And it was that statement that cued the judge. The crucial sentence in his decision was "There is no right to deny freedom to any object with a mind advanced enough to grasp the concept and desire the state." It was eventually upheld by the World Court.
8
Sir remained displeased, and his harsh voice made Andrew feel as if he were being short-circuited. "I don't want your damned money, Andrew. I'll take it only because you won't feel free otherwise. From now on, you can select your own jobs and do them as you please. I will give you no orders, except this one: Do as you please. But I am still responsible for you. That's part of the court order. I hope you understand that."
Little Miss interrupted. "Don't be irascible, Dad. The responsibility is no great chore. You know you won't have to do a thing. The Three Laws still hold."
"Then how is he free?"
"Are not human beings bound by their laws, Sir?" Andrew replied.
"I'm not going to argue." Sir left the room, and Andrew saw him only infrequently after that.
Little Miss came to see him frequently in the small house that had been built and made over for him. It had no kitchen, of course, nor bathroom facilities. It had just two rooms; one was a library and one was a combination storeroom and workroom. Andrew accepted many commissions and worked harder as a free robot than he ever had before, till the cost of the house was paid for and the structure was signed over to him.
One day Little Sir- no, "George!"- came. Little Sir had insisted on that after the court decision. "A free robot doesn't call anyone Little Sir," George had said. "I call you Andrew. You must call me George."
His preference was phrased as an order, so Andrew called him George- but Little Miss remained Little Miss.
One day when George came alone, it was to say that Sir was dying. Little Miss was at the bedside, but Sir wanted Andrew as well.
Sir's voice was still quite strong, though he seemed unable to move much. He struggled to raise his hand.
"Andrew," he said, "Andrew- Don't help me, George. I'm only dying; I'm not crippled. Andrew, I'm glad you're free. I just wanted to tell you that."
Andrew did not know what to say. He had never been at the side of someone dying before, but he knew it was the human way of ceasing to function. It was an involuntary and irreversible dismantling, and Andrew did not know what to say that might be appropriate. He could only remain standing, absolutely silent, absolutely motionless.
When it was over, Little Miss said to him, "He may not have seemed friendly to you toward the end, Andrew, but he was old, you know; and it hurt him that you should want to be free."
Then Andrew found the words. "I would never have been free without him, Little Miss."
9
Only after Sir's death did Andrew begin to wear clothes. He began with an old pair of trousers at first, a pair that George had given him.
George was married now, and a lawyer. He had joined Feingold's firm. Old Feingold was long since dead, but his daughter had carried on. Eventually the firm's name became Feingold and Martin. It remained so even when the daughter retired and no Feingold took her place. At the time Andrew first put on clothes, the Martin name had just been added to the firm.
George had tried not to smile the first time he saw Andrew attempting to put on trousers, but to Andrew's eyes the smile was clearly there. George showed Andrew how to manipulate the static charge to allow the trousers to open, wrap about his lower body, and move shut. George demonstrated on his own trousers, but Andrew was quite aware it would take him a while to duplicate that one flowing motion.
"But why do you want trousers, Andrew? Your body is so beautifully functional it's a shame to cover it especially when you needn't worry about either temperature control or modesty. And the material doesn't cling properly- not on metal."
Andrew held his ground. "Are not human bodies beautifully functional, George? Yet you cover yourselves."
"For warmth, for cleanliness, for protection, for decorativeness. None of that applies to you."
"I feel bare without clothes. I feel different, George," Andrew responded.
"Different! Andrew, there are millions of robots on Earth now. In this region, according to the last census, there are almost as many robots as there are men."
"I know, George. There are robots doing every conceivable type of work."
"And none of them wear clothes."
"But none of them are free, George."
Little by little, Andrew added to his wardrobe. He was inhibited by George's smile and by the stares of the people who commissioned work.
He might be free, but there was built into Andrew a carefully detailed program concerning his behavior to people, and it was only by the tiniest steps that he dared advance; open disapproval would set him back months. Not everyone accepted Andrew as free. He was incapable of resenting that, and yet there was a difficulty about his thinking process when he thought of it. Most of all, he tended to avoid putting on clothes- or too many of them- when he thought Little Miss might come to visit him. She was older now and was often away in some warmer climate, but when she returned the first thing she did was visit him.
On one of her visits, George said, ruefully, "She's got me, Andrew. I'll be running for the legislature next year. `Like grandfather,' she says, `like grandson.'"
"Like grandfather..." Andrew stopped, uncertain.
"I mean that I, George, the grandson, will be like Sir, the grandfather, who was in the legislature once."
"It would be pleasant, George, if Sir were still-" He paused, for he did not want to say, "in working order." That seemed inappropriate.