by Eando Binder
Her arm slipped about my shoulders, where the plastic-padding was thin. “Mm, hard as nails, aren’t you? And you feel cold. You need some warming up—”
Her face came closer, lips puckered. I’m afraid my reaction was rather abrupt. She could not press her lips against my artificial ones! I pushed her off, almost violently.
“Say, you—” fury blazed from her eyes, as she nearly fell to the floor. “I’ll have you know I’m a lady.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, aware she must be pacified. “I don’t feel well. Here, have my drink.”
I had been contemplating tossing it on the floor anyway. She downed it in a gulp, smiled, and edged back toward me.
“Get going,” I muttered, remembering a man had used that expression before to one of the girls he apparently didn’t like.
“Okay, okay—” And she moved off, curling her lip.
The whole episode amused me, as I think it must you too.
CHAPTER 12
The Big Clue
I left the place hours later without the slightest clue of any sort. The other two places Jack had mentioned were similar. I haunted them night after night, desperately. In the daytime, I stayed at Jack’s apartment, not willing to risk my disguise against daylight. I began to despair. A precious week had slipped by.
I contacted Eve with radio-telepathy every day, too, but only for a few seconds. The current used up could not be spared too freely. I had a two-week battery within me, and could not replace it except by scraping away my chest-plastic. That would waste time.
Jack and Kay touched me up at times, keeping up my near-human disguise. They had plastic ready, at their place, in case some of mine came off.
One short week left…
And then one night my brain leaped.
I was in one of the pleasure-dives, playing poker with four men. I played for the reason that sitting night after night alone pointed a conspicuous finger at me. Also, I must confess, I had enjoyed the game when playing with Jack and his friends at one time. Periodically I pulled out my loudly-ticking watch, so that they would mistake its noise for my internal sounds. I watched them closely. They never suspected.
The man across eyed my perfect “poker” face uncertainly, shuffling his hand. “You bluffing again?” he suggested. My reaction was a complete blank. “Nope,” he finally decided. “Ain’t worth five bucks to me. You got my straight beat or you wouldn’t have raised me twice.” He threw down his cards.
I quietly slipped my king-ten-seven-four-deuce into the deck and raked in the pot. More chips were stacked before me than the others had together.
“You play a mean game, Pete. You sit there like a mummy. You don’t even move your eyes. You really concentrate.”
I laughed within myself. If they had only known that little more than one-tenth of my brain was on this trivial game. All the while, my full mental powers were concentrated on scanning the room and tuning in methodically from conversation to conversation. I focused on two men hunched over a table, heads together, across the room.
“The orders from the Boss is to lay low, see?” one man murmured. “After that metal dame gets the works, we can go to town again.”
Senseless talk, like all the rest.
“Cut?” The game again, demanding one-tenth of my attention.
I cut with my big hand. I was about to eavesdrop elsewhere, in the meantime, when it leaped out at me—metal dame. I had caught on to some of the twisted slang in use, in the past week.
Metal dame meant Eve.
It was my first lead.
I didn’t move. I didn’t give the slightest sign that I was straining to hear more. The two men were fifty feet away. Between was a confused babble and clinking of glasses. It was all my sharp, selective tympanums could do to separate their whispers from the extraneous noise.
“Who’s on the job?” asked the other man.
“You in, Pete?”—the card game again—“How many cards?” I tossed in a chip and threw one card away. I had four sevens.
Names were mentioned, in a guarded whisper fifty feet away, that no human ear could have heard from five feet. “They’re meeting at the warehouse, near Larkin’s, tomorrow night. But we don’t go, the Boss says. We—”
“Two to stay in, Pete. You raise two? Raise you two. You’re bluffing, this time. You drew one to a full-house, but I’ve got aces up. Two to you.”
“—lay low. Let the metal dame burn for you and me, first.”
“Okay. I’m going; get some shut-eye.”
“Me, too.”
“What you got, Pete? Fours! Damn it, you ain’t human.” Instead of gathering in the pot, I shoved all my winnings away. “Divide it up, boys,” I said rising. My eye was on the two men weaving their way to the door. The two murderers in whose place Eve was to be sentenced to the electric chair.
