HELENA. Its real purpose is to--to protect the Robots--and--and to insure good treatment for them. FABRY. Not a bad object, either. A machine has to be treated properly. (_Leans back_) _I don’t like damaged articles._ Please, Miss Glory, enroll us all _members_ of your league. (_“Yes, yes!” from all MEN._) HELENA. No, you don’t understand me. What we really want is to--to--_liberate_ the Robots. (_Looks at all OTHERS._) HALLEMEIER. How do you propose to do that? HELENA. They are to be--to be dealt with like human beings. HALLEMEIER. Aha! I suppose they’re to vote. To drink beer. To order us about? HELENA. Why shouldn’t they drink beer? HALLEMEIER. Perhaps they’re even to receive wages? (_Looking at other MEN, amused._) HELENA. Of course they are. HALLEMEIER. Fancy that! Now! And what would they do with their wages, pray? HELENA. They would buy--what they want--what pleases them. HALLEMEIER. That would be very nice, Miss Glory, only there’s nothing that does please the Robots. Good heavens, what are they to buy? You can feed them on pineapples, straw, whatever you like. It’s all the _same_ to them. They’ve no appetite at all. They’ve no interest in anything. Why, hang it all, nobody’s ever yet seen a Robot smile. HELENA. Why--why don’t you make them--happier? HALLEMEIER. That wouldn’t do, Miss Glory. They are only workmen. HELENA. Oh, but they’re so intelligent. HALLEMEIER. Confoundedly so, but they’re nothing else. They’ve no will of their own. No soul. No passion. HELENA. No love? HALLEMEIER. Love? Huh! Rather not. Robots don’t love. Not even themselves. HELENA. No defiance? HALLEMEIER. Defiance? I don’t know. Only _rarely_, from time to time. HELENA. What happens then? HALLEMEIER. Nothing particular. Occasionally they seem to go off their _heads_. Something like epilepsy, you know. It’s called “Robot’s Cramp.” They’ll suddenly sling down everything they’re holding, stand still, gnash their teeth--and then they have to go into the stamping-mill. It’s evidently some breakdown in the mechanism. DOMIN. (_Sitting on desk_) A flaw in the works that has to be removed. HELENA. No, no, that’s the soul. FABRY. (_Humorously_) Do you think that the soul first shows itself by a gnashing of teeth? (_MEN chuckle._) HELENA. Perhaps it’s just a sign that there’s a struggle within. Perhaps it’s a sort of revolt. Oh, if you could infuse them with it. DOMIN. That’ll be remedied, Miss Glory. Doctor Gall is just making some experiments. DR. GALL. Not with regard to that, Domin. At present I am making _pain_ nerves. HELENA. Pain nerves? DR. GALL. Yes, the Robots feel practically no bodily pain. You see, young Rossum provided them with too limited a _nervous_ system. We _must_ introduce _suffering_. HELENA. Why do you want to cause them pain?