A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  Engelhart was appalled. His face went white. “You know what this reminds me of? The time I talked to the big brain on Canopus X and XI. I wouldn’t go through that again if I was paid. I was terrified.”

  “Why?” Deeley wanted to know.

  “Well, I suppose it wasn’t really fright so much as awe—the knowing that this man-made thing was ten times as intelligent as its builders and knew ten thousand times as much as any man could hope to learn in a lifetime. But at the bottom of it was always the fear that the servant would become the master.”

  Chang stuffed his pipe afresh, forcing himself to feel calm. He said, “Here the fear has become reality.”

  There was a roar of jubilation from the stem of the ship as a big hitter in the baseball game swiped one over the head of the pitcher and began a home run. It symbolized the joyous irrationality of mankind—the knowledge that they were not perfect, not infallible, and quite content to remain so, but permanently afraid, because of that knowledge, of going down before something inhumanly efficient, fearing most of all lest their downfall be of their own doing.

  “By all that’s holy!” said Keston suddenly, slapping his thigh and sitting up with a jerk. “I think that gives us the answer to the radio signals we picked up.”

  “How, Keston?” demanded Chang.

  “We’ve wasted time trying to make a language out of it. It isn’t a language. It’s true telepathy.”

  “Telepathy!”

  “Yes, on the mechanical level. It’s pure thought without intervening steps. The robot, being mechanical, thinks with electrical impulses, and communicates by broadcasting them as they stand. Magnificent! Running Bull’ll go wild over this. Excuse me, sir.” He got up and went hastily inship.

  By the stern, the noise from the men playing baseball had stopped. A soft breeze ruffled the grassy vegetation of the plain.

  Deeley said eventually, “Sir, we can’t afford not to have this planet.”

  Chang nodded, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “Not with twenty billion people on New Earth alone and a birth-death ratio of plus two per cent. This world is worth more than any man could spend.”

  “Well, sir—what are we going to do about it?”

  “I’ll need time to consider it, but the general pattern is clear. The first step would be to pick up a sample of the opposition-magnetic grapples should hold them—and find out if and how, they can be destroyed or immobilized. Then do it. As for that fake hill with the concealed radar gear atop, we’ll just blast it and any like it. If these tin soldiers took the world from their creators, I feel no compunction about taking it from them. This is the course of action I suggest in outline. We grab our specimen and go upstairs at once. We can fight off attack easier in space, and if necessary we can dodge into hyperdrive. If we find the robots indestructible, at least by our resources, we’ll have to put back for reinforcements. A robot-dominated world would be an unstable element in a galactic culture anyway, and on a sweet world like this one it’s a criminal waste—” His lapel alarm went and he said, “Chang listening.”

  “Sir, Trooper Phillips P.J. has disappeared.”

  Chang jerked as if stung. He said, “How?”

  “Sir, he was in the ball game by the stern, and Trooper Horrigan was at bat and hit a homer which went behind a ridge, and Trooper Phillips went after it and didn’t come back, and from the tracks in the grass it looks like a robot got him.” Chang was on his feet. “What went wrong with the alarm system?”

  “Blanked out, sir. We found the master cell’d been blown with a big overload.”

  “O.K. Call everyone inship at once.” He snapped off the speaker, whirled to Engelhart. “Have a heli after that robot. Fit it with a magnetic grapple or some means of stopping the robot without harming the man. Battle stations!”

  Engelhart went inship at a run, and Chang turned to the stunned-looking Adhem. He said briefly, “It looks as if our plan to get a sample of the opposition has been anticipated.” They turned and went into the bridge. As they did so, Keston and Spinelli entered from the opposite direction and sat down at their control desks without speaking. The entire ship seemed suddenly to have tensed for action, and instead of being as it were a convenient and comfortable dwelling in beautiful surroundings, it was again a tight little world of its own, very much alone against the universe.

  Engelhart’s speaker bubbled, and he turned to Chang. “The helis we sent after the robot and Phillips reporting, sir. He’s outrun them. He’s gone invisible, but they can follow his tracks, and they claim he’s making all of three hundred.”

