Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from If: Worlds of Science Fiction July 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
THE JUNKMAKERS
BY ALBERT TEICHNER
ERIC WAS THE BEST ROBOT THEY'D EVER HAD—PERFECTLY TRAINED,EVER THOUGHTFUL, A JOY TO OWN. NATURALLY THEY HAD TO DESTROYHIM!
I
endell Hart had drifted, rather than plunged, into the undergroundmovement. Later, discussing it with other members of the Savers'Conspiracy, he found they had experienced the same slow, almost casualawakening. His own, though, had come at a more appropriate time, justa few weeks before the Great Ritual Sacrifice.
The Sacrifice took place only once a decade, on High Holy Day at dawnof the spring equinox. For days prior to it joyous throngs of workershelped assemble old vehicles, machine tools and computers in thepublic squares, crowning each pile with used, disconnected robots. Inthe evening of the Day they proudly made their private heaps on theneat green lawns of their homes. These traditionally consisted ofhousehold utensils, electric heaters, air conditioners and the familyservant.
The wealthiest—considered particularly blessed—even had two or threeautomatic servants beyond the public contribution, which theydestroyed in private. Their more average neighbors crowded into theirgardens for the awesome festivities. The next morning everyone couldreturn to work, renewed by the knowledge that the Festival of AcuteShortages would be with them for months.
Like everyone else, Wendell had felt his sluggish pulse gaining newlife as the time drew nearer.
A cybernetics engineer and machine tender, he was down to ten hours aweek of work. Many others in the luxury-gorged economy had evensmaller shares of the purposeful activities that remained. At night hedreamed of the slagger moving from house to house as it burned, meltedand then evaporated each group of junked labor-blocking devices. Heeven had glorious daydreams about it. Walking down the park side ofhis home block, he was liable to lose all contact with the outsideworld and peer through the mind's eye alone at the climacticdestruction.
Why, he sometimes wondered, are all these things so necessary to ourresurrection?
Marie had the right answer for him, the one she had learned by rote inearly childhood: "All life moves in cycles. Creation and progressmust be preceded by destruction. In ancient times that meant we had todestroy each other; but for the past century our inherent need fornegative moments has been sublimated—that's the word the newsbroadcasts use—into proper destruction." His wife smiled. "I'm onlygiving the moral reason, of course. The practical one's obvious."
Obvious it was, he had to concede. Men needed to work, not out ofeconomic necessity any more but for the sake of work itself. Still aman had to wonder....
e had begun to visit the Public Library Archives, poring over mustyreferences that always led to maddeningly frustrating dead ends. Forthe past century nothing really informative seemed to have beenwritten on the subject.
"You must have government authorization," the librarian explained whenhe asked for older references. Which, naturally, made him add a littlesuspicion to his already large dose of wonder.