The Collected Stories

by Earl

  “We got the right, as you say, to live our own lives,” he went on. “And by Tim, we are! We want to live here, in Adam Link’s city. He’s treating us swell. Better than we ever got treated before in our whole lives. We’re staying, see? And you nor all the soldier boys in creation can’t take us out.”

  There was stunned silence for a moment. Then a shout of assent rose from the massed crowd behind. Another man stepped forward. He had formerly been a lawyer, with a slumping practice.

  “Ever hear of the Bill of Rights, Mr. Ranger? You can’t tamper with that. And if you, or any group, thinks of bringing this up in court, you’ll have 5000 adult witnesses testifying against you in the Supreme Court, before we’re through. That’s how much we want to be rescued from the clutches of a Frankenstein robot named Adam Link! Hurray for Adam Link!” The cry instantly thundered from all their throats. And the cry, I knew, would echo throughout the land.

  Utopia was saved.

  The rangers, bewildered, turned away like whipped dogs. Their vehicles vanished in the distance.

  I turned.

  “Thanks, Jed,” I said humbly. Humbly, because I realized all the powers and intellect of Adam Link could not have prevailed, if this human and his fellows hadn’t saved the day.

  “Forget it, Adam,” Jed Tomkins returned, embarrassed. “We know you’re for us. We know this is our home for life.” Another voice sounded, the rather strident one of Sam Harley.

  “But still, how do we know?” he challenged. He had not joined in the cheering. And certain others. “There’s still no power-plant to run the factories. We still aren’t producing. You’ve paid the bill on everything so far, Adam Link. When will we have to pay you back—and how?” The listening people fell silent, glancing at each other. It had been growing in their minds, like a poisonous mushroom. The use of the word Frankenstein before left its lurking echo in the air. What would the dread payment be, if it wasn’t money? What monstrous cabal had spawned in the cold minds of the robots who had inveigled 10,000 helpless humans into the middle of a desert?

  The atmosphere had quite suddenly changed.

  “They’re going to murder us!” a hysterical voice rang out. Some human mind had brooded too long. “The robots are going to spill our blood in the sand, in hatred of the human race, and laugh—laugh—”

  “Silence!” I thundered, cowing them.

  A crisis had again come up, more deadly than the other. “Back into the city, all of you. Go to the power-plant facing Utopia Square. There you shall see what I’ve prepared for you!”

  THEY had to go. My robots, at a signal, had formed a line. Like police, they herded the humans back into the city, down the streets to Utopia Square. They went in stunned, fearful silence. Jed Tomkins looked at me puzzled. Puzzled, but with trust.

  The large portals of the power-plant were open. Frank Steele stood framed in the doorway. The people glanced beyond him into the plant—and gasped. The dozen Deisel-generators which had been supplying electricity were dismantled. There would be no current now, to run the city. It had all been an elaborate hoax. The robots would now have their long-planned, insane orgy of tearing human beings to little shreds in their superstrong, merciless metal fingers!

  I stepped on a platform, previously erected.

  “People of Utopia! You have all been wondering what my final plans were. You have been wondering what will run this city, in terms of dollars and cents. Here is my answer—”

  I unveiled a square metal box, two feet high.

  “This power-unit,” I said, “will give out enough electricity to light every home, work every toaster, iron, household appliance, elevator, electric auto, and factory. And a thousand more, if necessary!”

  Sam Harley elbowed forward.

  “What, that little box? Come clean, Adam Link, what’s your racket? You’ve got us in your power. What’s the bad news?”

  He was pale, frightened, waiting as all the rest were to hear some terrible pronouncement, when I was through playing my horrible little game.

  I threw a switch on the box. A heavy, insulated cable led indoors to the relay board. The box hummed suddenly, as though filled with a million angry bees. And the crowd jumped back as a rumble sounded from every factory nearby. A thousand dead machines came to life, all fed from this small box-generator.

  “What does that box produce,” Sam Harley gasped.

  “Atomic power!” I said proudly.

