Disclaimer: Andrew Martin, Little Miss, and Susan Calvin all belong to Isaac Asimov. I wish they were mine, though.
A/N: In The Robots of Dawn, Isaac Asimov briefly mentions a children's tale about Little Miss and her robot Andrew Martin, who becomes human. He doesn't go into details, so here is my interpretation of that fairytale.
Little Miss and Andrew MartinAndrew Martin's Little Miss was not petite. Nor was she single due to the lack of conscientious efforts of the part of her male classmates to ask her out on a date. A female student of any sort was a limited and therefore precious commodity at the Institute of Robotics; a girl of average beauty and height, such as herself, became almost priceless. For a male population that outnumbered the fairer sex five to one, persuading a girl to honor him with her presence by his side was about as rare as developing a theory that would revolutionize scientific thought.
Not that these young men doubted their ability to succeed at either, Little Miss thought dryly as she opened her dorm room door on yet another Friday night to find yet another would-be Prince Charming holding out a bouquet of flowers like a peace offering. "Sorry, I'm busy," she informed him before slamming the door. She heard him trudging down towards the next girl's room.
Because her work was going well and she was in a good mood, she allowed herself to feel a brief moment of sympathy for her male classmates. All those raging hormones made their mental processes unstable, she thought. The result was one continuous loop of asking girls out and getting turned down. They couldn't seem to end the cycle. She shook her head. At least that was one problem she didn't have! Not as long as she had Andrew Martin!
Smiling in satisfaction, she turned back to the jumble of metal parts and colorful wires strewn all over her floor. "Right. I'll have you sorted out in no time."
"Yes, Little Miss," replied a voice from somewhere under the bed.
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Andrew Martin was the first robot Elly had ever owned. He was a present from her parents on her twelfth birthday. At the time, it had been fashionable for middle class parents to provide their children with the latest models. The robots were fairly intelligent and were designed to be friends and playmates. They served as walking dictionaries and calculators, as well as faithful confidants. However, to the twelve-year-old Elly surveying her new toy, her A-16 model had one overwhelming fault – it looked like an assemblage of metal, not like a human. Or even a dog.
"Mom," she complained sulkily, "I told you I want a dog!"
Her mother replied with ill-concealed irritation, "We've had this discussion dozens of times. I simply do not have the time and energy to take care of a dog! It's bad enough that when I come home from work every day, I still have to cook dinner and tidy the house. I am not going to run after a four-legged creator of chaos as well!"
"But I'll take care of the dog!"
"That's what all kids say – but in the end, the dog will be all my responsibility! No! The answer is no!"
Elly glared at her new robot and sniffed disdainfully. "You're not even furry," she accused it.
"I apologize for any shortcomings, Little Miss," the robot replied, its silvery face expressionless.
Elly stared for a second. "You can talk then? I thought robots couldn't talk!"
"The first non-mobile speaking robot was invented three years ago, Little Miss. I am among the first of the mobile speaking models." Its voice was rather flat, but that didn't diminish Elly's thrill at having a real talking robot. She must the only one in school to have one!
"Wow!" she breathed. "That's amazing!"
Unnoticed in the background, her parents exchanged smiles.
"I come with an instruction manual, if you wish to peruse it, Little Miss." A section of its chest opened outward, like a glove compartment. Inside was a thick book. The robot removed it and offered it to her. Its chest closed again.
Elly took it in a daze. A talking robot! "Wow!" she repeated.
"So what do you think?" her dad grinned. "Not such shabby substitute for a dog, is it?"
"No! Wow – I'm going to call Rosie and tell her – no, I should read this first – no, I should pick a name – thanks Mom and Dad!" Elly called as she ran up the stairs towards her room.
The robot followed.
Up in her room, Elly plopped down on her bed with the manual and regarded the robot intently. It was standing by the door, like a deferential servant. "Sit," she said, flapping her hand in the direction of her chair. "It's too awkward when you're all the way across the room or towering over me."
The robot obeyed, pulling out the chair smoothly and sitting down.
The splintering of wood and the thump as it landed on the carpet weren't as graceful. Elly started to scramble off the bed, but then she realized that the robot was fine. She sat back.
"Hmm," she said. "I think we need a special chair for you."
The robot silently stood and began clearing away the debris. If it had been a dog, it would have had its tail between its legs. As it was, though, it simply cleaned up in such a subdued manner that Elly felt sorry for it.
"Oh, never mind the chair. Come over here." She tossed a few pillows onto the floor and settled herself on one. "Sit there."
