Caves of Steel: Worker vs. Machine

This book starts off with the most commonly used of Issac Asimov's plot devices: A conversation.

Lije Baley had just reached his desk when he became aware of R. Sammy watching him expectantly.
The dour lines of his long face hardened. “What do you want?”
“The boss wants you, Lije. Right away. Soon as you come in.”
“All right.”
R. Sammy stood there blankly.
Baley said, “I said, all right. Go away!”
R. Sammy turned on his heel and left to go about his duties. Baley wondered irritably why those same duties couldn’t be done by a man.
He paused to examine the contents of his tobacco pouch and make a mental calculation. At two pipefuls a day, he could stretch it to next quota day.

These efficient series of paragraphs establish a number of facts about the setting:

1. The main character, Baley, has a colleague who is not a man.
2. R. Sammy's job was previously done by a man.
3. The economics of the society that Baley lives in necessitate rationing, similar to how it was in America during World War 2.

These three facts add up to circumstances that will color much of the story. Baley like everyone else needs to obtain a living, one that is simultaneously defined and threatened by the sort of scarcity that compels quotas and rationing. The fact that a non-human being is doing the job of a person in his office cannot be lost on Baley. Leading R. Sammy to be a source of irritation. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Simpson looked up from a merc-pool file as he passed. “Boss wants you, Lije.”
“I know. R. Sammy told me.”
A closely coded tape reeled out of the merc-pool’s vitals as the small instrument searched and analyzed its “memory” for the desired information stored in the tiny vibration patterns of the gleaming mercury surface within.
“I’d kick R. Sammy’s behind if I weren’t afraid I’d break a leg,” said Simpson. “I saw Vince Barrett the other day.”
“Oh?”
“He was looking for his job back. Or any job in the Department. The poor kid’s desperate, but what could I tell him. R. Sammy’s doing his job and that’s all. The kid has to work a delivery tread on the yeast farms now. He was a bright boy, too. Everyone liked him.”
Baley shrugged and said in a manner stiffer than he intended or felt, “It’s a thing we’re all living through.” 

Baley isn't the only one angered by the presence of R. Sammy. To them, he isn't just a machine, its a machine that hurt someone they both liked. And as brushed upon by Baley: Its been happening everywhere. And while replacement jobs may be provided, the horror and fear is akin to any chronically unemployed person in our time.

The boss rated a private office. It said JULIUS ENDERBY on the clouded glass. Nice letters. Carefully etched into the fabric of the glass. Underneath, it said COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, CITY OF NEW YORK.

Here we get two things. One, this story is set in New York. Two, it is here that the story introduces the concept of the rating. In this society, rather than higher pay, people get privileges for better positions. In this case, an office with a fancy name plate.


Baley stepped in and said, “You want to see me, Commissioner?”
Enderby looked up. He wore spectacles because his eyes were sensitive and couldn’t take the usual contact lenses. It was only after one got used to the sight of them that one could take in the rest of the face, which was quite undistinguished. Baley had a strong notion that the Commissioner valued his glasses for the personality they lent him and suspected that his eyeballs weren’t as sensitive as all that.
The Commissioner looked definitely nervous. He straightened his cuffs, leaned back, and said, too heartily, “Sit clown, Lije. Sit down,”
Baley sat down stiffly and waited.
Enderby said, “How’s Jessie? And the boy?”
“Fine,” Said Baley, hollowly, “Just fine. And your family?”
“Fine,” echoed Enderby. “Just fine.”
It had been a false start.
Baley thought: Something’s wrong with his face.
Aloud, he said, “Commissioner, I wish you wouldn’t send R. Sammy out after me.”
“Well, you know how I feel about those things, Lije. But he’s been put here and I’ve got to use him for something.”
“It’s uncomfortable, Commissioner. He tells me you want me and then he stands there. You know what I mean. I have to tell him to go or he just keeps on standing there.”
“Oh, that’s my fault, Lije. I gave him the message to deliver and forgot to tell him specifically to get back to his job when he was through.”
Baley sighed. The fine wrinkles about his intensely brown eyes grew more pronounced. “Anyway, you wanted to see me.”
“Yes, Lije,” said the Commissioner, “but not for anything easy.”

The paragraph dealing with Enderby's spectacles gives us a clue about the setting. While New York might now have robot office messengers, there aren't any sort of techniques available to correct eyesight, or other such bio tech advances. This becomes significant later on.

Another imporant thing to note is the seemingly throw away exchange about R. Sammy. While Sammy might be able to do poor Vince Barrett's job, it has to be given incredibly specific instructions to do so. Any human could have figured out that there is no need to linger after the message is given. Not so for Sammy.

One of Asimov's great strengths as a writer was his economy in his plots and prose. Already in these first few pages we have the central conflict set up: Squishy humans vs. chrome domed mechs.