IX

Jan and I went to Doc's house, inside a police cordon, for a

discussion. We risked radiation by bringing Scharber along. We wanted

to make sure that he wouldn't do anything vindictive, which might well

have happened had we left him by himself.

Irma met us at the door. "Shane almost wishes now that the android

process had remained just the property of the micro-Xians," she said.

"That's how bad matters seem to him at this point."

Doc jumped to his feet as we entered his study. "Cope means to speak

again tonight," he announced. "Cope, and about a hundred others of his

crowd, from scattered radio and television stations. We know about what

they'll say, more or less. Yeah--'Get rid of these mechanical demons

while there are still less than thirty-thousand of them. Before it's

too late! Kill the serpent! Return to simplicity! Do you know that even

their radioactive metabolism is poisonous to us?'"

Doc paused and groaned. "The latter isn't even true," he went on. "At

least not while an android is on Earth, breathing oxygen and living by

chemical energy. Then the radiation of a subatomic tissue-process is

suppressed almost to zero. But that's the way most of Cope's arguments

go--they leap thinly to conclusions, without thinking matters out to

any depth. But many people don't want to think deeply, or else they're

too frightened. And tonight I suspect that Cope and his bunch will give

the order to attack. Charlie, what are we going to do?"

I was in a cold sweat. "You know what we can try as a temporary

relief measure, Doc," I said. "We can silence Cope and a few of the

others--you know how. The only trouble is that there are so many

of those loudmouths, and only you and I and maybe Jan who are in a

position to do the only thing that can be done. We may not be able to

shut up anywhere near enough of them to get over this danger spot, but

we have to try."

Jan came over to me and pressed my hand, and it helped. She was always

courageous and cool.

As it turned out, there were few speeches of Cope's kind made

that night. Cope collapsed before the television lenses and the

microphones. No, he didn't die; he had what looked very like an

epileptic fit. He dropped before he uttered a word. He frothed at the

mouth, he snored. He looked ridiculous, even mad.

Why all this happened was simple. It was an old Xian trick. A

micro-android--Doc had transmigrated briefly again--was inside Cope's

skull, tampering with his brain. The tiniest flash at lowest power from

a jet rod directed against the proper nerve center, was how it was done.

Doc silenced another character called Minton. I gagged another pair of

flannel-mouths named Trefford and Donalds the same way. Jan managed

to fix one called Parkhurst. That made five of the worst who had been

operating around Chicago. But it still left over ninety others. It

worried us badly, until we got back home, and into normal-sized bodies,

once more. Scharber had been a good boy, staying out of trouble beside

Doc's television, with Irma.

"Not one of the others said much either," he announced quietly. "They

all fell on their faces the same way." He paused for just a second

before he added, "I wonder why?" his eyes oddly aglow.

"There could be only one answer to that, couldn't there?" Irma hinted.

Doc grinned reminiscently.

Jan smiled. "The elves of legend, the helpful ones," she chuckled.

"Well, who knows but what there's a connection with those old folk

tales? Legends frequently have a basis in fact. It seems that I

remember a strange, deep little guy who lives way out in space, and

down near the limit of smallness. His name was Kobolah, and lots of

his people didn't believe that Earthians should be trusted. He almost

got into trouble over that. But it appears that he still has lots

of friends among his own kind who'd like to see the android become

successful among us. It seems, further, that if Kobolah's particular

asteroid world took off for the stars, already, as appeared to be

intended, he and some pals have so far stayed behind. Or else it was

just some pals of his who helped us. But who knows? Maybe we'll see him

again. Anyway, his world was as wonderful a place as you could imagine.

I wonder if there's anything more strange in the whole universe?"

As Jan's musing words ended, I saw a strange, speculative look in

Scharber's face. Doc's eyes were soft for a second.

"I guess that miniature things still intrigue me," he said. "But we're

tied up with bigger facts now. I think we've won a temporary peace, but

I'll bet that that's all it will be--temporary. Even if Cope and the

rest of the same crop stop shouting, now, there'll be others to do just

as they did. In a day or two we'll know for sure."

* * * * *

Doc was right. On the very next evening Armand Cope was on the air

again, frightened, but determined. "This treachery of last night, even

though I do not understand its method, makes me even better aware that

this is a fight to the finish," he growled. "A fight against a hideous

thing, to which there can be no end except victory or death. As long as

I am a man, I shall be proud...."

Doc shrugged mildly. "I'd almost say 'Blah, tiresome fool!'" he

remarked. "But it wouldn't be fair. Cope stubbornly believes what he

says, I'm sure. It's etched into his nature. To a lesser degree with

most, it's the same with many others. So, this is it."

