ISAAC ASIMOV. The Bicentennial Man

“Have you ever thought you would like to be a man?” Andrew asked.

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?”

“If would be better, sir, to be a better surgeon. I could not be so if I were a man, but only if I were a more advanced robot. I would be pleased to be a more advanced robot.”

“It does not offend you that I can order you about? That I can make you stand up, sit down, move right or left, by merely telling you 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, would take precedence over the Second Law relating to obedience. Otherwise, obedience is my pleasure. Now, , upon whom am I to perform this operation?”

“Upon me,” Andrew said.

“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.”

2

Andrew had appeared much more a robot when he had first been manufactured. He had then been as much a robot in appearance as any that had ever existed smoothly designed and functional.

He had done well in the home to which he had been factors brought in those days when robots in households, 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 Martin.

His own serial number was NDR- . . . He eventually forgot the numbers. It had been a long time, of course; j but if he had wanted to remember, he could not- have ? forgotten. 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 doing so.

Little Miss . . . She had lived for ninety years and, was long since dead. He bad tried to call her Ma’am once, but she would not allow it. Little Miss she had been to her last day. s Andrew had been intended to perform the duties of a valet, a butler, even a lady’s maid. Those were

the experimental days for him and,. indeed, for all robots anywhere save in the industrial and exploratory;

factories and stations off Earth. t The Martins enjoyed him, and half the time he was prevented from doing his work because Miss and Little Miss wanted to play with him. It was Miss who first understood how this might be arranged. “We order you to play with us and you must follow orders.” “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 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 scrollwork 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 had 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, Andrew?”

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