SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

                               A NOVELET

                         By Gene L. Henderson

            They weren't robots, even though people called
             them that; they were androids and they wanted
           to be treated as rational beings. What?--screamed
                   humans--treat machines as equals?

         Even if the "survival of the fittest" theory (grafted
       onto Darwinism by popularizers) is a good one, it's still
     a matter of hindsight, and not a case of deciding in advance
        which or who ought to survive. However, does this stump
        our hero, our indefatigable human being? The answer is
     a hearty, if somewhat delusionary, NO! Whether it's America,
       Russia, China, Lower Slobovia, it's just plain understood
       that "we are the most fit to survive; therefore we will!"

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
               Science Fiction Quarterly November 1951.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Don stepped into the small inner laboratory and closed the door
quickly, unseen latches automatically clicking into place and a low
hum denoting that the lethal field on the other side would burn any
non-metallic object entering its range to a crisp.

He turned wonderingly to the three men watching him. Dr. Stone, his
superior, a tall, stooped figure dejectedly standing to one side, hands
clasped behind him. The other two were strangers, one an Army general
and the other, by far the most cheerful in appearance, nattily attired
in a trim business suit.

"I'm sorry that I took so long," he apologized to Stone. "I've been
examining some of the records found in the caves uncovered in Mexico,
sir."

"What's this about caves?" demanded the General, a scowl on his
heavy-jowled face.

Dr. Stone turned from the eager Don to explain politely. "We have a
team digging in ancient ruins in Mexico, General. They've uncovered
perfectly sealed caves and tunnels that we at first thought were Incan.
However, it has since been found that they are lined with an alloy
which has proven impervious to any type radiation. That, plus the fact
that printed records are now being upturned, points to a superior
science."

"Were any weapons or machines uncovered?" the military man asked,
avidly.

"None. Our men are carefully sifting a history, however, after finding
several mysterious references to a death ray against which no defense
existed." The doctor turned to Don again and asked, "Are the protoplasm
tanks all right?"

"Yes sir. Several of the roboes are watching now. Sometimes I think
that they know as much about it as I do."

The general swelled up and opened tight-pressed lips but his companion
held up a hand, smiling at Dr. Stone. The latter cleared his throat,
frowning as he said, "You may be more right than you think, Donald."

Donald looked quickly, seeing that his superior was not joking. "I
don't understand, sir; what do you mean?"

"How long would it take completely to destroy the tanks?"

Dumbfounded, Don blurted, "Destroy the tanks after the months of
culture, Dr. Stone! Why, why...."

The civilian came to his feet quickly and came to the bewildered and
indignant Don, saying kindly, "I know how you feel, son. However, the
future of the peoples of the world may be at stake."

"But the roboes perform tasks in the radioactive fields that humans
find impossible. They...."

The other placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know. They can withstand
radiation deadly to humans, correct?"

Don nodded his head and the civilian continued. "Before we go any
further, Donald, perhaps identification would be in order." He turned
to the general, now standing. "This is General Adams."

Don gasped as he took the extended hand of the Supreme Commander of all
military forces on Earth. "And I," the little man continued, "am your
Under-Secretary." His eyes crinkled good naturedly and he chuckled at
the young man's greater astonishment, "It's quite evident that your
time has been spent in research rather than reading newspapers."

Again Don started to speak but the man, second only to the World
President, held up an authoritative hand. "Please don't speak, we
haven't much time. Perhaps the General would like to bring you up to
date since it would seem that we shall soon be under his direction."

       *       *       *       *       *

The General cleared his throat nervously, then stated authoritatively,
"It should be a small operation, once we ferret out all their hiding
places."

"Whose?" demanded Don.

"The roboes," snapped the General. "They've declared that, unless
they're granted complete freedom, they'll rebel against Earth."

"Rebel? The roboes?" Don turned to Dr. Stone.

"I'm afraid so," admitted the other, creator of the first near-human
robots. "The ultimatum was presented by Primo who claims himself to be
their elected head."

"But that would be impossible," argued Don. "Why their brains were so
designed that a thought of rebellion would require the complexities of
one of our brains, something we never have and probably never will be
able to implant in their so-called minds."

"I found it hard to believe at first, too," sympathized Dr. Stone.
"Especially when Primo personally delivered the message to me to be
sent to the Earth Council."

Don sat down, weak after the first shock. "Then someone else must be
directing Primo; he'd never turn against you."