The following evening, Doc made his suggestions over the air, speaking

from his house:

"I am addressing those, who, in the eyes of some, have ceased to be

human. But perhaps the term, 'android' should be dropped entirely. We

are men in form, mind, emotion, aim, and pleasure--let there be no

instinctive, sullen, backward doubt of that! Our shape and our organs

are human. We have sprung from man's aspirations, and his quest for

more knowledge and better living. Though the knowhow of our living

was borrowed from another people, it would have come to men on Earth

in time, and by their own efforts. We are thus, simply, a far hardier

variety of what humans have always been. To those who are weaker,

troubled by fear, less understanding, we should be generous, until more

time lets them realize these truths. Therefore, I suggest that we leave

the Earth to them, going outward where our powers permit us to go

freely."

That is how it has been. Among the androids, as if the interstellar

regions was their natural habitat, Dr. Lanvin's hint took hold at once.

On Earth, tension eased gradually, until even Armand Cope's voice

sounded puzzled, and then sank to silence.

But let me tell about a side-event. Doc found a toy-sized craft in his

workshop, a ship with tapered bow and stern, and retractable airfoils.

It was less than an inch long. Need I say how we boarded it--Doc, Jan,

and I? Or how later, we and one Kobolah, conversed under the scope of a

micro-manipulator, while Scharber and Doc's Irma took turns watching us

through the lenses?

We thanked the tiny Xian for all his help. We saw his electronic visual

filaments blink over his eyes when Jan suggested:

"Kobolah, you could be cast in a larger form like the old Xians. You

could go with Dr. Lanvin in the first ship to leave for the solar

system of Sirius."

"Maybe--someday," he buzzed in answer. "Not now. To Sirius? I'm going

there, anyway with my own people soon. Time? There is plenty--for

everything. May you make few errors."

Then, with his jet rod he blasted off into the air. Within a minute,

his ship, aboard which were hundreds of his kind that we had seen, spat

blue fire, and darted out of the open window.

Scharber chuckled almost wistfully. "Micro-androids," he said.

"Strangest thing I ever saw. Why didn't he take me with him? Got to

start seeing the outer-universe somewhere. Why not in miniature? Darn,

androids can go anywhere."

X

The next day, Scharber's protoplastic form was found inert in his small

bachelor's apartment. When we were notified, Doc and I had a look at

the place. On Scharber's study table were many brief messages, written

on paper with a heat-charred line. The words were English, and spelled

correctly; but the script was strange. I knew the instrument of the

writing. I had written with it myself.

But Scharber had left a note of his own, written to us in ink:

_Dear Dr. Lanvin, Mrs. Lanvin, Charlie, Jan. Everybody--So I

win.... The Little Guy must have guessed. Anyway, he brought his

ship here. Then he wrote his questions--though he could hear me

answer. Do I want to come along? Yeah--look at the other

papers--see for yourselves. You must have made a good impression

out there--you who were there. So he likes Earthlings. For pets,

maybe? Who knows? Well--I didn't say no.... Wish me luck, and the

same to you. Do me a favor? Whoever goes first out to Sirius, take

this big carcass of mine along--being android, it ought to keep

for a long time. Maybe I'll need it after a while. Right now I'm

getting a smaller edition. So long for maybe a hundred years, more

or less._

_Scharber._

Smiling like an elf, Doc looked at me. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Same as you, I suppose," I answered. "Haunted...."

During the year that followed, that first starship was completed, and

ten others of the huge mile-long craft were begun. Jan and I saw them

all in their cradles when we went out to the Moon to visit my mother

and dad.

It was really meant to be a farewell trip. Jan and I hadn't expected to

get berthed on that first starcraft, the _Euclid_, but it happened. Not

all of the voyagers were of the new flesh.

"Farewell nothing," Dad told me slyly at the house. He looked more like

a slightly older brother of mine, than somebody paternal.

"We're going along, Charlie," Mom intimated. "We've always been ready

for new adventure, haven't we?"

In due course the _Euclid_ came to the New Mexico Spaceport to pick,

up its passengers, Jan and I and the folks had been on Earth for over

a month by then. We and Doc and Irma arrived at the port on the same

rocket plane, and as I looked up at the brooding hull of that colossus

I felt a little as if a kid dream of mine had come true--that I was

matching my lusty strength against the whole universe, and winning. To

fight and to win against something, has been a need in human blood and

bone for uncounted eons. But should I feel a bit puny and sheepish,

too? Comparing myself to Doc, for instance?

This was his special day. Back there behind us, as we approached

the starship--back there beyond the guardropes--were the crowds of

curious, thrilled, scared, envious humanity. Some cheered for what

the _Euclid_ meant to progress--or perhaps they cheered more for a

greater triumph--the thirty-thousand demigods who would be among its

passengers. But was some of the cheering given in relief at being rid

of them?

