boss.”
“Where are you?”
“Just across the Connecticut line,” answered the giant. “Up in the woods behind a joint called the Steinbrunner Ear, Nose & Throat Hospital. What I figure is . . . Oops!”
“Smitty?”
His radio had gone dead.
CHAPTER XVI
The Test
The Iron Skull tipped the brandy decanter and poured himself a glass. “Join me, Wilson?”
“I never drink between meals,” replied Cole, “especially when it’s been such a long time between.”
“Forgive me,” said the man with half a face. “I’ve been so involved in showing off my accomplishments I’ve neglected your more immediate needs.” He sipped the brandy through metal teeth. “Come along with me.” He went rolling across the laboratory, through the robots in various stages of completion. “What do you think of what you’ve seen so far?”
“Impressive,” said Cole. “But I can’t believe you’ve gone to all this trouble merely to make an attempt at rubbing out the Justice, Inc., lads and lassies.”
A door opened in front of the Iron Skull and he propelled his wheelchair into another room. This was a large, beam-ceilinged dining room with a long white-clothed table at its center. “Please sit down wherever you wish, Wilson, and I’ll summon someone to take your order for whatever you’d like.”
“Much obliged.” Cole seated himself at the end of the long table. “I’m forced to admit that, what with being rendered insensible by your mechanical minions and thereafter deprived of my wristwatch, I’m not exactly certain what meal it is I should be attacking.”
“A late lunch would be most appropriate.”
“Ah, so I slept through dinner and breakfast.”
The Iron Skull wheeled himself to the head of the table and pushed a button. “As to my purposes,” he said. “I have been systematically replacing various key figures in various important positions.”
“Your robots are that good?”
“They are perfect,” said the Iron Skull. “Do not let the recent exchange between Nevins and Clareson and myself lead you to believe that there is anything wrong with my creations. No, they are perfect . . . unfortunately some of those humans I have been forced to work with are less than perfect.” He rested his brandy glass on the table. “I often think that society would function a good deal better if a great many of the top men were replaced by my robots. Robots, you see, are not subject to a great many of the foibles of human types. They are not venal, lustful, petty.”
“They’re not people,” said Cole. “You also might have a smoothly running country staffed only with chipmunks, but it wouldn’t be a people society. I’m really afraid we’re stuck with humans pretty much as they are.”
“How can you say that after I have shown you the things I have?” asked the Iron Skull. “Take my own case as a prime example . . . I have quite clearly improved myself. I am more efficient now than I was when I was completely flesh and blood.” He pointed his real fingers at Cole. “Do you realize that I could take your brain from your skull and place it in that robot doppelganger of you we just now inspected? Yes, I could do that and you would be much the better for it, Wilson.”
Cole grinned. “I hope we’re still on a theoretical plane,” he said.
“Oh, yes, you mock the idea now. It could well be that by transplanting a man’s brain into a robot body . . . perhaps one could gain a kind of immortality that way.”
“Aren’t you too busy with war work to devote much time to such lofty stuff?”
“This war will not last forever.”
A door silently opened, and a small man in a white jacket entered carefully. “Yes, sir?”
“You took your own sweet time about getting here, Reisberson,” said the Iron Skull. “Our guest would like to dine.”
“Very good, sir.” Reisberson approached Cole’s end of the table. “What would you care to—”
“Bring him the roast beef, Reisberson,”
“Where are you?”
“Just across the Connecticut line,” answered the giant. “Up in the woods behind a joint called the Steinbrunner Ear, Nose & Throat Hospital. What I figure is . . . Oops!”
“Smitty?”
His radio had gone dead.
CHAPTER XVI
The Test
The Iron Skull tipped the brandy decanter and poured himself a glass. “Join me, Wilson?”
“I never drink between meals,” replied Cole, “especially when it’s been such a long time between.”
“Forgive me,” said the man with half a face. “I’ve been so involved in showing off my accomplishments I’ve neglected your more immediate needs.” He sipped the brandy through metal teeth. “Come along with me.” He went rolling across the laboratory, through the robots in various stages of completion. “What do you think of what you’ve seen so far?”
“Impressive,” said Cole. “But I can’t believe you’ve gone to all this trouble merely to make an attempt at rubbing out the Justice, Inc., lads and lassies.”
A door opened in front of the Iron Skull and he propelled his wheelchair into another room. This was a large, beam-ceilinged dining room with a long white-clothed table at its center. “Please sit down wherever you wish, Wilson, and I’ll summon someone to take your order for whatever you’d like.”
“Much obliged.” Cole seated himself at the end of the long table. “I’m forced to admit that, what with being rendered insensible by your mechanical minions and thereafter deprived of my wristwatch, I’m not exactly certain what meal it is I should be attacking.”
“A late lunch would be most appropriate.”
“Ah, so I slept through dinner and breakfast.”
The Iron Skull wheeled himself to the head of the table and pushed a button. “As to my purposes,” he said. “I have been systematically replacing various key figures in various important positions.”
“Your robots are that good?”
“They are perfect,” said the Iron Skull. “Do not let the recent exchange between Nevins and Clareson and myself lead you to believe that there is anything wrong with my creations. No, they are perfect . . . unfortunately some of those humans I have been forced to work with are less than perfect.” He rested his brandy glass on the table. “I often think that society would function a good deal better if a great many of the top men were replaced by my robots. Robots, you see, are not subject to a great many of the foibles of human types. They are not venal, lustful, petty.”
“They’re not people,” said Cole. “You also might have a smoothly running country staffed only with chipmunks, but it wouldn’t be a people society. I’m really afraid we’re stuck with humans pretty much as they are.”
“How can you say that after I have shown you the things I have?” asked the Iron Skull. “Take my own case as a prime example . . . I have quite clearly improved myself. I am more efficient now than I was when I was completely flesh and blood.” He pointed his real fingers at Cole. “Do you realize that I could take your brain from your skull and place it in that robot doppelganger of you we just now inspected? Yes, I could do that and you would be much the better for it, Wilson.”
Cole grinned. “I hope we’re still on a theoretical plane,” he said.
“Oh, yes, you mock the idea now. It could well be that by transplanting a man’s brain into a robot body . . . perhaps one could gain a kind of immortality that way.”
“Aren’t you too busy with war work to devote much time to such lofty stuff?”
“This war will not last forever.”
A door silently opened, and a small man in a white jacket entered carefully. “Yes, sir?”
“You took your own sweet time about getting here, Reisberson,” said the Iron Skull. “Our guest would like to dine.”
“Very good, sir.” Reisberson approached Cole’s end of the table. “What would you care to—”
“Bring him the roast beef, Reisberson,”
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