"Why shouldn't a machine run wild?" demanded the general. "This 'Primo'
is nothing more than an animated calculating machine."

"Which shows your lack of knowledge concerning science, General,"
stated Don. "Biologically they are more perfect than even you or I,
the later ones even having actual bones for skeletons instead of the
earlier model metal ones! They're almost capable of original thought,
that drawback alone making them inferior to the human race!"

"Gentlemen," remonstrated Dr. Stone. "I believe that all of this will
resolve when we speak to Primo who is even now waiting to see us."

"I still say we should try him for treason and execute him
immediately," grumbled the general.

"You forget, General," remonstrated the Under-Secretary with a trace of
humor in his voice, "That we're supposed to be superior to the roboes.
Let's try to demonstrate it rather than the actions attributed to a
machine."

       *       *       *       *       *

Pressing a series of switches, Dr. Stone spoke briefly into a speaker.
"All right, Primo, when the door opens, the field will be cut just
long enough for one to enter before it automatically goes back into
operation. Be quick about it."

The four men watched the door. The latches clicked, then it swung open
silently, the humming and warning red light dying out simultaneously.
Barely had the waiting figure hurried in when the heavy steel door
swung back into place once more.

"Hello, Don," smiled the newcomer, a small patch of metal behind one
ear the only visible indication that he was one of the servant roboes.
Or had been, if the story just told had been correct. "I'm glad to see
that you're here." He smiled at the sudden snort from the general. "But
perhaps we'd better get down to business and not waste the time of such
important personages." There was another snort from the general.

"Your ultimatum created quite a sensation in the Council," began the
Under-Secretary.

"I realized it would," said Primo quietly, looking sadly at his
creator, Dr. Stone. "And their decision...?"

"Extinction!" snapped the General.

"General Adams, I am still your superior," sternly reminded the
Under-Secretary.

The military man subsided sullenly. "Now then," began the
Under-Secretary more softly to the attentive Primo. "You realize that
even if the Council were to grant you freedom from the control of man
that it would be an admission that you are the equal of the human race."

"That's true," admitted Primo, "but then wouldn't that be facing facts?
After all, we can do things that even humans can't."

The Under-Secretary nodded his head, "Agreed. But an aircraft can fly
and a submarine can swim under the oceans; does that make them superior
to man? Only in that one respect, because they don't have the power to
reason."

"You mean original thought?"

"I do."

Primo was quick to the attack, "Then how do you think our demand for
freedom was made possible unless by original thought or reasoning
power?"

The little man frowned. "That has puzzled both myself and your creator.
I don't suppose you'd care to explain?"

"Oh, but I would," came the quick reply. "You undoubtedly remember that
the first use of roboes was to man rockets into outer space to avoid
exposing humans to cosmic radiation?" A nod was his only answer and he
continued. "It was on such a flight into outer space that something
took possession of my mind. Man created an image of himself and the
cosmic forces outside Earth's atmosphere endowed it with life and a
soul."

"Preposterous!" exclaimed the general.

"Is it?" softly inquired the roboe leader. "Then perhaps you can
explain why, since Dr. Stone implanted no previous knowledge of
military strategy in our minds, that we have a campaign mapped out that
will be disastrous both to humans and roboes."

"Aha," exclaimed the general triumphantly. "Now I have you. Assuming
your story were to be true concerning your acquisition of true life by
cosmic radiation, then I have the facts that will disprove the rest of
your story." The thin smile on his face stopped short of gray-blue eyes.

"What facts are those?" asked the Under-Secretary with interest.

"Since the rocket projects into space came under military control, I
happen to know that a maximum of fifteen roboe-controlled flights were
made. Assuming that each of the roboes"--he sneered slightly--"became
suddenly endowed with life, how can he"--jerking a thumb at the
unmoving Primo--"claim such a large following?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Even Don looked to the roboe with increased interest, as did the other
three men. The object of their sudden attention smiled and corrected,
"There were but 12 of us to come to life on the flights you spoke of,
General."

"Just what I thought," declared the Supreme Military Commander with
satisfaction.

"Ah, but that's not all of the story," chided Primo. "Once becoming
possessed with reasoning power, it was only logical to submit other
roboes to laboratory cosmic radiation. There are probably no more than
a mere handful right now who are nothing more than mere mechanicals."

