“Do you want to see the basic tensors?” He reached in his pocket for pencil and notebook. “I’ll jot them down for you.”
“Never mind,” Underhill protested. “I’m afraid my math is a little rusty.”
“But you think it strange that the holder of such revolutionary patents should find himself in need?”
Nodding uncomfortably, Underhill penalized himself another point. The old man might be a monumental liar, but he was shrewd enough.
“You see, I’m sort of a refugee,” he explained apologetically. “I arrived on this planet only a few days ago. I have to travel light. I was forced to deposit everything I had with a law firm, to arrange for the publication and protection of my patents. I expect to be receiving the first royalties soon.
“In the meantime,” he added plausibly, “I came to Two Rivers because it is quiet and secluded, far from the spaceports. I’m working on another project which must be finished secretly. Now will you please respect my confidence, Mr. Underhill?”
Underhill had to say he would. Aurora came back with the freshly scrubbed children, and they went in to dinner. The android came lurching in with a steaming tureen. The old stranger seemed to shrink from the mechanical, uneasily. As she took the dish and served the soup, Aurora inquired lightly:
“Why doesn’t your company bring out a better mechanical, dear? One smart enough to be a really perfect waiter, warranted not to splash the soup. Wouldn’t that be splendid?”
Her question cast Underhill into moody silence. He sat scowling at his plate, thinking of these remarkable new mechanicals which claimed to be perfect, thinking of what they might do to the agency. It was the shaggy old rover who answered solemnly:
“The perfect mechanicals already exist, Mrs. Underhill.” His rusty voice had a solemn undertone. “And they are not so splendid, really. I’ve been a refugee from them, for nearly fifty years.”
Underhill looked up from his plate, astonished.
“Those black humanoids, you mean?”
“Humanoids?” That great voice seemed suddenly faint, frightened. The deep-sunken eyes turned dark with shock. “What do you know about them?”
“They’ve just opened a new agency in Two Rivers,” Underhill told him. “No salesmen about, if you can imagine that. They claim—”
His voice trailed off, because the gaunt old man was suddenly stricken. Gnarled hands clutched at his throat. A spoon clattered on the floor. His haggard face turned an ominous blue, and his breath was a terrible shallow gasping.
He fumbled in his pocket for medicine, and Aurora helped him take something in a glass of water. In a few moments he could breathe again, and the color of life came back to his face.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Underhill,” he whispered apologetically. “It was just the shock—I came here to get away from them.” He stared at the huge, motionless android, with a terror in his sunken eyes. “I wanted to finish my work before they came,” he whispered. “Now there is very little time.”
When he felt able to walk, Underhill went out to see him safely up the stair to the garage apartment. The tiny kitchenette, he noticed, had already been converted into some kind of workshop. The old tramp seemed to have no extra clothing, but he had unpacked queer bright gadgets of metal and plastic from his battered luggage and spread them out on the small kitchen table.
The gaunt old man himself was tattered and patched and hungry-looking, but the parts of his curious equipment were exquisitely machined. Underhill recognized the silver-white luster of rare palladium. Suddenly he suspected that he had scored too many points in his little private game.
III
A caller was waiting, when Underhill arrived next morning at his office at the agency. It stood frozen before his desk, graceful and straight, with soft lights of blue and bronze shining over its black silicone nudity. He stopped at the sight of it, unpleasantly jolted.
“At your service, Mr. Underhill.” It turned quickly to face him with its blind, disturbing stare. “May we explain how we can serve you?”
Recalling his shock of the afternoon before, he asked sharply, “How do you know my name?”
“Yesterday, we read the business cards in your case,” it purred softly. “Now we shall know you always. You see, our senses are sharper than human vision, Mr. Underhill. Perhaps we seem a little strange at first, but you will soon become accustomed to us.”
“Not if I can help it!” He peered at the serial number on his yellow name-plate, and shook his bewildered head. “That was another one, yesterday. I never saw you before!”
“We are all alike, Mr. Underhill,” the silver voice said softly. “We are all one, really. Our separate mobile units are all controlled and powered from Humanoid Central. The units you see are only the senses and limbs of our great brain on Wing IV. That is why we are so far superior to the old electronic mechanicals.”
It made a scornful-seeming gesture toward the row of clumsy androids in his display room.
“You see, we are rhodomagnetic.”
Underhill staggered a little, as if that word had been a blow. He was certain, now, that he had scored too many points from Aurora’s new tenant. Shuddering to the first light kiss of terror, he spoke with an effort, hoarsely:
“Well, what do you want?”
Staring blindly across his desk, the sleek black thing slowly unfolded a legal-looking document. He sat down, watching uneasily.
“This is merely an assignment, Mr. Underhill,” it cooed soothingly. “You see, we are requesting you to assign your property to the Humanoid Institute in exchange for our service.”
“What?” The word was an incredulous gasp, and Underhill came angrily back to his feet. “What kind of blackmail is this?”
“It’s no blackmail,” the small mechanical assured him softly. “You will find the humanoids incapable of any crime. We exist only to increase the happiness and safety of mankind.”
“Then why do you want my property?” he rasped.
“The assignment is merely a legal formality,” it told him blandly. “We strive to introduce our service with the least possible confusion and dislocation. We have found our assignment plan the most efficient for the control and liquidation of private enterprises.”
Trembling with anger and the shock of mounting terror, Underhill gulped hoarsely, “Whatever your scheme is, I don’t intend to give up my business.”
“You have no choice, really.” He shivered to the sweet certainty of that silver voice. “Human enterprise is no longer necessary, anywhere that we have come, and the electronic mechanicals industry is always the first to collapse.”
He stared defiantly at its blind steel eyes.
“Thanks!” He gave a little laugh, nervous and sardonic. “But I prefer to run my own business, to support my own family and take care of myself.”