  Most of them did not understand. But here and there a head shot up. Some of the men had been engineers and scientists, their lives broken by drink, or misfortune, or fate. They knew what it meant. And they would tell the others.

  Sam Harley understood.

  “Atomic power!” he breathed. “You’ve accomplished that, Adam Link?”

  I nodded.

  “Finished it this morning. I worked on it two months. It will run the factories, citizens of Utopia. Its fuel is sand. It will use a ton a year—costing ten cents. This is my gift to mankind!”

  Sam Harley was suddenly ashamed. All the human faces back of him were ashamed for their groundless alarm of the hour before.

  I stared around.

  “I hope you will remember this. Never again mistrust robots, simply because they are monsters to your physical eyes.”

  PROUDLY I patted the machine, my greatest inventive achievement. It represented the step ahead of present-day cyclotron research, where atomic-power had been released in the laboratory, in minute amounts. I had simply stepped up the quantity to commercial proportions. Man might putter along another century, before duplicating that laborious step.

  I spoke again.

  “Utopia City is in full swing, from this day on. The factories will now produce. You will each earn your livelihood. But there will be no money involved. Each man—human or robot—is to give five hours of his daily time, attending the machines or related work. When the factories produce, the city will have a gross income. This income will be used to buy the city’s necessities. Food, clothing, and all necessary personal items will be distributed as heretofore—according to need. Not according to any scale of who has the most dollars and cents.”

  I paused, to let that sink in.

  “You will each also be entitled to an automobile, television set, and all household appliances, according to families. The city’s electrical current is yours to use at any and all times. Among other things, my robots will tomorrow install air conditioning units in every home and building.” All eyes were thankful, as they wiped their foreheads. The desert summer was hot, though the nights were cool.

  “You will have much leisure time,” I resumed. “I need not mention the various recreational centers, for you have used them—theatres, sport arenas, and libraries. Your children will be taught by robots. There will be classes for adults, too, who wish to further their education.”

  I was merely sketching the future of life in Utopia. A hundred and one other innovations would be geared in, till it was truly the practical Paradise I visioned. But one more thing I had to impress oh them.

  “Last, but perhaps most important of all—you are to accept my robots as fellow beings. They will work with you, talk with you, play with you. Side by side, robots and humans will create the better life. In time, Utopia City will dazzle the world, like a diamond in the sordid setting of present-day civilization. We will be the envy of all mankind!”

  I waved an arm.

  “That is all,” I concluded. “I give you—Utopia!”

  CHAPTER IV

  Adam Link Gets a Medal

  SIX months sped by.

  Utopia, after its sputtering start, rose smoothly into the sky of history.

  The world slowly came out of its somnolence, lifted its head, and listened. What was this busy, humming, happy community out in the wastelands? Who had achieved the good life, when all the rest of the world was wracked with innumerable troubles?

  Reporters came first, their noses sniffing out something sensational.

  I�
��ll never forget the young man, Pete Crane, who claimed he could find faults in my so-called Utopia. He stood before the city, having just arrived, staring.

  “Beautiful, all right—from a distance,” he said cynically. “Your Eden, eh? Hm, swell heading—‘Adam and Eve Link Build Modern Eden.’ But I’ll bet you I can find a dozen holes in your set-up. Utopia—bah! Bet you any amount you say, Adam Link.”

  “Let’s say a million dollars,” I agreed.

  “Make it a hundred,” Crane, said hurriedly. “Week’s pay. Let’s go.”

  I took him for an auto ride, first, through tree-and-flower lined drives. Another car suddenly came swiftly toward us. It would be a head-on crash! But five feet from us, the other car bounced against our invisible bumper of force. It stopped dead. Our car, too. I explained.

  “But why weren’t our heads snapped off by the abrupt stop?” Crane asked dazedly. “At least mine, if not your iron one?”

  “Molecular deceleration,” I said. “Taking up the shock in every atom. There are no auto-accidents in Utopia City. There can be none.”

