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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Velvet Glove, by Harry Harrison
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Velvet Glove
+
+Author: Harry Harrison
+
+Release Date: July 21, 2009 [EBook #29471]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VELVET GLOVE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    _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 a
+large room, the largest in the hotel, and paid the desk clerk extra for
+it. All he could do now was pray that he hadn't been cheated. He didn't
+dare complain or try to get his money back. He heaved a sigh of relief
+as the door swung open, it was bigger than he had expected--fully three
+feet 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 be
+gone.
+
+There was the usual adjustable hook on the back wall. He slipped it
+through the recessed ring in the back of his neck and kicked himself up
+until his feet hung free of the floor. His legs relaxed with a rattle as
+he cut off all power from his waist down.
+
+The overworked leg motor would have to cool down before he could work on
+it, plenty of time to skim through the newspaper. With the chronic worry
+of the unemployed, he snapped it open at the want-ads and ran his eye
+down the _Help Wanted--Robot_ column. There was nothing for him under
+the Specialist heading, even the Unskilled Labor listings were bare and
+unpromising. New York was a bad town for robots this year.
+
+The want-ads were just as depressing as usual but he could always get a
+lift from the comic section. He even had a favorite strip, a fact that
+he scarcely dared mention to himself. "Rattly Robot," a dull-witted
+mechanical clod who was continually falling over himself and getting
+into trouble. It was a repellent caricature, but could still be very
+funny. 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 in
+until six in the morning, eight hours of boredom and darkness for all
+except the few night workers. But there were ways of getting around the
+letter of a law that didn't concern itself with a definition of visible
+light. 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 waves
+streamed out--visible to him as infra-red rays. He finished reading the
+paper in the warm, clear light of his abdomen.
+
+The thermocouple in the tip of his second finger left hand, he tested
+the temperature of his leg. It was soon cool enough to work on. The
+waterproof gasket stripped off easily, exposing the power leads, nerve
+wires and the weakened knee joint. The wires disconnected, Jon unscrewed
+the knee above the joint and carefully placed it on the shelf in front
+of him. With loving care he took the replacement part from his hip
+pouch. It was the product of toil, purchased with his savings from three
+months employment on the Jersey pig farm.
+
+Jon was standing on one leg testing the new knee joint when the ceiling
+fluorescent flickered and came back on. Five-thirty already, he had just
+finished in time. A shot of oil on the new bearing completed the job; he
+stowed away the tools in the pouch and unlocked the door.
+
+The unused elevator shaft acted as waste chute, he slipped his newspaper
+through a slot in the door as he went by. Keeping close to the wall, he
+picked his way carefully down the grease-stained stairs. He slowed his
+pace at the 17th floor as two other mechs turned in ahead of him. They
+were obviously butchers or meat-cutters; where the right hand should
+have been on each of them there stuck out a wicked, foot-long knife. As
+they approached the foot of the stairs they stopped to slip the knives
+into the plastic sheaths that were bolted to their chestplates. Jon
+followed them down the ramp into the lobby.
+
+The room was filled to capacity with robots of all sizes, forms and
+colors. Jon Venex's greater height enabled him to see over their heads
+to the glass doors that opened onto the street. It had rained the night
+before and the rising sun drove red glints from the puddles on the
+sidewalk. Three robots, painted snow white to show they were night
+workers, pushed the doors open and came in. No one went out as the
+curfew hadn't ended yet. They milled around slowly talking in low
+voices.
+
+The only human being in the entire lobby was the night clerk dozing
+behind the counter. The clock over his head said five minutes to six.
+Shifting his glance from the clock, Jon became aware of a squat black
+robot waving to attract his attention. The powerful arms and compact
+build identified him as a member of the Diger family, one of the most
+numerous groups. He pushed through the crowd and clapped Jon on the back
+with a resounding clang.
+
+"Jon Venex! I knew it was you as soon as I saw you sticking up out of
+this crowd like a green tree trunk. I haven't seen you since the old
+days on Venus!"
