“Closed cycle,” whispered the Ration Board man in awe. “A real closed cycle this time!”
And so the inexorable laws of supply and demand were irrevocably repealed. No longer was mankind hampered by inadequate supply or drowned by overproduction. What mankind needed was there. What the race did not require passed into the insatiable—and adjustable-robot maw. Nothing was wasted.
For a pipeline has two ends.
Morey was thanked, complimented, rewarded, given a ticker-tape parade through the city, and put on a plane back home. By that time, the Ration Board had liquidated itself.
Cherry met him at the airport. They jabbered excitedly at each other all the way to the house.
In their own living room, they finished the kiss they had greeted each other with. At last Cherry broke away, laughing.
Morey said, “Did I tell you I’m through with Bradmoor? From now on I work for the Board as civilian consultant. And,” he added impressively, “starting right away, I’m a Class Eight!”
“My!” gasped Cherry, so worshipfully that Morey felt a twinge of conscience.
He said honestly, “Of course, if what they were saying in Washington is so, the classes aren’t going to mean much pretty soon. Still, it’s quite an honor.”
“It certainly is,” Cherry said staunchly. “Why, Dad’s only a Class Eight himself and he’s been a judge for I don’t know how many years.”
Morey pursed his lips. “We can’t all be fortunate,” he said generously. “Of course, the classes still will count for something—that is, a Class One will have so much to consume in a year, a Class Two will have a little less, and so on. But each person in each class will have robot help, you see, to do the actual consuming. The way it’s going to be, special facsimile robots will—”
Cherry flagged him down. “I know, dear. Each family gets a robot duplicate of every person in the family.”
“Oh,” said Morey, slightly annoyed. “How did you know?”
“Ours came yesterday,” she explained. “The man from the Board said we were the first in the area—because it was your idea, of course. They haven’t even been activated yet. I’ve still got them in the Green Room. Want to see them?”
“Sure,” said Morey buoyantly. He dashed ahead of Cherry to inspect the results of his own brainstorm. There they were, standing statue-still against the wall, waiting to be energized to begin their endless tasks.
“Yours is real pretty,” Morey said gallantly. “But—say, is that thing supposed to look like me?” He inspected the chromium face of the man-robot disapprovingly.
“Only roughly, the man said.” Cherry was right behind him. “Notice anything else?”
Morey leaned closer, inspecting the features of the facsimile robot at a close range. “Well, no,” he said. “It’s got a kind of a squint that I don’t like, but—Oh, you mean that!” he bent over to examine a smaller robot, half hidden between the other pair. It was less than two feet high, big-headed, pudgy-limbed, thick-bellied. In fact, Morey thought wonderingly, it looked almost like—
“My God!” Morey spun around, staring wide-eyed at his wife. “You mean—”
“I mean,” said Cherry, blushing slightly.
Morey reached out to grab her in his arms.
“Darling!” he cried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”