mechanical equivalent of a sigh. "When the SeventhOrder humanoids started coming through, we were naturally proud ofourselves and wanted to perpetuate and increase our numbers. But thehumans were jealous of us, of our superior brains, our immunity todisease, our independence of them, of sleep, of air."
"Who created you?"
"They did. Yet they revolted and, of course, quickly lost the battlewith us. In the end they were a race without hope, without ambition.They should have been proud at having created the most perfect machinesin existence, but they died of a disease: the frustration of living witha superior, more durable race."
Prof. Tomlin lit a cigaret and inhaled deeply.
"A very nasty habit, Professor Tomlin," the robot said. "When we arrive,you must give up smoking and several other bad habits I see that youhave."
The cigaret dropped from Ansel Tomlin's mouth as he opened it inamazement.
"There are more of you coming?"
"Yes," George replied good-naturedly. "I'm just an advance guard, ascout, as it were, to make sure the land, the people and the resourcesare adequate for a station. Whether we will ever establish one heredepends on me. For example, if it were found you were a race superior tous--and there may conceivably be such cases--I would advise not landing;I would have to look for another planet such as yours. If I were killed,it would also indicate you were superior."
"George," Prof. Tomlin said, "people aren't going to like what you say.You'll get into trouble sooner or later and get killed."
"I think not," George said. "Your race is far too inferior to do that.One of your bullets would do it if it struck my eyes, nose or mouth, butI can read intent in the mind long before it is committed, long before Isee the person, in fact ... at the moment your wife is answering a callfrom a reporter at the Brentwood Times. I can follow the telephone linesthrough the phone company to his office. And Mrs. Phillips," he said,not turning his head, "is watching us through a window."
Prof. Tomlin could see Mrs. Phillips at her kitchen window.
* * * * *
Brentwood, Ill., overnight became a sensation. The Brentwood _Times_sent a reporter and photographer out, and the next morning everynewspaper in the U. S. carried the story and photograph of George, therobot from Zanthar.
Feature writers from the wire services, the syndicates,photographer-reporter combinations from national newspicture magazinesflew to Brentwood and interviewed George. Radio and television and thenewsreels cashed in on the sudden novelty of a blue humanoid.
Altogether, his remarks were never much different from those he made toProf. Tomlin, with whom he continued to reside. Yet the news sourceswere amusedly tolerant of his views and the world saw no menace in himand took him in stride. He created no problem.
Between interviews and during the long nights, George read all the booksin the Tomlin library, the public library, the university library andthe books sent to him from the state and Congressional libraries. He wasan object of interest to watch while reading: he merely leafed through abook and absorbed all that was in it.
He received letters from old and young. Clubs were named for him.Novelty companies put out statue likenesses of him. He was, in twoweeks, a national symbol as American as corn. He was liked by most,feared by a few, and his habits were daily news stories.
Interest in him had begun to wane in the middle of the third week whensome thing put him in the headlines again--he killed a man.
It happened one sunny afternoon when Prof. Tomlin had returned from theuniversity and he and George sat on the front porch for their afternoonchat. It was far from the informal chat of the first day, however. Thetalk was being recorded for radio release later in the day. A televisioncamera had been set up, focused on the two and nearly a dozen newsmenlounged around, notebooks in hand.
"You have repeatedly mentioned, George, that some of your kind may leaveZanthar for Earth. Why should any like you--why did you, in fact leaveyour planet? Aren't you robots happy there?"
"Of course," George said, making certain the TV camera was trained onhim before continuing. "It's just that we've outgrown the place. We'veused up all our raw materials. By now everyone on Earth must be familiarwith the fact that we intend to set up a station here as we have on manyother planets, a station to manufacture more of _us_.
"Every inhabitant will work for the perpetuation of the Seventh Order,mining metals needed, fabricating parts, performing thousands of usefultasks in order to create humanoids like me. From what I have learnedabout Earth, you ought to produce more than a million of us a year."
"But you'll never get people to do that," the professor said. "Don't youunderstand that?"
"Once the people learn that we are the consummation of all creativethinking, that we are all that man could ever hope to be, that we arethe apotheosis, they will be glad to create more of us."
"Apotheosis?" Prof. Tomlin repeated. "Sounds like megalomania to me."
The reporters' pencils scribbled. The tape cut soundlessly across themagnetic energizers of the recorders. The man at the gain control didn'tflicker an eyelash.
"You don't really believe that, Professor. Instead of wars as a goal,the creation of Seventh Order Humanoids will be the Earth's crowning andsublime achievement. Mankind will be supremely happy. Anybody who couldnot be would simply prove himself neurotic and would have to be dealtwith."
"You will use force?"
The reporters' grips on their pencils tightened. Several looked up.
"How does one deal with the insane, Professor Tomlin?" the robot askedconfidently. "They will simply have to be--processed."
"You'll have to process the whole Earth, then. You'll have to includeme, too."
The robot gave a laugh. "I admire your challenging spirit, Professor."
"What you are saying is that you, a single robot, intend to conquer theEarth and make its people do your bidding."
"Not alone. I may have to ask for help when the time comes, when I haveevaluated 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 heedged toward the porch, unsteady on his feet. He was drunk.
"Thersha robod I'm af'er," he observed intently. "We'll shee aboud howhe'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 heataccompanying it was blistering, but of short duration. When everyone'seyes had become accustomed to the afternoon light again, there was aburned patch on the sidewalk and grass was charred on either side. Therewas 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 wereflashing. The TV camera swept to the spot on the sidewalk. An announcerwas 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. Theyscreeched to the curb and several officers jumped out and ran across thelawn.
While this was going on, Prof. Tomlin sat white-faced and unmoving inhis chair. The robot was silent.
When it had been explained to the policemen, five officers advanced therobot.
"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 cansee in your minds what you are intending to say, that you must arrestme--"
Prof. Tomlin found his voice. "George, we will all have to testify thatyou killed with that force or whatever it is you have. But it will beself-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 beclaimed by the state that I am not a human being and this will bedrummed into every brain in the land. The fine qualities of the man Iwas compelled to destroy will be held up. No, I already know what theou
tcome will be. I refuse to be arrested."
* * * * *
Prof. Tomlin stood up. "Men," he said to the policemen, "do not arrestthis--this humanoid. To try to do so would mean your death. I have beenwith 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 somethingyou might not know."
"We know he's gone too damned far," the sergeant replied. "I think itwas Dick Knight that he killed. Nobody in this town can kill a good guylike Dick Knight and get away with it." He advanced toward the robot,drawing