The Obedient Servant

They quarreled at breakfast. This was not strange because they quarreled often. But it bothered him after he'd called for his car and was on the way to his office, he realized she was the only one left.

The realization came suddenly and now he was frightened—this strange man who needed friends as a spider needs flies—in order to survive. His wealth had drawn them of course; a fact he refused to believe. But even unlimited resources could not hold them and insult and abuse drove them all finally away. Yet he continued to insult and abuse while painfully seeing them leave. Because that was the kind of man he was.

Until now they were all gone, the dear ones, the relatives, even the fawners and he realized in panic that only Dolores was left.

But she will stay. There is no cause to worry. She will stay because she loves me because she married me.

But he was nervous. He knew this quarrel had to be patched up because he had too much at stake. And knowing only one way to patch a quarrel, he frowned and pondered. A gift of course, but what? She had everything. Another diamond necklace? Another ruby ring? Somehow he felt neither would do the trick this time. The quarrel had been very bitter.

Then he remembered and smiled and told his chauffeur, "There is a store I noticed in the International Building. Kamiss and Company. Stop off there...."

He marched into the richly decorated showroom and said, "I'm John Gardner of Gardner Industries. I understand you've got something new."

The clerk almost snapped his spine bowing. John Gardner! Mr. Billions himself! If he could get him on the customer list it would be a tremendous prestige boost. "Indeed we have, sir. I imagine you are referring to our new unit—Domestic Two?"

"I don't know what you call it, but it's the servant-robot you people have spent millions publicizing. Will it actually do what you claim?"

"Oh, yes. Our advertising was underplayed if anything. You see, Mr. Gardner, robots have been found quite satisfactory for assembling work—manufacturing operations and the like, where they functioned as mere automatons."

"I know," Gardner said coldly. "I use seven hundred of them in small-parts assembly."

"But only now has Kamiss been able to individualize the robot and endow it with a real intelligence. The process involved a new sensitizer we developed. This device is motivated by a micro-wave control individualized to the unit itself. The result, Mr. Gardner, is basic intelligence and unswerving devotion. Each unit is—"

"You talk too much," Gardner growled with his usual tact. "Trot one of the things out and let me look it over."

"Certainly sir," and the clerk scurried away, fearful of offending this powerful man.

A few moments later, the drapes parted and a robot walked into the room. Gardner scowled at it. He was disappointed. "Rather tall isn't it?"

The clerk, following close behind the robot, said, "True, but its dimensions are the result of exhaustive scientific research. The height is nine-feet-three and one-quarter inches, the arm-span six-feet-two inches. The body and the appendages are well padded with our new Vino-Live Plasticene—almost a flesh-equivalent. The hands you will note, sir, are absolute masterpieces of human ingenuity. The unit can powder a rock or pick up a pin. Let me demonstrate."

"It's about time," Gardner growled.

The demonstration was spectacular. The robot took a one-inch steel bar in its hands and formed a loop. It threaded an old-fashioned sewing needle, then picked up a fragile vase and moved it tenderly across the room.

The clerk beamed with justifiable pride. "Tell the gentleman your qualifications, Raymond."

The robot looked at Gardner through two blue electronic eyes and said, "I can perform any task a human servant can perform. And I will be more devoted and loyal than a human servant could possibly be. Your commands will be obeyed without question. Your wishes will always be fulfilled to the limit of my power. You and you alone will be my god."

The salesman coughed apologetically. "A little flowery, I'm afraid, but our advertising and sales engineers demanded it."

"Where does the voice come from?"

"Another Kamiss innovation. An ultrasonic selector draws the words from a storage wire attuned to—"

"Enough chatter. I'll take one."

The salesman beamed. "Where would you like it delivered, sir?"

"I'll take it with me. I plan it as a surprise gift for my wife."

The salesman's smile vanished. "Then perhaps you could bring the lady here to our establishment—"

"No," Gardner scowled. "Why should I?"

"As I was endeavoring to explain, sir, the units are, of necessity, completely individualized. The controlling factor is the electronic wavelength of the owner's brain. As you know, the frequency of every human brain varies. No two are alike. That is the key to the whole concept of Domestic Two. We—"

"Will you quit babbling and get to the point!" Gardner bellowed. "Tell me in simple words why I can't take the robot with me!"

"Because, sir," the clerk answered in a frightened voice, "to be of any value to your wife, the unit will have to be keyed to her brain frequency."

Gardner stomped the floor. "Then you've wasted my time. We can't do business. My wife would never come down here."

"But the adjustment takes only a few minutes—"

"We had a quarrel, you fool! She won't even unlock her bedroom door for me. The whole idea of this thing was something to surprise her out of her anger and bring about a reconciliation."

Gardner was striding toward the door. The clerk was frantic. This sale would have got him Company recognition. In desperation, he hurried after Gardner.

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

Gardner turned. "All right—make it."

"It occurred to me that you might have the unit attuned to your own frequency—temporarily, that is. You could present it to the lady, then at her leisure, she could call here and have the frequency changed to correspond to her own."

Gardner scowled. "Well, why didn't you say that in the first place? How long does this adjustment take?"

"Only a few minutes," the clerk, said eagerly. "If you will just step this way, sir. Come Raymond...."

Raymond sat hunched beside the chauffeur who was a trifle nervous. But the chauffeur hid his agitation because John Gardner paid well and had been known to discharge chauffeurs who displeased him and leave them standing on street corners without jobs. Gardner ordered him to turn and go back home. As they rode, Raymond stared straight ahead, a pleasant light glowing in his blue eyes.

When the car stopped under the portico, Gardner said, "Get out and open the door, Raymond."

The robot said, "Yes, master," and obeyed instantly.

The chauffeur, shouldered aside by the robot, looked worried. Gardner noted this and enjoyed adding to the man's discomfort: "Maybe they build one that can drive a car. In that case I won't be needing you much longer."

Inside, the robot gently lifted Gardner's coat from his shoulders, hung it in the closet, then returned to Gardner's side. "Have you any further wishes, Master?"

Aladdin's genie come true, Gardner thought, and amused himself for a few minutes putting the robot through a series of grotesque duties. Amazing! Perhaps he would get one of these units for himself also.

Then he turned his mind to Dolores. She was no doubt still in her room. But this new toy would make her forget their quarrel all right. He visualized her laughing interest. He could already see her clapping her hands like the child she was and rushing into his arms.

Gardner turned to the robot. "Raymond, go up the stairs and knock on the first door to your right. It is your mistress' room. Tell her I'm waiting. Bring her to me."

The robot nodded and Gardner thought a look of adoration glowed in its eyes. It said, "Yes Master," and moved toward the stairs.

Gardner sat down. He smiled to himself, anticipating the reunion. It wasn't every wife whose husband could go out and buy her a thirty-thousand-dollar toy.

There was the crash of rending wood. The sound chilled Gardner, froze him so that the angry scream that followed was anticlimax. But it brought movement back into his legs and he lunged toward the stairs. He bellowed an order.

Too late. The robot was already descending. It carried the dead body of Dolores in its steel arms. Her head hung limply on a horribly twisted neck.

"She refused to come, Master," the robot said.