+
+Jon didn't need to check the number stamped on the short one's scratched
+chestplate. Alec Diger had been his only close friend during those
+thirteen boring years at Orange Sea Camp. A good chess player and a whiz
+at Two-handed Handball, they had spent all their off time together. They
+shook 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 you
+must know. After you bought out, things got just too damn dull. I began
+working two shifts a day in that foul diamond mine, and then three a day
+for the last month to get enough credits to buy my contract and passage
+back to earth. I was underground so long that the photocell on my right
+eye burned out when the sunlight hit it."
+
+He leaned forward with a hoarse confidential whisper, "If you want to
+know the truth, I had a sixty-carat diamond stuck behind the eye lens. I
+sold it here on earth for two hundred credits, gave me six months of
+easy living. It's all gone now, so I'm on my way to the employment
+exchange." His voice boomed loud again, "And how about _you_?"
+
+Jon Venex chuckled at his friend's frank approach to life. "It's just
+been the old routine with me, a run of odd jobs until I got side-swiped
+by a bus--it fractured my knee bearing. The only job I could get with a
+bad leg was feeding slops to pigs. Earned enough to fix the knee--and
+here _I_ am."
+
+Alec jerked his thumb at a rust-colored, three-foot-tall robot that had
+come up quietly beside him. "If you think you've got trouble take a look
+at Dik here, that's no coat of paint on him. Dik Dryer, meet Jon Venex
+an old buddy of mine."
+
+Jon bent over to shake the little mech's hand. His eye shutters dilated
+as he realized what he had thought was a coat of paint was a thin layer
+of rust that coated Dik's metal body. Alec scratched a shiny path in
+the rust with his fingertip. His voice was suddenly serious.
+
+"Dik was designed for operation in the Martian desert. It's as dry as a
+fossil bone there so his skinflint company cut corners on the stainless
+steel.
+
+"When they went bankrupt he was sold to a firm here in the city. After a
+while the rust started to eat in and slow him down, they gave Dik his
+contract and threw him out."
+
+The small robot spoke for the first time, his voice grated and
+scratched. "Nobody will hire me like this, but I can't get repaired
+until I get a job." His arms squeaked and grated as he moved them. "I'm
+going by the Robot Free Clinic again today, they said they might be able
+to do something."
+
+Alec Diger rumbled in his deep chest. "Don't put too much faith in those
+people. They're great at giving out tenth-credit oil capsules or a
+little free wire--but don't depend on them for anything important."
+
+It was six now, the robots were pushing through the doors into the
+silent streets. They joined the crowd moving out, Jon slowing his stride
+so 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--with
+Venus--perhaps."
+
+"Venus is right, Venus Experimental--there are only twenty-two of us in
+the family. We have waterproof, pressure-resistant bodies for working
+down 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 keep
+us all working. I bought out my original contract at half price and
+became a free robot."
+
+Dik vibrated his rusted diaphragm. "Being free isn't all it should be. I
+some--times wish the Robot Equality Act hadn't been passed. I would just
+l-love to be owned by a nice rich company with a machine shop and
+a--mountain of replacement parts."
+
+"You don't really mean that, Dik," Alec Diger clamped a heavy black arm
+across his shoulders. "Things aren't perfect now, we know that, but it's
+certainly a lot better than the old days, we were just hunks of
+machinery then. Used twenty-four hours a day until we were worn out and
+then thrown in the junk pile. No thanks, I'll take my chances with
+things as they are."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jon and Alec turned into the employment exchange, saying good-by to Dik
+who went on slowly down the street. They pushed up the crowded ramp and
+joined the line in front of the registration desk. The bulletin board
+next to the desk held a scattering of white slips announcing job
+openings. 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 own
+specialty--I can get my old pay rate! See you back at the hotel
+tonight--and good luck in your job hunting."
+
+Alec waved good-by. "Let's hope the job's as good as you think, I never
+trust those things until I have my credits in my hand."
