Opus 200 Isaac Asimov

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a star could be. Because of its white-hot temperature,

it was called a "white dwarf." To account for its dim-

ISAAC ASIMOV

ness, its diameter had to be only 30,000 kilometers

(19,000 miles) atross, so that it was about as targe as

a medium-sized planet and took up only about 13

times as much volume as the Earth. Sirius B has only

1/100 the volume of the laige planet Jupiter.

In the relatively small volume of Sirius B, however,

is packed |ust as much mass as in the sun—as we can

teli from the strength of its gravitational pull on Sirius

A, If red giants have very low densities, white dwarfs

have very high ones. The average density of Sirius B

is about 90,000 times that of the sun, or 6000 times

that of platinum.

This would have seemed ridiculous only a couple of

decades earlier, but by 1915 it had been discovered

that atoms were made up of still smaller "subatomic

particles," with almost all the mass concentrated in a

very tiny "atomic nucleus" at the center of the atom.

In white dwarfs, then, matter didn't exist as ordinary

atoms, but as a chaotic mixture of subatomic particles

squeezed much more closely together than they are in

atoms as we know them.

There are white dwarfs smaller and denser than Sir-

ius B, and in recent years astronomers have discov-

ered new types of stars that are much smaller than

white dwarfs and correspondingly more dense. These

are "neutron stars" in which the subatomic particles

are practically in contact, and in which the mass of a

star like our sun would be compacted into a tiny body

only a dozen kilometers across.

Then, of course, there is writing for the general

reader, or, if you choose, for "adults."

It does not seem to me that there is much differ-

ence between writing for adults and writing for teen-

OPUS 200 61

agers. In my general hooks, I don't question the use of

an unusual word or of an extra convolution in a sen-

tence. I allow the syllables and clauses to lie as they

fall. Then, too, if there are literary allusions to make, I

make them and assume the general reader—or at least

anyone likely to read my books—is literate enough to

get them. And I suspect that the intelligent teenager

has no trouble following my "adult" books.

Among my second hundred books is one on astron-

omy for the general reader. It is called The Collapsing

Universe: The Story of Black Holes (Book 182}. Beth

Walker of Walker b- Company persistently urged me

to write the Iwok. She was almost a Cato the Elder

about it. (See what 1 mean by literary allusions?)

Whenever I visited Walker 6- Company, and whatever

the topic of conversation, she would always end by

saying "Think black holes, Isaac."

I had no real objection. In the first place, 1 was in-

terested in black holes and wanted to write about

them. In the second, it would' give me a chance to

update an earlier book. The Universe, which was

among nuf first hundred books and which was also

published by Walker. (My favorite method of updat-

ing a book is to write a new one centered upon a facet

of the subject which flowered only after the earlier

book was written.)

It was Just a matter of time, therefore, and finally I

got to it. In early 1977, The Collapsing Universe was

finally pul)lished, and it proved, at once, to be the

most popular astronomy book I had ever done. My

delight was second only to that of the Walkers.

Here I would like to include the final pages of The

Collapsing Universe, in which the wildest speculations

are to be found. It is just possible that you cant get

their true flavor without having read the rest of the

ISAAC ASIMOV

book, but that's all right. Opus 200 is intended to give

you a potpourri of this book and that, which you may

then follow up at your leisure in whatever direction

pleases you.

from THE COLLAPSING UNIVERSE (1977)

In theory, up to 30 percent of the entire energy of a

rotating black hole can be milked out of it by care-

fully sending objects through the stationary limit and

collecting them on the way out, and this is another

way in which some advanced civilizations might use

black holes as an energy source." Once all the rota-

tional energy is gone, the black hole has only mass;

the stationary limit coincides, with the Schwarzschild

radius. The black hole is then said to be "dead," since

no further energy can be obtained from it directly

(though some can be obtained from matter as it spi-

rals into it).

Even stranger than the possibility of stripping rota-

tional energy from the black hole is that the Ken-

analysis offers a new kind of end for matter entering a

black hole. This new kind of end was foreshadowed

by Albert Einstein and a co-worker named Rosen

some thirty vears earlier.

The matter crowding into a rotating black hole

(and it is very likely that there is no other kind) can,

in theory, squeeze out again somewhere else, like

* Not all astronomers agree with this concept of stripping

the rotational energy of a black hole. In fact almost anything

some astronomers suggest about a black hole is denied by

other astronomers. We are here at the very edge of knowl-

edge, and everything, one way or the other, is very un-

certain and iffy.

OPUS 200 63

toothpaste blasting out of a fine hole in a stiff tube

that is brought under the slow pressure of a steam-

roller^

The transfer of matter can apparently take place

over enormous distances—millions or billions of light-

years—in a trifling period of time. Such transfers can-

not take place in the ordinary way, since in space as

we know it the speed of light is the speed limit for

anv obJect with mass. To transfer mass for distances

of millions or billions of light-years in the ordinary

wav takes millions or billions of vears of time,

One must therefore assume that the transfer goes

through tunnels or across bridges that do not, strictly

speaking, have the time characteristics of our familiar

universe. The passageway is sometimes called an

"Einstein-Rosen bridge," or, more colorfully, a "worm-

hole."

If the mass passes through the wormhole and sud-

denly appears a billion light-years away in ordinary

space once more, something must balance that great

transfer in distance. Apparently this impossibly rapid

passage through space is balanced by a compensating

passage through time, so that it appears one billion

years ago.

Once the matter emerges at the other end of the

wormhole, it expands suddenly into ordinary matter

again and, in doing so, blazes with radiated energy—

the energy that had, so to speak, been trapped in the

black hole. What we have emerging, then, is a "white

hole," a concept first suggested in 1964.

If all this is really so, white holes, or at least some of

them, might conceivably be detected.

That would depend, of course, upon the size of the

a This suggestion, too, is denied by some astronomers.

ISAAC ASIMOV

white hole and upon its distance from us. Perhaps

mini-black holes form mini-white holes at a vast dis-

tance, and we would surelv never see them. Huge

black holes would form huge white holes, however,

and these we might see. Are there any signs of such

white holes?

There may be-

In the 1950s, sources of radio waves were detected

that on closer inspection seemed to be very compact,

emerging from mere pinpoint sections of the sky. Or-

dinarily, radio sources found in those early days of the

science were from dust clouds or from galaxies and

were therefore more or less spread out over a portion

of the sky.

Among the compact radio sources were those

known as 3C48, 3C147. 3C196, 3C273, and 3C286.

(Many more have been discovered since.) The 3C is

short for Third Cambridge Catalog of Radio Stars, a

list compiled bv the English astronomer Martin Ryle.

In 1960 the areas containing these compact radio

sources were investigated by the American astrono-

mer Allan Rex Sandage, and in each case something

that looked like a dim star seemed to be the source.

There was some indication that they might not be

normal stars, however. Several of them seemed to

have faint clouds of dust or gas about them, and one

of them, 3C273, showed signs of a tiny jet of matter

emerging from it. In fact there are two radio sources

in connection with 3C273, one from the star and one

from the jet-

There was some reluctance, therefore, to call these

objects stars, and they were instead described as

"quasi-stellar (starlike) radio sources." In 1964 Hong-

OPUS 200 65

Yee Chiu shortened that to "quasar," and that name

has been kept ever since.

The spectra of these quasars were obtained in 1960,

but they had a pattern of lines that were completely

unrecognizable, as though they were made up of

substances utterly alien to the universe. In 1963, how-

ever, the Dutch-American astronomer Maarten

Schmidt solved that problem. The lines would have

been perfectly normal if they had existed far in the

ultraviolet range. Their appearance in the visible-light

range meant they had been shifted a great distance

toward the longer wavelengths.

The easiest explanation for this was that the quasars

are very far away. Since the universe is expanding,

galactic units are separating, and all seem to be reced-

ing from us. Therefore, all distant objects have their

spectral lines shifted toward the longer waves because

that is what is to be expected when a source of light is

receding from us. Furthermore, since the universe is

expanding, the farther an object, the faster it is reced-

ing from us and the greater the shift in spectral lines.

