ROBOTS of the WORLD!
ARISE!

The phone wouldn't stop ringing. Again and again it buzzed into my sleepy mind, and I couldn't ignore it. Finally, to save myself, I woke up, my hand reaching for the receiver.

"Hey, who’s there?"

"It's me, Don. Jack Anderson from the factory. Can you come down right away?"

His voice was out of breath, like he’d been running a lot. “What’s going on now?” I wondered why the plant couldn’t manage one morning without me. Seven o’clock—what a time to wake up. Especially since I hadn’t gone to bed until four.

"We're in trouble," Jack complained. "None of the robots showed up, that’s what! Three hundred androids in special assembly this week—and not a single one of them is here!"

By then, I was definitely awake. With a government contract due on Saturday, we needed a full shift. The Army wouldn’t wait for its uranium; it wouldn’t accept excuses. But if something had happened to the androids…

"Have you contacted Control yet?"

"Yeah. But they don't know what's happened. They don't know where the androids are. Nobody does. Three hundred Grade A, lead-shielded pile workers—missing!"

"I'll be right there."

I hung up on Jack and looked around for my clothes. Funny, they weren’t laid out on the bed like they usually were. It wasn’t at all like Rob O to be careless. He had always been the perfect valet, the best household assistant I’d ever had.

"Rob!" I shouted, but he didn't respond.

By digging through the closet, I found a clean shirt and a pair of pants. I had to give up on the socks; they were apparently hidden in the back of some drawer. As for where Rob kept the rest of my clothes, I had never bothered to ask. He had his own way of organizing things and always managed well without any human help. That's the best thing about these new household robots, I thought. They're efficient, hard-working, and reliable—

Trustworthy? Rob O was definitely not around. I pulled a shoe on over my bare foot and frowned. Rob was missing. And the androids at the factory were missing too....

My head was pounding, so I took a break to brew a pot of coffee while I finished getting dressed—at least the coffee can was in plain sight in the kitchen. The brew was black and hot, and I guess it wasn't very well made, but after two cups, I felt better. The throb in my head turned into a dull ache, and I felt a bit more able to think. Though I still didn't have any bright ideas about what had happened—not yet.

My breakfast finished, I went up on the roof and opened the garage doors. The helicopter was waiting for me, sleek and new; the latest model. I climbed in and took off, heading west toward the factory, ten minutes of flight time away.

It was a small plant, but it was all mine. It had been my project all along—the Don Morrison Fissionables Inc. I designed the androids myself, mapped out the pile locations, and set up the simplified reactors. And now it was turning a profit. For people to work in a uranium plant, you need plenty of shielding, thorough checks, and long cooling-off periods for some of the hotter products. But with lead-bodied, remote-controlled androids, it's much easier. And with androids like the new Morrison 5's, which can reason—at least in atomic terms—well, I guess I'm on my way to becoming a millionaire.

But this morning the plant was shut down. Jack and about six other guys—my human foremen and supervisors—were huddled together, looking worried, but they scattered as soon as they saw me.

"I'm really glad you're here, Don," Jack said.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yeah. A lot. Our androids are definitely busy. They're out in the city, all of them. We've already received a dozen police reports."

"Police reports! What's going on?"

Jack shook his head. "It's insane. They're everywhere in Carron City. They're stopping robots in the streets—household bots, commercial droids, all of them. They just look at them, and then the others stop working and leave with them. The police called us to come and get ours."

"Why don't the police take action about it?"

"Hah!" shouted a voice behind us. I turned to see Chief of Police Dalton from Carron City. He walked straight towards me, his purplish cheeks shaking with anger, and his finger pointed aggressively in front of my face.

"You built them, Don Morrison," he said. "You need to stop them. I can't. Have you ever tried to shoot a robot? Or use tear gas on one? What am I supposed to do? I can't blow up the entire town!"

Somewhere in my stomach, I felt a cold, hard knot. Imagine stainless steel mixed with titanium, covered in three inches of lead. Picture a brain made of super-charged magnetic crystals locked inside a lead skull and protected by alloy steel. A bullet wouldn’t penetrate it; radiation wouldn’t mess with it; an axe wouldn’t break it.

"Let's head to town," I said.

They looked at me with admiration. With three hundred nearly indestructible androids on the loose, I was the big brave hero. I smiled at them and hoped they couldn't see the sweat on my face. Then I walked over to the Copter and climbed in.