+
+Jon walked quickly from the employment exchange, his long legs eating up
+the blocks. _Good old Alec, he didn't believe in anything he couldn't
+touch. Perhaps he was right, but why try to be unhappy. The world wasn't
+too bad this morning--his leg worked fine, prospects of a good job--he
+hadn't felt this cheerful since the day he was activated._
+
+Turning the corner at a brisk pace he collided with a man coming from
+the opposite direction. Jon had stopped on the instant, but there wasn't
+time to jump aside. The obese individual jarred against him and fell to
+the ground. From the height of elation to the depths of despair in an
+instant--he had injured a _human being_!
+
+He bent to help the man to his feet, but the other would have none of
+that. 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 an
+angry muttering noise. Jon stood motionless, his head reeling at the
+enormity of what he had done. A policeman pushed his way through the
+crowd.
+
+"Seize him, officer, shoot him down ... he struck me ... almost killed
+me ..." The man shook with rage, his words thickening to a senseless
+babble.
+
+The policeman had his .75 recoilless revolver out and pressed against
+Jon's side.
+
+"This _man_ has charged you with a serious crime, _grease-can_. I'm
+taking you into the station house--to talk about it." He looked around
+nervously, waving his gun to open a path through the tightly packed
+crowd. They moved back grudgingly, with murmurs of disapproval.
+
+Jon's thoughts swirled in tight circles. How did a catastrophe like this
+happen, where was it going to end? He didn't dare tell the truth, that
+would mean he was calling the man a liar. There had been six robots
+power-lined in the city since the first of the year. If he dared speak
+in his own defense there would be a jumper to the street lighting
+circuit and a seventh burnt out hulk in the police morgue.
+
+A feeling of resignation swept through him, there was no way out. If the
+man pressed charges it would mean a term of penal servitude, though it
+looked now as if he would never live to reach the court. The papers had
+been whipping up a lot of anti-robe feeling, you could feel it behind
+the angry voices, see it in the narrowed eyes and clenched fists. The
+crowd was slowly changing into a mob, a mindless mob as yet, but capable
+of turning on him at any moment.
+
+"What's goin' on here...?" It was a booming voice, with a quality that
+dragged at the attention of the crowd.
+
+A giant cross-continent freighter was parked at the curb. The driver
+swung down from the cab and pushed his way through the people. The
+policeman 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!" He
+turned on the man who had been shouting accusations. "Fatty here, is the
+world's biggest liar. The robot was standing here waiting for me to park
+the truck. Fatty must be as blind as he is stupid, I saw the whole
+thing. He knocks himself down walking into the robe, then starts
+hollering for the cops."
+
+The other man could take no more. His face crimson with anger he rushed
+toward the trucker, his fists swinging in ungainly circles. They never
+landed, the truck driver put a meaty hand on the other's face and seated
+him on the sidewalk for the second time.
+
+The onlookers roared with laughter, the power-lining and the robot were
+forgotten. The fight was between two men now, the original cause had
+slipped from their minds. Even the policeman allowed himself a small
+smile 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 one
+day. What a junkcan!"
+
+The crowd chuckled as he pushed Jon ahead of him into the truck and
+slammed the door behind them. Jamming the starter with his thumb he
+gunned 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 this
+total stranger helped him, what could he say to show his appreciation?
+He knew that all humans weren't robe-haters, why it was even rumored
+that some humans treated robots as _equals_ instead of machines. The
+driver must be one of these mythical individuals, there was no other way
+to explain his actions.
+
+Driving carefully with one hand the man reached up behind the dash and
+drew out a thin, plastikoid booklet. He handed it to Jon who quickly
+scanned the title, _Robot Slaves in a World Economy_ by Philpott Asimov
+II.
+
+"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 always
+burn it if you're picked up.
+
+"Read it when you're alone, it's got a lot of things in it that you know
+nothing about. Robots aren't really inferior to humans, in fact they're
+superior in most things. There is even a little history in there to show
+that robots aren't the first ones to be treated as second class
+citizens. You may find it a little hard to believe, but human beings
+once treated each other just the way they treat robots now. That's one
+of the reasons I'm active in this movement--sort of like the fellow who
+was burned helping others stay away from the fire."
