Robert полностью

"There's nothing like it, Eddie," he said. "Nothing like it. You'll see. You'll love it."

"I love it already," Eddie said.

"Yes, but wait until it becomes a real person."

For a moment, Eddie's lip began to tremble. "Wh—what?"

"You know, when he begins to walk and talk and laugh. That's when you really begin enjoying 'em. Up to then, heck, they're just cute little packages, that's all."

"I guess so," Eddie said, immensely relieved.

Mr. Jeffries smiled knowingly. "What are you going to name the little rascal?" he asked.

"Robert," Eddie replied quickly. "Robert," Mr. Jeffries repeated. That's a nice name. Robert."

"My father's name," Eddie said, "Lord rest his soul."

"A very nice name," Mr. Jeffries re­peated.

Eddie finished the port. "Well, I've got to get back. Mary's holding the fort all by herself."

Mr. Jeffries smiled. "It'll be easier when he grows up, Eddie. You'll see what I mean."

He hurried home to Mary.

Eddie learned one thing that worried him for a little while.

He could tell that Robert was a robot.

He didn't discover it until Robert was almost five years old. Up until that time, he thought it was an ordinary twinkle in the boy's eyes. But one day, he was sit­ting on the sofa reading a book when he glanced up and saw his son watching him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing, Dad. I was just thinking, that's all."

The voice coming from Robert's lips had been perfectly adjusted so that it corresponded to the chronological age of the machine. Eddie never thought of it as a machine anymore, of course. This was his son, an intelligent, warm, good-looking boy who, Eddie felt, rather favored his father.

"Thinking about what, son?"

"Oh, lots of things."

Eddie shrugged. And then he saw the flicker of light behind Robert's right eye. He stared at the boy for a moment.

"Come here, son," he said.

Robert got to his feet obediently and moved closer to his father. Eddie stud­ied him closely. The flicker was nothing more than that: an occasional twinkle of light far behind the boy's right eye. Undoubtedly a tube, Eddie thought, and he surprised himself with the knowledge that he still knew the boy was a robot. What is it, Dad?" the boy asked.

Eddie didn't want to worry him un­necessarily. He didn't want to put any­thing on his son's memory tapes which might upset him. "Nothing at all, my boy. Thought you had a scratch near your eye." He clapped him on the shoul­der, the plastic as smooth and resilient as any living flesh. "You're as sound as a dollar. Now beat it and let me read a while."

OF COURSE they taught the boy to do only good. Recorded on Robert's memory tapes were the careful teach­ings of a mother and father who be­lieved faithfully in honesty, truth, love. Nor were they worried about outside in­fluences corrupting their son. They knew that he would only record their own teachings until they had his mechanism adjusted to accept outside offerings. They would do that when he started school. And by that time, they felt the boy's personality would be thoroughly shaped. They were quite proud of them­selves, Eddie and Mary. They had raised a fine boy thus far, and they looked back on their purchase as the real beginning of their lives.

They shared their love for the boy with the entire neighborhood, boasting about him, showing him off, wearing their pride in him like a warm cloak. Mr, Jeffries, Mr. Anderson, the young Clark couple, the D'Allessio's, McCarthy the cop, the tailor, the baker, everyone knew of Robert, and everyone smiled amiably whenever Robert and Eddie walked down the street.

Eddie forgot all about the twinkle be­hind Robert's right eye, because it was hardly noticeable anyway. He told it to Mary, but she accepted it and then for­got it, and they continued to educate the boy through his memory tapes, making him into the upright person they wanted their only son to be.

They were surprised to discover their boy had learned to do evil.

IT WAS Eddie who made the discovery.

He was coming home from work, walking up the street to his small home. He nodded at Josie D'Allessio hanging out her wash, said hello to McCarthy as he swung by on his beat, waved to Mr. Jeffries next door. He came into his own front yard, closing the gate gently be­hind him.

"Mary?" he called. There was no an­swer. He shrugged and tucked his news­paper under his arm. "Robert?" This time, when he got no answer, he was slightly alarmed. Until he heard the noises coming from behind the garage. A smile expanded over his face as he recognized Robert's voice. Quietly, he put his paper down on the front stoop and tiptoed around the house.

He could hear Robert's voice more clearly now. He could hardly keep from laughing as he moved closer. And then he heard what Robert was saying.

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill the living thing!"