  I took him within a building, where cooling drafts of air made him sigh contentedly. An elevator soundlessly took us twenty stories high in three seconds, by anti-gravity. From here we surveyed the city, spread like a fabulous garden-city inhabited by gods. We went through the office buildings, where clerks sat at desks bathed in softened sunlight that came through transparent steel. All were tanned, healthy, in good humor, so unlike the pale, worried, dissatisfied clerks in big cities.

  In the spotless factory, spinning looms manufactured a synthetic, plastic cloth of my own invention, far superior to rayon, nylon, or any other artificial thread. It was Utopia City’s sole product. In the outside markets it was selling steadily, being softer than silk, practically indestructible, and half as expensive.

  In the schools, we listened to children reciting their lesson, under the guidance of robot teachers. Crane grunted a little when a six-year old worked out an algebraic problem, and a teen-age boy worked out the precession of Mercury’s orbit by Einstein’s Relativity.

  After working hours, Crane watched two teams of men play baseball in a huge arena, with an ease and skill of Major League calibre, trained by robots. Wandering on, music filled the air from large horns at every street corner, stirring symphonies interspersed with light-classical selections and occasional swing. The city itself was noiseless, smokeless, and sparkling with cleanliness.

  In the libraries, men and women of all ages browsed through books of proven worth. In corners, humans and robots together gravely discussed the things of life and the universe. Outside the open windows sounded the cries of happy children, playing among the trees.

  PETE CRANE said little. At the end of the day, I turned to him.

  “Well, Mr. Crane? You may tell me the dozen flaws now, before you leave.”

  “Leave?” he said. “I’m staying—if I can!”

  “Sorry,” I had to reply. “There is no room. Perhaps the outside world will copy Utopia City eventually.”

  “If not, the outside world is plain loco.” He left with the air of a man expelled from Paradise. I had laughingly refused his hundred dollars, on the bet, but I saw his editorial the next day. I had been watching the newspapers avidly, having them delivered at the nearest railroad junction where they were picked up by truck, as with all our supplies.

  “Adam and Eve Link have actually achieved a present-day Eden,” he wrote. “In plain dollars and cents, his city is run more economically than any city on Earth. The standard of living is higher than for any group of humans in history. Their cost of living, due to advanced scientific and social methods, is ridiculously low. Adam Link is proving to this bad old world that their methods are slipshod, obsolete, and socially criminal.

  “Also, at the same time, he is proving that human beings can be uplifted by proper environment. The poor, formerly indifferent wretches that came to him have become energetic, useful, happy citizens. With much leisure time, they are rapidly gaining culture in libraries and classes. Their children play happily in great parks without danger.

  “Most amazing of all is the robot feature. They mix with the humans, having long discussions on how best to run the city for the benefit of all. Robots and humans together, they have begun a truly good life. Adam Link has achieved his goal. He has devised a practical Utopia, the dream of mankind for ages! There is no crime in his city. No slums. Not one underprivileged person. Utopia! It is that. There is no flaw in it!”

  Was there no flaw in it?

  I LEFT the Administration Building one day, to meet Eve at the West school, where it was her delight to teach children.

  “She left,” I was informed by a loitering tot, “with another can-man.” The children, in innocent disrespect, called all robots “can-men,” to distinguish them from “real” men, I drove around the city, at a reckless pace, to find them. Finally, from a tower, I saw them way out in the desert, glinting.

  I strode out there. It was dusk, with the purples and pastels of sunset fingering over the sand.

  They didn’t hear me come up.

  “Sunset is so lovely out here on the desert,” Eve was murmuring.

  “You’re lovely, too, Eve—mentally!”

  My metal feet clinked against a stone. Frank Steele whirled, then stood like a man might, enraged and panting.

  “Spying on us?” he snapped.

