have improved on that.
Lucky's mind shifted to a more immediate problem. He said, "I must find a shadowed area. Come with me."
The robot said at once, "I will direct you to the nearest shade." It set off at a trot, its metal legs moving with a certain irregularity.
Lucky followed the creature. He needed no direction to reach the shade, but he lagged behind to watch the robot's gait.
What had seemed to Lucky, from a distance, to be a lumbering or a clumsy pace, turned out, at close hand, to be a pronounced limp. A limp and a harsh voice. Two imperfections in this robot whose outer appearance was that of a magnificent mechanical marvel.
It struck him forcibly that the robot might not be adjusted to the heat and radiation of Mercury. Exposure had damaged it, probably. Lucky was scientist enough to feel a twinge of regret at that. It was too beautiful to have to endure such damage.
He regarded the machine with admiration. Underneath that massive skull of chrome-steel was a delicate ovoid of sponge platinum-indium about the size of a human brain. Within it, quadrillions of quadrillions of positrons came into being and vanished in millionths of a second. As they came into being and vanished they traced precalculated paths which duplicated, in a simplified way, the thinking cells of the human brain.
Engineers had calculated out those positronic paths to suit humanity, and into them they had designed the "Three Laws of Robotics."
The First Law was that a robot could not harm a human being or let one come to harm. Nothing came ahead of that. Nothing could substitute for it.
The Second Law was that a robot must obey orders except those that would break the First Law.
The Third Law allowed a robot to protect itself, provided the First and Second Laws weren't broken.
Lucky came out of his short reverie when the robot stumbled and almost fell. There was no unevenness in the ground that Lucky could see, no trifling ridge that might have caught his toe. If there had been, a line of black shadow would have revealed it.
The ground was table-smooth at that point. The robot's stride had simply broken for no reason and thrown him to one side. The robot recovered after threshing about wildly. Having done that, it resumed its stride toward the shade as though nothing had happened.
Lucky thought: It's definitely in poor working order.
They entered the shadow together, and Lucky turned on his suit-light.
He said, "You do wrong to destroy necessary equipment. You are doing harm to men."
There was no emotion in the robot's face; there could be none. Nor was there emotion in its voice. It said, "I am obeying orders."
"That is the Second Law," said Lucky severely. "Still, you may not obey orders that harm human beings. That would be to violate the First Law."
"I have not seen any men. I have harmed no one."
"You have harmed men you did not see. I tell you that."
"I have harmed no man," said the robot stubbornly, and Lucky frowned at the unthinking repetition. Despite its polished appearance, perhaps it was not a very advanced model.
The robot went on. "I have been instructed to avoid men. I have been warned when men were coming, but I was not warned about you."
Lucky stared out past the shadow at the glittering Mercurian landscape, ruddy and gray for the most part but blotched with a large area of the crumbly black material which seemed so common in this part of Mercury. He thought of Mindes spotting the robot twice (his story made sense now) and losing it when he tried to get closer. His own secret invasion of the Sun-side, combined with the use of an ergometer, had turned the trick, fortunately.
He said suddenly and forcefully,
"Who
warned you to avoid men?"
Lucky didn't really expect to catch the robot. A robot's mind is machinery, he thought. It cannot be tricked or fooled, any more than you can trick a suit-light into going on by jumping at the switch and pretending to close contact.
The robot said, "I have been instructed
Lucky's mind shifted to a more immediate problem. He said, "I must find a shadowed area. Come with me."
The robot said at once, "I will direct you to the nearest shade." It set off at a trot, its metal legs moving with a certain irregularity.
Lucky followed the creature. He needed no direction to reach the shade, but he lagged behind to watch the robot's gait.
What had seemed to Lucky, from a distance, to be a lumbering or a clumsy pace, turned out, at close hand, to be a pronounced limp. A limp and a harsh voice. Two imperfections in this robot whose outer appearance was that of a magnificent mechanical marvel.
It struck him forcibly that the robot might not be adjusted to the heat and radiation of Mercury. Exposure had damaged it, probably. Lucky was scientist enough to feel a twinge of regret at that. It was too beautiful to have to endure such damage.
He regarded the machine with admiration. Underneath that massive skull of chrome-steel was a delicate ovoid of sponge platinum-indium about the size of a human brain. Within it, quadrillions of quadrillions of positrons came into being and vanished in millionths of a second. As they came into being and vanished they traced precalculated paths which duplicated, in a simplified way, the thinking cells of the human brain.
Engineers had calculated out those positronic paths to suit humanity, and into them they had designed the "Three Laws of Robotics."
The First Law was that a robot could not harm a human being or let one come to harm. Nothing came ahead of that. Nothing could substitute for it.
The Second Law was that a robot must obey orders except those that would break the First Law.
The Third Law allowed a robot to protect itself, provided the First and Second Laws weren't broken.
Lucky came out of his short reverie when the robot stumbled and almost fell. There was no unevenness in the ground that Lucky could see, no trifling ridge that might have caught his toe. If there had been, a line of black shadow would have revealed it.
The ground was table-smooth at that point. The robot's stride had simply broken for no reason and thrown him to one side. The robot recovered after threshing about wildly. Having done that, it resumed its stride toward the shade as though nothing had happened.
Lucky thought: It's definitely in poor working order.
They entered the shadow together, and Lucky turned on his suit-light.
He said, "You do wrong to destroy necessary equipment. You are doing harm to men."
There was no emotion in the robot's face; there could be none. Nor was there emotion in its voice. It said, "I am obeying orders."
"That is the Second Law," said Lucky severely. "Still, you may not obey orders that harm human beings. That would be to violate the First Law."
"I have not seen any men. I have harmed no one."
"You have harmed men you did not see. I tell you that."
"I have harmed no man," said the robot stubbornly, and Lucky frowned at the unthinking repetition. Despite its polished appearance, perhaps it was not a very advanced model.
The robot went on. "I have been instructed to avoid men. I have been warned when men were coming, but I was not warned about you."
Lucky stared out past the shadow at the glittering Mercurian landscape, ruddy and gray for the most part but blotched with a large area of the crumbly black material which seemed so common in this part of Mercury. He thought of Mindes spotting the robot twice (his story made sense now) and losing it when he tried to get closer. His own secret invasion of the Sun-side, combined with the use of an ergometer, had turned the trick, fortunately.
He said suddenly and forcefully,
"Who
warned you to avoid men?"
Lucky didn't really expect to catch the robot. A robot's mind is machinery, he thought. It cannot be tricked or fooled, any more than you can trick a suit-light into going on by jumping at the switch and pretending to close contact.
The robot said, "I have been instructed
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