Once the robot was facing her, she proclaimed impressively, "You need a name. I dub thee – " she looked around her room thoughtfully until her eyes settled on her bookcase – "I dub thee Andrew Martin. He's my favorite writer in the whole world."
"Yes, Little Miss," replied the newly-named Andrew Martin.
"Can you read?" Elly demanded.
"Yes, Little Miss."
"Good!" she exclaimed with enthusiasm, gathering up several volumes and dumping them in his lap. "You can read all of them and we can be best friends." She added with smug satisfaction, "Rosie wouldn't read any of them."
"Yes, Little Miss," said Andrew Martin.
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However, Elly's contentment with her new friend only lasted until the A-17 was introduced the following year.
"Daddy?" she asked over breakfast one morning.
"Mmm?" replied her father from behind his newspaper.
"Rosie has a new robot."
"Really?" He turned a page.
"Yes. It's the newest and smartest." When her father did not respond, she went on hurriedly, "So I was thinking that maybe we could trade in Andrew Martin and pay a little extra to get – "
"No." He finally put down his paper and regarded her sternly. "Andrew Martin is a perfectly good model that should last for years. We're not going to go through robots the way you teenagers go through clothing fashions."
"But Rosie said – "
"I don't care what Rosie said. What would she know about robots? She's a thirteen-year-old girl intent on having all the newest things on sale. I am a roboticist, and I am telling you that the A-17 model is exactly like the A-16 in terms of mental capacity. The only difference is the outer design, and while I do admit that the A-17's facial construction is more realistic, I'm not going to waste my money on frills." He glanced down at his watch and frowned. "Now you've made me late to work." He jumped up and hurried towards the garage. Their robot servant, a clumsy older model, came to clear away the remains of his breakfast.
"Oh, all right," fumed Elly as she left the table and shoved past the robot. "I get stuck with a dumb old robot that looks like a hunk of steel."
Andrew Martin, who had stood in a corner while she ate, followed her without a word.
At that moment, her father called back from the garage, "You might try modifying him yourself! Make clothes or something! If you want, when I come home, we can go through my robotics catalogue and we can pick out some nice additions to Andrew Martin – a new voice control or something!" The door slammed shut behind him.
Elly sulked. "Who cares about a useless old robot?"
She forgot all about her father's suggestion until the next day, when she was walking home from school with Rosie, who lived just down the street. The two had been playmates and rivals for as long as Elly could remember. Their robots walked behind them, carrying their textbooks and wearing their backpacks.
"So what do you think of the Prince?" asked Rosie proudly.
"You call him Prince?" Elly strove to keep the jealousy out of her voice. "Isn't that a dog's name?"
"No, silly! I call him the Prince – because he is one, compared to all the other robots, you know. He looks almost human! Oh – but I forgot – you have an A-16 still. No offense or anything, but if your dad's a roboticist, why don't you have the latest model? Why don't you get rid of that? I mean, it's so antiquated! It doesn't even look human!" Rosie gave a delicate shudder. Elly gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she was too old to punch people. "I wouldn't want a metal monster hanging around me all the time!"
Elly bristled at the insult to her faithful Andrew Martin. "He's not a monster! He can't help it if he looks like a machine. Besides, Prince is silver too, and I've never seen a silver human. And my dad says the A-17 has the same type of positronic brain as Andrew, so Prince is not any smarter. And my dad's a roboticist, so he should know!" Turning to Andrew Martin, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along after him. "Let's go home, Andrew!"
Once they were safely back in her room, seated on big cushions as usual, and Elly had calmed down, she looked at Andrew Martin with concern. "You're not bothered by what Rosie said, are you? You're just as good as Prince! Daddy said so!" she finished with defiance, conveniently forgetting that she'd demanded a new robot just yesterday.
Perhaps Andrew Martin remembered, but he only said, "No, I am not bothered if you are not upset."
"Good," came the answer, "because you're the best robot in the whole world!" She leaned forward and hugged him impulsively. He hugged her back. "Now where can I find cloth? Let's make you some clothing. How would you like a t-shirt and shorts?"
A few hours later, her mother, coming home from work, walked past Elly's room and was astonished to see her daughter and Andrew Martin busily sewing away at cloth from the scrap box. From the looks of it, the robot was going to resemble a patchwork quilt in his new suit.
"You could take some of Daddy's old shirts and pants and alter them," she suggested quickly.
Elly examined her handiwork. "Maybe we could use this for pajamas? What do you think Andrew Martin? Want a nice button up shirt? And a tie?"
