That didn’t bother Quinby. He said, “The rest ought to be easy. Once people understand what usuform robots can do for them—”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Quinby, it’s you who don’t quite understand. Your friend here doubtless does; he has a more realistic slant on things. But you— I wouldn’t say you idealize people, but you flatter them. You expect them to see things as clearly as you do. I’m afraid they usually don’t.”
“But surely when you explained to the Council the advantages of usuforms—”
“Do you think the Council passed the bill only because they saw those advantages? They passed it because I backed it, and because the renewal of the Martian concessions has for the moment put me in a powerful position. Oh, I know, we’re supposed to have advanced immeasurably beyond the political corruption of the earlier states; but let progress be what it may, from the cave man on up to the illimitable future, there are three things that people always have made and always will make: love, and music, and politics. And if there’s any difference between me and an old-time political leader, it’s simply that I’m trying to put my political skill at the service of mankind.”
I wasn’t listening too carefully to all this. The service of mankind wasn’t exactly a hobby of mine. Quinby and the Head were all out for usuforms because they were a service to man and the Empire of Earth; I was in it because it looked like a good thing. Of course, you can’t be around such a mixture of a saint, a genius, and a moron as Quinby without catching a little of it; but I tried to keep my mind fixed clear on what was in it for me.
And that was plenty. For the last couple of centuries our civilization had been based on robots—android robots. Quinby’s usuform robots—Q.U.R. robots— shaped not as mechanical men, but as independently thinking machines formed directly for their intended function—threatened the whole robot set-up. They were the biggest thing since Zwergenhaus invented the mechanical brain, and I was in on the ground floor.
With the basement shaking under me.
It was an android guard that interrupted the conference here. We hadn’t really got started on usuform manufacture yet, and anyway, Quinby was inclined to think that androids might be retained in some places for guards and personal attendants. He said, “Mr. Grew says that you will see him.”
The Head frowned. “Robinc has always thought it owned the Empire. Now Mr. Grew thinks he owns me. Well, show him in.” As the guard left, he added to us, “This Grew-Quinby meeting has to take place sometime. I’d rather like to see it.”
The president-owner of Robinc—Robots Incorporated, but nobody ever said it in full—was a quiet old man with silvery hair and a gentle sad smile. It seemed even sadder than usual today. He greeted the Head and then spoke my name with a sort of tender reproach that near hurt me.
“You,” he said. “The best trouble shooter that Robinc ever had, and now I find you in the enemy’s camp.”
But I knew his technique, and I was armed against being touched by it. “In the enemy’s camp?” I said. “I am the enemy. And it’s because I was your best trouble shooter that I learned the real trouble with Robinc’s androids: They don’t work, and the only solution is to supersede them.”
“Supersede is a kind word,” he said wistfully. “But the unkind act is destruction. Murder. Murder of Robinc itself, draining the lifeblood of our Empire.”
The Head intervened. “Not draining, Mr. Grew, but transfusing. The blood stream, to carry on your own metaphor, is tainted; we want fresh blood, and Mr. Quinby provides it.”
“I am not helpless, you know,” the old man murmured gently.
“I’m afraid possibly you are, sir, and for the first time in your life. But you know the situation: In the past few months there has been an epidemic of robot breakdowns. Parts unnecessary and unused, but installed because of our absurd insistence on an android shape, have atrophied. Sometimes even the brain has been affected; my own confidential cryptanalyst went totally mad. Quinby’s usuforms forestall any such problem.”
“The people will not accept them. They are conditioned to androids.”
“They must accept them. You know, better than most, the problems of supply that the Empire faces. The conservation of mineral resources is one of our essential aims. And usuforms will need variously from seventy to only thirty percent of the metal that goes into your androids. This is no mere matter of business rivalry; it is conflict between the old that depletes the Empire and the new that strengthens it.”
“And the old must be cast aside and rejected?”
“You,” I began, “have, of course, always shown such tender mercy to your business compet—” but Quinby broke in on me.
“I realize, Mr. Grew, that this isn’t fair to you. But there are much more important matters than you involved.”
“Thank you.” The gentle old voice was frigid.
“But I wouldn’t feel right if you were simply, as you put it, cast aside and rejected. If you’ll come to see us and talk things over, I’m pretty sure we can—”
“Sir!” Sanford Grew rose to his full short height. “I do not ask favors from puppies. I have only one request.” He turned to the Head. “The repeal of this ridiculous bill depriving Robinc of its agelong monopoly which has ensured the safety of the Empire.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grew. That is impossible.”
The hair was still silvery and the smile was still sad and gentle. But the words he addressed to us were, “Then you understand that this is war?”
Then he left. I didn’t feel too comfortable. Saving the Empire is all very well. Being a big shot in a great new enterprise is swell. But a war with something the size of
