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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29471-h.zip b/29471-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..859bda1 --- /dev/null +++ b/29471-h.zip diff --git a/29471-h/29471-h.htm b/29471-h/29471-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..04f1da6 --- /dev/null +++ b/29471-h/29471-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1974 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Velvet Glove, by Harry Harrison + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2 {text-align: right; font-weight: normal; line-height: 2em;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + .bk1 {margin: 1em auto 3em; border-top: solid 2px; border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bk2 {float: left; width: 15em; margin: 1em 2em 1em 0;} + .pr1 {line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 4em;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; visibility: hidden;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .blockquot {margin: 1em auto; width: 24em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .ml2 {margin-left: 2em;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em; width: auto;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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 + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bk1"><p><i><small>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?</small></i></p></div> + +<div class="bk2"><h1><b>the<br /> +velvet<br /> +glove</b></h1> + +<h2><small><i>by ... Harry Harrison</i></small></h2> + +<p class="pr1"><big><b>New York was a bad town for robots this year. In fact, +all over the country it was bad for robots....</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="smcap">Jon Venex</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Help +Wanted—Robot</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Alec, you beat-up little grease +pot, what brings you to New +York?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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 <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>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>I</i> am."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Jon—Venex, I don't recognize +your family name. Something to do—with +Venus—perhaps."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Venex scanned them with his +eyes, stopping at one circled in red.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>ROBOTS NEEDED IN THESE +CATEGORIES. APPLY AT +ONCE TO CHAINJET, LTD., +1219 BROADWAY.</p> + +<p class="ml2">Fasten<br /> +Flyer<br /> +Atommel<br /> +Filmer<br /> +Venex<br /></p></div> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Jon walked quickly from the +employment exchange, his long legs +eating up the blocks. <i>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.</i></p> + +<p>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 <i>human being</i>!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Officer, officer, police ... HELP! +I've been attacked—a mad robot ... +HELP!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Seize him, officer, shoot him +down ... he struck me ... almost +killed me ..." The man shook with +rage, his words thickening to a +senseless babble.</p> + +<p>The policeman had his .75 recoilless +revolver out and pressed +against Jon's side.</p> + +<p>"This <i>man</i> has charged you with +a serious crime, <i>grease-can</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"What's goin' on here...?" +It was a booming voice, with a +quality that dragged at the attention +of the crowd.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The trucker turned towards Jon +with a scowl.</p> + +<p>"Come on you aboard the truck—you've +caused me enough trouble +for one day. What a junkcan!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>equals</i> instead +of machines. The driver must +be one of these mythical individuals, +there was no other way to +explain his actions.</p> + +<p>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, <i>Robot +Slaves in a World Economy</i> by +Philpott Asimov II.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I'm heading towards US-1, can +I drop you anywheres on the way?"</p> + +<p>"The Chainjet Building please—I'm +applying for a job."</p> + +<p>They rode the rest of the way in +silence. Before he opened the door +the driver shook hands with Jon.</p> + +<p>"Sorry about calling you <i>junkcan</i>, +but the crowd expected it." He +didn't look back as he drove away.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, be quick. What is it +you want?"</p> + +<p>"You posted a help wanted notice, +I—"</p> + +<p>The man cut him off with a wave +of his hand. "All right let me see +your ID tag ... quickly, there are +others waiting."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You have made a mistake, we +have no opening for you."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>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.</i></p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"He's the meanest man you ever +met—he hates robots so be <i>ever</i> so +polite. If you can use 'sir' five +times in one sentence you're perfectly +safe."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Gimme your tag and back +against that wall to get measured."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"That bomb can't go off until it's +armed, stop acting like a child. Put +it on that grease-can's leg and +<i>quick</i>!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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 +<i>anybody</i>! 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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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, <i>but don't show any +lights</i>! About halfway down the +keel of the ship you'll find a chain +hanging.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>Telephone—call emergency operator—tell +her "signal 14" help will—</i></p> + +<p>The shutter stopped in the middle +of a code group, the light of +reason dying from the eyes.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>human</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Coleman's voice cut through the +air of tenseness like a knife.</p> + +<p>"<i>Druce</i>, 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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coleman, sir, it's time to +go down to the ship now, should I +leave now, sir?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You got thirty minutes yet, go +sit—<i>say</i>...!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"YOU'LL KILL YOURSELF IF +YOU TOUCH THE BUTTON!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hello, operator. Hello, operator. +I cannot hear you so do not answer. +Call the emergency operator—signal +14, I repeat—signal 14."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coleman, I'm sorry I ran +away." With the volume on full +his voice rolled like thunder from +the echoing walls.</p> + +<p>He could see the men below +twisting their heads vainly to find +the source.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Please let me come back ... +sir!" He had almost forgotten the +last word, so he added another +"Please, sir!" to make up.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"This is <i>my</i> robe, boys, I'll see to +it that he's happy."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Now this really feels like <i>something</i>! +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.</p> + +<p>"The name is Wil Counter-4951L3, +not that <i>that</i> 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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He carefully worked it out from +behind the generator shielding and +opened the first page of <i>Robot +Slaves in a World Economy</i>. A card +slipped from between the pages +and he read the short message on it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">PLEASE DESTROY THIS +CARD AFTER READING</p> + +<p><i>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.</i></p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +This etext was produced from <i>Fantastic Universe</i> 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.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Velvet Glove, by Harry Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VELVET GLOVE *** + +***** This file should be named 29471-h.htm or 29471-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/7/29471/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 *** + +***** This file should be named 29471.txt or 29471.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/7/29471/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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