boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

Q. U. R. 135
I don’t know what I’d expected to see. I couldn’t imagine what would get
the hard-boiled Thuringer into such a blasting dither. This had been the first
job that I’d tried Quinby out on, and a routine piece of work it was, or should
have been. Routine, that is, in these damnable times. The robot that operated
the signal tower had gone limp in the legs and one arm. He’d been quoted as
saying some pretty strange things on the beam, too. Backsass to pilots and
insubordinate mutterings.
The first thing I saw was a neat pile of scrap in the middle of the room.
Some of it looked like robot parts. The next thing I saw was Thuringer, who
had gone from purple to a kind of rosy black. “It’s getting me!” he burst out.
“I sit here and watch it and I’m going mad! Do something, man! Then go out
and annihilate your assistant, but do something first!”
I looked where he pointed. I’d been in this tower control room before. The
panel had a mike and an ike, a speaker and a viewer, and a set of directional
lights. In front of it there used to be a chair where the robot sat, talking on the
beam and watching the indicators.
Now there was no chair. And no robot. There was a table, and on the table
was a box. And from that box there extended one arm, which was alive. That
arm punched regularly and correctly at the lights, and out of the box there
issued the familiar guiding voice.
I walked around and got a gander at the front of the box. It had eyes and
a mouth and a couple of holes that it took me a minute to spot as ear holes. It
was like a line with two dots above and two below it, so:
It was like no face that ever was in nature, but it could obviously see and
hear and talk.
Thuringer moaned. “And that’s what you call a repair job! My beautiful robot!
Your A-1-A Double Prime All-Utility Extra-Quality De Luxe Model! Nothing of
him left but this”—he pointed at the box—“and this”—he gestured sadly at
the scrap heap.
I looked a long time at the box and I scratched my head. “He works, doesn’t
he?”
“Works? What? Oh, works.”
“You’ve been here watching him. He pushes the right lights? He gets messages
right? He gives the right instructions?”
“Oh yes, I suppose so. Yes, he works all right. But damn it, man, he’s not a
robot any more. You’ve ruined him.”
The box interrupted its beam work. “Ruined, hell,” it said in the same toneless
voice. “I never felt so good since I was animated. Thanks, boss.”
Thuringer goggled. I started to leave the room.
“Where are you going? Are you going to make this right? I demand another
A-1-A Double Prime at once, you understand. And I trust you’ll kill that
assistant.”
“Kill him? I’m going to kiss him.”