Second Variety and Other Stories (53 page)

He licked his lips. Perspiration came out on his forehead. Nelson was staring at him, his face still
livid. His chest rose and fell.

"Kill him," Nelson said. "Before he kills us."

The two men stood up.

"What have you found?" Peters said. He held the gun steady. "Is there anything there?"

"Looks like something. It's a needle-ship, all right. There's something beside it."

"I'll look." Peters strode past Olham. Olham watched him go down the hill and up to the men.
The others were following after him, peering to see.

"It's a body of some sort," Peters said. "Look at it!"

Olham came along with them. They stood around in a circle, staring down.

On the ground, bent and twisted in a strange shape, was a grotesque form. It looked human,
perhaps; except that it was bent so strangely, the arms and legs flung off in all directions. The mouth was
open; the eyes stared glassily.

"Like a machine that's run down," Peters murmured.

Olham smiled feebly. "Well?" he said.

Peters looked at him. "I can't believe it. You were telling the truth all the time."

"The robot never reached me," Olham said. He took out a cigarette and lit it. "It was destroyed
when the ship crashed. You were all too busy with the war to wonder why an out-of-the-way wood
would suddenly catch fire and burn. Now you know."

He stood smoking, watching the men. They were dragging the grotesque remains from the ship.
The body was stiff, the arms and legs rigid.

"You'll find the bomb now," Olham said. The men laid the body on the ground. Peters bent
down.

"I think I see the corner of it." He reached out, touching the body.

The chest of the corpse had been laid open. Within the gaping tear something glinted, something
metal. The men stared at the metal without speaking.

"That would have destroyed us all, if it had lived," Peters said. "That metal box there."

There was silence.

"I think we owe you something," Peters said to Olham. "This must have been a nightmare to you.
If you hadn't escaped, we would have --" He broke off.

Olham put out his cigarette. "I knew, of course, that the robot had never reached me. But I had
no way of proving it. Sometimes it isn't possible to prove a thing right away. That was the whole trouble.
There wasn't any way I could demonstrate that I was myself."

"How about a vacation?" Peters said. "I think we might work out a month's vacation for you.
You could take it easy, relax."

"I think right now I want to go home," Olham said.

"I think right now I want to go home," Olham said.

Nelson had squatted down on the ground, beside the corpse. He reached out toward the glint of
metal visible within the chest.

"Don't touch it," Olham said. "It might still go off. We better let the demolition squad take care of
it later on."

Nelson said nothing. Suddenly he grabbed hold of the metal, reaching his hand inside the chest.
He pulled.

"What are you doing?" Olham cried.

Nelson stood up. He was holding on to the metal object. His face was blank with terror. It was a
metal knife, an Outspace needle-knife, covered with blood.

"This killed him," Nelson whispered. "My friend was killed with this." He looked at Olham. "You
killed him with this and left him beside the ship."

Olham was trembling. His teeth chattered. He looked from the knife to the body. "This can't be
Olham," he said. His mind spun, everything was whirling. "Was I wrong?"

He gaped.

"But if that's Olham, then I must be --"

He did not complete the sentence, only the first phrase. The blast was visible all the way to Alpha
Centauri.

"You're a nasty little --human being," the newly-formed Z Type robot shrilled peevishly.

Donnie flushed and slunk away. It was true. He was a human being, a human child. And there
was nothing science could do. He was stuck with it. A human being in a robot's world.

He wished he were dead. He wished he lay under the grass and the worms were eating him up
and crawling through him and devouring his brain, his poor miserable human's brain. The Z-236r, his
robot companion, wouldn't have anybody to play with and it would be sorry.

"Where are you going?" Z-236r demanded.

"Home."

"Sissy."

Donnie didn't reply. He gathered up his set of fourth dimensional chess, stuffed it in his pocket,
and walked off between the rows of ecarda trees, toward the human quarter. Behind him, Z236r stood
gleaming in the late afternoon sun, a pale tower of metal and plastic.

