The Collected Stories

by Earl

  I walked over to a port and gazed out. Here was a mystery I would like nothing better than to solve. It irked me to think someone was making a fool of me. Real or fantastic, I would like to see it through. It was hard for me to make a decision. But the commission must come first. There would be other days and if the men were willing, we would come back. I turned and faced them. “To your posts, lads. We’re blasting off.”

  THE men sprang to action. There was a satisfied look in their eyes. At a signal from me, Ruk-Sara recalled the guards. Some minutes later, the F-ports clanked shut. With a thunderous roar, the Black Comet tore away from this strange little world and an unsolved mystery. . . .

  I retired early. I was fatigued mentally and physically. With weary steps, I entered my cabin. In the act of removing my tunic, I happened to look towards my desk I stared and blinked in unbelief. By the Seven Suns, was I to be accursed to my dying day for having visited the haunted world! On the desk lay a packet! Was I never to trust my sight again? Would it. too, vanish as did the weeds, the voice, the vibrations, and the Spacateer?

  With a voluble oath, I strode to the desk. My hand snapped for the packet. I was startled to hear the crackling of paper in my clenched fist. It was real!

  I turned it over several times. Any second I expected it to vanish into thin air. Nothing of the kind happened. I scrutinized it more closely. My breath whistled from the sharp intake. It was addressed, To Captain Moor. To be opened enroute.

  I tore it open savagely. By the Jeets of Luna, what tom-foolery was all this! A glance at the contents prompted me to immediate action. I punched the Tel-Ra. “Ruk, get Davidson and Crocker and come to my quarters immediately,” I said, as the face of my first mate glowed in the oval screen.

  The three of them overheard my orders to the pilot-room as they stood in the open doorway some seconds later. “Change your course and return to earth,” I had instructed the pilot.

  They stood and stared. I guessed what was going on in their minds. It made me laugh. “Come in . . . come in, you rascals, and sit down. No, your captain has not lost his mind, nor has he gone soft. But by the Tarps of Titan, I should put you all in the brig for a day, for so much as thinking it. Sit down,” I said.

  I ordered Crocker to bring a beaker of Yanson ale before he sat down. A lusty draught of it warmed us all up. We sat down in comfort and contentment. “I feel that you lads are entitled to share the contents of the packet which Hamlin delivered here,” I said.

  Ruk-Sara straightened in his seat. “There is a packet, then? I thought you were . . .”

  “Exactly. I had done just that out there on A-deck. I had not gone to my cabin for reasons each of you understand too clearly. Besides, Hamlin and Block are good men. In the face of all that had transpired, they were blameless in deserting their posts. This proves it. Now listen while I read it to you.” I drew a letter from the tom envelope. . . .

  THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER

  MY DEAR Captain Moor:

  Greetings and salutations to a noble fighter and one whom I shall always be proud to call friend.

  I will not bore you with a lengthy missive. It will be just long enough to clarify certain incidents that have befallen you.

  Let us begin with certain peculiarities of my nature. I have sought seclusion all my life. It is essential to my work and my very existence.

  Three years ago I chose a place in which I felt certain I would be free from molestation. With the unlimited wealth and superscience which is fortunately mine, I renovated it. Tremendous forces were set at play to make it a miniature replica of my homeland, the planet on which I was born. I knew I would always have a soft spot in my heart for its green fields and flowers.

  Several months ago I made a premature announcement before the N.S.A.[3] I say premature, because shortly after that, in going over the plans for my Electro-repulsion screen, I found certain discrepancies in my calculations. I realized it would require a week or more of intensive work to right them.

  I informed Professor Nimer of that fact. But the “flies” (with all the greed and impatience of the insects I class them with) wanted it immediately, despite all that. My reputation was at stake. That made little difference to them. So in rage and disgust, I fled and retired in secrecy to my hideout which had but recently been completed.

