Read Ebook: Buchanan's Journal of Man December 1887 Volume 1 Number 11 by Buchanan Joseph R Joseph Rodes Editor

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Ebook has 270 lines and 22491 words, and 6 pages

Mr. Krutchamer's face was sad, his eyebrows crept down over his eyes, and his voice dropped to a confidential decibel level. "I'm sorry, sir, but your problem sounds more like a chronic psycho-electronic condition. I would recommend that you see a PRD."

"What's that?" Raymond was annoyed. His face was flushed and he squinted at the little man.

"Doctor of Psychiatric Robotory."

"This android doesn't need Psycho-therapy, damn it," Raymond said hotly. "Maybe some minor adjustment with a heavy monkey wrench. But that's all."

"Perhaps." The little man turned on the smile. "The important thing in an android is that it function properly and efficiently. We are prepared in every way to keep your android in perfect operating condition, but we do not feel that it is at all necessary to concern ourselves with an android's alleged thoughts or vocal expressions. After all, it is only an android. A machine. A clever machine, but a machine."

"This clever machine has driven my wife out of our home, and is edging me into a cybernetic psychoneurosis."

Raymond walked stiffly out of the Sales Manager's office on to the balcony that overlooked the various androids that were on display in the showroom below and stared at the section designated MANSERVANT. There was an astonishing variety of tall, short, slim, fat, young, middle-aged, and old looking androids.

Mr. Krutchamer approached him slowly. Raymond fought back his annoyance and asked in desperation, "What kind of deal can you give me on a trade in?"

The Assistant Sales Manager smiled and said thoughtfully, "Let me see." He turned and examined the android. He looked it up and down, walked around in back of it, and looked it up and down some more. Then he circled it slowly three times, and concluded the ritual by making clucking noises with his teeth.

Finally Mr. Krutchamer said, "Can't give you too much, you realize. It isn't equipped with radar, or any navagational instruments, or even the built-in computer. About as high as I can go would be one thousand."

"One thousand!" exclaimed Raymond. "That would leave a balance of almost four thousand, plus the balance I've already got on this one."

The android stared at Raymond and said, "I could have told you that before you came down here, sir."

Raymond jumped, and snapped at the android, "Shut up!"

Raymond was furious. He turned suddenly on Mr. Krutchamer.

The Assistant Sales Manager ran into his office and closed the door behind him.

"Really, sir," the android said, "your method of operating this flying machine is truly offensive."

Raymond jabbed the throttle and the jetcopter leaped forward. He sat tensely at the controls, beads of perspiration across his forehead.

The android said, "I would suggest, sir, that you allow me to demonstrate the proper method of operating these controls."

The jetcopter lurched suddenly in a sharp turning motion, and angled in rapidly for a reckless ground landing at WHEELER'S WONDERFUL USED ANDROID LOT.

Mr. Wheeler personally met Raymond and the android as they disembarked. "Greetings," he said. "Looking for a good used android?"

Raymond shook his head. "Got one I want to sell." He pointed and asked, "How much?"

Wheeler examined the android rapidly and said, "Looks like a good clean model. Guess I could give you about five hundred cash."

Raymond exclaimed, "What! That the best you can do?"

Wheeler nodded and smiled. "That's Blue Book on this model. Take it or leave it. That's my top offer--cash."

Raymond turned away. "Come, my faithful manservant," he said despondently. "Let us return to our dismal retreat, where I can get properly and thoroughly liquored up."

Raymond was tired and dejected. His face was lined and despair was in his eyes. He collapsed into his favorite chair and dispatched the android to the bar.

Two highballs later an idea dashed itself to pieces in Raymond's brain. He jumped up, ran over to the Televisor, and placed a call to Allied-News-Facs. When the News-Facs android's plastic face appeared on the screen, Raymond said, "I want to place an ad in the For Sale or Swap section of the Four O'clock Edition."

"Yes, sir. What do you desire to say?"

Raymond frowned. "Just say this: Anyone desiring to take over the payments of one darling, efficient, well-mannered, handsome, unbearably conscientious android can purchase the equity extremely cheap at great sacrifice."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, for now. If that doesn't work, I'll call you back." He gave his address and televisor number and switched off.

Raymond turned to his android and said, "I've reconsidered. Maybe psycho-electronic-therapy can really help--one of us." He glanced at his watch. It was eleven a. m. "Let's go."

The android followed obediently and said, "This is extremely monotonous."

The door read: DR. FREDRICK MILLHOP, PRD

Inside, the waiting room was jammed with human beings and assorted electronic, two-legged contrivances. Surprise halted Raymond half-way through the doorway, and he studied the crowd in disbelief.

A beautiful female voice pierced the noisy confusion of human and unhuman voices: "Do you have an appointment, or are you human?"

Raymond stared at the Receptionist-Android, with its fixed smile on its sculptured feminine face, and replied unhappily, "I had no idea I would need one."

The Receptionist-Android smiled steadily. "Is this an emergency, or a disaster, or are you sober?"

"Could be," Raymond replied, bewildered. "Yes."

"If you desire to wait, perhaps the Doctor might see you, see you, see you. But I don't see why, see why, see why."

Mumbling a hasty assent, Raymond retreated into an unoccupied corner, where he and his android waited. The other men and women in the room were a grim, haggard looking group. As for the other androids, Raymond refused to look at them; and he closed his ears to all sound.

Noon came and passed, and the afternoon dragged. Raymond lost his feeling of impatience, and stood in the corner trance-like. Finally at two-thirty a tiny green light flashed in the Receptionist-Android's metallic bosom.

"The doctor will see you now or never."

The large, spacious office, with its glowing walls, dimmed ceiling, and deep, soft carpeting was a silent, soothing relief. Raymond's android watched as the two men engaged in a mutually weary handshake.

Dr. Millhop was a tall thin, sharp featured man. There were black moons under his eyes that lay heavily on long, guttered wrinkles. He leaned back in his chair, as Raymond explained the android's manifestations.

The Doctor nodded his head in the manner of a man who had been listening to the same story all day, day after day.

"Mr. Golden," Dr. Millhop said, "you must realize that every android has its own peculiar idiosyncrasies. Unfortunately, in some instances, there is absolutely nothing that can be done about it."

Raymond gestured at his android, and asked hopefully, "What about this instance?"

"How long will it take to run your tests?"

"We can send it into the lab immediately, run it through the analyzers, and have a report in one hour."

Raymond reached into his coat pocket for a cigar, stuck it in his mouth and lighted it with an old-fashioned lighter. He puffed thoughtfully, took one glance at the android, and said, "Let's do it."

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