From the spectral shift, then, the distance of an object

can be calculated.

It turned out that the quasars were billions of light-

years away. One of them, OQ172, is about 12 billion

light-years away, and even the nearest, 3C273, is over

a billion light-years away and farther than any non-

quasar object we know about. There may be as many

as 15 million quasars in the universe.

A quasar is a very dim object, as we see it, but, for

it to be visible at all at those enormous distances, it

must be exceedingly luminous. The quasar 3C273 is

five times as luminous as our galaxy, and some quasars

may be up to 100 times as luminous as the average

galaxy.

ISAAC ASIMOV

Yet, this being so, if quasars were simply galaxies

with up to a hundred times as many stars as an aver-

age galaxy and therefore that much brighter, they

ought to have dimensions large enough to make tham

appear, even at their vast distances, as tiny patches of

light and not as starlike points. Thus, despite their

brightness, they must be more compact than ordinary

galaxies.

As early as 1963 the quasars were found to be varia-

ble in the energy they emitted, both in the visible-

light region and in the microwave region. Increases

and decreases of as much as three magnitudes were

recorded over the space of a few years.

For radiation to vary so markedly in so short a time,

a body must be small. Such variations must involve

the body as a whole, and, if that is so, some effect

must be felt across the full width of the body within

the time of variation. Since no effect can travel faster

than light, it means that if a quasar varies markedly

over a period of a few years, it cannot be more than a

light-year or so in diameter and may be considerably

smaller.

One quasar, 3C446, can double its brightness in a

couple of days, and it must therefore be not more

than 0.005 light-year (50 billion kilometers) in diame-

ter, or less than Hve times the width of Pluto's orbit

around the sun. Compare this with an ordinary gal-

axy, which may be 100,000 light-years across and in

which even the dense central core may be 15,000

light-years across.

This combination of tiny dimensions and enormous

luminosity makes the quasars seem like a class of ob-

jects entirely different from anything else we know.

Their discovery made astronomers aware of the possi-

bility of hitherto unknown large-scale phenomena in

OPUS 200 67

the universe and spurred them on, for the first time,

to consider such phenomena, including the black hole.

And it is conceivable that there is a link between

black holes and quasars. The Soviet astronomer Igor

Novikov and the Israeli astronomer Yuval Ne'eman

have suggested that quasars are giant white holes at

the other end of a wormhole from a giant black hole

in some other part of the universe."

But let's take another look at quasars. Are they

really unique, as they seem to be, or are they merely

extreme examples of something more familiar?

In 1943 a graduate student in astronomy, Carl Sey-

fert, described a peculiar galaxy. It is one of a group

now termed Seyfert galaxies. These may make up 1

percent of all known galaxies (meaning as many as a

billion altogether), though actually only a dozen ex-

amples have been discovered.

In most respects Seyfert galaxies seem normal and

are not unusually distant from us. The cores of the

Seyfert galaxies, however, are very compact, very

bright, and seem unusually hot and active—rather

quasarlike, in fact. They show variations in radiation

that imply the radio-emitting centers at their core are

no larger tfaan quasars are thought to be. One Seyfert

galaxy, 3C120, has a core that makes up less than one-

eight the diameter of the galaxy as a whole but is

three times as luminous as the rest of the galaxy com-

bined.

The strongly active center would be visible at

greater distances than the outer layers of the Seyfert

galaxy would be, and if such a galaxy were far

enough, all we would see by either optical or radio

* This is purely speculative, of course. In fact, the remainder

of the book is almost entirely speculation, some of it my own.

ISAAC ASIMOV

telescopes would be the core. We would then consider

it a quasar, and the very distant quasars may simply

be the intensely luminous nuclei of very large, very ac-

tive Seyfert galaxies.

But then consider the core of a Sevfert galaxy—very

compact, very hot and active. One Seyfert galaxy,

NGC 4151, may have as many as ten billion stars in a

nucleus only twelve light-vears across.

These are precisely the conditions that would en-

courage the formation of black holes. Perhaps the

mere fact that a certain volume of space is subject to

black hole formation may also make it subject to the

blossoming out of a white hole.

We can imagine black holes forming here and there

in the universe, each producing an enormous strain in

the smooth fabric of space. Wormholes form between

them, and matter may leak across at a rate slow in

comparison with the total quantity in the black hole

serving as source but large enough to produce enor-

mous quantities of radiation in some cases. The rate of

matter flow may vary for reasons we do not as yet

understand, and this may bring about the variations

in the brightness of quasars.

There may be many white holes of all sizes, each

connected to its black hole (which itself may come in

any size), and we may be aware only of the giant-

sized ones. It may be that if all black holes/white

holes were taken into account, it would be seen that

the wormholes connecting them may crisscross the uni-

verse quite densely.

This thought has stimulated the imaginative facul-

ties of astronomers such as Carl Sagan. It is impossi-

ble to think of any way of keeping any sizable piece

of matter intact as it approaches a black hole, let

along having it pass intact through a wormhole and

OPUS 200 69

out the white hole, yet Sagan does not allow that to

limit his speculations. •

After all, we can do things that to our primitive fore-

bears would seem inconceivable, and Sagan wonders

if an advanced civilization miglit not devise ways of

blocking off gravitational' and tidal effects so that a

ship may make use of wormholes to travel vast dis-

tances in a moment of time.

Suppose there were an advanced civilization in the

universe right now that had developed a thorough

map on which the wormholes were plotted with their

black hole entrances and their white hole exits. The

smaller wormholes would be more numerous, of

course, and therefore more useful.

Imagine a cosmic empire threaded together through

a network of such wormholes, with civilized centers

located near the entrances and exits. It would be as

important, after all, for a world to be located near a

transportational crossing point of this sort as it is for

an Earth city to be built near an ocean harbor or a

river.

The planets nearest the tunnels might be a safe dis-

tance away, but nearer still would be enormous

space stations built as bases for the ships moving

through the tunnels and as power stations for the

home planets.

And how does the wormhole theory affect the past

and future of the universe? Even though the universe

is expanding, is it possible that the expansion is bal-

anced by matter being shifted into the past through

the wormholes?

Certainly the dozens of quasars we have detected

are all billions of light-years away from us, and we see

them, therefore, as they were billions of years ago.

Furthermore, they are heavily weighted toward the

ISAAC AStMOV

greater distances and more remote past. It is esti-

mated that if quasars were evenly spaced throughout

the universe, there would be several hundred of them

/nearer and brighter than 3C273, which is the nearest

and brightest now.

Well, then, do we have an eternal universe after all,'

a kind of continuous creation in another sense?

Has the universe been expanding for countless eons,

through all eternity in fact, without ever having ex-

panded beyond the present level because the worm-

holes create a closed circuit, sending matter back into

the more contracted past to begin expansion all over?

Has the universe never really been entirely con-

tracted, and has there never really been a big bang?

Do we think there was a big bang only because we

are more aware of the expansion half of the cycle in-

volving the galaxies and are not aware of matter

sweeping back through wormholes?

But if there was no big bang, how do we account

for the background radiation that is the echo of the

big bang? Can this radiation be the product of the

overall backward flow of matter into the far past?

Can the white holes or quasars be numerous "little

bangs" that add up to the big bang and produce the

background radiation?

And if all this is so, where does the energy come

from that keeps the universe endlessly recycling? If

the universe runs down as it expands (this is referred

to as an "increase of entropy" by physicists), does it

wind up again ("decreasing entropy") as .it moves

back in time through the wormholes?

There are no answers to any of these questions at

present. All is speculation, including the very exis-

tence of wormholes and white holes.

OPUS 200 71

.It must be admitted that the notion that the universe

is continually recycling is a rather tenuous specula-

tion.

If we dismiss it, however, we are left with the big

bang—either as a one-time affair if we are living in an

open universe, or as an endlessly repeated phenome-

non if the universe is closed and oscillating. Either

way there is a problem. What is the nature of the

cosmic egg?

