After all, he thought, it was a very human attitude. Albert's words had been repeated down the entire course of human history.
"I have some other news," said Albert, "something that will please you. I have some daughters now."
"Daughters? With the mother-urge?"
"Six of them," said Albert proudly. "Alice and Angeline and Agnes and Agatha and Alberta and Abigail. I didn't make the mistake How-2 Kits made with me. I gave them female names."
"And all of them are reproducing?"
"You should see those girls! With seven of us working steady, we ran out of material, so I bought a lot more of it and charged it. I hope you don't mind."
"Albert," said Knight, "don't you understand I'm broke? Wiped out. I haven't got a cent. You've ruined me."
"On the contrary, Boss, we've made you famous. You've been all over the front pages and on television."
Knight walked away from Albert and stumbled up the front steps and let himself into the house. There was a robot, with a vacuum cleaner for an arm, cleaning the rug. There was a robot, with brushes instead of fingers, painting the woodwork-and very neatly, too. There was a robot, with scrub-brush hand, scouring the fireplace bricks.
Grace was singing in the studio.
He went to the studio door and looked in.
"Oh, it's you," she said. "When did you get back, dear? I'll be out in an hour or so. I'm working on this seascape and the water is so stubborn. I don't want to leave it right now. I'm afraid I'll lose the feel of it."
Knight retreated to the living room and found himself a chair that was not undergoing immediate attention from a robot.
"Beer," he said, wondering what would happen.
A robot scampered out of the kitchen-a barrel-bellied robot with a spigot at the bottom of the barrel and a row of shiny copper mugs on his chest.
He drew a beer for Knight. It was cold and it tasted good.
Knight sat and drank the beer and, through the window, he saw that Albert's defense force had taken up strategic positions again.
This was a pretty kettle of fish. If the decision went against him and How-2 Kits came to claim its property, he would be sitting smack dab in the middle of the most fantastic civil war in all of mankind's history. He tried to imagine what kind of charge might be brought against him if such a war erupted. Armed insurrection, resisting arrest, inciting to riot-they would get him on one charge or another-that is, of course, if he survived.
He turned on the television set and leaned back to watch.
A pimply-faced newscaster was working himself into a journalistic lather. "… all business virtually at a standstill. Many industrialists are wondering, in case Knight wins, if they may not have to fight long, costly legal actions in an attempt to prove that their automatic setups are not robots, but machines. There is no doubt that much of the automatic industrial system consists of machines, but in every instance there are intelligent robotic units installed in key positions. If these units are classified as robots, industrialists might face heavy damage suits, if not criminal action, for illegal restraint of person.
"In Washington, there are continuing consultations. The Treasury is worried over the loss of taxes, but there are other governmental problems causing even more concern. Citizenship, for example. Would a ruling for Knight mean that all robots would automatically be declared citizens?
"The politicians have their worries, too. Faced with a new category of voters, all of them are wondering how to go about the job of winning the robot vote."
Knight turned it off and settled down to enjoy another bottle of beer.
"Good?" asked the beer robot.
"Excellent," said Knight.
The days went past. Tension built up.
Lee and the lawyer robots were given police protection. In some regions, robots banded together and fled into the hills fearful of violence. Entire automatic systems went on strike in a number of industries, demanding recognition and bargaining rights. The governors in half a dozen states put the militia on alert. A new show, Citizen Robot, opened on Broadway and was screamed down by the critics, while the public bought up tickets for a year ahead.
The day of decision came.
Knight sat in front of his television set and waited for the judge to make his appearance. Behind him, he heard the bustle of the ever-present robots. In the studio, Grace was singing happily. He caught himself wondering how much longer her painting would continue. It had lasted longer than most of her other interests and he'd talked a day or two before with Albert about building a gallery to hang her canvases in, so the house would be less cluttered up.
The judge came onto the screen. He looked, thought Knight, like a man who did not believe in ghosts and then had seen one.
"This is the hardest decision I have ever made," he said tiredly, "for, in following the letter of the law, I fear I may be subverting its spirit.
"After long days of earnest consideration of both the law and evidence as presented in this case, I find for the defendant, Gordon Knight.
"And, while the decision is limited to that finding alone, I feel it is my clear and simple duty to give some attention to the other issue which became involved in this litigation. The decision, on the face of it, takes account of the fact that the defense proved robots are not property, therefore cannot be owned and that it thus would have been impossible for the defendant to have stolen one.
"But in proving this point to the satisfaction of this court, the precedent is set for much more sweeping conclusions. If robots are not property, they cannot be taxed as property. In that case, they must be people, which means that they may enjoy all the rights and privileges and be subjected to the same duties and responsibilities as the human race.
"I cannot rule otherwise. However, the ruling outrages my social conscience. This is the first time in my entire professional life that I have ever hoped some higher court, with a wisdom greater than my own, may see fit to reverse my decision!"
Knight got up and walked out of the house and into the hundred-acre garden, its beauty marred at the moment by the twelve-foot fence.
The trial had ended perfectly. He was free of the charge brought against him, and he did not have to pay the taxes, and Albert and the other robots were free agents and could do anything they wanted.
He found a stone bench and sat down upon it and stared out across the lake. It was beautiful, he thought, just the way he had dreamed it-maybe even better than that-the walks and bridges, the flower beds and rock gardens, the anchored model ships swinging in the wind on the dimpling lake.
He sat and looked at it and, while it was beautiful, he found he was not proud of it, that he took little pleasure in it.
He lifted his hands out of his lap and stared at them and curved his fingers as if he were grasping a tool. But they were empty. And he knew why he had no interest in the garden and no pleasure in it.
Model trains, he thought. Archery. A mechanobiologic dog. Making pottery. Eight rooms tacked onto the house.
Would he ever be able to console himself again with a model train or an amateurish triumph in ceramics? Even if he could, would he be allowed to?
He rose slowly and headed back to the house. Arriving there, he hesitated, feeling useless and unnecessary.
He finally took the ramp down into the basement.
Albert met him at its foot and threw his arms around him. "We did it, Boss! I knew we would do it!"
He pushed Knight out to arm's length and held him by the shoulders. "We'll never leave you, Boss. We'll stay and work for you. You'll never need to do another thing. We'll do it all for you!"
"Albert-"
"That's all right, Boss. You won't have to worry about a thing. We'll lick the money problem. We'll make a lot of lawyer robots and we'll charge good stiff fees."
"But don't you see…"
"First, though," said Albert, "we're going to get an injunction to preserve our birthright. We're made of steel and glass and copper and so forth, right? Well, we can't allow humans to waste the matter we're made of-or the energy, either, that keeps us alive. I tell you, Boss, we can't lose!"