Sitting down wearily on the ramp, Knight faced a sign that Albert had just finished painting. It read, in handsome gold lettering, outlined sharply in black:
"And then, Boss," said Albert, "we'll take over How-2 Kits, Inc. They won't be able to stay in business after this. We've got a double-barreled idea, Boss. We'll build robots. Lots of robots. Can't have too many, I always say. And we don't want to let you humans down, so we'll go on manufacturing How-2 Kits-only they'll be pre-assembled to save you the trouble of putting them together. What do you think of that as a start?"
"Great," Knight whispered.
"We've got everything worked out, Boss. You won't have to worry about a thing the rest of your life."
"No," said Knight. "Not a thing."
Too Robot To Marry
by George H Smith
Father Charles looked up in surprise as the two robots came up the walk to the parish house and rang the doorbell.
Robots were common enough these days even in little Bridgeton but he still hadn't recovered from the shock of seeing them approach the rectory when they were shown into his study by the housekeeper.
"Father, these," the woman indicated them with one hand, "are L53 and L W 456. They want to speak to you."
"Ah, yes. Come in my… Come in and sit down," Father Charles had never been quite this close to one of the eight foot giants who did much of mankind's menial work. They were rather awe inspiring. "Do you sit down?"
The larger of the two, the one who had the white letters L 53 on its chest, spoke in a queer rasping voice. "Thank you, Father, but we are not equipped for sitting. That is one reason why you don't see us at mass on Sundays."
"Mass? you? I mean… are you Catholic?"
"Our former owner, Father, was Reverend Piere Henri, S. J. We were raised in the faith."
Father Charles was shocked. "Do you mean that Father Henri allowed you to partake of the sacraments? But… you're…"
"While we were with Father Henri, we made our first communion and were confirmed. We have tried to live in the faith since his death."
"You have?" Father Charles ran his hand through his hair. "Well… what do you want here now?"
"Lia and I would like for you to marry us, Father."
"Marry you? Marry you? Do you know what you're saying?" the priest exploded. "You're machines! You have no souls!"
"We wish to be married. We love each other."
"You are asking me to commit sacrilege. You were created by man and man cannot create souls."
"Father Henri thought that in our case the soul may have come with the dawning of sentience," L 53 said.
"Father Henri had some pretty heretical ideas for a Jesuit," Father Charles said angrily. "Go on back to your owners and forget this ridiculous idea."
"But Father, let me explain. We feel that we really must get married." There was pleading in the mechanical voice and an almost woman-like sadness in the eyes of the other robot.
"I'm sorry but I won't discuss it any further," Father Charles said in a somewhat kinder tone. "It is contrary to the doctrines of the church."
"Father Henri…"
"Father Henri was a sentimental fool," Father Charles roared, losing patience again. "Now get out of here before…"
"You don't understand, Father. We have to…"
"Get out!"
It was almost three weeks later that Father Charles stood on the steps of the church after hearing confession and saw the two robots coming toward him. LW 456 was carrying a rather bulky bundle.
"We have come to confession. Father," L 53 announced. "Confession? You're mad!" Father Charles said.
"But we have sinned, Father… we have sinned." L 53's voice came as close to breaking as a robot's can.
"Sinned? What do you mean? How could you sin?"
"This is why we felt we had to marry, Father," LW 456 said uncovering the bundle she carried to display a small utility robot.
"Our new work is in the robot factory just outside of town and they set us to building this little one for work in the home. We were set by our owners to reproducing our species."
"We have conceived outside of marriage, Father, and so we have sinned," LW 456 said.
"Help us, Father," L 53 pleaded.
"Help me, Father," Father Charles said lifting his eyes upward.
The Education Of Tigress McCardle
by C. M. Kornbluth
With the unanimity that had always characterized his fans, as soon as they were able to vote they swept him into office as President of the United States. Four years later the 28th Amendment was ratified, republican institutions yielded gracefully to the usages of monarchy, and King Purvis I reigned in the land.
Perhaps even then all would have gone well if it had not been for another major entertainment personage, the insidious Dr. Fu Manchu, that veritable personification of the Yellow Peril, squatting like some great evil spider in the center of his web of intrigue. The insidious doctor appeared to have so much fun on his television series, what with a lovely concubine to paw him and a dwarf to throw knives, that it quite turned the head of Gerald Wang, a hitherto-peaceable antique dealer of San Francisco. Gerald decided that he too would become a veritable personification of the Yellow Peril, and that he too would squat like some great evil spider in the center of a web of intrigue, and that he would really accomplish something. He found it remarkably easy since nobody believed in the Yellow Peril any more. He grew a mandarin mustache, took to uttering cryptic quotations from the sages, and was generally addressed as "doctor" by the members of his organization, though he made no attempt to practice medicine. His wife drew the line at the concubine, but Gerald had enough to keep him busy with his personifying and squatting.
His great coup occurred in 2006 when, after patient years of squatting and plotting, one of his most insidious ideas reached the attention of His Majesty via a recommendation ridered onto the annual population-resources report. The recommendation was implemented as the Parental Qualifications Program, or P.Q.P., by royal edict. "Ow rackon thet'll make um mahnd they P's and Q's," quipped His Majesty, and everybody laughed heartily-but none more heartily than the insidious Dr. Wang, who was present in disguise as Tuner of the Royal Git-tar.
A typical PQP operation (at least when judged typical by the professor of Chronoscope History Seminar 201 given by Columbia University in 2756 A.D., who ought to know) involved George McCardle…
George McCardle had a good deal with his girl friend, Tigress Moone. He dined her and bought her pretties and had the freedom of the bearskin rug in front of her wood-burning fireplace. He had beaten the game; he had achieved a delightful combination of bachelor irresponsibility and marital gratification.
"George," Tigress said thoughtfully one day… so they got married.
With prices what they were in 2018, she kept her job, of course-at least until she again said thoughtfully: "George…"
She then had too much time on her hands; it was absurd for a healthy young woman to pretend that taking care of a two-room city apartment kept her occupied… so she thoughtfully said, "George?" and they moved to the suburbs.
George happened to be a rising young editor in the Civil War Book-of-the-Week Club. He won his spurs when he got MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD: A STUDY OF PENS AND PENCILS IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, 1863-1865 whipped into shape for the printer. They then assigned him to the infinitely more difficult and delicate job of handling writers. A temperamental troll named Blount was his special trial. Blount was writing a novelized account of Corporal Piggott's Raid, a deservedly obscure episode which got Corporal Piggott of the 104th New York (Provisional) Heavy Artillery Regiment deservedly court-martialled in the summer of '63. It was George's responsibility to see that Blount novelized the verdict of guilty into a triumphant acquittal followed by an award of the Medal of Honor, and Blount was being unreasonable about it.