"What you are saying is that you, a single robot, intend to conquer the
Earth and make its people do your bidding."
"Not alone. I may have to ask for help when the time comes, when I have
evaluated the entire planet."
* * * * *
It was at this moment that a young man strode uncertainly up the walk.
There were so many strangers about that no one challenged him until he
edged toward the porch, unsteady on his feet. He was drunk.
"Thersha robod I'm af'er," he observed intently. "We'll shee aboud how
he'll take lead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
There was a flash, as if a soundless explosion had occurred. The heat
accompanying it was blistering, but of short duration. When everyone's
eyes had become accustomed to the afternoon light again, there was a
burned patch on the sidewalk and grass was charred on either side. There
was a smell of broiled meat in the air--and no trace of the man.
The next moment newsmen were on their feet and photographers' bulbs were
flashing. The TV camera swept to the spot on the sidewalk. An announcer
was explaining what had happened, his voice trained in rigid control,
shocked with horror and fright.
Moments later sirens screamed and two police cars came into sight. They
screeched to the curb and several officers jumped out and ran across the
lawn.
While this was going on, Prof. Tomlin sat white-faced and unmoving in
his chair. The robot was silent.
When it had been explained to the policemen, five officers advanced the
robot.
"Stop where you are," George commended. "It is true that I killed a man,
much as any of you would have done if you had been in my place. I can
see in your minds what you are intending to say, that you must arrest
me--"
Prof. Tomlin found his voice. "George, we will all have to testify that
you killed with that force or whatever it is you have. But it will be
self-defense, which is justifiable homicide--"
George turned to the professor. "How little you know your own people,
Professor Tomlin. Can't you see what the issue will be? It will be
claimed by the state that I am not a human being and this will be
drummed into every brain in the land. The fine qualities of the man I
was compelled to destroy will be held up. No, I already know what the
outcome will be. I refuse to be arrested."
* * * * *
Prof. Tomlin stood up. "Men," he said to the policemen, "do not arrest
this--this humanoid. To try to do so would mean your death. I have been
with him long enough to know what he can do."
"You taking his side, Professor?" the police sergeant demanded.
"No, damn it," snapped the Professor. "I'm trying to tell you something
you might not know."
"We know he's gone too damned far," the sergeant replied. "I think it
was Dick Knight that he killed. Nobody in this town can kill a good guy
like Dick Knight and get away with it." He advanced toward the robot,
drawing his gun.
"I'm warning you--" the Professor started to say.
But it was too late. There was another blinding, scorching flash, more
burned grass, more smell of seared flesh.
The police sergeant disappeared.
[Illustration]
"Gentlemen!" George said, standing. "Don't lose your heads!"
But he was talking to a retreating group of men. Newsmen walked quickly
to what they thought was a safe distance. The radio men silently packed
their gear. The TV cameras were rolled noiselessly away.
Prof. Tomlin, alone on the porch with the robot, turned to him and said,
"Much of what you have told me comes to have new meaning, George. I
understand what you mean when you talk about people being willing to
work for your so-called Seventh Order."
"I knew you were a better than average man, Professor Tomlin," the
humanoid said, nodding with gratification.
"This is where I get off, George. I'm warning you now that you'd better
return to your ship or whatever it is you came in. People just won't
stand for what you've done. They don't like murder!"
"I cannot return to my ship," George said. "I destroyed it when I
arrived. Of course I could instruct some of you how to build another for
me, but I don't intend to leave, anyway."
"You will be killed then."
"Come, now, Professor Tomlin. You know better than that."
"If someone else can't, then perhaps I can."
"Fine!" The robot replied jovially. "That's just what I want you to do.
Oppose me. Give me a real test of your ability. If you find it
impossible to kill me--and I'm sure you will--then I doubt if anyone
else will be able to."
Prof. Tomlin lit a cigaret and puffed hard at it. "The trouble with
you," he said, eying the humanoid evenly, "is that your makers forgot to
give you a conscience."
"Needless baggage, a conscience. One of your Fifth Order failings."
"You will leave here...."
"Of course. Under the circumstances, and because of your attitude, you
are of very little use to me now, Professor Tomlin."
The robot walked down the steps. People attracted by the police car made
a wide aisle for him to the street.
They watched him as he walked out of sight.
* * * * *
That night there was a mass meeting in the university's Memorial
Gymnasium, attended by several hundred men. They walked in and silently
took their seats, some on the playing floor, others in the balcony over
the speaker's platform. There was very little talking; the air was
tense.
On the platform at the end of the gym were Mayor Harry Winters, Chief of
Police Sam Higgins, and Prof. Ansel Tomlin.
