I killed that rotten kid. *** The change I mentioned occurs in the first line of the second stanza. I had it read, originally, “Why, stars above, it’s Asimov,” but the aforementioned maiden saw at once it ought to be “mazel tov.” This is a Hebrew phrase meaning “good fortune” and it is used by Jews as a joyful greeting on jubilant occasions—as a meeting with me should surely be.
Ten years have passed since I wrote the poem and, of course, the impression of incredible age which I leave among those who know me only from my writings is now even stronger. When this poem was written, I had published a mere 66 books, and now, ten years later, the score stands at 175, so that it’s been a decade of constant mental conflagration.
Just the same, I’ve kept my old-time spark even yet. My step is still light and my eye is still bright. What’s more, I’m as suave in my conversations with young women as I have ever been (which is very suave indeed). That bit about my hair being “thick and dark” must be modified, however. There is no danger of baldness but, oh me, I am turning gray. In recent years, I have grown a generous pair of fluffy sideburns, and they are almost white.
And now that you know the worst about me, let’s go on to the stories themselves or, rather (for you are not quite through with me), to my introductory comments to the first story.
The beginning of FEMININE INTUITION is tied up with Judy-Lynn Benjamin, whom I met at the World Science Fiction Convention in New York City in 1967. Judy-Lynn has to be seen to be believed—an incredibly intelligent, quick-witted, hard-driving woman who seems to be burning constantly with a bright radioactive glow.
She was managing editor of Galaxy in those days.
On March 21, 1971, she married that lovable old curmudgeon Lester del Rey, and knocked off all his rough edges in two seconds flat. At present, as Judy-Lynn del Rey, she is a senior editor at Ballantine Books and is generally recognized (especially by me) as one of the top editors in the business. [You may have noticed that this book is dedicated to her.]
Back in 1968, when Judy-Lynn was still at Galaxy, we were sitting in a bar in a New York hotel and she introduced me, I remember, to something called a “grasshopper.” I told her I didn’t drink because I had no capacity for alcohol, but she said I would like this one, and the trouble is I did.
It’s a green cocktail with creme de menthe, and cream, and who knows what else in it, and it is delicious. I only had one on this occasion, so I merely graduated to a slightly higher than normal level of the loud bonhomie that usually characterizes me and was still sober enough to talk business. [A year or so later during the course of a science fiction convention, Judy-Lynn persuaded me to have two grasshoppers and I was instantly reduced to a kind of wild drunken merriment, and since then no one lets me have grasshoppers any more. Just as well!]
Judy-Lynn suggested I write a story about a female robot. Well, of course, my robots are sexually neutral, but they all have masculine names and I treat them all as males. The turnabout suggestion was good.
I said, “Gee, that’s an interesting idea,” and was awfully pleased, because Ed Ferman had asked me for a story with which to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of Fantasy and Science Fiction and I had agreed, but, at the moment, did not have an idea in my head.
On February 8, 1969, in line with the suggestion, I began FEMININE INTUITION. When it was done, Ed took it and the story was indeed included in the October 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction, the twentieth- anniversary issue. It appeared as the lead novelette, too.
Between the time I sold it, however, and the time it appeared, Judy-Lynn said casually to me one day, “Did you ever do anything about my idea that you write a story about a female robot?”
I said enthusiastically, “Yes, I did, Judy-Lynn, and Ed Ferman is going to publish it. Thanks for the suggestion.”
Judy-Lynn’s eyes opened wide and she said in a very dangerous voice, “Stories based on my ideas go to me, you dummy. You don’t sell them to the competition.”
She went on to expound on that theme for about half an hour and my attempts to explain that Ed had asked me for a story before the time of the suggestion and that she had never quite made it clear that she wanted the story for herself were brushed aside with scorn.
Anyway, Judy-Lynn, here’s the story again, and I’m freely admitting that the suggestion of a female robot was yours. Does that make everything all right? (No, I didn’t think so.)
The Three Laws of Robotics:
1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
For the first time in the history of United States Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation, a robot had been destroyed through accident on Earth itself.
No one was to blame. The air vehicle had been demolished in mid-air and an unbelieving investigating committee was wondering whether they really dared announce the evidence that it had been hit by a meteorite. Nothing else could have been fast enough to prevent automatic avoidance; nothing else could have done the damage short of a nuclear blast and that was out of the question.
Tie that in with a report of a flash in the night sky just before the vehicle had exploded—and from Flagstaff Observatory, not from an amateur—and the location of a sizable and distinctly meteoric bit of iron freshly gouged into the ground a mile from the site and what other conclusion could be arrived at?
Still, nothing like that had ever happened before and calculations of the odds against it yielded monstrous figures. Yet even colossal improbabilities can happen sometimes.
At the offices of United States Robots, the hows and whys of it were secondary. The real point was that a robot had been destroyed.
That, in itself, was distressing.
The fact that JN-5 had been a prototype, the first, after four earlier attempts, to have been placed in the field, was even more distressing.
The fact that JN-5 was a radically new type of robot, quite different from anything ever built before, was abysmally distressing.
The fact that JN-5 had apparently accomplished something before its destruction that was incalculably important and that that accomplishment might now be forever gone, placed the distress utterly beyond words.
It seemed scarcely worth mentioning that, along with the robot, the Chief Robopsychologist of United States Robots had also died.
Clinton Madarian had joined the firm ten years before. For five of those years, he had worked uncomplainingly under the grumpy supervision of Susan Calvin.
Madarian’s brilliance was quite obvious and Susan Calvin had quietly promoted him over the heads of older men. She wouldn’t, in any case, have deigned to give her reasons for this to Research Director Peter Bogert, but as it happened, no reasons were needed. Or, rather, they were obvious.
Madarian was utterly the reverse of the renowned Dr. Calvin in several very noticeable ways. He was not
