_SF writer and editor Harry Harrison explores a not too distant future where robots--particularly specialist robots who don't know their place--have quite a rough time of it. True, the Robot Equality Act had been passed--but so what?_ the velvet glove _by . .. Harry Harrison_ New York was a bad town for robots this year. In fact, all over the country it was bad for robots. .. . Jon Venex fitted the key into the hotel room door. He had asked for alarge room, the largest in the hotel, and paid the desk clerk extra forit. All he could do now was pray that he hadn't been cheated. He didn'tdare complain or try to get his money back. He heaved a sigh of reliefas the door swung open, it was bigger than he had expected--fully threefeet wide by five feet long. There was more than enough room to work in. He would have his leg off in a jiffy and by morning his limp would begone. There was the usual adjustable hook on the back wall. He slipped itthrough the recessed ring in the back of his neck and kicked himself upuntil his feet hung free of the floor. His legs relaxed with a rattle ashe cut off all power from his waist down. The overworked leg motor would have to cool down before he could work onit, plenty of time to skim through the newspaper. With the chronic worryof the unemployed, he snapped it open at the want-ads and ran his eyedown the _Help Wanted--Robot_ column. There was nothing for him underthe Specialist heading, even the Unskilled Labor listings were bare andunpromising. New York was a bad town for robots this year. The want-ads were just as depressing as usual but he could always get alift from the comic section. He even had a favorite strip, a fact thathe scarcely dared mention to himself. "Rattly Robot, " a dull-wittedmechanical clod who was continually falling over himself and gettinginto trouble. It was a repellent caricature, but could still be veryfunny. Jon was just starting to read it when the ceiling light went out. It was ten P. M. , curfew hour for robots. Lights out and lock yourself inuntil six in the morning, eight hours of boredom and darkness for allexcept the few night workers. But there were ways of getting around theletter of a law that didn't concern itself with a definition of visiblelight. Sliding aside some of the shielding around his atomic generator, Jon turned up the gain. As it began to run a little hot the heat wavesstreamed out--visible to him as infra-red rays. He finished reading thepaper in the warm, clear light of his abdomen. The thermocouple in the tip of his second finger left hand, he testedthe temperature of his leg. It was soon cool enough to work on. Thewaterproof gasket stripped off easily, exposing the power leads, nervewires and the weakened knee joint. The wires disconnected, Jon unscrewedthe knee above the joint and carefully placed it on the shelf in frontof him. With loving care he took the replacement part from his hippouch. It was the product of toil, purchased with his savings from threemonths employment on the Jersey pig farm. Jon was standing on one leg testing the new knee joint when the ceilingfluorescent flickered and came back on. Five-thirty already, he had justfinished in time. A shot of oil on the new bearing completed the job; hestowed away the tools in the pouch and unlocked the door. The unused elevator shaft acted as waste chute, he slipped his newspaperthrough a slot in the door as he went by. Keeping close to the wall, hepicked his way carefully down the grease-stained stairs. He slowed hispace at the 17th floor as two other mechs turned in ahead of him. Theywere obviously butchers or meat-cutters; where the right hand shouldhave been on each of them there stuck out a wicked, foot-long knife. Asthey approached the foot of the stairs they stopped to slip the knivesinto the plastic sheaths that were bolted to their chestplates. Jonfollowed them down the ramp into the lobby. The room was filled to capacity with robots of all sizes, forms andcolors. Jon Venex's greater height enabled him to see over their headsto the glass doors that opened onto the street. It had rained the nightbefore and the rising sun drove red glints from the puddles on thesidewalk. Three robots, painted snow white to show they were nightworkers, pushed the doors open and came in. No one went out as thecurfew hadn't ended yet. They milled around slowly talking in lowvoices. The only human being in the entire lobby was the night clerk dozingbehind the counter. The clock over his head said five minutes to six. Shifting his glance from the clock, Jon became aware of a squat blackrobot waving to attract his attention. The powerful arms and compactbuild identified him as a member of the Diger family, one of the mostnumerous groups. He pushed through the crowd and clapped Jon on the backwith a resounding clang. "Jon Venex! I knew it was you as soon as I saw you sticking up out ofthis crowd like a green tree trunk. I haven't seen you since the olddays on Venus!" Jon didn't need to check the number stamped on the short one's scratchedchestplate. Alec Diger had been his only close friend during thosethirteen boring years at Orange Sea Camp. A good chess player and a whizat Two-handed Handball, they had spent all their off time together. Theyshook