Pohl Frederik: The Midas Plague

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?”