"It sounded sarcastic, insofar as I can comprehend these things. "
"Did it, now? Maybe M334 should be here after all. Our conversation last night was your first real contact with the human race, wasn't it?" asked Derec, punching up a cup of coffee from the dispenser.
"Yes, and an auspicious one it was, too.”
“Whose tone is elusive now, Harry? How long have your pathways been consumed with the objective to achieve humor?"
"Since the replicating disaster that almost destroyed Robot City, from which you saved us, thank-you-very-much."
“And since then you've been pursuing your goal with the single-mindedness characteristic of robots?"
"How else?”
“How else, indeed. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that even humor has its time and place, that the average human being simply can't bear to be around someone who answers every query or makes every casual observation with a smart remark? It gets predictable after a while, and can cause an otherwise pleasant social situation to undergo rapid deterioration. Which is another way of saying that it gets boring. Dull. Mundane. Predictable."
"It fails to elicit the proper response."
"Robots can't laugh," said Derec cryptically, sipping his coffee. As bitter as bile, it was exactly what his nerves cried out for.
"I see you have deduced the basic conundrum in which I've found myself since I embarked on my little project."
"Believe me, it's obvious. But seriously, Harry, how would you react if you were walking down the street and a manhole suddenly opened up beneath you and you fell in?"
"What is a manhole? Is that some kind of sexual reference?"
"Ah, no, a manhole is an opening in the street, usually covered, through which someone can enter into a sewer or a boiler."
"Can you be certain there is nothing covertly sexual in those words? I have been diligently studying the craft of the double entendre, but there is much I have yet to grasp because all I know about human sexual matters is what material the central computer calls up for me."
"I must personally inspect that material as soon as possible. But to keep to the main subject, how would you feel if you fell down a manhole?"
Harry almost shrugged. "I would feel like going boom.”
“Seriously."
"My logic circuits would inform me that the end was near and, knowing me, would close themselves down in an orderly fashion before I suffered the indignity of random disruption."
"I see. And how would you feel if you were walking down the street and saw me falling down a manhole?"
"Why, logically, that should be hysterical. Unless of course you went splat before I could fulfill the demands of the First Law."
"Hmmm. You see, in such an eventuality, you would identify with my loss of dignity and, were you human, would relieve your anxiety by laughing. Before you rescued me, that is. The question is: how can you relieve anxiety if you can't laugh?"
"Everyone can agree it's funny. That is how my comrades inform me when they believe I am on the beam."
"But a comic performing jokes in front of an audience of robots can't stop his act after each joke to ask everyone if he's on the right track."
"There are ways around that. It is customary in a formal situation for robots to nod their heads if they think something is funny. At least, that is what I am trying to convince them to do."
Derec finished his coffee in a gulp and immediately punched up a second cup. "I see you've given this some thought."
"One or two."
"Is that an attempt at irony?”
“No, at a joke."
"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.