“Where?” Ed demanded, gazing around, his feet wide apart, his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling. His breath came hoarsely, like an animal’s. Silence fell over the lobby. Everyone turned towards him, pausing in their work. “Where?” Ed demanded again. “Where is she? They?”
It was fortunate Janet had been delivered of a child on this of all days. Proxima Centauri was a long way from Terra and the service was bad. Anticipating the birth of his child, Ed had left Proxima some weeks before. He had just arrived in the city. While stowing his suitcase in the luggage tread at the station the message had been handed to him by a robot courier: Los Angeles Central Hospital. At once.
Ed hurried, and fast. As he hurried he couldn’t help feeling pleased he had hit the day exactly right, almost to the hour. It was a good feeling. He had felt it before, during years of business dealings in the “colonies”, the frontier, the fringe of Terran civilization where the streets were still lit by electric lights and doors opened by hand.
That was going to be hard to get used to. Ed turned towards the door behind him, feeling suddenly foolish. He had shoved it open, ignoring the eye. The door was just now closing, sliding slowly back in place. He calmed down a little, putting his handkerchief away in his coat pocket. The hospital attendants were resuming their work, picking up their activities where they had left off. One attendant, a strapping late-model robot, coasted over to Ed and halted.
The robot balanced his noteboard expertly, his photocell eyes appraising Ed’s flushed features. “May I inquire whom you are looking for, sir? Whom do you wish to find?”
“My wife.”
“Her name, sir?”
“Janet. Janet Doyle. She’s just had a child.”
The robot consulted his board. “This way, sir.” He coasted off down the passage.
Ed followed nervously. “Is she okay? Did I get here in time?” His anxiety was returning.
“She is quite well, sir.” The robot raised his metal arm and a side door slid back. “In here, sir.”
Janet, in a chic blue-mesh suit, was sitting before a mahogany desk, a cigarette between her fingers, her slim legs crossed, talking rapidly. On the other side of the desk a well-dressed doctor sat listening.
“Janet!” Ed said, entering the room.
“Hi, Ed.” She glanced up at him. “You just now get in? “
“Sure. It’s—it’s all over? You—I mean, it’s happened?”
Janet laughed, her even white teeth sparkling. “Of course. Come in and sit. This is Doctor Bish.”
“Hello, Doc.” Ed sat down nervously across from them. “Then it’s all over?”
“The event has happened,” Doctor Bish said. His voice was thin and metallic. Ed realized with a sudden shock that the doctor was a robot. A top-level robot, made in humanoid form, not like the ordinary metal-limbed workers. It had fooled him—he had been away so long. Doctor Bish appeared plump and well fed, with kindly features and eyeglasses. His large fleshy hands rested on the desk, a ring on one finger. Pinstripe suit and necktie. Diamond tie clasp. Nails carefully manicured. Hair black and evenly parted.
But his voice had given him away. They never seemed to be able to get a really human sound into the voice. The compressed air and whirling disc system seemed to fall short. Otherwise, it was very convincing.
“I understand you’ve been situated near Proxima, Mr. Doyle,” Doctor Bish said pleasantly.
Ed nodded. “Yeah.”
“Quite a long way, isn’t it? I’ve never been out there. I have always wanted to go. Is it true they’re almost ready to push on to Sirius?”
“Look, doc—”
“Ed, don’t be impatient.” Janet stubbed out her cigarette, glancing reprovingly up at him. She hadn’t changed in six months. Small blonde face, red mouth, cold eyes like little blue rocks. And now, her perfect figure back again. “They’re bringing him here. It takes a few minutes. They have to wash him off and put drops in his eyes and take a wave shot of his brain.”
“He? Then it’s a boy?”
“Of course. Don’t you remember? You were with me when I had the shots. We agreed at the time. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“Too late to change your mind now, Mr. Doyle,” Doctor Bish’s toneless voice came, high-pitched and calm. “Your wife has decided to call him Peter.”
