War with the Robots

"If you let me come back and don’t kill me I will do your work. I was afraid of the bomb, but now I am afraid of the guns." It sounded a little infantile, but he was pretty sure none of those present had any sound knowledge of robotic intelligence.

"Please let me come back… sir!" He had almost forgotten the last word, so he added another "Please, sir!" to make up. Coleman needed that package under the boat very badly, he would promise anything to get it. Jon had no doubts as to his eventual fate, all he could hope to do was mark time in the hopes that the phone message would bring aid.

"Come on down, I won’t be mad at you — if you follow directions." Jon could hear the hidden anger in his voice, the unspoken hatred for a robe who dared lay hands on him.

The descent wasn’t difficult, but Jon did it slowly with much apparent discomfort. He hopped into the center of the floor — leaning on the cases as if for support. Coleman and Druce were both there as well as a group of hard-eyed newcomers. They raised their guns at his approach but Coleman stopped them with a gesture.

"This is my robe boys, I’ll see to it that he’s happy."

He raised his gun and shot Jon’s remaining leg off. Twisted around by the blast Jon fell helplessly to the floor. He looked up into the smoking mouth of the.75.

"Very smart for a tin-can, but not smart enough. We’ll get the junk on the boat some other way, some way that won’t mean having you around under foot." Death looked out of his narrowed eyes.

Less than two minutes had passed since Jon’s call. The watchers must have been keeping 24 hour stations waiting for Venex 17’s phone message.

The main door went down with the sudden scream of torn steel. A whippet tank crunched over the wreck and covered the group with its multiple pom-poms. They were an instant too late, Coleman pulled the trigger.

Jon saw the tensing trigger finger and pushed hard against the floor. His head rolled clear but the bullet tore through his shoulder. Coleman didn’t have a chance for a second shot, there was a fizzling hiss from the tank and the riot ports released a flood of tear gas. The stricken men never saw the gas-masked police that poured in from the street.

Jon lay on the floor of the police station while a tech made temporary repairs on his leg and shoulder. Across the room Venex 17 was moving his new body with evident pleasure.

"Now this really feels like something! I was sure my time was up when that land slip caught me. But maybe I ought to start from the beginning." He stamped across the room and shook Jon’s inoperable hand.

"The name is Wil Counter-4951L3, not that that means much any more. I’ve worn so many different bodies that I forget what I originally looked like. I went right from factory-school to a police training school — and I have been on the job ever since-Force of Detectives, Sergeant Jr. grade, Investigation Department. I spend most of my time selling candy bars or newspapers, or serving drinks in crumb joints. Gather information, make reports and keep tab on guys for other departments.

"This last job — and I’m sorry I had to use a Venex identity, I don’t think I brought any dishonor to your family — I was on loan to the Customs department. Seems a ring was bringing uncut junk — heroin — into the country. F. B. I. tabbed all the operators here, but no one knew how the stuff got in. When Coleman, he’s the local big-shot, called the agencies for an underwater robot, I was packed into a new body and sent running.

"I alerted the squad as soon as I started the tunnel, but the damned thing caved in on me before I found out what ship was doing the carrying. From there on you know what happened.

"Not knowing I was out of the game the squad sat tight and waited. The hop merchants saw a half million in snow sailing back to the old country so they had you dragged in as a replacement. You made the phone call and the cavalry rushed in at the last moment to save two robots from a rusty grave."

Jon, who had been trying vainly to get in a word, saw his chance as Wil Counter turned to admire the reflection of his new figure in a window.

"You shouldn’t be telling me those things — about your police investigations and department operations. Isn’t this in- formation supposed to be secret? Specially from robots!"

"Of course it is!" was Wil’s airy answer. "Captain Edgecombe — he’s the head of my department — is an expert on all kinds of blackmail. I’m supposed to tell you so much con- fidential police business that you’ll have to either join the department or be shot as a possible informer." His laughter wasn’t shared by the bewildered Jon.

"Truthfully Jon, we need you and can use you. Robes that can think fast and act fast aren’t easy to find. After hearing about the tricks you pulled in that warehouse the Captain swore to decapitate me permanently if I couldn’t get you to join up. Do you need a job? Long hours, short pay — but guaranteed to never get boring."