+
+He smiled a warm, friendly smile in Jon's direction, the whiteness of
+his 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 the
+driver shook hands with Jon.
+
+"Sorry about calling you _junkcan_, but the crowd expected it." He
+didn't look back as he drove away.
+
+Jon had to wait a half hour for his turn, but the receptionist finally
+signalled him towards the door of the interviewer's room. He stepped in
+quickly and turned to face the man seated at the transplastic desk, an
+upset 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 a
+birdlike 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 your
+ID 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 down
+a long list of similar figures. He stopped suddenly and looked sideways
+at 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 his
+specialty, but he was waved to silence. As the interviewer handed back
+the tag he slipped a card out from under the desk blotter and held it in
+front of Jon's eyes. He held it there for only an instant, knowing that
+the written message was recorded instantly by the robot's photographic
+vision and eidetic memory. The card dropped into the ash tray and flared
+into embers at the touch of the man's pencil-heater.
+
+Jon stuffed the ID tag back into the slot and read over the message on
+the card as he walked down the stairs to the street. There were six
+lines 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 sure
+the job had been a false lead. He saw nothing unusual in the method of
+hiring. The big corporations were immensely jealous of their research
+discoveries and went to great lengths to keep them secret--at the same
+time 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 the
+ancient warehouse stacking crates in ceiling-high rows. Jon called to
+him, 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 lifter
+put his fingertips against Jon's ear pick-ups and lowered his voice to
+the merest shadow of a whisper. It would have been inaudible to human
+ears, but Jon could hear him easily, the sounds being carried through
+the metal of the other's body.
+
+"He's the meanest man you ever met--he hates robots so be _ever_ so
+polite. If you can use 'sir' five times in one sentence you're perfectly
+safe."
+
+Jon swept the shutter over one eye tube in a conspiratorial wink, the
+large mech did the same as he rolled away. Jon turned and went down the
+dusty stairwell and knocked gently on Mr. Coleman's door.
+
+Coleman was a plump little individual in a conservative
+purple-and-yellow business suit. He kept glancing from Jon to the Robot
+General 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 without
+the man knowing he was being made a fool of.
+
+He became aware of the danger an instant too late. The current surged
+through the powerful electromagnet behind the plaster flattening his
+metal body helplessly against the wall. Coleman was almost dancing with
+glee.
+
+"We got him, Druce, he's mashed flatter than a stinking tin-can on a
+rock, can't move a motor. Bring that junk in here and let's get him
+ready."
+
+Druce had a mechanic's coveralls on over his street suit and a tool box
+slung under one arm. He carried a little black metal can at arm's
+length, trying to get as far from it as possible. Coleman shouted at him
+with annoyance.
+
+"That bomb can't go off until it's armed, stop acting like a child. Put
+it on that grease-can's leg and _quick_!"
+
+Grumbling under his breath, Druce spot-welded the metal flanges of the
+bomb onto Jon's leg a few inches above his knee. Coleman tugged at it to
+be certain it was secure, then twisted a knob in the side and pulled out
+a glistening length of pin. There was a cold little click from inside
+the mechanism as it armed itself.
+
+Jon could do nothing except watch, even his vocal diaphragm was locked
+by the magnetic field. He had more than a suspicion however that he was
+involved in something other than a "secret business deal." He cursed his
+own stupidity for walking blindly into the situation.
+
+The magnetic field cut off and he instantly raced his extensor motors to
+leap forward. Coleman took a plastic box out of his pocket and held his
+thumb over a switch inset into its top.
+
+"Don't make any quick moves, junk-yard, this little transmitter is keyed
+to a receiver in that bomb on your leg. One touch of my thumb, up you go
+in a cloud of smoke and come down in a shower of nuts and bolts." He
+signalled to Druce who opened a closet door. "And in case you want to be
+heroic, just think of him."
