account built up by now, entirely on the proceeds of Andrew's woodworking-something up in the hundreds of thousands already, I suspect.'
Feingold fussed with his epaulets and collar-studs. 'Good heavens, Gerald, I can't make any sense out of any of this. A rich man making himself richer by putting his robot to work in some sort of cottage industry-'
'I've already told you, John, that the money wouldn't be for me. This is all for Andrew's sake. I want to start selling his products and I want the money to be banked under the name of Andrew Martin.'
'A bank account in the name of a robot?'
'Exactly. And that's why I've asked you to come up here today. I want to know whether it would be legal to establish an account in Andrew's name-an account that Andrew himself would control, you understand, entirely his own money, which he would be able to use absolutely as he pleases-'
Feingold said, sounding mystified, 'Legal? For a robot to earn and save money? I just couldn't say. There are no precedents, so far as I've ever heard. I doubt that there's any law against it, but even so-robots aren't people. How can they have bank accounts, then?'
'Corporations aren't people either, except in the most abstract sense: a legal fiction, as you would term it. Yet corporations have bank accounts.'
'Well, I grant you that. But corporations have been recognized in the eyes of the law for centuries as entities qualified to own property of all sorts. Robots, Gerald, have no legal rights at all, as surely you must be aware. And simply as a procedural matter, let me remind you that corporations also have corporate officers, and they sign the papers that establish the bank accounts. Who would open Andrew's account? You? And would it be Andrew's account, if you opened it?'
'I've opened bank accounts in the names of my children,' Sir replied. 'Nevertheless the accounts are theirs. Besides, Andrew can sign his name as well as you or I.'
'Yes. Yes, of course, I suppose he can.' Feingold leaned back until his chair creaked. 'Let me think, Gerald. This is all so unusual. Is there really any legislation specifically forbidding robots to own property, or is it simply assumed that they can't, because the idea is so far from the main stream that nobody's ever given a thought to it? I'd have to research it before I could give you an opinion. Quite possibly there are no such laws, precisely because a robot having assets is such a peculiar notion that it hasn't been deemed necessary to give it any consideration. Nobody has bothered to pass laws forbidding trees to have bank accounts, after all, or lawnmowers-'
'Cats and dogs have had bank accounts. Trust funds for their upkeep, left to them by their loving owners,' Sir said. 'The courts have no objection to that.'
'Another good point, yes. Although cats and dogs are living creatures, at least. Robots are inanimate.'
'I don't see what difference that makes.'
'You ought to bear in mind, Gerald, that there's a certain prejudice against robots in our society, a certain fear, I might almost say, that doesn't extend to cats and dogs. It might well be that someone has put laws on the books restricting the rights of robots to hold property. But that's easily enough checked. -Let's assume that it is legal. How would you go about it? Take Andrew down to the bank and let him speak to the manager?'
'I'd simply have the forms sent here for Andrew's signature. There shouldn't be any need for a personal appearance on his part. But what I need to find out from you, John, is what I can do to protect Andrew-and myself, I suppose-against negative public reaction. Even though it may well be legal for him to have a bank account, there probably will be people who aren't going to like the idea.'
'How will they find out?' Feingold asked.
'How will we keep them from finding out?' said Sir. 'If someone buys an item from him and makes a check payable to Andrew Martin, say-'
'Um. Yes.' Feingold's gaze seemed to turn inward for a moment. Then he said, 'Well, one thing we could do is to set up a corporation to handle all finances in his name-a corporation with a nice impersonal name, something like West Coast Wood Artistry, Ltd.-and Andrew can be the president and sole stockholder, though we could make ourselves members of the board of directors. That will place a layer of legalistic insulation between him and the hostile world. It ought to be enough, Gerald. Whenever Andrew wants to purchase something, he can simply draw a salary from the corporation treasury. Or declare a dividend for himself. The fact that he's a robot won't have to be a matter of public record. The incorporation forms will only need the names of the stockholders-not their birth certificates. Of course, he'll have to begin filing income tax returns. But the revenue people aren't going to come around to find out whether Taxpayer Andrew Martin is a human being or not. All they'll care about is whether Taxpayer Martin pays his taxes on time.'
'Good. Good. Anything else?'
'Not that I can think of offhand. If I come up with anything else once I've run a search for precedents, I'll let you know. But I suspect it's going to work. Nobody's likely to stop you so long as you go about things quietly and obey the absolute letter of the corporation law. And if anyone does find out what's going on and doesn't like it, well, it'll be up to them to take action against you to stop it-provided they can show that they've got legal standing to intervene.'
'And if someone does, John? Will you take the case if a suit is brought against us?'
'Certainly. For an appropriate retainer.'
'What would be appropriate, do you think?'
Feingold smiled. 'Something along the lines of that,' he said, and pointed to the wooden plaque.
'Fair enough,' said Sir.
'Not that I'm a collector, you understand. But it does have a certain artistic appeal.'
'Indeed it does,' said Sir.
Feingold chuckled and turned to the robot. ' Andrew, you're going to be-well, not a rich man, but a rich robot. Does that please you?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And what do you plan to do with all the money you're going to make?'
'Pay for things, sir, which otherwise Sir would have had to pay for. It would save him expense, sir.'
Six
THE OCCASIONS for drawing on Andrew's bank account came more frequently than anyone had expected. From time to time Andrew, like any machine no matter how well made, was in need of repair-and robot repairs were invariably expensive. Then, too, there were the regular upgrades. Robotics had always been a dynamic industry, rapidly progressing from decade to decade since the days of the first massive, clunky products, which had not even had the ability to speak. Improvements in design, in function, in capabilities, were unending. With the passing years robots constantly became more sleek, ever more versatile, ever more deft of motion and durable of structure.
Sir saw to it that Andrew had the advantage of every new device that U. S. Robots developed. When the improved homeostasis circuitry came out, Sir made sure that it was installed in Andrew almost at once. When the new and far more efficient articulation of the leg-joint was perfected, using the latest elastomer technology, Andrew got it. When, a few years later, subtler face-panels-made of carbon fiber set in an epoxy matrix which looked less sketchily human than the old kind-became the rage, Andrew was modified accordingly, to provide him with the serious, sensitive, perceptive, artistic look which Sir-at Little Miss's prompting-had come to believe was appropriate to his nature. Little Miss wanted Andrew to be an absolute paragon of metallic excellence, and Sir felt the same way.
Everything was done at Andrew's expense, naturally.
Andrew insisted on that. He would not hear of letting Sir pay for any of the costs associated with his upgrades. A steady stream of magnificent work flowed from his little attic shop-one-of-a-kind masterpieces of carved jewelry fashioned from rare woods, sumptuous office furniture, elegant bedroom suites, wondrous lamps, and ornate bookcases.
There was no need for a showroom or catalogs, because word of mouth took care of everything and all of Andrew's output was commissioned months and then years in advance. The checks were made payable to Pacific Coast Artifactories, Incorporated, and Andrew Martin was the only officer of Pacific Coast Artifactories who was
