Read Online The Positronic Man by Isaac Asimov, Robert Silverberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Isaac Asimov, Robert Silverberg
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological fiction, Science-Fiction, Movie novels, SF, Science fiction; American, Technology & Engineering, Robots, Robotics, Collaborative novels, Robots - Fiction, Futurism, Movie released in 1999
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then when he detected a fit of laughter coming over her in Feingold's presence.
Feingold and Sir settled down before the fireplace in the great central room of the house and Sir handed him a small inlaid plaque that Andrew had produced a few days before.
The lawyer nodded. He turned it over and over in his hand, rubbed its polished surface appreciatively, held it up to the light at various angles.
"Beautiful," he said, finally. "Extraordinarily fine work, all right. Your robot did it?"
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"I've heard some talk. It's no secret, Gerald, that you've got a robot here who's a master craftsman in wood."
Sir glanced up at Andrew, who was standing quietly in the shadows to one side. "Do you hear that, Andrew? You're famous all up and down California. -But you're wrong about one thing, John. Andrew isn't simply a master craftsman. He's an out-and-out artist, nothing less."
"Indeed he is," Feingold said. "That's the only word for him. This is a wonderful piece."
"Would you like to own it?" Sir asked.
Feingold's eyes widened in surprise. " Are you offering it to me, Gerald?"
"I might be. It all depends on how much you'd be willing to pay for it."
Feingold grunted as though Sir had poked him in the ribs with a rigid finger. He sat back sharply, rearranging himself with some care, and for a moment he did not reply.
Then he said, in an entirely different voice, "I hadn't been aware that you've been undergoing financial reverses lately, Gerald."
"I haven't."
"Then-pardon me if I sound a little confused-why on Earth would you want to-"
His voice trailed off.
"Sell you that little carving?" Sir finished for him.
"Yes. Sell it. I know you've been giving away a great many of the things that Andrew has made. People have told me that it's practically impossible to come here without being offered something. I've seen a few of the things that they've been given. There's never been a question of money changing hands, am I right? And now-completely leaving out of the discussion the fact that I'm not a collector of little wooden carvings, no matter how lovely they might be-you baffle me by asking me if I want to purchase one! Why? I doubt very much that you have any special reason for wanting me to pay for what everybody else gets free. And you can't possibly need the money. You've just told me that yourself. In any event how much would you be able to get for an object like this? Five hundred dollars? A thousand? If you're still as wealthy as I know you to be, Gerald, what difference could the odd five hundred or thousand make to you?"
"Not to me. To Andrew."
"What?"
"Your estimate happens to be right on the mark, John. I think I could get a thousand for this little thing. And I've been offered rather more than that for chairs and desks that Andrew has made. Not just one-shot purchases but entire distribution deals for large-scale production. If I had accepted any of the offers, there'd be a fine fat bank account built up by now, entirely on the proceeds of Andrew's woodworking-something up in the hundreds of thousands already, I suspect."
Feingold fussed with his epaulets and collar-studs. "Good heavens, Gerald, I can't make any sense out of any of this. A rich man making himself richer by putting his robot to work in some sort of cottage industry-"
"I've already told you, John, that the money wouldn't be for me. This is all for Andrew's sake. I want to start selling his products and I want the money to be banked under the name of Andrew Martin."
"A bank account in the name of a robot?"
"Exactly. And that's why I've asked you to come up here today. I want to know whether it would be legal to establish an account in Andrew's name-an account that Andrew himself would control, you understand, entirely his own money, which he would be able to use absolutely as he pleases-"
Feingold said, sounding mystified, "Legal? For a robot to earn and save money? I just couldn't say. There are no precedents, so far
Feingold and Sir settled down before the fireplace in the great central room of the house and Sir handed him a small inlaid plaque that Andrew had produced a few days before.
The lawyer nodded. He turned it over and over in his hand, rubbed its polished surface appreciatively, held it up to the light at various angles.
"Beautiful," he said, finally. "Extraordinarily fine work, all right. Your robot did it?"
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"I've heard some talk. It's no secret, Gerald, that you've got a robot here who's a master craftsman in wood."
Sir glanced up at Andrew, who was standing quietly in the shadows to one side. "Do you hear that, Andrew? You're famous all up and down California. -But you're wrong about one thing, John. Andrew isn't simply a master craftsman. He's an out-and-out artist, nothing less."
"Indeed he is," Feingold said. "That's the only word for him. This is a wonderful piece."
"Would you like to own it?" Sir asked.
Feingold's eyes widened in surprise. " Are you offering it to me, Gerald?"
"I might be. It all depends on how much you'd be willing to pay for it."
Feingold grunted as though Sir had poked him in the ribs with a rigid finger. He sat back sharply, rearranging himself with some care, and for a moment he did not reply.
Then he said, in an entirely different voice, "I hadn't been aware that you've been undergoing financial reverses lately, Gerald."
"I haven't."
"Then-pardon me if I sound a little confused-why on Earth would you want to-"
His voice trailed off.
"Sell you that little carving?" Sir finished for him.
"Yes. Sell it. I know you've been giving away a great many of the things that Andrew has made. People have told me that it's practically impossible to come here without being offered something. I've seen a few of the things that they've been given. There's never been a question of money changing hands, am I right? And now-completely leaving out of the discussion the fact that I'm not a collector of little wooden carvings, no matter how lovely they might be-you baffle me by asking me if I want to purchase one! Why? I doubt very much that you have any special reason for wanting me to pay for what everybody else gets free. And you can't possibly need the money. You've just told me that yourself. In any event how much would you be able to get for an object like this? Five hundred dollars? A thousand? If you're still as wealthy as I know you to be, Gerald, what difference could the odd five hundred or thousand make to you?"
"Not to me. To Andrew."
"What?"
"Your estimate happens to be right on the mark, John. I think I could get a thousand for this little thing. And I've been offered rather more than that for chairs and desks that Andrew has made. Not just one-shot purchases but entire distribution deals for large-scale production. If I had accepted any of the offers, there'd be a fine fat bank account built up by now, entirely on the proceeds of Andrew's woodworking-something up in the hundreds of thousands already, I suspect."
Feingold fussed with his epaulets and collar-studs. "Good heavens, Gerald, I can't make any sense out of any of this. A rich man making himself richer by putting his robot to work in some sort of cottage industry-"
"I've already told you, John, that the money wouldn't be for me. This is all for Andrew's sake. I want to start selling his products and I want the money to be banked under the name of Andrew Martin."
"A bank account in the name of a robot?"
"Exactly. And that's why I've asked you to come up here today. I want to know whether it would be legal to establish an account in Andrew's name-an account that Andrew himself would control, you understand, entirely his own money, which he would be able to use absolutely as he pleases-"
Feingold said, sounding mystified, "Legal? For a robot to earn and save money? I just couldn't say. There are no precedents, so far