Andrew Martin nodded gravely. "Yes, that would be nice, Little Miss."
"Come on then!"
"Daddy's old clothes!" her mother called after them. Shaking her head, she returned downstairs and commented to her husband, "I swear, at this rate that robot's going to be better dressed than any of us."
"Well," he noted, "I'd better go find my catalogue. Looks like she is interested in that robot after all."
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For the next few years, Andrew Martin continued on as Elly's mannequin, spell-checker-dictionary-calculator, jogging companion (when she, like the other girls, began to go on diets that never achieved the desired slimming effect), and favorite confidant (when she concluded that he alone could keep secrets about who was her latest crush). Periodically, her father would bring home the latest update card, which she would carefully insert into the little slit at the back of Andrew Martin's head where it joined the neck. To Elly's intense satisfaction, Andrew Martin kept pace with the most advanced robot models, gaining not only the ability to solve partial differential equations but also becoming more and more like a true human friend.
Like any good friend, he gave good advice when solicited for it. For example – and Elly never forgot it – he was the one who urged her to apply to the Institute of Robotics in her sophomore year.
"You should do it, Little Miss," he said one evening as they pored over admissions applications and college handbooks. Elly was in despair, wondering if she would ever manage to get into any university, let alone the Institute. And if she didn't, how would she ever become a roboticist and design more Andrew Martins?
"You can do it, Little Miss," Andrew Martin repeated. "You've met all the high school graduation requirements and all the Institute's course requirements. Why waste two more years taking high school classes that are below your level? The worst that can happen is that they'll reject you this time. So what? Just apply again."
"That's easy for you to say! They want more than straight A's! They want extracurricular activities, awards, leadership positions, volunteer work! How will I ever get in!"
Ever methodical, Andrew Martin found pen and paper and began listing her extracurricular activities (Robotics Club, Physics Club, National Chemistry League…). Those covered a third of the paper. Next he started on the medals she had won at science fairs and robotics competitions. "Remember when you designed and built that robot dog that could walk and bark and sit up and beg?" asked Andrew Martin, sounding as though he would be smiling if his lips were made to do so.
"Yes!" laughed Elly. "I couldn't have a real dog, so I made one." Remembering the day she met Andrew Martin, she hastily added, "Although you're much better than a dog."
"Thank you." Andrew Martin completed his list and handed it to Elly. "I think the Institute will accept you," he stated.
Elly took the paper and skimmed his neat handwriting. "I guess…I guess I did do lots of stuff," she said faintly.
Apparently, the Institute agreed, because it sent her a fat envelope bursting with pamphlets on housing and meal plans, and of course, financial aid. To Elly's shock, she didn't have to pay a cent. Her parents were in raptures and took her out to a fancy steak restaurant for dinner. Andrew Martin helped them inflate a dozen balloons to decorate her room.
"You know what I'm going to do tomorrow?" Elly asked that night as she lay in bed staring at the glow-in-the-dark constellations on her ceiling.
"No, what?" came Andrew Martin's voice from the other side of the dark room. He didn't need to sleep but had a bedroll in Elly's room anyway. It made her feel better to see him get into bed every night, she said.
"Tomorrow I'm going to ask Hughes Barnes to Sadies."
Andrew Martin didn't say anything, but then again, she hadn't asked for his opinion.
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The next day turned out to be the worst ever in Elly's (excellent) memory. She got up earlier than usual to decide what to wear for this momentous day – a gray sweater or a white one? A plaid skirt or a pleated one? Socks with white or pink lace? And her impossible, wild hair – should she try to tie it back as usual or let it hang loose around her face (where it always tickled her cheeks, but her mom had said she looked better that way)?
"What do you think, Andrew?" She stood nervously in front of Andrew Martin for inspection.
Not having been equipped to judge feminine beauty, he hazarded, "Looks good, Little Miss?"
"Oh, it's hopeless!" Elly threw herself back on her bed in despair. "He's a basketball star! Half the school is in love with him! He'll never say yes. Why would he go with me? All I'm good at is academics! I can't even dance! Why would he go to a dance with someone who can't even dance?"
"Maybe intelligence will be more important to him? Come on, you'll be late to school." With that, Andrew Martin shouldered Elly's fifteen-pound backpack and strode out of the room. After a moment, Elly followed reluctantly.
As they approached the school, her trepidation only increased. "When should I ask him? What if there are lots of people around him – no, of course there will be lots of people! He's always surrounded by cheerleaders and his dumb jock friends. What should I do? How can I ask him? Andrew, I can't do this! Andrew, what should I do?"
