there just might be the possibility of an Industrial Transfer.... Rath turned to Follansby and Haskins, and transfixed them with a gaze as piercing and as impersonal as a radar beam. "Let's have the full story," he said, taking a notebook and pencil from a shapeless pocket. He listened to the tale in ominous silence. Finally he closed his notebook, thrust it back into his pocket and said, "The therapeutic machines are a sacred trust. To give a customer the wrong machine is a betrayal of that trust, a violation of the Public Interest, and a defamation of the Company's good reputation." The manager nodded in agreement, glaring at his unhappy clerk. "A Martian model," Rath continued, "should never have been on the floor in the first place." "I can explain that," Follansby said hastily. "We needed a demonstrator model and I wrote to the Company, telling them--" "This might," Rath broke in inexorably, "be considered a case of gross criminal negligence." Both the manager and the clerk exchanged horrified looks. They were thinking of the General Motors Reformatory outside of Detroit, where Company offenders passed their days in sullen silence, monotonously drawing microcircuits for pocket television sets. "However, that is out of my jurisdiction," Rath said. He turned his baleful gaze full upon Haskins. "You are certain that the customer never mentioned his name?" "No, sir. I mean yes, I'm sure," Haskins replied rattledly. "Did he mention any names at all?" Haskins plunged his face into his hands. He looked up and said eagerly, "Yes! He wanted to kill someone! A friend of his!" "Who?" Rath asked, with terrible patience. "The friend's name was--let me think--Magneton! That was it! Magneton! Or was it Morrison? Oh, dear...." Mr. Rath's iron face registered a rather corrugated disgust. People were useless as witnesses. Worse than useless, since they were frequently misleading. For reliability, give him a robot every time. "Didn't he mention anything significant?"
Prev.
Back
Top