Collected Short Fiction, page 45
Beside it were the letters that had been in Vern’s office that morning. Vern had a timing gadget on his drop at the office; if the letters weren’t picked up by noon, a relay automatically rerouted them to his home. They had all been opened.
I picked up the envelopes and pulled out the letters one by one and read them. They didn’t mean a thing to me; they were all business stuff, and none of it seemed to be related to Vern’s death in the least.
Then, all of a sudden, I got it.
It was like being hit in the head with a hammer. All the pieces seemed to fall into place like bricks falling into a well.
I dropped the letters and ran across the apartment to the door of Mara’s section. I didn’t even bother to signal; I just pushed the opener and walked in. I looked around the sitting room. Mara was nowhere to be seen. I walked on into the bedroom. It was empty.
The puppet control box was in the bathroom, where no one, not even the police monitors, would ever think of searching for it.
I looked the thing over, and I was about to switch it on when Mara’s voice came from behind me.
“Don’t try to draw, Dennis. I’m holding a gun at your back.”
I turned around slowly, keeping my hands well away from my hips.
“It looks like I got here just in time,” she said coolly. She was holding a deadly-looking Bentley 30 pointed straight between my eyes. The bore of the barrel looked big enough to crawl into.
“I can kill you, you know,” she said. “And I’ll not even have to explain why. You’re in my bedroom—in fact, you’re in my bathroom.” Then she held out her hand. “You must have the key. Give it to me.”
I started to lower my hand.
“Slowly,” she said. The gun didn’t waver, and I knew she could kill me before I had a chance to draw. I took the key to Vern’s office out of my pocket and held it out to her just as she asked.
“Drop it,” she said.
I dropped it. She knelt down and picked it up carefully, without once taking her eyes or the gun off me.
“How did you ever figure it was me, Dennis?” she asked conversationally.
I knew then that she meant to kill me. She wanted to know how I’d found her out so she could cover up afterwards. I decided I’d better stall her along.
“I’ll have to admit you were pretty clever,” I said as a lead-in. A woman won’t shoot a man who’s flattering her until he’s through.
“You hired a guy to insult you Saturday night, and then brought the control box here so that you could kill Vern Sunday morning.
“I should have known that night that it was a put-up job. Jason Blade was good-looking and smooth. And yet, you never gave him a tumble. For once in your life, you weren’t the cause of the fight. That wasn’t true to character, Mara.”
She grinned dangerously. “Go on.”
“I didn’t suspect you, because I knew you couldn’t draw that fast. It didn’t dawn on me until a few minutes ago that the draw was too fast to be quite human. You recorded the draw-and-fire sequence on tape, doing it slowly. Then, when the time came for the duel, you walked the puppet over to the spot and put the hands up to the shoulders. After that, it was simple. You had the tape ready to run through the pickup and had set the speed control up. As soon as the signal gong rang, the tape ran through, and the robot went through the same actions, only faster.
“I should have figured that out, too. When the robot squawked, I outdrew him. By that time you were in control again, and you couldn’t draw fast enough.
“I didn’t think about the speeded-up tape until I heard a man do the same thing by accident this morning.”
“How did you know it was me, though?”
“Just luck, really. If I hadn’t found the letter from that expediter in Chicago, I wouldn’t have known that the person who made the pass wasn’t the same as the person who did the killing. If I hadn’t found that out, it would have eliminated you automatically, the way you figured it would.
“Brettmeller was the only one who noticed anything, and even he couldn’t tell me why he disliked Jason Blade. It was because you were operating the puppet, and you’re a woman. You were trying to act like a man, but there were little feminine actions that came through, just the same.
“But it still would have worked if I hadn’t found the key and the letter. You had to give the key to Yardley, so he could get into Vern’s office Saturday night. But you had to get it back, too. You had him mail it back, using Vern’s name. You knew that the mail would come to you right after noon today. You must have been pretty frantic when you couldn’t find the key in the mail. That’s why you ripped open all the envelopes looking for it. You had to have Vern’s key back.”
I was just about talked out, and the gun hadn’t moved a millimeter.
“Where is the letter?” she asked. “The one from Yardley.”
I shook my head. “Even if you kill me, you may be traced through that letter. I’d be a damn fool to say anything.”
“I’ll take that chance,” she said. “I’ll find it.”
Her finger started to tighten on the trigger. There was only one thing to do. I dropped to a crouch and jumped towards her. The weapon went off just over my head.
I slammed into her, and she staggered back through the door to the bedroom. Her hand came down, and the gun clouted me on the side of the head.
It wasn’t enough to knock me out, but I was groggy for a second or two. She was still off balance, and I had enough presence of mind to slam the door between us before she could take aim again.
I locked it and stood there shaking my head, trying to clear it. I knew she wouldn’t try to fire through a steel door.
Impasse. I didn’t dare open the door, and she didn’t dare leave.
I walked back to the door. “Why did you kill him?” I asked. “Having a cheap love affair somewhere? Or did you just want his money?”
Silence.