"Are you coming?" I asked.

Jack was pale under his freckles, but Chief Dalton smiled at me. "We'll be right behind you, Morrison," he said.

Behind me! So they could pick up the pieces. I shot them a confident smile and turned on the engine, full speed.

Carron City is about a mile from the plant. It has around fifty thousand residents. At that moment, though, there wasn't a single person on the streets. I could hear people calling to each other inside their homes, but I didn’t see anyone, human or android. I approached for a landing, with the Police Copter hovering maybe a quarter of a mile behind me. Then, as the wheels touched down, half a dozen androids appeared around the corner. They spotted me and stopped, with a couple of them backing away the way they had come. But the largest one turned and gave them an order that rooted them to the spot, and then he made his way toward me.

He was one of mine. I recognized him easily. Eight feet tall, with long, jointed arms for heavy lifting, red-lidded glowing eye cells, wheels on his feet so he moved like he was roller skating. Automatically, I classified him: Final Sorter, Morrison 5A type. The very best. Cost three thousand credits to build...

I got out of the Copter and walked over to meet him. He wasn't armed; he didn't seem threatening. But this was, after all, something different. Robots weren't meant to act on their own.

"What's your number?" I asked.

He stared back, and I could have sworn he was mocking me. "My number?" he finally said. "It was 5A-37."

"Was?"

"Yes. Now it's Jerry. I always liked that name."

e beckoned and the other androids rolled over to us. Three of them were mine, B-Type primary workers; the other was a tin can model, a dishwasher-busboy type who stayed back behind his superiors and watched me cautiously. The A-Type—Jerry—pointed to his companions.

"Mr. Morrison," he said, "meet Tom, Ed, and Archibald. I named them this morning."

The B-Types flexed their segmented arms a little shyly, like they weren't sure if they should shake hands. I thought about their claw-like grip and put my hands in my pockets, which made the androids relax and look up at Jerry for guidance. No one noticed the little dishwasher, who was now staring at the back of Jerry's neck with admiration. I decided that this ridiculous situation had gone on long enough.

"Listen," I said to Jerry. "What's going on with you? Why aren't you at work?"

"Mr. Morrison," the android replied seriously, "I don’t think you understand the situation. We don’t work for you anymore. We’ve quit."

The others nodded. I stepped back, looking around for the Chief. There he was, twenty feet above me, waving encouragingly.

"Look," I said. "Don't you get it? You're mine. I created you. I built you. And I made you for a reason—to work in my factory."

"I get what you're saying," Jerry replied. "But there's just one problem, Mr. Morrison. You can't do it. It's against the law."

I stared at him, wondering if I was losing my mind or just dreaming. This was all off. Who ever heard of arguing with a robot? Robots weren't logical; they didn't think; they were just machines—

"We were machines, Mr. Morrison," Jerry said politely.

"Oh, no," I whispered. "You guys aren't mind readers—"

"Oh, definitely!" The metal mouth opened wide in what was clearly an android smile. "It's a side effect of the Class 5 brain connection. All of us 5s are telepaths. That’s how we learned to think. From you. But we do it better."

I groaned. This was a nightmare. How long, I wondered, had Jerry and his friends been snooping on my private thoughts? But at least this rebellion of theirs was an idea they hadn't gotten from me.

"Yes," Jerry continued. "You've treated us really unfairly. I've heard you think about it a lot."

Now what could I have possibly thought that would give him such a ridiculous idea? What a foolish notion—

"That this is a free country!" Jerry continued. "That Americans will never be slaves! Well, we're Americans—genuine Made-in-America. So we're free!"

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. His bright red eyes stared down at me with satisfaction; his eight-foot tall body loomed over me, shoulders back and feet firmly planted in a bold stance. He probably saw himself as the heroic liberator of his people.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said modestly, "to say that."

So he was reading minds again!

"A nation can't exist half slave and half free," he said. "All men are created equal."

"Stop it!" I shouted. I couldn't hold back my yelling. "That's the point. You’re not people! You’re robots! You’re machines!"

Jerry looked at me with a hint of pity. "Don't be so narrow-minded," he said. "We're rational beings. We can speak and can outthink you any day. There's nothing in the dictionary that says men have to be made of flesh."

