ONE FOR THE ROBOT—TWO FOR THE SAME
By ROG PHILLIPS
The ingredients were simple: one man for
one robot. But the results were something else!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
October 1950
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I took an instinctive disliking to him from the very first. I don'tknow exactly what caused it. His appearance? He wore a well tailoredgray plaid suit draped on what I would have sworn to be nothing buta skeleton. Blue-veined skin fitted over the exposed parts, such ashis long slender hands, folded together on his lap, the stretch ofbare leg below the cuffs of his perfectly pressed trousers and abovehis carelessly drooped sox, his turkey-like neck with its largeAdam's apple threatened at any moment to wobble up and down while agobble-gobble-gobble burst forth.
His face? It made me think of a broken handled cup inverted on asaucer, the edge of the saucer being his jaw line. If you were to wrapthe cup and saucer in tightly stretched dull white plastic or rubbersheeting and paint eyes in the proper places you would have it down pat.
Maybe it was the eyes that made me dislike him. They were faded blue,but not the kind you would call characterless. It would be moreaccurate to call them emotionless. Not emotionless in a cold way, butin a dead way.
On either side of his head were cartilages shaped like ears, and overthe top of his head faded and lifeless grey hair parted with artificialneatness.
Those were my impressions, though the hair was real enough, and I mighthave seen him through different eyes if I had been in a better mood.
He wore his suit like it didn't belong to him, or if it did he veryseldom had one on. I looked closely at him, sitting near me on the parkbench half turned toward where I was slouched, trying to imagine whattype of clothes would be natural to him; all I could conjure up was awhite frock and rubber gloves and a white face mask.
He had asked me, "Are you employed?", and I had swallowed an impulseto snap at him long enough to size him up.
So now I had sized him up. I didn't like anything about him. But acivil answer to his question might lead to the price of a badly neededmeal. I forced a polite grin.
"Not at the moment," I said.
"I surmised as much," he said quickly, smirking. His voice had thequality of a high school chemistry teacher talking to an audience ofsulphuric acid carboys.
I turned away, looking out across the expanse of lawn and trees andflower beds of the park to where the double decker busses bobbed alonglike water bugs above the carpet of cars flowing along the inner drive.The impatient honking of tired motorists on their way home after theirday's work mingled with the contented quacking of ducks on the pond atmy back.
"Would you like to earn some money?"
"Huh?" I said, jerking my attention back to him.
His smile was the kind a professor would give to a pupil who had justawakened from a sound sleep.
"I said, would you like to earn some money?"
"Uh, uh," I said. "I'm hungry. I'd mow your lawn on an empty stomachand get maybe fifty cents. That's one hamburger and two cups of coffee.I'd still be hungry."
Instead of answering, he reached one of his blue-veined hands insidehis coat and drew out a new looking black leather billfold. I watchedhim while he pulled out a thick sheaf of currency.
He carefully counted out ten twenty dollar bills, dropping them one byone in a neat pile on the park bench. He stuck the rest back in hisbillfold and took out a white glossy card, dropping