An argument started as to whether thinking robots really were rational beings. Gallegher brooded. He couldn’t see the point, really. Nor did it become clear until, from the maze of contradictions, there emerged the tentative decision that Joe was a rational being. This seemed to please the prosecutor immensely.
“Mr. Justice,” he announced, “we have learned that Mr. Galloway Gallegher two nights ago inactivated the robot before us now. Is this not true, Mr. Gallegher?”
But Mackenzie’s hand kept Gallegher in his seat. One of the defending attorneys rose to meet the question.
“We admit nothing,” he said. “However, if you wish to pose a theoretical question, we will answer it.”
The query was posed theoretically.
“The theoretical answer is yes, Mr. Prosecutor. A robot of this type can be turned on and off at will.
“Can the robot turn itself off?”
“Yes.”
“But this did not occur? Mr. Gallegher inactivated the robot at the time Mr. Jonas Harding was with him in his laboratory two nights ago?”
“Theoretically, that is true. There was a temporary inactivation.”
“Then,” said the prosecutor, “we wish to question the robot, who has been classed as a rational being.”
“The decision was tentative,” a defense attorney objected.
“Accepted. Mr. Justice—”
“All right,” said the Justice, who was still staring at Joe, “you may ask your question.”
“Ah…ah—” The prosecutor, facing the robot, hesitated.
“Call me Joe,” Joe said.
“Thank you. Ah…is this true? Did Mr. Gallegher inactivate you at the time and place stated?”
“Yes.”
“Then,” the prosecutor said triumphantly, “I wish to bring a charge of assault and battery against Mr. Gallegher. Since the robot has been tentatively classed as a rational being, any activity causing him, or it, to lose consciousness or the power of mobility is contra bonos mores, and may be classed as mayhem.”
Mackenzie’s attorneys were ruffled. Gallegher said: “What does that mean?”
A lawyer whispered, “They can hold you and hold that robot as a witness.” He stood up. “Mr. Justice. Our statements were in reply to purely theoretical questions.”
The prosecutor said: “But the robot’s statement answered a nontheoretical question.”
“The robot was not on oath.”
“Easily remedied,” said the prosecutor, while Gallegher saw his last hopes of slipping rapidly away. He thought hard, while matters proceeded.
“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?”
“Gallegher leaped to his feet. “Mr. Justice. I object.”
“Indeed. To what?”
“To the validity of that oath.”
Mackenzie said, “Ah-ha!”
The Justice was thoughtful. “Will you please elucidate, Mr. Gallegher? Why should the oath not be administered to this robot?”
“Such an oath is applicable to man only.”
“And?”
“It presupposes the existence of the soul. At least it implies theism, a personal religion. Can a robot take an oath?”
The Justice eyed Joe. “It’s a point, certainly. Ah…Joe. Do you believe in a personal deity?”
“I do.”
The prosecutor beamed. “Then we can proceed.”
“Wait a minute,” Murdoch Mackenzie said, rising. “May I ask a question, Mr. Justice?”
“Go ahead.”
Mackenzie stared at the robot. “Well, now. Will you tell me, please, what this personal deity of yours is like?”
“Certainly,” Joe said. “Just like me.”
After a while it degenerated into a theological argument. Gallegher left the attorneys debating the apparently vital point of how many angels could dance on the head of a pin, and went home temporarily scot-free, with Joe. Until such points as the robot’s religious basics were settled, nothing could be done. All the way, in the air-cab, Mackenzie insisted on pointing out the merits of Calvinism to Joe.
At the door Mackenzie made a mild threat. “I did not intend to give you so much rope, you understand. But you will work ail the harder with the threat of prison hanging over your head. I don’t know how long I can keep you a free man. If you can work out an answer quickly—”
“What sort of answer?”
“I am easily satisfied. Jonas’s body, now—”
“Bah!” Gallegher said, and went into his laboratory and sat down morosely. He siphoned himself a drink before he remembered the little brown animal. Then he lay back, staring from the blue-eyed dynamo to Joe and back again.
Finally he said, “There’s an old Chinese idea that the man who first stops arguing and starts swinging with his fists admits his intellectual defeat.”
Joe said, “Naturally. Reason is sufficient; if you need experiment to prove your point, you’re a lousy philosopher and logician.” Gallegher fell back on casuistry. “First step, animal. Fist-swinging. Second step, human. Pure logic. But what about the third step?”
“What third step?”
“Men can know the nature of things — but you’re not a man. Your personal deity isn’t an anthropomorphic one. Three steps: animal, man, and what we’ll call for convenience superman, though man doesn’t necessarily enter into it. We’ve always attributed godlike traits to the theoretical superbeing. Suppose, just for the sake of having a label, we call this third-stage entity Joe.”
“Why not?” Joe said.
“Then the two basic concepts of logic don’t apply. Men can know the nature of things by pure reason, and also by experiment and reason. But such second-stage concepts are as elementary to Joe as Plato’s ideas were to Bacon.” Gallegher crossed his fingers behind his back. “The question is, then, what’s the third-stage operation for Joe?”
“Godlike?” the robot said.
“You’ve got special senses, you know. You can varish, whatever that is. Do you need ordinary logical methods? Suppose—”
“Yes,” Joe said. “I can varish, all right. I can skren, too. Hm-m-m.”
Gallegher abruptly rose from the couch. “What a fool I am. ‘DRINK ME.’ That’s the answer. Joe, shut up. Go off in a corner and varish.”
“I’m skrenning,” Joe said.
“Then skren. I ’ve finally got an idea. When I woke up yesterday, I was thinking about a bottle labeled ‘DRINK ME.’ When Alice took a drink, she changed size, didn’t she? Where’s that reference book? I wish I knew more about technology. Vasoconstrictor…hemostatic…here it is — demonstrate the anabolic regulation mechanisms of the vegetative nervous system. Metabolism. I wonder now—”
Gallegher rushed to the workbench and examined the bottles. “Vitalism. Life is the basic reality, of which everything is a form or manifestation. Now, I had a problem to solve for Adrenals, Incorporated. Jonas Harding and Grandpa were here. Harding gave me an hour to fill the bill. The problem…a dangerous and harmless animal. Paradox. That isn’t it. Harding’s clients wanted thrills and safety at the same time. I’ve got no lab animals on tap at the moment…Joe!”
“Well?”
“Watch,” Gallegher said. He poured a drink and watched the liquid vanish before he tasted it. “Now. What happened?”
“The little brown animal drank it.”
“Is that little brown animal, by any chance — Grandpa?”
“That’s right,” Joe said.
Gallegher blistered the robot’s transparent hide with sulphurous oaths. “Why didn’t you tell me? You—”
“I answered your question,” the robot said smugly. “Grandpa’s brown, isn’t he? And he’s an animal.”