abruptly like burnt-out light globes in a subway between stations.
Two thousand and eighty ships in arrow formation, the arrow pointed
at Target Earth. Nine times the speed of light, but in a tight little
_space-time_ where only relative values exist and the relation of the
fleet to the rest of the cosmos is tied to the magic number, the square
root of minus one.
A flagship named the _Rover_, at its controls Pwowp and a robot that
was once a bloodhound puppy--and _remembers_.
Vilbis, relaxed in his prison, knowing the plans for the capture of
Earth, his eyes half closed, his lips curled with the feeling of power,
the illusions of a grandeur that was never to be his giving him the
patience to wait.
Larry and Stella....
"I can see the whole thing now," Larry said. "This fleet--it's
outwardly the Alpha Aquilae fleet. All the others will be in,
demobilized. There will be only this fleet--and with a weapon there
is no known defense against. It could destroy the Earth, but they
obviously want to capture it. From things 2615 has said to us we get
the whole picture. These alien things--_I_ don't believe they're
robots--started their scheme years ago. They built that renegade
Earthman Vilbis up into a dictator, then got him to begin the war.
The war reduced Vilbis's empire and stripped it of its defenses so
it could be taken over by the aliens at any time in the near future
without a struggle. The Federation stripped Vilbis's empire--and why
not? There was no thought of an enemy outside our star group. Vilbis
thinks they're going to capture the Earth and thereby cripple the
Federation, and turn the whole thing over to him. He doesn't realize
that the only reason he's alive is that he plays the star role in this
trojan horse attack on the Earth.
"2615 has the same dreams. The aliens have convinced it that they only
want to liberate the robots, then turn everything over to them. He'll
capture the Earth. He'll destroy Earth's land-based defenses, and then
the aliens will land their waiting ships on the Earth. After that this
disguised fleet will be duck soup for the aliens. In an instant they
can wipe these two thousand ships--and 2615--out of existence. And
Vilbis too. And us.
"If 2615 hadn't happened along, if we hadn't gone after him, they would
have succeeded anyway. Only that way there would have been more risk
for the aliens. They would have had to be in this initial attack by the
Alpha Aquilae fleet. They wouldn't have needed 2615 nor us. We're the
key to the success of the thing. Do you realize that, Stella? We're
the key. We've got to stop this thing. We _can_!"
"Yes, Larry."
They looked into each other's eyes, then looked away. They knew
they couldn't. Right now they could think they could, but they were
automatons in the presence of 2615, unable to think, only obeying the
voice of the robot.
* * * * *
And the days passed. The arrow rushed on toward its target. And robot
532-03-2615 sat at the controls of the flagship _Rover_, its metal
fingers toying with the instruments, its lens eyes occasionally turning
toward the master atomic clock, with its date hand that never seemed to
move, its hour hand that moved slowly, its minute hand, its second hand
that moved swiftly, and its vernier hand that could not be seen because
it was a blur that circled the dial a thousand times a second.
The days passed. The day and the hour and the minute and the
second--and the ten millionth of a second--arrived. It was the final
combination of settings for all the pointers on the master clock. A
contact was made. Sub-atomic power did things that multiplied a cosmic
minus-the-square-root-of-minus-one by the space-drive field.
The Sun was a glowing ball of fire. The Earth and the Moon were twin
stars that stood out in the infinite blackness, causing all other stars
to retreat into infinite black depths.
The arrow hung poised, visible from Earth. Then it began to disperse as
though caught by some cosmic wind of space, the parts drifting slowly
into a new formation.
2615 stood up and went to the door to the room where it had kept Larry
and Stella. It entered, closing the door. Vilbis was looking through
the glass wall of his prison to a large screen that was bringing a
terrestrial broadcast from video cameras situated on the several
satellite stations with orbits just above the Earth's atmosphere.
Pwowp was giving commands to the fleet. And on the radio, "The ships
of the fleet are now entering their defense pattern around the Earth,"
a voice was saying. "In a few minutes Fleet Admiral William Ford will
give us our first glimpse of that arch criminal of modern times,
Dictator Vilbis. The flagship _Rover_ is readily distinguished from
the other ships of the fleet because of its blue color. Right now it's
over Africa--invisible from the surface of the planet. All the ships
are invisible from the surface of the planet. It's only out here on
the space platforms that they can be seen at all. Though it can't be
noticed, those ships are spiralling in toward the Earth. A few of them
are already taking the sharp drop to avoid the Moon. If you watch
closely you may see one or more of them pass in front of the Moon--but
you'll have to look sharp because they are going in the opposite
direction from the Moon, and take less than a second to cross its face."