“Peter.” Ed nodded, a little dazed. “That’s right. We did decide, didn’t we? Peter.” He let the word roll around in his mind. “Yeah. That’s fine. I like it.”
The wall suddenly faded, turning from opaque to transparent. Ed spun quickly. They were looking into a brightly lit room, filled with hospital equipment and white-clad attendant robots. One of the robots was moving towards them, pushing a cart. On the cart was a container, a big metal pot.
Ed’s breathing increased. He felt a wave of dizziness. He went up to the transparent wall and stood gazing at the metal pot on the cart.
Doctor Bish rose. “Don’t you want to see, too, Mrs. Doyle?”
“Of course.” Janet crossed to the wall and stood beside Ed. She watched critically, her arms folded.
Doctor Bish made a signal. The attendant reached into the pot and lifted out a wire tray, gripping the handles with his magnetic clamps. On the tray, dripping through the wire, was Peter Doyle, still wet from his bath, his eyes wide with astonishment. He was pink all over, except for a fringe of hair on the top of his head, and his great blue eyes. He was little and wrinkled and toothless, like an ancient withered sage.
“Golly,” Ed said.
Doctor Bish made a second signal. The wall slid back. The attendant robot advanced into the room, holding his dripping tray out. Doctor Bish removed Peter from the tray and held him up for inspection. He turned him around and around, studying him from every angle.
“He looks fine,” he said at last.
“What was the result of the wave photo?” Janet asked.
“Result was good. Excellent tendencies indicated. Very promising. High development of the—” The doctor broke off. “What is it, Mr. Doyle?”
Ed was holding out his hands. “Let me have him, doc. I want to hold him.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s see how heavy he is. He sure looks big.”
Doctor Bish’s mouth fell open in horror. He and Janet gaped.
“Ed!” Janet exclaimed sharply. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Good heavens, Mr. Doyle,” the doctor murmured.
Ed blinked. “What?”
“If I had thought you had any such thing in mind—” Doctor Bish quickly returned Peter to the attendant. The attendant rushed Peter from the room, back to the metal pot. The cart and robot and pot hurriedly vanished, and the wall banged back in place.
Janet grabbed Ed’s arm angrily. “Good Lord, Ed! Have you lost your mind? Come on. Let’s get out of here before you do something else.”
“But—”
“Come on.” Janet smiled nervously at Doctor Bish. “We’ll run along now, doctor. Thanks so much for everything. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s been out there so long, you know.”
“I understand,” Doctor Bish said smoothly. He had regained his poise. “I trust we’ll hear from you later, Mrs. Doyle.”
Janet pulled Ed out into the hall. “Ed, what’s the matter with you? I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” Two spots of red glowed in Janet’s cheeks. “I could have kicked you.”
“But what—”
“You know we aren’t allowed to touch him. What do you want to do, ruin his whole life?”
“But—”
“Come on.” They hurried outside the hospital, on to the terrace. Warm sunlight streamed down on them. “There’s no telling what harm you’ve done. He may already be hopelessly warped. If he grows up all warped and—and neurotic and emotional, it’ll be your fault.”
Suddenly Ed remembered. He sagged, his features drooping with misery. “That’s right. I forgot. Only robots can come near the children. I’m sorry, Jan
. I got carried away. I hope I didn’t do anything they can’t fix.”
“How could you forget?”
“It’s so different out at Prox.” Ed waved to a surface car, crestfallen and abashed. The driver drew up in front of them. “Jan, I’m sorry as hell. I really am. I was all excited. Let’s go have a cup of coffee some place and talk. I want to know what the doctor said.”
Ed had a cup of coffee and Janet sipped at a brandy frappé. The Nymphite Room was pitch black except for a vague light oozing up from the table between them. The table diffused a pale illumination that spread over everything, a ghostly radiation seemingly without source. A robot waitress moved back and forth soundless with a tray of drinks. Recorded music played softly in the back of the room.
“Go on,” Ed said.
