"I think that for other robots to find your sense of humor worthwhile, you're going to have to think of angles that relieve their own robotic anxieties. I'm not exactly sure what those would be. You could make fun of their foibles. Or you could write and perform skits about a robot who's so literal-minded that he sometimes can't understand what's really going on around him. Some of Shakespeare's characters have that trait, and they're human, but it makes sense that a robot character would exaggerate things to ludicrous lengths."
"You mean a character who understands the letters of the words but not their shades of meaning."
"But the audience will. As robots, they will naturally have positronic anxieties concerning their own literal-minded traits relieved by identifying with him. He doesn't necessarily have to be sympathetic, even; he could have the kind of personality robots would love to hate, if they were capable of either emotion."
"What kind of anxieties do humans have?"
"It's difficult for me to say. I don't remember any humans. I've just read a few books. Many of Shakespeare's jokes, his puns, his slapstick, have a ribald, bawdy humor that strikes me as slightly off-color today, despite the gulf of the centuries between us. So I guess it's safe to say there's always been a certain amount of sexual anxiety in human beings, and one of the ways they relieve it-or learn how to deal with it-is through humor. "
Harry nodded as if he understood what Derec was talking about. Now, if I only felt the same, Derec thought. I'm strictly on shaky ground here.
"In that case, you could explain an old Spacer joke to me that I have been trying to work into my act."
"Okay?…Your act!?"
"My act. Until now I have only told jokes to my personal acquaintances-comrades who understand what I am attempting to do. But I have been preparing a presentation for an assembly. An act."
"How many jokes do you have?”
"A couple. I have failed to generate original material, so I have been investigating the vocal rhythms behind existing jokes."
"To hone your timing?”
“Yes, insofar as I comprehend what that talent includes. There are no voice tapes for me to investigate, though the reference texts contain frequent entries on such material. "
"Okay, Harry," said Derec, chuckling at the concept of all this as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter. "Fire away!"
"With post haste, sir. One day three men in a lifepod are coming in for a landing at the local spacedock. They had been marooned for several days and eagerly anticipate their return to the comforts of civilization. One man is a Settler, another an Auroran, and the third a Solarian."
Derec hid his grin with his palm. Harry's delivery was indeed awkward, and his few gestures bore little connection to what he was saying, but a solid effort was apparent. Also, the unlikely combination of the characters' derivations already promised interesting interaction. Historically, there was much social friction between the groups: Aurorans and Solarians both disliked the Settlers because of their recent "third-class" colonization of the planets; and there had never been much love lost between the Aurorans and Solarians, especially since the latter had mysteriously abandoned their world and vanished. Derec already made a mental note to tell Ariel this one.
"So the three men are just overhead the dock when suddenly a freighter's radar malfunctions and the gigantic ship crosses directly in front of their flight path. A crash is inevitable, and the three men prepare themselves for their last moments.
"A logical thing to do," said Derec. Immediately, he feared that his words might have disrupted Harry's rhythm, such as it was, and so resolved to remain quiet for the duration of the joke.
Harry, on the other hand, continued doggedly as if nothing had happened. "All of a sudden-mere instants before the crash-all three men are bathed in a yellow light-and they disappear into thin air!
"They look around and they fail to perceive their pod, the freighter, or the docks. They are in some kind of infinite pool of blue light-face-to-face with a strange man with a wreath of leafy twigs around his head. The strange man has a white beard, wears burlap robes, and carries a wooden staff. The men realize they are in the company of some kind of deity.
"'I am known throughout the spheres of space and time as He Who Points The Fickle Finger Of Fate,' the man says, 'and I have come to point the finger at you.' And true to his word, he points at the Settler and says, 'You shall live through the next few moments, but only if you promise never again to drink any sort of alcoholic beverage. Ever. The moment you take a drink, regardless of how many years from now it is, you will die an instant death. Do you understand?'
"'I do, sir,' says the Settler, 'though is it not asking much from a Settler to expect him to forego the delights of alcohol for an entire lifetime?'
"'Perhaps it is,' says He Who, 'but my demand stands nonetheless. I repeat, the instant a liquid containing alcohol touches your lips, you shall die as surely as if you had died in the crash.'
"'Then I agree,' says the Settler reluctantly.
"And He Who points to the Auroran and says, 'You must give up all greed.'
"'I accept!' says the Auroran at once. 'It's a deal!'
"And He Who points to the Solarian and says, 'And last, you must give up all sexual thoughts, except for those you might have strictly for purposes of socially acceptable wedded bliss.'
"'Excuse me, sir,' says the Solarian, 'but that is impossible. Do you not know what we Solarians have been through? Because our centuries of social and personal repression have ended so recently, we have little choice but to think about our new freedoms, and often.'
"He Who frowns and shakes his head. 'That is no concern of mine. The three of you have my terms. Accept them or die.,
"'I accept it,' the Solarian says.
"There is another flash of blinding light, and the three men find themselves standing on the ground as, in the distance, their pod crashes spectacularly into the freighter. They all experience profound relief. The Settler wipes his forehead and says, 'I am ecstatic that this little episode has concluded. Look, yonder is a bar. Join me as I down some spirits by way of celebrating our good fortune.'
"The Auroran and the Solarian agree. They both desire libation, and in addition desire to see what will happen to the Settler.
"Indeed, the very second that the Settler consumes his first drink, he dies on the proverbial spot. 'Leaping galaxies, the strange man was speaking the truth,' says the Auroran. 'We must vacate these premises!'
"The Solarian agrees enthusiastically. But on the way out' the Auroran espies a rare and valuable jewel beneath a deserted table. The Auroran cannot resist. And just as he bends over to pick up the jewel-the Solarian dies!"
Harry ceased talking, and the longer Derec waited for the robot's next words, the more apparent it became that the joke was over. At first he didn't understand and he had to visualize the scene and what must have happened. The Auroran bending over…the Solarian breaking his word…
Derec burst out laughing. "Ha, ha! That's pretty good. Very unpredictable. "
"I understand that, sir," Harry said. "I realize that the narrative leads you to believe the Auroran is next, but I fail to comprehend exactly what the Solarian could possibly have been thinking of. The central computer has thus far been unable to find material that would enlighten me. Would you care to explain?"
"No, no. I really do believe there are some things a robot was not meant to know."
"Do I have your permission to ask Miss Ariel the same question?"
"Not before I ask her something slightly similar." He took Harry by the arm and began leading him toward the door. "Now I've got to get you out of here. Lucius is due, and I'd like to talk to him alone, if you don't mind."
"Sir, how could I possibly do that?" Harry asked.
"Just a figure of speech," said Derec, reaching for the doorknob. But before he had a chance to touch it, the door opened from the other side.