Weak on Square Roots

by Russell Burton

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  _Does your wife call you Pumpkinhead? Well, maybe it's _not_ an insult; it might be a pet name. Ah--but _whose_ pet name?_

  _WEAK_ ON SQUARE ROOTS

  _By Russell Burton_

  Illustrated by TOM BEECHAM

  As his coach sped through dusk-darkened Jersey meadows, Ronald Lovegear,fourteen years with Allied Electronix, embraced his burden with botharms, silently cursing the engineer who was deliberately rocking thetrain. In his thin chest he nursed the conviction that someday therewould be an intelligent robot at the throttle of the 5:10 toPhiladelphia.

  He carefully moved one hand and took a notebook from his pocket. Thatwould be a good thing to mention at the office next Monday.

  Again he congratulated himself for having induced his superiors to lethim take home the company's most highly developed mechanism to date. Hehad already forgiven himself for the little white lie that morning.

  "Pascal," he had told them, "is a little weak on square roots." That haddone it!

  Old Hardwick would never permit an Allied computer to hit the marketthat was not the absolute master of square roots. If Lovegear wanted towork on Pascal on his own time it was fine with the boss.

  Ronald Lovegear consulted his watch. He wondered if his wife would be ontime. He had told Corinne twice over the phone to bring the stationwagon to meet him. But she had been so forgetful lately. It was probablythe new house; six rooms to keep up without a maid was quite a chore.His pale eyes blinked. He had a few ideas along that line too. He smiledand gave the crate a gentle pat.

  * * * * *

  Corinne was at the station, and she had brought the station wagon.Lovegear managed to get the crate to the stairs of the coach where heconsented to the assistance of a porter.

  "It's not really heavy," he told Corinne as he and the porter waddledthrough the crowd. "Actually only 57 pounds, four ounces. Aluminumcasing, you know ..."

  "No, I didn't ..." began Corinne.

  "But it's delicate," he continued. "If I should drop this ..." Heshuddered.

  After the crate had been placed lengthwise in the rear of the stationwagon, Corinne watched Ronald tuck a blanket around it.

  "It's not very cold, Ronald."

  "I don't want it to get bounced around," he said. "Now, please, Corinne,do drive carefully." Not until she had driven half a block did he kissher on the cheek. Then he glanced anxiously over his shoulder at therear seat. Once he thought Corinne hit a rut that could have beenavoided.

  Long after Corinne had retired that night she heard Ronald pounding witha brass hammer down in his den. At first she had insisted he take thecrate out to his workshop. He looked at her with scientific aloofnessand asked if she had the slightest conception of what "this is worth?"She hadn't, and she went to bed. It was only another one of his gestureswhich was responsible for these weird dreams. That night she dreamedRonald brought home a giant octopus which insisted on doing the dishesfor her. In the morning she woke up feeling unwanted.

  Downstairs Ronald had already put on the coffee. He was wearing his robeand the pinched greyness of his face told Corinne he had been up halfthe night. He poured coffee for her, smiling wanly. "If I have anycommitments today, Corinne, will you please see that they are taken careof?"

  "But you were supposed to get the wallpaper for the guest room...."

  "I know, I know, dear. But time is so short. They might want Pascalback any day. For the next week or two I shall want to devote most ofmy time ..."

  "_Pascal?_"

  "Yes. The machine--the computer." He smiled at her ignorance. "Weusually name the expensive jobs. You see, a computer of this nature isreally the heart and soul of the mechanical man we will construct."

  Corinne didn't see, but in a few minutes she strolled toward the den,balancing her coffee in both hands. With one elbow she eased the dooropen. There it was: an innocent polished cabinet reaching up to hershoulders. Ronald had removed one of the plates from its side and shepeeped into the section where the heart and soul might be located. Shesaw only an unanatomical array of vacuum tubes and electrical relays.

  She felt Ronald at her back. "It looks like the inside of a juke box,"she said.

