Inferno

Prospero was perhaps a head shorter than his friend, stockier, less imposing. He was painted a reflective jet-black, with eyes that glowed a deep orange.

“I would wish that I received far less attention, I assure you,” Caliban replied. The robot who could kill. That was all he would ever be to most people, to Caliban’s endless frustration. That was all most people knew of him, or cared to know.

True, he knew he could, in theory, kill a man quite easily. He could reach out and break a man’s neck if he wished. There was no First Law to stop him, no injunction burned into the deepest circuits of his brain to render him immobile at the very thought of such an act. All true, but what of it?

He could kill if he wished-but he did not wish to do it. Every human being was just as capable of murder. No built-in, unstoppable injunction prevented one human from killing another, yet humans did not regard each other first and foremost as potential murderers.

Caliban had learned long ago that no one, human or robot, would ever trust him completely. He was the robot without Laws, the robot unconstrained by the First Law prohibition against harming humans. “Now it all begins,” he said wearily. “The whispers, the crowds of people nudging each other and pointing to me, the one or two brave souls who will come up to me, approaching me like some sort of wild beast. They will work up their nerve and then they will ask me the same questions I have heard over and over again.”

“And what might those questions be?” asked a voice behind them.

Caliban turned around, a bit startled. “Good evening to you, Dr. Leving,” Caliban said. “I am somewhat surprised to find you here.”

“I could say the same about the two of you,” Fredda Leving replied with a smile. She was a small, youthful-looking, light-skinned woman, her dark brown hair cut short. She was stylishly dressed in a dark, flowing dress with a high collar, a simple, understated gold chain about her neck. “What in Space would tempt you to come here, of all places? You got dragged to enough of these things back on the mainland, and you never seemed to enjoy them there. I’d have thought you’d been at enough human parties to last you a lifetime. ”

“True enough, Dr. Leving. ” In the year since the Governor granted Dr. Leving the waiver allowing her to possess a Lawless robot, she had taken Caliban along to a number of social functions, trying to drum up support for New Law robots.

It could be said of Fredda Leving that she had an odd collection of brain-children. Among other robots, she had built Caliban and Prospero and Donald, naming each after a character created by a certain old Earth playwright, a naming scheme she used only on her most prized creations. “Caliban was a good sport about my taking him to parties,” she said to Prospero, “but we both got tired of his being treated like some sort of prize exhibition, a freak of science I had created. The Lawless Robot and his Mad Creator-and we seem to be getting the same reception tonight. So why are you here?”

“I am afraid I am to blame for Caliban’s presence,” Prospero replied. “Caliban has often spoken to me about these events. I confess I wanted to see one for myself. ” It was not, Caliban noted, the whole truth, but it would suffice. There was certainly no need to tell Fredda Leving more than that.

“How, exactly, has he described cocktail parties?” Fredda asked-

“As an ancient ritual, supposedly pleasurable, that no one has actually enjoyed for thousands of years, “ Prospero replied.

Fredda Leving laughed out loud. “More or less true, I’m afraid. But I would like to know, Caliban. What are the questions you are asked all the time?”

“In general terms, they are variations on the question of how I control myself without the Laws. The most common version focuses on the fact that I do not have the Three Laws of Robotics, especially the First Law. I am asked what, precisely, keeps me from killing people. ”

“Gracious!” Fredda exclaimed. “People come up to you and ask that?”

Caliban nodded solemnly. “They do indeed.”

“To me,” Prospero said, “that question says that the average person has no real conception whatever of what it is to be a robot. The question assumes that there is, after all, something dark and evil deep inside a robot. It assumes that the primary function of the First Law is to curb a robot’s natural and murderous instincts. ”

“That’s a trifle strong, isn’t it?” Fredda asked.

“It is indeed,” Caliban said.