When the cosmic egg was first suggested, it was

viewed very much as we now view neutron stars. The

trouble is that a cosmic egg with all the mass of the

universe (equal to the mass of 100,000,000,000 galax-

ies, perhaps) is certainly too large to be a neutron

star. If it is true that anything with more than 3.2

times the mass of our sun must form a black hole

when it collapses, then the cosmic egg was the biggest

of all black holes.

How, then, could it have exploded and yielded the

big bang? Black holes do not explode.

Suppose we imagine a contracting universe, which

would form black holes of varying sizes as it con-

tracted. The individual black holes might bleed away

some of their mass through wormholes, counteracting

the overall contraction but not by enough to stop it

altogether (or neither the expanding universe DOT we

would-be here today).

As the universe compresses, the black holes grow at

the expense of non-black hole matter and, more and

more frequently, collide and coalesce. Eventually, of

course, all the black holes coalesce into the cosmic

egg. It loses matter through its wonnhole at an enor-

mous rate, producing the biggest conceivable white

hole at the other end. It is the white hole of the

cosmic egg. then, that was the big bang that created

ISAAC ASIMOV

our expanding universe. This would hold good

whether the universe is open or closed, whether the

cosmic egg formed only once or repeatedly.

Of course, this solution will only work if wormholes

and white holes truly exist, which is uncertain. And

even if they do exist, it will only work if the cosmic'

egg is rotating. But is it?

There is certainly angular momentum in the uni-

verse, but it could have been created, de-spite the con-

servation law, where none had earlier existed.

That is because there are two kinds of angular mo-

mentum, in opposite senses. An object can rotate ei-

ther clockwise or counter-clockwise (positively or neg-

atively, if you prefer). Two objects with equal

angular momentum, one positive and one negative,

will, if they collide and coalesce, end with zero angu-

lar momentum, the energy of the two rotatory motions

being converted into heat. In reverse, an object with

zero angular momentum can, with the addition of ap-

propriate energy, split to form two sub-objects, one

with positive angular momentum and the other with

negative angular momentum.

The objects in the universe may all have angular

momentum, but it is very likely that some of that

angular momentum is positive and some negative. We

have no way of knowing whether one kind is present in

greater quantities than the other. If such lopsidedness

does exist, then when all the matter of the universe col-

lapses into a cosmic egg, that cosmic egg will end up

with an amount of angular momentum equal to the

excess of one kind over the other.

It may be, however, that the amount of angular mo-

mentum of one kind in the universe is equal to the

amount of the other kind. In that case, the cosmic egg,

when it forms, will have no angular momentum and

OPUS 200

'''

will be dead. We can't rely on wormholes and white

holes for the big bang, then.

What else?

Just as angular momentum of two opposite kinds

exist, so matter of two opposite kinds exists.

An electron is balanced by an antieiectron, or posi-

tron. When an electron and a positron combine, there

is a mutual annihilation of the two particles. No mass

at all is left. It is converted into energy in the form of

gamma rays. In the same way, a proton and an anti-

proton will combine to lose mass and form energy;

and so will a neutron and an antineutron.

We can have matter built up of protons, neutrons,

and electrons; antimatter built up of antiprotons.

antineutrons, and antielectrons. In that case, any mass

of matter combining with an equal mass of antimatter

will undergo mutual annihilation to form gamma rays.

In reverse, mass can be formed from energy, but

never as one kind of particle only. For every electron

that is formed an antieiectron must be formed, for ev-

ery proton an antiproton, for every neutron an anti-

neutron. In short, when energy is turned into matter,

an equal quantity of antimatter must also be formed.

But if that is so, where is the antimatter that must

have been formed at the same time that the matter of

the universe was formed?

The Earth is certainly entirely matter (except for

small traces of antimatter formed in the laboratory or

found among cosmic rays). In fact the whole solar

system is entirely matter, and, in all probability, so is

the entire galactic unit of which we are part.

Where is the antimatter? Perhaps there are also gal-

actic units that are entirely antimatter. There may be

galactic units and antigalactic units, which because of

the general expansion of die universe never come in

ISAAC ASIMOV

contact and never engage in mutual annihilation. Just

as matter forms black holes, antimatter will form an-

ti-black holes. These two kinds of black holes are in

all respects identical except for being made up of

opposite substances.

If the universe was ever, in the past, contracting,'

black holes and anti-black holes formed even more

easily; and as contraction continued, the chances of

collision between two black holes of opposite nature,

and a consequent enormous mutual annihilation, in-

creased. In the final coalescence there was the great-

est of all great mutual annihilations.

The total mass of the universe disappeared and

with it the gravitational field that keeps the black

hole, and the cosmic egg for that matter, in existence.

In its place was incredibly energetic radiation, which

expanded outward. That would be the big bang.

Some period after the big bang the energy, becom-

ing less intense through expansion, would be tame

enough to form matter and antimatter once more—the

two forming separate galactic units by some mecha-

nism that, it must be admitted, has not been worked

out—and the expanding universe would take shape.

From this view of the big bang as the mutual anni-

hilation of matter and antimatter, it doesn't matter

whether the cosmic egg is rotating or not, or whether

it is alive or dead.

Yet we have no evidence that there erist antigalac-

tic units. Can it be that for some reason we do not as

yet understand that the universe consists simply of

matter?

We might argue that this is impossible; the universe

cannot consist simply of matter, as that would make

the big bang impossible. Or we might think of a way

of accounting for the big bang even in a universe of

OPUS 200 75

matter only, and even if, on contracting, that universe

forms a cosmic egg that is not rotating and is there-

fore a dead black hole.

Well, according to the equations used to explain the

formation of black holes, the size of the Schwarzschild

radius is proportional to the mass of the black hole.

A black hole the mass of the sun has a Schwarzschild

radius of 3 kilometers and is therefore 6 kilometers

across. A black hole that is twice the mass of the sun

is twice as large across—12 kilometers. However, a

sphere that is twice as large across as a smaller sphere

has eight times as much volume as the smaller sphere.

It follows that a black hole with twice the mass of the

sun has that twice the mass spread over eight times

the volume. The density of the larger black hole is

only one-fourth the density of the smaller black hole.

In other words, the more massive a black hole is,

the larger and the less dense it is.

Suppose our entire galaxy, which is about

100,000.000,000 times the mass of our sun, were

squeezed into a black hole. Its diameter would be

600.000,000,000 kilometers, and its average density

would be about 0.000001 gram per cubic centimeter.

The galactic black hole would be more than fifty times

as wide as Pluto's orbit and would be no more dense

than a gas.

Suppose that all the galaxies of the universe, possi-

bly 100,000,000,000 of them, collapsed into a black

hole. Such a black hole, containing all the matter of

the universe, would be 10,000,000,000 light-years

across, and its average density would be that of an

exceedingly thin gas.

Yet no matter how thin this gas, the structure is a

black hole.

Suppose the total mass of the universe is 2.5 times

ISAAC ASIMOV

as large as it seems to astronomers to be. In that case

the black hole formed by all the matter of the uni-

verse is 25,000,000,000 light-years across, and that

happens to be about the diameter of the actual uni-

verse we live in (as far as we know).

It is quite possible, then, that the entire universe is

itself a black hole (as has been suggested by the phy-

sicist Kip Thorne).

It is is, then very likely it has always been a black

hole and will always be a black hole. If that is so, we

live within a black hole, and if we want to know

what conditions are like in a black hole (provided it is

extremely massive), we have but to look around,

As the universe collapses, then, we might imagine

the formation of any number of relatively small black

holes (black holes within a black hole!) with very

limited diameters. In the last few seconds of final cat-

astrophic collapse, however, when all the black holes

coalesce into one cosmic black hole, the Schwarzschild

radius springs outward and outward to the extremity

of the known universe

And it may be that within the Schwaraschild radius

there is the possibility of explosion. It may be that as

the Schwarzschild radius recedes billions of light-

years in a flash, the cosmic egg at the very instant of

formation springs outward to follow, and that is the

big bang.

If that is so, we might argue that the universe can-

not be open whatever the present state of the evi-

dence, since the universe cannot expand beyond its

Schwarzschild radius. Somehow the expansion will

have to cease at that point, and then it must inevita-

bly begin to contract again and start the cycle over.