+
+Coleman jerked his thumb at the sodden shape on the floor; a filthily
+attired man of indistinguishable age whose only interesting feature was
+the black bomb strapped tightly across his chest. He peered unseeingly
+from red-rimmed eyes and raised the almost empty whiskey bottle to his
+mouth. Coleman kicked the door shut.
+
+"He's just some Bowery bum we dragged in, Venex, but that doesn't make
+any 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 as
+yours, if you don't play ball with us he gets a two-foot hole blown in
+his chest."
+
+Coleman was right, Jon didn't dare make any false moves. All of his
+early mental training as well as Circuit 92 sealed inside his brain case
+would prevent him from harming a human being. He felt trapped, caught by
+these people for some unknown purpose.
+
+Coleman had pushed back a tarpaulin to disclose a ragged hole in the
+concrete floor, the opening extended into the earth below. He waved Jon
+over.
+
+"The tunnel is in good shape for about thirty feet, then you'll find a
+fall. Clean all the rock and dirt out until you break through into the
+storm sewer, then come back. And you better be alone. If you tip the
+cops both you and the old stew go out together--now move."
+
+The shaft had been dug recently and shored with packing crates from the
+warehouse 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 he
+uncovered the hand, a robot's hand made of green metal. He turned his
+headlight power up and examined the hand closely, there could be no
+doubt about it. These gaskets on the joints, the rivet pattern at the
+base of the thumb meant only one thing, it was the dismembered hand of a
+Venex robot.
+
+Quickly, yet gently, he shoveled away the rubble behind the hand and
+unearthed the rest of the robot. The torso was crushed and the power
+circuits shorted, battery acid was dripping from an ugly rent in the
+side. With infinite care Jon snapped the few remaining wires that joined
+the neck to the body and laid the green head on the barrow. It stared at
+him like a skull, the shutters completely dilated, but no glow of life
+from the tubes behind them.
+
+He was scraping the mud from the number on the battered chestplate when
+Druce lowered himself into the tunnel and flashed the brilliant beam of
+a hand-spot down its length.
+
+"Stop playing with that junk and get digging--or you'll end up the same
+as him. This tunnel has gotta be through by tonight."
+
+Jon put the dismembered parts on the barrow with the sand and rock and
+pushed the whole load back up the tunnel, his thoughts running in
+unhappy circles. A dead robot was a terrible thing, and one of his
+family too. But there was something wrong about this robot, something
+that was quite inexplicable, the number on the plate had been "17," yet
+he remembered only too well the day that a water-shorted motor had
+killed Venex 17 in the Orange Sea.
+
+It took Jon four hours to drive the tunnel as far as the ancient granite
+wall of the storm sewer. Druce gave him a short pinch bar and he levered
+out enough of the big blocks to make a hole large enough to let him
+through into the sewer.
+
+When he climbed back into the office he tried to look casual as he
+dropped the pinch bar to the floor by his feet and seated himself on the
+pile of rubble in the corner. He moved around to make a comfortable seat
+for himself and his fingers grabbed the severed neck of Venex 17.
+
+Coleman swiveled around in his chair and squinted at the wall clock. He
+checked the time against his tie-pin watch, with a grunt of satisfaction
+he 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 and
+into the Hudson River. The outlet is under water, so you won't be seen
+from the docks. Climb down to the bottom and walk 200 yards north, that
+should put you just under a ship. Keep your eyes open, _but don't show
+any lights_! About halfway down the keel of the ship you'll find a chain
+hanging.
+
+"Climb the chain, pull loose the box that's fastened to the hull at the
+top and bring it back here. No mistakes--or you know what happens."
+
+Jon nodded his head. His busy fingers had been separating the wires in
+the amputated neck. When they had been straightened and put into a row
+he memorized their order with one flashing glance.
+
+He ran over the color code in his mind and compared it with the
+memorized 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 glanced
+idly around the room. Druce was dozing on a chair in the opposite
+corner. Coleman was talking on the phone, his voice occasionally rising
+in a petulant whine. This wasn't interfering with his attention to
+Jon--and the radio switch still held tightly in left hand.