hands, with the extra squeeze that means friendliness. "Alec, you beat-up little grease pot, what brings you to New York?" "The burning desire to see something besides rain and jungle, if youmust know. After you bought out, things got just too damn dull. I beganworking two shifts a day in that foul diamond mine, and then three a dayfor the last month to get enough credits to buy my contract and passageback to earth. I was underground so long that the photocell on my righteye burned out when the sunlight hit it. " He leaned forward with a hoarse confidential whisper, "If you want toknow the truth, I had a sixty-carat diamond stuck behind the eye lens. Isold it here on earth for two hundred credits, gave me six months ofeasy living. It's all gone now, so I'm on my way to the employmentexchange. " His voice boomed loud again, "And how about _you_?" Jon Venex chuckled at his friend's frank approach to life. "It's justbeen the old routine with me, a run of odd jobs until I got side-swipedby a bus--it fractured my knee bearing. The only job I could get with abad leg was feeding slops to pigs. Earned enough to fix the knee--andhere _I_ am. " Alec jerked his thumb at a rust-colored, three-foot-tall robot that hadcome up quietly beside him. "If you think you've got trouble take a lookat Dik here, that's no coat of paint on him. Dik Dryer, meet Jon Venexan old buddy of mine. " Jon bent over to shake the little mech's hand. His eye shutters dilatedas he realized what he had thought was a coat of paint was a thin layerof rust that coated Dik's metal body. Alec scratched a shiny path inthe rust with his fingertip. His voice was suddenly serious. "Dik was designed for operation in the Martian desert. It's as dry as afossil bone there so his skinflint company cut corners on the stainlesssteel. "When they went bankrupt he was sold to a firm here in the city. After awhile the rust started to eat in and slow him down, they gave Dik hiscontract and threw him out. " The small robot spoke for the first time, his voice grated andscratched. "Nobody will hire me like this, but I can't get repaireduntil I get a job. " His arms squeaked and grated as he moved them. "I'mgoing by the Robot Free Clinic again today, they said they might be ableto do something. " Alec Diger rumbled in his deep chest. "Don't put too much faith in thosepeople. They're great at giving out tenth-credit oil capsules or alittle free wire--but don't depend on them for anything important. " It was six now, the robots were pushing through the doors into thesilent streets. They joined the crowd moving out, Jon slowing his strideso his shorter friends could keep pace. Dik Dryer moved with a jerking, irregular motion, his voice as uneven as the motion of his body. "Jon--Venex, I don't recognize your family name. Something to do--withVenus--perhaps. " "Venus is right, Venus Experimental--there are only twenty-two of us inthe family. We have waterproof, pressure-resistant bodies for workingdown on the ocean bottom. The basic idea was all right, we did our part, only there wasn't enough money in the channel-dredging contract to keepus all working. I bought out my original contract at half price andbecame a free robot. " Dik vibrated his rusted diaphragm. "Being free isn't all it should be. Isome--times wish the Robot Equality Act hadn't been passed. I would justl-love to be owned by a nice rich company with a machine shop anda--mountain of replacement parts. " "You don't really mean that, Dik, " Alec Diger clamped a heavy black armacross his shoulders. "Things aren't perfect now, we know that, but it'scertainly a lot better than the old days, we were just hunks ofmachinery then. Used twenty-four hours a day until we were worn out andthen thrown in the junk pile. No thanks, I'll take my chances withthings as they are. " * * * * * Jon and Alec turned into the employment exchange, saying good-by to Dikwho went on slowly down the street. They pushed up the crowded ramp andjoined the line in front of the registration desk. The bulletin boardnext to the desk held a scattering of white slips announcing jobopenings. A clerk was pinning up new additions. Venex scanned them with his eyes, stopping at one circled in red. ROBOTS NEEDED IN THESE CATEGORIES. APPLY AT ONCE TO CHAINJET, LTD. , 1219 BROADWAY. Fasten Flyer Atommel Filmer Venex Jon rapped excitedly on Alec Diger's neck. "Look there, a job in my ownspecialty--I can get my old pay rate! See you back at the hoteltonight--and good luck in your job hunting. " Alec waved good-by. "Let's hope the job's as good as you think, I nevertrust those things until I have my credits in my hand. " Jon walked quickly from the employment exchange, his long legs eating upthe blocks. _Good old Alec, he didn't believe in anything he couldn'ttouch. Perhaps he was right, but why try to be unhappy. The world wasn'ttoo bad this morning--his leg worked fine, prospects of a good job--hehadn't felt this cheerful since the day he was activated. _ Turning the corner at a brisk pace he collided with a man coming fromthe opposite direction. Jon had stopped on the instant, but there wasn'ttime to jump aside. The obese individual jarred against him and fell tothe ground. From the height of elation to the depths of despair in aninstant--he had injured a _human being_! He bent to help the man to his feet, but the other would have none ofthat. He evaded the friendly hand and screeched in a high-pitched voice. "Officer, officer, police . .. HELP! I've been attacked--a mad robot . .. HELP!" A crowd was gathering--staying at a respectful distance--but making anangry muttering noise. Jon stood motionless, his head reeling at theenormity of what he had done. A policeman pushed his way through thecrowd. "Seize him, officer, shoot him down . .. He struck me . .. Almost killedme . .. " The man shook with rage, his words thickening to a senselessbabble. The policeman had his . 