He Who Served by Ray Cummings

This surely was the blackest of / crimes -- to be newly built, and / lead the blind, and be a friend / beyond all human understanding.

_Ray Cummings has delighted two generations of science fantasy readers with his unforgettable tales of the infinitely small and the infinitely large. We are all atom conscious today, but Ray was the first to discern the realms of gold spinning in miraculous splendor far below the threshold of the visible. He has explored newer realms here, in a story so human and heart-warming you won't be ashamed to shed a tear on completing it._

2 RY could remember the quick bright warmth of the afternoon sun on his burnished copper and silvery plating. He could remember every prideful moment of his early training in the big yard of the James Erg factory. Every afternoon, at first only in good weather, he and others of the newly-built had been taken into the yard from the quiet dimness of the storeroom indoors. Not only was he the largest, the finest robot of them all, but he was the most intricately constructed and the most adept at complicated tasks. And he had been the first of the newer models to be trained.

There were only twenty-five others of Model 2 RY under construction -- the supreme achievement of the genius of James Erg, the culmination of a lifetime of work. For a quarter of a century no other robot-builder had been able to compete with the world famous Erg product.

The big Erg factory in the suburbs of New York dominated the world market, its products ranging from modest one-task models up to the most elaborate. Model 2 RY was now the most elaborate, costing two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was guaranteed slow-trained over a full two year period. The training included, of course, additional instruction for any specialized tasks desired by its purchaser; and association with the members of his family so that the timbre of their human voices would produce no untoward reactions.

2 RY was big, just under seven feet. His frozen countenance, with its square-cut contours, and faceted eyes, and his sturdy body-box gave him the aspect of a rough-hewn statue, but was in no way grotesque. His voice, hollow yet with several emotional gradations to it, was soft and pleasing. He could remember that the human voice of the Instructor was very much like his own -- gentle and quiet, and beguiling in its infinite patience.

2 RY had been taught just simple things at first. "Toory, come here. " He had learned to balance upright the first day. "Come, Toory. Stand here by me. " With his great jointed legs swinging, and sometimes clanking because of his untrained awkwardness, Toory would obey.

"Very good, Toory. Now -- sit down. Flat -- all the way down. That's it, Toory."

How patient the man had remained! "Now -- raise your right hand. No, not that one. The _right_ hand, Toory. That's splendid!"

And when he failed to realize he had made a mistake, the question would come again. "You're using your left hand. Do you understand, Toory?"

"Yes," Toory would say.

He could remember every glorious moment of those two years. Outdoors in rainy weather, with the rain dimming his eye-lenses so that he had to learn to polish them with a bit of fabric. And more often in cold weather when all his motions seemed to require more effort. His reactions then would be slower if he did not automatically quicken them. Quite as varied were the many tasks indoors in the training rooms. They were mostly domestic tasks, because Toory had been designed essentially, not for factory or business work, but for the home.

At last he realized that his training was over, and one day soon after that, his prospective purchaser came. His name was Robert Doret. He was a wealthy man and an important one. The faint, red-glowing beams from Toory's eyes, deep-set under his ridged brows, gazed down in apprehension at the man who perhaps might buy him.

"So you're trained to be called 'Toory'? " Robert Doret asked. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Toory replied, striving to remain calm.

"You're right," Doret said to James Erg, who stood beside him. "Quite a pleasant, well-modulated voice. Certainly far more human-sounding than the other models."

"Try him on emotion," Erg suggested.

Doret thought a moment. "I'm not sure I'm entirely pleased with you, Toory," he said.

"I do not understand why," Toory murmured, contritely. "But I am sorry."

"You will find several emotion-gradations like that," Erg said.