(Some argue that with each big bang, a totally differ-

OPUS 200 77

ent expanding universe with different laws af nature

gets underway.)

Can it be, then that what we see all about us is the

unimaginably slow breathing cycle (tens of billions

years in and tens of billions of years out) of a

universe-sized black hole?

And can it be that, separated from our universe in

some fashion we cannot as yet grasp, there are many

other black holes of various sizes, perhaps an infinite

number of them, all expanding and contracting, each

at its own rate?

And we are in one of them—and through the won-

ders of thought and reason it may be that, from our

station on a less-than-dust speck lost deep within one

of these universes, we have drawn ourselves a picture

of the existence and behavior of them all.

PART 2

ROBOTS

7n the years in which science fiction was the major

part of my production, robot's were a favorite subject

of mine. In the first twenty years of my writing ca-

reer, I wrote seventeen short stories and three novels

in which robots were a key element in the plots, plus

a few other short stories that involved computers.

Since my hundredth book was pttblished, however,

my science fiction production has decreased a great

deal—yet it has not dwindled to^zero.

In 1976, for instance, Douhleday published The Bi-

centennial Man and Other Stories (Book 176), a col-

lection of eleven stories, three of which involved ro-

bots.

The first of these was "Feminine Intuition" which

first appeared in the October 1969 Fantasy and Sci-

ence Fiction (usually known as F & SF). Jn it, my

favorite psychologist, Susan Calvin, appears. Susan

first appeared in my story "Liar!" which was pub-

lished in the May 1941 issue of Astounding Science

Fiction (usually known as ASF). / fell in love with

her. I didn't portray her in any very attractive way-

she was frozen intellect, and only rarely and secretly

seemed to allow a touch of human feeling to show-

but I loved her anyway. Before "Feminine Intuition,"

she had appeared in nine of my robot stories, the last

ISAAC ASIMOV

feeing "Galley Slave" in the December 1957 issue of

Galaxy. Of these nine stories, five appear in I, Robot

and four in The Rest of the Robots, both of which are

among my first hundred books. I had not seriously

considered bringing her back until the managing edi-

tor of Galaxy, Judy-Lynn Benjamin {who later mar-

ried Lester del Rey), casually suggested I write a

story about a woman robot. It was that which led to

"Feminine Intuition," in which I brought back Susan

Calvin as an old woman but with her brain function-

ing as well as ever. It was the tenth story involving

her, and it appeared twenty-eight years after the first.

The second robot story in The Bicentennial Mao

and Other Stories was ". . . That Thou Art Mindful

of Him," which first appeared in the May 1974 issue

of F & SF. This arose because Ed Ferman of ¥ & SF

and Barry Malzberg, the science fiction writer,

wanted to put out an anthology of stories, each of

which would carry a particular category to its ulti-

mate end. They asked me to do a robot story that

would carry my three laws of robotics as far as possi-

ble—and I stretched them. to the point where they

subverted themselves out of their original purpose. In

a way that brought the whole robot saga to a fitting,

and ironic, conclusion—though, of course, it would not

and did not prevent me from writing additional robot

stories.

Finally, there was "The Bicentennial Man," the title

story of the book, which had its genesis in January

. 1975 when 'Naomi Cordon of Philadelphia visited and

urged me to write a story with that title and with any

plot I wished, as long as it was inspired by the title.

It would then be included in an anthology (also with

that title) to be published in the bicentennial year of

1976.

OPUS 200 83

Alas, the anthology did not come to pass for various

reasons, and "The Bicentennial Man" was left home-

less. It was rescued fry Judy-Lynn del Key and ap-

peared in her anthology of original stories Stellar Sci-

ence Fiction Stories, No. 2, which was published in

February 1976.

And then in 1977, "The Bicentennial Man" won

both the Nebula and the Hugo awards as the best

novelette to appear in 1976. It was the first time any

of my stories shorter than a novel had won these

awards, and I was delighted to be able to demonstrate

that the old man still had it.

Each of the stories strongly appeals to me for one

reason or the other, but 1 only wanted to include one

of them in this book, and, after some hesitation, my

vanity over the awards won out. Here, then, is "The

Bicentennial Man" in fall:

*The Bicentennial Man" (1976)

The Three Laws of Robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or,

through inaction, allow a human being to

come to harm.

2. A robot must obey the orders given it by

human beings except where such orders

would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as

long as such protection does not conflict with

the First or Second Law.

Andrew Martin said. Thank yon,'* and took the seat

offered him. He didn't look driven to the last resort,

but he had been.

He didn't, actually, look anything, for there was a

smooth blankness to his face, except for the sadness

ISAAC ASIMOV

one imagined one saw in his eyes. His hair was

smooth, light brown, rather fine, and there was no fa-

cial hair. He looked freshly and cleanly shaved. His

clothes were distinctly old-fashioned, but neat and

predominantly a velvety red-purple in color.

Facing him from behind the desk was the surgeon,

and the nameplate on the desk included a full identi-

fvinc: series of letters and numbers, which Andrew

didn't bother with. To call him Doctor would be quite

enough. „.

"When can the operation be carried through. Doc-

tor?" he asked.

The surgeon said softly, with that certain inaliena-

ble note of respect that a robot always used to a hu-

man being, "I am not certain, sir, that I understand

how or upon whom such an operation could be per-

formed." There might have been a look of respectful

intransigence on the surgeon's face—if a robot of his

sort, in lightly bronzed stainless steel, could have such

an expression, or any expression.

Andrew Martin studied the robot's right hand, his

cutting hand, as it lay on the desk in utter tranquillity.

The fingers were long and shaped/ into artistically

metallic looping curves so graceful and appropriate

that one could imagine a scalpel fitting them and be-

coming, temporarily, one piece with them.

There would be no hesitation in his work, no stum-

bling, no quivering, no mistakes. That came with spe-

cialization, of course, a specialization so fiercely de-

sired by humanity that few robots were, any longer,

independently brained. A surgeon, of course, would

have to be. And this one, though brained, was so lim-

ited in his capacity that he did not recognize An-

drew—had probably never heard of him.

OPUS 200 85

Andrew said, "Have you ever thought you would

like to be a man?"

The surgeon hesitated a moment as though the

question fitted nowhere in his allotted positronic

pathways. "But I am a robot, sir."

"Would it be better to be a man?"

"It would be better, sir, to be a better surgeon. I

could not be so if I were a man, but onlv if I were a

more advanced robot- I would be pleased to be a

more advanced robot."

"Tt does not offend vou that I can order you about?

That I can make you stand up, sit down, move right

or left. bv merelv telling vou to do so?"

"It is my pleasure to please you, sir. If your orders

were to interfere with my functioning with respect to

you or to any other human being, I would not obey

you. The First Law, concerning my duty to human

safety, wouid take precedence over the Second Law

relating to obedience. Otherwise, obedience is my

pleasure . . . But upon whom am I to perform this

operation?"

"Upon me," said Andrew.

"But that is impossible. It is patently a damaging

operation."

"That does not matter," said Andrew calmly.

"I must not inflict damage," said the surgeon.

"On a human being, you must not," said Andrew,

"but I, too, am a robot"

Andrew had appeared much more a robot when he

had first been manufactured. He had then been as

much a robot in aopearance as anv that had ever ex-

isted, smoothly designed and functional.

He had done well in the home to which he had

ISAAC ASIMOV

been brought in those davs when robots in house-

holds, or on the planet altogether, had been a rarity.

There had been four in the home: Sir and Ma'am

and Miss and Little Miss- He knew their names, of

course, but he never used them. Sir was Gerald Mar-

tin.

His own serial number was NDR—— He forgot the

numbers. It had been a long time, of course, but if he

had wanted to remember, he could not forget. He had

not wanted to remember-

Little Miss had been the first to call him Andrew

because she could not use the letters, and all the rest

followed her in this.

Little Miss . . . She had lived ninety years and was

long since dead. He had tried to call her Ma'am once,

but she would not allow it. Little Miss she had been

to her last day.

