I, Robot To Protect

they were not innocents, newborn. They had met more doctors in their short lives than most people did in a lifetime. They knew the ins and outs of Manhattan Hasbro Hospital in a way Susan might never understand. Her relationship with each child would surely vary, but they would sense her inexperience and unpreparedness quickly. Better to be armed with knowledge and not need it than to cripple myself with ignorance.

A shadow fell over Susan, then glided onward. Startled, Susan loosed a small noise and jerked her attention toward it. She had believed herself alone and had not heard the door open.

Apparently cued by her gasp, the one who had cast the shadow turned. He appeared to be about Susan’s age and was tall enough to play professional basketball. Her father stood six feet eight, and the stranger would look him squarely in the eye. He wore blue hallway scrubs over a slender figure. Short brown hair outlined relatively nondescript features, with average-sized cheeks, nose, ears, and lips. Even his plain brown eyes did not stand out. He moved with a fluid grace that hinted of talent on the dance floor, in martial arts, or even gymnastics. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Instinctively polite, Susan shook her head. “I wasn’t scared. Just startled a bit. I was deep in thought.” She rose and held out her hand. “Susan Calvin, R-1, Psychiatry.”

He took her hand in a gentle but solid grip. They performed the standard brief shake and released. “N8-C. You can call me Nate.”

“N8?” Susan repeated. She had heard some unusual names in recent years, but that one went even beyond the vast and accepted norm. How soon till we’re all just a series of random letters and numbers?

“Eighth in the N-C model line.”

Susan laughed; but, when Nate did not join her, she sobered quickly. “You’re joking, right?”

Nate shook his head. “You do know I’m the resident robot, don’t you?”

Susan chuckled again, alone. “Oh, come on. My father works for a robotics company. If mechanical men as humanoid as you existed, I’d be one of the first to know about it.”

A light flashed through Nate’s eyes. “Susan Calvin. Your father wouldn’t be Dr. John Calvin, would he?”

Susan’s grin disappeared in an instant. “How did you know that?” Now, Nate finally did laugh. And Susan did not. “John Calvin’s a legend at U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men. And, currently, USR’s the only legal robotics company in America.”

Susan could only stare. It did not surprise her to discover her brilliant father had made a name for himself in his chosen field, nor that he had so belittled his achievements at home, she had come to believe he held a minor office position. What shocked her was the abrupt realization that she was talking to an actual robot she had so easily mistaken for human. Its answers did not seem stock or pat. It was clearly thinking, generating spontaneous conversation, and was physically and mentally indistinguishable from a human male.

This is a trick. It has to be a trick. Susan blinked her eyes in rapid succession, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her. She was tired, but she was definitely awake. “Come on, now, seriously. The joke’s over.”

Nate tipped his head, his features holding a perfect expression of confusion. “Joke?”

“You’re not really a robot.”

“I’m not?” The look of surprise Nate turned her was clearly supposed to appear feigned. “Then how come I have wires and coils inside instead of organs?”

“Do you?” Susan glanced back at her palm-pross. If she did not get to her research soon, it would be too late to meet any of her patients. She had no intention of rousing them from bed, even if the nurses would allow it. She knew from her M-4 rotations nurses often savagely protected their charges, especially children; and Stony had reinforced that belief when he stated the nurses would come to him before implementing an irregular order written by a new R-1. “I’ve obviously studied human anatomy, and I shook your hand. It’s flesh. You have musculature, bone structure, blood vessels.”

Nate examined his right arm as if for the first time. “Human stem cells coaxed into a dermal and muscular system grown over a skeleton of porous silicone plastic.”

Susan had a scientific mind that did not make exceptions for hope, faith, and the paranormal. However, the science Nate described had concrete possibility, even if only in the future. She considered, lips pursed, hands clenching and unclenching. How long could he have rehearsed this joke? How far would anyone take it?

Nate rolled his eyes. “Ask your father.” He headed back to work.

Susan intended to do so also, but she wanted more information first. “Wait, Nate. Let’s say I believe you. Why are you here? What . . . exactly do you do?”

Nate turned back to face Susan again. “That depends on whom you ask.” He smiled. “The USR believes my purpose is to demonstrate the usefulness, efficiency, and safety of robots, thereby opening the market for their products. To the hospital administrators, I’m a competent and thorough worker who draws no salary and never complains. To those physicians who know of my existence, aren’t leery of me, and don’t automatically despise all I stand for, I’m a proofreader, fact-checker, footnote-finder, hypothesis-tester, sounding board, source of ideas, and research assistant. To the Society for Humanity —”

Susan found herself interrupting. “The Society for . . . Humanity? That’s a pretty ambitious title.”

“It’s a bipartisan political action group dedicated to ‘rescuing’ mankind from advanced intelligence, particularly the artificial type, and raising ethical challenges to several forms of robotic and medical technology. Surely you’ve seen them protesting outside?”

Susan could only nod. She had no idea the protestors had a particular name or united cause. “All those protestors are here because of . . . you?”

Nate pursed his lips, shook his head. “Not me particularly, no. Though not exactly a deep dark secret, my existence has not become common knowledge, either. And the SFH makes up only a small portion of that mob. Some of the other action groups have their own pet concerns: stem cells, prolongation of comatose life, assisted suicide.” He shrugged. “That issue has protestors on both sides. Reproductive technologies of myriad kinds, in-vitro procedures, in-vivo fetal procedures, DNA-based diagnostics, reparation of disabilities, medication benefits versus side effects, appetite suppressants and stimulators in addition to fat-resistance therapies, cosmetic procedures . . . You name it, someone is vehemently for or against it. Manhattan Hasbro has had throngs of protestors since long before my creation. They’ve become such a normal and expected part of medicine, they don’t even make the news without resorting to profound and extreme measures.”

Susan suddenly understood the full significance of Manhattan Hasbro commandment number one — don’t engage protestors in any fashion — and why Manhattan Hasbro had entire wings devoted to legal matters and to ethical ones. If this trend continues, lawyers and ethicists will soon outnumber doctors in the medical setting.

Nate shrugged, still looking at Susan with an all-too-human expression. “The Society for Humanity would have me disassembled in an instant and my positronic brain erased. That’s why I’m sent to the less populated areas of the hospital: record keeping, research, copyediting, and the like. I used to act as an orderly, but I don’t get to do that very often anymore. And when I’m near the general public, I can’t mention I’m robotic.”

“You could do so much more,” Susan realized aloud. The possibilities seemed endless. She could think of twelve grand ideas with only a moment to consider the matter.

Nate only nodded. “May I go now?”

“Of course.” Susan waved a hand, feeling guilty for keeping him so long. She looked at her Vox, which currently read 8:08 p.m. Within the hour, the staff on the PIPU would be putting her patients to bed, not long enough to do significant research. She would have to wait until the morning to see them, but she could study their charts overnight, which already gave her a leg up on the other R-1s. They would have to come in early to prepare before rounds.

When Susan looked up from her wrist, Nate had already disappeared.

Susan sat for a moment in consideration. Was that really a robot, or just a human male with knowledge of my family and an odd sense of humor? She did not know for sure, but her instincts told her she had actually conversed with the highest level of artificial intelligence mankind could currently create. Yet, to believe her instincts meant her near-perfect father had misled her for years and that he had lied and hidden