chance to get this job.
* * * * *
The burly bulk of a lifter was moving back and forth in the gloom of theancient warehouse stacking crates in ceiling-high rows. Jon called tohim, the robot swung up his forklift and rolled over on noiseless tires.When Jon questioned him he indicated a stairwell against the rear wall.
"Mr. Coleman's office is down in back, the door is marked." The lifterput his fingertips against Jon's ear pick-ups and lowered his voice tothe merest shadow of a whisper. It would have been inaudible to humanears, but Jon could hear him easily, the sounds being carried throughthe metal of the other's body.
"He's the meanest man you ever met--he hates robots so be _ever_ sopolite. If you can use 'sir' five times in one sentence you're perfectlysafe."
Jon swept the shutter over one eye tube in a conspiratorial wink, thelarge mech did the same as he rolled away. Jon turned and went down thedusty stairwell and knocked gently on Mr. Coleman's door.
Coleman was a plump little individual in a conservativepurple-and-yellow business suit. He kept glancing from Jon to the RobotGeneral Catalog checking the Venex specifications listed there.Seemingly satisfied he slammed the book shut.
"Gimme your tag and back against that wall to get measured."
Jon laid his ID tag on the desk and stepped towards the wall. "Yes, sir,here it is, sir." Two "sir" on that one, not bad for the first sentence.He wondered idly if he could put five of them in one sentence withoutthe man knowing he was being made a fool of.
He became aware of the danger an instant too late. The current surgedthrough the powerful electromagnet behind the plaster flattening hismetal body helplessly against the wall. Coleman was almost dancing withglee.
"We got him, Druce, he's mashed flatter than a stinking tin-can on arock, can't move a motor. Bring that junk in here and let's get himready."
Druce had a mechanic's coveralls on over his street suit and a tool boxslung under one arm. He carried a little black metal can at arm'slength, trying to get as far from it as possible. Coleman shouted at himwith annoyance.
"That bomb can't go off until it's armed, stop acting like a child. Putit on that grease-can's leg and _quick_!"
Grumbling under his breath, Druce spot-welded the metal flanges of thebomb onto Jon's leg a few inches above his knee. Coleman tugged at it tobe certain it was secure, then twisted a knob in the side and pulled outa glistening length of pin. There was a cold little click from insidethe mechanism as it armed itself.
Jon could do nothing except watch, even his vocal diaphragm was lockedby the magnetic field. He had more than a suspicion however that he wasinvolved in something other than a "secret business deal." He cursed hisown stupidity for walking blindly into the situation.
The magnetic field cut off and he instantly raced his extensor motors toleap forward. Coleman took a plastic box out of his pocket and held histhumb over a switch inset into its top.
"Don't make any quick moves, junk-yard, this little transmitter is keyedto a receiver in that bomb on your leg. One touch of my thumb, up you goin a cloud of smoke and come down in a shower of nuts and bolts." Hesignalled to Druce who opened a closet door. "And in case you want to beheroic, just think of him."
Coleman jerked his thumb at the sodden shape on the floor; a filthilyattired man of indistinguishable age whose only interesting feature wasthe black bomb strapped tightly across his chest. He peered unseeinglyfrom red-rimmed eyes and raised the almost empty whiskey bottle to hismouth. Coleman kicked the door shut.
"He's just some Bowery bum we dragged in, Venex, but that doesn't makeany difference to you, does it? He's human--and a robot can't kill_anybody_! That rummy has a bomb on him tuned to the same frequency asyours, if you don't play ball with us he gets a two-foot hole blown inhis chest."
Coleman was right, Jon didn't dare make any false moves. All of hisearly mental training as well as Circuit 92 sealed inside his brain casewould prevent him from harming a human being. He felt trapped, caught bythese people for some unknown purpose.
Coleman had pushed back a tarpaulin to disclose a ragged hole in theconcrete floor, the opening extended into the earth below. He waved Jonover.
"The tunnel is in good shape for about thirty feet, then you'll find afall. Clean all the rock and dirt out until you break through into thestorm sewer, then come back. And you better be alone. If you tip thecops both you and the old stew go out together--now move."
