MY ROBOT

                            By O. H. LESLIE

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                       Fantastic February 1957.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


How I wish Faw-Faw were here! What joy to be a child again, and sit
once more in his strong wide lap, and rest my fevered cheek against the
cool metal surface of his chest, and let my sticky, stumpy fingers play
idly over the buttons of his back, and finally press down the one that
brought forth his soothing, smoothing, story-telling voice:

"There was once a shoe-maker who through no fault of his own had
become so poor that at last he had only leather enough for one pair of
shoes...."

Oh, Faw-Faw! What have they done with you?

Memory, memory. So sweet, so painful. What was the rhyme that Father
taught me? The rhyme that told me how Faw-Faw worked?

"Information, registration, consideration,

"MEMORY!

"Calculation, conversation, robots made by

"EMORY!"

My father.

A big man. A _brilliant_ man. And I was an Emory, too, and when I grew
up, GREAT THINGS were expected of me. For didn't I have Faw-Faw? What
child could hope for a better tutor?

Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY:

Oh, Faw-Faw! How could I have ever hated your cold, cruel chest, your
icy arms, your frozen mechanical affection! How could I have struck
your brain-housing with such fury, beating the heavy hammer in great
_gong! gong! gongs!_ Yes, Father, I _deserved_ your punishment. You
were right; I was wrong. Again, again! Only beat me again! How could I
feel such gross ingratitude? Again!

My mother....

"_He's only a child!_" Shrieking at him. "_He's only seven!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

How soon his red anger died! Remorse, regret, eyes staring in
bewilderment at the thick brown strap in his hand.

"He could have destroyed him," he said, in a voice I didn't
know. "He could have smashed the work of a life-time. Forty-four
experiments--twelve years--and he could have--"

Oh, Father, how I wronged you! Again, again!

But how soon I learned. Cold steel or warm flesh--how little the
difference really mattered! My mother's sleepytime kiss, once so sweet
and comforting; my father's gruff hair-rumpling; how trivial these
childhood pleasures seemed after the lessons of Faw-Faw, the strength
of Faw-Faw, the quick thrilling response of Faw-Faw to every childish
command.

Oh, Faw-Faw! How well I learned your ways!

Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY:

"A whole year?" I said.

"Maybe a little less," said my mother.

"It's a very important assignment," said my father.

"A great honor," said my mother, stroking my hair. As if to comfort me.

"It's a government project, and very secret. Can you understand that?
Your mother and I will be living in very cramped quarters, and leading
greatly restricted lives. There won't be any playgrounds, or children
your own age, or anything."

"And besides," said my mother (was that a tear on her face?) "you'll
have Aunt Hulda, and Faw-Faw of course."

"You'll be all right," said my father, as if he really knew.

Was I happy? Was I sad? Faw-Faw, do you remember? What did I say to you
that night, in the aloneness of my room? Did I cry?

On the lap. Head against the chest. Press the button. Drowsy listening;
soothing, smoothing, story-telling voice....

"Now the Queen, having eaten Snow-White's heart, as she supposed, felt
quite sure that now she was the first and fairest, and so she came to
her mirror and said...."

Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY:

       *       *       *       *       *

"Say that again!"

"You heard me!"

"I _dare_ you to say it again!"

"You're an orphan! I heard my mother say so. You ain't _got_ no father!"

"You're a liar!"

"Who's a liar? _Who's_ a liar? I'll show you who's a liar!"

A scuffle in the sand. A hard ball of fingers on my nose. Blood on my
shirt. Yelling, screaming, crying: "I'm _not_ an orphan! I'm not!"

"I'll learn you who's a (puff) liar! I'll show you (puff) little (puff)
snotnose stupid orphan!"

Hot tears, shameless. Screaming, screaming.

"Faw-Faw! Faw-Faw!"

Pounding on my ribs. Then--

"Holy Christmas! _Holy_--"

Revenge, Faw-Faw, _revenge_!

"Ma! Ma!"

Hold him, Faw-Faw! Punch him, Faw-Faw! Bloody nose, Faw-Faw!
Bloodier than mine! Revenge! Revenge! Faw-Faw, revenge! Information,
registration, consideration ... MEMORY:

       *       *       *       *       *

"Oh, he's been a good boy, Mr. Emory," said Aunt Hulda.

