"Yes, you have, Father."
"But this, Mandy-this total absurdity-this monstrous nonsense that Andrew has thrown at me-!"
"Father!"
"I'm sorry. I can't stay calm when I'm confronted with absolute craziness."
"You know that Andrew is inherently incapable of craziness. Craziness just isn't included in his specifications."
"When he talks about getting his freedom-his freedom, by God!-what else can it be but craziness?" And Sir began to sputter and turn red again.
Andrew had never seen Sir in such a state-never. Once more he began to feel uneasy about being present in the room, and thus setting up such a threat to the old man's constitution. Sir seemed almost on the verge of an apoplectic fit. And if something should happen to him-something that would be a direct result of Andrew's having begun all this- Little Miss said, "Stop it, Father! Just stop it! You have no right to throw a tantrum over this!"
Andrew was astonished to hear Little Miss speaking to her father so harshly, so defiantly. She sounded like a mother scolding a cranky child. Suddenly it struck him that among human beings time must eventually reverse all the normal generational roles: that Sir, once so dynamic and autocratic and all-knowing, was now as weak and vulnerable as a child, and it was Little Miss's responsibility to guide and direct him as he struggled to understand the bewildering nature of the world.
It seemed a little strange to Andrew, too, that they would be enacting this highly charged scene in front of him. But of course no one in the Martin family had hesitated to talk in front of Andrew for thirty years-not even about the most intimate matters. Why should they feel any inhibitions in his presence? He was only a robot.
"Freedom-" Sir said. His voice was thick in his throat. "For a robot!"
"It's an unusual concept, yes. I admit that, Father. But why are you taking it as such a personal affront?"
"Am I? I'm taking it as an affront against logic! An affront against common sense! Look, Mandy, what would you say if your front porch came to you and said, 'I want my freedom. I want to move to Chicago and be a front porch there. I think being a front porch in Chicago would be personally more fulfilling than remaining in this place.' "
Andrew saw a muscle flicker in Little Miss's cheek. He understood abruptly that Sir's vehement reaction to his request must have some connection with Ma'am's decision, years ago, to end her marriage to Sir and leave, to seek her freedom as a single woman far away.
Human beings were so complicated!
Little Miss said, " A front porch can't say anything. Or decide to move itself anywhere else. Front porches aren't intelligent. Andrew is."
"Artificial intelligence."
"Father, you sound like the worst sort of Society-for-Humanity Fundamentalist bigot! Andrew has lived with you for decades. You know him as well as you know any member of your own family. -What am I saying? He is a member of your own family. Now, suddenly, you begin talking about him as though he's nothing but some ingenious kind of carpet sweeper! Andrew is a person and you know that very well."
"An artificial person," Sir said. But some of the conviction and force had left his tone.
"Artificial, yes. That's beside the point. This is the Twenty-Second Century, Father-and pretty far along in the Twenty-Second Century at that. Surely we're capable by now of recognizing that robots are intricate and sensitive organisms that have distinctive personalities, that have feelings, that have-well, that have souls. "
"I'd hate to have to defend that point in court," Sir said. He said it quietly, with a touch of amusement in his voice where the rancor had been just a few moments before. So he was regaining some control over himself, apparently. Andrew felt a sensation of relief.
"Nobody's asking you to defend it in court," said Little Miss. "Only to accept it within your own heart. Andrew wants you to give him a document saying that he's a free individual. He's willing to pay you generously for that document, unnecessary though any payment should be. It would be a simple statement of his autonomy. What's so terrible about that, may I ask?"
"I don't want Andrew to leave me," said Sir sullenly.
"Ah! That's it! That's the crux, isn't it, Father?"
There was no fire in Sir's eyes now. He seemed lost in self-pity. "I'm an old man. My wife is long gone, my older daughter is a stranger to me, my younger daughter has moved out and is on her own in the world. I'm all alone in this house-except for Andrew. And now he wants to move out too. Well, he can't. Andrew is mine. He belongs to me and I have the right to tell him to stay here, whether he likes it or not. He's had a damned easy time of it all these years, and if he thinks he can simply abandon me now that I'm getting old and sickly, he can-"
"Father-"
"He can just forget about it!" Sir cried. "Forget it! Forget it! Forget it!"
"You're getting yourself worked up again, Father."
"What if I am?"
"Slow down, ease back. When did Andrew say anything about leaving you?"
Sir looked confused. "Why, what else could he have meant by wanting his freedom?"
"A piece of paper is all he wants. A legal document. A bunch of words. He doesn't intend to go anywhere. What are you imagining, that he'll run off to Europe and set up a carpentry workshop there? No. No. He'll stay right here. He'll still be as loyal as ever. If you give him an order, he'll obey it without question, as he always has. Whatever you say. That won't change. Nothing will, really. Andrew wouldn't so much as be able to step outside the house if you told him not to. He can't help that. It's built in. All he wants is a form of words, Father. He wants to be called free. Is that so horrible? Is it so threatening to your Hasn't he earned it, Father?"
"So this is what you believe, is it? Some new nonsense that you've gotten into your head?"
"Not nonsense, Father. And not new, either. Heavens, Andrew and I have been talking about this for years!"
"Talking about it for years, have you? Years?"
"For years, yes, discussing it over and over again. It was my idea in the first place, as a matter of fact. I told him it was ridiculous for him to have to think of himself as some sort of walking gadget, when in fact he's so very much more than that. He didn't react at all well when I first proposed it to him. But then we went on talking, and after a time I saw that he was beginning to come around, and then he told me very straightforwardly that he did very much want to be free. 'Good,' I said. 'Tell my father and it'll all be arranged.' But he was afraid to. He kept on postponing it, because he was afraid you would be hurt. Finally I made him put it up to you."
Sir shrugged. "It was a foolish thing to do. He doesn't know what freedom is. How can he? He's a robot."
"You keep underestimating him, Father. He's a very special robot. He reads. He thinks about what he's read. He learns and grows from year to year. Maybe when he came here he was just a simple mechanical man like all the rest of them, but the capacity for growth was there in his pathways, whether his makers knew it or not, and he's made good use of that capacity. Father, I know Andrew and I tell you that he's every bit as complex a creature as-as-you and me."
"Nonsense, girl."
"How can you say that? He feels things inside. You must be aware of that. I'm not sure what he feels, most of the time, but I don't know what you feel inside a lot of the time either, and you've got the capacity for facial expression and all kinds of other body language that he doesn't. When you talk to him you see right away that he reacts to all kinds of abstract concepts-love, fear, beauty, loyalty, a hundred others-just as you and I do. What else counts but that? If someone else's reactions are very much like your own, how can you help but think that that someone else must be very much like yourself?"
"He isn't like us," Sir said. "He's something entirely different."
"He's someone entirely different," Little Miss said. " And not as different as you want to have me believe."
Sir shrugged. His face had turned gray now where it had been mottled with angry red blotches before, and he looked very, very old and weary.
He was silent for a long while, staring at his feet, pulling his lap-robe tighter around him. He still looked like an old emperor sitting sternly upright on his throne, but now he was more like an emperor who was seriously considering the possibility of abdicating.