"Of course they wouldn't suspect," I said. "We'd just walk up to them,
carefully thinking about something else."
"Robots aren't suspicious," Jack said. "They're made to obey orders."
I refrained from mentioning that ours didn't seem to know that, and
that running around Carron City fomenting a rebellion was hardly the
trait of an obedient, trusting servant. Instead, I stood back and let
them plan their roundup.
"We'll get some men," the Chief said, "and some grappling equipment
about halfway to the city."
* * * * *
Luckily they decided against my trying to persuade the robots, because
I knew well enough that I couldn't do it. Jack's idea sounded pretty
good, though. He suggested that we send some spokesman who didn't know
what we planned to do and thus couldn't alarm them. Some ordinary man
without too much imagination. That was easy. We picked one of Chief
Dalton's sergeants.
It took only about an hour to prepare the plan. Jack got out the
derricks and chains and grapplers and the heaviest steel bodied trucks
we had. I called Cybernetics and told them to put extra restraints in
the Conditioning Lab. The Chief briefed his sergeant and the men who
were to operate the trucks. Then we all took off for Carron City, the
sergeant flying on ahead, me right behind him, and the Chief bringing
up the rear.
I hovered over the outskirts of the city and watched the police Copter
land. The sergeant climbed out, walked down the street toward a large
group of waiting robots--about twenty of them, this time. He held up
his hand to get their attention, gestured toward the factory.
And then, quite calmly and without saying a word, the androids rolled
into a circle around him and closed in. The sergeant stopped, backed
up, just as a 5A-Type arm lashed out, picked him up, and slung him
carelessly over a metallic shoulder. Ignoring the squirming man, the
5A gestured toward the Copter, and the other robots swarmed over to
it. With a flurry of steel arms and legs they kicked at the car body,
wrenched at the propeller blades, ripped out the upholstery, and I
heard the sound of metal tearing.
I dived my Copter down at them. I didn't know what I could do, but I
couldn't leave the poor sergeant to be dismembered along with his car.
I must have been shouting, for as I swooped in, the tall robot shifted
the man to his other shoulder and hailed me.
"Take him, Mr. Morrison," he called. "I know this wasn't his idea. Or
yours."
I landed and walked over. The android--who looked like Jerry, though I
couldn't be sure--dropped his kicking, clawing burden at my feet. He
didn't seem angry, only determined.
"Now you people will know we mean business," he said, gesturing toward
the heap of metal and plastic that had once been the pride of the
Carron City police force. Then he signalled to the others and they all
wheeled off up the street.
"Whew," I muttered, mopping my face.
The sergeant didn't say anything. He just looked up at me and then off
at the retreating androids and then back at me again. I knew what he
was thinking--they were my brainchildren, all right.
My Copter was really built to be a single seater, but it carried the
two of us back to the factory. The Chief had hurried back when the
trouble started and was waiting for us.
"I give up," he said. "We'll have to evacuate the people, I guess. And
then blow up the city."
Jack and I stared at each other and then at him. Somehow I couldn't
see the robots calmly waiting to be blown up. If they had telepathed
the last plan, they could probably foresee every move we could make.
Then, while I thought, Jack mentioned the worry I'd managed to forget
for the past couple of hours.
"Four days until Saturday," he said. "We'll never make it now. Not
even if we got a thousand men."
No. We couldn't. Not without the androids. I nodded, feeling sick.
There went my contract, and my working capital. Not to mention my
robots. Of course, I could call in the Army, but what good would that
do?
Then, somewhere in the back of my mind a glimmering of an idea began
percolating. I wasn't quite sure what it was, but there was certainly
nothing to lose now from playing a hunch.
"There's nothing we can do," I said. "So we might as well take it easy
for a couple of days. See what happens."
They looked at me as if I were out of my head. I was the idea man, who
always had a plan of action. Well, this time it would have to be a
plan of inaction.
"Let's go listen to the radio," I suggested, and started for my
office.
