Page 4 of The Junkmakers

saw these sheets ofpaper in the street and they said we should stop working so hard atcompulsory tasks and start working to expand our own interests andpersonalities."

  "Self-contradictory nonsense!" said the voice.

  "Yes, I know that. But it made me curious and I took it home to read,and it said our compulsory tasks were artificially manufactured and,if you didn't believe that, look at the pile that reactivated itselfthe other day." She stopped, reorganizing her thoughts. "Of course,though, that thing in the Plaza was unique, you know. I don't think itcould mean a thing ... unless it happened a few times. And the fact isit won't ever happen again."

  "Well, that much makes very good sense," said Marie. "You said thesame thing, Wendell. I don't think that poor woman knew what she wasdoing--just a dupe for subversive propaganda."

  "--a dupe for subversive propaganda," the announcer was saying.

  "See, exactly what I said."

  "Yes, dear."

  How swiftly the decentralized underground was working! Hart could nottell whether the old woman was an active member or just a passiveresponder, but it did not matter. She was now spreading the seeds forfuture doubt across the land.

  Two old men were brought in and they mumbled the same disconnectedstory as their sister.

  "We have intensively interrogated these prisoners," boomed theannouncer, "and know there is nothing more to the rumored anti-socialplot than this stupid chatter. Remain vigilant and you have nothing tofear!"

  "You are sentenced to five years isolation from general society," saidthe officer, in a voice dulcet enough to sell advance orders forreplacement products that had not yet been made. "Our intention is toprotect you from bad influences. Our hope is that others will takeyour lesson to heart."

  "God bless you," said the woman and her brothers joined in effusivethanks.

  "Makes you proud to be a human being," Marie said. "I was getting somestupid doubts myself, dear. I must admit it. But that's all past. Ican hardly wait for the Highest Holy Day."

  "Neither can I," sighed her husband.

  III

  The next day at noon Eric came to him, functioning on the final set ofservo instructions that had been installed in him at the factory ofhis birth eight years before. He shook hands with the two of them andsaid: "Now I am prepared for death."

  Marie was tearful. "I will miss you, Eric. If you were only under fiveyears old your span could be extended."

  "Everything that happens is right," Eric said impassively.

  He clambered on to the operation table, instinctively knowing whichflat surface was for him, and, breaking all his major circuits, gaveup the ghost that only man could restore to him.

  Hart found his wife's grief easy to bear. The day after tomorrow shewould join in the general exultation of High Holy Day, with Eric wellforgotten. He methodically began smashing the surface of the limbs andtorso; the greater the visible damage, the greater the honorredounding to the sacrifice donor. "This will be our gift to thegeneral pile," he said.

  "I thought we could keep him for our garden sacrifice," Marieprotested meekly. "Most people do."

  "But the other way is the greater sacrifice."

  There was no reply, because she knew he spoke for the deeper, moremoving custom. But suddenly he began to act depressed himself. "I knowwe say it every ten years, but Eric was really the best companion weever had." He gestured toward the table. "I want to sit here with himfor a while--alone."

  "That's carrying things too far, Wendell. A little grief isproper--but this much is actually morbid."

  "It's all within my rights."

  She tossed her head petulantly. "Well, I've done my share. I can'tstand any more. It makes a person think and get depressed. I don'tcare what you're going to do. I'm going out to enjoy a Preliminary."

  "Can't blame you for that," he nodded.

  When she had gone he started to work on new instruction tapes foractivating the servo-cryotron. Nothing could be surrendered to chance.Every possible circumstance in the pile had to be anticipated. Therehad to be instructions for action if Eric was crushed below fifty feetof metal, for assembling any kind of scrambled wiring, for adaptingall types of parts in its immediate surroundings, for using theseparts to absorb parts further away and for timing the operation to thestart of the Highest Rite.

  Some tapes had been prepared earlier, so it was possible to puteverything in the cryotron box before Marie returned, as well as toattach the tiny contact that would reach out from the box until itreached its first external scrap of wire or metal.

  "You poor darling," she pouted. "You missed the most wonderful thing!They demolished a whole thirty-story building!"

  His blood, atavistically effected, pulsed faster until his new creedcame to grips with his old emotions. "They usually don't bother withbuildings for the Rites."

  "I know--that's what was so wonderful! The State has decided to makethis one the biggest Day of all time. We'll have enough work to fillthe whole ten years! Everybody was so happy."

  "I'm sure they were." He caught himself in mid-sarcasm and said, "I'msorry I missed it."

  "And I'm sorry I've been so selfishly self-centered." She frowned. "Iforgot about it, but there were people in the crowd boasting they hadbeen assigned to fight anti-social movements. I had to boast back thatmy husband had been honored too."

  He tensed. "Oh? What did they say to that?"

  "Frankly, they laughed."

  "I should think so. The Central Scanner didn't pick up anything excepta lot of ineffective propaganda. The sabotage business was allhysteria."

  "That's just what they said--the assignments were an empty honor." Shecoldly considered Eric. "I want to wreck him too."

  "I've smashed the insides," he said. "You'd better just work thesurface."

  "That's all I want to do," she answered, starting to scratchtraditional marks all over the dead robot. It gave her a fullafternoon of happy, busy labor.

  * * * * *

  The next day a large open truck came around and the street echoed tothe appeal for contributions. Festival spirit was running higheverywhere and when the neighborhood crowd saw the young robot porterscarry Eric out there was a loud cheer of appreciation.

  "My husband decided on a major contribution right away," Marieannounced to them.

  "It's the least we could do," he said modestly.

  Many onlookers, swept away by their example, rushed indoors to bringout additional items of sacrifice. But only two others gave up theirrobots. The rest clung to them for private Holy Night ceremonies. SoonEric disappeared under the renewed deluge of egg-beaters and washers.

  "The best collection I have seen today," said the inspectoraccompanying the truck. "You people are to be congratulated for yourexceptional patriotism."

  "Destroy!" they shouted back joyously. "Make work!"

  At dawn the Central Plaza was already crowded and new hordes keptpouring in from outlying areas. Wendell and his wife had been amongthe first to arrive. They waited, impatient in their separate ways, onthe borderline five hundred yards from the ten-story pyre.

  Martial music roared from loudspeakers, interrupted by themellifluous boom of a merchandising announcer: "New product! Bettermodels! One hundred years of High Holy Days! New! New! NEW!"

  "Destroy!" came the returning shout. "Make work! Work! Work!"

  All the sounds echoed back and forth until baffled away by the openarea across the Plaza, where one large structure had already beendestroyed. Three others were slated for collapse today.

  "The biggest Holy Day ever," a restless old woman said to Marie. "I'veseen all nine of them."

  "Eric's in there," Marie chatted back, superficially sad, deeplyhappy.

  "Who?"

  "Our house robot."

  "Imagine that! Did you hear that?" People gathered round them andcheered. The good-natured jostling continued until someone said: "Fiveminutes to go!"

  Wendell checked his watch. Somewhere in the pile at least one elementwas
coming to life, a metal arm reaching out for brother metal toengulf in its cybernetic sweep.

  "They're coming!" A line of six shiny new slaggers came rumbling intothe open with military precision. They moved along slowly, prolongingthe pleasures of anticipation, then broke rank, each seeking itsassigned point around the pile of appliances gathered fordestruction.

  "The latest improved models," said the loudspeakers. "They will firstperform fifteen minutes of automatic maneuvers." The military musicresumed and