Jennings laughed. ‘And what happens when you die? Or is the revolution going to come in your own lifetime?’
Rethrick’s head jerked up.
‘You’ll die, and there won’t be anyone to go on. You know I’m a good mechanic. You said so yourself. You’re a fool, Rethrick. You want to manage it all yourself. Do everything, decide everything. But you’ll die, someday. And then what will happen?’
There was silence.
‘You better let me in - for the Company’s good, as well as my own. I can do a lot for you. When you’re gone the Company will survive in my hands. And maybe the revolution will work.’
‘You should be glad you’re alive at all! If we hadn’t allowed you to take your trinkets out with you—’
‘What else could you do? How could you let men service your mirror, see their own futures, and not let them lift a finger to help themselves. It’s easy to see why you were forced to insert the alternate-payment clause. You had no choice.’
‘You don’t even know what we are doing. Why we exist.’
‘I have a good idea. After all, I worked for you two years.’
Time passed. Rethrick moistened his lips again and again, rubbing his cheek. Perspiration stood out on his forehead. At last he looked up.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s no deal. No one will ever run the Company but me. If I die, it dies with me. It’s my property.’
Jennings became instantly alert. ‘Then the papers go to the Police.’
Rethrick said nothing, but a peculiar expression moved across his face, an expression that gave Jennings a sudden chill.
‘Kelly,’ Jennings said. ‘Do you have the papers with you?’
Kelly stirred, standing up. She put out her cigarette, her face pale. ‘No.’
‘Where are they? Where did you put them?’
‘Sorry,’ Kelly said softly. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’
He stared at her. ‘What?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kelly said again. Her voice was small and faint. ‘They’re safe. The SP won’t ever get them. But neither will you. When it’s convenient, I’ll turn them back to my father.’
‘Your father!’
‘Kelly is my daughter,’ Rethrick said. ‘That was one thing you didn’t count on, Jennings. He didn’t count on it, either. No one knew that but the two of us. I wanted to keep all positions of trust in the family. I see now that it was a good idea. But it had to be kept secret. If the SP had guessed they would have picked her up at once. Her life wouldn’t have been safe.’
Jennings let his breath out slowly. ‘I see.’
‘It seemed like a good idea to go along with you,’ Kelly said. ‘Otherwise you’d have done it alone, anyhow. And you would have had the papers on you. As you said, if the SP caught you with the papers it would be the end of us. So I went along with you. As soon as you gave me the papers I put them in a good safe place.’ She smiled a little. ‘No one will find them but me. I’m sorry.’
‘Jennings, you can come in with us,’ Rethrick said. ‘You can work for us forever, if you want. You can have anything you want. Anything except—’
‘Except that no one runs the Company but you.’
‘That’s right. Jennings, the Company is old. Older than I am. I didn’t bring it into existence. It was - you might say, willed to me. I took the burden on. The job of managing it, making it grow, moving it toward the day. The day of revolution, as you put it.
‘My grandfather founded the Company, back in the twentieth century. The Company has always been in the family. And it will always be. Someday, when Kelly marries, there’ll be an heir to carry it on after me. So that’s taken care of. The Company was founded up in Maine, in a small New England town. My grandfather was a little old New Englander, frugal, honest, passionately independent. He had a little repair business of some sort, a little tool and fix-it place. And plenty of knack.
‘When he saw government and big business closing in on everyone, he went underground. Rethrick Construction disappeared from the map. It took government quite a while to organize Maine, longer than most places. When the rest of the world had been divided up between international cartels and world-states, there was New England, still alive. Still free. And my grandfather and Rethrick Construction.
‘He brought in a few men, mechanics, doctors, lawyers, little once-a-week newspapermen from the Middle West. The Company grew. Weapons appeared, weapons and knowledge. The time scoop and mirror! The Plant was built, secretly, at great cost, over a long period of time. The Plant is big. Big and deep. It goes down many more levels than you saw. He saw them, your alter ego. There’s a lot of power there. Power, and men who’ve disappeared, purged all over the world, in fact. We got them first, the best of them.