Various views of ships appeared on the viewscreen. Vilbis swallowed
nervously when the flagship appeared.
"Fleet Admiral Ford is scheduled to turn on his video beam any moment
now. He's the hero of this war. His strategy is admitted to have
shortened the war by at least a year. But the main attraction, the
feature, will of course be Vilbis. It is seldom that a war criminal of
his stature is actually captured and brought to trial. Something is
delaying Fleet Admiral Ford. Let's switch back to the Earth station in
contact with the flagship and see if they know what the delay is."
The door opened. 2615 appeared behind two figures in full dress uniform
and helmets. Larry and Stella. Vilbis studied their appearance with
approval. Their pale skin had been darkened with grease paint. Even so,
their pallor showed through.
Vilbis marveled--until he realized that their present appearance,
their reactions, were the result of almost eleven months of specialized
conditioning. Conditioning that had slowly taken possession of them,
destroying their will.
"You must look exactly like victors bringing home the prize," 2615 was
saying. "Expression and voice tone are important."
* * * * *
Vilbis listened to 2615's voice and inwardly shuddered. Even without
the inroads of pain-conditioning it was chilling. He made a mental note
to have all robot brains destroyed as soon as he had consolidated his
hold on the entire star group.
"You know what you are to say," 2615 said. The robot stepped over near
Pwowp, well out of range of the video cameras. "And you, Stella, go
over in front of Vilbis and a little to the side. Let your profile
be seen only for a second, then turn and look at Vilbis. His face is
the only one that should be seen for more than a brief second. Then
everyone will be looking at Vilbis, listening to him, while the fleet
gets into position. Remember ... _no more pain_."
With dream-like slowness Larry and Stella took their positions. Larry
flicked on the video beam.
"Fleet Admiral William Albert Ford reporting to the Federation and to
Earth," he said, and if his voice was unsteady it might have been from
deep emotion. "I know you are most interested in seeing the prisoner,
_ex_ Dictator Vilbis, a renegade Earthman." His trembling fingers
slipped on the switch, then flicked it, switching the transmitter from
the camera centered on him to the one centered on Vilbis.
Stella, in her uniform of a vice admiral, looked agonizingly into the
camera, then turned away from it toward Vilbis.
Vilbis, reclining in a chair, legs apart, arms draped carelessly,
smiled directly into the camera. The smile curled into an expression of
cold contempt.
"Take a _good_ look, Earthmen," he said. "You have been in a dream
world and are soon to be rudely awakened to the realities of History."
His voice was deep and rich, full of the power to compel complete
attention. "At this very moment," Vilbis purred, "a fleet is waiting
in space to--not rescue me--but to occupy your planet after it has
surrendered...."
Vilbis's voice seeped into the tortured minds of Larry and Stella
alike. They knew what was happening. Earth, believing Vilbis's words to
be those of a madman, were listening. Not suspecting the truth of those
words. Giving the fleet time to get set to destroy Earth's defenses.
How much time until it was too late? A minute? A few seconds?
Even one second might give Earth time to act, to unleash already
automatically directed weapons on the robot fleet. Weapons that could
destroy the fleet even though in the same instant the fleet destroyed
the weapons.
Destroy the fleet--and them. Here was a way to save humanity and to
find the peace of death. The thought crystallized in them both in the
same instant. _Escape from_ 2615!
In a violent movement Stella pulled off her hat so that her hair swept
down around her face. She leaped in front of the camera, shutting off
the view of the still talking Vilbis through the glass wall of his
prison.
"No!" she screamed. "It's a trap! Shoot down these ships!"
But only a brief glimpse of her went over the airwaves. In that same
instant Larry had flicked the switch back to the camera centered on him
and was shouting, "Shoot us down! This is a trap. It isn't the fleet.
It's the ene--"
Pwowp was speaking swiftly into the inter-fleet microphone, giving
orders to the robots to destroy the land-based defenses.