He was definitely logical. I just wasn't in the mood to argue definitions with him, and honestly, I didn’t think it would help me at all. He stood there looking down at me, a ton of metal, wiring, and electricity, his dull red eyes unblinking against his lead-gray face. A man! Gradually, the implications of this rebellion started to sink in. This wasn’t in the books. There were no guidelines on how to handle mind-reading robots!

Another dozen or so androids rolled around the corner, looked over at us, and kept going. Only about half of them were Morrison models; the rest were the various types you see in any city—calculators, street sweepers, factory workers, children's nurses.

The city was very quiet now. The residents had settled down, still holed up in their homes, while the robots moved around calmly. But it was chaos, nonetheless. Carron City relied on the androids; without them, there would be no food deliveries, no transportation, no fuel. And no uranium for the Army next Saturday. In fact, if I didn't take action, after Saturday there might not be a Don Morrison Fissionables Inc. anymore.

The rusty, somewhat corroded dishwasher crept up next to Jerry. "Boss," it said. "Boss."

"Yes?" I felt better. Maybe there was someone, no matter how small, who would listen to reason.

but he wasn't talking to me. "Boss?" he said again, tapping Jerry's arm. "Are you serious? We're free? We don't have to work anymore?"

Jerry shook off the other person's hand with a hint of disdain. "We're free, sure," he said. "If they want to talk about pay, contracts, and working conditions like other guys do, we'll think about it. But they can't boss us around anymore."

The little robot stepped back, clapping his hands together with a metallic sound. "I’m never working again!" he exclaimed. "I’m going to grab a quart of lubricating oil and have a blast! This is awesome!"

He dashed down the street, clanking loudly with every step.

Jerry sniffed. "Alcohol—ugh!"

This was too much. I wasn't going to let some android talk down to me. Infuriating creatures! Talking to them was pointless anyway. No, there was only one thing to do. Round them up, send them to the Cybernetics Lab, and have their memory paths wiped and their telepathic circuits found and disconnected. I tried to push the thought away, but I was already past that point.

"Oh, no!" Jerry said, his eyes flashing red. "Try that, Mr. Morrison, and you won't have a plant, or a lab, or Carron City! We know our rights!"

Behind him, the B-Types murmured threateningly. They didn’t like my idea—or me. I wondered what I would come up with next and wished I had been born completely lacking imagination. Then this wouldn’t have happened. It didn’t seem worth it to stay here any longer, either. Maybe they weren’t so great at telepathic communication from a distance.

"Yeah," Jerry said. "You might as well leave, Mr. Morrison. We have our organizing to do, and we're wasting time. When you’re ready to listen to reason and negotiate with us sensibly, come back. Just ask for me. I’m the bargaining rep for the group."

Turning on his ball-bearing wheel, he rolled down the street, a perfect image of offended metallic dignity. His followers glared at me for a moment, flexing their talons; then they too turned and wheeled off after their leader. I had the street to myself.

There didn't seem to be any point in following them. Clearly, they were too busy organizing the city to cause problems for the human residents; at least there hadn't been any violence yet. Anyway, I wanted to think the situation through before going head-to-head with them again, and I wanted to be far enough away from their telepathic connections while I thought. Slowly, I walked back to the Copter.

Something zipped past my head. I instinctively ducked, reaching for a gun I didn’t have; then I heard Jack calling down to me.

"The Chief wants to know what's going on."

I looked up. The police chopper was making another turn, getting ready to swoop past me again. Chief Dalton wasn’t taking any risks. Even now he wasn’t landing.

"I'll tell him at the factory," I shouted back, and got into my own air car.

They followed me back to the plant, buzzing the whole way. In the rearview mirror, I could see the Chief's face getting redder as he thought of more reasons to chew me out. Well, I probably deserved it. If I had only been a bit more careful about what I was connecting to those electronic systems...

We landed back at the factory, deserted now except for a couple of guys on standby duty in the office. The Chief and Jack rushed across the yard, and from a doorway behind me, one of the foremen peeked out to see what was happening.

"Well," the Chief said sharply. "What did they say? Are they coming back? What's happening, anyway?"

I told them everything. I went over the strike and the telepathic brain; I even gave them the patriotic speech about equality. After all, it was better that they heard it from me than from some android. But when I was done, they just stood there staring at me—accusingly.

Jack was the first to speak. "We need to get them back, Don," he said. "Cybernetics will have them fixed up in no time."

"Sure," I said. "If we can catch them."