  “Oh, Adam,” Eve said. “Why must you be this way? Frank is lonely, naturally. He needs a mental mate. All the robot-men will, eventually, as they see so much of human life. Have you thought of that?” No, I hadn’t. I couldn’t blame Frank Steele for the yearnings I had had too, before Eve. The natural urge for a close, intimate companionship of the mind. I had come out with harsh words on my lips.

  I left without saying a word.

  Number Nine met me in the city, with a boy perched on his shoulders, whooping in delight.

  “Adam Link!” he hailed. “This little boy asked me to take Mm home. But I don’t know where he lives!”

  “Why didn’t you ask him?” I demanded irritably, knowing that kindly-souled but somewhat addled Number Nine had silently toted the boy without thinking of asking.

  I went to my private office in the Administration Building, from which I handled the multitudinous executive affairs of Utopia City. Utopia? Purgatory, rather, with Eve lost to me. Yes, that was the bitter truth. How had it happened? What should I do?

  I was aware suddenly that Number was in the doorway, watching me.

  “Get out of my sight!” I snapped. “Must you always be under my feet? No matter which way I turn, there you are. Go away.”

  I was taking it out on Number Nine. He didn’t go.

  “But you are sad,” he said. “And when you are sad, I am too—father.”

  “Father?” I exploded. “I’m not your father.”

  “You created me,” Number Nine returned. “The humans call some father. If you aren’t my father, then what are you?”

  “Does it matter?” I roared. “Get out of my sight, you poor, dumb, scatterbrained—”

  I choked back the rest, when he left, and felt utterly ashamed. Number Nine loved me, in his own way, following me around like a dog. Loved me, as Eve didn’t—

  Eve appeared suddenly, in the doorway. She gazed at me, with my head in my hands.

  “Poor dear,” she said softly. “Number Nine was right. You are jealous. I’m glad! I did it only to make you jealous! Do you know you hardly noticed me, for weeks and weeks?”

  “Eve! I’ve been so busy—” But I stopped giving excuses, and rectified the matter, high in the tower under the moon. I told her that in all the universe, there could be no love like ours.

  There was no flaw in Utopia after all!

  AFTER Crane’s editorial, the world began to take notice. Adam Link’s silly experiment was turning out well. Commissions came from business firms, social societies, and even the government, to observe and take notes. Business
men tried to buy my inventions.

  “I’m prepared,” said one,” to write you out a check for one million dollars, for patent rights to the atomic-power process.”

  I shook my head instantly.

  “Ten million!” he offered. “A hundred million!”

  I smiled within myself.

  “Money isn’t used in Utopia City. Besides, if I wished, I could buy you out, ten times over.”

  “But atomic-power! It’s the greatest thing since the steam-engine. The world must have it!”

  “The world must first prove itself worthy,” I retorted, politely but firmly requesting his departure.

  But the high spot of it all was when Number Nine, my errand boy, came stumbling in one day.

  “Some men to see you,” he announced. “Out on the steps.”

  “On the steps? Why didn’t you show them in? I’ve told you time and again humans must be treated politely. Who are they?”

  Number Nine shrugged, rolling his eyes.

  “And I’ve told you over and over to ask who they are!” I scolded him. Sometimes Number Nine really aroused my anger for his sheer dumbness. I was sorry I had created such a miserable specimen of a robot.

  I stalked out—and gasped.

  The whole thing had been staged, obviously with Eve’s connivance. All the human population of the city stood before the building, and my hundred robots. A group of ten men and women stood on the steps.

  “We are a committee from the Social Service Society,” one man stated.

  He strode up to me, and pinned a bronze medal on my chest—or tried to pin it. Eve darted forward, while the crowd chuckled, and hooked the medallion over a rivet-stud, by using all the pressure of her superstrong fingers.

  Then the medal blazed out, against my duller body finish.

  I was speechless.

  Recovering his poise, the man spoke.

  “This medal proclaims that one Adam Link, for meritorious social service to humanity, is hereby entered in the Hall of Fame!”

  Hall of Fame! My cup was complete. All the trials and despair of the past were over. The world at last accepted Adam Link, the robot, in honor and esteem.