75 recoilless revolver out and pressed againstJon's side. "This _man_ has charged you with a serious crime, _grease-can_. I'mtaking you into the station house--to talk about it. " He looked aroundnervously, waving his gun to open a path through the tightly packedcrowd. They moved back grudgingly, with murmurs of disapproval. Jon's thoughts swirled in tight circles. How did a catastrophe like thishappen, where was it going to end? He didn't dare tell the truth, thatwould mean he was calling the man a liar. There had been six robotspower-lined in the city since the first of the year. If he dared speakin his own defense there would be a jumper to the street lightingcircuit and a seventh burnt out hulk in the police morgue. A feeling of resignation swept through him, there was no way out. If theman pressed charges it would mean a term of penal servitude, though itlooked now as if he would never live to reach the court. The papers hadbeen whipping up a lot of anti-robe feeling, you could feel it behindthe angry voices, see it in the narrowed eyes and clenched fists. Thecrowd was slowly changing into a mob, a mindless mob as yet, but capableof turning on him at any moment. "What's goin' on here. .. ?" It was a booming voice, with a quality thatdragged at the attention of the crowd. A giant cross-continent freighter was parked at the curb. The driverswung down from the cab and pushed his way through the people. Thepoliceman shifted his gun as the man strode up to him. "That's my robot you got there, Jack, don't put any holes in him!" Heturned on the man who had been shouting accusations. "Fatty here, is theworld's biggest liar. The robot was standing here waiting for me to parkthe truck. Fatty must be as blind as he is stupid, I saw the wholething. He knocks himself down walking into the robe, then startshollering for the cops. " The other man could take no more. His face crimson with anger he rushedtoward the trucker, his fists swinging in ungainly circles. They neverlanded, the truck driver put a meaty hand on the other's face and seatedhim on the sidewalk for the second time. The onlookers roared with laughter, the power-lining and the robot wereforgotten. The fight was between two men now, the original cause hadslipped from their minds. Even the policeman allowed himself a smallsmile as he holstered his gun and stepped forward to separate the men. The trucker turned towards Jon with a scowl. "Come on you aboard the truck--you've caused me enough trouble for oneday. What a junkcan!" The crowd chuckled as he pushed Jon ahead of him into the truck andslammed the door behind them. Jamming the starter with his thumb hegunned the thunderous diesels into life and pulled out into the traffic. Jon moved his jaw, but there were no words to come out. Why had thistotal stranger helped him, what could he say to show his appreciation?He knew that all humans weren't robe-haters, why it was even rumoredthat some humans treated robots as _equals_ instead of machines. Thedriver must be one of these mythical individuals, there was no other wayto explain his actions. Driving carefully with one hand the man reached up behind the dash anddrew out a thin, plastikoid booklet. He handed it to Jon who quicklyscanned the title, _Robot Slaves in a World Economy_ by Philpott AsimovII. "If you're caught reading that thing they'll execute you on the spot. Better stick it between the insulation on your generator, you can alwaysburn it if you're picked up. "Read it when you're alone, it's got a lot of things in it that you knownothing about. Robots aren't really inferior to humans, in fact they'resuperior in most things. There is even a little history in there to showthat robots aren't the first ones to be treated as second classcitizens. You may find it a little hard to believe, but human beingsonce treated each other just the way they treat robots now. That's oneof the reasons I'm active in this movement--sort of like the fellow whowas burned helping others stay away from the fire. " He smiled a warm, friendly smile in Jon's direction, the whiteness ofhis teeth standing out against the rich ebony brown of his features. "I'm heading towards US-1, can I drop you anywheres on the way?" "The Chainjet Building please--I'm applying for a job. " They rode the rest of the way in silence. Before he opened the door thedriver shook hands with Jon. "Sorry about calling you _junkcan_, but the crowd expected it. " Hedidn't look back as he drove away. Jon had to wait a half hour for his turn, but the receptionist finallysignalled him towards the door of the