These robots were coming up in the world, getting too
big for their britches. Nick Nolan would show them....
_In every robot brain there was a remote-controlled circuit
breaker--and in every robot brain there was resentment and the
determination to work for THE DAY. William Campbell Gault, better
known to the readers of our companion magazine_, The Saint
Detective Magazine, _tells the compelling story of the robots
who passed and the robots who fought and who planned for the
moment--and what happened...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe December 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The sounds from above were dim in the dressing room. Over his head,
between him and the thousands of fans, were the tons of concrete,
robot-made concrete. Man conceived but robot made.
He looked down at his hands, his strong, short-fingered hands. Complete
with fingerprints--but of protonol. Who'd know it, to look at them? In
man's image, he was made. In God's image, man was made, if one believed
in that, any more. In man's image, he was made, but not with man's
status.
His name was Alix 1340, which meant only that he was the thirteen
hundred and fortieth of the Alix type. The short, broad Nordic type. In
about twenty minutes, he was due in the ring. He was fighting for the
middleweight championship of the world.
Joe Nettleton had dreamed that one up. It had been born in the verbiage
of his daily syndicated sports column, nurtured by the fans' clamor,
and fanned into reality--by what? Animosity? These robots were coming
up in the world, getting too big for their britches. Nick Nolan would
show this Alix his place.
Nick was the champ, a man, made in His image. He butted and thumbed and
gouged and heeled. His favorite target was the groin. But _he_ was a
man. Oh, yes, he was a man. A champion among men.
Manny came in. His real title was Manuel 4307, but robots like to
forget the numbers. He was Manny, Alix's manager and number one second.
A deft and sharp and able robot, Manny.
He said, "I thought it would be better if we were alone. No fans,
especially. And I've had a bellyfull of sports writers."
"Even Joe Nettleton?" Alix asked. "Joe's on our side, isn't he?"
"It's hard to say. Do you ever wonder about him, Alix?"
Alix didn't answer, right away. He knew there were robots who 'passed',
went over to the status line and lived as humans. He didn't know how
many there were, and he often wondered about them. In every robot
brain, there was a remote-controlled circuit breaker. They could be
stopped with the throwing of a switch at the personnel center. There
was a well-guarded office and a man on duty at that center twenty-four
hours of every day.