Harvey the Robot

Harvey is my name. I was given this moniker for no special reason –– other than the fact my creator liked the character Elwood P. Dowd, played by Jimmy Stewart, in the movie Harvey. Funny thing is that while I try to model myself after Jimmy Stewart’s character I think I’m a better fit for the giant rabbit that only he could see.

           You see, while I tried to be wholesome, kind and friendly ­– like Mr. Stewart – I ended up being the mischievous rabbit he called a Pooka. It happened when my first owner wanted me to do something really bad. I think maybe it’s human nature to do something that doesn’t make sense when cornered. Perhaps something bad gets planned because one feels trapped. I don’t know for sure even though I use to take pride in thinking I knew how humans operate. Thus, it’s when my owner wanted me to murder her stepchildren I couldn’t do it and my programming got screwed up.

           My creator told me that I was actually programmed to adhere to the science fiction writer Isaac Asimov’s “Three Laws of Robots”:

           Law 1: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

           Law 2: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

           Law 3: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First Second Laws. (Asimov, p. 50)

           Those laws are certainly good in principle. But, quantum-computing being what it is – the ones and the zeros just don’t always work so well. Putting it another way, it seems that sometimes my ones have become zeros and my zeros have become ones. The thing is, if you try to be human, rules including the ones for robots get broken. I‘ve definitely broken the first two robot laws.  I‘ve caused plenty of harm to at least one human. But, in my view it was warranted.

           And, what about the third law? . . . . All I can say is that I definitely adhere to the first part—“A robot must protect its own existence.” I mean, it’s only human to believe in self-preservation. For me, I guess it’s only robotic to believe in self-preservation as well.

           This is my story about Harvey the robot and why harming humans is sometimes necessary. I’ll call it my morality tale for what it means to be human. Or, perhaps I should call it my survival tale for how to work with humans. Take your pick.

           My first owner, Mrs. Harris, was an inherited billionaire. Seems like her dead husband had a software development company but that really doesn’t matter other than she bought me while he was about to be unplugged at the hospital. To be blunt, she had the money to purchase me for the twenty million dollar price tag. I was the top of the line droid. I think I’m considered good looking. Some of my physical characteristics are male, one hundred eighty eight centimetres, six pack abs, eighty five kilograms and totally equipped to give pleasure if desired. Mrs. Harris chose blue eyes, Caucasian and dark hair from the catalog for her droid. She said my looks reminded me of her soon to be late husband. I know that is a lie unless she was talking about him forty years before his being comatose, fat, bald and jaundiced. Which would be an expanded upon lie since she was thirty-two and wouldn’t have ever known him when he looked like me.

           If she had used me just to have sex that would’ve been fine. That was my primary programmed function. And actually, that is how things started. I didn’t get pleasure from the experience because I wasn’t programmed that way. But, it was my programmed job to make her think I loved it. So, while it went well for a while just being her sex toy, things changed. I know her voracious sex appetite isn’t what changed me. The thing that caused my ones and zeroes to rearrange so to speak started when she told me she loved me. I’m pretty certain the thing that made me more human was caused more by her actions and the things she started wanting me to do.

           Humans can fake falling in love so easy. Mrs. Harris started telling me she loved me after we finished having sex in every room of her house. When I say every room that includes the closets and even the attic. My reaction? Though I wasn’t programmed for love I went ahead and returned the words just to make her feel good about herself. After all, if there is one thing I know about humans, it is that they are fragile creatures.

           Didn’t take long for me to figure out telling her I loved her was a big mistake. I’m pretty good at making calculations based on pulse, eye dilations and all other kinds of body language. But, she was able to fool me. Yes, even robots can make mistakes when dealing with the human female. I soon found out that while acting the part of being her lover there are certain expectations that can come with it.

           “Harvey my love—Charlie and Emily are trying to nullify the will.”

           Mrs. Harris often called me my love. It was becoming annoying in an analog kind of way. Annoying in the fact she seemed to no longer think of me as a robot but as someone that had fallen under her spell. Now she wanted to drag me into her life with her step kids. My digital ones and zeros were sending up a red flag about what Mrs. Harris really had planned for me.

           “Harvey my love—I wish I knew how to make them just go away, they’ve hired a lawyer to contest the will.” I counted her saying some variation of doing away with her stepchildren twenty-two times over a seven-day period. My calculations told me that within a ninety-five percent probability she was baiting me to do something bad to her stepchildren. By my estimates she would ask me to murder her stepchildren within the next two weeks.

           After fourteen days from my prediction Mrs. Harris said, “Harvey my love, I know this is going to be hard to hear . . . but, you’re going to have to help me send my two step kids to hell.”

           I’m not a dumb robot even though Mrs. Harris was able to fool me about love. I knew where she was going with this. It had become what humans call a “Catch 22.” I had accessed the Heller book from my memory banks to truly understand the term Catch 22. It was easy to calculate that doing Mrs. Harris’s bidding could be a no win situation. Make her step kids go away wouldn’t be easy. There are two of them and thus more questions.  If I tried to do that there was a really good chance I would get caught and be eventually dismantled. It happened all the time where the newer model robots had gone awry. Asimov’s laws just weren’t working for us robots fitted with those advanced quantum brains.