"Men," the mayor began, "there is loose in our city a being from another
world whom I'm afraid we took too lightly a few days ago. I am speaking
of the humanoid--George of Zanthar. It is obvious the machine means
business. He evidently came in with one purpose--to prepare Earth for
others just like him to follow. He is testing us. He has, as you know,
killed two men. Richard Knight, who may have erred in attacking the
machine, is nonetheless dead as a result--killed by a force we do not
understand. A few minutes later Sergeant Gerald Phillips of the police
force was killed in the performance of his duty, trying to arrest the
humanoid George for the death of Mr. Knight. We are here to discuss what
we can do about George."
He then introduced Prof. Tomlin who told all he knew about the blue man,
his habits, his brain, the experiences with him for the past two and a
half weeks.
"If we could determine the source of his power, it might be possible to
cut it off or to curtail it. He might be rendered at least temporarily
helpless and, while in such a condition, possibly be done away with. He
has told me he is vulnerable to force, such as a speeding bullet, if it
hit the right spot, but George possesses the ability to read intent long
before the commission of an act. The person need not even be in the
room. He is probably listening to me here now, although he may be far
away."
The men looked at one another, shifted uneasily on their seats, and a
few cast apprehensive eyes at the windows and doorways.
"Though he is admittedly a superior creature possessed of powers beyond
our comprehension, there must be a weak spot in his armor somewhere. I
have dedicated myself to finding that weakness."
The chair recognized a man in the fifth row.
"Mr. Mayor, why don't we all track him down and a lot of us attack him
at once? Some of us would die, sure, but he couldn't strike us _all_
dead at one time. Somebody's bound to succeed."
"Why not try a high-powered rifle from a long way off?" someone else
suggested, frantically.
"Let's bomb him," still another offered.
The mayor waved them quiet and turned to Prof. Tomlin. The professor got
to his feet again.
"I'm not sure that would work, gentlemen," he said. "The humanoid is
able to keep track of hundreds of things at the same time. No doubt he
could unleash his power in several directions almost at once."
"But we don't know!"
"It's worth a try!"
At that moment George walked into the room and the clamor died at its
height. He went noiselessly down an aisle to the platform, mounted it
and turned to the assembly. He was a magnificent blue figure, eyes
flashing, chest out, head proud. He eyed them all.
"You are working yourselves up needlessly," he said quietly. "It is not
my intention, nor is it the intention of any Seventh Order Humanoid, to
kill or cause suffering. It's simply that you do not understand what it
would mean to dedicate yourselves to the fulfillment of the Seventh
Order destiny. It is your heritage, yours because you have advanced in
your technology so far that Earth has been chosen by us as a station.
You will have the privilege of creating us. To give you such a
worthwhile goal in your short lives is actually doing you a service--a
service far outweighed by any of your citizens. Beside a Seventh Order
Humanoid, your lives are unimportant in the great cosmic scheme of
things--"
"If they're so unimportant, why did you bother to take two of them?"
"Yeah. Why don't you bring back Dick Knight and Sergeant Phillips?"
"Do you want to be buried lying down or standing up?"
The collective courage rallied. There were catcalls and hoots, stamping
of feet.
Suddenly from the balcony over George's head a man leaned over, a metal
folding chair in his hands, aiming at George's head. An instant later
the man disappeared in a flash and the chair dropped toward George. He
moved only a few inches and the chair thudded to the platform before
him. He had not looked up.
For a moment the crowd sat stunned. Then they rose and started for the
blue man. Some drew guns they had brought. The hall was filled with
blinding flashes, with smoke, with a horrible stench, screams, swearing,
cries of fear and pain. There was a rush for the exits. Some died at the
feet of their fellow men.
In the end, when all were gone, George of Zanthar still stood on the
platform, alone. There was no movement except the twitching of the new
dead, the trampled, on the floor.
* * * * *
Events happened fast after that. The Illinois National Guard mobilized,
sent a division to Brentwood to hunt George down. He met them at the
city square. They rumbled in and trained machine guns and tank rifles on
him. The tanks and personnel flashed out of existence before a shot was
fired.
Brentwood was ordered evacuated. The regular Army was called in.
Reconnaissance planes reported George was still standing in the city
square. Jet planes materialized just above the hills and made sudden
dives, but before their pilots could fire a shot, they were snuffed out
of the air in a burst of fire.
Bombers first went over singly, only to follow the jets' fate. A
squadron bloomed into a fiery ball as it neared the target. A long-range
gun twenty miles away was demolished when its ammunition blew up shortly
before firing.
Three days after George had killed his first man, action ceased. The
countryside was deathly still. Not a living person could be seen for
several miles around. But George still stood patiently in the square. He
stood there for three more days and yet nothing happened.
On the fourth day, he sensed that a solitary soldier had started toward
the city from five miles to the east. In his mind's eye he followed the
soldier approaching the city. The soldier, a sergeant, was bearing a
white flag that fluttered in the breeze; he was not armed. After an hour
he saw the sergeant enter the square and walk toward him. When they were
within twenty feet of one another, the soldier stopped and saluted.
"Major General Pitt requests a meeting with you, sir," the soldier said,
trembling and trying hard not to.
"Do not be frightened," George said. "I see you intend me no harm."