"We do," I admitted. "Servo-mechanisms, appliances and gadgets of many
kinds for the home, office and industry."
"It is to our everlasting disgrace," he said with humility, "that we
were unable to salvage the means to give your magnificent civilization
the worthy gift of our space drive. Had Flussissc or Shascinssith
survived our long journey, it would be possible, but--" He bowed his
head, as if waiting for my wrath at the stale news that the only two
power-mechanic scientists on board were D.O.A.
"That was tough," I said. "But what's on your mind now?"
He raised his moist eyes, grateful at my forgiveness. "We who survived
do possess a skill that might help repay the debt which we have incurred
in intruding upon your glorious planet."
He begged my permission to show me something in the outer waiting room.
With more than casual interest, I assented.
He moved obsequiously to the door, opened it and spoke to someone beyond
my range of vision. His words sounded like a repetition of
"_sissle-flissle_." Then he stepped aside, fastened his little wet eyes
on me expectantly, and waited.
[Illustration]
Suddenly the doorway was filled, jamb to jamb, floor to arch, with a
hulking, bald-headed character with rugged pink features, a broad nose
like a pug, and huge sugar-scoops for ears. He wore a quiet business
suit of fine quality, obviously tailored to his six-and-a-half-foot,
cliff-like physique. In spite of his bulk, he moved across the carpet to
my desk on cat feet, and came to a halt with pneumatic smoothness.
"I am a Soth," he said in a low, creamy voice. It was so resonant that
it seemed to come from the walls around us. "I have learned your
language and your ways. I can follow instructions, solve simple problems
and do your work. I am very strong. I can serve you well."
* * * * *
The recitation was an expressionless monotone that sounded almost
haughty compared to the self-effacing Ollie's piping whines. His face
had the dignity of a rock, and his eyes the quiet peace of a cool, deep
mountain lake.
The Ollie came forward. "We have been able to repair only one of the six
Soths we had on the ship. They are more fragile than we humanoids."
"They don't look it," I said. "And what do you mean by _you_ humanoids?
What's he?"
"You would call him--a robot, I believe."
My astonished reaction must have satisfied the Ollie, because he allowed
his eyes to leave me and seek the carpet again, where they evidently
were more comfortable.
"You mean you--you _make_ these people?" I gasped.
He nodded. "We can reproduce them, given materials and facilities. Of
course, your own robots must be vastly superior--" a hypocritical sop to
my vanity--"but still we hope you may find a use for the Soths."
I got up and walked around the big lunker, trying to look blase. "Well,
yes," I lied. "Our robots probably have considerably better intellectual
abilities--our cybernetic units, that is. However, you do have something
in form and mobility."
That was the understatement of my career.
I finally pulled my face together, and said as casually as I could,
"Would you like to license us to manufacture these--Soths?"
The Ollie fluttered his hands. "But that would require our working and
mingling with your personnel," he said. "We wouldn't consider imposing
in such a gross manner."
"No imposition at all," I assured him.
But he would have none of it: "We have studied your economics and have
found that your firm is an outstanding leader in what you term
'business.' You have a superb distribution organization. It is our
intention to offer you the exclusive--" he hesitated, then dragged the
word from his amazing vocabulary--"franchise for the sale of our Soths.
If you agree, we will not burden you with their manufacture. Our own
little plant will produce and ship. You may then place them with your
customers."
I studied the magnificent piece of animated sculpturing, stunned at the
possibilities. "You say a Soth is strong. How strong?"
The huge creature startled me by answering the question himself. He bent
flowingly from the waist, gripped my massive steel desk by one of its
thick, overlapping top edges, and raised it a few inches from the
floor--with the fingers of one hand. When he put it down, I stood up and
hefted one edge myself. By throwing my back into it, I could just budge
one side of the clumsy thing--four hundred pounds if it was an ounce!
* * * * *
Ollie Johnson modestly refrained from comment. He said, "The Department
of Commerce has been helpful. They have explained your medium of
exchange, and have helped us with the prices of raw materials. It was
they who recommended your firm as a likely distributor."
"Have you figured how much one of these Soths should sell for?"
"We think we can show a modest profit if we sell them to you for $1200,"
he said. "Perhaps we can bring down our costs, if you find a wide enough
demand for them."
I had expected ten or twenty times that figure. I'm afraid I got a
little eager. "I--uh--shall we see if we can't just work out a little
contract right now? Save you another trip back this afternoon."
"If you will forgive our boorish presumption," Ollie said, fumbling
self-consciously in his baggy clothing, "I have already prepared such a
document with the help of the Attorney General. A very kindly
gentleman."
It was simple and concise. It allowed us to resell the Soths at a price
of $2000, Fair Traded, giving us a gross margin of $800 to work with. He
assured me that upkeep and repairs on the robot units were negligible,
and we could extend a very generous warranty which the Ollies would make
good in the event of failure. He gave me a quick rundown on the care and
feeding of a Sirian Soth, and then jolted me with:
"There is just a single other favor I beg of you. Would you do my little
colony the exquisite honor of accepting this Soth as your personal
servant, Mr. Collins?"
"Servant?"
* * * * *
He bobbed his head. "Yes, sir. We have trained him in the rudiments of
the household duties and conventions of your culture. He learns rapidly
and never forgets an instruction. Your wife would find Soth most useful,
I am quite certain."
