MY ROBOT By O. H. LESLIE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] How I wish Faw-Faw were here! What joy to be a child again, and sit once more in his strong wide lap, and rest my fevered cheek against the cool metal surface of his chest, and let my sticky, stumpy fingers play idly over the buttons of his back, and finally press down the one that brought forth his soothing, smoothing, story-telling voice: "There was once a shoe-maker who through no fault of his own had become so poor that at last he had only leather enough for one pair of shoes...." Oh, Faw-Faw! What have they done with you? Memory, memory. So sweet, so painful. What was the rhyme that Father taught me? The rhyme that told me how Faw-Faw worked? "Information, registration, consideration, "MEMORY! "Calculation, conversation, robots made by "EMORY!" My father. A big man. A _brilliant_ man. And I was an Emory, too, and when I grew up, GREAT THINGS were expected of me. For didn't I have Faw-Faw? What child could hope for a better tutor? Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY: Oh, Faw-Faw! How could I have ever hated your cold, cruel chest, your icy arms, your frozen mechanical affection! How could I have struck your brain-housing with such fury, beating the heavy hammer in great _gong! gong! gongs!_ Yes, Father, I _deserved_ your punishment. You were right; I was wrong. Again, again! Only beat me again! How could I feel such gross ingratitude? Again! My mother.... "_He's only a child!_" Shrieking at him. "_He's only seven!_" * * * * * How soon his red anger died! Remorse, regret, eyes staring in bewilderment at the thick brown strap in his hand. "He could have destroyed him," he said, in a voice I didn't know. "He could have smashed the work of a life-time. Forty-four experiments--twelve years--and he could have--" Oh, Father, how I wronged you! Again, again! But how soon I learned. Cold steel or warm flesh--how little the difference really mattered! My mother's sleepytime kiss, once so sweet and comforting; my father's gruff hair-rumpling; how trivial these childhood pleasures seemed after the lessons of Faw-Faw, the strength of Faw-Faw, the quick thrilling response of Faw-Faw to every childish command. Oh, Faw-Faw! How well I learned your ways! Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY: "A whole year?" I said. "Maybe a little less," said my mother. "It's a very important assignment," said my father. "A great honor," said my mother, stroking my hair. As if to comfort me.