“Go on?” Janet slipped her jacket off and laid it over the back of her chair. In the pale light her breasts glowed faintly. “There’s not much to tell. Everything went all right. It didn’t take long. I chatted with Doctor Bish most of the time.”
“I’m glad I got here.”
“How was your trip?”
“Fine.”
“Is the service getting any better? Does it still take as long as it did?”
“About the same.”
“I can’t see why you want to go all the way out there. It’s so—so cut off from things. What do you find out there? Are plumbing fixtures really that much in demand?”
“They need them. Frontier area. Everyone wants the refinements.” Ed gestured vaguely. “What did he tell you about Peter? What’s he” going to be like? Can he tell? I guess it’s too soon.”
“He was going to tell me when you started acting the way you did. I’ll call him on the vidphone when we get home. His wave pattern should be good. He comes from the best eugenic stock.”
Ed grunted. “On your side, at least.”
“How long are you going to be here?”
“I don’t know. Not long. I’ll have to go back. I’d sure like to see him again, before I go.” He glanced up hopefully at his wife.
“Do you think I can?”
“I suppose.”
“How long will he have to stay there?”
“At the hospital? Not long. A few days.”
Ed hesitated. “I didn’t mean at the hospital, exactly. I mean with them. How long before we can have him? How long before we can bring him home?”
There was silence. Janet finished her brandy. She leaned back, lighting a cigarette. Smoke drifted across to Ed, blending with the pale light. “Ed, I don’t think you understand. You’ve been out there so long. A lot has happened since you were a child. New methods, new techniques. They’ve found so many things they didn’t know. They’re making progress, for the first time. They know what to do. They’re developing a real methodology for dealing with children. For the growth period. Attitude development. Training.” She smiled brightly at Ed. “I’ve been reading all about it.”
“How long before we get him?”
“In a few days he’ll be released from the hospital. He’ll go to a child guidance centre. He’ll be tested and studied. They’ll determine his various capacities and his latent abilities. The direction his development seems to be taking.”
“And then?”
“Then he’s put in the proper educational division. So he’ll get the right training. Ed, you know, I think he’s really going to be something! I could tell by the way Doctor Bish looked. He was studying the wave pattern charts when I came in. He had a look on his face. How can I describe it?” She searched for the word. “Well, almost—almost a greedy look. Real excitement. They take so much interest in what they’re doing. He—”
“Don’t say he. Say it.”
“Ed, really! What’s got into you?”
“Nothing.” Ed glared sullenly down. “Go on.”
“They make sure he’s trained in the right direction. All the time he’s there ability tests are given. Then, when he’s about nine, he’ll be transferred to—”
“Nine! You mean nine years?”
“Of course.”
“But when do we get him?”
“Ed, I thought you knew about this. Do I have to go over the whole thing?”
“My God, Jan! We can’t wait nine years!” Ed jerked himself upright. “I never heard of such a thing. Nine years? Why, he’ll be half grown by then.”
“That’s the point.” Janet leaned towards him, resting her bare elbow against the table. “As long as he’s growing he has to be with them. Not with us. Afterwards, when he’s finished growing, when he’s no longer so plastic, then we can be with him all we want.”
“Afterwards? When he’s eighteen?” Ed leaped up, pushing his chair back. “I’m going down there and get him.”
“Sit down, Ed.” Janet gazed up calmly, one supple arm thrown lightly over the back of her chair, “Sit down and act like an adult for a change.”
“Doesn’t it matter to you? Don’t you care?”
“Of course I care.” Janet shrugged. “But it’s necessary. Otherwise he won’t develop correctly. It’s for his good. Not ours. He doesn’t exist for us. Do you want him to have conflicts?”
Ed moved away from the table. “I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just around. I can’t stand this kind of place. It bothers me. I’ll see you later.” Ed pushed across the room to the door. The door opened and he found himself on the shiny noonday street. Hot sunlight beat down on him. He blinked, adjusting himself to the blinding light. People streamed around him. People and noise. He moved with them.
He was dazed. He had known, of course. It was there in the back of his mind. The new developments in child care. But it had been abstract, general. Nothing to do with him. With his child.
