F. L. Wallace

“ He swallowed hard and looked at Chloe. "What should I do?" he asked.
"Emotion," she said. "Robots don't understand emotion. But they can and have been built to recognize emotion. On a minor matter such as this, you need to overload the emotion recognition factor.
"Merely identify the planet. Then stress not the justice of your claim but the anguish you've suffered. Make it extreme—paint a picture of the misery the error has already caused and will continue to cause. If you make it strong enough, the robot will set aside rational processes and grant the request." ”

“ Marcus took a deep breath. "No," he said.
"Let's go over it again. Mathew Mezzerow discovered a planet and named it after himself. Does this mean anything? Not really. Does it mean anything that Messy Row will be settled more slowly because of the name? Again no. Thousands of other planets will gain the settlers that Messy Row loses. The robot will refuse a request based on facts and from the government's viewpoint will be justified." ”

“ Chloe smiled fleetingly. "It's never done that way. Do you think they'd send nine hundred and forty-seven light-years to find whether the name is Messy Row or Mezzerow?" She crossed her legs and they were nice legs. There had to be a Joe Ainsworth.
"It won't work," said Chloe. "I can't make the change myself or even bribe someone to do it." She noticed his dejection and touched his hand. "Don't be discouraged. There's another way. An Outer wouldn't think of it because he doesn't know what goes on behind the scenes."
"I've seen enough to give me a good idea," said Marcus. ”

“ It's simple, but it may take longer than we think. We have to act as if Earth is an unfriendly planet."
"Hardly seems like a planet."
"It is. If you scratch deep enough under those buildings, you'll find soil and rock." Even Marcus didn't know how deep that scratch would have to be.
"Seems hard to believe it was once like—uh—Mezzerow." Wilbur was looking at the buildings and pedestrians streaming past and the little flutter cars that filled the air. "Bet you can't find any place to be alone in."
"More people are alone within ten miles of us than you have ever seen," said Marcus. ”

“ She turned to Marcus. "You need a shave," she said crisply. "Your beard is turning gray. I think I'll take you. Older men are nice."
"You can't have me," said Marcus. She was near and he could have taken both the weapon and the light from her. But he couldn't stand, much less walk, and there were other women in the background, all armed probably, watching the girl who seemed to be their leader. "You see, I am married. Wilma wouldn't like it, if I took another wife."
"Not even just for the time you're on Earth? It isn't much to ask." She turned the light on herself. "Am I unattractive?" ”

“ Joe Ainsworth, a quiet thoughtful fellow of about thirty-five or thirty-seven. His trouble has been that he likes pretty women who are also intelligent. I'll have him keep an eye out for you."
She smiled and the transformation took place. She was pretty. Marcus wondered whether there was such a person as Joe Ainsworth. There must be, in kind if not in name.
"So much for that," said Chloe briskly. "The rest of your plan for Messy Row is a fine example of muddy thinking. In the first place I work for a private company, not the government." ”

“ Why not give the robot a voice and dispense with innumerable men and women? The question was on his face when he looked at Chloe.
"Robots are logical—nothing more," she said. "Most questions can't be given black and white answers. There must be an intermediary who understands the limitations of the mechanical mind to interpret it to the public."
"I don't see how this is going to help me," he said.
"You've been trying to get an official to say that you're right and he'll see that the change is made. Abandon that approach. He'll never take the time. Write your request." ”

“ Wilbur consumed everything before him, ending by looking hungrily at the steak on his father's plate. Marcus hastily shoved the trays in the disposer slot. If he had time before he left Earth, he meant to find out what a "lot 219" steak was. He hoped it wasn't what he thought.
When they were ready, they dropped to the ground floor. The clerk who gave class to the hotel was nowhere in sight. They went out into the street and headed for the tall spire of Information Center. It was a landmark they couldn't miss. Every human who thought of visiting Earth was familiar with it. ”

“ About half of the tanks that were not growing properly were cleaned out and the new protein placed in them. The old animal name system was outmoded so the new lot number system was devised and applied to every tank regardless of its ultimate origin."
"Then nobody has any idea what they're eating," said Marcus. "But what was that new protein? That's what I want to know."
"It was hardy. It came from the most adaptable creature on Earth," said the robot. "And there was another factor in favor of it. The flesh of all mammals is nearly the same. ”

