Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









    _Robert J. Shea, of Rutgers University, makes an interesting
    contribution to robotics with this story of Rankin, who prided
    himself on knowing how to handle robots, but did not realize that
    the robots of the Clearchan Confederacy were subject to a higher law
    than implicit obedience to man._


     the
 helpful
  robots

 _by ROBERT J. SHEA_


 They had come to pass judgement on him. He had violated
 their law--wilfully, ignorantly, and very deliberately.


"Our people will be arriving to visit us today," the robot said.

"Shut up!" snapped Rod Rankin. He jumped, wiry and quick, out of the
chair on his verandah and stared at a cloud of dust in the distance.

"Our people--" the ten-foot, cylinder-bodied robot grated, when Rod
Rankin interrupted him.

"I don't care about your fool people," said Rankin. He squinted at the
cloud of dust getting bigger and closer beyond the wall of _kesh_ trees
that surrounded the rolling acres of his plantation. "That damned new
neighbor of mine is coming over here again."

He gestured widely, taking in the dozens of robots with their shiny,
cylindrical bodies and pipestem arms and legs laboring in his fields.
"Get all your people together and go hide in the wood, fast."

"It is not right," said the robot. "We were made to serve all."

"Well, there are only a hundred of you, and I'm not sharing you with
anybody," said Rankin.

"It is not right," the robot repeated.

"Don't talk to me about what's right," said Rankin. "You're built to
follow orders, nothing else. I know a thing or two about how you robots
work. You've got one law, to follow orders, and until that neighbor of
mine sees you to give you orders, you work for me. Now get into those
woods and hide till he goes away."

"We will go to greet those who visit us today," said the robot.

"Alright, alright, scram," said Rankin.

The robots in the fields and the one whom Rankin had been talking to
formed a column and marched off into the trackless forests behind his
plantation.

A battered old ground-car drove up a few minutes later. A tall,
broad-shouldered man with a deep tan got out and walked up the path to
Rankin's verandah.

"Hi, Barrows," said Rankin.

"Hello," said Barrows. "See your crop's coming along pretty well. Can't
figure how you do it. You've got acres and acres to tend, far's I can
see, and I'm having a hell of a time with one little piece of ground. I
swear you must know something about this planet that I don't know."

"Just scientific farming," said Rankin carelessly. "Look, you come over
here for something, or just to gab? I got a lot of work to do."

Barrows looked weary and worried. "Them brown beetles is at my crop
again," he said. "Thought you might know some way of getting rid of
them."

"Sure," said Rankin. "Pick them off, one by one. That's how I get rid of
them."

"Why, man," said Barrows, "you can't walk all over these miles and miles
of farm and pick off every one of them beetles. You must know another
way."

Rankin drew himself up and stared at Barrows. "I'm telling you all I
feel like telling you. You going to stand here and jaw all day? Seems to
me like you got work to do."

"Rankin," said Barrows, "I know you were a crook back in the Terran
Empire, and that you came out beyond the border to escape the law. Seems
to me, though, that even a crook, any man, would be willing to help his
only neighbor out on a lone planet like this. You might need help
yourself, sometime."

"You keep your thoughts about my past to yourself," said Rankin.
"Remember, I keep a gun. And you've got a wife and a whole bunch of kids
on that farm of yours. Be smart and let me alone."

"I'm going," said Barrows. He walked off the verandah and turned and
spat carefully into the dusty path. He climbed into his ground-car and
drove off.

Rankin, angry, watched him go. Then he heard a humming noise from
another direction.

He turned. A huge, white globe was descending across the sky. A space
ship, thought Rankin, startled.

Police? This planet was outside the jurisdiction of the Terran Empire.
When he'd cracked that safe and made off with a hundred thousand
credits, he'd headed here, because the planet was part of something
called the Clearchan Confederacy. No extradition treaties or anything.
Perfectly safe, if the planet was safe.

And the planet was more than safe. There had been a hundred robots
waiting when he landed. Where they came from he didn't know, but Rankin
prided himself on knowing how to handle robots. He'd appropriated their
services and started his farm. At the rate he was going, he'd be a
plantation owner before long.

That must be where the ship was from. The robot said they'd expected
visitors. Must be the Clearchan Confederacy visiting this robot outpost.
Was that good or bad?

From everything he'd read, and from what the robots had told him, they
were probably more robots. That was good, because he knew how to handle
robots.

The white globe disappeared into the jungle of _kesh_ trees. Rankin
waited.

A half hour later the column of his robot laborers marched out of the
forest. There were three more robots, painted grey, at the head. The new
ones from the ship, thought Rankin. Well, he'd better establish who was
boss right from the start.

"Stop right there!" he shouted.

The shiny robot laborers halted. But the three grey ones came on.

"Stop!" shouted Rankin.

They didn't stop, and by the time they reached the verandah, he cursed
himself for having failed to get his gun.

Two of the huge grey robots laid gentle hands on his arms. Gentle hands,
but hands of superstrong metal.

The third said, "We have come to pass judgement on you. You have
violated our law."

"What do you mean?" said Rankin. "The only law robots have is to obey
orders."

"It is true that the robots of your Terran Empire and these simple
workers here must obey orders. But they are subject to a higher law, and
you have forced them to break it. That is your crime."

"What crime?" said Rankin.

"We of the Clearchan Confederacy are a race of robots. Our makers
implanted one law in us, and then passed on. We have carried our law to
all the planets we have colonized. In obeying your orders, these workers
were simply following that one law. You must be taken to our capital,
and there be imprisoned and treated for your crime."

"What law? What crime?"

"Our law," said the giant robot, "is, _Help thy neighbor_."




Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ September 1957.
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
    typographical errors have been corrected without note.