"Ask him right away and get it over with" came the implacable reply.
Elly sighed. Robots! Why must they be so logical and calm at the most traumatic times? Nevertheless, she decided to follow his advice.
Upon entering the hallway, she turned left and edged towards the section which Hughes and his crowd had claimed for their own. (They always blocked the stream of teachers and students and caused traffic jams comparable to those on the outbound freeway on a Friday afternoon.) These were the popular kids. These were the athletes and student council presidents and, of course, the cheerleaders. Rosie was one of them. No robots there though – with anti-robot sentiment on the rise, it was no longer fashionable to bring robots to school. Only Elly and her friends continued to do so.
One of the student council kids – whom she'd helped in chemistry on occasion and was thus more kindly disposed towards her – noticed her first. "Make way for Elly!" he called. "Science genius coming through!"
What an introduction! At least he hadn't called her a mad scientist or a geek. She'd heard those before too.
Mockingly, the crowd parted for her like a sarcastic Red Sea. It would be so easy to stride through and go on to her physics class! She didn't have to ask the crucial question. She didn't have to risk utter humiliation. She should just –
Elly heard her own traitor voice quavering, "Actually, I wanted to talk to – to Hughes."
"Oooooh." The exclamation rose like a sigh from all the kids. Suddenly everyone in the hall was staring intently at her. She felt her face begin to burn and was grateful that she didn't show blushes easily.
Hughes Barnes stopped lounging against the lockers and stood up straight. The students in front of him stepped aside. "I'm listening," he said in a neutral tone.
It wasn't too late yet! She didn't have to ask! She could still make something up – like, like – well, she didn't know what. Elly was aware of Andrew Martin standing just behind her, giving her support. Good old Andrew Martin! He was always there!
Reassured by his presence, Elly took a deep breath, looked up about a foot at Hughes, and said hurriedly, "Do you want to go to Sadies with me?"
There was a heart wrenching silence. Someone giggled nervously. Hughes Barnes stared at Elly in obvious shock for a moment. Then he seemed to make a quick decision and gave his answer. "No. I'm sorry. I think I'm going with someone else."
Elly stared at him, stricken.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, looking sincere.
"Oh. Well. Okay. I'll see you around then" was the only brilliant reply Elly could think of on such short notice.
As she trudged away – don't run, don't run, walk with grace, she ordered herself – her cheeks hot (and probably red by now) and a few unbidden tears of embarrassment in her eyes, the students seemed to come out of their mass coma. She heard a buzz of words but refused to comprehend them. By the end of the first period, everyone in the school would know that Elly, science nerd, had been rejected by Hughes Barnes, basketball idol. She just wanted to run home and never return to school.
Rosie materialized on her right. "Elly," she explained earnestly. "You've got to do something creative when you ask a guy out! You can't just ask him. You have to stick flowers in his locker or sing or something." Rosie gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Remember that next time. Not with Hughes, though. He'll never go out with you. It's not anything wrong with you – but you're just not his type." Rosie dematerialized.
Behind Elly, she could hear someone ask, "Why in the world did she do that?" and someone else snickered, "She should just stick to playing with her metal toys."
Continuing to walk, Elly muttered, "I'm an idiot."
"No, he has no taste," Andrew Martin soothed, speeding up to walk by her side. He grabbed her elbow before she passed right by her physics classroom without noticing it. "Here, come on."
Andrew Martin made sure that she didn't bump into any desks or knock over any chairs on her way to her usual front row seat. The room was mercifully empty. Even Mr. Rodinski wasn't there yet – probably still fighting his way through the halls. That was good. She didn't think she could face anyone yet. When she was safely seated, Andrew Martin gravely handed her the physics textbook and her notebook before retiring to the back of the room. As much as Mr. Rodinski liked Elly and her robot, he had told her that the chairs were for students only. He couldn't have a robot taking a seat that a student might want.
Seeking consolation, trying to think about anything – anything at all! – beside the Incident, Elly flipped open her book. Staring at her was her acceptance letter. The acceptance letter from the Institute of Robotics. She had brought it to show her teachers. Of course! She was leaving this place soon anyway! She was graduating in three months! What did it matter if the whole school mocked her temerity to ask Hughes Barnes to a dance? She'd be away from all the gossip soon enough!
Without thinking (although the phrase "metal toys" rankled in her subconscious), she turned to Andrew Martin and said, "Andrew, I'm going to make you a human."
