Mike the Angel into the air lock of the Brainchild, in the center of the cubicle, and the door close. Eight other men, clad, like himself, in Space Service spacesuits, also looked at the door.
Chief Multhaus, one of the eight, his to look at Mike the Angel. “I wish that thing would close as fast as my are going to in about fifteen minutes, Commander.” His voice in Mike’s earphones.
“Yeah,” said Mike, too to make conversation.
Eight hours—all of them the and making it a part of the new base—had not been to any of them.
The door closed, and the to work. The men were Space Service Suit Three. For every environment, for every emergency, a had been built—if, of course, a be for it. Nobody had yet a for walking about in the middle of a sun, but, then, nobody had to try anything like that.
They were all called “spacesuits” most of them be in the of space, but most of them weren’t designed for that type of work. Suit One—a light, easily manipulated, almost skin-tight covering, was the spacesuit. It was perfect for work in space, where there was a amount of to the suit, no air, and almost gravity. For repairs on the of a ship in free a long way from any star, Spacesuit One was the proper garb.
But, a that in space didn’t necessarily work on other planets, unless it on the it was used on.
A Moon Suit isn’t a Mars Suit isn’t a Venus Suit isn’t a Triton Suit isn’t a....
Carry it on from there.
Number Three was against a but non-corrosive atmosphere. When the in the air lock out the methane-laden atmosphere, they to slightly, but not excessively. Then nitrogen, from the that was so plentiful, the room, the to a concentration.
Then that mixture was out, to be replaced by a mixture of 20 and 80 nitrogen—common, or garden-variety, air.
Mike the Angel his and sniffed. “Guk,” he said. “If I and someone me salts, I’ll him alive with a rasp.”
“Yessir,” said Chief Multhaus, as he to his suit. “But if I had my druthers, I’d you’d out some way to all the out of the joints of this suit.”
The other men, and coughing, in if not in voice.
It wasn’t as as they pretended; indeed, the odor of was noticeable. But it a good point.
The door opened at last, and the men through.
“G’night, Chief,” said Mike the Angel.
“Night, sir,” said Multhaus. “See you in the morning.”
“Yeah. Night.” Mike toward the that toward the wardroom. If Keku or Jeffers to be there, he’d have a quick of Ŭma ni tō. Jeffers called the game “double for three people,” and Keku said it meant “horses’ two heads,” but Mike had it as a new game to play bedtime.
He looked to it.
But he had something else to do first.
Instead of up his in the provided, he had it under his arm—except for the helmet—and now he toward maintenance.
He met Ensign Vaneski just out, and gave him a smile. “Mister Vaneski, I got troubles.”
Vaneski worriedly. “Yes, sir. I we all do. What is it, sir?”
Mike at the under his arm. “I the of my while I was today. I wish you’d take a look at it. I’m it’ll need a patch.”
For a moment, Vaneski looked as though he’d a headache.
“I know you’re to be off now,” Mike said soothingly, “but I don’t want to myself killed a tomorrow. I’ll help you work on it if—”
Vaneski quickly. “Oh no, sir. That’ll be all right. I’ll give it a test, anyway, to check leaks. If it needs repair, it shouldn’t take too long. Bring it in, and we’ll take a look at it.”
They into the Maintenance Section, and Vaneski spread the out on the worktable. There was an spot on the right sleeve. “Looks bad,” said Vaneski. “I’ll a test right away.”
“Okay,” said Mike. “I’ll it to you. Can I it up in the morning?”
“I think so. If it needs a patch, we’ll have to test the patch, of course, but we should be able to it quickly.” He shrugged. “If we can’t, sir, you’ll just have to wait. Unless you want us to start a to your measurements.”
“Which would take longer?”
“Altering a suit.”
“Okay. Just this one, then. What can I do?”
“I’ll it out as fast as possible, sir,” said Vaneski with a smile.