"See if I care," Z-236r shouted sullenly. "Who wants to play with a human being, anyhow? Go on
home. You -- you smell."

Donnie said nothing. But he hunched over a little more. And his chin sank lower against his chest.

"Well, it happened," Edgar Parks said gloomily to his wife, across the kitchen table.

Grace looked quickly up. "It?"

"Donnie learned his place today. He told me while I was changing my clothes. One of the new
robots he was playing with. Called him a human being. Poor kid. Why the hell do they have to rub it in?
Why can't they let us alone?"

"So that's why he didn't want any dinner. He's in his room. I knew something had happened."
Grace touched her husband's hand. "He'll get over it. We all have to learn the hard way. He's strong.
He'll snap back."

Ed Parks got up from the table and moved into the living-room of his modest five-room dwelling
unit, located in the section of the city set aside for humans. He didn't feel like eating. "Robots." He
clenched his fists futilely. "I'd like to get hold of one of them. Just once. Get my hands into their guts. Rip
out handfuls of wires and parts. Just once before I die."

unit, located in the section of the city set aside for humans. He didn't feel like eating. "Robots." He
clenched his fists futilely. "I'd like to get hold of one of them. Just once. Get my hands into their guts. Rip
out handfuls of wires and parts. Just once before I die."

"No. No, it'll never come to that. Anyhow, humans wouldn't be able to run things without robots.
It's true, honey. Humans haven't got the integration to maintain a society. The Lists prove that twice a
year. Let's face it. Humans are inferior to robots. But it's their damn holding it up to us! Like today with
Donnie. Holding it up to our faces. I don't mind being a robot's body servant. It's a good job. Pays well
and the work is light. But when my kid gets told he's --"

Ed broke off. Donnie had come out of his room slowly, into the living-room. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, son." Ed thumped the boy gently on the back. "How you doing? Want to take in a show
tonight?"

Humans entertained nightly on the vid-screens. Humans made good entertainers. That was one
area the robots couldn't compete in. Human beings painted and wrote and danced and sang and acted
for the amusement of robots. They cooked better, too, but robots didn't eat. Human beings had their
place. They were understood and wanted: as body servants, entertainers, clerks, gardeners, construction
workers, repairmen, odd-jobbers and factory workers.

But when it came to something like civic control coordinator or traffic supervisor for the usone
tapes that fed energy into the planet's twelve hydrosystems -

"Dad," Donnie said, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Ed sat down on the couch with a sigh. He leaned back and crossed his legs. "What is it?"

Donnie sat quietly beside him, his little round face serious. "Dad, I want to ask you about the
Lists."

"Oh, yeah." Ed rubbed his jaw. "That's right. Lists in a few weeks. Time to start boning up for
your entry. We'll get out some of the sample tests and go over them. Maybe between the two of us we
can get you ready for Class Twenty."

"Listen." Donnie leaned close to his father, his voice low and intense. "Dad, how many humans
have ever passed their Lists?"

Ed got up abruptly and paced around the room, filling his pipe and frowning. "Well, son, that's
hard to say. I mean, humans don't have access to the C-Bank records. So I can't check to see. The law
says any human who gets a score in the top forty per cent is eligible for classification with a gradual
upward gradation according to subsequent showing. I don't know how many humans have been able to
--"

"Has any human ever passed his List?" Ed swallowed nervously.

"Gosh, kid. I don't know. I mean, I don't honestly know of any, when you put it like that. Maybe
not. The Lists have been conducted only three hundred years. Before that the Government was
reactionary and forbade humans to compete with robots. Nowadays, we have a liberal Government and
we can compete on the Lists and if we get high enough scores..." His voice wavered and faded. "No,
kid," he said miserably. "No human ever passed a List. We're -- just -- not -- smart enough."

The room was silent. Donnie nodded faintly, expressionless. Ed didn't look at him. He
concentrated on his pipe, hands shaking.

"It's not so bad," Ed said huskily. "I have a good job. I'm body servant to a hell of a fine N Type
robot. I get big tips at Christmas and Easter. It gives me time off when I'm sick." He cleared his throat
noisily. "It's not so bad."