‘Someday, Jennings, we’re going to break out. You see, conditions like this can’t go one. People can’t live this way, tossed back and forth by political and economic powers. Masses of people shoved this way and that according to the needs of this government or that cartel. There’s going to be resistance, someday. A strong, desperate resistance. Not by big people, powerful people, but by little people. Bus drivers. Grocers. Vidscreen operators. Waiters. And that’s where the Company comes in.
‘We’re going to provide them with the help they’ll need, the tools, weapons, the knowledge. We’re going to “sell” them our services. They’ll be able to hire us. And they’ll need someone they can hire. They’ll have a lot lined up against them. A lot of wealth and power.’
There was silence.
‘Do you see?’ Kelly said. ‘That’s why you mustn’t interfere. It’s Dad’s Company. It’s always been that way. That’s the way Maine people are. It’s part of the family. The Company belongs to the family. It’s ours.’
‘Come in with us,’ Rethrick said. ‘As a mechanic. I’m sorry, but that’s our limited outlook showing through. Maybe it’s narrow, but we’ve always done things this way.’
Jennings said nothing. He walked slowly across the office, his hands in his pockets. After a time he raised the blind and stared out at the street, far below.
Down below, like a tiny black bug, a Security cruiser moved along, drifting silently with the traffic that flowed up and down the street. It joined a second cruiser, already parked. Four SP men were standing by it in their green uniforms, and even as he watched some more could be seen coming from across the street. He let the blind down.
‘It’s a hard decision to make,’ he said.
‘If you go out there they’ll get you,’ Rethrick said. ‘They’re out there all the time. You haven’t got a chance.’
‘Please—’ Kelly said, looking up at him.
Suddenly Jennings smiled. ‘So you won’t tell me where the papers are. Where you put them.’
Kelly shook her head.
‘Wait.’ Jennings reached into his pocket. He brought out a small piece of paper. He unfolded it slowly, scanning it. ‘By any chance did you deposit them with the Dunne National Bank, about three o’clock yesterday afternoon? For safekeeping in their storage vaults?’
Kelly gasped. She grabbed her handbag, unsnapping it. Jennings put the slip of paper, the parcel receipt, back in his pocket. ‘So he saw even that,’ he murmured. ‘The last of the trinkets. I wondered what it was for.’
Kelly groped frantically in her purse, her face wild. She brought out a slip of paper, waving it.
‘You’re wrong! Here it is! It’s still here.’ She relaxed a little. ‘I don’t know what you have, but this is—’
In the air above them something moved. A dark space formed, a circle. The space stirred. Kelly and Rethrick stared up, frozen.
From the dark circle a claw appeared, a metal claw, joined to a shimmering rod. The claw dropped, swinging in a wide arc. The claw swept the paper from Kelly’s fingers. It hesitated for a second. Then it drew itself up again, disappearing with the paper, into the circle of black. Then, silently, the claw and the rod and the circle blinked out. There was nothing. Nothing at all.
‘Where - where did it go?’ Kelly whispered. ‘The paper. What was that?’
Jennings patted his pocket. ‘It’s safe. It’s safe, right here. I wondered when he would show up. I was beginning to worry.’
Rethrick and his daughter stood, shocked into silence.
‘Don’t look so unhappy,’ Jennings said. He folded his arms. ‘The paper’s safe - and the Company’s safe. When the time comes it’ll be there, strong and very glad to help out the revolution. We’ll see to that, all of us, you, me and your daughter.’
He glanced at Kelly, his eyes twinkling. ‘All three of us. And maybe by that time there’ll be even more members to the family!’
Nanny
‘When I look back,’ Mary Fields said, ‘I marvel that we ever could have grown up without a Nanny to take care of us.’
There was no doubt that Nanny had changed the whole life of the Fields’ house since she had come. From the time the children opened their eyes in the morning to their last sleepy nod at night, Nanny was in there with them, watching them, hovering about them, seeing that all their wants were taken care of.
