"You're a big help," said Drummond.
"Why dost thou tempt us, O Jackson?" asked RA-204. "Wouldst Thou test
our beliefs?"
"We're no gods," Angus declared as the robot drew up before the cave.
"Thou art Jackson!" insisted 204.
Drummond and McIntosh were hoisted to a ledge beside the mouth of
the cave. The robots backed off, forming a half circle, and bowed in
obeisance.
Angus ran a hand helplessly through his sparse gray hair. "Would you
say there are four hundred of them?"
"At least." Drummond surveyed the expanse of metal bodies. "You know,
maybe they don't have a function."
"Impossible. Hasn't been a clunker in five hundred years without a
primary compulsion."
"Think they forgot theirs?"
"Can't. They may forget how to put it in words, but the compulsion is
good for as long as their primary banks are intact. That's not what's
worrying me, though."
"No?"
"_Religious_ robots! There can't be any such brand. Yet here they are."
Drummond studied them silently.
"Before there can be theological beliefs," McIntosh went on, "there
has to be some sort of foundation--the mystery of origin, the fear of
death, the concept of the hereafter. Clunkers _know_ they come from a
factory. They _know_ that when they're finally disassembled, they'll be
lifeless scrap metal."
Drummond spat disdainfully. "One thing's for sure--this pack thinks
we're God Almighty."
"Jackson Almighty," Angus corrected somberly.
"Well, God or Jackson, we'd better get back to the ship or this is
going to be a long visitation."
Drummond faced the almost prostrate robots and made a megaphone of his
hands. "All right, you guys! How's about knocking it off?"
Slowly, the robots reared erect, waiting.
"Take us back to our ship!"