  “Which way’s it heading?” demanded Chang curtly. “Southwest, sir. Towards the place where we found the radar antennae.”

  Before Chang could say anything further, Keston interrupted, “Sir, there’s an unbeamed broadcast going out—non-pictorial on about three hundred seven meters. Its source appears to be the radio station ninety miles southwest of here.”

  Chang said, “Spinelli, get us off the ground. This is asking for trouble.”

  “Planetary take-off, sir?” said the engines officer, his hand reaching for the appropriate switches.

  “No, just hoist us up to about five thousand feet.”

  “We can’t hold that for long on antigrav, sir,” said Spinelli warningly. “The generators will bum out this close to a planetary mass.”

  “It needn’t be for long. Long enough to get Phillips back, if we can, or deliver a few shrewd punches if we can’t.”

  “Can’t you use a heli for that, sir?”

  “No,” said Chang with infinite patience. “A ship can go right upstairs in case of trouble, but a heli can’t.”

  “I see, sir,” said Spinelli.

  Shortly, the big ship floated awkwardly up from the ground, leaving a broad dent in the soft rich soil of the plain and a few scorched logs that might have been a clump of trees nobody noticed on the way down, and lumbered at an energetic two hundred miles an hour the ninety miles to the camouflaged building. Maneuvering a big ship on antigravs was necessarily slow near a planet, rather like walking on stilts with a rider on your back.

  From five thousand feet up they surveyed it. Even here it was difficult to make out the aerials concealed among the trees, and there was no sign at all of an entry to the underground building itself, but that was probably the best-hidden part of the setup.

  Chang said musingly, “I wonder why they did that.”

  Adhem shrugged, said, “Maybe they camouflaged it to hide it from their masters when they revolted and never bothered to uncover it again.”

  “Perhaps. Even so, it’s an interesting thing about these robots. They may dominate the planet, but they seem to look after it well and have an eye for beauty. They’ve made the best of their resources.”

  “Sir,” said Deeley diffidently, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe these robots are the advance guard of another race wanting to colonize the planet. That would account for the sterility of the soil and air. Prophylactic measures. When we take over a new planet we immunize the colonists against the local plagues with vaccines and antitoxins. A race with higher technology might prefer to sterilize the planet.”

  “That’s an ingenious idea, but it doesn’t jibe with the lunar station we found, nor with the attitude of the robots towards us. I refuse to believe in a race that builds pressurized cities out of durasteel for its overnight huts. That looked more like a way station for outgoing interplanetary traffic, which implies a race on the planet already. And if it were so, the robots would be putting up KEEP OUT signs all over.”

  Before anyone could argue with his conclusion, Spinelli said,“Sir, the generators are beginning to show signs of strain.”

  “All right. Engelhart, have you a medium-light hydrogen mine handy?”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want me to blast the hill?”

  “No. I don’t want to kill Phillips if I can help it. Put it out on the end of a beam and dangle it over the radar antenna looking at us out of those trees. Keston, an
y sign of life on the radio waves?”

  “Yes, sir. Running Bull’s cracked the pictorial transmission. There’s a picture of the ship going out unbeamed in all directions, plus a whole lot of nonpictorial stuff.”

  “Thanks. Engelhart, drift the mine over to a convenient hill, but make sure there are no robots around, because I don’t want to do damage yet, only to show that we can—and blow the hill to bits.”

  “Right, sir,” said Engelhart, reaching for his mike.

  After a while, the spherical bulk of the mine bobbed out from the side of the ship on a levitator beam and wove a complicated dance pattern over the radar antenna. Then the operator of the beam shifted it off to one side and saw that the antenna turned to follow it. He put on full power, and the mine whined rapidly into the distance.

  About forty miles away, on the sky-line, a three-hundred-foot hill fountained skywards in a mushroom of smoke and dust. “While they’re thinking that one over,” said Chang with an air of satisfaction, “I want a heli fitted with remote controls. Tell me when it’s ready.”

