“Our serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the computer. Without computers, we could never have worked through the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The serving-man will also be an extension of the computer—for he will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturized computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may encounter in the home. With reservations, of course.” Laughter at this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless uniform.
“Amid all the triumphs of our civilization — yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too — it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them: he will always answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.
“For the future, we plan more models, male and female—some of them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you! —
of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.
“Not only will they possess their own computer, capable of individual programming; they will be linked to the World Data Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be banished forever!”
He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious suit, applauded with gusto.
*
Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window and peeped cautiously in.
His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank, its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had stopped in the garden.
At last she turned and left the room. After waiting a moment, David tapped on the window. Teddy looked round, saw him, tumbled off the table, and came over to the window. Fumbling with his paws, he eventually got it open.
They looked at each other.
“I’m no good, Teddy. Let’s run away!”
“You’re a very good boy. Your Mummy loves you.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “If she loved me, then why can’t I talk to her?”
“You’re being silly, David. Mummy’s lonely. That’s why she had you.”
“She’s got Daddy. I’ve got nobody ‘cept you, and I’m lonely.”
Teddy gave him a friendly cuff over the head. “If you feel so bad, you’d better go to the psychiatrist again.”
“I hate that old psychiatrist — he makes me feel I’m not real.”
He started to run across the lawn. The bear toppled out of the window and followed as fast as its stubby legs would allow.
Monica Swinton was up in the nursery. She called to her son once and then stood there, undecided. All was silent.
Crayons lay on his desk. Obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to the desk and opened it. Dozens of pieces of paper lay inside.
Many of them were written in crayon in David’s clumsy writing, with each letter picked out in a color different from the letter preceding it. None of the messages was finished.
“My dear Mummy, How are you really, do you love me as much —”
“Dear Mummy, I love you and Daddy and the sun is shining —”
“Dear dear Mummy, Teddy’s helping me write to you. I love you and Teddy —”
“Darling Mummy, I’m your one and only son and I love you so much that some times —”
“Dear Mummy, you’re really my Mummy and I hate Teddy —”
“Darling Mummy, guess how much I love —”
“Dear Mummy, I’m your little boy not Teddy and I love you but Teddy —”
“Dear Mummy, this is a letter to you just to say how much how ever so much —”
Monica dropped the pieces of paper and burst out crying. In their gay inaccurate colors, the letters fanned out and settled on the floor.
*
Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and punctually, although his answers were not always entirely relevant by human standards.