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Jason sat hunched upon his boulder. He shivered and drew the cape close about his shoulders. The night suddenly seemed darker and lonely and perhaps a little frightening.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll see about it."
In the morning he'd go down to the river landing and talk with Horace Red Cloud. Horace might know what could be done.
14
(Excerpt from journal of Sept. 18, 2185)… Sometime after we had started our ambitious expeditions to get together a comprehensive library and to acquire at least a sampling of the arts, four robots came to see me. I did not recognize them—after all, there are few distinguishing marks by which a robot can be recognized. They may have been working about the farm for years or they may just then have wandered in. I am somewhat surprised, now that I write of it, that I did not question them more closely, but my best memory now is that I did not ask them about their origins, either then or since. It may have been that I was so astonished—and in a sense, upset — by what they had to ask that I was delinquent in my investigation of them.
They told me that their names were Hezekiah, Nicodemus, Jonathon and Ebenezer, and that if I had no objection they would like to occupy the monastery buildings down the road and devote their entire time to a study of Christianity. They seemed to have gotten the idea that man had stopped far short of the point he should have reached in his study of religion and that they, as objective students, might press the matter much beyond man's short-range venture into it I could detect about them no sign of religious fervor, although I greatly fear if they continue at it (they have been at it, at the time of this writing, almost thirty years) they will not be able to maintain an objective attitude and may develop unthinking religious fanaticism. I am not even now convinced (perhaps now less convinced than I was then) that I was right in raising no objections to their project. It may not have been right or wise to turn a group of robots loose upon so sensitive a subject. I suppose fanatics have their proper niche in all societies, but the thought of fanatic robots (fanatic on any subject, and religion somehow seems to breed fanatics) does not particularly enchant me. The entire business suggests a situation that can be really frightening. With the most of mankind gone and all the robots left, the robots in time may move to fill the vacuum thus created. They were made to serve us and they ca
But I get beyond my story. To get back to the four who came to see me. If they were to carry on the work that they proposed, they said, they must have a large body of religious writings and they wondered if they could go along with us on our book-hunting expeditions, being willing to help us with the labor in return for our hauling back the books selected for their studies. The offer of labor was much beside the point, for we had all the robots that we needed for the actual work. But for some reason which I now do not understand (and may not have understood at the time) T agreed. Perhaps the agreement came because the thing they proposed to do seemed more ridiculous than it does now. I may even have chuckled at it then, although after further deliberations I have no chuckles for it.
The collection of our library proved a much harder task than I had anticipated. It was an easy matter, on the face of it, to sit down and write a list, saying that we need Shakespeare, Proust, Plato, Aristotle, Virgil, Gibbon, Locke, Euripides, Aristophanes, Tolstoy, Pascal, Chaucer, Montaigne, Hemingway, Wolfe, Steinbeck, Faulkner and all the others that would go on any list; that we needed texts on mathematics, engineering, chemistry, astronomy, biology, philosophy, psychology and many other branches of the arts and sciences, with the possible exception of medicine, which no longer seems necessary to those of us on Earth (although one can't be entirely sure of that), but how can one be sure he has not missed something that at sometime in the future will be, not sadly missed, for not knowing of it, it will not be missed, but which will not be there for use when there could be need of it. And how does one, obversely, know that much of what he does select may not, in time to come, be unworthy of the space it takes?
Over the years, of course, there may be opportunity to supply any deficit, to obtain what might have been overlooked. But as the years go on, it will be more difficult to do. Even when we collected the books we bad great difficulties. The trucks we used required continual tinkering to keep them ru
By that time, perhaps, the books no longer will exist. Even housed under the best circumstances in the long deserted cities, the weather will get at them, and the rodents and the worms, and if nothing else, sheer time will take the toll.
We finally located and transported here all the books that we had listed. With the art objects we sought to salvage we encountered greater problems, principally because with them space was a greater consideration than it is with books. We had to painfully select and choose with the greatest care. How many Rembrandts, for example, could we allow ourselves, knowing that each extra Rembrandt would rob us of a Courbet or a Renoir? Because of the very lack of space, both in transportation and in storage, we were forced to choose the smaller canvas rather than the larger. The same criterion applied to all other categories of the arts.
There are times when I could weep, thinking of all the great endeavors and accomplishments of mankind we were forced to leave to be forever lost…