"Including thee, belike?" Geoffrey said, with scorn. "Nay, I wager that Papa was mindful of enduring just such shame as this! Didst thou not see him redden when I did ask?"
"I did," said Magnus, with a wicked grin. "Nay, I do wonder what naughtiness he did recollect?"
They were all silent for a minute, imagining calamities.
"Fess would know," Gregory said suddenly.
"Aye, thou wouldst!" Geoffrey turned to Fess with a glint in his eye. "Nay, tell! What did chance when Papa did disobey Grandpapa?"
"That is his tale to tell, not mine," the robot said slowly.
"Oh, come, Fess!" Cordelia pleaded prettily. "Canst thou not give but a hint?"
"Your father's personal matters are confidential, children." Robots are immune to charm.
"But a clue," Magnus said, "is not telling."
"My programming does not allow disclosure of classified materials," Fess said sternly.
They were silent again, brains whirling in an attempt to bypass the program.
"Yet thou art free to tell us aught of thine own past," Gregory said.
Fess was silent a moment, then said, "I am, and will speak to you gladly of the history of your House and of your ancestors…"
"Only of our father," Gregory said quickly. He'd heard Fess's lectures before. "Canst thou not tell what thou didst when he did disobey?"
"Certainly not! At any point at which my own actions became involved in your father's personal matters, even my own memories become confidential!"
"I must learn Cobol," Gregory sighed.
"Wherefore wouldst thou wish to make their acquaintance?" Geoffrey frowned up at him. "Kobolds are vile creatures!"
"He speaks of the speech, not the speaker," Fess explained.
Geoffrey stared. "How… ?"
" 'Tis wizards' talk," Magnus said airily. "Of greater moment is thy past, Fess."
"You will not desist, will you?" Fess sighed. "Forebear the attempt, children—I shall not disclose your father's secrets, either accidentally or deliberately."
"Yet thou hast said thou wilt tell us of thy deeds," Magnus reminded. "Hast thou never disobeyed, Fess?"
Geoffrey glared at him in exasperation, but Gregory waved him back, eyes on Magnus. Geoffrey frowned up at him, but his frown turned to a stare as understanding dawned. He began to grin.
"Your question may be interpreted as referring to an action counter to my programming," the robot said slowly, "and in those terms, I must answer, 'No. I have never acted in violation of my program.' "
Geoffrey slapped his thigh in exasperation, but Gregory asked, "Yet what of the words of thy master? Didst thou never work counter to his commands?"
Fess was quiet long enough for Geoffrey to perk up again. Finally, the robot admitted, "There have been a few instances in which my owner's orders contradicted my program, yes."
"Then thou didst disobey!" Geoffrey crowed.
"Only to obey a higher authority," Fess said quickly. "Disobedience is not to be done at one's own whim, children."
"At whose whim is it, then?" Cordelia asked.
Fess emitted a burst of static, his equivalent of a sigh. "My basic program was designed by Peter Petrok, children, but it was tested, revised, retested, and finally approved by his section chief, then by the Vice President for Programming, by the President of Coherent Imperatives, Limited, and finally approved by a unanimous vote of the Board of Directors."
Geoffrey stared, somewhat stunned.
"Thus, in answer to your question," the robot went on, "disobedience is not done at anyone's whim, but at the considered, carefully weighed opinions of a group of responsible individuals, acting upon thorough evidence and elaborate validation, in accordance with well-established principles."
The children were silent, overawed.
Then Magnus ventured, "Wherefore was such a gamut needful?"
"Because a robot could do a great deal of damage, if adequate safeguards were not built into its programming," Fess answered. "You have seen the occasional, restrained attacks I have made in defense of your father, your mother, and yourselves, children. Imagine what I could do if I had no inhibitions at all."
"Thou wouldst be havoc infernal," Geoffrey said instantly, eyes wide. "Sweet Heaven, Fess! Thou couldst lay waste all of Gramarye!"
"That is a warranted conclusion," Fess agreed, "and I am only a general purpose robot, children, not specialized for warfare."
Gregory shuddered, and Geoffrey said, "That thou art restrained, praise the saints!"
"Or, at least, the originators of the study of robotics. The thought has crossed my mind occasionally, yes."
"Then how canst thou ever be permitted to disobey?" Cordelia said, frowning.
"When obedience would require me to wreak the devastation Geoffrey noted," Fess explained, "or even the injury of a living being, beyond what would be absolutely necessary to preserve my owner's safety."
Gregory frowned. "Dost thou say thou must needs guard other folk from thine owner?"
"That is perhaps an overstatement," Fess said slowly, "though I can think of circumstances in which it might apply."
"Yet it never hath, for thee," Cordelia inferred. "Who hast thou had need to guard from thy master?''
"Himself," Fess answered.
"What?"
"How can that be?"
"Wherefore would he…"
"Children, chil-dren," Fess admonished.
They quieted.
Fess sighed, "I see I must tell you how it happened, chronologically, or you will never understand the principle."
"Aye, do!" Cordelia crooked a knee around the saddlehorn, patted her skirt into place around it, and settled down to listen. "We attend, Fess."
"Do, for it becomes somewhat convoluted. I was brought to consciousness at the factory of Amalgamated Automatons, Inc., in accordance with a Coherent Imperatives program…"
"We have no wish to hear thy whole life," Geoffrey said hastily.
"You have asked for it, Geoffrey, for this incident befell with my first owner. He had purchased a new antigravity aircar, and the law required that such vehicles be equipped with guidance computers of the most recent model designed to safeguard human life. That 'latest model' was the FCC series, of which I was one…"
Chapter 2
"Time enough for you to learn the business next year." Reggie's father handed him the check for a million. "All I want is, you should have a good time, Joe."
"How can I help it?" Reggie looked at the check, gloating. He was so grateful that he didn't even remind the old man about the name change. "Thanks, Pop!"
" 'S all right." The elder Vapochek waved his cigar negligently. "The dog bootie sales're going pretty good, and the parakeet sweater production is way up. We can afford some time for you to, like, sow your wild oats. Just get 'em outa your system." Pop gave a leering chuckle. "You got a lotta sowing to do, boy, if you wanna break my record—and I had to do it when I had time off from the steelworks!"
"Boy, you can bet I will, Pop! Starting with a sports car!"
"Oh?" Pop's eye glinted. "What you got your eye on?"
"One of those new Heatrash jobs, Pop, with the afterburners and the double-strength antigrav."
"Yeah, I heard about them. Got one of them new FCC robot brains for a guidance computer, don't it?"
"Yeah—and cashmere upholstery half a foot thick, a built-in autobar, 360-degree sound, light show on the ceiling…"
"So who's gonna be watching the ceiling?" And the elder Vapochek guffawed, waving the boy away with his cigar. "Go on, go have your fun! Just gimme a ride in it, you hear?"
The comely young lady stared as the aircar drifted out of its stall. At the wheel, Reggie noticed her attention and grinned, but pretended not to see her—so he was a bit crestfallen when she only sighed, shook her head, and walked on by below him. "Snooty broad," he growled.
"I do not recognize that command, master," the dashboard answered.