"Thank you," said the voice.
If it had said more, he might have, but it didn't. Still feeling a
little embarrassed, he went home.
At four in the morning, his phone rang. It was Lexington.
"Manners!" the old man gasped.
The voice was an alarm. Manners sat bolt upright, clutching the phone.
"What's the matter, sir?"
"My chest," Lexington panted. "I can feel it, like a knife on--I just
wanted to--Wait a minute."
There was a confused scratching noise, interrupted by a few mumbles, in
the phone.
"What's going on, Mr. Lexington?" Peter cried. But it was several
seconds before he got an answer.
"That's better," said Lexington, his voice stronger. He apologized:
"I'm sorry. Lex must have heard me. She sent in one of the materials
handlers with a hypo. It helps."
The voice on the phone paused, then said matter-of-factly: "But I doubt
that anything can help very much at this point. I'm glad I saw you
today. I want you to come around in the morning. If I'm--not here, Lex
will give you some papers to sign."
There was another pause, with sounds of harsh breathing. Then,
strained again, the old man's voice said: "I guess I won't--be here.
Lex will take care of it. Come early. Good-by."
The distant receiver clicked.
Peter Manners sat on the edge of his bed in momentary confusion, then
made up his mind. In the short hours he had known him, he had come to
have a definite fondness for the old man; and there were times when
machines weren't enough, when Lexington should have another human being
by his side. Clearly this was one such time.
Peter dressed in a hurry, miraculously found a cruising cab, sped
through empty streets, leaped out in front of Lex Industries' plain
concrete walls, ran to the door--
In the waiting room, the soft, distant voice of Lex said: "He wanted
you to be here, Mr. Manners. Come."
A door opened, and wordlessly he walked through it--to the main room of
the factory.
He stopped, staring. Four squat materials handlers were quietly, slowly
carrying old Lexington--no, not the man; the lifeless body that had
been Lexington--carrying the body of the old man down the center aisle
between the automatic lathes.
* * * * *
Peter protested: "Wait! I'll get a doctor!" But the massive handling
machines didn't respond, and the gentle voice of Lex said:
"It's too late for that, Mr. Manners."
Slowly and reverently, they placed the body on the work table of a huge
milling machine that stood in the exact center of the factory main
floor.
Elsewhere in the plant, a safety valve in the lubricating oil system
was being bolted down. When that was done, the pressure in the system
began to rise.
Near the loading door, a lubricating oil pipe burst. Another, on the
other side of the building, split lengthwise a few seconds later,
sending a shower of oil over everything in the vicinity. Near the front
office, a stream of it was running across the floor, and at the rear of
the building, in the storage area, one of the materials handlers had
just finished cutting a pipe that led to the main oil tank. In fifteen
minutes there was free oil in every corner of the shop.
All the materials handlers were now assembled around the milling
machine, like mourners at a funeral. In a sense, they were. In another
sense, they were taking part in something different, a ceremony that
originated, and is said to have died, in a land far distant from the
Lex Industries plant.
One of the machines approached Lexington's body, and placed his hands
on his chest.