  In the low range of hills beyond the valley in which your ship landed, are my laboratories. They are the finest in all the universe. They are underground, and so out of sight of prying eyes. Their equipment is complete and incomparable.

  Before leaving earth, I had informed Commander West that were I to be molested, I would not hesitate to use a new weapon of my invention.

  For over a year, I had been experimenting with alpha waves, the energy emitted by the human brain. I will not go into detail. The scientific phase of it would be too lengthy and tiring to anyone but a man of science. Suffice to say, I built an apparatus for my research work. A phenomenon took place purely through accident. Building up electrical vibrations to an unheard-of pitch with this machine, I was amazed to find that the alpha waves played or made direct contact with the optic nerve. Any mind within a radius of several miles would instantane-only have its thought transformed into a concrete vision!

  Can you imagine my inestimable joy when the opportunity occurred to experiment upon a man of your calibre? And then, to realize the complete success of my new weapon!

  I fear no molestation from the “flies,” in the future. You have proven the worth of my new weapon. Besides, I am happy in the conviction that you will not reveal my secret or hideout to the world. For good or for bad, Nature has endowed us all with a certain amount of egotism. And for that reason I am sure, you, my dear friend. would not let an adoring world know that Mad Moor and his fighting crew of hell-larking rascals battled nothing more than figments of their own minds!

  My assistant Pliny, cleverly disguised as yourself, delivered the packet to your guards while you and your men were singing so lustily inside the hut. The crew at the ship saw a spacateer in the same manner in which you saw and fought the weeds. As to the voice, have you forgotten Alvan Thornton’s invention of ten years ago, which he so cleverly demonstrated to the N.S.A.? I used one of his machines. It played an essential part in the renovation of the Rock. I did not want the crew of laborers and mechanics I had hired, and who lived in the barracks, to know for whom they worked. They had come in secrecy and departed likewise when their work was done. I am sure this explains all.

  I shall expect a visit from you in the near future and an inspection of my laboratories. But do not come armed, for I have a new weapon!

  Always your friend,

  Eric Brongel.

  WELL, lads, the subtle sarcasm of it hurt us to the quick for a fleeting moment. The fire of it that scorched our pride smouldered and then burned itself out. And by the Seven Suns, the confines of my quarters shook from the hearty laughter which rocked the four of us.

  “But why back to earth?” Ruk asked after a while.

  “Here. This was in the packet, too,” I said. I handed them a sealed envelope which they passed from one to the other. It was addressed: To the N.S.A. . . . The plans for the Electro-repulsion screen. . . .

  Lads, I see the dawn will soon be breaking. I will look forward happily to your next visit. And so, until then, I bid you a fair good-morning.

  [1] United Nations Army.

  [2] A reference made to all but the major bodies of space.

  [3] National Science Academy.

  ADAM LINK FIGHTS A WAR

  Adam Link constructed his robots for peace, to prove their worth in Man's world. But when the crushing Panzer blitzkrieg surged over the Mexican border, he had to lead them to war!

  I AM a robot. A metal man with a brain of sponge iridium. I have gears and wheels and I run on a battery.

  True enough. But I have the mind of a man! I have all the qualities that you humans have. I have intelligence that works logically. There is no chance factor in my makeup.
r />   That is why I want to be—must be!—accepted by society as an equal.

  “I wish to file a patent,” I said.

  “On what?” the Patent Bureau official asked.

  He looked at me as all you humans do at first glance—with astonished wonder. You do not believe I can be an intelligent robot. You shift your eyes behind me, to see wires leading to some human control.

  Then, suddenly, you remember all the facts about me. That I have had a court trial, and conducted a business, and broken up a crime ring, and amazed the world by my doings in the athletic field. That I am a free, independent mind housed in metal instead of flesh.

  Your eyes open wide. You are astounded, and a little afraid. But then, remembering I am harmless, you smile as though you are used to seeing robots, and nothing in the world can disturb you. For you don’t want to seem like a silly old woman.

