He who served

This surely was the blackest of crimes--to be newly built, and lead the blind, and be a friend beyond all human understanding.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe September 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Ray Cummings has delighted two generations of science fantasy readers with his unforgettable tales of the infinitely small and the infinitely large. We are all atom conscious today, but Ray was the first to discern the realms of gold spinning in miraculous splendor far below the threshold of the visible. He has explored newer realms here, in a story so human and heart-warming you won't be ashamed to shed a tear on completing it.

2 RY could remember the quick bright warmth of the afternoon sun on his burnished copper and silvery plating. He could remember every prideful moment of his early training in the big yard of the James Erg factory. Every afternoon, at first only in good weather, he and others of the newly-built had been taken into the yard from the quiet dimness of the storeroom indoors. Not only was he the largest, the finest robot of them all, but he was the most intricately constructed and the most adept at complicated tasks. And he had been the first of the newer models to be trained.

There were only twenty-five others of Model 2 RY under construction--the supreme achievement of the genius of James Erg, the culmination of a lifetime of work. For a quarter of a century no other robot-builder had been able to compete with the world famous Erg product.

The big Erg factory in the suburbs of New York dominated the world market, its products ranging from modest one-task models up to the most elaborate. Model 2 RY was now the most elaborate, costing two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was guaranteed slow-trained over a full two year period. The training included, of course, additional instruction for any specialized tasks desired by its purchaser; and association with the members of his family so that the timbre of their human voices would produce no untoward reactions.

2 RY was big, just under seven feet. His frozen countenance, with its square-cut contours, and faceted eyes, and his sturdy body-box gave him the aspect of a rough-hewn statue, but was in no way grotesque. His voice, hollow yet with several emotional gradations to it, was soft and pleasing. He could remember that the human voice of the Instructor was very much like his own--gentle and quiet, and beguiling in its infinite patience.

2 RY had been taught just simple things at first. "Toory, come here." He had learned to balance upright the first day. "Come, Toory. Stand here by me." With his great jointed legs swinging, and sometimes clanking because of his untrained awkwardness, Toory would obey.

"Very good, Toory. Now--sit down. Flat--all the way down. That's it, Toory."

How patient the man had remained! "Now--raise your right hand. No, not that one. The right hand, Toory. That's splendid!"

And when he failed to realize he had made a mistake, the question would come again. "You're using your left hand. Do you understand, Toory?"

"Yes," Toory would say.

He could remember every glorious moment of those two years. Outdoors in rainy weather, with the rain dimming his eye-lenses so that he had to learn to polish them with a bit of fabric. And more often in cold weather when all his motions seemed to require more effort. His reactions then would be slower if he did not automatically quicken them. Quite as varied were the many tasks indoors in the training rooms. They were mostly domestic tasks, because Toory had been designed essentially, not for factory or business work, but for the home.

At last he realized that his training was over, and one day soon after that, his prospective purchaser came. His name was Robert Doret. He was a wealthy man and an important one. The faint, red-glowing beams from Toory's eyes, deep-set under his ridged brows, gazed down in apprehension at the man who perhaps might buy him.

"So you're trained to be called 'Toory'?" Robert Doret asked. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Toory replied, striving to remain calm.

"You're right," Doret said to James Erg, who stood beside him. "Quite a pleasant, well-modulated voice. Certainly far more human-sounding than the other models."

"Try him on emotion," Erg suggested.

Doret thought a moment. "I'm not sure I'm entirely pleased with you, Toory," he said.

"I do not understand why," Toory murmured, contritely. "But I am sorry."

"You will find several emotion-gradations like that," Erg said.

"I see. Yes, it's a very impressive model, Erg--far in advance of your others." Doret smiled thoughtfully. He was a small man, bulging about the middle, with a rosy, pleasant face. "I guess he's worth the price, Erg."

The skin around the blue eyes crinkled with tiny traceries of white lines and Toory suddenly felt glad that Robert Doret might purchase him. It was like the glow he experienced when he understood a task, and accomplished it perfectly.

The next day Toory learned that the sale had been made. He was to serve in Doret's country home, up in the hills north of the city. Toory needed no specialized training for that. But he learned that there was to be intensive, new-task instruction for a month to prepare him for his duties as a domestic helper for Babs Doret, the purchaser's daughter, for whom he had been bought.

She came with her father the next day--a small, brown-haired girl in a trim blue suit. Toory learned afterward that she was eighteen years old.

"This is Miss Babs, Toory," Erg explained. "You'll have to learn her voice well, and be quick to obey. Speak to her now."

"Yes, Miss Babs," Toory said.

"Talk to him, Babs," Doret urged.

"Hello, Toory," Babs said. "Give me your hand. I want to grasp it."

Toory's mailed hand was sheathed in a soft black glove. He was careful to keep his work-pincer retracted as he had been taught. He held out his hand, keeping it well lowered because the girl was quite small, two feet shorter than himself. Her own hand fumbled around for an instant. Fumbled because--Babs Doret was blind.

"It will be comforting," she said, when her fingers at last closed over the glove. "Father, you've made me very happy."

"The new training should not take more than a month," Erg said. "You must work with him an hour or two each day. You'd better practice walking with him in the city traffic, if you plan to go into the city."

"Not much," Babs said. "Certainly for this summer, anyway, I'll be staying close to home."

"One of my Operatives will report tomorrow," Erg told her. "I'll deliver Toory to you this afternoon.... You will learn the new tasks, Toory?"

"Yes," Toory promised.

Then in the big Erg truck he was taken up into the hills to the Doret summer home where he remained under wait-command in the foyer until the Instructor arrived the next day. How warmly he remembered him from the training periods in the factory. Immediately the new-task training began. It was simple, letting Babs Doret hold his dangling gloved hand, leading her where she directed him to go.

For only a short while was the Erg man really needed. The three of them took long walks together so that Toory would become familiar with the neighborhood.

With the Instructor intently watching, Toory soon learned to lead the girl safely through the traffic of the village streets. Quickly he developed a sixth-sense alertness to the dangers to Babs that must be seen, and avoided. That was the important thing--avoiding danger to this blind girl whose hand he held, avoiding it so that instantly with permanent order for automatic action instilled in him, his response would come with split-second timing.

The voice of the Instructor remained everlastingly patient when for the hundredth time he repeated the permanent-order so that it would be impressed on Toory beyond the possibility of error.

"Danger to Miss Babs must be avoided, Toory. Danger to Miss Babs. Any danger. Do you understand, Toory?"