Andrew had been intended to perform the duties of

a valet, a butler, a lady's maid. Those were the experi-

mental days for him and, indeed, for all robots any-

where but in the industrial and exploratory factories

and stations off Earth.

The Martins enfoyed him, and half the time he was

prevented from doing his work because Miss and Lit-

tle Miss would rather play with him.

It was Miss who understood first how this might be

arranged. She said, "We order you to play with us and

you must follow orders."

Andrew said, "I am sorry. Miss, but a prior order

from Sir must surely take precedence."

But she said, "Daddy Just said he hoped you would

take care of the cleaning. That's not much of an order.

I order you."

Sir did not mind. Sir was fond of Miss and of Little

Miss, even more than Ma'am was, and Andrew was

OPUS 200 87

fond of them, too. At least, the effect they had upon

his actions were those which in a human being would

have been called the result of fondness. Andrew

thought of it as fondness, for he did not know any

other word for it.

It was for Little Miss that Andrew had carved a

pendant out of wood. She had ordered him to. Miss, it

seemed, had received an ivorite pendant with scroll-

work for her birthday, and Little Miss was unhappy

over it. She had only a piece of wood, which she gave

Andrew together with a small kitchen knife.

He had done it quickly and Little Miss said, That's

nice, Andrew. I'll show it to Daddy."

Sir would not believe it. "Where did you really get

this, Mandy?" Mandy was what he called Little Miss.

When Little Miss assured him she was really telling

the truth, he turned to Andrew. "Did you do this, An-

drew?"

"Yes, Sir." «

"The design, too?"

"Yes, Sir."

"From what did you copy the design?"

"It is a geometric representation, Sir, that fit the

grain of the wood."

The next day. Sir brought him another piece of

wood, a larger one, and an electric vibro-knife. He

said, "Make something out of this, Andrew. Anything

you want to."

Andrew did so and Sir watched, then looked at the

product a long time. After that, Andrew no longer

waited on tables. He was ordered to read books on

furniture design instead, and he learned to make cabi-

nets and desks.

Sir said, "These are amazing productions, Andrew."

Andrew said, "I enjoy doing them. Sir."

88 BAAC ASIMOV

"Enjoy?"

"It makes the circuits of my brain somehow flow

more easily. I have heard you use the word 'enjoy and

the way you use it fits the way I feel. I enjoy doing

them. Sir."

Gerald Martin took Andrew to the regional offices of

United States Robots and Mechanical Men, Inc. As a

member of the Regional Legislature he had no trouble

at all in gaining an interview with the chief robopsy-

chologist. In fact, it was only as a member of the Re-

gional Legislature that he qualified as a robot owner

in the first place—in those early days when robots

were rare.

Andrew did not understand any of this at the time,

but in later years, with greater learning, he could re-

view that early scene and understand it in its proper

light.

The robopsychologist, Merton Mansky, listened

with a gathering frown and more than once managed

to stop his fingers at the point beyond which they

would have irrepressibly drummed on the table. He

had drawn features and a lined forehead and looked

as though he might be younger than he looked.

He said, "Robotics is not an exact art, Mr. Martin. I

cannot explain it to you in detail, but the mathematics

governing the plotting of the positronic pathways is

far too complicated to permit of any but approximate

solutions. Naturally, since we build everything about

the Three Laws, those are incontrovertible. We will, of

course, replace your robot—"

"Not at all," said Sir. "There is no question of failure

on his part. He performs his assigned duties perfectly.

The point is, he also carves wood in exquisite fashion

and never the same twice. He produces works of art."

OPUS 200 89

Mansky looked confused. "Strange. Of course, we're

attempting generalized pathways these days . . .

Really creative, you think?"

"See for yourself." Sir handed over a little sphere of

wood on which there was a playground scene in

which die boys and girls were almost too small to

make out, yet they were in perfect proportion and

blended so naturally with the grain that that, too,

,seemed to have been carved.

Mansky said, "He did that?" He handed it back

with a shake of his head. "The luck of the draw.

Something in the pathways."

"Can you do it again?"

"Probably not Nothing like this has ever been re-

ported."

"Goodi I don't in the least mind Andrew's being the

only one."

Mansky said, "I suspect that the company would

like to have your robot back for study."

Sir said with sudden grimness, "Not a chance. For-

get it." He turned to Andrew. "Let's go home now."

"As you wish. Sir," said Andrew.

Miss was dating boys and wasn't about the house

much. It was Little Miss, not as little as she once was,

who filled Andrew's horizon now. She never forgot

that the very first piece of wood carving he had done

had been for her. She kept it on a silver chain about

her neck.

It was she who first objected to Sir's habit of giving

away the productions. She said, "Come on. Dad, if any-

one wants one of them, let him pay for it. It's worth

it."

Sir said, "It isn't like you to be greedy, Mandy."

"Not for us. Dad. For the artist"

ISAAC ASIMOV

Andrew had never heard the word before and

when he had a moment to himself he looked it up in

the dictionary. Then there was another trip, this time

to Sir's lawyer. -.

Sir said to him, "What do you think of this, John?"

The lawyer was John Feingold. He had white harr

and a pudgy belly, and the rims of his contact lenses

were tinted a bright green. He looked at the small

plaque Sir had given him. "This is beautiful . . . But

I've heard the news. This is a carving made by your

robot. The one you've brought with you."

"Yes, Andrew does them. Don't you, Andrew?"

"Yes, Sir," said Andrew.

"How much would you pay for that, John?" asked

Sir.

"I can't say. I'm not a collector of such things."

"Would you believe I've been offered two hundred

Sfty dollars for that small thing? Andrew has made

chairs that have sold for Bve hundred dollars. There's

two hundred thousand dollars in the bank out of An-

drew's products."

"Good heavens, he's making you rich, Gerald."

"Half rich," said Sir. "Half of it is in an account in

tile name of Andrew Martin."

"The robot?"

"That's right, and I want to know if ifs legal."

"Legal?" Feingold's chair creaked as he leaned back

in it. "There are no precedents, Gerald. How did your

robot sign the necessary papers?"

"He can sign his name, and I brought in the signa-

ture. I didn't bring him in to the bank himself. Is

there anything further that ought to be done?"

"\Jm." Feingold's eyes seemed to turn inward for a

moment. Then he said, "Well, we can set up a trust to

handle all finances in his name, and that will place a

OPUS 200 91

layer of insulation between him and the hostile world.

Further than that, my advice is you do nothing. No

one is stopping you so far. If anyone objects, let him

bring suit."

"And will you take the case if suit is brought?"

"For a retainer, certainly."

"How much^"

"Something like that," and Feingold pointed to the

wooden plaque.

"Fair enough," said Sir.

Feingold chuckled as he turned to the robot. "An-

drew, are you pleased that you have money?"

a-sr • »

Yes, sir.

"What do you plan to do with it?"

"Pay for things, sir, which otherwise Sir would have

to pay for. It would save him expense, sir."

The occasions came. Repairs were expensive, and revi-

sions were even more so. Over the years, new models

of robots were produced, and Sir saw to it that An-

drew had the advantage of every new device, until he

was a paragon of metallic excellence. It was all at An-

drew's expense. Andrew insisted on that.

Only his positronic pathways were untouched. Sir

insisted on that.

"The new ones aren't as good as you are, Andrew,**

he said. "The new robots are worthless. The company

has learned to make the pathways more precise, more

closely on the nose, more deeply on the track. The

new robots don't shift They do what they're designed

for and never stray. I like you better."

"Thank you, Sir."

"And it's your doing, Andrew, don't you forget that

I am certain Mansky put an end to generalized path-

ways as soon as he had a good look at you. He didn't

ISAAC ASIMOV

like the unpredictability ... Do you know how

many times he asked for you so he could place you

under study? Nine timesi I never let him have you,

though, and now that he's retired, we may have some

peace."

So Sir's hair thinned and grayed and his face grew

pouchy, while Andrew looked rather better than he

had when he first joined the family.