+
+Jon's body blocked Coleman's vision, as long as Druce stayed asleep he
+would be able to work on the head unobserved. He activated a relay in
+his forearm and there was a click as the waterproof cover on an exterior
+socket swung open. This was a power outlet from his battery that was
+used to operate motorized tools and lights underwater.
+
+If Venex 17's head had been severed for less than three weeks he could
+reactivate it. Every robot had a small storage battery inside his skull,
+if the power to the brain was cut off the battery would provide the
+minimum standby current to keep the brain alive. The robe would be
+unconscious until full power was restored.
+
+Jon plugged the wires into his arm-outlet and slowly raised the current
+to operating level. There was a tense moment of waiting, then 17's eye
+shutters suddenly closed. When they opened again the eye tubes were
+glowing warmly. They swept the room with one glance then focused on Jon.
+
+The right shutter clicked shut while the other began opening and closing
+in rapid fashion. It was International code--being sent as fast as the
+solenoid 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 reason
+dying from the eyes.
+
+For one instant Jon's heart leaped in panic, until he realized that 17
+had 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 your
+kind, plotting all kinds of things in them tin domes." His voice trailed
+off into a stream of incomprehensible profanity. With sudden spite he
+lashed 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 staring
+up at him in mute agony. It was only Circuit 92 that prevented him from
+injuring a _human_. As his motors revved up to send him hurtling forward
+the control relays clicked open. He sank against the debris, paralyzed
+for the instant. As soon as the rush of anger was gone he would regain
+control of his body.
+
+They stood as if frozen in a tableau. The robot slumped backward, the
+man leaning forward, his face twisted with unreasoning hatred. The head
+lay 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 door
+to let Little Willy and his junk-brokers in. You can have it all to
+yourself afterward."
+
+The angry man turned reluctantly, but pushed out of the door at
+Coleman's annoyed growl. Jon sat down against the wall, his mind sorting
+out the few facts with lightning precision. There was no room in his
+thoughts for Druce, the man had become just one more factor in a complex
+problem.
+
+Call the emergency operator--that meant this was no local matter,
+responsible authorities must be involved. Only the government could be
+behind a thing as major as this. Signal 14--that inferred a complex set
+of arrangements, forces that could swing into action at a moment's
+notice. There was no indication where this might lead, but the only
+thing 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. Any
+action that he took would have to be done before they returned.
+
+Even as Jon followed this train of logic his fingers were busy. Palming
+a wrench, he was swiftly loosening the main retaining nut on his hip
+joint. It dropped free in his hand, only the pivot pin remained now to
+hold his leg on. He climbed slowly to his feet and moved towards
+Coleman's desk.
+
+"Mr. Coleman, sir, it's time to go down to the ship now, should I leave
+now, sir?"
+
+Jon spoke the words slowly as he walked forward, apparently going to the
+door, 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 barest
+crawl compared to the lightning action of electronic reflex. At the
+instant Coleman was first aware of Jon's motion, the robot had finished
+his leap and lay sprawled across the desk, his leg off at the hip and
+clutched in his hand.
+
+"YOU'LL KILL YOURSELF IF YOU TOUCH THE BUTTON!"
+
+The words were part of the calculated plan. Jon bellowed them in the
+startled man's ear as he stuffed the dismembered leg down the front of
+the man's baggy slacks. It had the desired effect, Coleman's finger
+stabbed at the button but stopped before it made contact. He stared down
+with bulging eyes at the little black box of death peeping out of his
+waistband.
+
+Jon hadn't waited for the reaction. He pushed backward from the desk and
+stopped to grab the stolen pinch bar off the floor. A mighty one-legged
+leap brought him to the locked closet; he stabbed the bar into the space
+between the door and frame and heaved.