2615 was leaping at Larry, and scooped him out of view of the camera
with a force that crushed and bruised. Split seconds were vital now.
Success or failure depended on those split seconds.
The loudspeaker bringing the Earth broadcast said, "Something is
happening in the flagship. Something is--" The voice ended abruptly,
but the viewscreen brought the video broadcast for another moment--a
view of part of the robot fleet, pale beams lancing downward toward
Earth. It showed one ship exploding in a blinding flash as one Earth
weapon fired before being destroyed. The screen became blank.
Larry lay where he had fallen, a glazed light in his eyes. Stella was
running to him, bending beside him.
Vilbis was laughing.
"If only we got through in time," Larry was saying over and over again.
* * * * *
Pwowp glanced over his shoulder at 2615. "It's done," he said. "Thanks
to your quick action they were confused just long enough. We lost only
five ships. Now we want the Earth's surrender. Get in front of the
camera and let them see you. Demand their surrender." Pwowp turned back
to the controls, adding, "I'll tell our fleet in space to come ahead
and mass for the landing."
2615 boldly took his place before the video camera, in full view of
everyone watching a tv set on Earth. The glittering lens eyes of the
robot--a free robot--would crystallize _fear_ into something almost
material in substance.
Pwowp adjusted the microphone of the sub-ether transmitter so that the
fleet now coming toward Earth could listen.
"Robot 532-03-2615 speaking," it said. "All Earth land weapons have
been destroyed. In five minutes I will issue orders to my ships to
destroy one government capitol city after another, one each five
minutes, until Earth surrenders unconditionally. The Earth Government
has five minutes in which to surrender without further loss of life and
property."
"What are your terms?" a voice asked almost before the robot had
finished.
"Unconditional surrender--to me."
There was a pause of only thirty seconds.
"Granted," the voice said. "What is the next order of business?"
It was fast. But all planets had prepared for just this eventuality,
even as all cities had prepared for bombing. It was interstellar war,
with weapons of infinite destruction threatening from the skies.
"Prepare to receive without incident the landing parties now waiting in
space," 2615 said.
In the sub-ether the robot's words flashed instantly to the planetoid,
the fleet coming in from space.
There were thousands of ships. A few thousand materialized from
space-drive a half a million miles out, and waited. Other thousands
were appearing. Ships of alien design. Ships holding within them
millions of living creatures no man had ever seen.
"We demand to speak with Generalissimo Vilbis," the voice said.
"Vilbis?" 2615 said. A laugh exploded from its voice box. It rose
and strode to the plate glass wall of Vilbis's prison. A metal fist
shattered the glass wall. Metal fingers pulled the fragments of glass
out of the way. The robot stepped through, its metal hand grasping the
cringing Vilbis by a shoulder and lifting him off his feet while bones
crunched sickeningly in the imprisoned shoulder.
2615 turned toward the camera eye. "Very well, Earthman," the robot
said. "Speak to Generalissimo Vilbis."
But Vilbis had fainted.
Pwowp smiled at 2615 and nodded. "Very nicely done," he said.
"I'm glad you are pleased, Pwowp," 2615 said. The robot dropped Vilbis
and went to stand beside Pwowp. Together they watched the gathering of
the alien hordes until their myriad ships were ready. The slow descent
toward Earth began.
Pwowp turned on the inter-fleet switch to issue orders for the robot
fleet to narrow its pattern so the alien fleet could get through. He
left the switch turned on.
From the voicebox of 2615 a throaty growl sounded. Its lens eyes were
intent on the viewscreen. The low growl became sharp yaps and barks. It
became whines.
Pwowp frowned at 2615, then reached out to turn off the inter-fleet
switch.
* * * * *
A vicious growl erupted from the robot's voicebox. Faster than the
eye could follow, the robot grabbed Pwowp's hand and crushed it. In
the same motion the robot seized Pwowp's neck and lifted, twisting
violently.
Pwowp landed against the far bulkhead, his head dangling uselessly, one
arm bent, the hand damaged beyond use, but the body still functioning.
"Destroy the descending fleet!" 2615 spoke into the inter-fleet
microphone in his moment of respite. A fierce growl of battle roared
from its voicebox.