interviewer's room. He stepped inquickly and turned to face the man seated at the transplastic desk, anupset little man with permanent worry wrinkles stamped in his forehead. The little man shoved the papers on the desk around angrily, occasionally making crabbed little notes on the margins. He flashed abirdlike glance up at Jon. "Yes, yes, be quick. What is it you want?" "You posted a help wanted notice, I--" The man cut him off with a wave of his hand. "All right let me see yourID tag . .. Quickly, there are others waiting. " Jon thumbed the tag out of his waist slot and handed it across the desk. The interviewer read the code number, then began running his finger downa long list of similar figures. He stopped suddenly and looked sidewaysat Jon from under his lowered lids. "You have made a mistake, we have no opening for you. " Jon began to explain to the man that the notice had requested hisspecialty, but he was waved to silence. As the interviewer handed backthe tag he slipped a card out from under the desk blotter and held it infront of Jon's eyes. He held it there for only an instant, knowing thatthe written message was recorded instantly by the robot's photographicvision and eidetic memory. The card dropped into the ash tray and flaredinto embers at the touch of the man's pencil-heater. Jon stuffed the ID tag back into the slot and read over the message onthe card as he walked down the stairs to the street. There were sixlines of typewritten copy with no signature. _To Venex Robot: You are urgently needed on a top secret company project. There are suspected informers in the main office, so you are being hired in this unusual manner. Go at once to 787 Washington Street and ask for Mr. Coleman. _ Jon felt an immense sensation of relief. For a moment there, he was surethe job had been a false lead. He saw nothing unusual in the method ofhiring. The big corporations were immensely jealous of their researchdiscoveries and went to great lengths to keep them secret--at the sametime resorting to any means to ferret out their business rivals'secrets. There might still be a chance to get this job. * * * * * The burly bulk of a lifter was moving back and forth in the gloom of theancient warehouse stacking crates in ceiling-high rows. Jon called tohim, the robot swung up his forklift and rolled over on noiseless tires. When Jon questioned him he indicated a stairwell against the rear wall. "Mr. Coleman's office is down in back, the door is marked. " The lifterput his fingertips against Jon's ear pick-ups and lowered his voice tothe merest shadow of a whisper. It would have been inaudible to humanears, but Jon could hear him easily, the sounds being carried throughthe metal of the other's body. "He's the meanest man you ever met--he hates robots so be _ever_ sopolite. If you can use 'sir' five times in one sentence you're perfectlysafe. " Jon swept the shutter over one eye tube in a conspiratorial wink, thelarge mech did the same as he rolled away. Jon turned and went down thedusty stairwell and knocked gently on Mr. Coleman's door. Coleman was a plump little individual in a conservativepurple-and-yellow business suit. He kept glancing from Jon to the RobotGeneral Catalog checking the Venex specifications listed there. Seemingly satisfied he slammed the book shut. "Gimme your tag and back against that wall to get measured. " Jon laid his ID tag on the desk and stepped towards the wall. "Yes, sir, here it is, sir. " Two "sir" on that one, not bad for the first sentence. He wondered idly if he could put five of them in one sentence withoutthe man knowing he was being made a fool of. He became aware of the danger an instant too late. The current surgedthrough the powerful electromagnet behind the plaster flattening hismetal body helplessly against the wall. Coleman was almost dancing withglee. "We got him, Druce, he's mashed flatter than a stinking tin-can on arock, can't move a motor. Bring that junk in here and let's get himready. " Druce had a mechanic's coveralls on over his street suit and a tool boxslung under one arm. He carried a little black metal can at arm'slength, trying to get as far from it as possible. Coleman shouted at himwith annoyance. "That bomb can't go off until it's armed, stop acting like a child. Putit on that grease-can's leg and _quick_!" Grumbling under his breath, Druce spot-welded the metal flanges of thebomb onto Jon's leg a few inches above his knee. Coleman tugged at it tobe certain it was secure, then twisted a knob in the side and pulled outa glistening length of pin. There was a cold little click from insidethe mechanism as it armed itself. Jon could do nothing except watch, even his vocal diaphragm was lockedby the magnetic field. He had more than a suspicion however that he wasinvolved in something other than a "secret business deal. " He cursed hisown stupidity for walking blindly into the situation. The magnetic field cut off and he instantly raced his extensor motors toleap forward. Coleman took a plastic box out of his pocket and held histhumb over a switch inset into its top. "Don't make any quick moves, junk-yard, this little transmitter is keyedto a receiver in that bomb on your leg. One touch of my thumb, up you goin a cloud of smoke