The Seeds of Time

The doctor kept Janet ten days more in the hospital while the matter was settled. There had been luck in coming in for a cancelled order, but inevitably some delay while it was adapted to Janet’s specification-also it had required the addition of standard domestic pseudo-memory patterns to suit it for housework.

It was delivered the day after she got back. Two severely functional robots carried the case up the front path, and enquired whether they should unpack it. Janet thought not, and told them to leave it in the outhouse.

When George got back he wanted to open it at once, but Janet shook her head.

‘Supper first,’ she decided. ‘A robot doesn’t mind waiting.’

Nevertheless it was a brief meal. When it was over, George carried the dishes out and stacked them in the sink.

‘No more washing-up,’ he said, with satisfaction. He went out to borrow the next-door robot to help him carry the case in. Then he found his end of it more than he could lift, and had to borrow the robot from the house opposite, too. Presently the pair of them carried it in and laid it on the kitchen floor as if it were a featherweight, and went away again.

George got out the screwdriver and drew the six large screws that held the lid down. Inside there was a mass of shavings. He shoved them out, on to the floor.

Janet protested.

‘What’s the matter? We shan’t have to clear up,’ he said, happily.

There was an inner case of wood pulp, with a snowy layer of wadding under its lid. George rolled it up and pushed it out of the way, and there, ready dressed in black frock and white apron, lay the robot.

They regarded it for some seconds without speaking.

It was remarkably lifelike. For some reason it made Janet feel a little queer to realize that it was her robot-a trifle nervous, and, obscurely, a trifle guilty….

‘Sleeping beauty,’ remarked George, reaching for the instruction book on its chest.

In point of fact the robot was not a beauty. Janet’s preference had been observed. It was pleasant and nice-looking without being striking, but the details were good. The deep gold hair was quite enviable-although one knew that it was probably threads of plastic with waves that would never come out. The skin-another kind of plastic covering the carefully built-up contours-was distinguishable from real skin only by its perfection.

Janet knelt down beside the box, and ventured a forefinger to touch the flawless complexion. It was quite, quite cold.

She sat back on her heels, looking at it. Just a big doll, she told herself; a contraption, a very wonderful contraption of metal, plastics, and electronic circuits, but still a contraption, and made to look as it did simply because people, including herself, would find it harsh or grotesque if it should look any other way…. And yet, to have it looking as it did was a bit disturbing, too. For one thing, you couldn’t go on thinking of it as ‘it’ any more; whether you liked it or not, your mind thought of it as ‘her.’ As ‘her’ it would have to have a name; and, with a name, it would become still more of a person.

‘ “A battery-driven model,”’ George read out, ‘ “will normally require to be fitted with a new battery every four days. Other models, however, are designed to conduct their own regeneration from the mains as and when necessary.” Let’s have her out.’

He put his hands under the robot’s shoulders, and tried to lift it.

‘Phew!’ he said. ‘Must be about three times my weight.’ He had another try. ‘Hell,’ he said, and referred to the book again.

‘ “The control switches are situated at the back, slightly above the waistline.” All right, maybe we can roll her over.’ With an effort he succeeded in getting the figure on to its side and began to undo the buttons at the back of her dress. Janet suddenly felt that to be an indelicacy.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

Her husband glanced at her.

‘All right. It’s yours,’ he told her.

‘She can’t be just “it.” I’m going to call her Hester.’

‘All right, again,’ he agreed.

Janet undid the buttons and fumbled about inside the dress.

‘I can’t find a knob, or anything,’ she said.

‘Apparently there’s a small panel that opens,’ he told her.

‘Oh, no!’ she said, in a slightly shocked tone.

He regarded her again.

‘Darling, she’s just a robot; a mechanism.’

‘I know,’ said Janet, shortly. She felt about again, discovered the panel, and opened it.

‘You give the upper knob a half-turn to the right and then close the panel to complete the circuit,’ instructed George, from the book.

Janet did so, and then sat swiftly back on her heels again, watching.

The robot stirred and turned. It sat up, then it got to its feet. It stood before them, looking the very pattern of a stage parlourmaid.