Mr Fields knew, when he went to the office, that his kids were safe, perfectly safe. And Mary was relieved of a countless procession of chores and worries. She did not have to wake the children up, dress them, see that they were washed, ate their meals, or anything else. She did not even have to take them to school. And after school, if they did not come right home, she did not have to pace back and forth in anxiety, worried that something had happened to them.
Not that Nanny spoiled them, of course. When they demanded something absurd or harmful (a whole storeful of candy, or a policeman’s motorcycle) Nanny’s will was like iron. Like a good shepherd she knew when to refuse the flock its wishes.
Both children loved her. Once, when Nanny had to be sent to the repair shop, they cried and cried without stopping. Neither their mother nor their father could console them. But at last Nanny was back again, and everything was all right. And just in time! Mrs Fields was exhausted.
‘Lord,’ she said, throwing herself down. ‘What would we do without her?’
Mr Fields looked up. ‘Without who?’
‘Without Nanny.’
‘Heaven only knows,’ Mr Fields said.
After Nanny had aroused the children from sleep - by emitting a soft, musical whirr a few feet from their heads - she made certain that they were dressed and down at the breakfast table promptly, with faces clean and dispositions unclouded. If they were cross Nanny allowed them the pleasure of riding downstairs on her back.
Coveted pleasure! Almost like a roller coaster, with Bobby and Jean hanging on for dear life and Nanny flowing down step by step in the funny rolling way she had.
Nanny did not prepare breakfast, of course. That was all done by the kitchen. But she remained to see that the children ate properly and then, when breakfast was over, she supervised their preparations for school. And after they had got their books together and were all brushed and neat, her most important job: seeing that they were safe on the busy streets.
There were many hazards in the city, quite enough to keep Nanny watchful. The swift rocket cruisers that swept along, carrying businessmen to work. The time a bully had tried to hurt Bobby. One quick push from Nanny’s starboard grapple and away he went, howling for all he was worth. And the time a drunk started talking to Jean, with heaven knows what in mind. Nanny tipped him into the gutter with one nudge of her powerful metal side.
Sometimes the children would linger in front of a store. Nanny would have to prod them gently, urging them on. Or if (as sometimes happened) the children were late to school, Nanny would put them on her back and fairly speed along the sidewalk, her treads buzzing and flapping at a great rate.
After school Nanny was with them constantly, supervising their play, watching over them, protecting them, and at last, when it began to get dark and late, dragging them away from their games and turned in the direction of home.
Sure enough, just as dinner was being set on the table, there was Nanny, herding Bobby and Jean in through the front door, clicking and whirring admonishingly at them. Just in time for dinner! A quick run to the bathroom to wash their faces and hands.
And at night—
Mrs Fields was silent, frowning just a little. At night … ‘Tom?’ she said.
Her husband looked up from his paper. ‘What?’
‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. It’s very odd, something I don’t understand. Of course, I don’t know anything about mechanical things. But Tom, at night when we’re all sleep and the house is quiet, Nanny—’
There was a sound.
‘Mommy!’ Jean and Bobby came scampering into the living room, their faces flushed with pleasure. ‘Mommy, we raced Nanny all the way home, and we won!’
‘We won,’ Bobby said. ‘We beat her.’
‘We ran a lot faster than she did,’ Jean said.
‘Where is Nanny, children?’ Mrs Fields asked.
‘She’s coming. Hello, Daddy.’
‘Hello, kids,’ Tom Fields said. He cocked his head to one side, listening. From the front porch came an odd scraping sound, an unusual whirr and scrape. He smiled.
‘That’s Nanny,’ Bobby said.
And into the room came Nanny.
Mr Fields watched her. She had always intrigued him. The only sound in the room was her metal treads, scraping against the hardwood floor, a peculiar rhythmic sound. Nanny came to a halt in front of him, stopping a few feet away. Two unwinking photocell eyes appraised him, eyes on flexible wire stalks. The stalks moved speculatively, weaving slightly. Then they withdrew.
