Professor D'Aramitz struggled to suppress his regret as he examined the diagnostics, an impossible task. Conceding for once to his feelings, he tilted back in his chair and looked at nothing in particular.
"I have finally constructed a robot capable of conquering our planet which is in such need of a masterful hand." Finally he looked at something: A titan of steel in its dock, a hundred cables affixed to it, bearing an attitude, it seemed to him, of the champion athlete eager to put the physical examination behind him and return to competition. "But it is not quite ethical, is it, to bring civilians into it, and that, my poor creation soon to be neglected, would be an inevitability. Without an excuse to deploy you, the world will never know your matchless power."
The professor wandered about his hidden facilities for a time, picking up this readout before throwing it down and settling down at that terminal, staring at the screen, and rising again. There was nothing to do, he convinced himself, but surrender the rest of the day to idleness, unless he was willing to begin the decommission process. He returned aboveground and abandoned his attention to the TV.
". . . Confirmation is coming in now that the destruction is in fact caused by alien invaders . . ."
The TV turned off again. Professor D'Aramitz stood. He stretched both arms, leaned back a little, and yelled, "Hurrah for unending strife!"
Finis
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