and come down in a shower of nuts and bolts. " Hesignalled to Druce who opened a closet door. "And in case you want to beheroic, just think of him. " Coleman jerked his thumb at the sodden shape on the floor; a filthilyattired man of indistinguishable age whose only interesting feature wasthe black bomb strapped tightly across his chest. He peered unseeinglyfrom red-rimmed eyes and raised the almost empty whiskey bottle to hismouth. Coleman kicked the door shut. "He's just some Bowery bum we dragged in, Venex, but that doesn't makeany difference to you, does it? He's human--and a robot can't kill_anybody_! That rummy has a bomb on him tuned to the same frequency asyours, if you don't play ball with us he gets a two-foot hole blown inhis chest. " Coleman was right, Jon didn't dare make any false moves. All of hisearly mental training as well as Circuit 92 sealed inside his brain casewould prevent him from harming a human being. He felt trapped, caught bythese people for some unknown purpose. Coleman had pushed back a tarpaulin to disclose a ragged hole in theconcrete floor, the opening extended into the earth below. He waved Jonover. "The tunnel is in good shape for about thirty feet, then you'll find afall. Clean all the rock and dirt out until you break through into thestorm sewer, then come back. And you better be alone. If you tip thecops both you and the old stew go out together--now move. " The shaft had been dug recently and shored with packing crates from thewarehouse overhead. It ended abruptly in a wall of fresh sand and stone. Jon began shoveling it into the little wheelbarrow they had given him. He had emptied four barrow loads and was filling the fifth when heuncovered the hand, a robot's hand made of green metal. He turned hisheadlight power up and examined the hand closely, there could be nodoubt about it. These gaskets on the joints, the rivet pattern at thebase of the thumb meant only one thing, it was the dismembered hand of aVenex robot. Quickly, yet gently, he shoveled away the rubble behind the hand andunearthed the rest of the robot. The torso was crushed and the powercircuits shorted, battery acid was dripping from an ugly rent in theside. With infinite care Jon snapped the few remaining wires that joinedthe neck to the body and laid the green head on the barrow. It stared athim like a skull, the shutters completely dilated, but no glow of lifefrom the tubes behind them. He was scraping the mud from the number on the battered chestplate whenDruce lowered himself into the tunnel and flashed the brilliant beam ofa hand-spot down its length. "Stop playing with that junk and get digging--or you'll end up the sameas him. This tunnel has gotta be through by tonight. " Jon put the dismembered parts on the barrow with the sand and rock andpushed the whole load back up the tunnel, his thoughts running inunhappy circles. A dead robot was a terrible thing, and one of hisfamily too. But there was something wrong about this robot, somethingthat was quite inexplicable, the number on the plate had been "17, " yethe remembered only too well the day that a water-shorted motor hadkilled Venex 17 in the Orange Sea. It took Jon four hours to drive the tunnel as far as the ancient granitewall of the storm sewer. Druce gave him a short pinch bar and he leveredout enough of the big blocks to make a hole large enough to let himthrough into the sewer. When he climbed back into the office he tried to look casual as hedropped the pinch bar to the floor by his feet and seated himself on thepile of rubble in the corner. He moved around to make a comfortable seatfor himself and his fingers grabbed the severed neck of Venex 17. Coleman swiveled around in his chair and squinted at the wall clock. Hechecked the time against his tie-pin watch, with a grunt of satisfactionhe turned back and stabbed a finger at Jon. "Listen, you green junk-pile, at 1900 hours you're going to do a job, and there aren't going to be any slip ups. You go down that sewer andinto the Hudson River. The outlet is under water, so you won't be seenfrom the docks. Climb down to the bottom and walk 200 yards north, thatshould put you just under a ship. Keep your eyes open, _but don't showany lights_! About halfway down the keel of the ship you'll find a chainhanging. "Climb the chain, pull loose the box that's fastened to the hull at thetop and bring it back here. No mistakes--or you know what happens. " Jon nodded his head. His busy fingers had been separating the wires inthe amputated neck. When they had been straightened and put into a rowhe memorized their order with one flashing glance. He ran over the color code in his mind and compared it with thememorized leads. The twelfth wire was the main cranial power lead, number six was the return wire. With his precise touch he separated these two from the pack and glancedidly around the room. Druce was dozing on a chair in the oppositecorner. Coleman was talking on the phone, his voice occasionally risingin a petulant whine. This wasn't interfering with his attention toJon--and the radio switch still held tightly in left hand. Jon's body blocked Coleman's vision, as long as Druce stayed asleep hewould be able to work on the head unobserved. He activated a relay