lot, where I wouldn't arouse suspicion.I'll appear to Ivan Vasilovich in an alchemist's lab, and he'll jump tothe conclusive I'm an automaton. Which, of course, I _am_. Then there'sa Uighur on my list--I'll appear to him in a shaman's hut and he'llassume I'm a devil. A matter of ecologicologic."
"Then you're a devil?" Martin inquired, seizing on the only plausiblesolution.
"No, no, no. I'm a robot. Don't you understand anything?"
"I don't even know who I am, now," Martin said. "For all I know, I'm afaun and you're a human child. I don't think this Scotch is doing me asmuch good as I'd--"
"Your name is Nicholas Martin," the robot said patiently. "And mine isENIAC."
"Eniac?"
"ENIAC," the robot corrected, capitalizing. "ENIAC Gamma theNinety-Third."
So saying, he unslung a sack from his metallic shoulder and began torummage out length upon length of what looked like red silk ribbon witha curious metallic lustre. After approximately a quarter-mile of it hadappeared, a crystal football helmet emerged attached to its end. Agleaming red-green stone was set on each side of the helmet.
"Just over the temporal lobes, you see," the robot explained, indicatingthe jewels. "Now you just set it on your head, like this--"
"Oh no I don't," Martin said, withdrawing his head with the utmostrapidity. "Neither do you, my friend. What's the idea? I don't like thelooks of that gimmick. I particularly don't like those two red garnetson the sides. They look like eyes."
"Those are artificial eclogite," the robot assured him. "They simplyhave a high dielectric constant. It's merely a matter of altering thenormal thresholds of the neuron memory-circuits. All thinking is basedon memory, you know. The strength of your associations--the emotionalindices of your memories--channel your actions and decisions, and theecologizer simply changes the voltage of your brain so the thresholdsare altered."
"Is that all it does?" Martin asked suspiciously.
"Well, now," the robot said with a slight air of evasion. "I didn'tintend to mention it, but since you ask--it also imposes themaster-matrix of your character type. But since that's the prototype ofyour character in the first place, it will simply enable you to make themost of your potential ability, hereditary and acquired. It will makeyou react to your environment in the way that best assures yoursurvival."
"Not me, it won't," Martin said firmly. "Because you aren't going to putthat thing on my head."
The robot sketched a puzzled frown. "Oh," he said after a pause. "Ihaven't explained yet, have I? It's very simple. Would you be willing totake part in a valuable socio-cultural experiment for the benefit of allmankind?"
"No," Martin said.
"But you don't know what it is yet," the robot said plaintively. "You'llbe the only one to refuse, after I've explained everything thoroughly.By the way, can you understand me all right?"
Martin laughed hollowly. "Natch," he said.
"Good," the robot said, relieved. "That may be one trouble with mymemory. I had to record so many languages before I could temporalize.Sanskrit's very simple, but medieval Russian's confusing, and as forUighur--however! The purpose of this experiment is to promote the mostsuccessful pro-survival relationship between man and his environment.Instant adaptation is what we're aiming at, and we hope to get it byminimizing the differential between individual and environment. In otherwords, the right reaction at the right time. Understand?"
"Of course not," Martin said. "What nonsense you talk."
"There are," the robot said rather wearily, "only a limited number ofcharacter matrices possible, depending first on the arrangement of thegenes within the chromosomes, and later upon environmental additions.Since environments tend to repeat--like societies, you know--anorganizational pattern isn't hard to lay out, along the Kaldekooztime-scale. You follow me so far?"
"By the Kaldekooz time-scale, yes," Martin said.
"I was always lucid," the robot remarked a little vainly, nourishing aswirl of red ribbon.
"Keep that thing away from me," Martin complained. "Drunk I may be, butI have no intention of sticking my neck out that far."
"Of course you'll do it," the robot said firmly. "Nobody's ever refusedyet. And don't bicker with me or you'll get me confused and I'll have totake another jolt of voltage. Then there's no telling how confused I'llbe. My memory gives me enough trouble when I temporalize. Time-travelalways raises the synaptic delay threshold, but the trouble is it's sovariable. That's why I got you mixed up with Ivan at first. But I don'tvisit him till after I've seen you--I'm running the testchronologically, and nineteen-fifty-two comes before fifteen-seventy, ofcourse."
"It doesn't," Martin said, tilting the glass to his lips. "Not even inHollywood does nineteen-fifty-two come before fifteen-seventy."
"I'm using the Kaldekooz time-scale," the robot explained. "But reallyonly for convenience. Now do you want the ideal ecological differentialor don't you? Because--" Here he flourished the red ribbon again, peeredinto the helmet, looked narrowly at Martin, and shook his head.
"I'm sorry," the robot said. "I'm afraid this won't work. Your head'stoo small. Not enough brain-room, I suppose. This helmet's for an eightand a half head, and yours is much too--"
"My head _is_ eight and a half," Martin protested with dignity.
"Can't be," the robot said cunningly. "If it were, the helmet would fit,and it doesn't. Too big."
"It does fit," Martin said.
"That's the trouble with arguing with pre-robot species," ENIAC said, asto himself. "Low, brutish, unreasoning. No wonder, when their heads areso small. Now Mr. Martin--" He spoke as though to a small, stupid,stubborn child. "Try to understand. This helmet's size eight and a half.Your head is unfortunately so very small that the helmet wouldn't fit--"
"Blast it!" cried the infuriated Martin, caution quite lost betweenScotch and annoyance. "It does fit! Look here!" Recklessly he snatchedthe helmet and clapped it firmly on his head. "It fits perfectly!"
"I erred," the robot acknowledged, with such a gleam in his eye thatMartin, suddenly conscious of his rashness, jerked the helmet from hishead and dropped it on the desk. ENIAC quietly picked it up and put itback into his sack, stuffing the red ribbon in after it with rapidmotions. Martin watched, baffled, until ENIAC had finished, gatheredtogether the mouth of the sack, swung it on his shoulder again, andturned toward the door.
"Good-bye," the robot said. "And thank you."
"For what?" Martin demanded.
"For your cooperation," the robot said.
"I won't cooperate," Martin told him flatly. "It's no use. Whatever fooltreatment it is you're selling, I'm not going to--"
"Oh, you've already had the ecology treatment," ENIAC replied blandly."I'll be back tonight to renew the charge. It lasts only twelve hours."
"_What!_"
ENIAC moved his forefingers outward from the corners of his mouth,sketching a polite smile. Then he stepped through the door and closed itbehind him.
Martin made a faint squealing sound, like a stuck but gagged pig.
_Something was happening inside his head._