  Ten minutes later Engelhart reported, “Ready, sir.”

  “Right. Jam the doors open and let it settle down about a hundred yards from the hill, in full view of it. You will also send out another mine, but keep this one bobbing a few feet off the ground. I want them to get the idea that they can send back the man they kidnaped, or go the way the hill went.”

  “Number one generator’s starting to overheat, sir,” said Spinelli warningly. “I can’t guarantee you more than another ten minutes of this—”

  “Never mind,” said Chang. “Hurry, Engelhart.”

  The heli shot away from the side of the ship and sat down with a bump that bounced it three times on its hydraulic landing gear. The pilot at the radio controls had been told to hurry. Within a few yards of it hovered the fifteen-foot bulk of the mine, its metal surface gleaming dully in the sunshine.

  They waited. One minute passed. Then two. Three.

  Then a crack opened in the hillside, and Chang leaned forward to stare out the viewport. “Something’s happening, sir,” reported Keston belatedly.

  “I know,” said Chang. “Question is—what?”

  The crack grew wider. There were steps beyond it, dimly visible, but the interior was dark compared to the sunbright ground outside, and nothing could be made of it until—Chang’s eyes narrowed as he saw the heads of two robots appear. Then, a moment later, that of a man between them. Since he was three and a half feet shorter than the robots, he showed after they did. But he was coming out.

  They reached the grassy ground under the eyes of all the men in the ship, and it was clear that the man in the center was accompanying them without being led. As soon as they saw the heli, the robots stopped, motioned the man to go on. After slight hesitation he did so, walked across the intervening space.

  “Number three generator’s heating up, sir,” said Spinelli without looking up. “I don’t want to seem impatient, but—”

  “You can get ready to lift,” said Chang. “Engelhart, have your pilot pick the heli up the moment Phillips gets aboard. I suppose that is Phillips?”

  “Looks like him, sir. How about the mine?”

  “Bring it inboard along with the heli. I don’t expect trouble now. What is Phillips doing?”

  He had paused on the step of the heli and turned to wave—actually to wave at the robots!

  Before Chang could summon a suitable comment on this lunatic action, the pilot of the heli, warned of the need for haste, had given it a slight upward jerk—about six inches, enough to make Phillips scramble aboard in a hurry.

  “Numbers two and six generators are heating up, sir,” Spinelli reported. “Won’t stand much more.”

  “All right. Have Deeley give you a top emergency orbit-quick.”

  The blades of the heli blurred, and it rose swiftly and headed for the ship a mile above it. The mine, too, lifted and began to home at speed. Chang could hear Spinelli uttering frantic orders to his engineers.

  “Heli in,” reported Engelhart after what seemed an eternity, and Chang shouted, “Lift, Spinelli!”

  The hill in the viewport gave a frantic lurch and began to dwindle. Then there was an anguished scream from Spinelli’s speaker, and every light in the ship went out.

  They got the emergency illumination on almost immediately, and Chang looked along the bridge at Spinelli, who was whispering into his lapel speaker, independent of the main power supply. He said, “What happened?”

  Spinelli looked up, brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. He said, “Number one generator blew up, sir, and one of my techs took a bad bum, but he’ll be O.K., I think. Well have the generator rewound in about an hour. They’re attending to the mess now.”

  Chang nodded, said, “Adhem, send someone to engines to treat the burnt man, will you?”

  “Right away, sir,” said the medical officer, reaching for his own lapel speaker.

  Chang glanced through the viewport. It showed a vast number of brilliant stars and a small segment of the world they had just left so precipitately.

  He said, “Deeley, where are we?”

  “In orbit, sir, provided nothing went wrong. About ninety-four thousand miles out, in a lunar equilateral with the inner moon. It was the safest bet in the emergency, but I’m afraid it’ll take a lot of getting out of.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Nice work in the circumstances. Keston, everything O.K. by you?”