inhis forearm and there was a click as the waterproof cover on an exteriorsocket swung open. This was a power outlet from his battery that wasused to operate motorized tools and lights underwater. If Venex 17's head had been severed for less than three weeks he couldreactivate it. Every robot had a small storage battery inside his skull, if the power to the brain was cut off the battery would provide theminimum standby current to keep the brain alive. The robe would beunconscious until full power was restored. Jon plugged the wires into his arm-outlet and slowly raised the currentto operating level. There was a tense moment of waiting, then 17's eyeshutters suddenly closed. When they opened again the eye tubes wereglowing warmly. They swept the room with one glance then focused on Jon. The right shutter clicked shut while the other began opening and closingin rapid fashion. It was International code--being sent as fast as thesolenoid could be operated. Jon concentrated on the message. _Telephone--call emergency operator--tell her "signal 14" help will--_ The shutter stopped in the middle of a code group, the light of reasondying from the eyes. For one instant Jon's heart leaped in panic, until he realized that 17had deliberately cut the power. Druce's harsh voice rasped in his ear. "What you doing with that? None of your funny robot tricks. I know yourkind, plotting all kinds of things in them tin domes. " His voice trailedoff into a stream of incomprehensible profanity. With sudden spite helashed his foot out and sent 17's head crashing against the wall. The dented, green head rolled to a stop at Jon's feet, the face staringup at him in mute agony. It was only Circuit 92 that prevented him frominjuring a _human_. As his motors revved up to send him hurtling forwardthe control relays clicked open. He sank against the debris, paralyzedfor the instant. As soon as the rush of anger was gone he would regaincontrol of his body. They stood as if frozen in a tableau. The robot slumped backward, theman leaning forward, his face twisted with unreasoning hatred. The headlay between them like a symbol of death. Coleman's voice cut through the air of tenseness like a knife. "_Druce_, stop playing with the grease-can and get down to the main doorto let Little Willy and his junk-brokers in. You can have it all toyourself afterward. " The angry man turned reluctantly, but pushed out of the door atColeman's annoyed growl. Jon sat down against the wall, his mind sortingout the few facts with lightning precision. There was no room in histhoughts for Druce, the man had become just one more factor in a complexproblem. Call the emergency operator--that meant this was no local matter, responsible authorities must be involved. Only the government could bebehind a thing as major as this. Signal 14--that inferred a complex setof arrangements, forces that could swing into action at a moment'snotice. There was no indication where this might lead, but the onlything to do was to get out of here and make that phone call. And quick. Druce was bringing in more people, junk-brokers, whatever they were. Anyaction that he took would have to be done before they returned. Even as Jon followed this train of logic his fingers were busy. Palminga wrench, he was swiftly loosening the main retaining nut on his hipjoint. It dropped free in his hand, only the pivot pin remained now tohold his leg on. He climbed slowly to his feet and moved towardsColeman's desk. "Mr. Coleman, sir, it's time to go down to the ship now, should I leavenow, sir?" Jon spoke the words slowly as he walked forward, apparently going to thedoor, but angling at the same time towards the plump man's desk. "You got thirty minutes yet, go sit--_say_. .. !" The words were cut off. Fast as a human reflex is, it is the barestcrawl compared to the lightning action of electronic reflex. At theinstant Coleman was first aware of Jon's motion, the robot had finishedhis leap and lay sprawled across the desk, his leg off at the hip andclutched in his hand. "YOU'LL KILL YOURSELF IF YOU TOUCH THE BUTTON!" The words were part of the calculated plan. Jon bellowed them in thestartled man's ear as he stuffed the dismembered leg down the front ofthe man's baggy slacks. It had the desired effect, Coleman's fingerstabbed at the button but stopped before it made contact. He stared downwith bulging eyes at the little black box of death peeping out of hiswaistband. Jon hadn't waited for the reaction. He pushed backward from the desk andstopped to grab the stolen pinch bar off the floor. A mighty one-leggedleap brought him to the locked closet; he stabbed the bar into the spacebetween the door and frame and heaved. Coleman was just starting to struggle the bomb out of his pants when theaction was over. The closet open, Jon seized the heavy strap holding thesecond bomb on the rummy's chest and snapped it like a thread. He threwthe bomb into Coleman's corner, giving the man one more thing to worryabout. It had cost him a leg, but Jon had escaped the bomb threatwithout injuring a human. Now he had to get to a phone and make thatcall. Coleman stopped tugging at the bomb and plunged his hand into the deskdrawer for a gun. The returning men would block the door soon, the onlyother exit from the room was a frosted-glass window that opened onto themammoth bay of the warehouse. Jon Venex plunged through the window in a welter of flying glass. Theheavy thud of a recoilless . 