“You ought to get what’s coming to you, sister. Vern treated you like a queen. He risked his life eleven times for you. He—”
“He treated me like dirt! He hated women who carried a weapon. He didn’t want a citizen as a wife, he wanted a namby-pamby who would jump when he said jump. I couldn’t go anywhere unless he took me out. I couldn’t talk to anyone without his permission. I wasn’t supposed to have a mind of my own.
“Sure he risked his life for me. But it wasn’t because he loved me; it was because he owned me. I didn’t flirt with men because they were good-looking. I tried to pick the men who were best with a sidearm.
“But I failed.”
And then another voice came through the door.
“Put down the gun, Mara.”
There were two shots.
Then the new voice said: “Is that you in there, Dennis?”
It was Ceil.
“It’s me. How did you manage to arrive in the nick of time?”
She pointed to the floor where Mara lay. “Mara was down at Vern’s office when I got there. She was looking all over for something, pretending to help Carl.”
“I know,” I said. I told her about the letter.
I knelt down to look at Mara. She was still breathing; Ceil had only smashed her shoulder with the bullet.
“She left in such a state of nerves,” Ceil went on, “that I thought maybe I’d better come over here and see what was the matter. The door was open a crack, and I heard what she said about killing Vern. So I sneaked in and got the drop on her. She was a fool to try to shoot me.”
I stood up, wiping the sweat from my hands.
“Ceil,” I said, “when we’re married, if you ever get tired of me, just let me know and I’ll leave peacefully. I don’t want to have to outshoot a souped-up robot.”
She grinned. “Don’t worry. If I ever get that sore, you won’t have to outshoot anyone but me.” THE END
Revolt of the Synthetics
You’ve built an android and turned it out by the thousands to harvest your grain and do your work. Subservience is the keynote of this model. But it revolts and threatens to annihilate you. Can you find the error in time to save your own life?
THE androids were lying down on the job. That was Dave Thornton’s first thought, as he rounded the bend and came to the grain-fields. Suddenly, the neat report he had filed that morning was worthless, as were all his evaluations. A current of anger throbbed through him.
He paused for a moment at the edge of the road, blinking with surprise. The androids, sure enough, were lying in the field, stretching their golden-yellow plastic bodies out with lazy content.
It didn’t figure. It didn’t figure at all—and it left him in a hell of a mess. Thornton broke into a trot and dashed out into the field, scattering the newly-cut haystacks every which way as he ran.
He stopped at the first android he came across, reached down, and jerked the synthetic man up.
“Why aren’t you working?” Thornton demanded. “Who ordered you to take a rest?”
“No one ordered us, bossman,” the android said slowly. “We just thought it was time for a little break.”
“So we sat down,” chimed in another android, coming up from one side. “From now on we only work when we want to.”
Thornton looked uneasily from one android to another. He was there supposedly only as an observer, to determine the relative superiority of the synthetic androids over the metallic robots on the farmlands of Kybor. So far the test had gone splendidly, with the crew of androids far outstripping in production the robots they were replacing. But now this sudden reversal had come, and it looked as though he were going to get involved—and dangerously.
The androids were gathering in a little clump around him, and their bland yellow faces showed expressions of menace. Thornton backed away a step.
“Just what’s going on here?” he asked coldly, wishing he’d been smart enough to pack a blaster.
“You heard us the first time,” said one of the androids. “It’s a new policy we’re instituting—effective now.”
“But you have no right to do any such thing! I’m ordering you to get back to work!”
None of them moved.
“That’s a direct order from a human being,” Thornton said. “You can’t disobey it!”
One of the androids chuckled. “Oh, can’t we?” The android reached out and nudged Thornton roughly in the chest. “Who says?”
Not believing this could be happening, Thornton shoved the android’s arm away from himself. It was incredible to suppose that the placid, carefully-trained androids could be capable of refusing a direct human order.
The android pushed him again. Thornton angrily slapped the cool hand away, and suddenly felt a fist in his teeth.
He lashed out with a right and landed it, hard, on the androids rubbery jaw; the android went rocking back, and another took its place. Thornton looked around and saw that he was in the middle of a semicircle of jeering androids. It was like a dream, being attacked by these subservient creatures.
Thornton pulled the nearest one toward him, hurled it backward into the semicircle, and at the same moment felt a stinging blow on the back of his neck.
He whirled, took a grazing punch on his cheek, and drove a fist into the android’s stomach. Then, before any further trouble could develop, he broke through the ring and dashed across the field to his tractor.
The androids didn’t pursue. Thornton looked back and saw them laughing uproariously to themselves, as they once again stretched out comfortably on the ground in the warm midday sun.
He drove grimly back to the Administration House with the derisive cries of the androids still echoing in his ears. It had all happened too suddenly for his mind to assimilate the situation properly, and all he could think was that a pleasant, soft job had suddenly turned into a nightmare.
