"Friend?" The word was broken and grating, coming as it did from the voicebox of a broken-down robot. It held out its hands to the passers-by, cupping them in anticipation of charity, and spoke again. "Friend?"
The people on the street ignored paid scant attention to the mechanical man. If they registered its pleas at all, then it was only to step around the unfortunate rather than past it.
"Friend?"
A group of young men, dressed in fine clothes and laughing drunkenly, lurched past. It seemed that they too would pay no heed to the metal beggar, but one of them stopped and called out to the others: "I say! Look here!" The rest of the party stopped, then staggered back.
"What the deuce is this?" one of them said, peering down at the robot.
Another pushed his topper back so he could pantomime scratching his head. "Looks like some kind of robot thing."
"Can't be!" The first man - the one who noticed the robot - prodded at the unfortunate device with his cane. "It's more like a pile of scrap."
"Fri-end?" The mechanical man's plea was hesitant.
"Scrap, you say? Shouldn't be here on the pavement, then. Shall we sweep it into the gutter where it belongs?"
"Let's!"
With hoots and jeers, the gang fell upon the robot, punching and kicking it into the road. The mechanical man raised its arms to protect itself, keening in distress as a myriad of its built-in directives fought against each other for control.
A small crowd gathered to watch this act of violence, treating it as an interesting diversion from the afternoon's business. A few even took to cheering on the ruffians as they assaulted the robot, until a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman elbowed his way through them.
"Stop!" His voice boomed with authority. The noise of the crowd died away, and the ruffians paused to stare.
The young man with the topper spun around. "Why should we? we're just showing this piece of," he aimed a vicious kick at the mechanical man, "rubbish where it be- !" He collapsed, clutching his stomach where the newcomer had jabbed at it with the point of his umbrella.
"I suggest you go about your business," the gentleman stated, "lest I make you my business."
The crowd broke up, muttering resentfully, leaving the newcomer alone with the mechanical man. With an unnatural ease, the gentleman helped the robot to its feet and supported it back to the pavement.
"Friend?" the mechanical man asked.
"Friend," the gentleman replied. Then he buzzed at the robot in binary tones, "Let me take you somewhere safe."