Grace was standing at the door. Now she came into the room, eyes bright. "No, not bad. Not at
all. You open doors for it, bring its instruments to it, make calls for it, run errands for it, oil it, repair it,
sing to it, talk to it, scan tapes for it --"

"Shut up," Ed muttered irritably. "What the hell should I do? Quit? Maybe I should mow lawns
like John Hollister and Pete Klein. At least my robot calls me by name. Like a living thing. It calls me Ed."

"Will a human ever pass a List?" Donnie asked.

"Yes," Grace said sharply.

Ed nodded. "Sure, kid. Of course. Someday maybe humans and robots will live together in
equality. There's an Equality Party among the robots. Holds ten seats in the Congress. They think humans
should be admitted without Lists. Since it's obvious --" He broke off. "I mean, since no humans have ever
been able to pass their Lists so far --"

Ed nodded. "Sure, kid. Of course. Someday maybe humans and robots will live together in
equality. There's an Equality Party among the robots. Holds ten seats in the Congress. They think humans
should be admitted without Lists. Since it's obvious --" He broke off. "I mean, since no humans have ever
been able to pass their Lists so far --"

"What is it?"

"I know of a human being who -- who's classified. He passed his Lists. Ten years ago. And he's
gone up. He's up to Class Two. Someday he'll be Class One. Do you hear? A human being. And he's
going up."

Donnie's face showed doubt. "Really?" The doubt turned to wistful hope. "Class Two? No
kidding?"

"It's just a story," Ed grunted. "I've heard that all my life."

"It's true! I heard two robots talking about it when I was cleaning up one of the Engineering
Units. They stopped when they noticed me."

"What's his name?" Donnie asked, wide-eyed.

"James P. Crow," Grace said proudly.

"Strange name," Ed murmured.

"That's his name. I know. It's not a story. It's true! And sometime, someday, he'll be on the top
level. On the Supreme Council."

Bob McIntyre lowered his voice. "Yeah, it's true, all right. James P. Crow is his name."

"It's not a legend?" Ed demanded eagerly.

"There really is such a human. And he's Class Two. Gone all the way up. Passed his Lists like
that." Mclntyre snapped his fingers. "The robots hush it up, but it's a fact. And the news is spreading.
More and more humans know."

The two men had stopped by the service entrance of the enormous Structural Research Building.
Robot officials moved busily in and out through the main doors, at the front of the building. Robot
planners who guided Terran society with skill and efficiency.

Robots ran Earth. It had always been that way. The history tapes said so. Humans had been
invented during the Total War of the Eleventh Millibar. All types of weapons had been tested and used;
humans were one of many. The War had utterly wrecked society. For decades after, anarchy and ruin
lay everywhere. Only gradually had society reformed under the patient guidance of robots. Humans had
been useful in the reconstruction. But why they had originally been made, what they had been used for,
how they had served in the War -- all knowledge had perished in the hydrogen bomb blasts. The
historians had to fill in with conjecture. They did so.

"Why such a strange name?" Ed asked.

Mclntyre shrugged. "All I know is he's sub-Advisor to the Northern Security Conference. And in
line for the Council when he makes Class One."

"What do the robs think?"

"They don't like it. But there's nothing they can do. The law says they have to let a human hold a
job if he's qualified. They never thought a human would be qualified, of course. But this Crow passed his
Lists."

"It certainly is strange. A human, smarter than the robs. I wonder why."

"He was an ordinary repairman. A mechanic, fixing machinery and designing circuits.
Unclassified, of course. Then suddenly he passed his first List. Entered Class Twenty. He rose the next
bi-annual to Class Nineteen. They had to put him to work." Mclntyre chuckled. "Too damn bad, isn't it?
They have to sit with a human being."

"How do they react?"

"Some quit. Walk out, rather than sit with a human. But most stay. A lot of robs are decent. They
try hard."

"I'd sure like to meet this fellow Crow."

"I'd sure like to meet this fellow Crow."