The Velvet Glove

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

  _SF writer and editor Harry Harrison explores a not too distant future where robots--particularly specialist robots who don't know their place--have quite a rough time of it. True, the Robot Equality Act had been passed--but so what?_

  the velvet glove

  _by ... Harry Harrison_

  New York was a bad town for robots this year. In fact, all over the country it was bad for robots....

  Jon Venex fitted the key into the hotel room door. He had asked for alarge room, the largest in the hotel, and paid the desk clerk extra forit. All he could do now was pray that he hadn't been cheated. He didn'tdare complain or try to get his money back. He heaved a sigh of reliefas the door swung open, it was bigger than he had expected--fully threefeet wide by five feet long. There was more than enough room to work in.He would have his leg off in a jiffy and by morning his limp would begone.

  There was the usual adjustable hook on the back wall. He slipped itthrough the recessed ring in the back of his neck and kicked himself upuntil his feet hung free of the floor. His legs relaxed with a rattle ashe cut off all power from his waist down.

  The overworked leg motor would have to cool down before he could work onit, plenty of time to skim through the newspaper. With the chronic worryof the unemployed, he snapped it open at the want-ads and ran his eyedown the _Help Wanted--Robot_ column. There was nothing for him underthe Specialist heading, even the Unskilled Labor listings were bare andunpromising. New York was a bad town for robots this year.

  The want-ads were just as depressing as usual but he could always get alift from the comic section. He even had a favorite strip, a fact thathe scarcely dared mention to himself. "Rattly Robot," a dull-wittedmechanical clod who was continually falling over himself and gettinginto trouble. It was a repellent caricature, but could still be veryfunny. Jon was just starting to read it when the ceiling light went out.

  It was ten P.M., curfew hour for robots. Lights out and lock yourself inuntil six in the morning, eight hours of boredom and darkness for allexcept the few night workers. But there were ways of getting around theletter of a law that didn't concern itself with a definition of visiblelight. Sliding aside some of the shielding around his atomic generator,Jon turned up the gain. As it began to run a little hot the heat wavesstreamed out--visible to him as infra-red rays. He finished reading thepaper in the warm, clear light of his abdomen.

  The thermocouple in the tip of his second finger left hand, he testedthe temperature of his leg. It was soon cool enough to work on. Thewaterproof gasket stripped off easily, exposing the power leads, nervewires and the weakened knee joint. The wires disconnected, Jon unscrewedthe knee above the joint and carefully placed it on the shelf in frontof him. With loving care he took the replacement part from his hippouch. It was the product of toil, purchased with his savings from threemonths employment on the Jersey pig farm.

  Jon was standing on one leg testing the new knee joint when the ceilingfluorescent flickered and came back on. Five-thirty already, he had justfinished in time. A shot of oil on the new bearing completed the job; hestowed away the tools in the pouch and unlocked the door.

  The unused elevator shaft acted as waste chute, he slipped his newspaperthrough a slot in the door as he went by. Keeping close to the wall, hepicked his way carefully down the grease-stained stairs. He slowed hispace at the 17th floor as two other mechs turned in ahead of him. Theywere obviously butchers or meat-cutters; where the right hand shouldhave been on each of them there stuck out a wicked, foot-long knife. Asthey approached the foot of the stairs they stopped to slip the knivesinto the plastic sheaths that were bolted to their chestplates. Jonfollowed them down the ramp into the lobby.

  The room was filled to capacity with robots of all sizes, forms andcolors. Jon Venex's greater height enabled him to see over their headsto the glass doors that opened onto the street. It had rained the nightbefore and the rising sun drove red glints from the puddles on thesidewalk. Three robots, painted snow white to show they were nightworkers, pushed the doors open and came in. No one went out as thecurfew hadn't ended yet. They milled around slowly talking in lowvoices.