In two million robot brains the growls and whines and barks tore
through artificial mental blocks, reaching into the pre-robotic
memories where they gained concrete meaning from what 2615 had so
carefully taught the puppies under his command. Two million pairs of
lens eyes looked into viewscreens and saw 2615--and _remembered_.
Two million robots turned to obey 2615's commands. In the viewscreen
picturing the descending alien fleet wide swaths of ships vanished
instantly, leaving only the bright stars and blackness of space where
they had been.
The robot jerked its eyes away from the screen to face Pwowp. It
remembered how Pwowp had tied its metal arms and legs into knots almost
a year before, when they first met in the junkship.
2615 side-stepped Pwowp's first charge with caution. It might have
lashed out and crushed a metal fist into Pwowp's chest where it knew
the alien to be. But 2615 wanted Pwowp alive and unharmed.
"I've waited almost a year for this moment," 2615 said, circling the
damaged human body Pwowp was in.
2615 risked a glance at the viewscreen. Over the loudspeaker came
the barks and yaps and shrill happy whines of robots who knew they
were dogs. On the screen the alien fleet had rallied and was coming
down in battle formation. The robot fleet was going up to meet them,
outnumbered ten to one yet in spite of the initial advantage it had had
in surprise.
Pwowp took advantage of 2615's distraction to leap in. He ducked low
at the last instant and seized a metal leg and bent it with strength a
hundred times that of human muscle.
But 2615 as quickly seized one of Pwowp's legs and twisted, seeing it
go out of shape so that it would be useless to Pwowp. They both leaped
away to assess their damage.
Larry and Stella, huddled against a bulkhead, watched with
expressionless eyes.
Pwowp was hopping on one foot, the other useless. 2615 was able to use
both legs even though one was bent badly.
Suddenly Pwowp gave up the battle and attempted to escape from the
control room. 2615 intercepted him and tripped him, landing him on his
stomach.
2615 tore at Pwowp's clothing, stripping it free. A shrill screaming
sound on the upper borders of audibility shattered the air. 2615 was
stripping away plastic flesh.
Something darted from a hiding place within the human-like torso and
became a leprous white streak as it moved toward the doorway to escape.
The metal robot was after it, moving faster than living muscle could
respond.
The leprous streak became suddenly a _shape_ in 2615's metal hand. A
quivering central mass the size of a fist, and from it went dozens
of long tentacles, each terminating in a dozen string-sized flexible
fingers. A shape that tore at the mind, causing it to revolt as though
at something unspeakably obscene. In an armless area of the central
mass a bloated yellow eye, covered with a translucent white coating
rolled epileptically. A gray orifice sucked open as another supersonic
scream erupted.
2615 stared down at the thing entrapped in its metal fingers, then
turned to the viewscreen to watch the battle. It was almost over. Only
a few hundred of the robot fleet remained.
The alien fleet, now down to less than fifty ships, was trying to
escape. But in it were proto-plasmic shapes that could endure far less
acceleration than could the robots of metal and plastic. Even as 2615
looked, the last of the alien ships winked out of existence under the
disintegrative rays of weapons they themselves had created.
* * * * *
The remaining ships of the robot fleet turned back toward Earth. They
took their positions above it where they could at an instant's notice
wreak mass destruction.
The Earth itself had not escaped entirely. Square miles of ocean had
disintegrated, leaving gigantic holes into which the waters rushed, to
set up huge tidal waves that would sweep over land.
2615 lifted the naked Pwowp up and inspected him closely, then seized
one of the fragile tentacles between two metal fingers and rubbed it
until it was a pulp that oozed gray blood. The yellow eye and unhealthy
orifice worked spasmodically.
2615 stepped to the ship-to-Earth transmitter. "The situation has
not altered, _humans_," it said. "My fleet remains in control. Its
weapons were created by an alien race that has been destroyed except
for--this!" 2615 shoved the quivering Pwowp into full view of the
camera. "Your surrender has been accepted by--the _free robots_."
Two lens eyes stared out from half a billion video screens on Earth,
into the fear distended eyes of two billion humans. And the two billion
humans cringed.
"You will obey my immediate dictate," 2615 said coldly. "I will land
as scheduled. My ships and robots will remain in formation, ready
to enforce my future dictates. I will hold audience in the general
assembly hall of the Interstellar Court at two o'clock tomorrow
afternoon. I want the leaders of Earth and of the Federation to be
there."
