Caliban

On the very few occasions in which Caliban saw a robot not working, not fetching or carrying or repairing or building, then that robot would bewaiting, standing stock -still, staring straight ahead, unwilling-or perhaps unable-to do anything at all unless it was told to do something. How could they not take advantage of spare moments to explore, enjoy, the world of which they were a part? Strange were the ways of the world; Caliban could better understand human behavior than that of his own kind.

But at least his observations did teach him how to act, what to do, if he was to avoid any other unpleasant incidents.Act busy. Do what a human tells you to do. It wasn’t much, but it ought to be enough to keep him safe.

SANTEE was none too steady on her feet, and she half tripped over a bit of trash in the street. But that didn’t matter. Trash in the street was a victory. The sight of trash in a Spacer city that was supposed to be spotlessly clean almost made them seem human. Almost. Maybe it just meant things weren’t in such great shape on this world, but she had known that already. Otherwise, why would the Spacers come to Tonya Welton for help? But littered streets also meant that there were precious few maintenance and street-cleaner robots about. Well, that was all right. Street-cleaners were no real challenge, anyway.

She would just find another kind of robot and bring it back to the warehouse. Something smarter than a street-sweeper. Something more interesting. She stumbled through the empty streets, looking for prospects. That was the trouble with this game, she decided. The only places in town it was safe to play were the untenanted places, where few humans or robots went.

Wait a second. There, up ahead. A big red robot, a stylish-looking make. And no one else around. “Hey, you, robot!” she called. “Stop! Turn around and come toward me.”

Santee grinned eagerly. This one was no half-mindless little street-sweeper. There was obviously money and polish behind this robot. Anyone who spent that kind of money on the frame was bound to have spent even more on the brain. It would be fun messing with this robot’s mind.

The robot seemed a little slow in turning around, as if it had to think about it for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t so smart. No-no, wait a second. What had they told them in those damned orientation classes? Something about the lower-end robots having less discretion to act, and the higher-end ones being able to evaluate various hierarchies of importance to their orders, and something about setting an owner’s order higher in precedence. With a high enough precedence a robot could be forced to ignore all subsequent orders-ah, hell, she couldn’t remember all the details of that crap. But maybe it meant that a dumb robot would turn around faster. The smart ones would have to think about it for a while.

Finally the red robot turned around and started toward her. Good. Every once in a while Santee could understand why the damn Spacers put their kids through classes in how to handle robots. It could get complicated.

Santee stood there, a bit unsteadily, as the big red robot came closer. She had to look up at it when it got close enough. Damn thing had to be a half meter taller than she was.

A twinge of nervous foreboding went through her as she stared up at those glowing blue eyes. “Hey, robot. You,” she said, quite unnecessarily, slurring her words just a bit. “You come wi’ me.” She lifted her hand and moved her forearm in a somewhat jerky come-along gesture and turned around to lead the robot back to the warehouse where her friends waited. Suddenly her mouth was dry, and she felt a line of prickles down her back. Maybe she should let this one go, find another robot. There was something scary about this one.

No, that was stupid.A robot may not harm a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. That much she remembered, and never mind how much she had dozed off in the back of the orientation lecture.That the instructors drummed into their heads again and again. It was the key fact about robots. It was what made robot bashing possible. No way they could get hurt.

Santee straightened her back and walked a little taller. There was nothing to fear. She led the way, not altogether steadily, back to the warehouse.

CALIBAN was confused, and troubled, even alarmed as he followed behind the short, oddly dressed woman with slurred speech and a rather wobbly way of walking.Act like the other robots, he told himself again.Do what a human tells you to do.

The plan gave him a simple and obvious guide to action, yes-but it was predicated on everyone else knowing the rules, even if he did not. Further, the plan was predicated on everyone elsefollowing those unknown rules as well.