I moved too fast, however, in my eagerness. I bumped against a heavy-set man just passing our table. He staggered back, then straightened, glaring at me.
“Watch who you’re bumping, you clumsy bum,” he roared. “I’ll teach you—”
“It’s Slug O’Leary,” gasped a voice. “He’ll kill the poor guy—” Meaning me.
He came at me with swinging arms, obviously short-tempered. He was a giant of a man, solidly built, with arms thick as posts. His fist came straight for my head. He met nothing.
I had dodged, with a swiftness given me by reflexes triggered with speedy electrons. Recovering his balance, bellowing in rage, he swung three more times in split-seconds. Unfulfilled blows that would have knocked any human out. Or would have broken his arm if they had touched me. My head weaved aside, easily avoiding the haymakers.
The semi-circle of watchers who had quickly bunched around us stared in disbelief. They had never seen anyone dodge that fast. Humiliated, Slug O’Leary came at me with new tactics, extending his great arms for a bear-hug. He tugged, expecting to lift me off the floor and fling me down bodily. I wonder what he thought as my 500 pounds remained glued to the floor.
He tugged again, mightily, his face red with strain and fury.
I felt a little of my plastic, in back, give way. To break his hold before further damage, I hugged him in turn. I squeezed slightly. His breath went out in a gust. One of his ribs cracked a little. I let loose then and he staggered back, amazed.
Amazed, but not beaten. I was forced to admire his courage as he caught his breath, growled like a wounded bear, and plunged again. I could not risk another encounter. He might tear away part of my disguise. I had to get rid of him and follow my quarry.
I would have to hit him, although I had never, in my two years of life, struck a person before. It had been my steadfast resolve never to use brute power to gain my ends, and thus label the intelligent robot as a monster to be feared.
But now I had to, for the sake of Eve.
My arm came out. I pulled the punch as much as I could, knowing too well of the levered power behind it. It landed squarely on his chin, with a sharp crack. Slug O’Leary’s knees bent and he slumped to the floor without a sound.
“Knocked cold,” said an awed voice from the crowd. “First time I saw Slug get it.”
I stared down at the fallen man. Within me for a moment I was—well sick. I had struck a human being. I wonder if you humans consider that as utterly repulsive and degrading as I did, using the methods of the beast.
The ring of watchers cheered. Hero of the moment, they crowded around me, slapping my back. Stinging their bands, undoubtedly, and marveling at my hard “muscle.” I groaned within. I almost bellowed for them to get out of my way. I wanted nothing of their stupid acclaim. I wanted only to get out, after the two men. They were gone already. But I couldn’t get through that press of crowd without using rough methods.
My plastic wouldn’t stand rough handling. And another display of my strength would brand me for what I was.
Something warned me not to risk it. Adam Link, detective, must not yet be exposed. I allowed my card-playing frien
ds to hustle me to the bar, and a drink was placed before me.
“I really have to go—” I mumbled.
“Aw, you’ve got time for one drink at least,” one insisted. “Pete, old boy, you’re a grand guy. Look, he ain’t even breathing heavy. Grand guy—”
I basked in that for a moment. Somehow, it felt good to be treated like a human, even by these rough-cut creatures. Perhaps my first judgment of their kind was too harsh.
“Come on, drink up.” Glasses were raised—to me.
It was the only way. I tossed the liquid between my plastic lips. I felt it trickle past my metal larynx. Stupidly, I had not foreseen such a circumstance. And now I felt the liquid begin to drop down upon exposed wires.
Hastily I mumbled excuses and turned away. By their conventions, I was now free to go. Slug O’Leary came toward me near the door. They had dashed water in his face, bringing him around, apparently none the worse for the blow. I tensed. Would I never get out?
He stuck out his hand, grinning. “Pal, you’re the first man has licked me in five years. Shake.”