  “Yes, sir. Techs and equipment survived unharmed. But the semantic analyzer was running off number one generator, and if you want it in a hurry we’ll have to rewire it to another circuit.”

  “Leave it, then. They’ll have it repaired in another hour. Engelhart, how about this man Phillips?”

  “I’m going to have him sent down to Medical for a check-up, sir. That O.K. by you?”

  Chang glanced at Adhem, who nodded and stood up. “I think I’ll supervise this myself,” he said. “It may be a little tricky. Excuse me, sir.” He went out.

  “Warn me if anything happens,” said Chang, reaching for his own lapel speaker, which was hung on its hook by his control desk. Then he sat down and stared at the massed glory of the stars till his eyes ached.

  Time passed. The ship slowly began to regain its normal air. First the hum of the generators cut in again, and the main lighting system took over. Then the ship turned so that the world below was visible through the viewport. The main communication system reawoke with a squawk.

  Adhem’s voice, tinged with worry, was the first thing to issue from Chang’s speaker after it came on.

  “Sir?”

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve given Phillips the works, sir. There’s no apparent sign of tampering with his mind—no hypnosis, no conditioning at all anywhere accessible to our techniques. But he has an odd story to tell and no mistake. Says he was treated fine, likes the robots a lot, and, among other things, that they speak Anglic Terrestrial.”

  “Is that so?” said Chang. “Is that correct or an induced delusion?”

  “I’m afraid it’s correct, sir. There’s no sign of a patch in his memories. I think maybe you’d better see him.”

  “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  “Do you want a guard on him?”

  “Might not be a bad idea. Don’t make it obtrusive—I take it he can’t hear what were saying?”

  “No. This is the dement ward, and it’s soundproof. I’ll have a guard ready.”

  Adhem met the captain outside the hospital section and said, “I’ve put the guard behind a screen of one-way glass, sir. There’s something a little odd about Phillips, which I suspect of being emotional conditioning.”

  “Emotional conditioning? Violent?”

  “No! He’s in perfect endocrine balance. As a good trooper, Phillips should be aggressive but obedient, and his nerves were a little ragged, like all the rest of us. That shouldn’t have been cured by what he’s been through. Now he seems sort of—c
ontented. I don’t know how to put it. See for yourself.” He opened the door.

  Trooper Phillips rose smartly from his chair as they went in. He wasn’t wearing a hat, so he didn’t salute.

  He was a little dark man, with broad shoulders and hairy hands, and a face that showed signs of rough usage, but he almost radiated what Adhem had called contentment.

  “Sit down, Phillips,” said Chang, nodding. He leaned against the wall beside the door, glanced around. On the left was the door of one-way glass behind which the guard must be hiding. It was rather comforting to know he was there with weapon ready. Then he glanced back at Phillips, trying to understand the strangeness in his bearing. He failed.

  “Let’s hear your story,” he invited. “Right from the beginning.”

  “Well, sir,” said Phillips, “I was playing center field when Horrigan hit what looked like a sure homer. I ran after it and didn’t even realize I’d gone out of sight of the ship. Anyway, suddenly a robot looms up out of nowhere—I got a funny idea he was invisible because I knew he was there O.K. but every time I tried to see him plain I got all cross-eyed. Anyway, I felt scared half to death, but before I could holler he’d picked me up and started to run. I don’t know how fast we were moving, but I was sure glad he held one of his spare hands over my face like a windshield.

  “Well, I couldn’t do anything about . . . I couldn’t even kick, not that he would have felt it if I had. So I just hung on and tried to guess how long I had to live till we came to that fancy place that looks like a hill only it isn’t, and the robot pelted up it and we dived into that crack in the ground. I sure thought it was all over with me. But it wasn’t.

  “We came into a sort of big room, with lots of light all over and a whole lot of shiny metal and crystal everywhere and big boards on the walls covered with dials and lights and switches. The place smelled of ozone, as if there was a lot of electricity around—like the generator room does—and there were a whole lot of these robots standing around. They weren’t invisible. I could see them plain as I see you.