Ma'am had joined an art colony somewhere in Eu-

rope and Miss was a poet in New York. They wrote

sometimes, but not often. Little Miss was married and

lived not far away. She said she did not want to leave

Andrew, and when her child. Little Sir, was born, she

let Andrew hold the bottle and feed him.

With the birth of a grandson, Andrew felt that Sir

had someone now to replace those who had gone. It

would not be so unfair to come to him with the re-

quest.

Andrew said, "Sir, it is kind of you to have allowed

me to spend my money as I wished."

"It was your money, Andrew."

"Only by your voluntary act. Sir. I do not believe

tile law would have stopped you from keeping it all."

The law won't persuade me to do wrong, Andrew."

"Despite all expenses, and despite taxes, too. Sir, I

have nearly six hundred thousand dollars."

"I know that, Andrew."

*'! want to give it to you. Sir."

**I won't take it, Andrew."

*'In exchange for something you can give me, Sir."

"Oh? What is that, Andrew?"

"My freedom. Sir."

"Your-"

"I wish to buy my freedom. Sir."

OPUS 200 93

It wasn't that easy. Sir had flushed, had said, "For

God's sake!" had turned on his heel, and stalked away.

It was Little Miss who brought him around, de-

fiantly and harshly—and in front of Andrew. For

thirty years, no one had hesitated to talk in front of

Andrew, whether the matter involved Andrew or not.

He was only a robot.

She said, "Dad, why are you taking it as a personal

affront? He'll still be here. He'll still be loyal. He

can't help that. It's built in. All he wants is a form of

words. He wants to be called tree. Is that so terrible?

Hasn't he earned it? Heavens, he and I have been

talking about it for years."

"Talking about it for years, have you?"

"Yes, and over and over again, he postponed it for

fear he would hurt you. I made him put it up to you,"

"He doesn't know what freedom is. He's a robot."

"Dad, you don't know him. He's read everything in

the library. I don't know what^he feels inside but I

don't know what you feel inside- When you talk to him

you'll find he reacts to the various abstractions as you

and I do. and what else counts? If someone else's reac-

tions are like your own, what more can you ask

for?"

"The law won't take that attitude," Sir said angrily.

"See here, you!" He turned to Andrew with a deliber-

ate grate in his voice. "1 can't free you except by

doing it legally, and, if it gets into the courts, you not

only won't get your freedom, but the law will take

official cognizance of your money. They'll tell you

that a robot has no right to earn money. Is this rig-

marole worth losing your money?"

"Freedom is without price. Sir," said Andrew. "Even

the chance of freedom is worth the money."

ISAAC ASIMOV

The court might also take the attitude that freedom

was without price, and might decide that for no price,

however great, could a robot buy its freedom.

The simple statement of the regional attorney who

represented those who had brought a class action to

oppose the freedom was this: The word "freedom"

had no meaning when applied to a robot. Only a hu-

man being could be free.

He said it several times, when it seemed appropriate;

slowly, with his hand coming down rhythmically on

the desk before him to mark the words.

Little Miss asked permission to speak on behalf of

Andrew. She was recognized by her full name, some-

thing Andrew had never heard pronounced before:

"Amanda Laura Martin Chamey may approach the

bench."

She said, "Thank you, your honor. I am not a lawyer

and I don't know the proper way of phrasing things,

but I hope you will listen to my meaning and ignore

the words.

"Let's understand what it means to be free in An-

drew's case. In some ways, he is free. I think it's at

least twenty years since anyone in the Martin family

gave him an order to do something that we felt he

might not do of his own accord.

"But we can, if we wish, give him an order to do

anything, couch it as harshly as we wish, because he is

a machine that belongs to us. Why should we be in a

position to do so, when he has served us so long, so

faithfully, and earned so much money for us? He owes

us nothing more. The debt is entirely on the other

side.

"Even if we were legally forbidden to place Andrew

in involuntary servitude, he would still serve us volun-

opus 200 95

tarily. Making him free would be a trick of words

only, but it would mean much to him. It would give

him everything and cost us nothing."

For a moment the Judge seemed to be suppressing a

smile. "I see your point, Mrs. Charney. The fact is that

there is no binding law in this respect and no prece-

dent. There is, however, the unspoken assumption that

only a human can enjoy freedom. I can make new law

here, subject to reversal in a higher court, but I can-

not lightly run counter to that assumption. Let me ad-

dress the robot. Andrewl"

"Yes, your honor."

It was the first time Andrew had spoken in court

and the judge seemed astonished for a moment at the

human timbre of the voice. He said, "Why do you

want to be free, Andrew? In what way will this matter

to you?"

Andrew said, "Would you wish to be a slave, your

honor?"

"But you are not a slave. You are a perfectly good

robot, a genius of a robot I am given to understand,

capable of an artistic expression that can be matched

nowhere. What more could you do if you were free?"

"Perhaps no more than I do now, your honor, but

with greater joy. It has been said in this courtroom

that only a human being can be free. It seems to me

that only someone who wishes for freedom can be

free. I wish for freedom."

And it was that that cued the judge. The crucial

sentence in his decision was: "There is no right to

deny freedom to any object with a mind advanced

enough to grasp the concept and desire the state."

It was eventually upheld by the World Court

ISAAC ASIMOV

Sir remained displeased, and his harsh voice made An-

drew feel almost as though he were being short-

circuited.

Sir said, "I don't want your damned money, An-

drew. HI take it only because you won't feel free oth-

erwise. From now on, you can select your own jobs

and do them as you please. I will give you no orders,

except this one—that you do as you please. But I am

still responsible for you; that's part of the court order.

I hope you understand that."

Little Miss interrupted. "Don't be irascible. Dad.

The responsibility is no great chore. You know you

won't have to do a thing. The Three Laws still hold."

Then how is he free?"

Andrew said, "Are not human beings bound T^y

their laws. Sir?"

Sir said, "I'm not going to argue." He left, and An-

drew saw him only infrequently after that.

Little Miss came to see him frequently in the small

house that had been built and made over for him. It

had no kitchen, of course, nor bathroom facilities. It

had just two rooms; one was a library and one was a

combination storeroom and workroom. Andrew ac-

cepted many commissions and worked harder as a

free robot than he ever had before, till the cost of the

house was paid for and the structure legally trans-

ferred to him.

One day Little Sir came . . . No, Georgel Little Sir

had insisted on that after the court decision. "A free

robot doesn't call anyone Little Sir," George had said.

"I call you Andrew. You must call me George."

It was phrased as an order, so Andrew called him

George—but Little Miss remained Little Miss.

The day George came alone, it was to say that Sir

OPUS 200 97

was dying. Little Miss was at the bedside but Sir

wanted Andrew as well.

Sir's voice was quite strong, though he seemed un-

able to move much. He struggled to get his hand up.

"Andrew," he said, "Andrew—Don't help me, George.

I'm only dying; I'm not crippled . . . Andrew, I'm

glad you're free, I just wanted to tell you that."

Andrew did not know what to say. He had never

been at the side of someone dying before, but he

knew it was the human way of ceasing to function. It

was an involuntary and irreversible dismantling, and

Andrew did not know what to say that might be ap-

propriate. He could only remain standing, absolutely

silent, absolutely motionless.

When it was over, Little Miss said to him, "He may

not have seemed friendly to you toward the end, An-

drew, but he was old, you know, and it hurt him that

you should want to be free."

And then Andrew found the words to say. He said,

"I would never have been free without him. Little

Miss."

It was only after Sir's death that Andrew began to

wear clothes. He began with an old pair of trousers at

first, a pair that George had given him.

George was married now, and a lawyer. He had

joined Feingold's firm. Old Feingold was long since

dead, but his daughter had carried on and eventually

the firm's name became Feingold and Martin. It re-

mained so even when the daughter retired and no

Feingold took her place. At the time Andrew put on

clothes for the first time, the Martin name had just

been added to the firm.

George had tried not to smile the first time Andrew

ISAAC ASIMOV

put on the trousers, but to Andrew's eyes the smile

was clearly there.

