F. L. Wallace

“ The sidewalk psychiatrist pondered. "Then be what you want, Danny. Study and listen. Maybe when you've heard everything there is, you'll wish you hadn't. But you will be an authority."
"I don't want to be an authority," yelled Danny. He didn't lower his voice. "I want to be a musician."
The machine seemed to be lost. "You mean you want to play an instrument?"
"That's it. Also, if I'm good enough, to compose music."
"Compose?" said the machine. "Play? There's no way to do that. Even if you could find an instrument, robots can play it better."
"Robots can't play at all," said Danny. ”

“ They never heard rockets coming in from Mars. Nor the hum of hundred story farms. How could they compose the music that we need to hear?"
The girl looked at him queerly, as if seeing him for the first time. "You're very young," she said finally. "Most of us feel that way when we're young." She touched him lightly. "You may be right, but keep your views to yourself." She made her way back to the auditorium.
Fortunately the synthony had begun. The audience had left the lobby; none but the girl had heard him. Danny had said it, though, and having done so, couldn't listen to the music. ”

“ The sound rolled out into the empty auditorium. Startled, Danny jerked his hands away. He didn't know it, but with those few notes he qualified as the musical genius of a hundred years. The only human who, in that time, had produced anything resembling music.
Entranced, he listened. When the last echo was lost he felt empty. He sat down on the stool and rubbed his cheek against the old instrument. His hands couldn't stay away from the keyboard.
Meanwhile his mother strolled determinedly through Culture City. "I just love the synthony don't you, Danny?" ”

“ The grip loosened a little. "Then you're a music robot. I never heard of a robot composer, though." The caretaker thought about it with all the mental equipment it had. "If you're a music robot, let's hear some music."
"Let go," said Danny. "I'll play the piano."
"First the music," said the caretaker. "Then I'll let go."
"But I don't have an instrument."
"Music robots don't need them. The notes are stored inside. They carry an instrument for appearance only.
"The piano master needs an instrument," argued Danny. "It's different. It actually plays."
"The piano robot, yes," agreed the caretaker. ”

“ It was a good gamble the psych squad wasn't. Danny ran on, dodging through the narrow passageways, and, when he was well ahead of them, climbed an inconspicuous fire escape to the top of a building and watched the psych squad blunder by below.
Satisfied he hadn't been observed, he went inside the building and presently emerged on a main street, breathing a little heavily, but otherwise a normal boy, face washed and hair combed.
Culture City was beginning to come to life with the evening trade. More people were on the streets and he mingled with them. ”

“ The piano was lighted by a soft violet light, probably germicidal. Danny paused at the entrance to the enclosure.
It was useless to struggle against the hand, that, from nowhere, fastened to his arm. He was no match for the strength of a robot.
"I knew there was something wrong," said the caretaker. The face that looked at Danny was dignified and kindly, if expressionless.
Danny said nothing.
"Humidity changes," muttered the robot caretaker. "Not much, but some on three successive days. No one is supposed to be here. Can't have it. Wood will rot and metal rust." ”

“ A sonic switch was the answer. A complete melody which, when played through, would actuate his invention. The new sound system would then be coupled to the old piano and a twenty-third century instrument would be in operation. A piano, but more than the piano, beyond it. To himself Danny called it a meta piano.
The requirements of the actuating melody, the key that would operate the sonic switch, were simple. It had to be a melody that was never played. Something that had never been recorded in pre-music robot days, or one of which no record had survived. ”

“ He got the first glimpse of the psych squad. Two were robots, large and evidently strong. They were pleasant enough to look at and gave an impression of gentleness. Whether their behavior matched their appearance was another matter. The third member of the squad was a man.
The group approached cautiously. Danny squatted low beside the door. "I'm in contact with the psych squad," said the S.P. "If you'll cooperate with them it will look good on your record. You'll get by with a minimum mental change. They may let you keep some of your enthusiasm for music. Will you go peacefully?" ”

“ Outside, at the extreme back, near the parking lot where ancient vehicles were still standing to complete the illusion of authenticity, he saw it.
The S.P. was bigger than a telephone booth and was decorated with odd green figures the intent of which was to project comfort and rest. There were larger and better S.P.'s, near his home, but Danny had a reason for coming here. It was one of the first models, but it did the same work that more modern ones did. It was slower, but Danny had time.
He looked around. Late afternoon, not many were in Culture City at this time of day. ”

“ The sidewalk psychiatrist searched through its memory and evaluated it. "You're right about your age. And the fear is understandable." The voice softened. "Come inside and wait. And be quiet. I have to concentrate to contact the psych squad robots."
The door swung open and Danny thrust the stick in the hinges. The door started to close again but couldn't. "What are you doing?" asked the startled sidewalk psychiatrist. The rock in Danny's hand crashed against the panel that housed the thinking mechanism. ”

“ Each time he switched it on with the key melody, playing until it was time to go, and then leaving, secure in his knowledge that the passage of time would disconnect his invention. He grew more assured of his technique, expanding and developing it. He had been good before. How much he now knew there was no way of gauging. He had no audience whose reaction he could test.
Of course there were the usual evening concerts. One night he sat in the balcony listening aimlessly. He let conversations flow past without actually hearing them. Background noise, an essential part of the scene at Music Hall. ”

“ Into the parking lot again. He searched along the borders of it until he found what he wanted. Then he approached the sidewalk psychiatrist. "It's me, Danny," he said in a low voice.
The S.P. seemed surprised. "What do you want?"
"I'm going to give myself up," he said. "You've got my fingerprints."
"I do," said S.P. "And you remembered that in your panic. You have an uncluttered mind. Too bad it isn't well balanced. Wait. I'll call the psych squad."
"Let me inside," said Danny. His voice broke.
"Nonsense," said S.P. "The psych squad won't hurt you." ”

“ He was beyond chance human detection.
He went on. There was a door, locked, as he expected. An old fashioned lock, mechanical type, in keeping with the character of Music Hall. It had been a good lock when it was made, nearly unpickable. Danny inserted a wire device and listened. He turned, and the door swung open.
He stepped back a few feet in the darkness, ran, and jumped forward. The lights did not go on. He had jumped far enough. It was merely a pressure plate, designed to count visitors. But one visitor would activate the auditorium staff. ”

“ I wish I had a piano."
She took hold of him and led him away. "You must understand," she said in a voice that was firmer than her grip. "Men often listen to music. Only robots play it."
On playday Danny went walking in Culture City. Elsewhere there were game robots and organized activity, but he didn't like being organized. ”

“ He still wasn't interested, but it was best to pretend curiosity. Shoplifting is a crime punishable by law. What exactly was shoplifting? If it meant what it seemed to, there were giants in those days. ”

“ For the first time he glanced at the program he'd taken on entering. He read through it with profound unease.
"Tonight's audience will participate in the most exciting musical event of the past generation. A new record has been found. The robot piano master, Horowitz Rubinstein Paderewsky Art Tatum Rozenthal will have a new technique added. Jelly Roll Morton will be integrated into the composite musical personality. ”