"We're beyond easy childish things like crime and punishment," Dagenham added.
"No," Robin objected. "There must always be sin and forgiveness. We're never beyond that."
"Profit and loss, sin and forgiveness, idealism and realism," Foyle smiled. "You're all so sure, so simple, so single-minded. I'm the only one in doubt. Let's see how sure you really are. You'll give up Olivia, Presteign? To me, yes? Will you give her up to the law? She's a killer."
Presteign tried to rise, and then fell back in his chair.
"There must be forgiveness, Robin? Will you forgive Olivia Presteign? She murdered your mother and sisters."
Robin turned ashen. Y'ang-Yeovil tried to protest.
"The Outer Satellites don't have PyrE, Yeovil. Sheffield revealed that. Would you use it on them anyway? Will you turn my name into common anathema . . - like Lynch and Boycott?"
Foyle turned to Jisbella. "Will your idealism take you back to Gouffre Mattel to serve out your sentence? And you, Dagenham, will you give her up? Let her go?"
He listened to the outcries and watched the confusion for a moment, bitter and constrained.
"Life is so simple," he said. "This decision is so simple, isn't it? Am I to respect Presteign's property rights? The welfare of the planets? Jisbella's ideals? Dagenham's realism? Robin's conscience? Press the button and watch the robot jump. But I'm not a robot. I'm a freak of the universe . . . a thinking animal. . . and I'm trying to see my way clear through this morass. Am I to turn PyrE over to the world and let it destroy itself? Am I to teach the world how to space-jaunte and let us spread our freak show from galaxy to galaxy through all the universe? What's the answer?"
The bartender robot hurled its mixing glass across the room with a resounding crash. In the amazed silence that followed, Dagenham grunted: "Damn! My radiation's disrupted your dolls again, Presteign."
"The answer is yes," the robot said, quite distinctly.
"What?" Foyle asked, taken aback.
"The answer to your question is yes."
"Thank you," Foyle said.
"My pleasure, sir," the robot responded. "A man is a member of society first, and an individual second. You must go along with society, whether it chooses destruction or not."
"Completely haywire," Dagenham said impatiently. "Switch it off, Presteign."
"Wait," Foyle commanded. He looked at the beaming grin engraved in the steel robot face. "But society can be so stupid. So confused. You've witnessed this conference."
"Yes, sir, but you must teach, not dictate. You must teach society."
"To space-jaunte? Why? Why reach out to the stars and galaxies? What for?"
"Because you're alive, sir. You might as well ask: Why is life? Don't ask about it. Live it."
"Quite mad," Dagenham muttered.
"But fascinating," Y'ang-Yeovil murmured.
"There's got to be more to life than just living," Foyle said to the robot.
"Then find it for yourself, sir. Don't ask the world to stop moving because you have doubts."
"Why can't we all move forward together?"
"Because you're all different. You're not lemmings. Some must lead, and hope that the rest will follow."
"The men who must. . . driven men, compelled men."
"You're all freaks, sir. But you always have been freaks. Life is a freak. That's its hope and glory."
"Thank you very much."
"My pleasure, sir."
"You've saved the day."
"Always a lovely day somewhere, sir," the robot beamed. Then it fizzed, jangled, and collapsed.
Foyle turned on the others. "That thing's right," he said, "and you're wrong. Who are we, any of us, to make a decision for the world? Let the world make its own decisions. Who are we to keep secrets from the world? Let the world know and decide for itself. Come to Old St. Pat's."
-- excerpt from The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester