A startlingly human-looking robot seemed to materialize instantaneously from nowhere.
"How might thy humble servant serve thee, O magnificent Master?" it inquired, bowing so low that its partially metallic nose scratched the rich mahogany floor.
"What took you so long, you damned fool?" asked Joe.
"I apologize, Gracious Master. I am incompetent and worthless."
"Get me a drink, you bucket of bolts," said Joe.
"I am grateful for a chance to serve thee, Benevolent Master," replied the robot in its monotonous Uncle Tom patter, and made another floor-scratching bow. Then it groveled out of the room.
"That robot is getting too slavelike," said Joe to himself, after the robot had left. "All my robots seem to be that way. They do exactly what I tell them to, and degrade themselves sickeningly before me. All the people I've ever known seem to be that way, too. I wish I could find at least one mind equal to mine to clash with. Then I could have a real fight for once. None of this bowing and scraping."
Just then the robot entered with a Manhattan, made its usual floor-gouging bow, and scraped its metal feet to get Joe's attention. Joe turned to glare at the mechanical minion.
"Robot!"
"Yes, Omnipotent Mas—" the robot began, but Joe cut it off.