But Comstock did not pause to think about the statement too much. Instead he grabbed the pliers and asked what he was to do with them. "Unfasten the rivet that holds my head in place," the robot instructed. Obeying the command was very difficult, Comstock found, for a variety of reasons. First, he had an ingrained feeling that what he was doing was the height of blasphemy, and then, when he controlled this conditioned reflex, he found that time and rust had almost frozen the rivets in place. He was sweating by the time he had unfastened all the necklace of rivets. The Grandfather said, "Now, very carefully, lift my head straight upwards." There were many wires dangling down from the underside of the jaw. The Grandfather directed Comstock to cut them free. Then and only then, with Comstock holding the head carefully between his blistered hands, The Grandfather said, "Now let us join the others." * * * * * In the Board room, The Fathers, Bowdler, the philosopher, Grundy, Pat and Helen sat beneath an inscribed metal plaque which read: "Alcoholism cures heart trouble." "Adultery cures arterio-sclerosis." "Thieving cures insanity." "Drug addiction cures cancer." "Prostitution cures diabetes." There were many such apothegms. But no one even bothered to read them. As a matter of fact, Grundy had said that one of the first things that they had better do was remove the plaque. The others had agreed heartily. A loudspeaker above the biggest door in the room said, "The Grandfather approaches." The Fathers, in a body, forced their decrepit frames to rise. The rebels decided that they too might as well rise out of respect. It took a moment before everyone could see the object that Comstock was carrying under his arm. Walking to the head of the table, Comstock said, "Sit down. Sit down. The Grandfather has a few words to say." Only then did he place the disembodied head he had been carrying onto the table in front of him. Two of the oldest, sickest Fathers, died immediately. When their bodies had been removed, Comstock said, "There's nothing to be afraid of. The Grandfather says that He is something that used to be called a robot." Then rapping on the table with a gavel, he sat back and waited. Down at the far end of the table he could see Pat eyeing the head with awed fascination. The others were equally pop-eyed. The philosopher, the man of words, could not be restrained. Before the Grandfather could speak, the philosopher asked incredulously, "Do you mean to say that we have been obeying the dictates of a machine?" Nodding, Comstock said nonchalantly. "Yep." Then The Grandfather spoke. "I was made to be your servant, and it has been my sorry task to be your master. I have not enjoyed it and I must say that I am glad at long last to be rid of an onerous task."