  He beamed. "The same relay systems used in the simple juke box areincorporated in a computer." He placed one hand lovingly on the top ofthe cabinet.

  "But, Ronald--it doesn't even resemble a--a mechanical man?"

  "That's because it doesn't have any appendages as yet. You know, armsand legs. That's a relatively simple adjustment." He winked at Corinnewith a great air of complicity. "And I have some excellent ideas alongthat line. Now, run along, because I'll be busy most of the day."

  * * * * *

  Corinne ran along. She spent most of the day shopping for week-endnecessities. On an irrational last-minute impulse--perhaps anunconscious surrender to the machine age--she dug in the grocery deepfreeze and brought out a couple of purple steaks.

  That evening she had to call Ronald three times for dinner, and when hecame out of the den she noticed that he closed the door the way one doesupon a small child. He chattered about inconsequential matters allthrough dinner. Corinne knew that his work was going smoothly. A fewminutes later she was to know how smoothly.

  It started when she began to put on her apron to do the dishes. "Letthat go for now, dear," Ronald said, taking the apron from her. He wentinto the den, returning with a small black box covered with pushbuttons. "Now observe carefully," he said, his voice pitched high.

  He pushed one of the buttons, waited a second with his ear cocked towardthe den, then pushed another.

  Corinne heard the turning of metal against metal, and she slowly turnedher head.

  "Oh!" She suppressed a shriek, clutching Ronald's arm so tightly healmost dropped the control box.

  Pascal was walking under his own effort, considerably taller now withthe round, aluminum legs Ronald had given him. Two metal arms also hungat the sides of the cabinet. One of these rose stiffly, as though forbalance. Corinne's mouth opened as she watched the creature jerkawkwardly across the living room.

  "Oh, Ronald! The fishbowl!"

  Ronald stabbed knowingly at several buttons.

  Pascal pivoted toward them, but not before his right arm swung out and,almost contemptuously, brushed the fishbowl to the floor.

  Corinne closed her eyes at the crash. Then she scooped up several littlegolden bodies and rushed for the kitchen. When she returned Ronald waspicking up pieces of glass and dabbing at the pool of water with one ofher bathroom towels. Pascal, magnificently aloof, was standing in thecenter of the mess.

  "I'm sorry." Ronald looked up. "It was my fault. I got confused on thebuttons."

  But Corinne's glances toward the rigid Pascal held no indictment. Shewas only mystified. There was something wrong here.

  "But Ronald, he's so ugly without a head. I thought that all robots--"

  "Oh, no," he explained, "we would put heads on them for display purposesonly. Admittedly that captures the imagination of the public. Thatlittle adapter shaft at the top could be the neck, of course...."

  He waved Corinne aside and continued his experiments with the home-maderobot. Pascal moved in controlled spasms around the living room. Once,he walked just a little too close to the floor-length window--andCorinne stood up nervously. But Ronald apparently had mastered thelittle black box.

  With complete confidence Corinne went into the kitchen to do the dishes.Not until she was elbow deep in suds did she recall her dreams about theoctopus. She looked over her shoulder, and the curious, unwanted feelingcame again.

 
* * * * *

  The following afternoon--after Ronald had cancelled their Sunday driveinto the country--Pascal, with constant exhortations by Ronald at theblack box, succeeded in vacuum cleaning the entire living room. Ronaldwas ecstatic.

  "Now do you understand?" he asked Corinne. "A mechanical servant! Thinkof it! Of course mass production may be years away, but ..."

  "Everyone will have Thursday nights off," said Corinne--but Ronald wasalready jabbing at buttons as Pascal dragged the vacuum cleaner back toits niche in the closet.

  Later, Corinne persuaded Ronald to take her to a movie, but not untilthe last moment was she certain that Pascal wasn't going to drag along.

  Every afternoon of the following week Ronald Lovegear called from thelaboratory in New York to