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negative. As far as I m concerned, Mr. Reardon, you still have a long way to
go with your machine.
But, I thought--
It did very well, Summit said, don t get me wrong. But I think it s going
to need a lot more flexibility and more knowledge of the police officer s
duties before it can be of any real aid in our work.
Reardon was angry, but trying to control it. I programmed the entire
patrolman s manual, and all the City codes, and the Supreme Court--
Summit stopped him with a raised hand. Mr. Reardon. that s the least of a
police officer s knowledge.
Anybody can read a rule book. But how to use those rules, how to make those
rules work in the street, that takes more than programming. It takes, well, it
takes training. And experience. It doesn t come easily. A cop isn t a set of
rules and a pile of wires.
Polchik was startled to hear his words. He knew it would be okay. Not as good
as before, but at least okay.
Reardon was furious now. And he refused to be convinced. Or perhaps he refused
to allow the Mayor s whiz kid and the FBI man to be so easily convinced. He
had worked too long and at too much personal cost to his career to let it go
that easily. He hung onto it. But merely training shouldn t put you off the
X-44
completely!
The Captain s face tensed around the mouth. Look, Mr. Reardon, I m not very
good at being politic--which is why I m still a Captain, I suppose-- The whiz
kid gave him a be-careful look, but the Captain went on. But it isn t merely
training. This officer is a good one. He s bright, he s on his toes, he maybe
isn t Sherlock Holmes but he knows the feel of a neighborhood, the smell of
it, the heat level. He knows every August we re going to get the leapers and
the riots and some woman s head cut off and dumped in a mailbox mailed C.O.D.
to Columbus, Ohio. He knows when there s racial tension in our streets. He
knows when those poor slobs in the tenements have just had it.
He knows when some new kind of vice has moved in. But he made more mistakes
out there tonight than a rookie. Five years walking and riding that beat, he s
never foulballed the way he did tonight. Why? I ve got to ask why?
The only thing different was that machine of yours. Why?
Why did Mike Polchik foulball so bad?
He knew those kids in that car should have been run in for b&b or naline
tests. So why, Mr. Reardon...
why?
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Polchik felt lousy. The Captain was more worked up than he d ever seen him.
But Polchik stood silently, listening; standing beside the silent, listening
FBI man.
Brillo merely stood silently. Turned off.
Then why did he still hear that robot buzzing?
It isn t rules and regs, Mr. Reardon. The Captain seemed to have a lot more
to come. A moron can learn those. But how do you evaluate the look on a man s
face that tells you he needs a fix? How do you gauge the cultural change in
words like custer or grass or high or pig ? How do you know when not to
bust a bunch of kids who ve popped a hydrant so they can cool off? How do you
program all of that into a robot...and know that it s going to change from
hour to hour?
We can do it! It ll take time, but we can do it... The Captain nodded slowly.
Maybe you can.
I know we can.
Okay, I d even go for that. Let s say you can. Let s say you can get a robot
that ll act like a human being and still be a robot...because that s what
we re talking about here. There s still something else.
Which is?
People, Mr. Reardon. People like Polchik here. I asked you why
Polchik foulballed, why he made such a bum patrol tonight that I m going to
have to take disciplinary action against him for the first time in five
years...
so I ll tell you why, Mr. Reardon, about people like Polchik here. They re
still afraid of machines, you know. We ve pushed them and shoved them and
lumbered them with machines till they re afraid the next clanking item down
the pike is going to put them on the bread line. So they don t want to
cooperate. They don t do it on purpose. They may not even know they re doing
it, hell, I don t think Polchik knew what was happening, why he was falling
over his feet tonight. You can get a robot to act like a human being, Mr.
Reardon. Maybe you re right and you can do it, just like you said. But how the
hell are you going to get humans to act like robots and not be afraid of
machines?
Reardon looked as whipped as Polchik felt. May I leave Brillo here till
morning? I ll have a crew come over from the labs and pick him up.
Sure, the Captain said, he ll be fine right there against the wall. The
Desk Sergeant ll keep an eye on him.
To Loyo he said, Sergeant, instruct your relief.
Loyo smiled and said, Yessir.
Summit looked back at Reardon and said. I m sorry.
Reardon smiled wanly, and walked out. The whiz kid wanted to say something,
but too much had already been said, and the Captain looked through him. I m
pretty tired, Mr. Kenzie. How about we discuss it tomorrow after I ve seen the
Chief ?
The whiz kid scowled, turned and stalked out.
The Captain sighed heavily. Mike, go get signed out and go home. Come see me
tomorrow. Late. He nodded to the FBI man, who still had not spoken; then he
went away.
The robot stood where Reardon had left him. Silent.
Polchik went upstairs to the locker room to change.
Something was bothering him. But he couldn t nail it down.
When he came back down into the muster room, the FBI man was just racking the
receiver on the desk
blotter phone. Leaving? he asked. It was the first thing Polchik had heard
him say. It was a warm brown voice.
Yeah. Gotta go home. I m whacked out.
Can t say I blame you. I m a little tired myself. Need a lift?
No thanks, Polchik said. I take the subway. Two blocks from the house.
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They walked out together.
Polchik thought about the wet carpets waiting. They stood on the front steps
for a minute, breathing in the chill morning air, and Polchik said, I feel
kinda sorry for that chunk of scrap now. He did a pretty good job.
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