Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 56

Waldo. The secondary waldoes, whose actions could be controlled by Waldo himself by means of his primaries, were mounted in front of the power tool in the position of the operator.

Waldo's remark had referred to the primaries near the workman.

The machinist glanced at them, but made no move to insert his arms in them. 'I don't take no orders from n.o.body I can't see,' he said flatly. He looked sideways out of the scene as he spoke.

'Now, Jenkins,' commenced one of the two men in the smaller screen.

Waldo sighed. 'I really haven't the time or the inclination to solve your problems of shop discipline. Gentlemen, please turn your pickup, so that our petulant friend may see me.'

The change was accomplished; the workman's face appeared in the background of the smaller of Waldo's screens, as well as in the larger.

'There - is that better?' Waldo said gently. The workman grunted.

'Now.. . your name, please?'

'Alexander Jenkins.'

'Very well, friend Alec - the gloves.'

Jenkins thrust his arms into the waldoes and waited. Waldo put his arms into the primary pair before him; all three pairs, including the secondary pair mounted before the machine, came to life. Jenkins bit his lip, as if he found unpleasant the sensation of having his fingers manipulated by the gauntlets he wore.

Waldo flexed and extended his fingers gently; the two pairs of waldoes in the screen followed in exact, simultaneous paral

-lelism.

'Feel it, my dear Alec,' Waldo advised. 'Gently, gently- the sensitive touch. Make your muscles work for you.'

He then started hand movements of definite pattern; the waldoes at the power tool reached up, switched on the power, and began gently, gracefully, to continue the machining of the casting. A mechanical hand reached down, adjusting a vernier, while the other increased the flow of oil cooling the cutting edge. 'Rhythm, Alec, rhythm. No jerkiness, no unnecessary movement. Try to get in time with me.'

The casting took shape with deceptive rapidity, disclosed what it was - the bonnet piece for an ordinary three-way nurse. The chucks drew back from it; it dropped to the belt beneath, and another rough casting took its place.

Waldo continued with unhurried skill, his finger motions within his waldoes exerting pressure which would need to be measured in fractions of ounces, but the two sets of waldoes, paralleled to him thousands of miles below, followed his motions accurately and with force appropriate to heavy work at hand.

Another casting landed on the belt - several more. Jenkins, although not called upon to do any work in his proper person, tired under the strain of attempting to antic.i.p.ate and match

Waldo's motions. Sweat dripped down his forehead, ran off his nose, acc.u.mulated on his chin. Between castings he suddenly withdrew his arms from the paralleled primaries.

'That's enough,' he announced.

'One more, Alec. You are improving.'

'No!' He turned as if to walk off. Waldo made a sudden movement - so sudden as to strain him, even in his weight- free environment. One steel hand of the secondary waldoes lashed out, grasped Jenkins by the wrist.

'Not so fast, Alec.'

'Let go of me!'

'Softly, Alec, softly. You'll do as you are told, won't you?'

The steel hand clamped down hard, twisted. Waldo had exerted all of two ounces of pressure.

Jenkins grunted. The one remaining spectator - one had left soon after the lesson started - said, 'Oh, I say, Mr Jones!'

'Let him obey, or fire him. You know the terms of my contract.'

There was a sudden cessation of stereo and sound, cut from the Earth end. It came back on a few seconds later.

Jenkins was surly, but no longer recalcitrant. Waldo continued as if nothing had happened. 'Once more, my dear Alec.'

When the repet.i.tion had been completed, Waldo directed,

'Twenty times, wearing the wrist and elbow lights with the chrona.n.a.lyser in the picture. I shall expect the superposed strips to match, Alec.' He cut off the larger screen without further words and turned to the watcher in the smaller screen.

'Same time tomorrow, McNye. Progress is satisfactory. In time we'll turn this madhouse of yours into a modern plant.' He cleared that screen without saying goodbye.

Waldo terminated the business interview somewhat hastily, because he had been following with one eye certain announcements on his own local information board. A craft was approaching his house. Nothing strange about that; tourists were forever approaching and being pushed away by his auto-guardian circuit. But this craft had the approach signal, was now clamping to his threshold flat. It was a broomstick, but he could not place the licence number.

Florida licence. Whom did he know with a Florida licence?

He immediately realized that he knew no one who possessed his approach signal - that list was very short - and who could also reasonably be expected to sport a Florida licence. The suspicious defensiveness with which he regarded the entire world a.s.serted itself; he cut in the circuit whereby he could control by means of his primary waldoes the strictly illegal but highly lethal inner defences of his home. The craft was opaqued; he did not like that.

A youngish man wormed his way out. Waldo looked him over.

A stranger - face vaguely familiar perhaps. An ounce of pressure in the primaries and the face would cease to be a face, but Waldo's actions were under cold cortical control; he held his fire. The man turned, as if to a.s.sist another pa.s.senger. Yes, there was another.

Uncle Gus! - but the doddering old fool had brought a stranger with him. He knew better than that. He knew how Waldo felt about strangers!

Nevertheless, he released the outer lock of the reception room and let them in.

Gus Grimes snaked his way through the lock, pulling himself from one handrail to the next, and panting a little as he always did when forced to move weight free. Matter of diaphragm control, he told himself as he always did; can't be the exertion. Stevens streaked in after him, displaying a groundhog's harmless pride in handling himself well in s.p.a.ce conditions. Grimes arrested himself just inside the reception room, grunted, and spoke to a mansized dummy waiting there.

'h.e.l.lo, Waldo.'

The dummy turned its eyes and head slightly.

'Greetings, Uncle Gus. I do wish you would remember to phone before dropping in. I would have had your special dinner ready.'

'Never mind. We may not be here that long. Waldo, this is my friend, Jimmie Stevens.'

The dummy faced Stevens. 'How do you do, Mr Stevens,' the voice said formally. 'Welcome to Freehold.'

'How do you do, Mr Jones,' Stevens replied, and eyed the dummy curiously. It was really surprisingly lifelike; he had been taken in by it at first.

A 'reasonable facsimile'. Come to think of it, he had heard of this dummy. Except in vision screen few had seen Waldo in his own person.

Those who had business at Wheelchair - 'Freehold', he must remember that - those who had business at

Freehold heard a voice and saw this simulacrum.