someone fit for the job take over from him. And the place they’re likeliest to know about who that person is I imagine must be the world he himself hailed from: Creew ’n Dith. So I’ll see if I can make my way there.”
“You only need to walk into a government office right here on Newholme, show that certificate and say you discovered Talibrand’s body, and you’ll be given a free flight there on a luxury liner.”
Horn thought that over, and finally shook his head. “I guess maybe it would be better if I didn’t,” he said. “It’d attract new coverage and all sorts of publicity. No, if I have to I can probably pay my way. Or work my passage.”
Dize tapped out his pipe on the washbowl and rinsed away the dottle. “I like the way you think, Horn,” he said, and there was no trace of his former patronizing tone. “Come on—let’s take that ride into town and find ourselves a drink.”
Now the sensation of being elsewhere than on Earth really started to assail him. Superficialities, first: the differentmaterials used to pave the roads, the different layout of the houses, smaller but not so closely packed together. There were hardly any private helis—though big public hundred-seater models lined the edge of the spaceport. Most of the traffic consisted of groundcars that hummed and crackled as they passed, running, so Dize told him, on solar conversion batteries at present because it was local summer, but in winter using broadcast power.
After the differences, the identities. The streets of the town they traveled to, aboard a public groundcar seating sixty which they caught at the exit from the spaceport, were lined with men and women of the same species as on Earth—their clothing strange, their average complexion significantly paler because so much more emigration had taken place from rich countries than poor ones during the great phase of human colonisation, and perhaps half a head shorter on average than their Earthside cousins. But still they were human beings.
Poorer
human beings. That was a point. Their bus was controlled by a human driver; on Earth, of course, all public transport no matter how short the distance it operated over was in the care of unwearying automatics. It struck Horn that a reliable index of living standard must be the number of repetitive tasks still assigned to human beings.
Surely, though, merely plying a bus back and forth over a fixed route was something an android could have done just as well as a man, without wasting the man’s special talents? He mentioned this point to Dize, who gave a dry laugh.
“How many androids have you seen since you landed?”
Horn hesitated. “Well—ah …”
“Any at all? Thought not! Man, androids
cost!
You can go weeks at a time on Newholme, even in a big city, and not see one of them. Ninety per cent of the androids hereat any given moment are in transit to Earth. We pass ’em on, and in exchange we get robots. Androids we can manage without, robots not.”
“Don’t you build robots on Newholme?”
“Sure, but they’re not in the same class with the ones your grandad makes.”
“Even so, running a bus—”
“Watch the driver for a while. He knows his regular passengers, doesn’t he? Chats with them friendly! We like that, here on Newholme. Oh, sure we’re gong to go automatic eventually, but right now we’re still scraping the surface of our planetary resources. We need the advanced robots we can build or buy for the dangerous jobs where you wouldn’t risk a human life—mining, working under the oceans, clearing the straits between islands of the rocks which get in the way of our submarines. Get the picture? Ah, here we are—this is my stop!”
Obediently Horn followed him to the exit, and found himself in a quiet residential street with native trees shading long one-story houses. Dize flung open the gate of the nearest and two boys of about eight and ten came clamoring to greet him.
Horn hung back in slight
“You only need to walk into a government office right here on Newholme, show that certificate and say you discovered Talibrand’s body, and you’ll be given a free flight there on a luxury liner.”
Horn thought that over, and finally shook his head. “I guess maybe it would be better if I didn’t,” he said. “It’d attract new coverage and all sorts of publicity. No, if I have to I can probably pay my way. Or work my passage.”
Dize tapped out his pipe on the washbowl and rinsed away the dottle. “I like the way you think, Horn,” he said, and there was no trace of his former patronizing tone. “Come on—let’s take that ride into town and find ourselves a drink.”
Now the sensation of being elsewhere than on Earth really started to assail him. Superficialities, first: the differentmaterials used to pave the roads, the different layout of the houses, smaller but not so closely packed together. There were hardly any private helis—though big public hundred-seater models lined the edge of the spaceport. Most of the traffic consisted of groundcars that hummed and crackled as they passed, running, so Dize told him, on solar conversion batteries at present because it was local summer, but in winter using broadcast power.
After the differences, the identities. The streets of the town they traveled to, aboard a public groundcar seating sixty which they caught at the exit from the spaceport, were lined with men and women of the same species as on Earth—their clothing strange, their average complexion significantly paler because so much more emigration had taken place from rich countries than poor ones during the great phase of human colonisation, and perhaps half a head shorter on average than their Earthside cousins. But still they were human beings.
Poorer
human beings. That was a point. Their bus was controlled by a human driver; on Earth, of course, all public transport no matter how short the distance it operated over was in the care of unwearying automatics. It struck Horn that a reliable index of living standard must be the number of repetitive tasks still assigned to human beings.
Surely, though, merely plying a bus back and forth over a fixed route was something an android could have done just as well as a man, without wasting the man’s special talents? He mentioned this point to Dize, who gave a dry laugh.
“How many androids have you seen since you landed?”
Horn hesitated. “Well—ah …”
“Any at all? Thought not! Man, androids
cost!
You can go weeks at a time on Newholme, even in a big city, and not see one of them. Ninety per cent of the androids hereat any given moment are in transit to Earth. We pass ’em on, and in exchange we get robots. Androids we can manage without, robots not.”
“Don’t you build robots on Newholme?”
“Sure, but they’re not in the same class with the ones your grandad makes.”
“Even so, running a bus—”
“Watch the driver for a while. He knows his regular passengers, doesn’t he? Chats with them friendly! We like that, here on Newholme. Oh, sure we’re gong to go automatic eventually, but right now we’re still scraping the surface of our planetary resources. We need the advanced robots we can build or buy for the dangerous jobs where you wouldn’t risk a human life—mining, working under the oceans, clearing the straits between islands of the rocks which get in the way of our submarines. Get the picture? Ah, here we are—this is my stop!”
Obediently Horn followed him to the exit, and found himself in a quiet residential street with native trees shading long one-story houses. Dize flung open the gate of the nearest and two boys of about eight and ten came clamoring to greet him.
Horn hung back in slight
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