  “A patent on myself,” I answered.

  “On yourself!” gasped the official, Wilson by name. He stared as though he had just heard a new kind of auto or airplane ask for a patent on itself.

  Three others were with me. Jack Hall and Tom Link, my human friends. And Eve, my robot mate. We had been in Washington a week, since Jack’s publicity campaign in the sports world had ended.

  I had carefully drawn up a set of blueprints of my iridium-sponge brain. That was the only patentable item. The rest of my body was simply long-used mechanical gadgets and principles.

  “I want the patent in my own name—Adam Link,” I added.

  “It’s out of the question!” Wilson stammered.

  “I could see his thoughts whirling at the unprecedented request—an invention asking for a patent on itself. His eyes lit up as he thought a way out of his puzzling dilemma.

  “A patent can only be granted to a citizen. Are you a legal citizen of the United States?”

  He knew I wasn’t. He had read in the papers of my refusing citizenship, a week ago.

  “I refused citizenship because I feared that robots might some day outvote humans,” I returned in explanation. “I don’t want robots ever to be a menace to human society. But neither do I want robots to become utter slaves to mankind. Therefore, I wish the patent in my name. I will manufacture robots as I see fit, and guide their efforts.”

  “But you’ll have to have someone else—any friend of yours, for instance—take out the patent in his name . . .”

  “No,” I broke in. My mechanical voice was rather sharp. “I would trust no man on Earth with the patent rights.”

  How can I explain? How can I make it clear that no human mind can quite grasp the problem of introducing robots into civilization? And that my future fellow-robots would resent absolute human control? You humans like to be ruled by someone from your own race, or nationality, or group. The coming robot race must have a robot leader—myself.

  Jack and Tom behind me were not offended. They understood, too, that much as they meant to me, I could not give them control over robots.

  “I’m sorry,” Wilson shrugged. “The patent cannot be issued in the name of Adam Link unless that name is on the official roster of citizens. There is nothing more I can do about it.”

  I GAVE Eve a helpless glance. We left wordlessly. Once more we had been rebuffed by humans.

  “Maybe we can still do something,” Tom Link tried to say consolingly outside. “I’ll approach business men, tell them you’ll grant manufacturing rights and let them have profits. They have a powerful lobby in the Patent Bureau.”

  My head shook on its swivel.

  “I do not want robots turned out on assembly lines like so many radios.”

  My metal feet-plates clattered loudly as I strode down the sidewalk of the avenue. People looked at Eve and me curiously. Were we to remain just curiosities? Never to gain a secure, accepted place in human affairs?

  We passed a newsstand. The headlines, as usual, related to the warclouds hanging over Earth.

  “It’s a wonder,” mused Jack, “that they haven’t thought of you in the fighting forces. Metal men, tireless, efficient, adamant to bullets! You—”

  “Never!” I snapped, so loudly that Jack jumped. “I’m sorry, Jack, but don’t mention that again!”

  I turned. “Eve,” I said, “we would be another of the follies of mankind, if our race were introduced unwisely—especially into warfare!”

  “We have time to wait, dear,” she responded. “Centuries, if need be.”

  BUT CENTURIES did not seem necessary. The next morning a huge, shining limousine pulled up before the hotel in which we had a suite. We do not need human food or sleep, Eve and I, but in all else we follow the accepted customs.

  “Mr. Wilson wishes to see you, Adam and Eve Link,” said the driver. “Your patent will be granted.”

  Astonished and pleased, we went. Jack and Tom stayed behind, not having been invited, but wished us luck. We were ushered into an inner chamber at the Patent Bureau. Wilson was there with four distinguished men, one in uniform. They arose and bowed, the army man saluting.

  I could not understand all this sudden deference, when only yesterday we had been treated so brusquely.

  Wilson cleared his throat, as if to make a speech.