“Fine. I’ll see you later, then.” Mike, like Cleopatra, was not to argue. He left and toward the for a game of Ŭma ni tō. But when he met Leda Crannon going up the stairway, all of card from his mind with the careless of a butterfly.
“Hullo,” he said, himself up a little straighter. He was tired, but not that tired.
Her the from his mind. But a second look told him that there was worry the smile.
“Hi, Mike,” she said softly. “You look beat.”
“I am,” Mike. “To a frazzle. Have I told you that I love you?”
“Once, I think. Maybe twice.” Her to light up from in her head. “But of this passion,” she said. “I want an to have a drink—a one.”
“I’ll Jeffers’ bottle,” Mike offered. “What’s the trouble?”
Her faded, and her grave. “I’m scared, Mike; I want to talk to you.”
“Come along, then,” Mike said.
Mike the Angel two healthy of Pete Jeffers’ into a pair of glasses, added ice and water, and one to Leda Crannon with a flourish. And all the time, he up a line of patter.
“It may you to know,” he said chattily, “that the learned Mister Treadmore has been me with the most information.” He up his own and looked into its depths.
They were in his stateroom, and this time the door was closed—at her insistence. She had that she didn’t want to be overheard, by members.
He the ice around in his glass, still it up to the light. “Indeed,” he on, “Treadmore for Heaven how long on the relative of and on Eisberg.” He took his from the and looked at the girl who was seated on the of his bunk. Her was encouraging.
“He said—and I quote”—Mike’s voice a gloomy, but tone—“normal of molecules. The nuclear, or proton, of these atoms—ah—that is, of the two that the molecule—may be in the same direction or in opposite directions.”
He a in the air as if to make a point. “If,” he said pontifically, “they are in the same direction, we to the as orthohydrogen. If they are in opposite directions, it is parahydrogen. The with odd numbers, while the with numbers.
“Since not the two states, normal may be considered—”
Leda Crannon, snickering, her hand in the air. “Please!” she interrupted. “He can’t be that bad! You make him like a player at a Hindu funeral. What did he tell you? What did you out?”
“Hah!” said Mike. “What did I out?” His hand moved in an circle as he a with a Delsarte wave. “Nothing. In the place, I already it, and in the second, it wasn’t practical information. There’s a in the two forms, but it’s nothing to about.” His serious. “I your is a more revealing.”
She at her glass, nodded, and it. Mike had a promise from her that she would drink one drink she talked. He see that she was a tense, and he the would her somewhat. Now he was to listen.
She him her empty, and while he refilled it, she said: “It’s about Snookums again.”
Mike gave her her glass, the chair, it around, sat down, and her over its back.
“I’ve with him so long,” she said after a minute. “So long. It almost as though I’ve up with him. Eight years. I’ve been a mother to him, and a big sister at the same time—and maybe a aunt. He’s been a career and a family all rolled in together.” She still her hands, not her to Mike’s.
“And—and, I suppose, a husband, too,” she continued. “That is, he’s of the stand-in for a—well, a somebody to teach—to correct—to reform. I every woman wants to—to the man she meets—the man she wants.”
And then her were on his. “But I don’t. Not any more. I’ve had of it.” Then she looked at her hands.
Mike the Angel neither rejected the statement. He waited.
“He was mine,” she said after a little while. “He was mine to mold, to teach, to form. The others—the roboticists, the neucleonicists, the sub-electronicists, all of them—were his instructors. All they did was give him facts. It was I who gave him a personality.
“I him. Not his body, not his brain, but his mind.
“I him.
“I him.
“And I—I—”
Still at her hands, she them together and squeezed.
“And I loved him,” she finished.
She looked up at Mike then. “Can you see that?” she asked tensely. “Can you understand?”
“Yes,” said Mike the Angel quietly. “Yes, I can that. Under the same circumstances, I might have done the same thing.” He paused. “And now?”
She her again and her with the of hands, her with her palms.