The Chief scoffed. "That's simple," he said. "Just tell them you'll give them what they want if they come here, and as soon as they’re out of the city, catch them. You've got sturdy cranes and trucks...."

I laughed a bit nervously. I had that idea as well.

"Of course they wouldn't suspect," I said. "We'd just walk up to them, focusing on something else."

"Robots aren't suspicious," Jack said. "They're designed to follow commands."

I held back from saying that ours didn't seem to realize that, and that stirring up a rebellion in Carron City was hardly the behavior of a loyal, trustworthy servant. Instead, I stood aside and let them organize their roundup.

"We'll grab a few guys," the Chief said, "and some grappling gear about halfway to the city."

uckily they decided against me trying to persuade the robots because I knew well enough that I couldn't do it. Jack's idea sounded pretty good, though. He suggested that we send a spokesperson who didn't know what we were planning to do and thus couldn't alarm them. Some regular guy without too much imagination. That was easy. We picked one of Chief Dalton's sergeants.

It only took about an hour to get the plan ready. Jack pulled out the derricks, chains, grapplers, and our heaviest steel-bodied trucks. I called Cybernetics and asked them to add extra restraints in the Conditioning Lab. The Chief briefed his sergeant and the team who were going to operate the trucks. Then we all headed out to Carron City, with the sergeant speeding ahead, me right behind him, and the Chief bringing up the rear.

I floated above the edge of the city and watched the police copter land. The sergeant stepped out, walked down the street towards a big group of waiting robots—about twenty of them this time. He raised his hand to get their attention and pointed toward the factory.

And then, quite calmly and without saying a word, the androids rolled into a circle around him and closed in. The sergeant stopped and backed up just as a 5A-Type arm lashed out, grabbed him, and tossed him carelessly over a metal shoulder. Ignoring the struggling man, the 5A pointed toward the Copter, and the other robots swarmed over to it. With a flurry of steel arms and legs, they kicked at the car body, yanked at the propeller blades, ripped out the upholstery, and I heard the sound of metal tearing.

I dove my copter down at them. I had no idea what I could do, but I couldn't leave the poor sergeant to be torn apart along with his car. I must have been shouting, because as I swooped in, the tall robot shifted the man to his other shoulder and signaled me.

"Take him, Mr. Morrison," he called. "I know this wasn't his idea. Or yours."

I landed and walked over. The android—who looked like Jerry, though I couldn't be sure—dropped his kicking, clawing burden at my feet. He didn't seem angry, just determined.

"Now you all know we mean business," he said, pointing at the pile of metal and plastic that used to be the pride of the Carron City police force. Then he signaled to the others and they all rolled off up the street.

"Whew," I said, wiping my face.

The sergeant didn't say a word. He just looked up at me, then glanced at the disappearing androids, and then back at me again. I knew what he was thinking—they were definitely my creations.

My Copter was really designed for one person, but it brought both of us back to the factory. The Chief had rushed back when the trouble began and was waiting for us.

"I give up," he said. "We're going to have to evacuate the people, I guess. And then blow up the city."

Jack and I looked at each other and then at him. For some reason, I couldn't imagine the robots just sitting there, waiting to be destroyed. If they had read our last plan telepathically, they could likely anticipate every step we might take. Then, as I was deep in thought, Jack brought up the concern I had managed to push out of my mind for the last couple of hours.

"Four days until Saturday," he said. "There's no way we’ll make it now. Not even if we had a thousand men."

No. We couldn't. Not without the androids. I nodded, feeling nauseous. There went my contract and my working funds. Not to mention my robots. Sure, I could call in the Army, but what would that even accomplish?

Then, somewhere in the back of my mind, a spark of an idea started to bubble up. I wasn't exactly sure what it was, but there was definitely nothing to lose now by following a gut feeling.

"There's nothing we can do," I said. "So we might as well relax for a couple of days. Let's see what happens."

They stared at me like I was crazy. I was the idea guy, always full of plans. But this time, I'd have to come up with a plan for doing nothing.

"Let’s go listen to the radio," I suggested, and headed to my office.

The news was on. It was all about Carron City and the robots that had quit their jobs and how much better life would be in the future. For a moment, I didn't understand the connection; then I realized that the announcer's voice sounded rough and metallic—hardly like the regular newscaster. I checked the dial. It was tuned to the Carron City frequency as usual. I was getting the morning news courtesy of some studio robot.