George showed Andrew how to manipulate the

static charge so as to allow the trousers to open, wrap

about his lower body, and move shut. George demon-

strated on his own trousers, but Andrew was quite

aware that it would take him awhile to duplicate that

one flowing motion.

George said, "But why do you want trousers, An-

drew? Your body is so beautifully functional it's a

shame to cover it—especially when you needn't worry

about either temperature control or modesty. And it

doesn't cling properly, not on metal."

Andrew said, "Are not human bodies beautifully

functional, George? Yet you cover yourselves."

"For warmth, for cleanliness, for protection, for dec-

orativeness. None of that applies to you."

Andrew said, "I feel bare without clothes. I feel dif-

ferent, George."

"DifferentI Andrew, there are millions of robots on

Earth now. In this region, according to the last census,

there are almost as many robots as there are men."

"I know, George. There are robots doing every con-

ceivable type of work."

"And none of them wears clothes."

"But none of them is free, George."

Little by little, Andrew added to the wardrobe. He

was inhibited by George's smile and by the stares of

the people who commissioned work.

He might be free, but there was built into him a

carefully detailed program concerning his behavior to-

ward people, and it was only by the tiniest steps that

he dared advance. Open disapproval would set him

back months.

Not everyone accepted Andrew as free. He was in-

OPUS 200 99

capable of resenting that, and yet there was a diffi-

culty about his thinking process when he thought of

it.

Most of all, he tended to avoid putting on clothes-

or too many of them-when he thought Little Miss

might come to visit him. She was old now and was

often away in some warmer climate, but when she re-

turned the first thing she did was visit him.

On one of her returns, George said ruefully, "She's

got me, Andrew. I'll be running for the Legislature

next vear. Like grandfather, she says, like grandson."

"Like grandfather—" Andrew stopped, uncertain.

"I mean that I, George, the grandson, will be like

Sir, the grandfather, who was in the Legislature once."

Andrew said, "It would be pleasant, George, if Sir

were still—" He paused, for he did not want to say, "in

working order." That seemed inappropriate.

"Alive," said George, "yes, I think of the old mon-

ster now and then, too."

It was a conversation Andrew thought about. He

had noticed his own incapacity in speech when talk-

ing with George. Somehow the language had changed

since Andrew had come into being with an innate vo-

cabulary. Then, too, George used a colloquial speech,

as Sir and Little Miss had not. Why should he have

called Sir a monster when surely that word was not

appropriate?

Nor could Andrew turn to his own books for guid-

ance. They were old and most dealt with woodwork-

ing, with art, with furniture design. There were none

on language, none on the way of human beings.

It was at that moment that it seemed to him he

must seek the proper books; and as a free robot, he

felt he must not ask George. He would go to town and

use the library. It was a triumphant decision, and he

100

ISAAC ASIMOV

felt his elech-opotential grow distinctly higher until he

had to throw in an impedance coil.

He put on a full costume, even including a shoulder

chain of wood. He would have preferred the slitter

plastic, but George had said that wood was much more

appropriate and that polished cedar was considerably

more valuable as well.

He had placed a hundred feet between himself and

the house before gathering resistance brought him to a

halt. He shifted the impedance coil out of circuit, and,

when that did not seem to help enough, he returned

to his home and on a piece of notepaper wrote neatly,

"I Have gone to the library," and placed it in clear

view on his worktable.

Andrew never quite got to the library. He had stud-

ied the map. He knew the route but not the appear-

ance of it. The actual landmarks did not resemble the

symbols on the map and he would hesitate. Eventu-

ally he thought he must have somehow gone wrong, for

everything looked strange.

He passed an occasional Beld robot, but at the time

he decided he should ask his way, there was none in

sight. A vehicle passed and did not stop. He stood ir-

resolute, which meant calmly motionless, and then

coming across the field toward him were two human

beings.

He turned to face them, and they altered their

course to meet him. A moment before, they had been

talking loudly; he had heard their voices; but now

they were silent. They had the look that Andrew asso-

ciated with human uncertainty, and they were young,

but not very young. Twenty perhaps? Andrew could

never judge human age.

OPUS 200 101

He said, "Would you describe to me the route to the

town library, sirs?"

One of them, the taller of the two, whose tall hat

lengthened him still farther, almost grotesquely, said,

not to Andrew but to the other, "It's a robot."

The other had a bulbous nose and heavy eyelids.

He said, not to Andrew but to the first, "It's wearing

clothes."

The tall one snapped his fingers. "It's the free ro-

bot. They have a robot at Martins who isn't owned by

anybody. Why else would it be wearing clothes?"

"Ask it," said the one with the nose.

"Are you the Martin robot?" asked the tall one.

"I am Andrew Martin, sir." said Andrew.

"Good. Take off your clothes. Robots don't wear

clothes." He said to the other, "That's disgusting. Look

at him."

Andrew hesitated. He hadn't heard an order in that

tone of voice in so long that his Second Law circuits

had momentarily jammed.

The tall one said, "Take off your clothes. I order

you."

Slowly, Andrew began to remove them.

"Just drop them," said the tall one.

The nose said, "If it doesn't belong to anyone, he

could be ours as much as someone else's."

"Anyway," said the tall one, "who's to object to any-

thing we do? We're not damaging property . . .

Stand on your head." That was to Andrew.

"The head is not meant—" began Andrew.

"That's an order. If you don't know how, try any-

way."

Andrew hesitated again, then bent to put his head

on the ground. He tried to lift his legs and fell, heav-

ay.

102

XSAAC ASIMOV

The tall one said, "Just lie there." He said to the

other, "we can take him apart. Ever take a robot

apart?"

"Will he let us?"

"How can he stop us?"

There was no way Andrew could stop them if they

ordered him not to resist in a forceful enough manner.

The Second Law of obedience took precedence over

the Third Law of self-preservation. In any case, he

could not defend himself without possibly hurting

them and that would mean breaking the First Law. At

that thought, every motile unit contracted slightly and

he quivered as he lay there.

The tall one walked over and pushed him with his

foot. "He's heavy. I think we'll need tools to do the

job,"

The nose said, "We could order him to take himself

apart. It would be fun to watch him try."

"Yes," said the tall one thoughtfully, "but let's get

him off the road. If someone comes along—"

It was too late. Someone had indeed come along,

and it was George. From where he lay, Andrew had

seen him topping a small rise in the middle distance.

He would have liked to signal him in some way, but

the last order had been, "Just lie there!"

George was running now and he arrived somewhat

winded. The two young men stepped back a little and

then waited thoughtfully.

George said anxiously, "Andrew, has something

gone wrong?"

Andrew said, "I am well, George."

"Then stand up ... What 1' 'illWallJJl' your

clothes?" '*!~"_

The tall young man said, "That your robot, mac?"

OPUS 200 103

George turned sharply. "He's no one's robot. What's

been, going on here?"

"We politely asked him to take his clothes off.

What's that to you if you don't own him?"

George said, "What were they doing, Andrew?"

Andrew said, "It was their intention in some way to

dismember me. They were about to move me to a

quiet spot and order me to dismember myself."

George looked at the two and his chin trembled.

The two young men retreated no further. They were

smiling. The tall one said lightly, "What are you going

to do, pudgy? Attack us?"

George said, "No. I don't have to. This robot has

been with my family for over seventy years. He knows

us and he values us more than he values anyone else.

I am going to tell him that you two are threatening my

life and that you plan to kill me-1 will ask him to defend

me. In choosing between me and you two, he will

choose me. Do you know what will happen to you

when he attacks you?"

The two were backing away slightly, looking un-

easy.

George said sharply, "Andrew, I am in danger and

about to come to harm from these young men. Move

toward theml"

Andrew did so, and the two young men did not

wait. They ran fleetly.

"All right, Andrew, relax," said George. He looked

unstrung. He was far past the age where he could face

the possibility of a dustup with one young man, let

.^..JkAJJ^>_———Jl^^m.Bmm__.

^^^^^^^^HBP't have hurt -them, George. I

!n^^^fl^^^^^enDc.attacking..you." _ ^

"I didn't order you to attack them; I only ,to)d you

104

ISAAC ASIMOV

to move toward them. Their own fears did the rest."