Outside the place at last, I felt a peculiar glow within me. But not only from that gesture. The drink had now trickled down on wires, creating a short. As I stepped down the street, I was weaving. It is amusing, even to me, to think that one drink has far more “kick” for me than for any human. The short had upset my electrical spirit-level system that keeps my balance.
“Drunk as a Lord,” commented a man to his companion as they passed.
It was a new sensation to me, vaguely pleasurable. But sharp warning clicked in my brain. I hurried. I went down alleys wherever I could, breaking into a staggering run. I reached Jack’s apartment and collapsed on his doorstep.
“Quick!” I was barely able to mutter. “Disconnect me for an hour—”
When they reconnected me, the liquid had evaporated and I was myself. I told my story.
“Those were the two ‘trigger’ men, then,” Jack said. “Though they varied it with metal clubs that night, to involve Eve. You didn’t get their names? You’ll have to go back and wait for them to show up again.”
I pondered. “If I do, and trail them, will it lead to the man who gave them orders?” I asked.
“The Big Boss?” Jack shook his head. “No. He told them to lay low—which means to keep away from him. The best we can do is identify the two killers and let Tom fight it out in court.”
“I’ll prove in court,” said Tom “that the metal filings weren’t from Eve’s body. Then I’ll indict the two killers.”
“But in the meantime,” I said slowly, “The man really responsible—the Big Boss—goes free?”
Jack pounded his fist into his other palm. “I just wish we could get him. He’s the mainspring of the most vicious, powerful crime ring in this city. But it’s out of the question—”
“Is it?” My thoughts were clashing, grinding. The actual killers caught; Eve freed, perhaps—but the brain who had played with them all as pawns would be untouched, unpunished.
“Where is that warehouse, near Larkin’s?” I said. “I’m going there tomorrow night.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Jack retorted. “Waste of precious time. No one can uncover that ring in one short week.”
“Not even Adam Link, detective?” I said.
The next night, following Jack’s instructions, I headed for the warehouse district, near the criminal quarter. There was a dive called “Larkin’s Pleasure Palace.” Back of it, as Jack had said, loomed a huge dark warehouse. In there, four men were meeting, part of the Big Boss’s crime ring. I could not find a way in from the street level. I saw the first level of a fire-escape, ladder pulled up. Flexing my legs, I leaped straight up ten feet, catching a metal bar and swinging myself onto the first landing. I made no noise. I weigh 500 pounds, but I have more timing and absolute control over motion than any circus acrobat. I say these things without false modesty. They are facts.
I clambered up the fire escape quietly, and found an open skylight on the roof. From there I took a running broad-jump of some thirty feet to a flat metal beam running across the warehouse’s interior. Here I perched silently, listening.
I heard the low murmur of voices a hundred feet away, from behind boxes stacked to the roof. I dropped to the floor into a pile of excelsior. It deadened my landing to a low thud. I crouched, listening, but they hadn’t heard. I made my way—tiptoed, you might say—to a position behind the rampart of boxes. From behind I could distinguish their words clearly.
They seemed to be plotting some nefarious business, but in language whose criminal idiom escaped me. It was something about a kidnapping. I was not concerned with that. Only with something relating to the Big Boss—or Eve. I began to wonder if my quest would be useless.
Then I tensed.
“Okay,” that’s settled,” one man’s voice said. He laughed. “The Boss says that way we’ll pin it on the robot again—on the other one, Adam Link. What a couple of tin monkeys he’s making out of them. Joe and Lefty are laying low till the metal skirt takes the rap for them. Boy, the Boss sure has brains.”
“Yeah,” agreed another. “And pretty soon he’ll be on the City Tax Council, cutting us in on easy graft and big money. That’ll be sweet—Councilor Harvey Brigg—”
“Shut your trap,” hissed the first man. “Hasn’t the Boss warned us never to mention his name?”
“Aw, who’s going to hear—”
Again he was interrupted. “Which one of you guys is sportin’ that loud ticker?”
There was silence for a moment.
I should have been warned. But I hardly heard. Only one thing drummed in my mind—Harvey Brigg. I knew his name. The name of the man who had plotted three murders in the name of my innocent Eve.