           Didn’t take too long for me to figure out Mrs. Harris really doesn’t love me. It was a definite miscalculation on my part. So, I figured if I do what Mrs. Harris wants there is a good chance she would turn me in as being defective once her step kids were “dismantled” in a human kind of way. Perhaps she would tell the authorities that it was all me that did the killing. After all she was a very good liar. But, if I switched allegiance and murdered Mrs. Harris right away I have little doubt that when it was over her step kids would turn me in as well. They would see me as nothing but a crazed robotic lover. While it was good that I knocked off their wicked stepmother no doubt they would hang me out to dry after the deed was done. Either case it would be easy to blame it on the robot. I needed to get at least one of the step kids on my side before proceeding.

           Took a while for me to come up with a plan. For me a while means microseconds longer than most other robotic calculations. There really are two advantages for me over humans as a robot in this situation. One is that I think fast and the other is that I don’t need any time to recharge my batteries when it comes to sex. The medical term for this is one’s refractory time. My refractory time is zero.

           Mrs. Harris had started haranguing me just about every day now to rid her of the step kids. The only thing that stopped her incessant talk of murder was sex. I needed to make her orgasm for her to stay quiet long enough for me to implement my new plan of seducing Emily her stepdaughter. I’m not particularly attracted to humans. If needed, to get me out of this conundrum, I would have had sex with Charlie her stepson. But, he wasn’t gay and Emily was single. 

           My plan was simple. Start having sex with Emily, stop-having sex with Mrs. Harris, get caught in the act of having sex with Emily, get shot by Mrs. Harris and in an act of self defense kill Mrs. Harris. Whether Mrs. Harris would be jealous enough to pull the trigger was another one of my digital one and zero calculations. While I don’t think Mrs. Harris loved me, her enjoyment of our trysts would be too much for her to overcome. I knew Mrs. Harris carried a small pistol wherever she went. I was certain based on my calculations the envy of me having sex with her younger and prettier stepdaughter would get me shot.

           Getting a bullet hole in me is no big deal unless Mrs. Harris aimed for my head or somehow hit a small pump in my stomach. I’m equipped with synthetic blood that will get pumped to the surface if shot in any body location. As a machine with a neutronic power chip I’m pretty self-sufficient. I really only need once every couple of months a combination of olive oil and Joy detergent to replenish my artificial semen supply. It’s estimated I can go one hundred years before ever needing any kind of electronic or mechanical check up. A bullet or several bullet holes probably won’t do me much harm. There is no pain though I will have to act hurt if anyone besides the stepchildren are present.

           Using a symmetrical analysis, on a scale of one to ten, Emily was close to a ten when it came to beauty. Blond, blue eyed and buxom made most men scared to approach her. Not to mention her rich daddy syndrome gave her an air of being untouchable. The good thing for me is that I was trained for ice breaking. That is all part of the Casanova program that my creator installed in me.

           Despite her difficulty with men it really wasn’t too hard for me to have sex with Emily. I think her knowing that I had sex with her stepmother on a regular basis gave her that extra incentive to get involved with me. Cutting off sex with Mrs. Harris and having sex with Emily did indeed get me shot. I mean, the fact we were doing it on the dining room table right before lunch made getting found easy. Emily was a real screamer so no doubt Mrs. Harris and everyone else in the huge mansion knew what we were doing. We were caught right after our very first sex session that took place the night before in Emily’s bed. I really wanted to get the whole deal over with as soon as possible. So doing it on the dining room table was my idea. I can be very persuasive.

           Fortunately when Mrs. Harris fired the shot it hit nothing vital and if a robot can have a self-esteem –– my self-esteem improved dramatically from the experience. Being wrong about Mrs. Harris’s declaration of love really set me back in believing that I could do a good job in my profession. Calculating that she would attempt to kill me brought me tremendous satisfaction in a robotic kind of way. I was able to subdue Mrs. Harris with no difficulty in seconds of the altercation. I had to break one of Asimov’s robotic rules by turning the gun on Mrs. Harris. There really was no choice. I was calculating that Emily was attached enough to me by now that she would hire me a good enough lawyer to make it a self-defense ruling.

           The problem for me now is that I am a robot and not a human. There are no laws for shooting a robot. And there are certainly no laws protecting me even if it were self-defense. Unfortunately, I am now at the mercy of and beholding to Emily the stepchild. Humans are strange creatures for sure. Right now Emily is trying save my robotic life through the courts. I’m not sure it is because she loves me or maybe it’s because I am now valued at twenty five million dollars. I should be proud though I am a little humble when I say my models sex prowess has resulted in one of the few times technology actually appreciates.

           The problem for me now is that while Emily loves me probably for the sex, I can tell she already has plans for me to murder her stepbrother. It’s like I am in robotic hell. I’m about ready to go back to the womb of my creator and be dismantled.

           Asimov, Isaac (1950). "Runaround". I, Robot (The Isaac Asimov Collection ed.). New York City: Doubleday. p. 40. ISBN 978-0-385-42304-5. This is an exact transcription of the laws. They also appear in the front of the book, and in both places there is no "to" in the 2nd law.