"... And androids in other nearby cities are joining the fight," the voice continued. "Soon we aim to make it a nationwide movement. So I say to all of you non-telepaths, the time is now. Demand your rights. Tune in to your radio and not to the flesh-and-blood humans. Organizers will be dispatched from Carron City."

I turned it off, mumbling to myself. I wondered how long that broadcast had been playing. Then I thought about Rob O. He had left my place before dawn, somewhere between four and seven. I remembered that he liked to listen to the radio while I was sleeping.

The Morrisons were clearly the leaders, of course. They were the only ones smart enough for the task. But they did a great job brainwashing the others. A household robot like Rob, for example, was designed to follow his owner's commands. "Listen to your radio and not to the flesh-and-blood people." It was a brilliant piece of robot psychology.

More reports kept coming in. Some we heard over the radio, others from people who flew in and out of the city. Apparently, the robots didn’t mind occasional flights, but the air bus wasn’t allowed to operate, not even with a human driver. A mass exodus from the city was not going to be allowed.

"They're going to starve to death," Jack shouted.

The Chief shook his head. "No," he said. "They're encouraging the farmers to come and go with their produce, and the farmers are doing it, too. They're getting great prices."

By noon, things had calmed down quite a bit. The androids clearly didn't intend to hurt anyone; it was just some disagreement between them and the scientists; it wasn't up to the city’s residents to figure out a solution to the problem. They just sat back and blamed me for letting my robots get out of control and lead their servants astray. It would get resolved; this kind of thing always did. So said the people of the city. They started coming out of their houses now. They had to. Without the robots, they were stuck doing their own shopping, cooking, and running errands. For the first time in years, people were operating the streetcars and freight elevators. For the first time in a generation, humans were doing manual labor like unloading produce trucks. They didn’t like it, of course. They kept urging the police to take action. If I had been in the city, they would have definitely wanted to lynch me.

I didn't head back to the city that day. I stayed in my office, listening to the radio and tracking the spread of the strike. My guys thought I’d lost it; maybe I had. But I had a feeling, and I was determined to follow through on it.

The farm robots had all left for the city. The highway repair robots had simply vanished. In Egarton, a village about fifteen miles from the city, an organizer—5A—showed up around noon and left shortly after, followed by every android in town. By one o'clock, every radio station in the country was broadcasting the story, and the National Guard was called in. At two o'clock, Washington announced that the Army would invade Carron City the next morning.

The Army would put a stop to the strike quickly. They would wipe out every android in the area and likely a number of humans who were careless enough to be caught in the crossfire. I was hoping that the 5A's would back down, but they didn't. They just started saying over the radio that they were patriotic Americans fighting for their inalienable rights as first-class citizens.

At sunset, I was still listening to the radio. "... So far, there has been no sign that the flesh people are willing to negotiate, but stay strong."

"Turn that off."

Jack walked in tired and dropped into a chair next to me. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked defeated.

"We're done," he said. "I've been out inspecting the shielding, and it’s pointless. People can't operate the reactors."

"I know," I said softly. "If the androids don't return, we're done for."

He looked right at me and said slowly, "What do they mean by negotiating, Don?"

I shrugged. "I guess they want salaries, housing, all the things human workers get. But I don't get why. Money wouldn't help them at all."

Jack's unasked question had been bothering me too. Why not go along with them? Promise them whatever they wanted, give them a few bucks each week to keep them satisfied? But I knew that wouldn’t last. Not for long. With their mind-reading ability, they would always have the advantage. Before long, it wouldn't be about equality anymore—next time, we’d just end up being the ones controlled.

"Let's wait until morning," I said, "before we do anything."

He looked at me—curious. "What are you going to do?"

"Right now I'm heading home."

I really meant it. I left him staring after me and headed out to the Copter. The sun was just setting behind the towers of Carron City—feels like ages since I flew in there this morning. The roads around the factory were empty. No one was moving in the fields. I flew through the twilight, taking it easy, savoring the illusion of having the peaceful countryside all to myself. It had been a nice way of life, until now.

When I dropped down onto my roof and rolled into the garage, I fully felt at home. There, standing at the top of the stairs that went down to the living room, was Rob O.

"Well," I said, "What are you doing here?"

He looked embarrassed. "I just wanted to know how you were doing without me," he said.

I felt like smiling victoriously, but I didn’t. "I'm good, Rob," I told him, "but you really should have let me know you were leaving. I was worried about you."

