raised their guns at his approach butColeman stopped them with a gesture.
"This is _my_ robe, boys, I'll see to it that he's happy."
He raised his gun and shot Jon's remaining leg off. Twisted around bythe blast, Jon fell helplessly to the floor. He looked up into thesmoking mouth of the .75.
"Very smart for a tin-can, but not smart enough. We'll get the junk onthe boat some other way, some way that won't mean having you aroundunder foot." Death looked out of his narrowed eyes.
Less than two minutes had passed since Jon's call. The watchers musthave been keeping 24 hour stations waiting for Venex 17's phone message.
The main door went down with the sudden scream of torn steel. A whippettank crunched over the wreck and covered the group with its multiplepom-poms. They were an instant too late, Coleman pulled the trigger.
Jon saw the tensing trigger finger and pushed hard against the floor.His head rolled clear but the bullet tore through his shoulder. Colemandidn't have a chance for a second shot, there was a fizzling hiss fromthe tank and the riot ports released a flood of tear gas. The strickenmen never saw the gas-masked police that poured in from the street.
* * * * *
Jon lay on the floor of the police station while a tech made temporaryrepairs on his leg and shoulder. Across the room Venex 17 was moving hisnew body with evident pleasure.
"Now this really feels like _something_! I was sure my time was up whenthat land slip caught me. But maybe I ought to start from thebeginning." He stamped across the room and shook Jon's inoperable hand.
"The name is Wil Counter-4951L3, not that _that_ means much any more.I've worn so many different bodies that I forget what I originallylooked like. I went right from factory-school to a police trainingschool--and I have been on the job ever since--Force of Detectives,Sergeant Jr. grade, Investigation Department. I spend most of my timeselling candy bars or newspapers, or serving drinks in crumb joints.Gather information, make reports and keep tab on guys for otherdepartments.
"This last job--and I'm sorry I had to use a Venex identity, I don'tthink I brought any dishonor to your family--I was on loan to theCustoms department. Seems a ring was bringing uncut junk--heroin--intothe country. F.B.I. tabbed all the operators here, but no one knew howthe stuff got in. When Coleman, he's the local big-shot, called theagencies for an underwater robot, I was packed into a new body and sentrunning.
"I alerted the squad as soon as I started the tunnel, but the damnedthing caved in on me before I found out what ship was doing thecarrying. From there on you know what happened.
"Not knowing I was out of the game the squad sat tight and waited. Thehop merchants saw a half million in snow sailing back to the old countryso they had you dragged in as a replacement. You made the phone call andthe cavalry rushed in at the last moment to save two robots from a rustygrave."
Jon, who had been trying vainly to get in a word, saw his chance as WilCounter turned to admire the reflection of his new figure in a window.
"You shouldn't be telling me those things--about your policeinvestigations and department operations. Isn't this informationsupposed to be secret? Specially from robots!"
"Of course it is!" was Wil's airy answer. "Captain Edgecombe--he's thehead of my department--is an expert on all kinds of blackmail. I'msupposed to tell you so much confidential police business that you'llhave to either join the department or be shot as a possible informer."His laughter wasn't shared by the bewildered Jon.
"Truthfully, Jon, we need you and can use you. Robes that can think fastand act fast aren't easy to find. After hearing about the tricks youpulled in that warehouse, the Captain swore to decapitate me permanentlyif I couldn't get you to join up. Do you need a job? Long hours, shortpay--but guaranteed to never get boring."
Wil's voice was suddenly serious. "You saved my life, Jon--thosesnowbirds would have left me in that sandpile until all hell froze over.I'd like you for a mate, I think we could get along well together." Thegay note came back into his voice, "And besides that, I may be able tosave your life some day--I hate owing debts."
* * * * *
The tech was finished, he snapped his tool box shut and left. Jon'sshoulder motor was repaired now, he sat up. When they shook hands thistime it was a firm clasp. The kind you know will last awhile.
* * * * *
Jon stayed in an empty cell that night. It was gigantic compared to thehotel and barrack rooms he was used to. He wished that he had hismissing legs so he could take a little walk up and down the cell. Hewould have to wait until the morning. They were going to fix him up thenbefore he started the new job.
He had recorded his testimony earlier and the impossible events of thepast day kept whirling around in his head. He would think about it someother time, right now all he wanted to do was let his overworkedcircuits cool down, if he only had something to read, to focus hisattention on. Then, with a start, he remembered the booklet. Everythinghad moved so fast that the earlier incident with the truck driver hadslipped his mind completely.
He carefully worked it out from behind the generator shielding andopened the first page of _Robot Slaves in a World Economy_. A cardslipped from between the pages and he read the short message on it.
PLEASE DESTROY THIS CARD AFTER READING
_If you think there is truth in this book and would like to hear more, come to Room B, 107 George St. any Tuesday at 5 P.M._
The card flared briefly and was gone. But he knew that it wasn't only aperfect memory that would make him remember that message.
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ November 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
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