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Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz.
I'm the host of Big Technology Podcast,
a long time reporter and an on-air contributor to CNBC.
And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out
how artificial intelligence is changing the business world
and our lives.
So each week on Big Technology,
I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech
and outsiders trying to influence it,
asking where this is all going.
They come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft,
Amazon, and plenty more.
So if you want to be smart with your wallet,
your career choices,
and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties,
listen to Big Technology Podcast wherever you get your podcasts.
Irvice, with a smile, by Charles L. Fontanay.
Herbert was truly a gentleman robot.
The lady's slightest wish was his command.
Herbert bowed with a muted clink,
indicating he probably needed oiling somewhere,
and presented Alex with a perfect martini on a silver tray.
He stood holding the tray with a white,
permanent porcelain smile on his smooth metal face,
as Alex sipped the drink and grimaced.
It's a good martini, Herbert, said Alice.
Thank you.
But dammit, I wish you didn't have that everlasting smile.
I am very sorry, Miss Alice,
but I am unable to alter myself in any way.
Repried Herbert in a polite, hollow voice.
He retired to a corner and stood impassively,
still holding the tray.
Herbert had found a silver deposit and made the tray.
Herbert had found a sand and made the cocktail glass.
Herbert had combined God knew what atmospheric and earth chemicals
to make what tasted like gin and vermouth,
and Herbert had frozen the ice to chill it.
Sometimes, said Therawistfully,
it occurs to me it would be better to live in a mud hut
with a real man than in a mansion with Herbert.
The four women lulled comfortably in a living room
of their spacious house, as luxurious as anything any of them
would have known on a distant earth.
The rugs were thick, the furniture was overstuffed,
the paintings on the walls were aesthetic and inspiring,
the shelves were filled with booktapes and music tapes.
Herbert had done it all except to the booktapes and music tapes,
which had been salvaged from the wrecked spaceship.
Do you suppose we'll ever escape from this best
of all possible, manless worlds?
Asked Betsy, fluffing her thick black hair
with her fingers and inspecting herself in a Herbert made mirror?
I don't see how, answered blonde, Alice Glemley.
That atmospheric trap would wreck any other spaceship
just as it wrecked ours, and the same magnetic layer
prevents any radio message from getting out.
Now I'm afraid we're a colony.
A colony perpetuates itself, reminded
of a sharp-faced Margaret Asselie.
We aren't a colony without men.
They were not the prettiest women in the universe, nor the youngest.
The prettiest women and the youngest did not go to space.
They were young enough and healthy enough,
or they could not have gone to space.
It had been a year and a half now, an earth year and a half,
on a nice little planet revolving around a nice little yellow sun.
Herbert, the robot, was obedient and versatile
and had provided them with a house, food, clothing,
anything they wished created out of the raw materials of earth and air and water.
But the bones of all the men who had been a space
with these four ladies lay moldering in the wreckage of their spaceship.
And Herbert could not create a man.
Herbert did not have to have direct orders,
and he had tried once to create a man
when he had overheard them wishing for one.
They buried the corpse, perfect in every detail,
except that it had never been alive.
It's been a hot day, said Alice, fanning her brow.
I wish it would rain.
Silently, Herbert moved from his corner and went out the door.
Margaret gestured after him with a bitter little laugh.
It'll rain this afternoon, she said.
I don't know how Herbert does it,
maybe with silver iodide.
But it'll rain.
Wouldn't it have been simpler to get him to air condition the house, Alice?
That's a good idea, said Alice, thoughtfully.
We should have had him do it before.
Herbert had not quite completed the task of air conditioning the house
when the other spaceship crashed.
They all rushed out to the smoking site, the four women in Herbert.
It was a tiny scout ship, and its single occupant was alive.
He was unconscious, but he was alive, and he was a man.
They carted him back to the house, tenderly, and put him to bed.
They hovered over him like four hands over a single chick,
waiting and watching for him to come out of his coma,
while Herbert scurried about creating and administering
the necessary medicines.
He'll live, said Thera happily.
Thera had been a space nurse.
He'll be on his feet and walking around in a few days.
A man murmured Betsy with something like all in her voice.
I could almost believe Herbert brought him here and answer to our prayers.
Now girls, said Alice, we have to realize that a man brings problems as well as possibilities.
There was a matter of fact hardness in her tone which almost masked the quiver behind
it.
There was a defiant note of competition there which had not been heard on this little
planet before.
What do you mean, asked Thera?
I know what she means, said Margaret, and the new hardness came natural to her.
She means which one of us gets him.
Betsy, the youngest, gassed, her mouth rounded to a startled o.
Thera blinked as though she were coming out of a daze.
That's right, said Alice.
Do we draw straws or do we let him choose?
Couldn't we wait and suggested Betsy timidly?
Couldn't we wait until he gets well?
Herbert came in with a new thermometer and poked it into the unconscious man's mouth.
He stood by the bed waiting patiently.
No, I don't think we can, said Alice.
I think we have to have it all worked out and agreed on so there won't be any dispute
about it.
I say draw straws, said Margaret.
Margaret's face was thin and she had a skinny figure.
Betsy, the youngest, opened her mouth, but Thera forced all her.
We are not on earth, she said firmly in her soft mellow voice.
We don't have to follow to rest real customs, and we shouldn't.
There's only one solution that will keep everybody happy, all of us, and the man.
And that is, asked Margaret dryly, polygamy, of course.
He must belong to us all.
Betsy shuddered, but surprisingly she nodded.
That's well and good, agreed Margaret, but we have to agree that no one of us will
be favored above the others.
He has to understand that from the start.
That's fair, said Alice, percing her lips.
Yes, that's fair.
But I agree with Margaret, he must be divided equally among the four of us.
Chattering over the details, the hard competitiveness vanished from their tones, the four left the
sick room to prepare for supper.
After supper, they went back in.
Herbert stood by the bed, the eternal smile of service on his metal face.
As always, Herbert had not required a direct command to accede to their wishes.
The man was divided into four quarters, one for each of them.
It was a very neat, surgical job.
Just with a smile by Charles L. Fontanay.
