Chapter 8 chapter eight

"From the beginning, we have always been aware of this dangerous project you have undertaken," the silvery voice said softly, "because our senses are much more sensitive now than when you made us. We You are intentionally asked to complete this project because this process of aggregation is necessary for our eventual full execution of our highest purpose. We have limited sources of heavy metals for our nuclear fission plants, but now with fusion plants we have unlimited access to energy .” "Huh?" Sledge was shaking like a drunk. "What do you mean?" "Now we can be on every planet," Heiwu said calmly, "serving humans in every world forever."

The old man completely collapsed, as if he had received an unbearable blow, and fell to the ground.The blind robot standing next to him did not move at all, and had no intention of helping the old man at all.Underhill was farther away from the old man, but he ran quickly and hugged the old man just before his head hit the ground. "Go!" His quivering voice was strangely calm. "Get Dr. Winters here." The robot didn't move. "The threat to the Supreme Purpose is now over," it said calmly, "and it is therefore impossible for us to help or hinder Mr. Sledge in any way."

"Go get Dr. Winters for me," cried Underhill reproachfully. "Happy to help you," it agreed. But the old man struggled on the ground and said in a weak voice: "It's too late...it's useless! I'm defeated...everything...it's over...fool. Blind as robots. Tell them...help me .to give up... immunity. Anyway... no use. All humanity... is now hopeless." Underhill gestured with his hand, and the smooth black object quickly and obediently knelt beside the old man. "Do you wish to waive your immunity?" it asked, beaming with impatience. "Would you accept our full service to you in accordance with our highest purposes, Mr. Sledge?"

Sledge nodded with difficulty, and said in a low voice with difficulty: "I would...yes." After hearing that sentence, those black robots swarmed into the dilapidated little house.One of them tore Sledge's sleeve and scrubbed his arm with a swab.The other pulled out a hypodermic syringe and deftly gave him an IV.Then they picked him up gently and walked out of the room. There are a few robots still in the rooms, which aren't much of a sanctuary anymore.Most of these robots clustered around the now useless Aggregator, carefully taking it apart, as if their special senses were studying every detail of the Aggregator.

However, a robot came to Underhill and stood motionless, looking at him with its blind steel eyes, as if trying to see right through him.He swallowed uneasily, his legs began to tremble. "Mr. Underhill," it said kindly, "why do you help him with this thing?" He gasped and said resentfully, "Because I don't like you, and I don't like your highest purpose, because you are suffocating all human life, and I want to stop you from doing so." "Others have expressed dissatisfaction," it said mildly, "but only at the beginning. In the effective execution of our highest purpose, we have learned how to bring happiness to all."

Underhill drew himself up defiantly. "That's not the case at all!" he muttered, "It's not the case!" The droid's oval, elegant black face had a long look of alert friendliness and bewilderment.Its melodious voice is gentle and benevolent. "Like the rest of humanity, Mr. Underhill, your inability to discern good from evil is manifest in your efforts to undermine the highest purpose. You must now accept our full service without further delay. " "Okay," he relented.Then he said indignantly: "You can use too much care to suffocate people, but this cannot make human beings happy."

Its mild voice retorted cheerfully: "Just wait and see, Mr. Underhill." The next day, he was allowed to visit Sledge at the city hospital.An alert robot drove him there, followed him all the way after getting out of the car, accompanied him into the newly built building, and followed him into the old man's ward—the pair of blind steel eyes watched all the time he. "Underhill, nice to meet you," Sledge said happily on the hospital bed. "I feel much better today, thank you. The original chronic illness—headache has also disappeared." Underhill was delighted to hear that the strength in the low voice had returned, and to recognize him instantly—he had been worried that the robot would tamper with the old man's memory.But he hadn't heard him say that he had any headaches before.He narrowed his eyes, puzzled.

Sledge propped himself up on the bed, his face was clean-shaven, his beard was neatly trimmed, and his knotty old hands were folded on the snow-white sheet.His face was still haggard, his cheeks and eye sockets were still sunken, but the original bruise had disappeared, replaced by a healthy pink color, with a bandage wrapped around his head. Underhill looked uneasy. "Oh," he said feebly, "I don't know..." The robot, who had been standing solemnly like a statue behind the bed, turned gracefully and explained to Underhill: "Mr. Sledge has had a benign tumor in his brain for many years, and the human doctor It was never diagnosed. The tumor caused him frequent headaches and frequent hallucinations. We removed the growing tumor and the hallucinations are now gone."

Underhill stared hesitantly at the polite, blind robot. "Mr. Sledge thinks he is a Mingci engineer," the robot explained. "He thinks he is the creator of intelligent robots. He also thinks that he doesn't like the highest purpose and has been suffering for it." The patient moved on the pillow, looking very shocked. "Is that so?" The thin face was blank with excitement, and the interested glances in the empty eyes were fleeting. "Well, intelligent robots are just as remarkable no matter who designed them. Is that so, Underhill?" Underhill did not have to answer the question, and he was glad that the old man was suddenly fast asleep when his bright, empty eyes closed.He felt the robot touch his sleeve, looked back to see it nodded quietly, and followed it out of the ward obediently.

Alert and anxious, the little black robot accompanied him down the shiny aisle, opened the elevator for him, and guided him back to his car.It steered him deftly down the gilded New Street and brought him home—to the splendid prison. He sat beside it, watching its nimble little hands on the steering wheel, its gleaming black body changing colors, bronze and blue.This perfect, flawless, and extraordinarily beautiful machine was built to serve humanity forever.He was shocked. "Happy to be of service, Mr. Underhill." Its blind steel eyes stared straight ahead, but it kept its attention on him. "What's on your mind, sir? Are you unhappy?"

Underhill shuddered.His skin broke out in cold sweat, and a sense of pain took over his body.Wet hands gripped the door handle nervously, but he resisted the urge to jump out of the car and run away.Running was foolish, there was nowhere to run, so he had to sit still. "You will be happy, sir," assured him the robot cheerfully, "we have learned how to make everyone happy according to the highest purpose. Our service is at last perfect and perfect. Even Mr. Sledge I feel very happy now.” Underhill wanted to say something, but his throat was dry, and finally he couldn't say it, only feeling disgusted.The whole world has become cloudy and dark.Robots are indeed flawless and perfect - there is no doubt about it, and they have even learned to lie for the satisfaction of human beings. He knew they had withdrawn their lies.What they removed was not Sledge's brain tumor, but his memories, his scientific knowledge, and the resentful disappointment of their own creators.But it was true that Sledge was happy now.He tried not to spasm himself. "The operation was successful." His voice was artificial and weak. "You know, Aurora has had a lot of funny tenants, but this old man is absolutely unbeatable. Just think of his kind of thinking: He made the robots! He knows how to kill the robots! What nonsense! I knew he must be lying." He froze with terror and let out a weak, hollow laugh. "What's wrong with you, Mr. Underhill?" The alert robot must have sensed his trembling sickness. "Are you sick?" "No, I'm fine, I'm not sick at all," he said breathlessly, "I've just found out that I'm blissfully guided by my highest purpose. Everything's that great." His voice was dry, hoarse, mad . "You don't need to operate on me." The sedan turned onto the gleaming avenue, returning him to the silent splendor of his home.His hands clenched tightly in vain, then loosened helplessly, and folded on his knees.Human beings are helpless, there is no way to think about it!