"No."
The granddaughter sat listening quietly, intently, eating little pretzels one by one from a bowl.
"How old are you, Jack?"
"Seven years."
"I'm eighty-three. How many machines do you know of that are as old as me? Eighty-three years old and still functioning?"
"I saw an automobile the other day," his granddaughter said. "A Dusenberg. It was red."
"How delightful. But it's not used for transportation anymore, is it? We have the stepping stages for that. I won an award once that had mounted on it a vacuum tube from Univac. That was the first real computer. Yet all its fame and historical importance couldn't keep it from the scrap heap."
"Univac," said the young man, "couldn't act on its own behalf. If it could, perhaps it would be alive today."
"Parts wear out."
"New ones can be bought."
"Yes, as long as there's the market. But there are only so many machine people of your make and model. A lot of you have risky occupations. There are accidents, and with every accident, the consumer market dwindles."
"You can buy antique parts. You can have them made."
"Yes, if you can afford them. And if not -- ?"
The young man fell silent.
"Son, you're not going to live forever. We've just established that. So now that you've admitted that you've got to die someday, you might as well admit that it's going to be sooner rather than later. Mechanical people are in their infancy. And nobody can upgrade a Model T into a stepping stage. Agreed?"
Jack dipped his head. "Yes."
"You knew it all along."
"Yes."
"That's why you behaved so badly toward that lush."
"Yes."
"I'm going to be brutal here, Jack -- you probably won't live to be eighty-three. You don't have my advantages."
"Which are?"
"Good genes. I chose my ancestors well."
"Good genes," Jack said bitterly. "You received good genes and what did I get in their place? What the hell did I get?"
"Molybdenum joints where stainless steel would do. Ruby chips instead of zirconium. A number seventeen plastic seating for -- hell, we did all right by you boys."
"But it's not enough."
"No. It's not. It was only the best we could do."
"What's the solution, then?" the granddaughter asked, smiling.
"I'd advise taking the long view. That's what I've done."
"Poppycock," the mech said. "You were an extensionist when you were young. I input your autobiography. It seems to me you wanted immortality as much as I do."
"Oh, yes, I was a charter member of the life-extension movement. You can't imagine the crap we put into our bodies! But eventually I wised up. The problem is, information degrades each time a human cell replenishes itself. Death is inherent in flesh people. It seems to be written into the basic program -- a way, perhaps, of keeping the universe from filling up with old people."
"And old ideas," his granddaughter said maliciously.
"Touche. I saw that life-extension was a failure. So I decided that my children would succeed where I failed. That you would succeed. And -- "
"You failed."
"But I haven't stopped trying!" The old man thumped the table in unison with his last three words. "You've obviously given this some thought. Let's discuss what I should have done. What would it take to make a true immortal? What instructions should I have given your design team? Let's design a mechanical man who's got a shot at living forever."
Carefully, the mech said, "Well, the obvious to begin with. He ought to be able to buy new parts and upgrades as they come available. There should be ports and connectors that would make it easy to adjust to shifts in technology. He should be capable of surviving extremes of heat, cold, and moisture. And -- " he waved a hand at his own face -- "he shouldn't look so goddamned pretty."
"I think you look nice," the granddaughter said.
"Yes, but I'd like to be able to pass for flesh."
"So our hypothetical immortal should be, one, infinitely upgradable; two, adaptable across a broad spectrum of conditions; and three, discreet. Anything else?"
"I think she should be charming," the granddaughter said.
"She?" the mech asked.
"Why not?"
"That's actually not a bad point," the old man said. "The organism that survives evolutionary forces is the one that's best adapted to its environmental niche. The environmental niche people live in is man-made. The single most useful trait a survivor can have is probably the ability to get along easily with other men. Or, if you'd rather, women."
"Oh," said the granddaughter, "he doesn't like women. I can tell by his body language."
The young man flushed.
"Don't be offended," said the old man. "You should never be offended by the truth. As for you -- " he turned to face his granddaughter -- "if you don't learn to treat people better, I won't take you places anymore."
She dipped her head. "Sorry."
"Apology accepted. Let's get back to task, shall we? Our hypothetical immortal would be a lot like flesh women, in many ways. Self-regenerating. Able to grow her own replacement parts. She could take in pretty much anything as fuel. A little carbon, a little water ..."