Henry Kuttner - Piggy Bank

The envelope had been brushed free by the encounter with the door, and Ballard picked it up. The brief note inside read:

Dear Bruce:

I’m taking no chances. Unless I make a certain adjustment on Argus daily, he reverts to a different code phrase from the one you give him. Since I’m the only guy who knows that code, you’ll have a sweet time catching Argus in case you cut my throat. Honesty is the best policy.

Love,

Joe Gunther.

Ballard tore the note into tiny fragments. He dismissed the servants and followed the robot, who had become immobile in the next room.

He went out, after a while, and televised his divorced wife in Chicago.

“Jessie?”

“Hello,” Jessie said. “What’s up?”

“You heard about my golden robot?”

“Sure. Build as many as you want, as long as you keep on paying my alimony. What’s this I hear about your hitting the skids?”

“Ffoulkes is behind that,” Ballard said grimly. “If you want your alimony to continue, do me a favor, I want to register my robot in your name. Sign it over to you for a dollar. That way, I won’t lose the robot even if there’s a foreclosure.”

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s plenty bad. But as long as I’ve got the robot, I’m safe. It’s worth several fortunes. I want you to sell the robot back to me for a dollar, of course, but we’ll keep that document quiet.”

“You mean you don’t trust me, Bruce?”

“Not with a diamond-studded robot,” Ballard said.

“Then I want two dollars. I’ve got to make a profit on the transaction. O.K. I’ll attend to it. Send me the papers and I’ll sign ‘em.”

Ballard broke the beam. That was done, anyhow. The robot was unequivocally his, and not even Ffoulkes could take it away from him.

Even if he went broke before the month was up and the new diamonds ready, the robot would put him on his feet again in no time. However, it was first necessary to catch Argus-

There were many telecalls that day. People wanted collateral. Brokers wanted margin covered. Ballard frantically juggled his holdings, liquidating, attempting flotations, trying to get loans. He received a visit from two bulky men who made a business of supplying credit, at exorbitant rates.

They had heard of the robot. But they demanded to see it-

Ballard was gratified by their expressions. “What do you need credit for, Bruce? You’ve got plenty tied up in that thing.”

“Sure. But I don’t want to dismantle it. So you’ll help me out till after the first-”

“Why the first?”

“I’m getting a new shipment of diamonds then.”

“Uh-huh,” said the taller of the two men. “That robot runs away, doesn’t he?”

“That’s why he’s burglar-proof.”

The two brokers exchanged glances. “Mind if we make a closer examination?” They went forward, and Argus fled.

Ballard said hastily, “Stopping him is rather a complicated process. And it takes time to start him again. Those stones are perfect.”

“How do we know? Turn off the juice, or whatever makes the thing tick. You don’t object to our making a closer examination, do you?”

“Of course not,” Ballard said. “But it takes time-”

“I smell a rat,” one of the brokers remarked. “You can have all the credit you want, but I insist on testing those diamonds. Call me when you’re ready.”

They both went out. Ballard cursed silently. The telescreen in the corner flickered. Ballard didn’t bother to answer; he knew very well what the purport of the message would be. Collateral- Ffoulkes was closing in for the kill.

Ballard’s lips tightened. He glared at the robot, spun on his heel, and summoned his secretary. He issued swift orders.

The secretary, a dapper, youngish man with yellow hair and a perpetually worried expression, went into action. He, in turn, issued orders. People began to come to the castle-workmen and technicians.

Ballard consulted with the technicians. None of them could suggest a certain method for immobilizing the robot. Yet they were far too optimistic. It didn’t seem difficult to them to catch a machine.

“Flame throwers?”

Ballard considered. “There’s an alloy casing under the gold plate.”

“Suppose we can corner it long enough to bum through to the brain? That should do the trick.”

“Well, try it. I can afford to lose a few diamonds if I can get my hands on the rest of ‘em.”

Ballard watched as six men, armed with flame throwers, maneuvered Argus into a corner. He warned them finally, “You’re close enough. Don’t go any nearer, or he’ll break through you.”

“Yes, sir. Ready? One… two-”

The nozzles blasted fire in unison. It took an appreciable time for the flame to reach the robot’s head-some fractional part of a second, perhaps. By that time, Argus had ducked, and, safely under the flames, was running out of his corner. Crouching, he burst through the line of men, his alarm siren screeching. He fled into the next room and relapsed into contented immobility.

“Try it again,” Ballard said glumly, but he knew it wouldn’t work. It didn’t. The robot’s reactions were instantaneous. The men could not correct their aim with sufficient speed to hit Argus. A good deal of valuable furniture was destroyed, however.

The secretary touched Ballard’s sleeve. “It’s nearly two.”

“Eh? Oh-that’s right. Call the men off, Johnson. Is the trapdoor ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The robot suddenly turned and headed for a door. It was time for his first tour of the castle that day. Since his route was prearranged and never swerved an iota from its course, it had been easy to set a trap. Ballard hadn’t really expected the flame throwers to work, anyhow.

He followed, with Johnson, as Argus moved slowly through the ornate rooms of the castle. “His weight will spring the trapdoor, and he’ll drop into the room below. Can he get out of that room?”

“No, sir. The walls are reinforced metal. He’ll stay put.”

“Fair enough.”

“But… uh… won’t he keep dodging around that room?”

“He may,” Ballard said grimly, “till I pour quick-setting concrete in on him. That’ll immobilize the so-and-so. It’ll be easy after that to drill through the concrete and get the diamonds.”

Johnson smiled weakly. He was a little afraid of the huge, glittering robot

“How wide is the trap?” Ballard asked abruptly.

“Ten feet.”

“So. Well, call the men with the flame throwers. Tell ‘em to close in behind us. If Argus doesn’t fall into the trap, we want to be able to drive him in.”

Johnson hesitated. “Wouldn’t he simply smash his way through the men?”

“We’ll see. Put the men on both sides of the trap, so we’ll have Argus cornered. Hop to it!”

The secretary raced away. Ballard followed the robot through room after room. Eventually Johnson and three of the flame-throwing crew appeared. The others had circled around to flank the robot.

They turned into the passage. It was narrow, but long. Halfway along it was the trapdoor, concealed by a rich Bokhara rug. In the distance Ballard could see three men waiting, flame throwers ready, watching as the robot approached them. Within minutes now the trap would be sprung.

“Turn it on, boys,” Ballard said, on a sudden impulse. The crew of three walking in front of him obeyed. Fire jutted out from the nozzles they held.

The robot increased its pace. It had eyes in the back of its head, Ballard remembered. Well, eyes wouldn’t help Argus now. The rug- A golden foot came down. The robot began to shift its weight forward, and suddenly froze as instantaneous reactions warned it of the difference in pressure between the solid floor and the trap. There was no time for the door to drop down, before Argus had instantly readjusted, withdrew his foot, and stood motionless on the verge of the rug. The flame throwers gushed out toward the robot’s back. Ballard yelled a command…