Made to Measure
By WILLIAM CAMPBELL GAULT
Illustrated by L. WOROMAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction January 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Somewhere is an ideal mate for every man
and woman, but Joe wasn't willing to bet
on it. He was a man who rolled his own!
The pressure tube locks clicked behind them, as the train moved on. Itwas a strange, sighing click and to Joe it sounded like, "She's notright—she's not right—she's not right—"
So, finally, he said it. "She's not right."
Sam, who was riding with him, looked over wonderingly. "Who isn't?"
"Vera. My wife. She's not right."
Sam frowned. "Are you serious, Joe? You mean she's—?" He tapped histemple.
"Oh, no. I mean she's not what I want."
"That's why we have the Center," Sam answered, as if quoting, which hewas. "With the current and growing preponderance of women over men,something had to be done. I think we've done it."
Sam was the Director of the Domestic Center and a man sold on his job.
"You've done as well as you could," Joe agreed in an argumentative way."You've given some reason and order to the marital competition amongwomen. You've almost eliminated illicit relations. You've establisheda basic security for the kids. But the big job? You've missed itcompletely."
"Thanks," Sam said. "That's a very small knife you've inserted betweenmy shoulder blades, but I'm thin-skinned." He took a deep breath."What, in the opinion of the Junior Assistant to the Adjutant ScienceDirector, was the big job?"
Joe looked for some scorn in Sam's words, found it, and said, "The bigjob is too big for a sociologist."
Sam seemed to flinch. "I didn't think that axe would fit alongside theknife. I underestimated you."
"No offense," Joe said. "It's just that you have to deal with humanbeings."
"Oh," Sam said. "Now it comes. You know, for a minute I forgot who youwere. I forgot you were the greatest living authority on robots. I wasthinking of you as my boyhood chum, good old Joe. You're beyond thatnow, aren't you?"
"Beyond my adolescence? I hope so, though very few people are." Joelooked at Sam squarely. "Every man wants a perfect wife, doesn't he?"
Sam shrugged. "I suppose."
"And no human is perfect, so no man gets a perfect wife. Am I right, sofar?"
"Sounds like it."
"Okay." Joe tapped Sam's chest with a hard finger. "I'm going to make aperfect wife." He tapped his own chest. "For me, just for me, the way Iwant her. No human frailties. Ideal."
"A perfect robot," Sam objected.
"A wife," Joe corrected. "A person. A human being."
"But without a brain."
"With a brain. Do you know anything about cybernetics, Sam?"
"I know just as much about cybernetics as you know about people.Nothing."
"That's not quite fair. I'm not sentimental about people, but it'sinaccurate to say I don't know anything about them. I'm a person. Ithink I'm—discerning and sensitive."
"Sure," Sam said. "Let's drop the subject."
"Why?"
"Because you're talking nonsense. A person without faults is not aperson. And if—it or he—she were, I don't think I'd care to know himor her or it."
"Naturally. You're a sentimentalist. You've seen so much misery, somuch human error, so much stupidity that you've built up your naturaltolerance into a sloppy an