The Music Master

by F. L. Wallace

"But I belong here," said Danny. "Honest. I'm a composer."

"Recomposer," corrected the caretaker. "Robots don't compose. They recompose."

"I can recompose too," said Danny desperately. "I'm going to be a real musician."

"Recompose," mused the caretaker. The grip loosened a little. "Then you're a music robot. I never heard of a robot composer, though." The caretaker thought about it with all the mental equipment it had. "If you're a music robot, let's hear some music."

"Let go," said Danny. "I'll play the piano."

"First the music," said the caretaker. "Then I'll let go."

"But I don't have an instrument."

"Music robots don't need them. The notes are stored inside. They carry an instrument for appearance only.

"The piano master needs an instrument," argued Danny. "It's different. It actually plays."

"The piano robot, yes," agreed the caretaker. "But there's only one in the city and you're not it." The caretaker sighed. "You've been lying to me. I'll have to report you."