Bowhart was there, to shake hands with Doc and me and Irma and Jan, and

to meet my folks.

"Good luck to you all," he said. "No Great Change, yet, for you,

Charlie? So I hear. Funny, hunh? Dr. Lanvin--I want to give you special

best wishes. You look happy, so I guess if you're satisfied, nothing I

can say will be an offense. But I still wouldn't want to be you for a

million dollars."

Bowhart must have known that much, saying what he did; because Doc

wasn't at all offended--just airily nettled, like an ageless leprechaun

pitied by an urchin.

"Oh?" he asked lightly. "In the past many a millionaire would have

given more than a million for another week of life and vigor, and it

was no sale. The value is a lot bigger; but it doesn't cost that,

now--it doesn't cost anything except a little more growing up. What do

you want to do, Bow? Drink beer, eat ice cream, make love? I can do all

that, too. Someday you'll get it through your fuddled head that I'm

still human. I think you're catching on already. Yes, the androids are

leaving Earth; but you know that the process that makes them is still

here. Every day there are more labs. Because people get hurt terribly,

or wear out beyond reasonable repair. And what would you expect them to

want to do then, just die?"

Doc wasn't just talking to slow minded Bowhart, but to all humanity

that was like him. It was his final message. But there was another

touch to it that wasn't in words. It was a cocky gentle air that maybe

suggested the contrast of--say--eating a fine dinner, and then taking

a long dive, unclothed, through the vacuum of space--both with equal

relish.

Bowhart looked puzzled, and a bit sullen. Maybe he was beginning to

catch on at last.

Well, we made that enormous jump across the light-years to the Sirian

System. Seventy-nine years it took. I don't think that even an Xian

ship could have done much better. There's no overdrive or time-travel

in sight. Funny, isn't it--here, for once, nature resists us. But to

avoid boredom there was the older idea of suspended animation--natural

to the android, and capable of being induced in the older flesh by

special anesthetics and chilling. My wife and our friends passed the

first two years of the journey awake, to help operate the ship. The

other seventy-seven years passed as a moment.

We found us a world just slightly smaller than the Earth, and young and

beautiful. There was no native intelligence yet, comparable with the

human. The valley in which we live is rich and lush, and it slopes down

to the ocean. Like my dad and mother, Jan and I have a sturdy house of

stone; cleared fields, and livestock descended from the animals and

poultry brought out from Earth.

It's Mom's old rustic dream. It's even Cope's! It's an idyll.

A town is springing up fast nearby. It is one of the first colonial

settlements of what may become a great Earthborn interstellar union.

Doc is in the town with Irma, building it, planning, full of goodwill

for everyone. Scharber's normal-sized android body still sleeps in a

special vault under the town hall. But who knows at what moment he and

Kobolah may come?

Doc kids my folks and Jan; but especially he kids me:

"You're silly, Charlie, why don't you switch over to the android

level? What are you waiting for? Sure, I like to live in a house, too;

but sometimes I sleep out in the rain or the snow just for the hell

of it! Of course there's no real good in that kind of nonsense! But

changed over, a man has an average of a twenty per cent increase in

intelligence, simply on the basis of better energy and alertness! You

may think that you feel good, but even if no trials come to demand

superior stamina, you'll feel better; you'll do three times the work,

and never tire at all! Why, even on Earth, according to reports that

are relayed from starship to starship coming this way in a long string,

humans as they were are almost gone. So what are you--a diehard, a

stick-in-the-mud? Even--_you_?"

"Maybe it's the seventy-seven years lost, Doc," I josh back at

him. "I've got to catch up, perhaps. Of course I recognize all the

advantages. I've been through the mill. Just as with you, in my head,

lodged against my upper skull and doing me no harm, the medics say, is

a micro-android which my ego has inhabited, and which I almost never

use now. I remember what it is like to be super, Doc. I grant that it

is all the truth. But there's time. Just let me think some more."

Yeah, Jan and I think of all we've seen, that we never dreamed was

there. Beauty, strangeness, vastness, smallness, wonder, knowledge.

We've come a long awesome way.

You feel that you know a little more about the universe, and that

you're warmly and humbly a little nearer to its ultimate Mystery, and

are at peace. You know that the Great Change in man is right, and was

intended.

We've been stubborn, and I'm not entirely sure why. I know that we and

the others of the old flesh will yield to progress sooner or later.

Maybe we've been clinging sentimentally to the past of man. But deep

down, I believe I know the real reason. We're slow, we're human; just

give us time. It's hard to accept the responsible role of demigod.

We're just scared of so much newness.