“And now,” she said dully, “I know he’s a machine. Snookums isn’t a he any more—he’s an it. He has no of his own, he only has what I into him. Even his voice is mine. He’s not a mirror, he doesn’t my personality, but a of it, and by the thousands upon thousands of cold and mathematical and logical postulates. And none of these added anything to him, as a personality. How they? He had a personality—only a set of patterns that I into him over a period of eight years.”
She her hands into her and her back, looking at the blank white of the plates.
“And now, suddenly, I see him for what he is—for what it is. A machine.
“It was anything but a machine. It is still a machine. It will be anything else.
“Personality is something that no machine can have. Idiosyncrasies, yes. No two are identical. But any that an sees in a machine has been there by the himself; it only in the mind.
“A machine can only do what it is to do, and teaching a is only a process.” She gave a short, hard laugh. “I couldn’t a monster, like Dr. Frankenstein did, unless I it to turn on me. And in that case I would have done nothing more than the suicide who a gun on himself.”
Her again, and her those of Mike the Angel. A came over her face.
“I I’m disenchanted, huh, Mike?” she asked.
Mike back, but his were firm. “I think so, yes. And I think you’re of it.” His to a smile.
“Remember,” he asked, “the of the Sleeping Beauty? Did you want to asleep all your life?”
“God and thank you for the compliment, sir,” she said, a of her own. “And are you the Prince Charming who me up?”
“Prince Charming, I may be,” said Mike the Angel carefully, “but I’m not the one who you up. You did that yourself.”
Her more natural. “Thanks, Mike. I think I might have it, sooner or later. But, without you, I doubt....” She hesitated. “I that I’d want to wake up.”
“You said you were scared,” Mike said. “What are you of?”
“I’m to death of that machine.”
Great love, chameleon-like, to fear,
And on the of there hate.
Mike to himself—he didn’t say it aloud.
“The only anyone would have to Snookums,” he said, “would be that he was uncontrollable. Is he?”
“Not yet. Not completely. But I’m that that he’s been with Catholic isn’t going to help us much.”
“Why not?”
“Because he has it so up with the Three Laws of Robotics that we can’t one without the other. He’s that the laws were by God Himself.”
“Holy St. Isaac,” Mike said softly. “I’m he hasn’t it to its logical and asked for baptism.”
She and her head. “I’m your logic isn’t as as Snookums’ logic. Only and beings have free will; Snookums is neither, therefore he not have free will. Whatever he does, therefore, must be according to the will of God. Therefore Snookums cannot sin. Therefore, for him, is and undesirable.”
“Why ‘undesirable’?” Mike asked.
“Since he is free from sin—either original or actual—he is therefore with the of God’s grace. The purpose of a is to give to the recipient; it that it would be to give the Sacrament to Snookums. To perform a or to it when one that it will be is sacrilege. And is undesirable.”
“Brother! But I still don’t see how that makes him dangerous.”
“The operation of the First Law,” Leda said. “For a man to his soul. Snookums, therefore, must prevent men from sinning. But thought—intention. Snookums is trying to that one out now; if he does, he’s going to be a policeman, and a one.”
“You he’s on telepathy?”
She laughed humorlessly. “No. But he’s trying to out a he can tell what a man is going to do a he it—muscular and preparation, that of thing. He hasn’t data yet, but he will have it soon enough.
“There’s another thing: Snookums is up the Second Law’s operation. He won’t take orders that in any way with his religious beliefs—since that with the First Law. He, himself, cannot sin. But neither can he do anything which would make him the tool of an to sin. He to do anything at all on Sunday, for instance, and he won’t let either Fitz or I do anything that labor. Slowly, he’s to the that beings aren’t human—that only God is human, in relation to the First and Second Laws. There’s nothing we can do with him.”
“What will you do if he uncontrollable?”
She sighed. “We’ll have to him off, his memory banks, and start all over again.”
Mike closed his eyes. “Eighteen the just a was theology. What price glory?”