75 came from the room behind him and afoot-long section of metal window frame leaped outward. Another slugscreamed by the robot's head as he scrambled toward the rear door of thewarehouse. He was a bare thirty feet away from the back entrance when the giantdoor hissed shut on silent rollers. All the doors would have closed atthe same time, the thud of running feet indicated that they would beguarded as well. Jon hopped a section of packing cases and crouched outof sight. He looked up over his head, there stretched a webbing of steel supports, crossing and recrossing until they joined the flat expanse of the roof. To human eyes the shadows there deepened into obscurity, but theinfra-red from a network of steam pipes gave Jon all the illumination heneeded. The men would be quartering the floor of the warehouse soon, his onlychance to escape recapture or death would be over their heads. Besidesthis, he was hampered by the loss of his leg. In the rafters he coulduse his arms for faster and easier travel. Jon was just pulling himself up to one of the topmost cross beams whena hoarse shout from below was followed by a stream of bullets. They torethrough the thin roof, one slug clanged off the steel beam under hisbody. Waiting until three of the newcomers had started up a nearbyladder, Jon began to quietly work his way towards the back of thebuilding. Safe for the moment, he took stock of his position. The men were spreadout through the building, it could only be a matter of time before theyfound him. The doors were all locked and--he had made a complete circuitof the building to be sure--there were no windows that he couldforce--the windows were bolted as well. If he could call the emergencyoperator the unknown friends of Venex 17 might come to his aid. This, however, was out of the question. The only phone in the building was onColeman's desk. He had traced the leads to make sure. His eyes went automatically to the cables above his head. Plasticgaskets were set in the wall of the building, through them came thepower and phone lines. The phone line! That was all he needed to make acall. With smooth, fast motions he reached up and scratched a section of wirebare. He laughed to himself as he slipped the little microphone out ofhis left ear. Now he was half deaf as well as half lame--he wasliterally giving himself to this cause. He would have to remember thepun to tell Alec Diger later, if there was a later. Alec had a profoundweakness for puns. Jon attached jumpers to the mike and connected them to the bare wire. Atouch of the ammeter showed that no one was on the line. He waited a fewmoments to be sure he had a dial tone then sent the eleven carefullyspaced pulses that would connect him with the local operator. He placedthe mike close to his mouth. "Hello, operator. Hello, operator. I cannot hear you so do not answer. Call the emergency operator--signal 14, I repeat--signal 14. " Jon kept repeating the message until the searching men began to approachhis position. He left the mike connected--the men wouldn't notice it inthe dark but the open line would give the unknown powers his exactlocation. Using his fingertips he did a careful traverse on an I-beam toan alcove in the farthest corner of the room. Escape was impossible, allhe could do was stall for time. "Mr. Coleman, I'm sorry I ran away. " With the volume on full his voicerolled like thunder from the echoing walls. He could see the men below twisting their heads vainly to find thesource. "If you let me come back and don't kill me I will do your work. I wasafraid of the bomb, but now I am afraid of the guns. " It sounded alittle infantile, but he was pretty sure none of those present had anysound knowledge of robotic intelligence. "Please let me come back . .. Sir!" He had almost forgotten the lastword, so he added another "Please, sir!" to make up. Coleman needed that package under the boat very badly, he would promiseanything to get it. Jon had no doubts as to his eventual fate, all hecould hope to do was kill time in the hopes that the phone message wouldbring aid. "Come on down, Junky, I won't be mad at you--if you follow directions. "Jon could hear the hidden anger in his voice, the unspoken hatred for arobe who dared lay hands on him. The descent wasn't difficult, but Jon did it slowly with much apparentdiscomfort. He hopped into the center of the floor--leaning on the casesas if for support. Coleman and Druce were both there as well as a groupof hard-eyed newcomers. They raised their guns at his approach butColeman stopped them with a gesture. "This is _my_ robe, boys, I'll see to it that he's happy. " He raised his gun and shot Jon's remaining leg off. Twisted around bythe blast, Jon fell helplessly to the floor. He looked up into thesmoking mouth of the . 