Death Sentence (ss) by Isaac Asimov

Author:Isaac Asimov [Asimov, Isaac]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci-Fi Short Story
Publisher: Astounding Science Fiction
Published: 1943-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

Murry said, “Frankly, they haven’t even begun and I want the eyes grew information without benefit of confusing psychological translation. First of all, what kind of people—or things—are these robots? You haven’t a photocast of one of them, have you?”

“Well, no. I didn’t like to take ’casts of them. But they’re not things. They’re people/”

“No? Do they look like—people?”

“Yes—mostly. Outside, anyway. I brought some microscopic studies of the cellular structure that I got hold of. The Board Master has them. They’re different inside, you know, greatly simplified. But you’d never know that. They’re interesting—and nice.”

“Are they simpler than the other life of the planet?”

“Oh, no. It’s a very primitive planet. And…and,” he was interrupted by a spasm of coughing and crushed the cigarette to death as unobtrusively as possible. “They’ve got a protoplasmic base, you know. I don’t think they have the slightest idea they’re robots.”

“No. I don’t suppose they would have. What about their science?*’ “I don’t know. I never got a chance to see. And everything was so different. I guess it would take an expert to understand.”

“Did they have machines?”

The albino looked surprised. “Well, of course. A good many, of all sorts.”

“Large cities?”

“Yes!”

The secretary’s thoughtful. “And you like them. Why?”

Theor Realo was brought up sharply. “I don’t know. They were just likable. We got along. They didn’t bother me so. It’s nothing I can put my finger on. Maybe it’s because I have it so hard getting along back home, and they weren’t as difficult as real people.”

“They were more friendly?”

“N-no. Can’t say so. They never quite accepted me. I was a stranger, didn’t know their language at first—all that. But”—he looked up with sudden brightness—“I understood them better. I could tell what they were thinking better. I—But I don’t know why.”

“Hm-m-m. Well—another cigarette? No? I’ve got to be walloping the pillow now. It’s getting late. How about a twosome at golf tomorrow? I’ve worked up a little course. It’ll do. Come on out. The exercise will put hair on your chest.”

He grinned and left.

He mumbled one sentence to himself: “It looks like a death sentence”—and whistled thoughtfully as he passed along to his own quarters.

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