Nanny was built in the shape of a sphere, a large metal sphere, flattened on the bottom. Her surface had been sprayed with a dull green enamel, which had become chipped and gouged through wear. There was not much visible in addition to the eye stalks. The treads could not be seen. On each side of the hull was the outline of a door. From these the magnetic grapples came, when they were needed. The front of the hull came to a point, and there the metal was reinforced. The extra plates welded both fore and aft made her look almost like a weapon of war. A tank of some kind. Or a ship, a rounded metal ship that had come up on land. Or like an insect. A sowbug, as they are called.
‘Come on!’ Bobby shouted.
Abruptly Nanny moved, spinning slightly as her treads gripped the floor and turned her around. One of her side doors opened. A long metal rod shot out. Playfully, Nanny caught Bobby’s arm with her grapple and drew him to her. She perched him on her back. Bobby’s leg straddled the metal hull. He kicked with his heels excitedly, jumping up and down.
‘Race you around the block!’ Jean shouted.
‘Giddup!’ Bobby cried. Nanny moved away, out of the room with him. A great round bug of whirring metal and relays, clicking photocells and tubes. Jean ran beside her.
There was silence. The parents were alone again.
‘Isn’t she amazing?’ Mrs Fields said. ‘Of course, robots are a common sight these days. Certainly more so than a few years ago. You see them everywhere you go, behind counters in stores, driving buses, digging ditches—’
‘But Nanny is different,’ Tom Fields murmured.
‘She’s - she’s not like a machine. She’s like a person. A living person. But after all, she’s much more complex than any other kind. She has to be. They say she’s even more intricate than the kitchen.’
‘We certainly paid enough for her,’ Tom said.
‘Yes,’ Mary Fields murmured. ‘She’s very much like a living creature.’ There was a strange note in her voice. ‘Very much so.’
‘She sure takes care of the kids,’ Tom said, returning to his newspaper.
‘But I’m worried.’ Mary put her coffee cup down, frowning. They were eating dinner. It was late. The two children had been sent up to bed. Mary touched her mouth with her napkin. ‘Tom, I’m worried. I wish you’d listen to me.’
Tom Fields blinked. ‘Worri
ed? What about?’
‘About her. About Nanny.’
‘Why?’
‘I - I don’t know.’
‘You mean we’re going to have to repair her again? We just got through fixing her. What is it this time? If those kids didn’t get her to—’
‘It’s not that.’
‘What, then?’
For a long time his wife did not answer. Abruptly she got up from the table and walked across the room to the stairs. She peered up, staring into the darkness. Tom watched her, puzzled.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I want to be sure she can’t hear us.’
‘She? Nanny?’
Mary came toward him. ‘Tom, I woke up last night again. Because of the sounds. I heard them again, the same sounds, the sounds I heard before. And you told me it didn’t mean anything!’
Tom gestured. ‘It doesn’t. What does it mean?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what worries me. But after we’re all asleep she comes downstairs. She leaves their room. She slips down the stairs as quietly as she can, as soon as she’s sure we’re all asleep.’
‘But why?’
‘I don’t know! Last night I heard her going down, slithering down the stairs, quiet as a mouse. I heard her moving around down here. And then—’
‘Then what?’
‘Tom, then I heard her go out the back door. Out, outside the house. She went into the back yard. That was all I heard for a while.’
Tom rubbed his jaw. ‘Go on.’
‘I listened. I sat up in bed. You were asleep, of course. Sound asleep. No use trying to wake you. I got up and went to the window. I lifted the shade and looked out. She was out there, out in the back yard.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘I don’t know.’ Mary Fields’s face was lined with worry. ‘I don’t know! What in the world would a Nanny be doing outside at night, in the back yard?’
It was dark. Terribly dark. But the infrared filter clicked into place, and the darkness vanished. The metal shape moved forward, easing through the kitchen, its treads halfretracted for greatest quiet. It came to the back door and halted, listening.