LITMIR.BIZ

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slops to pigs. Earned enough to fix the knee—and here I am.”

      Alec jerked his thumb at a rust-colored, three-foot-tall robot that had come up quietly beside him. “If you think you’ve got trouble take a look at Dik here, that’s no coat of paint on him. Dik Dryer, meet Jon Venex an old buddy of mine.”

      Jon bent over to shake the little mech’s hand. His eye shutters dilated as he realized what he had thought was a coat of paint was a thin layer of rust that coated Dik’s metal body. Alec scratched a shiny path in the rust with his fingertip. His voice was suddenly serious.

      “Dik was designed for operation in the Martian desert. It’s as dry as a fossil bone there so his skinflint company cut corners on the stainless steel.

      “When they went bankrupt he was sold to a firm here in the city. After a while the rust started to eat in and slow him down, they gave Dik his contract and threw him out.”

      The small robot spoke for the first time, his voice grated and scratched. “Nobody will hire me like this, but I can’t get repaired until I get a job.” His arms squeaked and grated as he moved them. “I’m going by the Robot Free Clinic again today, they said they might be able to do something.”

      Alec Diger rumbled in his deep chest. “Don’t put too much faith in those people. They’re great at giving out tenth-credit oil capsules or a little free wire—but don’t depend on them for anything important.”

      It was six now, the robots were pushing through the doors into the silent streets. They joined the crowd moving out, Jon slowing his stride so his shorter friends could keep pace. Dik Dryer moved with a jerking, irregular motion, his voice as uneven as the motion of his body.

      “Jon—Venex, I don’t recognize your family name. Something to do—with Venus—perhaps.”

      “Venus is right, Venus Experimental—there are only twenty-two of us in the family. We have waterproof, pressure-resistant bodies for working down on the ocean bottom. The basic idea was all right, we did our part, only there wasn’t enough money in the channel-dredging contract to keep us all working. I bought out my original contract at half price and became a free robot.”

      Dik vibrated his rusted diaphragm. “Being free isn’t all it should be. I some—times wish the Robot Equality Act hadn’t been passed. I would just l-love to be owned by a nice rich company with a machine shop and a—mountain of replacement parts.”

      “You don’t really mean that, Dik,” Alec Diger clamped a heavy black arm across his shoulders. “Things aren’t perfect now, we know that, but it’s certainly a lot better than the old days, we were just hunks of machinery then. Used twenty-four hours a day until we were worn out and then thrown in the junk pile. No thanks, I’ll take my chances with things as they are.”

      *

      Jon and Alec turned into the employment exchange, saying good-by to Dik who went on slowly down the street. They pushed up the crowded ramp and joined the line in front of the registration desk. The bulletin board next to the desk held a scattering of white slips announcing job openings. A clerk was pinning up new additions.

      Venex scanned them with his eyes, stopping at one circled in red.

       ROBOTS NEEDED IN THESE CATEGORIES.

      APPLY AT ONCE TO CHAINJET, LTD., 1219 BROADWAY.

       Fasten Flyer Atommel Filmer Venex

      Jon rapped excitedly on Alec Diger’s neck. “Look there, a job in my own specialty—I can get my old pay rate! See you back at the hotel tonight—and good luck in your job hunting.”

      Alec waved good-by. “Let’s hope the job’s as good as you think, I never trust those things until I have my credits in my hand.”

      Jon walked quickly from the employment exchange, his long legs eating up the blocks. Good old Alec, he didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t touch. Perhaps he was right, but why try to be unhappy. The world wasn’t too bad this morning—his leg worked fine, prospects of a good job—he hadn’t felt this cheerful since the day he was activated.

      Turning the corner at a brisk pace he collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. Jon had stopped on the instant, but there wasn’t time to jump aside. The obese individual jarred against him and fell to the ground. From the height of elation to the depths of despair in an instant—he had injured a human being!

      He bent to help the man to his feet, but the other would have none of that. He evaded the friendly hand and screeched in a high-pitched voice.

      “Officer, officer, police ... HELP! I’ve been attacked—a mad robot ... HELP!”

      A crowd was gathering—staying at a respectful distance—but making an angry muttering noise. Jon stood motionless, his head reeling at the enormity of what he had done. A policeman pushed his way through the crowd.

      “Seize him, officer, shoot him down ... he struck me ... almost killed me ...” The man shook with rage, his words thickening to a senseless babble.

      The policeman had his .75 recoilless revolver out and pressed against Jon’s side.

      “This man has charged you with a serious crime, grease-can. I’m taking you into the station house—to talk about it.” He looked around nervously, waving his gun to open a path through the tightly packed crowd. They moved back grudgingly, with murmurs of disapproval.

      Jon’s thoughts swirled in tight circles. How did a catastrophe like this happen, where was it going to end? He didn’t dare tell the truth, that would mean he was calling the man a liar. There had been six robots power-lined in the city since the first of the year. If he dared speak in his own defense there would be a jumper to the street lighting circuit and a seventh burnt out hulk in the police morgue.

      A feeling of resignation swept through him, there was no way out. If the man pressed charges it would mean a term of penal servitude, though it looked now as if he would never live to reach the court. The papers had been whipping up a lot of anti-robe feeling, you could feel it behind the angry voices, see it in the narrowed eyes and clenched fists. The crowd was slowly changing into a mob, a mindless mob as yet, but capable of turning on him at any moment.

      “What’s goin’ on here...?” It was a booming voice, with a quality that dragged at the attention of the crowd.

      A giant cross-continent freighter was parked at the curb. The driver swung down from the cab and pushed his way through the people. The policeman shifted his gun as the man strode up to him.

      “That’s my robot you got there, Jack, don’t put any holes in him!” He turned on the man who had been shouting accusations. “Fatty here, is the world’s biggest liar. The robot was standing here waiting for me to park the truck. Fatty must be as blind as he is stupid, I saw the whole thing. He knocks himself down walking into the robe, then starts hollering for the cops.”

      The other man could take no more. His face crimson with anger he rushed toward the trucker, his fists swinging in ungainly circles. They never landed, the truck driver put a meaty hand on the other’s face and seated him on the sidewalk for the second time.

      The onlookers roared with laughter, the power-lining and the robot were forgotten. The fight was between two men now, the original cause had slipped from their minds. Even the policeman allowed himself a small smile as he holstered his gun and stepped forward to separate the men.

      The trucker turned towards Jon with a scowl.

      “Come on you aboard the truck—you’ve caused me enough trouble for one day. What a junkcan!”

      The crowd chuckled as he pushed Jon ahead of him into the truck and slammed the door behind them. Jamming the starter with his thumb he gunned the thunderous diesels into life and pulled out into the traffic.

      Jon moved his jaw, but there were no words to come out. Why had this total stranger helped him, what could he say to show his appreciation? He knew that all humans weren’t robe-haters,

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