The Old Man was sitting there, face blank, withdrawn. Ben could feel he wasn’t even listening. That damned hearing aid of his. The Old Man had cut it off. Suddenly, unreasoningly, Ben was furious. He stood by the huge desk and he reached across toward the hearing aid on the Old Man’s chest to turn up the volume. The Old Man looked up and saw Ben’s hand stretching out.
A sudden look of fear came into his china blue, clear eyes but he made no move. He sat frozen in his chair.
Ben hesitated a second. “What—?” But he didn’t have to ask. He knew.
And he also knew what he was going to do.
[p 38]
“No!” said the Old Man. “No, Ben. I’ve only been trying to help; trying to serve your best interests the best way I know. Ben, you mustn’t—”
But Ben moved forward.
He took the plastic box on the Old Man’s chest and firmly cut the switch.
The Old Man, the Robot Old Man, went lifeless and slumped back in his chair as Ben stretched to cut off the Desk-sec. Then he picked up his vacation clearance.
“Robots can’t sell, eh?” he said to the dead machine behind the desk. “Well, you couldn’t sell me that time, could you, Old Man?”