Read Online The Compassion Circuit by John Wyndham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Wyndham
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looking after, I’m afraid. What I’d really recommend for her is the type they have here. It’s something pretty new, this Nurse James model. A specially developed high-sensibility job with a quite novel contra-balanced compassion-protection circuit. A very tricky bit of work, that.
“Any direct order which a normal robot would obey at once is evaluated by the circuit, weighed against the benefit or harm to the patient, and unless it is beneficial, or at least harmless, it is not obeyed.
They’ve proved to be wonderful for nursing and looking after children. But there is a big demand for them, and I’m afraid they’re pretty expensive.”
“How much?” asked George.
The doctor’s round-figure price made him frown for a moment. Then he said: “It’ll make a dent. But, after all, it’s mostly Janet’s economies and simple-living that’s built up the savings. Where do I get one?”
“You don’t. Not just like that,” the doctor told him. “I shall have to throw a bit of weight about for a priority, but in the circumstances I shall get it, all right. Now, you go and fix up the details of appearance and so on with your wife. Let me know how she wants it, and I’ll get busy.”
“A proper one,” said Janet. “One that’ll look right in a house, I mean. I couldn’t do with one of those levers-and-plastic-box things that stare at you with lenses. As it’s got to look after the house, let’s have it looking like a housemaid.”
“Or a houseman, if you like?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s going to have to look after me, too, so I think I’d rather it was a housemaid. It can have a black silk dress, and a frilly white apron and cap. And I’d like it blonde—a sort of darkish blonde—and about five feet ten, and nice to look at, but not too beautiful. I don’t want to be jealous of it…”
The doctor kept Janet ten days more in the hospital while the matter was settled. There had been luck in coming in for a cancelled order, but inevitably some delay while it was adapted to Janet’s specification.
Also it had required the addition of standard domestic pseudo-memory patterns to suit it for housework.
It was delivered the day after she got back. Two severely functional robots carried the case up the front path, and inquired whether they should unpack it. Janet thought not, and told them to leave it in the outhouse.
When George got back he wanted to open it at once, but Janet shook her head.
“Supper first,” she decided. “A robot doesn’t mind waiting.”
Nevertheless it was a brief meal. When it was over George carried the dishes out to the kitchen and stacked them in the sink.
“No more washing-up,” he said, with satisfaction.
He went out to borrow the next-door robot to help him carry the case in. Then he found his end of it more than he could lift, and had to borrow the robot from the house opposite, too. Presently the pair of them carried it in and laid it on the kitchen floor as if it were a featherweight, and went away again.
George got out the screwdriver and drew the six large screws that held the lid down. Inside there was a mass of shavings. He shoved them out, on to the floor.
Janet protested.
“What’s the matter? We shan’t have to clean up,” he said, happily.
There was an inner case of woodpulp, with a snowy layer of wadding under its lid. George rolled it up and pushed it out of the way, and there, ready dressed in black frock and white apron, lay the robot.
They regarded it for some seconds without speaking.
It was remarkably lifelike. For some reason it made Janet feel a little queer to realize that it was her robot—a trifle nervous, and, obscurely, a trifle guilty…
“Sleeping beauty,” remarked George, reaching for the instruction-book on its chest.
In point of fact the robot was not a beauty. Janet’s preference had been observed. It was pleasant and nice-looking without being striking, but the details were good. The deep gold hair was
“Any direct order which a normal robot would obey at once is evaluated by the circuit, weighed against the benefit or harm to the patient, and unless it is beneficial, or at least harmless, it is not obeyed.
They’ve proved to be wonderful for nursing and looking after children. But there is a big demand for them, and I’m afraid they’re pretty expensive.”
“How much?” asked George.
The doctor’s round-figure price made him frown for a moment. Then he said: “It’ll make a dent. But, after all, it’s mostly Janet’s economies and simple-living that’s built up the savings. Where do I get one?”
“You don’t. Not just like that,” the doctor told him. “I shall have to throw a bit of weight about for a priority, but in the circumstances I shall get it, all right. Now, you go and fix up the details of appearance and so on with your wife. Let me know how she wants it, and I’ll get busy.”
“A proper one,” said Janet. “One that’ll look right in a house, I mean. I couldn’t do with one of those levers-and-plastic-box things that stare at you with lenses. As it’s got to look after the house, let’s have it looking like a housemaid.”
“Or a houseman, if you like?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s going to have to look after me, too, so I think I’d rather it was a housemaid. It can have a black silk dress, and a frilly white apron and cap. And I’d like it blonde—a sort of darkish blonde—and about five feet ten, and nice to look at, but not too beautiful. I don’t want to be jealous of it…”
The doctor kept Janet ten days more in the hospital while the matter was settled. There had been luck in coming in for a cancelled order, but inevitably some delay while it was adapted to Janet’s specification.
Also it had required the addition of standard domestic pseudo-memory patterns to suit it for housework.
It was delivered the day after she got back. Two severely functional robots carried the case up the front path, and inquired whether they should unpack it. Janet thought not, and told them to leave it in the outhouse.
When George got back he wanted to open it at once, but Janet shook her head.
“Supper first,” she decided. “A robot doesn’t mind waiting.”
Nevertheless it was a brief meal. When it was over George carried the dishes out to the kitchen and stacked them in the sink.
“No more washing-up,” he said, with satisfaction.
He went out to borrow the next-door robot to help him carry the case in. Then he found his end of it more than he could lift, and had to borrow the robot from the house opposite, too. Presently the pair of them carried it in and laid it on the kitchen floor as if it were a featherweight, and went away again.
George got out the screwdriver and drew the six large screws that held the lid down. Inside there was a mass of shavings. He shoved them out, on to the floor.
Janet protested.
“What’s the matter? We shan’t have to clean up,” he said, happily.
There was an inner case of woodpulp, with a snowy layer of wadding under its lid. George rolled it up and pushed it out of the way, and there, ready dressed in black frock and white apron, lay the robot.
They regarded it for some seconds without speaking.
It was remarkably lifelike. For some reason it made Janet feel a little queer to realize that it was her robot—a trifle nervous, and, obscurely, a trifle guilty…
“Sleeping beauty,” remarked George, reaching for the instruction-book on its chest.
In point of fact the robot was not a beauty. Janet’s preference had been observed. It was pleasant and nice-looking without being striking, but the details were good. The deep gold hair was
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