The android slaves, insipid pieces of metal,
plastic and skin, were constructed to work and work
and help men like Caffrey relax. But someone,
somewhere, made this batch too perfect. Caffrey,
big tough Caffrey laughed out loud at the tremendous
irony of the joke as he pondered sending his
ravaged ship into the burning maw of the sun.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories January 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Caffrey slammed the great steel doors and walked forward through thegym. His bare feet slapped on the mats and the cane of iron-hardVenus jungle wood swung lightly in one hand. He wore only dirty whitetrousers. Sweat stood shiny on him under the glow of the ceilinglights. He cursed the ship silently for being old and run down andwithout any cooling units.
His beefy face moved from side to side, watching. The black eyes tookin every bit of movement. He saw all that went on. It was his ticketout of the stinking world of frozen-starred space, of Class ninefreighters and unholy cargos.
The slender blue-gray androids were exercising. They vaulted on theparallel bars, dangled from the rings, worked with the pulleys. Eventhe women and the children exercised. They did not sweat, because theirbodies were not made for perspiration, but Caffrey could see theirmuscles twisting and shivering under the slate hides, developing.
A strange kind of noise filled the vast gym. Muted gruntings, whispersof breath, solid slaps of hands and bodies on bars and mats. Theandroids did not look at Caffrey. They were accustomed to slavery. Theyknew they had been dead when they were born.
Caffrey stopped walking. Near the left wall, two android males wereconversing. They leaned indolently, tiredly, against the brown woodenbars. Caffrey's face lost its flabbiness, becoming stripped ofeverything but purpose.
He walked toward them, conscious of his own strength. The exercising ofthe others went on around him. Slap and soft wind of breath and creakof apparatus. The heat was a nearly-tangible cloud.
"Why aren't you two working out like the rest?" Caffrey asked slowly.
One of the androids said in a weary voice, "I'm tired. I can't when I'mtired."
Caffrey's fingers tightened on the stick. They had to be in perfectshape! Had to be! This was his last shipload, and by God....
He swung the stick up over his shoulder and brought it down in ablurring arc. There was a flat smacking sound. The android choked.Caffrey struck the other one, and the anger came up from his stomachlike fire boiling over. He screamed at them and beat them. Again thestick fell, again, again, again....
Finally he stood back, feeling the sweat running down him. He tiltedhis head and gulped air. "Now," he said very quietly, "now, you inhumansonsofslate, start working...."
The two of them watched from the gray mats where they were crouched.Brief resentment was in their eyes.
Caffrey bunched his muscles and kicked. The android's head snappedbackward against the bars. He grunted. Then both of them got up andwalked over to the pulleys. They began to exercise, rapidly.
Caffrey laughed and walked on through the gym, not watching them anymore. He went through the next bulkhead and spun the lock wheel, thenpadded down the corridor under the ceiling lights that shone like foggyblue eyes.
Dillman, his astrogator, a young kid with yellow hair and an aggressivejaw, was in the chart room. He was working with the course computer.Dillman had been a student at the University of Venus, Cloud City, whenhe k