He calmed himself, as he walked along. He was getting all upset about nothing. Janet was right, of course. It was for Peter’s good. Peter didn’t exist for them, like a dog or cat. A pet to have around the house. He was a human being, with his own life. The training was for him, not for them. It was—to develop him, his abilities, his powers. He was to be moulded, realized, brought out.
Naturally, robots could do the best job. Robots could train him scientifically, according to a rational technique. Not according to emotional whim. Robots didn’t get angry. Robots didn’t nag and whine. They didn’t spank a child or yell at him. They didn’t give conflicting orders. They didn’t quarrel among themselves or use the child for their own ends. And there could be no Oedipus Complex, with only robots around.
No complexes at all. It had been discovered long ago that neurosis could be traced to childhood training. To the way parents brought up the child. The inhibitions he was taught, the manners, the lessons, the punishments, the rewards. Neuroses, complexes, warped development, all stemmed from the subjective relationship existing between the child and the parent. If perhaps the parent could be eliminated as a factor…
Parents could never become objective about their children. It was always a biased, emotional projection the parent held towards the child. Inevitably, the parent’s view was distorted. No parent could be a fit instructor for his child.
Robots could study the child, analyze his needs, his wants, test his abilities and interests. Robots would not try to force the child to fit a certain mould. The child would be trained along his own lines; wherever scientific study indicated his interest and need lay.
Ed came to the corner. Traffic whirred past him. He stepped absently forward.
A clang and crash. Bars dropped in front of him, stopping him. A robot safety control.
“Sir, be more careful!” the strident voice came, close by him.
“Sorry.” Ed stepped back. The control bars lifted. He waited for the lights to change. It was for Pete’s own good. Robots could train him right. Later on, when he was out of growth stage,when he was not so pliant, so responsive—
“It’s better for him,” Ed murmured. He said it again, half aloud. Some
people glanced at him and he coloured. Of course it was better for him. No doubt about it.
Eighteen. He couldn’t be with his son until he was eighteen. Practically grown up.
The lights changed. Deep in thought, Ed crossed the street with the other pedestrians, keeping carefully inside the safety lane. It was best for Peter. But eighteen years was a long time.
“A hell of a long time,” Ed murmured, frowning. “Too damn long a time.”
Doctor 2g-Y Bish carefully studied the man standing in front of him. His relays and memory banks clicked, narrowing down the image identification, flashing a variety of comparison possibilities past the scanner.
“I recall you, sir,” Doctor Bish said at last. “You’re the man from Proxima. From the colonies. Doyle, Edward Doyle. Let’s see. It was some time ago. It must have been—”
“Nine years ago,” Ed Doyle said grimly. “Exactly nine years ago, practically to the day.”
Doctor Bish folded his hands. “Sit down, Mr. Doyle. What can I do for you? How is Mrs. Doyle? Very engaging wife, as I recall. We had a delightful conversation during her delivery. How—”
“Doctor Bish, do you know where my son is?”
Doctor Bish considered, tapping his fingers on the desk top, the polished mahogany surface. He closed his eyes slightly, gazing off into the distance. “Yes. Yes, I know where your son is Mr. Doyle.”
Ed Doyle relaxed. “Fine.” He nodded, letting his breath out in relief.
“I know exactly where your son is. I placed him in the Los Angeles Biological Research Station about a year ago. He’s undergoing specialized training there. Your son, Mr. Doyle, has shown exceptional ability. He is, shall I say, one of the few, the very few we have found with real possibilities.”
“Can I see him?”
“See him? How do you mean?”
Doyle controlled himself with an effort. “I think the term is clear.”
Doctor Bish rubbed his chin. His photocell brain whirred, operating at maximum velocity. Switches routed power surges, building up loads and leaping gaps rapidly, as he contemplated the man before him. “You wish to view him? That’s one meaning of the term. Or do you wish to talk to him? Sometimes the term is used to cover a more direct contact. It’s a loose word.”