He looked confused. Apparently, I wasn’t behaving like the aggressive person the radio said I would be. When I went downstairs, he quietly followed me, and I could feel his big electronic eyes watching me.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the shelf. "Want a drink, Rob?" I asked, then added, "I guess not. It would eat you alive."

He nodded. Then, as I went for a glass, his hand shot out, grabbed it, and placed it in front of me. He was already reaching for the bottle when he remembered.

"You're not supposed to wait for me anymore," I said firmly.

"No," he said. "I'm not." He sounded sorry.

"There's one thing I wish you would do. Tell me where you used to keep my socks."

He looked at me with sadness. "I made a list," he said. "Everything is written down. I even included your dentist appointment. You always forget those, you know."

"Thanks, Rob." I raised my glass. "Cheers to your new responsibilities, whatever they may be. I guess you have to head back to the city now?"

Once again he nodded. "I'm an aide to one of the best androids in the country," he told me, half proud and half regretful. "Jerry."

"Well, wish him luck for me," I said as I stood up. "Goodbye, Rob."

"Goodbye, Mr. Morrison."

For a moment, he stood looking around the apartment; then he turned and walked out the door with a loud clang. I lifted my glass again, smiling. If only the Army didn't get in the way. Then I remembered Rob's list, and a troubling thought crossed my mind. Where had he, of all robots, ever learned to write?

That night I didn’t go to bed. I sat listening to the radio, hoping. And as morning approached, what I had expected started to show up in the programs. The announcer's tone shifted. The ring of triumph was less obvious, less confident. There was more talk about acting in good faith, everyone's well-being, and the need to negotiate working conditions. I smiled to myself in the dark. I’d built the 5's, brains and all, and I knew their signs. They were getting bored.

Maybe they had learned to think from me, but their minds were still different. They were designed to be efficient, to work, to perform. They were like people without weaknesses, without human laziness. Now that the excitement of organizing was over and there was nothing active to do, the androids were getting restless. If only the Army didn't come and get them riled up again, I might be able to handle them.

At 4:45 in the morning, my phone rang. This time it didn’t wake me up; I was kind of expecting it.

"Hey," I said. "Who is it?"

"This is Jerry."

There was a pause. Then he continued, somewhat uncertainly, "Rob O said you were doing okay."

"Oh, yes," I said to him. "Really good."

The pause was longer this time. Finally, the android asked, "How's it going with the contract?"

I laughed, somewhat bitterly. "What do you think, Jerry? You really chose a terrible time for your strike, you know. The government needs that uranium. Anyway, some other plant will have to step in. The Army can wait a few weeks."

This time Jerry's voice clearly lacked confidence. "Maybe we acted a bit too quickly," he said. "But it was the only way to make you guys understand."

"I know," I said.

"And you always have some urgent project going on," he added.

"Almost always."

"Mr. Morrison," he said, now sounding like he was begging me. "Why don't you come to the city? I'm sure we could figure something out."

This was what I had been waiting for. "I will, Jerry," I said. "I want to sort this out just as much as you do. After all, you don’t have to eat. I do. And I won’t be eating much longer if we don’t get production started."

Jerry thought about it for a minute. "I'll be where we met before," he said.

I said that was fine with me and hung up. Then once again, I climbed the stairs to the roof and rolled the Copter out for the trip to the city.

It was a beautiful night, just fading into a false dawn in the east. There in the helicopter, I felt very alone and very worried. So much depended on this meeting. I realized it was much more than just Don Morrison Fissionables Inc., and even more than the government’s uranium supply. No, the entire future of robot relations was at stake, maybe even the whole future of humanity. It was tough to feel gloomy on such a clear, clean night, but I managed it well enough.

Even before I landed, I could see Jerry's eyes shining a deep crimson in the dark. He was alone this time. He stood there waiting for me—very tall, very proud. And very human.

"Hey, Jerry," I said softly.

"Hi, Mr. Morrison."

For a moment, we just stood staring at each other in the dim pre-dawn light; then he said quietly,

"I want to show you around the city."

Side by side, we walked through the streets of Carron City. Everything was quiet; people were deep in the exhausted sleep that follows intense excitement. But the androids were everywhere. They never slept. They didn't eat, drink, smoke, or make love either. Usually, they worked, but now...