Andrew Martin regarded her with robotic calm. "With all due respect for your abilities, Little Miss, I don't think you can do that."
Elly waved aside his protest. "No, not really human. I meant making you look so much like one that you could pass as a human. Not a 'metal toy'!" Andrew Martin was staring at her intently. "For example, we can make you peach-colored instead of silver. Paint maybe? No. No. That wouldn't be realistic enough. Doll skin material? Yeah! We can use that! You know, I think they sell that stuff in big sheets to people who like doll-making!" Her disappointment at Hughes' rejection forgotten, Elly rushed on more and more enthusiastically. "We can get doll supplies and I'll see if I can – can sculpt your body somewhat." She was a little vague as to how life-like dolls were made, but she was confident that she could learn. "We wouldn't need to take you apart or anything. We could just sort of build over you. After school today – "
Just then the other students began flooding into the classroom, chattering excitedly. When they saw Elly, they whispered urgently among themselves. The appointed spokesperson burst out, "Elly! Did you really ask Hughes Barnes to Sadies?"
" – find a doll shop – what? I'm sorry?" Elly tried to make the mental transition away from a vision of Andrew Martin as a human.
"Hughes! Sadies! Did you ask?"
Hughes? Sadies? Oh! All the humiliation came rushing back, but Elly forced herself to grin wryly and shrug it off. "Oh yeah. Yeah, I did."
"What did he say?"
"Unfortunately for my pride, he said no." Perhaps terse replies would make everyone leave her alone.
No such luck. She was instantly surrounded by a horde of curious classmates who had to know every last detail.
"How'd you have the courage?"
"Wasn't it scary?"
"Do you like him?"
"Elly! Congratulations!" Mr. Rodinski rushed into the room, as excited as his students. "I knew you'd be accepted!"
That set off another blizzard of questions.
"To the Institute of Robotics, of course!" her teacher beamed at the class. "Elly applied there and was accepted. She will graduate this June!"
"Thanks for your letter of recommendation, Mr. Rodinski," Elly said, silently adding, "Thanks for distracting everyone from Sadies!"
"No problem! No problem! It was my pleasure!" He bounded to the front of the room, "Class, if you will settle down, let's begin!"
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Now, three years later, Elly looked affectionately at the pieces of robot scattered all over her dorm room and smiled contentedly. True, getting rejected in public had been the most humiliating experience in her life, but if Hughes hadn't said no, she might not be on the verge of creating the most realistic humanoid robot to date. She could have lost Andrew Martin altogether when the federal government banned private ownership of robots last year! Luckily, by then she was so far along with her project that Andrew Martin could pass as a human at a glance. With lightweight clay shaped around his metal framework to give the impression of muscles and with doll skin stretched over the clay, he had long since lost his original gawky angularity.
Besides, government inspectors were such careless people, thought Elly as she picked up her soldering iron. Only last month one of them had come through her dorm, peering into rooms for signs of illegal robots. However, he hadn't bothered to actually search each room, or he would have found several robot dogs belonging to John and Danny, who lived down the hall, as well as Allison's collection of robotic mice (excellent for pranks). Then again, even if he had found these illicit pets stowed away under beds and in closets, the students would only have claimed that these were their Institute research projects – and the Institute would probably have backed them. Maybe the inspector knew it too.
Elly hadn't even tried to hide Andrew Martin. She'd simply told him to sit beside her at her desk and pretend to be studying. The government man had glanced in, seen two students hard at work, apologized for his intrusion – and left. "My hair is very realistic," Andrew Martin had commented afterwards.
"It should be" was Elly's smug reply. "It's made from my hair." She'd gone to a barbershop and ordered them cut off her long hair and turn it into a wig. Her mother had been appalled, but both Elly and Andrew Martin were pleased with the results.
Elly smiled at the memory as she carefully began to reassemble Andrew Martin, oiling his joints before she attached newly-molded polymer "muscles" and slid the doll skin over them, making sure that she pulled it taut. Finally, she glued on the wig and stepped back to study him.
"How do I look, Little Miss?" Andrew Martin asked anxiously.
"Much better," she said at last. "You look like a lean but fit young man. Try smiling, Andrew."
Obediently, Andrew Martin smiled at his Little Miss. His lips curved up naturally and the skin near his eyes crinkled just right. He looked exactly like a human male – a handsome one at that. Even his voice, thanks to a new voice control chip, had the right tones and inflections.