"But he broke the nose of the Brown boy," she added.

"He did _what_?" said my father.

Would the thick brown strap, the sudden red anger, appear again? I
cringed. But Father laughed.

"Well, well, _well_!" He laughed again, and squeezed my upper arm. I
had pleased him! (Oh, Faw-Faw, I love you best, but that moment was
sweet, sweet!) "He's a real Emory," my father said. "A real Emory! But
don't tell his mother, Hulda. She wouldn't understand."

"It was Faw-Faw," I said. The honesty of childhood!

"Of course it was." My father smiled with pleasure at my robot. "He's a
better teacher than I imagined. Now I don't feel so bad about leaving
again."

My mother came in.

"Leaving again?" I said to her. Was I sad, Faw-Faw? Did I cry?

"The experiments aren't completed," my mother answered. "Your father
and I will have to stay at least another six months."

Father said: "But it's worth it, son. There may be a whole army of
Faw-Faws some day!"

"A whole army...." My mother looked frightened. "It's dreadful,
Richard, dreadful...."

"Laura--"

"Metal soldiers. Robot killers--"

My father looked displeased. "This is no time for that kind of talk.
You knew full well what my assignment was about. I'm not ashamed of
it." He looked at me sternly. "And don't you be either. Some day you
may be carrying on my work. Do you know that?"

My mother's face went white.

"My robots will do all the world's work," my father said. "Not just the
fighting. But they know a lot about that, too." He turned his eyes on
me again, significantly, and he smiled.

In the middle of that night, awakening suddenly, hearing an unexpected
sound. My mother, sobbing, sobbing. My father, whispering, harshly, so
close to red anger:

"Oh, shut up, Laura! For heaven's sake, SHUT UP!"

Oh, Faw-Faw, quick! Tell me a story!

The wide lap, the cool chest, the soothing voice:

"Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen, very peacefully
together...."

Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY: Only a rhyme
but....

       *       *       *       *       *

"Sick, sick! With what? Tell me that. With what?"

My mother, drawn and pale. The plump hand that could touch so gently
now thin and bony, clutching the sheet.

Softly: "I don't know, Richard...."

"The doctors should know, Laura. The hospital should know. Do you doubt
what they said?"

"No. I don't doubt them."

Faw-Faw, why was I so frightened?

"They've seen cases like yours before, those Army doctors. They have an
ugly word for it in the Army, Laura."

"Richard, I'm sorry...."

Anger, red anger. Would he take the thick brown strap to _her_? Oh,
never, Faw-Faw, never!

"Two years of work! Two years--and now that pip-squeak Morgan is
'filling in' for me! It's just not _fair_, don't you see that? And all
because you _think_ you're sick."

"Richard...."

"Never mind, never mind. I've stood by your bedside long enough. Hulda
can take care of you; you don't need me. You'll have what you want.
You'll be home to smother that boy with sticky love. You'll be happy.
_But I must get back to work!_"

Why did I cry, Faw-Faw? What frightened me so?

"Richard, please--"

"What is it?"

"Don't go back!"

"What?"

"Don't go back there. Don't help them make those monsters!"

My mother, up on her feet, following him to the door. She looked so
small! Why, my mother was small!

"Don't be a fool, Laura."

"It's a _sin_ to make them! A mortal sin--"

"Getting awfully religious aren't you? This isn't like you, Laura."

Clutching at him, tugging, pulling.

"Richard, don't go!"

"You're hysterical. Let go of me and get back to bed. That's the only
place you feel important, isn't it?"

"I won't _let_ you go. I won't!"

Tugging, pulling. Oh, Faw-Faw, why did I have to watch?

"Stop it, Laura!"

Shrieking, crying!

"Richard, Richard!"

Oh, Faw-Faw! Did it really happen? The upraised arm, that hard flat
palm? The sharp, cracking noise? The moan of shock and pain? Oh,
Faw-Faw! Did it really happen?

Revenge, Faw-Faw!

       *       *       *       *       *

What have they done with him? Dismantled him, fused him, melted him,
battered him, crushed him? Has his metal become bullets, gunbarrels,
bombshells? Or were the bars on the window of my room once his strong
cool chest, his sturdy legs, his comforting arms?

Oh, Faw-Faw, my robot. How I wish you were here!


                                THE END