“Comrades,” Tolka addressed the rulers of the key cities that were grouped before her in the throne room, “as you know, there has been a drastic shortage of platinum recently and thousands of robots had to be disposed of. The men who work in the mines have notified me through their spokesman, a man they call John Corstair, that the present lode has been almost entirely exhausted."

...

“And so,” continued Tolka, “we must render at least two thousand of the robots useless immediately in order to preserve as many of them as possible, because if their brainplates wear out completely and are not replaced, it is quite possible that they will become completely demented and go on a tour of destruction as they did when my illustrious mother, Tolka I, was in her prime.” She raised her voice to a demanding pitch. “Would you want such a state to occur in our generation?”

A chorus of “No’s!” greeted her question.

Tolka rose from her throne. “Very well,” she said, turning to her personal robot servant, “then we will act without delay.”