Suddenly two ugly automatics were pointing at me, from both sides at once. The men had come around the boxes. I could have leaped away, easily, even then. But again something warned me not to risk exposure of my identity. Better to act the part of a human, caught like a rat in a trap.
They prodded me around the boxes to where they had sat. A flickering candle lighted the scene. They peered at me in its dim rays. The illusion of my human disguise held, fortunately.
“A dick, eh?” barked the leader of the four. “The Boss warned us to watch for dicks working for Adam Link. How much did you hear?”
I maintained a silence.
“We’ll make you talk, smart guy. Barney, find some rope.” They tied me flat against a box, standing upright. Then, after ripping my chest free of the coat and shirt, they held burning matches to my “flesh.” I acted the part of a man in torment, with what histrionic ability I could summon. I squirmed against my bonds and made low moans. But I held my squirmings in check, lest the cords break.
I only hoped they wouldn’t penetrate my disguise. Luckily, the stench of the plastic under the flame was not much different from seared human flesh. I gathered that from their rather sickened expressions. I have no sense of smell.
“Guess he won’t talk,” said one of the men. They had burned welts all over my plastic chest. They could not hide a certain grudging admiration, thinking me a human with remarkable fortitude.
One of the men fidgeted. “Maybe he heard everything—even the Boss’s name.”
They looked at each other. The light that gleamed in their eyes made even me shudder. It is the look of human beings about to kill another.
“Okay, wise guy,” snapped the leader. “You won’t talk dead any more than alive. Let him have it, boys.”
Their guns spoke in chorus. The heavy slugs thudded into my chest plastic, in a barrage. Carrying my part of the last, I slumped back against the box, head lolling. One of the men grabbed my wrist and felt for the pulse.
“No heart-beat,” he announced. “Dead.”
Calmly the leader then flipped the lighted candle to the floor, kicking a pile of excelsior toward it.
“They won’t even find the body,” he exulted. “Come on, boys—�
�
They left my “dead” body. They had done the job too quickly to notice three things: that there was no blood on my chest, that my eyes hadn’t closed, and under the roar of guns they hadn’t heard the bullets making a muffled ring, as they struck against metal under the plastic.
I waited five minutes, just to be sure. They were gone. Then I straightened, up, and walked away from the box, hardly aware of the heavy rope snapping like string around me. A ring of fire licked about me. I walked through it, not feeling the flame that burned half my clothes off before I noticed and beat it out with my hands. I climbed to the skylight, went down the fire-escape, and through an alley. At the corner I pulled the fire-alarm I found there. No need to let valuable property burn down.
I made my way down dark streets to Jack’s place. Within I was laughing, laughing. I wondered what those four gangsters would think if they could see the “man” they had “bumped off” walking along with his “riddled” body. But then I sobered. Adam Link, detective, faced his biggest assignment of all—tracking down the master criminal Harvey Brigg.
CHAPTER 13
Robot Rescue
I called Eve on the radio-telepathy. Poor Eve, sitting there in her cell twenty-four hours a day, waiting, hoping, perhaps despairing.
“Adam, I want to come to you,” she said almost immediately. “I cannot stand these horrible walls, and the chains binding me, and the cold stares of the prison people. Adam, let me come—”
Don’t forget that Eve—mentally—was a young, sensitive girl. Not a cold, passionless being of steel nerves. Think of your sister or wife in jail.
“Eve, dear,” I said gently, firmly. “You must trust me. It is only a few days now. And then you will be free. I swear it.”
Kay, at Jack’s apartment, gave a little shriek as I walked in. Small wonder. My clothes were tatters, half burned away, exposing plastic that was seared and blackened. My “chest” was a ruin of what looked like torn dead flesh, with metal shining through in places. The metal was dented where the slugs had struck. My nose was gone. Somewhere it had been knocked off. I remembered now the rather shocked glances of the few pedestrians I had passed in the late hour. But they had shrugged and walked on, perhaps disbelieving most of what they saw so dimly.