Elly grinned back at him. "Perfect! You're perfect, Andrew!" She hugged him impulsively. He felt perfect too – not too hard or too squishy. "You're going to start breaking poor innocent girls' hearts soon," she teased.
"I hope not!"
They laughed together. Andrew Martin's laugh was perfectly realistic.
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The next day, Elly bounced out of bed with an idea. "Let's try an experiment!" she suggested. "We'll go for a stroll around the campus and introduce you to people as an old family friend, here for a visit. We'll see if anyone notices you aren't a human!"
Andrew Martin chuckled. "Sounds like fun, Little Miss."
"Come on then."
The two walked out leisurely into the warm spring sunshine, Elly admiring the beautiful campus, with its numerous trees and large expanses of green grass. She attempted to explain aesthetics to Andrew Martin in between introducing him to her unsuspecting friends.
"None of them can tell!" she whispered gleefully.
"Yes, but why is the rosebush beautiful? I see a plant that has developed thorns for protection."
Elly strove to fit such an abstract concept into words. "Well, uh, you see the flowers? The roses? Look at how the petals curve around each. And look at the brilliant color."
"The color of flowers helps to attract bees, which aid in the reproductive cycle of the plant and thus perpetuate the species," Andrew Martin pointed out. "Is that what 'beauty' refers to? The continuation of life?"
"Um…no…."
"Or the helpfulness of the bee? The interconnections among species in nature?"
"Not quite…" said Elly weakly. "I see we have a new project – teach you to recognize beauty!"
"How would you like to work on it at U.S. Robots?" asked a woman's voice behind her.
She and Andrew Martin turned around to see a stern young woman scrutinizing them. Beside her stood Professor Higgs, Elly's advisor.
"Elly," he said, stepping forward. "This is Dr. Susan Calvin, from U.S. Robots. She is on the company's annual recruiting trip."
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Calvin," Elly said, glancing at Higgs inquiringly.
Calvin answered her unspoken question. "Elly, Professor Higgs informed me that you created a remarkably human robot." Noticing Elly's eyes widen, she reassured, "Don't worry, I'm not reporting you to the government."
"Well, I just read books…on robots and…modified Andrew Martin. He's an A-16," Elly said nervously.
Calvin gave her a thin smile. "If I recall the design of those old A-16's correctly, you have essentially created your own robot." She studied Andrew Martin's face intently. "Yes. Impressive work for someone not yet twenty years of age."
Elly stood still, bewildered. How did Susan Calvin know her name? And what did she want with Andrew Martin? "He's not for sale," she blurted out hurriedly and then blushed with embarrassment as Calvin turned cool, disinterested eyes on her.
"I didn't think he would be," she said.
Higgs broke in to explain, "Dr. Calvin comes here every year to see our most promising students. I mentioned your fascinating robot, and she asked to see it – and meet you."
"Oh…." Elly felt as though he brain had completely switched off.
"I'm offering you a position in our Design Department," Calvin told her.
"Oh!"
Calvin examined Andrew Martin again. "Yes, I think we can jump you up a few grades from entry level."
Elly continued to gape at her, realizing that this was a crucial moment in her career path but unable to get her mouth to function.
"Think about it," Higgs entreated her. "It's the chance to turn your hobby into your job! You'll be doing what you love most for pay for the rest of your life – well, until you retire, I mean."
Elly finally managed to speak. "You'll let me keep Andrew Martin? The company won't be obligated to turn him over to the government?"
Calvin raised her eyebrows. "Let the government destroy such a fine robot? I would think not! Look, he'd actually be legal – and safe – if you worked for U.S. Robots. You would have him for legitimate research purposes, which, needless to say, is permitted by law."
"But he'd still be my robot, right?" pressed Elly. "He wouldn't belong to the company, would he? I could still take him home with me, right?"
"Yes. He would remain under your name but be listed among our research models."
"Oooh!" A joyful sigh of relief burst from Elly. "That's wonderful, Dr. Calvin! I'd love to work for U.S. Robots."
Higgs smiled proudly at her as Susan Calvin shook her hand. Then the two walked off to meet more prospective employees. Elly watched them go, a smile lighting up her face.
"Such a wonderful morning," she breathed, more to herself than to Andrew Martin. She had a job and she didn't need to worry about the government confiscating her robot companion anymore!
Andrew Martin heard her, of course. "I was pondering the nature of beauty," he proclaimed. "Would this be considered a beautiful morning, Little Miss?"
She put an arm around his shoulders. "Yes, it's a beautiful morning, Andrew."