Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction July 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
"After all—aren't we genuine 'made-in-Americans'?"
ROBOTS of the WORLD!
ARISE!
By Mari Wolf
he telephone wouldn'tstop ringing. Over and over itbuzzed into my sleep-fogged brain,and I couldn't shut it out. Finally,in self-defense I woke up, my handgroping for the receiver.
"Hello. Who is it?"
"It's me, Don. Jack Anderson,over at the factory. Can you comedown right away?"
His voice was breathless, as ifhe'd been running hard. "What'sthe matter now?" Why, I wondered,couldn't the plant get alongone morning without me? Seveno'clock—what a time to get up.Especially when I hadn't been tobed until four.
"We got grief," Jack moaned."None of the robots showed up,that's what! Three hundred androidson special assembly this week—andnot one of them here!"
By then I was awake, all right.With a government contract due onSaturday we needed a full shift.The Army wouldn't wait for itsuranium; it wouldn't take excuses.But if something had happened tothe androids....
"Have you called Control yet?"
"Yeah. But they don't knowwhat's happened. They don't knowwhere the androids are. Nobodydoes. Three hundred Grade A,lead-shielded pile workers—missing!"
"I'll be right down."
I hung up on Jack and lookedaround for my clothes. Funny, theyweren't laid out on the bed asusual. It wasn't a bit like Rob O tobe careless, either. He had alwaysbeen an ideal valet, the best householdmodel I'd ever owned.
"Rob!" I called, but he didn'tanswer.
By rummaging through the closetI found a clean shirt and a pair ofpants. I had to give up on thesocks; apparently they were tuckedaway in the back of some drawer.As for where Rob kept the rest ofmy clothes, I'd never bothered toask. He had his own housekeepingsystem and had always worked verywell without human interference.That's the best thing about thesenew household robots, I thought.They're efficient, hard-working,trustworthy—
Trustworthy? Rob O was certainlynot on duty. I pulled a shoeon over my bare foot and scowled.Rob was gone. And the androids atthe factory were gone too....
My head was pounding, so I tookthe time out to brew a pot of coffeewhile I finished dressing—at leastthe coffee can was in plain view inthe kitchen. The brew was blackand hot and I suppose not verywell made, but after two cups I feltbetter. The throb in my head settleddown into a dull ache, and Ifelt a little more capable of thinking.Though I didn't have anybright ideas on what had happened—notyet.
My breakfast drunk, I went upon the roof and opened the garagedoors