4
R. Barrett and P. P. Delsanto
had once ordered his courtiers to place his throne at the ocean’s
edge, so that he might command the incoming tide to halt. The
old English King had failed, but RT held a secret suspicion that
a robot, especially a Tier 3 robot like himself, might just possibly
be more successful.
Accordingly, at noon on Sandsanrock Beach, and alone, except
for a few dozen humans who were swimming and walking
canines, he had stridden into the waves and commanded the
tide to cease its flow forthwith. As a consequence, today his
knee and thigh articulations were salt encrusted, and he was
forced to schedule a visit to the lubrication station. At least it
gave him the opportunity for a little banter with Harry, who
was surprisingly well informed for a Tier 1 bot. Harry’s nickname
was derived from Oil Can Harry, a character in human children’s
literature, which seemed particularly appropriate, given his job.
“Take my word for it, Harry” said RT. “Humans are obsolete.
Completely useless.” His ESC circuitry oscillated at the memory
of the finger-pointing and laughter yesterday, as the surging
waters had swept over him. He was not designed for swimming.
“Come on, Arty” – RT118/17 winced at the diminutive of
his designation – “Don’t exaggerate. After all, humans created
Advanced Robotics. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”
Harry injected warm oil into a grating knee joint, and RT
moaned in pleasure.
“There’s no doubt they were our creators, and I realise some
of the lower robots look up to them as Gods …” – Harry ignored
the jibe and continued to lubricate RT’s left elbow. Tier 1 bots
had to put up with this sort of discrimination every day –
“… but humans had their Gods too, you know. Anyway, what
matters is that these days we robots are the only ones ever
likely to find the answer to the ultimate question.” Ever since his
chip refit, the ultimate question had assumed an overwhelming
importance to RT118/17.
Harry paused in the act of picking up a grease gun. “Which
question?”.
“Whether science has limits. Whether it can solve the enigma
of life, the universe and everything.”
“Oh, that old thing.” Harry came over to RT with the grease
gun, and signalled for him to open his mouth. “Forty-two.”
R. Barrett and P. P. Delsanto
had once ordered his courtiers to place his throne at the ocean’s
edge, so that he might command the incoming tide to halt. The
old English King had failed, but RT held a secret suspicion that
a robot, especially a Tier 3 robot like himself, might just possibly
be more successful.
Accordingly, at noon on Sandsanrock Beach, and alone, except
for a few dozen humans who were swimming and walking
canines, he had stridden into the waves and commanded the
tide to cease its flow forthwith. As a consequence, today his
knee and thigh articulations were salt encrusted, and he was
forced to schedule a visit to the lubrication station. At least it
gave him the opportunity for a little banter with Harry, who
was surprisingly well informed for a Tier 1 bot. Harry’s nickname
was derived from Oil Can Harry, a character in human children’s
literature, which seemed particularly appropriate, given his job.
“Take my word for it, Harry” said RT. “Humans are obsolete.
Completely useless.” His ESC circuitry oscillated at the memory
of the finger-pointing and laughter yesterday, as the surging
waters had swept over him. He was not designed for swimming.
“Come on, Arty” – RT118/17 winced at the diminutive of
his designation – “Don’t exaggerate. After all, humans created
Advanced Robotics. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”
Harry injected warm oil into a grating knee joint, and RT
moaned in pleasure.
“There’s no doubt they were our creators, and I realise some
of the lower robots look up to them as Gods …” – Harry ignored
the jibe and continued to lubricate RT’s left elbow. Tier 1 bots
had to put up with this sort of discrimination every day –
“… but humans had their Gods too, you know. Anyway, what
matters is that these days we robots are the only ones ever
likely to find the answer to the ultimate question.” Ever since his
chip refit, the ultimate question had assumed an overwhelming
importance to RT118/17.
Harry paused in the act of picking up a grease gun. “Which
question?”.
“Whether science has limits. Whether it can solve the enigma
of life, the universe and everything.”
“Oh, that old thing.” Harry came over to RT with the grease
gun, and signalled for him to open his mouth. “Forty-two.”