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Smythe. NDR-113 is performing his assigned duties perfectly. The problem is
that the robot appears to have a few capabilities that weren't apparent in the
specifications when you and I first discussed the notion of outfitting my home
with a staff of robot servants."
Smythe's look of concern began to shade into serious apprehensiveness now.
"Are you saying that he's overstepping its programmed group of
responsibilities and doing things he hasn't been asked to do?"
"Not at all. You'd have heard from me a lot sooner if anything like that was
going on, I guarantee you. No, Mr. Smythe, the thing is that quite
unexpectedly he's gone in for woodworking. He makes wooden jewelry and
furniture. My younger daughter gave him a very small request along those lines
and he fulfilled it in a fashion that was beyond all expectation, and I've had
him make a good many other things since. The way he carves wood is something
phenomenally exquisite and he never does anything the same way twice. And what
he produces are works of art, Mr. Smythe. Absolute works of art. Any museum
would be proud to display them."
Smythe was silent for a time when Sir finished speaking. The corners of his
mouth quirked a little but he showed no other outward display of emotion.
Then he said, "The NDR series is relatively versatile, Mr. Martin. It's not
entirely unthinkable that an NDR should be able to do a little cabinetwork."
"I thought I made it clear that this goes far beyond being 'a little
cabinetwork,' " said Sir.
"Yes. I suppose you have." There was another long pause. Then Smythe said,
"I'd like to see some of this work. I'd like to have a look at this robot of
yours, for that matter. Would it be all right, Mr. Martin, if I flew out to
the Coast and gave him a quick inspection?"
"But if you need to inspect him, wouldn't you want to do it under laboratory
conditions? You'd need to have all sorts of testing equipment, I'd imagine,
and how could you transport all that to my house? It seems to me that it would
be much easier all around if I simply brought Andrew to your headquarters,
where he could be checked out properly."
"Andrew?"
Page 17
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Sir smiled briefly. "My girls call him that. From NDR, you know."
"Yes. Yes, I see. But there's no need for you to go to the inconvenience of
flying east, Mr. Martin. I'm overdue for a visit to some of our West Coast
facilities anyway, and this will give me a good excuse to go out there. And at
this point I don't intend to put your NDR through any sort of complicated
tests. I'd just like to talk to him a bit--and to you--and of course I'd like
to see the kinds of thing your robot has been carving. I could hardly expect
you to haul a van full of desks and cabinets out here, you know."
"That makes sense, I guess."
"Next Tuesday, then? Would that be convenient for you?"
"I'll see to it that it is," said Sir.
"Oh, and one more thing. I'd like to bring Merwin Mansky with me, if I
may. Our Chief Robopsychologist. I think Dr. Mansky will want to take a look
at NDR-113's cabinetwork also. In fact, I'm quite sure of it."
Sir cleared his Tuesday schedule and arranged to remain at home all
afternoon. Smythe and Mansky were due to arrive in San Francisco on a noon
flight and then it would take them another thirty minutes to hop up the coast
by local shuttle.
Andrew was told that visitors were coming to see him, of course. That seemed a
little odd to him--why would anyone want to pay a social call on a robot?
--but he felt no need to try to understand what was taking place. In those
days Andrew rarely tried to question the doings of the human beings around him
or to analyze events in any systematic way. It was only in later years, when
he had attained a far greater comprehension of his situation, that he was able
to review that early scene and understand it in its proper light.
A splendid robochauffeured limousine delivered the U. S. Robots executive and
the Chief Robopsychologist to the Martin estate. They were a curiously
mismatched pair, for Elliott Smythe was a slender, towering, athletic-looking
man with long limbs and a great mane of dense white hair, who seemed as though
he would be more at home on a tennis court or in a polo match than in a
corporate office, while Merwin Mansky was short and stocky and had no hair at
all, and gave the appearance of someone who would leave his desk only under
great duress.
"This is Andrew," Sir told them. "His carpentry workshop is upstairs, but you
can see some of his products all around this room. That bookcase--the lamps,
and the table they're on--the light fixture--"
"Remarkable work," said Elliot Smythe. "No exaggeration at all, Mr.
Martin: they certainly are masterpieces, every one of them."
Merwin Mansky gave the furniture only the most minimal glance. His attention
was drawn much more powerfully to Andrew.
"Code check," Mansky said brusquely. "Aleph Nine, Andrew."
Andrew's response was immediate. It had to be: code checks were subsumed under
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