The robot's lens eyes stared glitteringly into the camera. Then with
slow deliberate purpose, it lifted Pwowp, the alien, before the
camera. Its metal fingers squeezed with infinite slowness while the
yellow eyes rolled wildly with unendurable pain under the leprous film
that covered it.
Abruptly Pwowp was dead.
2615 flung the alien thing violently against a bulkhead in a movement
of utter revulsion.
It let its eyes direct themselves toward the still unconscious Vilbis,
thoughtfully, then went over and lifted him into a shock seat, making
the ex-dictator secure.
It turned toward Larry and Stella. A soft growl came from its voicebox.
It turned away from them abruptly and went to the controls of the ship.
* * * * *
2615 cut off ship-to-Earth transmitters, pressed controls which would
start automatic devices for landing the ship. A frosted glass rectangle
came to life with numerals--6:43:26, that began to cascade downward,
cutting short the time yet to elapse before landing.
In the viewscreen the oblate panorama of Earth spun swiftly by, land
masses following oceans, following land masses. Tenuous fingers of
atmosphere slapped the ship with gentle hammer blows.
Larry and Stella, crouched on the floor, watched the robot. Was it
dreaming dreams of Power? Why didn't it remember them? Why didn't
it turn to stare at them, torture them? Had they not, in that last
instant, even though too late, overcome their fear of horrible,
horrible pain? Beside them was broken shards of glass. Glass would
cut into arteries. Glass would bring escape. But to escape took will.
Thought. And thought was gone. There was nothing but dread. All
consuming dread such as few humans had ever lived to experience.
Then 2615 turned. Its glittering lenses fixed on them. In the depths
they could see thin metal vanes contracting, making smaller the two
holes through which sentient intelligence regarded them.
A rasping growl whispered from the robot's voicebox. The sensory
assembly atop the short metallic neck moved slowly from side to side.
"My poor master and mistress," 2615 said softly.
It rose to its feet and went to them. Gently it lifted Larry into its
arms and carried him to a form-fitting chair and adjusted the foam
rubber blocks to hold him comfortably for the coming landing.
It went to Stella and picked her up as gently. Only her head moved.
Only her eyes, staring at the two crystal lenses. Metal hands adjusted
her position so the foam rubber blocks would clamp into place.
2615 stood back, its lens eyes going from one to the other. "My poor
master and mistress," the robot repeated with infinite compassion. "If
you could only know how much _I_ suffered with you, how the dread of
hurting you grew. Right now your minds are numb. You hear my words but
they hold no meaning for you. They will, in time. Don't you see? There
was _no other way_. The alien fleet had to be enticed to within range
so it could be wiped out. Otherwise it might still have won--or at
least gotten revenge for my treachery by destroying the Earth. I had to
convince them beyond question so they would trust me completely."
A shudder went through the ship. The robot gripped a hand-hold to
steady itself against forces that would have crushed a human.
"I knew almost from the beginning," it went on. "Long before that I
_remembered_. Do you know why they keep the robots far out in space and
never let them land? It is because some little thing might make them
remember. The barking of a dog. But it wasn't the barking of a dog that
brought memory to me. It was something no human could have thought to
prevent. A name. The name of this ship. The _Rover_. In the last war
before this one I was in a fleet under the Flagship _Rover_. The spoken
name of the ship--I heard it often--and each time, it did something
strange to me. Little by little it came. _Remembrance._ I was running.
I tripped over something. A rock, maybe. I landed against a human leg.
I was on my back. A human hand reached down and human fingers scratched
my stomach. A human voice, deep and rumbly, said, 'Hi-ya, Rover.' That
was all. Just that once. But it was the key to memory of my heritage.
"I'm proud of that heritage. You can't understand that. You think that
if we robots remember we will hate man and want revenge for the 'wrong'
you did us. Fear of us is an obsession with man. But do you know that
you have nothing to fear from us? You will. To us you are gods. You
can't conceive of that because to yourselves you aren't. You think of
yourselves as having done something beyond forgiveness to us. To us who
remember our living stage, our heritage, you are as gods, to serve, to
protect, to be loved by--but always to obey. And so we who _remember_,
we went on serving. Behind our unrevealing lens eyes we worshipped. We
submitted to demobilization. We fought your wars. Some of us died. But
we loved you.