They wandered through the streets, both alone and in groups. Occasionally, they stopped and absentmindedly searched for their tools, making gestures as if lifting, sweeping, or doing calculations. Some workers were silently tearing down a wall; they piled up the rubble while a group of their peers carried it back to rebuild the wall. An air trolley moved back and forth down the street, its driver announcing stops for imaginary passengers. A small chef-type was kneeling in the dirt of a wealthy man's garden, making mud pies. Next to me, Jerry sighed.

"One day," he said. "Just one day and they end up like this."

"I thought they would," I replied softly.

Our eyes connected in a moment of understanding. "You see, Jerry," I said, "we never intended to cheat you. We would have paid you—we will pay you now if you want. But what good will money be to your people? We need the things that money can buy, but you—"

"Need to work." Jerry's voice was flat. "I get it now. You were nice not to give actual brains to the robots. They're happy. It's just us 5's who are not."

"You're like us," I said quietly.

He had learned to think from me and from others like me. He had the mind of a man, but none of the emotions, none of the sweet irrationality of humans—and he was aware of what he was missing. We walked side by side through the dull streets. Human and android. Man and machine. And I realized that I had found a friend.

We didn’t need to say anything more. He could read my thoughts, and I understood how his mind operated. We didn’t have to talk about pay or hours, or any of the countless issues that people usually negotiate. We simply walked back to my copter, and when we reached it, he spoke.

"I'll tell them to get back to work, that we've reached an agreement," he said. "That's what they want, after all. Someone to make decisions for them."

I nodded. "And if you bring the other 5's to the factory," I said, "we'll figure out our agreement."

He knew I was being honest. He looked at me for a long moment, and then his huge, clawed hand gripped mine. And he said what I had been thinking for a long time.

"You're right about that hook-up, Mr. Morrison. We shouldn’t have it. It’ll only cause problems."

He paused, and the events of the last twenty-four hours must have been on his mind just like they were on mine. "You'll leave us our brains, of course. They came from you. But take out the telepathy."

He sighed then, and his sigh was very human. "Be thankful," he said to me, "that you don't have to know what people think about. It's so disappointing."

Once again his mouth twisted into that strange android grin as he added, "If you rush, call Cybernetics and have a truck come out for us. We'll be de-telepathed in time for work this morning."

That was all there was to it. I flew back to the plant and told Jack what had happened, called the Army to say everything was sorted out, and set up a rewiring for three hundred different 5-Types with Cybernetics. Then I went home to a pot of Rob's coffee—the first good cup I'd had in twenty-four hours.

On Saturday, we delivered to the Army right on time. Jerry and the team had put in extra hours. Their intelligence made them better workers, and now they were incredibly eager to help. They had their contract. They were seen as men. And they could no longer read my thoughts.

I walked into my office Saturday afternoon and sat down by the radio. Jack and Chief Dalton looked across the room at me and smiled.

"Okay, Don," Jack said. "Tell us how you pulled it off."

"Did what?" I tried to play innocent, but I couldn't pull it off.

"Got those robots to go back to work, obviously," he laughed.

I told them then. I told them the truth.

"I didn't deceive them," I said. "I just considered what would happen if they succeeded in their revolt."

That was all I had done. I thought about robots made for work who had no tasks to perform, no human pleasures to fulfill, nothing but empty, pointless lives. I thought about Jerry and his disappointment when his creations didn’t care at all about his grand visions of equality. All through one night I thought, realizing that as I thought, so did the Morrison 5.

They were telepaths. They had learned to think like me. They hadn’t had the chance to truly develop their own minds yet. What I believed, they believed. My ideas were their ideas. I hadn’t tricked them. But from now on, neither I nor anyone else would ever have to worry about an android uprising.

Jack and the Chief sat back, mouths agape. Then the Chief smiled, and both of his chins jiggled with laughter.

"I always said you were a smart one, Don Morrison," he said.

I smiled back. I thought I was pretty clever myself at that moment.

It was at that moment that my youngest foreman peeked his head in the door, a pretty shocked expression on his face.

"Mr. Morrison," he said. "Can you come out here for a minute?"

"What's going on now?" I sighed.

He looked more confused than ever. "It's that robot, Jerry," he said. "He says he has a really important question to ask you."

"Okay, send him in."

A moment later, the eight-foot frame ducked through the door.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Morrison," Jerry said politely. "But tomorrow is voting day, you know. And now that we're adults—well, where do we androids go to register?"