War with the Robots

He ran over the color code in his mind and compared it with the memorized leads. The twelfth wire was the main cranial power lead, number six was the return wire.

With his precise touch he separated these two from the pack and glanced idly around the room. Druce was dozing on a chair in the opposite corner, Coleman was talking on the phone, his voice occasionally rising in a petulant whine. This wasn’t interfering with his attention to Jon — and the radio switch still held tightly in left hand.

Jon’s body blocked Coleman’s vision, as long as Druce stayed asleep he would be able to work on the head unobserved. He activated a relay in his forearm and there was a click as the waterproof cover on an exterior socket swung open. This was a power outlet from his battery that was used to operate motorized tools and lights underwater.

If Venex 17’s head had been severed for less than three weeks he could reactivate it. Every robot had a small storage battery inside his skull, if the power to the brain was cut off the battery would provide the minimum standby current to keep the brain alive. The robe would be unconscious until full power was restored.

Jon plugged the wires into his arm-outlet and slowly raised the current to operating level. There was a tense moment of waiting, then 17’s eye shutters suddenly closed. When they opened again the eye tubes were glowing warmly. They swept the room with one glance then focused on Jon.

The right shutter clicked shut while the other began opening and closing in rapid fashion. It was International code- being sent as fast as the solenoid could be operated. Jon concentrated on the message.

Telephone — call emergency operator — tell her "signal 14" help will — The shutter stopped in the middle of a code group, the light of reason dying from the eyes.

For one instant Jon knew panic, until he realized that 17 had deliberately cut the power. Druce’s harsh voice rasped in his ear.

"What you doing with that? None of your funny robot tricks, I know your kind, plotting all kinds of things in them tin domes." His voice trailed off into a stream of incomprehensible profanity. With sudden spite he lashed his foot out and sent 17’s head crushing against the wall.

The dented, green head rolled to a stop at Jon’s feet, the face staring up at him in mute agony. It was only Circuit 92 that prevented him from injuring a human. As his motors revved up to send him hurtling forward the control relays clicked open. He sank against the debris, paralyzed for the instant. As soon as the rush of anger was gone he would regain control of his body.

They stood as if frozen in a tableau. The robot slumped backward, the man leaning forward, his face twisted with unreasoning hatred. The head lay between them like a symbol of death.

Coleman’s voice cut through the air of tenseness like a knife.

"Druce, stop playing with the grease-can and get down to the main door to let Little Willy and his Junk-brokers in. You can have it all to yourself afterward."

The angry man turned reluctantly, but pushed out of the door at Coleman’s annoyed growl. Jon sat down against the walls, his mind sorting out the few facts with instantaneous precision. There was no room in his thoughts for Druce, the man had become just one more factor in a complex problem.

Call the emergency operator — that meant this was no local matter, responsible authorities must be involved. Only the government could be behind a thing as major as this. Signal 14—that implied a complex set of arrangements, forces that could swing into action at a moment’s notice. There was no indication where this might lead, but the only thing to do was to get out of here and make that phone call. And quickly. Druce was bringing in more people, junk-brokers, whatever they were. Any action that he took would have to be done before they returned.

Even as Jon followed this train of logic his fingers were busy. Palming a wrench, he was swiftly loosening the main retaining nut on his hip joint. It dropped free in his hand, only the pivot pin remained now to hold his leg on. He climbed slowly to his feet and moved towards Coleman’s desk.

"Mr. Coleman, sir, it’s time to go down to the ship now, should I leave now, sir?"

Jon spoke the words slowly as he walked forward, apparently going to the door, but angling at the same time towards the plump man’s desk.

"You got thirty minutes yet, go sit—say…!"

The words were cut off. Fast as a human reflex is, it is the barest crawl compared to the lightning action of electronic reflex. At the instant Coleman was first aware of Jon’s motion, the robot had finished his leap and lay sprawled across the desk, his leg off at the hip and clutched in his hand.

"You’ll kill yourself if you touch the button!"