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see that it's anything but the familiar mechanical man gimmick, with this dressed-up historical guise.
The same thing was demonstrated at the 1939 San Francisco World's Fair, Pedro the Vodor."
This exchange between Barrows and I had not escaped the attention of the Lincoln simulacrum.
In fact both it and Pris and Mrs. Nild were now watching us and listening to us.
The Lincoln said to Mr. Barrows, "Did I not hear you, a short while ago, express the notion of
'acquiring me,' as an asset of some kind? Do I recall fairly? If so, I would wonder how you could
acquire me or anyone else, when Miss Frauenzimmer tells me that there is a stronger impartiality
between the races now than ever before. I am a bit mixed on some of this but I believe there is no
more 'acquiring' of any human in the works today, even in Russia where it is notorious."
Barrows said, "That doesn't include mechanical men."
"You refer to myself?" the simulacrum said.
With a laugh Barrows said, "All right, yes I do."
Beside him the short lawyer David Blunk stood plucking at his chin thoughtfully, glancing from
Barrows to the simulacrum and back.
"Would you tell me, sir," the simulacrum said, "what a man is?"
"Yes, I would," Barrows said. He caught Blunk's eye; obviously, Barrows was enjoying this. "A
man is a forked radish." He added, "Is that definition familiar to you, Mr. Lincoln?"
"Yes sir, it is," the simulacrum said. "Shakespeare has his Falstaff speak that, does he not?"
"Right," Barrows said. "And I'd add to that, A man can be defined as an animal that carries a
pocket handkerchief. How about that? Mr. Shakespeare didn't say that."
"No sir," the simulacrum agreed. "He did not." The simulacrum laughed heartily. "I appreciate
your humor, Mr. Barrows. May I use that remark in a speech?"
Barrows nodded.
"Thank you," the simulacrum said. "Now, you've defined a man as an animal which carries a
pocket handkerchief. But what is an animal?"
61
"I can tell you you're not," Barrows said, his hands in his trouser pockets; he looked perfectly
confident. "An animal has a biological heritage and makeup which you lack. You've got valves and
wires and switches. You're a machine. Like a--" He considered. "Spinning jenny. Like a steam
engine." He winked at Blunk. "Can a steam engine consider itself entitled to protection under the
clause of the Constitution which you quoted? Has it got a right to eat the bread it produces, like a
white man?"
The simulacrum said, "Can a machine talk?"
"Sure. Radios, phonographs, tape recorders, telephones-- they all yak away like mad."
The simulacrum considered. It did not know what those were, but it could make a shrewd guess;
it had had enough time by itself to do a good deal of thinking. We could all appreciate that.
"Then what, sir, is a machine?" the simulacrum asked Barrows.
"You're one. These fellows made you. You belong to them."
The long, lined, dark-bearded face twisted with weary amusement as the simulacrum gazed down
at Barrows. "Then you, sir, are a machine. For you have a Creator, too. And, like 'these fellows,' He
made you in His image. I believe Spinoza, the great Hebrew scholar, held that opinion regarding
animals; that they were clever machines. The critical thing, I think, is the soul. A machine can do
anything a man can--you'll agree to that. But it doesn't have a soul."
"There is no soul," Barrows said. "That's pap."
"Then," the simulacrum said, "a machine is the same as an animal." It went on slowly in its dry,
patient way, "And an animal is the same as a man. Is that not correct?"
"An animal is made out of flesh and blood, and a machine is made out of wiring and tubes, like
you. What's the point of all this? You know darn well you're a machine; when we came in here you
were sitting here alone in the dark thinking about it. So what? I know you're a machine; I don't care.
All I care is whether you work or not. As far as I'm concerned you don't work well enough to
interest me. Maybe later on when you have fewer bugs. All you can do is spout on about Judge
Douglas and a lot of political, social twaddle that nobody gives a damn about."
His attorney, Dave Blunk, turned to regard him thoughtfully, still plucking at his chin.
"I think we should start back to Seattle," Barrows said to him. To me and Maury he said, "Here's
my decision. We'll come in, but we have to have a controlling interest so we can direct policy. For
instance, this Civil War notion is pure absurdity. As it stands."
Taken absolutely by surprise I stammered, "W-what?"
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