by H. H. Holmes
Politics and robots are, alike, very curious
things. But they're alike in another way--if
you look at things straight, and don't throw
out answers even if they do seem more than
a little screwy, you can use them effectively--
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction September 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
You'd think maybe it meant clear sailing after we'd got the Council's
O.K. You'd maybe suppose that'd mean the end of our troubles and the
end of android robots for the world.
That's what Dugg Quinby thought, anyway. But Quinby may have had a
miraculous gift of looking straight at problems and at things and at
robots and getting the right answer; but he was always too hopeful
about looking straight at people. Because, like I kept saying to
him, people aren't straight, not even to themselves. And our future
prospects weren't anywhere near as good as he thought.
That's what the Head of the Council was stressing when we saw him that
morning just after the Council had passed the bill. His black face
was sober--no trace of that flashing white grin that was so familiar
on telecasts. "I've put your bill through, boys," he was saying. "God
knows I'm grateful--the whole Empire should be grateful to you for
helping me put over the renewal of those Martian mining concessions,
and the usuform barkeep you made me is my greatest treasure; but I
can't help you any more. You're on your own now."
That didn't bother Quinby. He said, "The rest ought to be easy. Once
people understand what usuform robots can do for them--"
"I'm afraid, Mr. Quinby, it's you who don't quite understand. Your
friend here doubtless does; he has a more realistic slant on things.
But you--I wouldn't say you idealize people, but you flatter them. You
expect them to see things as clearly as you do. I'm afraid they usually
don't."
"But surely when you explained to the Council the advantages of
usuforms--"
"Do you think the Council passed the bill only because they saw those
advantages? They passed it because I backed it, and because the renewal
of the Martian concessions have for the moment put me in a powerful
position. Oh, I know, we're supposed to have advanced immeasurably
beyond the political corruption of the earlier states; but let progress
be what it may, from the cave man on up to the illimitable future,
there are three things that people always have made and always will
make: love, and music, and politics. And if there's any difference
between me and an old-time political leader, it's simply that I'm
trying to put my political skill at the service of mankind."
I wasn't listening too carefully to all this. The service of mankind
wasn't exactly a hobby of mine. Quinby and the Head were all out for
usuforms because they were a service to man and the Empire of Earth;
I was in it because it looked like a good thing. Of course you can't
be around such a mixture of a saint, a genius, and a moron as Quinby
without catching a little of it; but I tried to keep my mind fixed
clear on what was in it for me.
And that was plenty. For the last couple of centuries our
civilization had been based on robots--android robots. Quinby's
usuform robots--Q.U.R.--robots shaped not as mechanical men, but as
independently thinking machines formed directly from their intended
function--threatened the whole robot set-up. They were the biggest
thing since Zwergenhaus invented the mechanical brain, and I was in on
the ground floor.
With the basement shaking under me.
It was an android guard that interrupted the conference here. We hadn't
really got started on usuform manufacture yet, and anyway, Quinby was
inclined to think that androids might be retained in some places for
guards and personal attendants. He said, "Mr. Grew says that you will
see him."
The Head frowned. "Robinc has always thought it owned the Empire. Now
Mr. Grew thinks he owns me. Well, show him in." As the guard left, he
added to us, "This Grew-Quinby meeting has to take place some time. I'd
rather like to see it."
* * * * *
The president-owner of Robinc--Robots Incorporated, but nobody ever
said it in full--was a quiet old man with silvery hair and a gentle sad
smile. It seemed even sadder than usual today. He greeted the Head and
then spoke my name with a sort of tender reproach that near hurt me.
"You," he said. "The best trouble-shooter that Robinc ever had, and
now I find you in the enemy's camp."
But I knew his technique, and I was armed against being touched by it.
"_In_ the enemy's camp?" I said. "I _am_ the enemy. And it's because
I was your best trouble-shooter that I learned the real trouble with
Robinc's androids: They don't work, and the only solution is to
supersede them."
"Supersede is a kind word," he said wistfully. "But the unkind act is
destruction. Murder. Murder of Robinc itself, draining the lifeblood of
our Empire."
The Head intervened. "Not draining, Mr. Grew, but transfusing. The
blood stream, to carry on your own metaphor, is tainted; we want fresh
blood, and Mr. Quinby provides it."
"I am not helpless, you know," the old man murmured gently.
"I'm afraid possibly you are, sir, and for the first time in your
life. But you know the situation: in the past few months there has
been an epidemic of robot breakdowns. Parts unnecessary and unused,
but installed because of our absurd insistance on an android shape,
have atrophied. Sometimes even the brain has been affected; my own
confidential cryptanalyst went totally mad. Quinby's usuforms forestall
any such problem."
"The people will not accept them. They are conditioned to androids."
"They must accept them. You know, better than most, the problems of
supply that the Empire faces. The conservation of mineral resources
is one of our essential aims. And usuforms will need variously from
seventy to only thirty percent of the metal that goes into your
androids. This is no mere matter of business rivalry; it is conflict
between the old that depletes the Empire and the new that strengthens
it."
"And the old must be cast aside and rejected?"
"You," I began, "have, of course, always shown such tender mercy to
your business compet--" but Quinby broke in on me.
"I realize, Mr. Grew, that this isn't fair to you. But there are much
more important matters than you involved."
"Thank you." The gentle old voice was frigid.
"But I wouldn't feel right if you were simply, as you put it, cast
aside and rejected. If you'll come to see us and talk things over, I'm
pretty sure we can--"
"Sir!" Sanford Grew rose to his full short height. "I do not ask favors
from puppies. I have only one request." He turned to the Head. "The
repeal of this ridiculous bill depriving Robinc of its agelong monopoly
which has ensured the safety of the Empire."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grew. That is impossible."
The hair was still silvery and the smile was still sad and gentle. But
the words he addressed to us were, "Then you understand that this is
war?"
Then he left. I didn't feel too comfortable. Saving the Empire is all
very well. Being a big shot in a great new enterprise is swell. But a
war with something the size of Robinc is not what the doctor usually
orders.
"The poor man," said Quinby.
The Head flashed an echo of the famous grin. "No wonder he's upset.
It's not only the threatened loss of power, I heard that yesterday his
android cook broke down completely. And you know how devoted he is to
unconcentrated food."