75. "Very smart for a tin-can, but not smart enough. We'll get the junk onthe boat some other way, some way that won't mean having you aroundunder foot. " Death looked out of his narrowed eyes. Less than two minutes had passed since Jon's call. The watchers musthave been keeping 24 hour stations waiting for Venex 17's phone message. The main door went down with the sudden scream of torn steel. A whippettank crunched over the wreck and covered the group with its multiplepom-poms. They were an instant too late, Coleman pulled the trigger. Jon saw the tensing trigger finger and pushed hard against the floor. His head rolled clear but the bullet tore through his shoulder. Colemandidn't have a chance for a second shot, there was a fizzling hiss fromthe tank and the riot ports released a flood of tear gas. The strickenmen never saw the gas-masked police that poured in from the street. * * * * * Jon lay on the floor of the police station while a tech made temporaryrepairs on his leg and shoulder. Across the room Venex 17 was moving hisnew body with evident pleasure. "Now this really feels like _something_! I was sure my time was up whenthat land slip caught me. But maybe I ought to start from thebeginning. " He stamped across the room and shook Jon's inoperable hand. "The name is Wil Counter-4951L3, not that _that_ means much any more. I've worn so many different bodies that I forget what I originallylooked like. I went right from factory-school to a police trainingschool--and I have been on the job ever since--Force of Detectives, Sergeant Jr. Grade, Investigation Department. I spend most of my timeselling candy bars or newspapers, or serving drinks in crumb joints. Gather information, make reports and keep tab on guys for otherdepartments. "This last job--and I'm sorry I had to use a Venex identity, I don'tthink I brought any dishonor to your family--I was on loan to theCustoms department. Seems a ring was bringing uncut junk--heroin--intothe country. F. B. I. Tabbed all the operators here, but no one knew howthe stuff got in. When Coleman, he's the local big-shot, called theagencies for an underwater robot, I was packed into a new body and sentrunning. "I alerted the squad as soon as I started the tunnel, but the damnedthing caved in on me before I found out what ship was doing thecarrying. From there on you know what happened. "Not knowing I was out of the game the squad sat tight and waited. Thehop merchants saw a half million in snow sailing back to the old countryso they had you dragged in as a replacement. You made the phone call andthe cavalry rushed in at the last moment to save two robots from a rustygrave. " Jon, who had been trying vainly to get in a word, saw his chance as WilCounter turned to admire the reflection of his new figure in a window. "You shouldn't be telling me those things--about your policeinvestigations and department operations. Isn't this informationsupposed to be secret? Specially from robots!" "Of course it is!" was Wil's airy answer. "Captain Edgecombe--he's thehead of my department--is an expert on all kinds of blackmail. I'msupposed to tell you so much confidential police business that you'llhave to either join the department or be shot as a possible informer. "His laughter wasn't shared by the bewildered Jon. "Truthfully, Jon, we need you and can use you. Robes that can think fastand act fast aren't easy to find. After hearing about the tricks youpulled in that warehouse, the Captain swore to decapitate me permanentlyif I couldn't get you to join up. Do you need a job? Long hours, shortpay--but guaranteed to never get boring. " Wil's voice was suddenly serious. "You saved my life, Jon--thosesnowbirds would have left me in that sandpile until all hell froze over. I'd like you for a mate, I think we could get along well together. " Thegay note came back into his voice, "And besides that, I may be able tosave your life some day--I hate owing debts. " * * * * * The tech was finished, he snapped his tool box shut and left. Jon'sshoulder motor was repaired now, he sat up. When they shook hands thistime it was a firm clasp. The kind you know will last awhile. * * * * * Jon stayed in an empty cell that night. It was gigantic compared to thehotel and barrack rooms he was used to. He wished that he had hismissing legs so he could take a little walk up and down the cell. Hewould have to wait until the morning. They were going to fix him up thenbefore he started the new job. He had recorded his testimony earlier and the impossible events of thepast day kept whirling around in his head. He would think about it someother time, right now all he wanted to do was let his overworkedcircuits cool down, if he only had something to read, to focus hisattention on. Then, with a start, he remembered the booklet. Everythinghad moved so fast that the earlier incident with the truck driver hadslipped his mind completely. He carefully worked it out from behind the generator shielding andopened the first page of _Robot Slaves in a World Economy_. A cardslipped from between the pages and he read the short message on it. PLEASE DESTROY THIS CARD AFTER READING _If you think there is truth in this book and would like to hear more, come to Room B, 107 George St. Any Tuesday at 5 P. M. _ The card flared briefly and was gone. But he knew that it wasn't only aperfect memory that would make him remember that message. Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ November 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.