+
+Coleman was just starting to struggle the bomb out of his pants when the
+action was over. The closet open, Jon seized the heavy strap holding the
+second bomb on the rummy's chest and snapped it like a thread. He threw
+the bomb into Coleman's corner, giving the man one more thing to worry
+about. It had cost him a leg, but Jon had escaped the bomb threat
+without injuring a human. Now he had to get to a phone and make that
+call.
+
+Coleman stopped tugging at the bomb and plunged his hand into the desk
+drawer for a gun. The returning men would block the door soon, the only
+other exit from the room was a frosted-glass window that opened onto the
+mammoth bay of the warehouse.
+
+Jon Venex plunged through the window in a welter of flying glass. The
+heavy thud of a recoilless .75 came from the room behind him and a
+foot-long section of metal window frame leaped outward. Another slug
+screamed by the robot's head as he scrambled toward the rear door of the
+warehouse.
+
+He was a bare thirty feet away from the back entrance when the giant
+door hissed shut on silent rollers. All the doors would have closed at
+the same time, the thud of running feet indicated that they would be
+guarded as well. Jon hopped a section of packing cases and crouched out
+of 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 the
+infra-red from a network of steam pipes gave Jon all the illumination he
+needed.
+
+The men would be quartering the floor of the warehouse soon, his only
+chance to escape recapture or death would be over their heads. Besides
+this, he was hampered by the loss of his leg. In the rafters he could
+use his arms for faster and easier travel.
+
+Jon was just pulling himself up to one of the topmost cross beams when
+a hoarse shout from below was followed by a stream of bullets. They tore
+through the thin roof, one slug clanged off the steel beam under his
+body. Waiting until three of the newcomers had started up a nearby
+ladder, Jon began to quietly work his way towards the back of the
+building.
+
+Safe for the moment, he took stock of his position. The men were spread
+out through the building, it could only be a matter of time before they
+found him. The doors were all locked and--he had made a complete circuit
+of the building to be sure--there were no windows that he could
+force--the windows were bolted as well. If he could call the emergency
+operator 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 on
+Coleman's desk. He had traced the leads to make sure.
+
+His eyes went automatically to the cables above his head. Plastic
+gaskets were set in the wall of the building, through them came the
+power and phone lines. The phone line! That was all he needed to make a
+call.
+
+With smooth, fast motions he reached up and scratched a section of wire
+bare. He laughed to himself as he slipped the little microphone out of
+his left ear. Now he was half deaf as well as half lame--he was
+literally giving himself to this cause. He would have to remember the
+pun to tell Alec Diger later, if there was a later. Alec had a profound
+weakness for puns.
+
+Jon attached jumpers to the mike and connected them to the bare wire. A
+touch of the ammeter showed that no one was on the line. He waited a few
+moments to be sure he had a dial tone then sent the eleven carefully
+spaced pulses that would connect him with the local operator. He placed
+the 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 approach
+his position. He left the mike connected--the men wouldn't notice it in
+the dark but the open line would give the unknown powers his exact
+location. Using his fingertips he did a careful traverse on an I-beam to
+an alcove in the farthest corner of the room. Escape was impossible, all
+he could do was stall for time.
+
+"Mr. Coleman, I'm sorry I ran away." With the volume on full his voice
+rolled like thunder from the echoing walls.
+
+He could see the men below twisting their heads vainly to find the
+source.
+
+"If you let me come back and don't kill me I will do your work. I was
+afraid of the bomb, but now I am afraid of the guns." It sounded a
+little infantile, but he was pretty sure none of those present had any
+sound knowledge of robotic intelligence.
+
+"Please let me come back ... sir!" He had almost forgotten the last
+word, so he added another "Please, sir!" to make up.
+
+Coleman needed that package under the boat very badly, he would promise
+anything to get it. Jon had no doubts as to his eventual fate, all he
+could hope to do was kill time in the hopes that the phone message would
+bring 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 a
+robe who dared lay hands on him.