  “If you’ll pardon yesterday’s rudeness, Adam Link, we’ll get down to business. It so happens that a Senate committee of three, who have been interested in your career, have intervened in your behalf. We are to grant you a patent, without being a citizen.

  “I am sure all the people of this country will consider it a just reward for your noble exploits. You have been in the nation’s eye for a year. You are—to put it simply—a national figure!”

  My metal chest does not expand under praise. But I think my body straightened a little. I felt proud and happy. At last humans were treating me as an equal.

  “We have the papers all made out,” Wilson went on smoothly, moving them across the desk. “Please sign here, Adam Link.”

  I grased the pen. Eve touched my arm. Her low whisper came to me. alone.

  “The man in uniform is leaning forward, Adam. Are you sure everything is all right?”

  MAN in uniform!

  Cold water seemed to splash over my mind. I read the patent paper, flipping the pages over and reading them all in a few seconds with my television eyes. One passage stood out:

  “The government reserves the right to use any and all inventions it deems of military value, with full authority.”

  I looked at Eve. Through our minds flashed Jack’s words—“It’s a wonder they haven’t thought of you in the fighting forces.”

  They had! I had been on the verge of signing myself into military slavery. I set the pen down quietly, sadly at being deceived.

  “Gentlemen,” I said bitterly, “I cannot sign. I cannot allow robots to be used in warfare!”

  They all flushed, giving themselves away, and I went on.

  “I consider this my country, as much as you do. I would never be disloyal to it, in any way. But as a robot I have a greater duty to all mankind; never to allow robots to become a menace.

  “Please see my side of it! Robots must only be servants of peace—as workers, builders, engineers, scientists. They must never take human life. Or else one day there would come the terrible struggle of all robots against all mankind!”

  I went on in this vein for some minutes. The men fidgeted. They had lost interest. The military men arose and left, flatly. I was just a soap-box orator now, talking of things that were annoyingly thought-provoking. You humans, in general, are quite allergic to serious thinking.

  Wilson stopped me. “You would be useful as a military item. Right now, that’s our main concern, during present world conditions. We’re hardly concerned with robots in any other capacity.”

  “Let me show our worth,” I begged. “As workers, laborers—anything!”

  Wilson shook his head, but one of the senators spoke up, casually.

  “There’s a government project being started in Southern California. Rew
orking of an old abandoned silver mine. It may be dangerous to human life. Would you want to try that, Adam Link?”

  I detected the subtle sarcasm in his voice. I had refused to be inveigled into military service. Would I take, instead, that lowly, common opportunity? He had as good as told me they thought robots might be useful in war, but utterly worthless in any other field of human endeavor.

  I was being pacified, shunted aside, insulted. They were ribboning me with red tape. One other of your human terms is most apt—I was being kicked around.

  I could see their viewpoint, however. The world situation at present was so vital and grave that the advent of the intelligent robot was a trivial issue.

  “Yes,” I said to their surprise, “I will show you how robots can be of benefit without fighting wars!”

  CHAPTER II

  First-Class Heel

  TWO months later I was repeating those words, to a group of thirty robots. They stood in a straight row before me, their alloy bodies shirting in the bright sun of Southern California. Their mechanical parts had been turned out by eastern factories, according to my specifications.

  During those two months, Eve and I had worked twenty-four hours a day, in my private workshop-laboratory in the Ozark Mountains. Near the spot where I had been created, two years before, I developed thirty new iridium-sponge brains. No factory on Earth could devise them. I alone knew that ultimate secret of metal life.

  The whole—bodies and metal brains—had been shipped by freight to California, and here assembled by Eve and myself. Battery current had crackled into the thirty brains and endowed them with life. We had just finished a week before. Thus before us stood thirty creatures like ourselves.

  Not quite like ourselves. Eve and I had lived and moved among humans for many months. We had come to know human thoughts and reactions. We had adjusted ourselves to the human viewpoint.