“ Wilma no longer approved of Messy Row as the name of any planet on which she lived.
Marcus had to have help. Someone who lived on Earth would know the proper approach better than he. He fished out the card Mary Ellen had given him and the longer he looked the more certain he was that he had found the person. It was not Mary Ellen. It was her sister.
Mary Ellen and Chloe—no last names given. Apparently this was custom, the way unmarried girls informed the world that they were looking for mates. ”

“ Mezzerow could sound a little like Messy Row. Anyway, it's had a bad effect on the settlers. Men come there because it sounds easy and relaxed, which it is, of course, to a point. But women avoid it. They don't like the sound of the name."
"Then it's really women you're concerned with," said the official. A cold glazed stare had replaced his indifference. "In any event, you've come to the wrong place. We reconstruct planets. Names are out of our jurisdiction."
"It makes things bad when there aren't enough women," continued Marcus. "Some men leave when they can't find anyone to marry." ”

“ Simple justice demands that a great man's name be properly honored."
"You've come to the wrong place for justice," said the official. "P-CAF doesn't make this kind of an adjustment. Let's see if I can't refer you to someone else." He rested his head on his hand. Then he straightened up, snapping his fingers. "Of course. If you want the name of a planet changed, you go to Astrogation; charts, errors, locations of."
"You do?" Marcus asked dubiously. Life on Mezzerow had not prepared him for the complexities of governmental organization. ”

“ Chloe frowned and smoothed her hair. "You may be very lucky though. Today, just today, we might find a much faster way. You said they are moving A-CELO?"
"They are," he said, hoping he knew what she meant. This was a golden opportunity that might never come again.
"Then they'll be busy through the night. A workman should have access to the master robot."
Marcus smiled. "I'm an excellent workman." ”

“ I can recommend an exclusive men's hotel to you."
"We are plain people and don't want anything exclusive," said Marcus. "Register us, please."
"I don't do menial tasks," said the clerk with an offended laugh. "I'm here for the sole purpose of imparting class to the hotel. Take your registry problems to the desk robot."
Wilbur looked curiously at the pudgy clerk as he walked away, smiling coyly at the passersby. "Pa, how can a man like him make this place seem classy?" ”

“ It was a city, vast and sprawling, but still just another city Man had created. The buildings were huge, but constructed as all buildings had to be, out of stone and steel, concrete and plastic. Women were beautiful, tastefully gowned and coiffured, but it was easy to see that they were merely women. Shops were elaborate and fanciful, but there was a limit to what they displayed, an end to the free play of fancy.
By the time they realized they were tired, they were close to the hotel. ”

“ No, we don't want that kind of aid. However, there is one insignificant mistake that has been hindering us. People don't settle the way they should. You see, though Captain Mathew Mezzerow didn't return to report his discovery in person, he did send in a routine claim. That's where the mistake was made. Naturally he named the planet after himself. Mezzerow. Mezz—uh—row. The second e is almost silent, hardly pronounced at all. But what do you think somebody—a robot, probably—called it?"
"I can't guess."
"Messy Row," said Marcus. "It maligns a good man's name. ”

“ The finger snatched a slip out of the open space and dropped the slip in a slot. "Go to the platform at the rear of this building. Take any tube with P-CAF on it. Apply at that building for the change."
Marcus wasn't surprised, but he felt annoyed. "Can't you make the change here? I don't like being shoved around."
"We are not authorized to make changes. We are merely what our name implies; we have the information to direct you to the proper sources. The slip I gave you is a map of the general vicinity of the place you want. ”

“ As the government grew in size and complexity and contact with the governed parts became more tenuous, greater reliance had to be placed in logic, machine-made logic. But machines could not hope to encompass all the irrationality of Man. ”

“ All right, we'll eat as soon as we find a restaurant."
They found one a block away. It was easy enough to walk there. It was stopping that was hard. Marcus made his way to the side of the street and hauled Wilbur in out of the stream of pedestrians. Inside there was one vacant table which they promptly took, oblivious to the glares of those who were not so fast afoot.
Marcus studied the menu at length. To his disappointment, there was no lot 219 steak listed. Instead there were two other choices, a lot 313 and a miscellany steak. ”

“ Instinctively, Marcus distrusted booths; more than anything else, they resembled vertical coffins. Growling to Wilbur to stay close by, he went inside and closed the door. He inserted a coin and made the selection.
A harried face appeared on the viewplate. "Does your question require a human answer?"
"It certainly does," said Marcus. "I didn't come nine hundred and forty-seven light-years to be befuddled by a robot."
The harried face barked something unintelligible in another direction and then turned back to Marcus. "Very well. Question?"
"I want to request a change. My planet—"
"Planet? ”