"I thought they would," I answered quietly.
Our eyes met in a look of understanding. "You see, Jerry," I said, "we never meant to cheat you. We would have paid you—we will pay you now, if you wish it. But what good will monetary credits be to your people? We need the things money buys, but you—"
"Need to work." Jerry's voice was flat. "I see, now. You were kind not to give brains—real brains—to the robots. They're happy. It's just us 5's who aren't."
"You're like us," I said softly.
He had learned to think from me and from others like me. He had the brain of a man, without the emotions, without the sweet irrationality of men—and he knew what he missed. Side by side we walked through the graying streets. Human and android. Man and machine. And I knew that I had found a friend.
We didn't have to talk any more. He could read my mind and I knew well enough how his worked. We didn't have to discuss wages or hours, or any of the myriad matters that human bargaining agents have to thresh out. We just walked back to my Copter, and when we got to it, he spoke.
"I'll tell them to go back to work, that we've come to terms," he said. "That's what they want, anyway. Someone to think for them."
I nodded. "And if you bring the other 5's to the factory," I said, "we'll work out our agreement."
He knew I was sincere. He looked at me for a long moment, and then his great taloned hand gripped mine. And he said what I'd been thinking for a long time.
"You're right about that hook-up, Mr. Morrison. We shouldn't have it. It can only cause trouble."