way we had come. But there wasno more footbridge. “To stay and fight it out would have been all very well,” the Ox said; we might have killed a few dozen of the enemy and then died ourselves. But we had a responsibility. Dead men carry no fuses. “The enemy would have started out with a rush,” the Ox said, “but they couldnt know our woods the way we do, with all their maps and their spies. We could move fast over the trail we took. They would go slower and slower, suspecting an ambush ...” But most of the new stories are a bit different: more exploratory than assertive, more concerned with the familiar individual borderline possibilities than with the superman problems implicit in the sudden emergence of clearly delineatedpowers, they tend to avoid the tags (ESP, psi, telepathy, telekinesis, etc.) as well as the specific patterns of perception defined by the old labels. John Phillifents “Finnegan’s Knack” (Analog) is about a “hunchy” man. Hal Moore’s extraordinary first story, “Sea Bright” (to be included in the F&SF“Best”), contains a child who might be a sister to Alistair Bevan’s “Susan” (coming up next), from the British magazine Sciencefantasy. Possibly. What can you tell me about the man who founded the Solidarity Party, Nathaniel Dobbs?.