"A magnificent specimen like this doing _housework_?" I marveled at the
little creature's empty-headedness.
"Again I must beg your pardon, sir. I overlooked mentioning a suggestion
by the Secretary of Labor that the Soths be sold only for use in
domestic service. It was also the consensus of the President's whole
cabinet that the economy of any nation could not cope with the problem
of unemployment were our Soths to be made available for all the types of
work for which they are fitted."
My dream of empire collapsed. The little green fellow was undoubtedly
telling the truth. The unions would strike any plant or facility in the
world where a Soth put foot on the job. It would ruin our retail
consumer business, too--Soths wouldn't consume automobiles, copters,
theater tickets and filets mignon.
"Yes, Mr. Johnson," I sighed. "I'll be happy to try out your Soth. We
have a place out in the country where he'll come in handy."
The Ollie duly expressed his ecstasy at my decision, and backed out of
my office waving his copy of the contract. I had assured him that our
board of directors would meet within a week and confirm my signature.
I looked up at the hairless giant. As general director of the Home
Appliance Division of Worldwide Machines, Incorporated, I had made a
deal, all right. The first interplanetary business deal in history.
But for some reason, I couldn't escape the feeling that I'd been had.
* * * * *
On the limoucopter, they charged me double fare for Soth's
transportation to the private field where I kept my boat. As we left
Detroit, I watched him stare down at the flattened skyline, but he did
it with the unseeing expression of an old commuter.
Jack, my personal pilot, had eyed my passenger at the airport with some
concern and sullen muttering. Now he made much of trimming ship after
takeoff. The boat did seem logy with the unaccustomed ballast--it was a
four-passenger Arrow, built for speed, and Soth had to crouch and spread
all over the two rear seats. But he did so without complaint or comment
for the half-hour hop up to our estate on my favorite Canadian lake.
As the four hundred miles unreeled below us, I wondered how Vicki would
react to Soth. I should have phoned her, but how do you describe a Soth
to a semi-invalid whose principal excitement is restricted to
bird-watching and repotting puny geraniums, and a rare sunfishing
expedition to the end of our floating pier?
Well, it was Friday, and I would have the whole weekend to work the
robot into our routine. I had called my friend, Dr. Frederick Hilliard,
a retired industrial psychologist, and invited him to drop over tonight
if he wanted an interesting surprise. He was our nearest neighbor and my
most frequent chess partner, who lived a secluded bachelor's life in a
comfortable cabin on the far shore of our lake.
As we came in for a water landing, I saw Fred's boat at our pier. Then I
could make out Fred, Vicki and Clumsy, our Irish setter, all waiting for
me. I hoped Fred's presence would help simmer Vicki down a little.
We drifted in to the dock, and I turned to Soth and told him to help my
pilot unload the supplies. This pleased Jack, whose Pilot and
Chauffeur's Local frequently reminded me in polite little bulletins that
its members were not obligated to perform other than technical services
for their employers.
Then I got out and said hello to Vicki and Fred as casually as possible.
Vicki kissed me warmly on the mouth, which she does when she's excited,
and then clung to me and let the day's tension soak out of her.
How you get tense in a Twenty-first Century home in the midst of the
Canadian wilderness is something I've never been able to figure out, but
Vicki's super-imagination managed daily to defeat her doctor's orders
for peace and quiet.
"I'm glad you're home, dear," she said. "When Fred came over ahead of
time I knew something was up, and I'm all unraveled with curiosity."
Just then Soth emerged from the boat with our whole week's supply of
foodstuffs and assorted necessities bundled under his long arms.
"Oh, dear God, a dinner guest!" Vicki exclaimed. Tears started into her
reproachful eyes and her slender little figure stiffened in my arms.
* * * * *
I swung her around, hooked arms with her and Fred, and started up the
path.
"Not a guest," I told her. "He's a servant who will make the beds, clean
up and all sorts of things, and if you don't like him we'll turn him in
on a new model laundry unit, and don't start worrying about being alone
with him--he's a robot."
"A robot!" Fred said, and both their heads swiveled to stare back.
"Yes," I said. "That's why I wanted you here tonight, Fred. I'd like to
have you sort of go over him and--well, you know--"
I didn't want to say, _make sure he's safe_. Not in Vicki's presence.
But Fred caught my eye and nodded.
I started to tell them of my visitor, and the contract with the
castaways from space. Halfway through, Clumsy interrupted me with his
excited barking. I looked back. Clumsy was galloping a frantic circle
around Soth, cutting in and out, threatening to make an early dinner of
the intruder's leg.
Before I could speak, Soth opened his lips and let out a soft hiss
through his white teeth. Clumsy flattened to the ground and froze, and
Soth continued after us without a further glance at the dog.
Fred looked at Vicki's tense face and laughed. "I'll have to learn that
trick ... Clumsy's chewed the cuffs off three pairs of my best slacks."
Vicki smiled uncertainly, and went into the house. I showed Soth where
to stow the supplies, and told him to remain in the kitchen. He just
froze where he stood.
Fred was making drinks when I returned to the living room.
"Looks docile enough, Cliff," he told me.
"Strong as a horse and gentle as a lamb," I said. "I want you two to
help me find out what his talents are. I'll have to prepare a paper on
him for the board of directors Monday."
There were nervous whitecaps on Vicki's drink.
I patted her shoulder. "I'll break him into the housekeeping routine,
honey. You won't have him staring over your shoulder."