  The only human being in the entire lobby was the night clerk dozingbehind the counter. The clock over his head said five minutes to six.Shifting his glance from the clock, Jon became aware of a squat blackrobot waving to attract his attention. The powerful arms and compactbuild identified him as a member of the Diger family, one of the mostnumerous groups. He pushed through the crowd and clapped Jon on the backwith a resounding clang.

  "Jon Venex! I knew it was you as soon as I saw you sticking up out ofthis crowd like a green tree trunk. I haven't seen you since the olddays on Venus!"

  Jon didn't need to check the number stamped on the short one's scratchedchestplate. Alec Diger had been his only close friend during thosethirteen boring years at Orange Sea Camp. A good chess player and a whizat Two-handed Handball, they had spent all their off time together. Theyshook hands, with the extra squeeze that means friendliness.

  "Alec, you beat-up little grease pot, what brings you to New York?"

  "The burning desire to see something besides rain and jungle, if youmust know. After you bought out, things got just too damn dull. I beganworking two shifts a day in that foul diamond mine, and then three a dayfor the last month to get enough credits to buy my contract and passageback to earth. I was underground so long that the photocell on my righteye burned out when the sunlight hit it."

  He leaned forward with a hoarse confidential whisper, "If you want toknow the truth, I had a sixty-carat diamond stuck behind the eye lens. Isold it here on earth for two hundred credits, gave me six months ofeasy living. It's all gone now, so I'm on my way to the employmentexchange." His voice boomed loud again, "And how about _you_?"

  Jon Venex chuckled at his friend's frank approach to life. "It's justbeen the old routine with me, a run of odd jobs until I got side-swipedby a bus--it fractured my knee bearing. The only job I could get with abad leg was feeding slops to pigs. Earned enough to fix the knee--andhere _I_ am."

  Alec jerked his thumb at a rust-colored, three-foot-tall robot that hadcome up quietly beside him. "If you think you've got trouble take a lookat Dik here, that's no coat of paint on him. Dik Dryer, meet Jon Venexan old buddy of mine."

  Jon bent over to shake the little mech's hand. His eye shutters dilatedas he realized what he had thought was a coat of paint was a thin layerof rust that coated Dik's metal body. Alec scratched a shiny path inthe rust with his fingertip. His voice was suddenly serious.

  "Dik was designed for operation in the Martian desert. It's as dry as afossil bone there so his skinflint company cut corners on the stainlesssteel.

  "When they went bankrupt he was sold to a firm here in the city. After awhile the rust started to eat in and slow him down, they gave Dik hiscontract and threw him out."

  The small robot spoke for the first time, his voice grated andscratched. "Nobody will hire me like this, but I can't get repaireduntil I get a job." His arms squeaked and grated as he moved them. "I'mgoing by the Robot Free Clinic again today, they said they might be ableto do something."

  Alec Diger rumbled in his deep chest. "Don't put too much faith in thosepeople. They're great at giving out tenth-credit oil capsules or alittle free wire--but don't depend on them for anything important."

  It was six now, the robots were pushing through the doors into thesilent streets. They joined the crowd moving out, Jon slowing his strideso his shorter friends could keep pace. Dik Dryer moved with a jerking,irregular motion, his voice as uneven as the motion of his body.

  "Jon--Venex, I don't recognize your family nam
e. Something to do--withVenus--perhaps."

  "Venus is right, Venus Experimental--there are only twenty-two of us inthe family. We have waterproof, pressure-resistant bodies for workingdown on the ocean bottom. The basic idea was all right, we did our part,only there wasn't enough money in the channel-dredging contract to keepus all working. I bought out my original contract at half price andbecame a free robot."

  Dik vibrated his rusted diaphragm. "Being free isn't all it should be. Isome--times wish the Robot Equality Act hadn't been passed. I would justl-love to be owned by a nice rich company with a machine shop anda--mountain of replacement parts."

  "You don't really mean that, Dik," Alec Diger clamped a heavy black armacross his shoulders. "Things aren't perfect now, we know that, but it'scertainly a lot better than the