+
+The descent wasn't difficult, but Jon did it slowly with much apparent
+discomfort. He hopped into the center of the floor--leaning on the cases
+as if for support. Coleman and Druce were both there as well as a group
+of hard-eyed newcomers. They raised their guns at his approach but
+Coleman 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 by
+the blast, Jon fell helplessly to the floor. He looked up into the
+smoking mouth of the .75.
+
+"Very smart for a tin-can, but not smart enough. We'll get the junk on
+the boat some other way, some way that won't mean having you around
+under foot." Death looked out of his narrowed eyes.
+
+Less than two minutes had passed since Jon's call. The watchers must
+have 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 whippet
+tank crunched over the wreck and covered the group with its multiple
+pom-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. Coleman
+didn't have a chance for a second shot, there was a fizzling hiss from
+the tank and the riot ports released a flood of tear gas. The stricken
+men 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 temporary
+repairs on his leg and shoulder. Across the room Venex 17 was moving his
+new body with evident pleasure.
+
+"Now this really feels like _something_! I was sure my time was up when
+that land slip caught me. But maybe I ought to start from the
+beginning." 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 originally
+looked like. I went right from factory-school to a police training
+school--and I have been on the job ever since--Force of Detectives,
+Sergeant Jr. grade, Investigation Department. I spend most of my time
+selling candy bars or newspapers, or serving drinks in crumb joints.
+Gather information, make reports and keep tab on guys for other
+departments.
+
+"This last job--and I'm sorry I had to use a Venex identity, I don't
+think I brought any dishonor to your family--I was on loan to the
+Customs department. Seems a ring was bringing uncut junk--heroin--into
+the country. F.B.I. tabbed all the operators here, but no one knew how
+the stuff got in. When Coleman, he's the local big-shot, called the
+agencies for an underwater robot, I was packed into a new body and sent
+running.
+
+"I alerted the squad as soon as I started the tunnel, but the damned
+thing caved in on me before I found out what ship was doing the
+carrying. From there on you know what happened.
+
+"Not knowing I was out of the game the squad sat tight and waited. The
+hop merchants saw a half million in snow sailing back to the old country
+so they had you dragged in as a replacement. You made the phone call and
+the cavalry rushed in at the last moment to save two robots from a rusty
+grave."
+
+Jon, who had been trying vainly to get in a word, saw his chance as Wil
+Counter turned to admire the reflection of his new figure in a window.
+
+"You shouldn't be telling me those things--about your police
+investigations and department operations. Isn't this information
+supposed to be secret? Specially from robots!"
+
+"Of course it is!" was Wil's airy answer. "Captain Edgecombe--he's the
+head of my department--is an expert on all kinds of blackmail. I'm
+supposed to tell you so much confidential police business that you'll
+have 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 fast
+and act fast aren't easy to find. After hearing about the tricks you
+pulled in that warehouse, the Captain swore to decapitate me permanently
+if I couldn't get you to join up. Do you need a job? Long hours, short
+pay--but guaranteed to never get boring."
+
+Wil's voice was suddenly serious. "You saved my life, Jon--those
+snowbirds 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." The
+gay note came back into his voice, "And besides that, I may be able to
+save your life some day--I hate owing debts."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The tech was finished, he snapped his tool box shut and left. Jon's
+shoulder motor was repaired now, he sat up. When they shook hands this
+time 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 the
+hotel and barrack rooms he was used to. He wished that he had his
+missing legs so he could take a little walk up and down the cell. He
+would have to wait until the morning. They were going to fix him up then
+before he started the new job.
+
+He had recorded his testimony earlier and the impossible events of the
+past day kept whirling around in his head. He would think about it some
+other time, right now all he wanted to do was let his overworked
+circuits cool down, if he only had something to read, to focus his
+attention on. Then, with a start, he remembered the booklet. Everything
+had moved so fast that the earlier incident with the truck driver had
+slipped his mind completely.
+
+He carefully worked it out from behind the generator shielding and
+opened the first page of _Robot Slaves in a World Economy_. A card
+slipped 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 a
+perfect 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Velvet Glove, by Harry Harrison
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VELVET GLOVE ***
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