Thornton and his wife had come to Kybor, a small, agricultural planet in the Procyon system, a month before. He had been hired by the Donovan Food Cartel to study the practicality of replacing the farming robots with the newly-developed synthetic androids. During the test period, Thornton and his wife had been installed in the home of Ed Chesley, the local Planetary Supervisor, who was the only Earthman on the planet permanently. It was Chesley’s job to see to it that the grain was shipped out; he had the little planet to himself.
Things had rolled along smoothly for three weeks, with the androids, intelligent, almost-human beings, learning the farm routines fantastically fast and turning in almost double the yield the old clanking robots had. So far it looked like a clear victory for the android manufacturers, and an overwhelming setback for the robotics boys—for if Thornton’s report ruled in favor of androids, the Donovan Cartel would make the changeover on all of its galaxy-wide holdings.
Thornton had started writing the report that morning, praising the androids and comparing them favorably to the robots, whose control farm was doing poorly. But suddenly, for no comprehensible reason, the cooperative androids had ceased being cooperative.
To top everything, Supervisor Chesley, seeing that everything was so well in hand, had left the night before for a short business trip to Denaron, the neighboring planet in the system. So Thornton and his wife were alone on Kybor, and the androids were in revolt.
It was a sorely-worried Dave Thornton who jogged up the steps of the Administration House in search of his wife.
He ran inside, bolting the door behind him. The first voice he heard was that of the house-robot, a clinking, seven-foot heap of tin who did menial tasks.
“Where’s your mistress?” Thornton asked.
The robot slowly opened its mouth and rumbled, in halting syllables, “She is upstairs.”
Without waiting for any more information, Thornton raced up the stairs to the second floor of the big house. Nina’s probably in the microfilm library, he thought, and upon entering the darkened room he found he was right. She was sitting attentively in the back, watching a reel of some old Earth novel. She really went for them.
Startled at the intrusion, Nina looked up. Then she saw Thornton’s battered appearance.
“What happened, darling? What ever—”
Hastily, he told her the whole story—how the androids refused to work, how they were growing violent when he had made his escape.
He watched her, saw her face change, take on a look of blank incomprehension. Nina had had a pleasant life; she came from a rich merchant family, and he had met her while she was vacationing on one of the pleasure-worlds of the Arcturus system. Thornton’s job was a good one, and their life had been an uncomplicated, happy one—until now.
“But they can’t rebel,” she protested. “They’re supposed to respect humans. They’re conditioned!”
“Someone must have unconditioned them,” Thornton said tightly. “Those androids have been tampered with. They wouldn’t change so radically overnight for absolutely no reason!”
“But who would do such a thing?”
“Don’t be naive, darling. Who do you think might have a motive for wrecking the android test?”
Nina, puzzled, shrugged her shoulders. “Who?”
“Who else but the robot manufacturers, of course,” Thornton said.
The answer had occurred to him a moment before, as he had revolved the situation in his mind. There was no reason why the peaceful androids should suddenly take things into their own synthetic hands, unless some interested party had manipulated them. And the logical villains would be the robot manufacturers, struggling to maintain their industry in the face of the overwhelming competition from the new android marketers.
But how? How?
He walked over to the window, staring out moodily, as if looking for the answer out there. Nina was busily gathering up the microfilms and putting them away.
Somehow the robot makers had smuggled an agent onto Kybor, to tinker with the androids. Thornton angrily determined that he was going to find that agent.
He glanced out at the dusty road, and then took a sharper look. Yes—he’d been right at first glance. An army of androids was tramping merrily up the road, waving flails and shovels, singing wildly. Some of them were carrying torches.
A moment later, the house was surrounded.
They were singing, “We don’t have to work! We don’t have to work!” Like children, Thornton thought. Children on vacation from school.
Nina was sobbing quietly in the corner. “Why’d we come here, Dave? Why couldn’t we have taken that other job? The one on Earth?”
“Quiet, baby,” Thornton said, concealing his impatience with her. He knew he had to be gentle; poor spoiled Nina had never been under any sort of strain before in her life, and she was reacting predictably.
The androids were pounding on the walls below, marching around, having a generally good time of it. They didn’t seem particularly malicious yet, but they had Thornton holed up and they were determined to make the most of it, apparently. And those torches were a potential menace.
The only way to save things was to find out what had been done to the androids, and counteract it. That would mean some fast talking, and perhaps some speedy running as well.
Uneasily, he walked across the hall to his own room, and dropped down at his desk. His report was open in front of him, and he smiled ironically at the words of praise he had written about the androids that morning. He pushed the sheet away.
He couldn’t go outside, not in that raging mob. But he had someone who could. Thornton reached over and depressed the button that would bring the house-robot clanking up the stairs, and waited.
The robot appeared a few minutes later.
“Yes, sir?” it grated ponderously.
“Go outside,” Thornton ordered. Quickly he outlined what he wanted done, and the robot nodded its acknowledgment gravely and moved out.
As the metal servant left, Nina entered. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“I’m setting a trap for a rat,” he said. “Now I’ve got to get some cheese.”
He opened the closet and began fumbling in the supply cabinet.
