The Positronic Man

In that case, why should he not wear clothing also? That would make him look even more human, wouldn't it?

And in any event Andrew wanted to wear clothing now. It seemed symbolic to him of his new status as a legally free robot.

Of course, not everyone accepted Andrew as free, regardless of what the legal finding had been. The term "free robot" had no meaning to many people: it was like saying "dry water" or "bright darkness." Andrew was inherently incapable of resenting that, and yet he felt a difficulty in his thinking process-a slowing, an i

When he wore clothing in public, he knew, he risked antagonizing such people. Andrew tried to be cautious about that, therefore.

Nor was it only potentially hostile strangers who had difficulty with the idea of his wearing clothing. Even the person who most loved him in all the world-Little Miss-was startled and, Andrew suspected, more than a little troubled by it. Andrew saw that from the very first time. Like her son George, Little Miss had tried to conceal her feelings of surprise and dismay at the sight of Andrew in clothing. And, like George, she had failed.

Well, Little Miss was old now and, like many old people, she had grown set in her ways. Maybe she simply preferred him to look the way he had looked when she was a girl. Or, perhaps, she might believe on some deep level that robots-all robots, even Andrew-should look like the machines that they were, and therefore should not dress like people.

Andrew suspected that if he ever should question Little Miss on that point she would deny it, probably quite indignantly. But he had no intention of doing that. He simply tended to avoid putting on clothes-or too many of them-whenever Little Miss came to visit him.

Which was none too often, these days, for Little Miss was past seventy now-well past seventy-and had grown very thin and sensitive to cold, and even the mild climate of Northern California was too cool for her most of the year. Her husband had died several years before, and since then Little Miss had begun spending much of her time traveling in the tropical parts of the world-Hawaii, Australia, Egypt, the warmer zones of South America, places like that. She would return to California only occasionally, perhaps once or twice a year, to see George and his family -and, of course, Andrew.

After one of her visits George came down to the cabin to speak with Andrew and said ruefully, "Well, she's finally got me, Andrew. I'm going to be ru

"Like grandfather-"

Andrew stopped, uncertain.

"What is it, Andrew?"

"Something about the phrase. The idiom. My grammatical circuit-" He shook his head. "Like grandfather, like grandson. There's no verb in the statement, but I know how to adjust for that. Still-"

George began to laugh. "What a literal-minded hunk of tin you can be sometimes, Andrew"'

"Tin?"

"Never mind about that. What the other expression meant was simply that I, George, the grandson, am expected to do what Sir, the grandfather, did-that is to say, to run for the Regional Legislature and have a long and distinguished career. The usual expression is, 'Like father, like son,' but in this case my father didn't care to go into politics, and so my mother has changed the old clichй so that it says-Are you following all this, Andrew, or am I just wasting my breath?"

"I understand now."

"Good. But of course the thing my mother doesn't take into account is that I'm not really all that much like my grandfather in temperament, and perhaps I'm not as clever as he was, either, because he had a truly formidable intellect, and so there's no necessary reason why I'd automatically equal the record he ran up in the Legislature. There'll never be anyone like him again, I'm afraid."

Andrew nodded. " And how sad for us that he is no longer with is. I would find it pleasant, George, if Sir were still-" He paused, for he did not want to say, "in working order." He knew that that would not be the appropriate expression to use. And yet it was the first phrase that had come into his mind.

"Still alive?" George finished for him. "Yes. Yes, it would be good to have him around. I have to confess I miss the old monster at least as much as you do."

"Monster?"

"In a ma

"Ah. Yes. A ma

When George had gone, Andrew replayed the conversation in his mind, puzzling over its twists and turns and trying to see why he had been so badly off balance throughout it. It had been George's use of idiomatic phrases and colloquial language, Andrew decided, that had caused the problems.

Even after all this time, it was still difficult sometimes for Andrew to keep pace with humans when they struck out along linguistic pathways that were something other than the most direct ones. He had come into being equipped with an extensive i

The problem was only going to get worse as time went along, Andrew realized.

Human languages, he knew, were constantly in a state of flux. There was nothing fixed or really systematic about them. New words were invented all the time, old words would change their meanings, all sorts of short-lived informal expressions slipped into ordinary conversation. That much he had already had ample reason to learn, though he had not done any kind of scientific investigation of the kinds of changes that tended to take place.

The English language, which was the one Andrew used most often, had altered tremendously over the past six hundred years. Now and then he had looked at some of Sir's books, the works of the ancient poets-Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare-and he had seen that their pages were sprinkled with footnotes to explain archaic word usage to modern readers.

What if the language were to change just as significantly in the next six hundred years? How was he going to be able to communicate with the human beings around him, unless he kept up with the changes?

Already, in one brief conversation, George had baffled him three times. "Like grandfather, like grandson." How simple that seemed now that George had explained it-but how mysterious it had been at first.

And why had George called him a "hunk of tin," when George surely knew that there was no tin in Andrew's makeup whatsoever? And-it was the most puzzling one of all-why should George have called Sir a "monster," when that was plainly not an appropriate description of the old man?

Those were not even the latest modern phrases, Andrew knew. They were simply individual turns of phrase, a little too colloquial or metaphorical for instant handling by Andrew's linguistic circuitry. He would face far more mystifying ways of speech in the outside world, he suspected.

Perhaps it was time for him to update some of his linguistic documentation.

His own books would give him no guidance. They were old and most of them dealt with woodworking, with art, with furniture design. There were none on language, none on the ways of human beings. Nor was Sir's library, extensive as it was, likely to be of much use. No one was living in the big house just now-it was sealed, under robot maintenance-but Andrew still could have access to it whenever he wanted. Nearly all of Sir's books, though, dated from the previous century or before. There was nothing there that would serve Andrew's purpose.

All things considered, the best move seemed to be for him to get some up-to-date information-and not from George. When Andrew turned to George at the time he had wanted to start wearing clothing, he had had to fight his way through George's incomprehension and a certain amount of George's condescending amusement. Though he doubted that George would treat him the same way in this matter, he preferred not to find out.

No, he would simply go to town and use the public library. That was the proper self-reliant thing to do-the correct way for a free robot to handle a problem, he told himself. It was a triumphant decision and Andrew felt his electropotential grow distinctly higher as he contemplated it, until he had to throw in an impedance coil to bring himself back to equilibrium.

To the library, yes.

And he would dress for the occasion. Yes. Yes. Humans did not enter the public library unclothed. Neither would he.

He put on a full costume-elegant leggings of a velvety purple fabric, and a flowing red blouse with a satiny sheen, and his best walking boots. He even do

But he knew that he was doing something unusual and that there might be unusual consequences. If George dropped by unexpectedly, he would be surprised to find Andrew gone, and he might be troubled by that.

Andrew had placed a hundred feet between himself and the house before he felt resistance gathering within himself and rapidly reaching the level that would bring him to a halt. He shifted the impedance coil out of circuit, and when that did not seem to make much difference, he returned to his home and on a piece of paper wrote neatly:

I HAVE GOne TO THE LIBRARY. 

—Andrew Martin

and placed it in clear view on his worktable.