The shaft had been dug recently and shored with packing crates from thewarehouse overhead. It ended abruptly in a wall of fresh sand and stone.Jon began shoveling it into the little wheelbarrow they had given him.
He had emptied four barrow loads and was filling the fifth when heuncovered the hand, a robot's hand made of green metal. He turned hisheadlight power up and examined the hand closely, there could be nodoubt about it. These gaskets on the joints, the rivet pattern at thebase of the thumb meant only one thing, it was the dismembered hand of aVenex robot.
Quickly, yet gently, he shoveled away the rubble behind the hand andunearthed the rest of the robot. The torso was crushed and the powercircuits shorted, battery acid was dripping from an ugly rent in theside. With infinite care Jon snapped the few remaining wires that joinedthe neck to the body and laid the green head on the barrow. It stared athim like a skull, the shutters completely dilated, but no glow of lifefrom the tubes behind them.
He was scraping the mud from the number on the battered chestplate whenDruce lowered himself into the tunnel and flashed the brilliant beam ofa hand-spot down its length.
"Stop playing with that junk and get digging--or you'll end up the sameas him. This tunnel has gotta be through by tonight."
Jon put the dismembered parts on the barrow with the sand and rock andpushed the whole load back up the tunnel, his thoughts running inunhappy circles. A dead robot was a terrible thing, and one of hisfamily too. But there was something wrong about this robot, somethingthat was quite inexplicable, the number on the plate had been "17," yethe remembered only too well the day that a water-shorted motor hadkilled Venex 17 in the Orange Sea.
It took Jon four hours to drive the tunnel as far as the ancient granitewall of the storm sewer. Druce gave him a short pinch bar and he leveredout enough of the big blocks to make a hole large enough to let himthrough into the sewer.
When he climbed back into the office he tried to look casual as hedropped the pinch bar to the floor by his feet and seated himself on thepile of rubble in the corner. He moved around to make a comfortable seatfor himself and his fingers grabbed the severed neck of Venex 17.
Coleman swiveled around in his chair and squinted at the wall clock. Hechecked the time against his tie-pin watch, with a grunt of satisfactionhe turned back and stabbed a finger at Jon.
"Listen, you green junk-pile, at 1900 hours you're going to do a job,and there aren't going to be any slip ups. You go down that sewer andinto the Hudson River. The outlet is under water, so you won't be seenfrom the docks. Climb down to the bottom and walk 200 yards north, thatshould put you just under a ship. Keep your eyes open, _but don't showany lights_! About halfway down the keel of the ship you'll find a chainhanging.
"Climb the chain, pull loose the box that's fastened to the hull at thetop and bring it back here. No mistakes--or you know what happens."
Jon nodded his head. His busy fingers had been separating the wires inthe amputated neck. When they had been straightened and put into a rowhe memorized their order with one flashing glance.
He ran over the color code in his mind and compared it with thememorized leads. The twelfth wire was the main cranial power lead,number six was the return wire.
With his precise touch he separated these two from the pack and glancedidly around the room. Druce was dozing on a chair in the oppositecorner. Coleman was talking on the phone, his voice occasionally risingin a petulant whine. This wasn't interfering with his attention toJon--and the radio switch still held tightly in left hand.
Jon's body blo
cked Coleman's vision, as long as Druce stayed asleep hewould be able to work on the head unobserved. He activated a relay inhis forearm and there was a click as the waterproof cover on an exteriorsocket swung open. This was a power outlet from his battery that wasused to operate motorized tools and lights underwater.
If Venex 17's head had been severed for less than three weeks he couldreactivate it. Every robot had a small storage battery inside his skull,if the power to the brain was cut off the battery would provide theminimum standby current to keep the brain alive. The robe would beunconscious until full power was restored.
Jon plugged the wires into his arm-outlet and slowly raised the currentto operating level. There was a tense moment of waiting, then 17's eyeshutters suddenly closed. When they opened again the eye tubes