The Velvet Glove Read online

old days, we were just hunks ofmachinery then. Used twenty-four hours a day until we were worn out andthen thrown in the junk pile. No thanks, I'll take my chances withthings as they are."

  * * * * *

  Jon and Alec turned into the employment exchange, saying good-by to Dikwho went on slowly down the street. They pushed up the crowded ramp andjoined the line in front of the registration desk. The bulletin boardnext to the desk held a scattering of white slips announcing jobopenings. 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 ownspecialty--I can get my old pay rate! See you back at the hoteltonight--and good luck in your job hunting."

  Alec waved good-by. "Let's hope the job's as good as you think, I nevertrust those things until I have my credits in my hand."

  Jon walked quickly from the employment exchange, his long legs eating upthe blocks. _Good old Alec, he didn't believe in anything he couldn'ttouch. Perhaps he was right, but why try to be unhappy. The world wasn'ttoo bad this morning--his leg worked fine, prospects of a good job--hehadn't felt this cheerful since the day he was activated._

  Turning the corner at a brisk pace he collided with a man coming fromthe opposite direction. Jon had stopped on the instant, but there wasn'ttime to jump aside. The obese individual jarred against him and fell tothe ground. From the height of elation to the depths of despair in aninstant--he had injured a _human being_!

  He bent to help the man to his feet, but the other would have none ofthat. 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 anangry muttering noise. Jon stood motionless, his head reeling at theenormity of what he had done. A policeman pushed his way through thecrowd.

  "Seize him, officer, shoot him down ... he struck me ... almost killedme ..." The man shook with rage, his words thickening to a senselessbabble.

  The policeman had his .75 recoilless revolver out and pressed againstJon's side.

  "This _man_ has charged you with a serious crime, _grease-can_. I'mtaking you into the station house--to talk about it." He looked aroundnervously, waving his gun to open a path through the tightly packedcrowd. They moved back grudgingly, with murmurs of disapproval.

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

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

  "What's goin' on here...?" It was a booming voice, with a quality thatdragged at the attention of the crowd.

  A giant cross-continent freighter was parked at the curb. The driverswung down from the cab and pushed his way through the people. Thepoliceman 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!" Heturned on the man who had been shouting accusations. "Fatty here, is theworld's biggest liar. The robot was standing here waiting for me to parkthe truck. Fatty must be as blind as he is stupid, I saw the wholething. He knocks himself down walking into the robe, then startshollering for the cops."

  The other man could take no more. His face crimson with anger he rushedtoward the trucker, his fists swinging in ungainly circles. They neverlanded, the truck driver put a meaty hand on the other's face and seatedhim on the sidewalk for the second time.

  The onlookers roared with laughter, the power-lining and the robot wereforgotten. The fight was between two men now, the original cause hadslipped from their minds. Even the policeman allowed himself a smallsmile 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 oneday. What a junkcan!"

  The crowd chuckled as he pushed Jon ahead of him into the truck andslammed the door behind them. Jamming the starter with his thumb hegunned 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 thistotal stranger helped him, what could he say to show his appreciation?He knew that all humans weren't robe-haters, why it was even rumoredthat some humans treated robots as _equals_ instead of machines. Thedriver must be one of these mythical individuals, there was no other wayto explain his actions.

  Driving carefully with one hand the man reached up behind the dash anddrew out a thin, plastikoid booklet. He handed it to Jon who quicklyscanned the title, _Robot Slaves in a World Economy_ by Philpott AsimovII.

  "If you're caught reading that thing they'll execute you on the spot.Better stick it between the insulation on your generator, you can alwaysburn it if you're picked up.

  "Read it when you're alone, it's got a lot of things in it that you knownothing about. Robots aren't really inferior to humans, in fact they'resuperior in most things. There is even a little history in there to showthat robots aren't the first ones to be treated as second classcitizens. You may find it a little hard to believe, but human beingsonce treated each other just the way they treat robots now. That's oneof the reasons I'm active in this movement--sort of like the fellow whowas burned helping others stay away from the fire."

  He smiled a warm, friendly smile in Jon's direction, the whiteness ofhis teeth standing out against the rich ebony brown of his features.

  "I'm heading towards US-1, can I drop you anywheres on the way?"

  "The Chainjet Building please--I'm applying for a job."

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Before he opened the door thedriver shook hands with Jon.

  "Sorry about calling you _junkcan_, but the crowd expected it." Hedidn't look back as he drove away.

  Jon had to wait a half hour for his turn, but the receptionist finallysignalled him towards the door of the interviewer's room. He stepped inquickly and turned to face the man seated at the transplastic desk, anupset little man with permanent worry wrinkles stamped in his forehead.The little man shoved the papers on the desk around angrily,occasionally making crabbed little notes on the margins. He flashed abirdlike glance up at Jon.

  "Yes, yes, be quick. What is it you want?"

  "You posted a help wanted notice, I--"

  The man cut him off with a wave of his hand. "All right let me see yourID tag ... quickly, there are others waiting."

  Jon thumbed the tag out of his waist slot and handed it across the desk.The interviewer read the code number, then began running his finger downa long list of similar figures. He stopped suddenly and looked sidewaysat Jon from under his lowered lids.

  "You have made a mistake, we have no opening for you."

  Jon began to explain to the man that the notice had requested hisspecialty, but he was waved to silence. As the interviewer handed backthe tag he slipped a card out from under the desk blotter and held it infront of Jon's eyes. He held it there for only an instant, knowing thatthe written message was recorded instantly by the robot's photographicvision and eidetic memory. The card dropped into the ash tray and flaredinto embers at the touch of the man's
pencil-heater.

  Jon stuffed the ID tag back into the slot and read over the message onthe card as he walked down the stairs to the street. There were sixlines of typewritten copy with no signature.

  _To Venex Robot: You are urgently needed on a top secret company project. There are suspected informers in the main office, so you are being hired in this unusual manner. Go at once to 787 Washington Street and ask for Mr. Coleman._

  Jon felt an immense sensation of relief. For a moment there, he was surethe job had been a false lead. He saw nothing unusual in the method ofhiring. The big corporations were immensely jealous of their researchdiscoveries and went to great lengths to keep them secret--at the sametime resorting to any means to ferret out their business rivals'secrets. There might still be a