The news was on. It was all about Carron City and the robots who had
quit work and how much better life would be in the future. For a
minute I didn't get the connection; then I realized that the
announcer's voice was rasping and tinny--hardly that of the regular
newscaster. I looked at the dial. It was tuned to the Carron City wave
length as usual. I was getting the morning news by courtesy of some
studio robot.
"... And androids in other neighboring cities are joining the
struggle," the voice went on "Soon we hope to make it nationwide. So I
say to all of you nontelepaths, the time is now. Strike for your
rights. Listen to your radio and not to the flesh men. Organizers will
be sent from Carron City."
I switched it off, muttering under my breath. How long, I wondered,
had that broadcast been going on. Then I thought of Rob O. He'd left
my house before dawn, obviously some time between four and seven. And
I remembered that he liked to listen to the radio while I slept.
* * * * *
My Morrison 5's were the ring-leaders, of course. They were the only
ones with the brains for the job. But what a good job they had done
indoctrinating the others. A household Rob, for instance, was built to
obey his master. "Listen to your radio and not to the flesh men." It
was excellent robot psychology.
More reports kept coming in. Some we heard over the radio, others from
people who flew in and out of the city. Apparently the robots did not
object to occasional flights, but the air bus was not allowed to run,
not even with a human driver. A mass exodus from the city was not to
be permitted.
"They'll starve to death," Jack cried.
The Chief shook his head. "No," he said. "They're encouraging the
farmers to fly in and out with produce, and the farmers are doing it,
too. They're getting wonderful prices."
By noon the situation had calmed down quite a bit. The androids
obviously didn't mean to hurt anyone; it was just some sort of
disagreement between them and the scientists; it wasn't up to the
inhabitants of the city to figure out a solution to the problem. They
merely sat back and blamed me for allowing my robots to get out of
hand and lead their own servants astray. It would be settled; this
type of thing always was. So said the people of the city. They came
out of their houses now. They had to. Without the robots they were
forced to do their own marketing, their own cooking, their own
errands. For the first time in years, human beings ran the street cars
and the freight elevators. For the first time in a generation human
beings did manual labor such as unloading produce trucks. They didn't
like it, of course. They kept telling the police to do something. If I
had been in the city they would have undoubtedly wanted to lynch me.
I didn't go back to the city that day. I sat in my office listening to
the radio and keeping track of the spread of the strike. My men
thought I'd gone crazy; maybe I had. But I had a hunch, and I meant to
play it.
The farm robots had all fled to the city. The highway repair robots
had simply disappeared. In Egarton, a village about fifteen miles from
the city, an organizer--5A--appeared about noon and left soon after
followed by every android in town. By one o'clock every radio station
in the country carried the story and the national guard was ordered
out. At two o'clock Washington announced that the Army would invade
Carron City the following morning.
The Army would put an end to the strike, easily enough. It would wiped
out every android in the neighborhood, and probably a good many human
beings careless enough to get in the way. I sat hoping that the 5A's
would give in, but they didn't. They just began saying over the radio
that they were patriotic Americans fighting for their inalienable
rights as first class citizens.
* * * * *
At sunset I was still listening to the radio. "... So far there has
been no indication that the flesh people are willing to negotiate, but
hold firm."
"Shut that thing off."
Jack came wearily in and dropped into a chair beside me. For the first
time since I'd met him he looked beaten.
"We're through," he said. "I've been down checking the shielding, and
it's no use. Men can't work at the reactors."
"I know," I said quietly. "If the androids don't come back, we're
licked."
He looked straight at me and said slowly, "What do they mean about
negotiating, Don?"
I shrugged. "I guess they want wages, living quarters, all the things
human workers get. Though I don't know why. Money wouldn't do them any
good."
Jack's unspoken question had been bothering me too. Why not humor
them? Promise them whatever they wanted, give them a few dollars every
week to keep them happy? But I knew that it wouldn't work. Not for
long. With their telepathic ability they would have the upper hand
forever. Within a little while it wouldn't be equality any more--only
next time we would be the slaves.
"Wait until morning," I said, "before we try anything."