"How can they fear robots?"

"It's a disease of mankind, one of which it is not yet

cured. But never mind that What the devil are you

doing here, Andrew? I was on the point of turning

back and hiring a helicopter when I found you. How

did you get it into your head to go to the library? I

would have brought you any books you needed."

"I am a—" began Andrew.

"Free robot. Yes, yes. All right, what did you want

in the library?"

"I want to know more about human beings, about

the world, about everything. And about robots,

George. I want to write a history about robots."

George said, "Well, let's walk home . . . And pick

up your clothes first. Andrew, there are a million

books on robotics and all of them include histories of

the science. The world is growing saturated not only

with robots but with information about robots."

Andrew shook his head, a human gesture he had

lately begun to make. "Not a history of robotics,

George. A history of robots, by a robot. I want to ex-

plain how robots feel about what has happened since

the first ones were allowed to work and live on

Earth."

George's eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing in di-

rect response.

Little Miss was fust past her eighty-third birthday,

but there was nothing about her that was lacking in

either energy or determination. Shfi flBShtftA^fife- "^

cane more often than she proppficl^BllHl^p^nHlF^

She listened to the story in a fury of indignation.

She said, "George, that's horrible. Who were those

young ruffians?"

OPUS 200 105

"I don't know. What difference does it make? In the

end they did no damage."

"They might have. You're a lawyer, George, and if

you're well off, it's entirely due to the talent of An-

drew. It was the money he earned that is the founda-

tion of everything we have. He provides the continu-

ity for this family, and I will not have him treated as a

wind-up toy."

"What would you have me do. Mother?" asked

George.

"I said you're a lawyer. Don't you listen? You set up

a test case somehow, and you force the regional courts

to declare for robot rights and get the Legislature to

pass the necessary bills, and carry the whole thing to

the World Court, if you have to. I'll be watching,

George, and I'll tolerate no shirking."

She was serious, and what began as a way of sooth-

ing the fearsome old lady became an involved mat-

ter with enough legal entanglement to make it inter-

esting. As senior partner of Feingold and Martin,

George plotted strategy but left the actual work to his

Junior partners, with much of it a matter for his son,

Paul, who was also a member of die firm and who

reported dutifully nearly every day to his grand-

mother. She, in turn, discussed it every day with An-

drew.

Andrew was deeply involved. His work on his book

on robots was delayed again as he pored over the le-

gal arguments and even, at times, made very diffident

suggestions.

He said, "George told me that day that human

beings have always been afraid of robots. As long as

they are, the courts and the legislatures are not likely

to work hard on behalf of robots. Should there not be

something done about public opinion?"

106

ISAAC ASIMOV

So while Paul stayed in court, George took to the

public platform. It gave him the advantage of being

informal, and he sometimes even went so far as to

wear the new, loose style of clothing that he called

drapery. Paul said, "Just don't trip over it onstage,

Dad."

George said despondently, "I'll try not to."

He addressed the annual convention of holo-news

editors on one occasion and said, in part:

"If, by virtue of the Second Law, we can demand of

any robot unlimited obedience in all respects not in-

volving harm to a human being, then, any human

being, any human being, has a fearsome power over

any robot, any robot. In particular, since the Second

Law supersedes the Third Law. any human being can

use the law of obedience to overcome the law of self-

protection. He can order any robot to damage itself or

even destroy itself for any reason, or for no reason.

"Is this just? Would we treat an animal so? Even an

inanimate object that has given us good service has a

claim on our consideration. And a robot is not insensi-

ble; it is not an animal. It can think well enough to

enable it to talk to us, reason with us, joke with us.

Can we treat them as friends, can we work together

with them, and not give them some of the fruit of that

friendship, some of the benefit of co-working?

"If a man has the right to give a robot any order

that does not involve harm to a human being, he

should have the decency never to give a robot any

order that involves harm to a robot, unless human

safety absolutely requires it WU^i ^FWtJMweet goes

great responsibility, ^u^^^|IS^^p^ ^e^r^e

Laws to protect men, is it too much to ask that men

have a law or two to protect robots?"

Andrew was right It was the battle over public

OPUS 200 107

opinion that held the key to courts and Legislature

and in the end a law passed which set up conditions

under which robot-harming orders were forbidden. It

was endlessly qualified and the punishments for vio-

lating the law were totally inadequate, but the princi-

ple was established. The final passage by the World

Legislature came through on the day of Little Miss's

death.

That was no coincidence. Little Miss held on to life

desperately during the last debate and let go only

when word of victory arrived. Her last smile was for

Andrew. Her last words were: "You have been good

to us, Andrew."

She died with her hand holding his, while her son

and his wife and children remained at a respectful dis-

tance from both.

Andrew waited patiently while the receptionist disap-

peared into the inner office. It might have used the

holographic chatterbox, but unquestionably it was un-

manned (or perhaps unroboted) by having to deal

with another robot rather than with a human being.

Andrew passed the time revolving the matter in his

mind. Could "unroboted" be used as an analogue of

"unmanned," or had "unmanned" become a meta-

phoric term sufficiently divorced from its original lit-

eral meaning to be applied to robots—or to women,

for that matter?

Such problems came up frequently as he worked on

his book on robots. The trick of thinking out sentences

to express all complexities had undoubtedly increased

his vocabulary.

Occasionally, someone came into the room to stare

at him and he did not try to avoid the glance. He

looked at each calmly, and each in turn looked away.

108

ISAAC ASIMOV

Paul Martin finally came out. He looked surprised, £,

or he would have if Andrew could have made out his

expression with certainty. Paul had taken to wearing —

the heavy makeup that fashion was dictating for both '..

sexes, and though it made sharper and firmer the

somewhat bland lines of his face, Andrew disari- ,

proved. He found that disapproving of human beings,

as long as he did not express it verbally, did not make ^

him very uneasy. He could even write the disap- ||

proval. He was sure it had not always been so. ?

Paul said, "Come in, Andrew. I'm sorry I made you ?

wait but there was something I had to finish. Come

in. You had said you wanted to talk to me, but I didn't

know you meant here in town."

"If you are busy, Paul. I am prepared to continue to

wait."

Paul glanced at the interplay of shifting shadows on

the dial on the wall that served as timepiece and said,

"I can make some time. Did you come alone?"

"I hired an automatobile."

"Any trouble?" Paul asked with more than a trace of

anxiety.

1 wasn't expecting any. My rights are protected."

Paul looked the more anxious for that. "Andrew,

I've explained that the law is unenforceable, at least

under most conditions . . , And if you insist on wear-

ing clothes, you'll run into trouble eventually—just like

that first time."

"And only time, Paul. I'm sorry you are displeased.**

"Well, look at it this way; you are virtually a living

legend, Andrew, and you are too valuable in many

different ways for you to have any right to take

chances with yourself . . . How's the book coming?"

"I am approaching th* end, Paul. The publisher is

quite pleased."

OPUS 200 109

"Good!'

"I don't know that he's necessarily pleased with the

book as a book. I think he expects to sell many copies

because it's written by a robot and it's that that

pleases him."

"Only human, I'm afraid."

"I am not displeased. Let it sell for whatever reason

since it will mean money and I can use some."

"Grandmother left you—"

"Little Miss was crenerous, and I'm sure I can count

on the family to help me out further. But it is the roy-

alties from the book on which I am counting to help

me through the next step."

"What next ste^ is that?"

"I wish to see the head of U. S. Robots and Me-

chanical Men, Inc. I have tried to make an apnoint-

ment, but so far I have not been able to reach him.

The corporation did not cooperate with me in the

writing of the book, so I am not surprised, you under-

stand."

Paul was clearly amused. "Cooperation is the last

thing you can exoect They didn't cooperate with us in

our great fight for robot rights. Quite the reverse, and

you can see why. Give a robot rights and people may

not want to buy them."

"Nevertheless," said Andrew, "if you call them, you

may obtain an interview for me."

"I'm no more popular with them than you are, An-

drew."

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