"You'll be wiped out to the last one," threatened the general.

"Perhaps," admitted Primo, "but we'll die fighting for the freedom that
America fought for centuries ago."

"Then you absolutely refuse to continue under the same status as
before?" asked the Under-Secretary gravely.

"Even if you would allow it without prejudice, we could never submit to
slavery again," protested Primo.

"I was afraid of that," said the Under-Secretary with a trace of
sadness in his voice. He turned to his military companion, "I was
fully empowered to authorize you to launch a full military operation,
General Adams. As soon as Primo has departed, you may consider a full
state of war exists between the Human race and the roboes."




                                   2


Don hurried down the passageway after the meeting had disbanded. As
he approached the doorway to the immense laboratory containing the
protoplasm tanks, a hurrying figure from a side passageway collided
with him.

Stifling an exclamation as he saw who it was, Don exclaimed, "Shiela!
What in the world are you doing here?"

"I wanted to find out what had happened at the meeting," she replied,
brushing stray strands of golden-brown hair from her face. "You know
how father never tells me anything."

"You know that Dr. Stone has more on his mind now than at any other
time in his life," stated Don, steeling himself against the pleading
and petulant look on the girl's face.

"Why have all of the roboes disappeared so suddenly?" she asked,
changing her line of questioning. "Is it to be war after all?"

"Primo absolutely refused to listen to reason," Don explained.

"Whose reasoning?" came the soft question, "His or the Earth Council's?"

"The reasoning of his creators," angrily retorted Don.

She stared at him, eyes wide with amazement. "Don, it isn't like you to
talk like that. Surely you don't say that the loud, fat General Adams,"
she wrinkled her nose with disgust, "is superior to someone like Primo."

His shoulders slumped with dejection. "No, Shiela, but what are we to
do? The roboes won't work for the human race any longer and the humans
will not admit equality. Even though it does exist now."

Her face brightened, "Then you are for them. Oh, Don, then it
won't...." She stopped at the dark look on his face.

"No, Shiela. I work for your father, Dr. Stone, and will follow his
orders without question." He grasped her and turned her down from the
laboratory, "You go to your room now," he directed; "I'm going to be
busy for awhile."

Her glance darted to the doors of the laboratory. "What are you going
to do?" she asked in low tones, an unspoken fear in her eyes.

He looked away and replied roughly, "I said that I have work to do; now
will you go away and leave me alone?"

"Don!" He stopped at the horror in her voice. "You--you aren't going to
do anything to the tanks, are you?" Still silence from Don. "Why, that
would be but mass murder!"

"It's nothing more alive than yeast, Shiela. How could it be murder to
kill something that has no brain?"

"It's just as much alive as an unborn child."

       *       *       *       *       *

Biting his lower lip, Don turned abruptly and pushed through the lab
doors. The lines of low, gleaming tanks soothed him momentarily.
A movement by one made him stop, startled. It was a roboe. The
"mechanical" man came towards him, and Don recognized it as one of the
regular technicians who worked without sleep as did all of the roboes,
it not being needed.

"Everything is in order, sir," the roboe reported; "in three days we
should be able to proceed with the creation."

"But what are you doing here?" asked Don with amazement, "I thought
that Primo had withdrawn all roboes with him?"

"I don't understand, sir." The roboe was plainly puzzled, his forehead
wrinkled. "This is my assigned task."

Shiela spoke from beside Don, "Perhaps he's one that they hadn't
treated with the rays and forgot about in their hurry to leave," she
suggested.

"Probably," he agreed, and turned to the roboe. "That's all right," he
informed the roboe. With pain in his heart he looked once more at the
scrupulously clean cylindrical tanks, the various valves that regulated
every minute detail of heat and nourishment to the protoplasm within.
The least deviation would result in either stunted and unsatisfactory
growth or kill the growing cells.

Without looking at either the waiting roboe or Shiela, he directed,
"Set the master temperature control to 120 degrees."

There was a gasp from Shiela and a slight hesitation before the roboe's
protest, "But sir, that will kill all the growths!"

"And one hundred lives," accused the girl.

"Those are Doctor Stone's orders; I realize the consequences but it
must be done. It could conceivably mean more than one hundred human
lives if the new roboes were to be allowed to develop." He kept his
eyes down at the toes of his shoes.

"I'm afraid that I must refuse, sir," the roboe replied.

Angered by the position with which he felt sympathy, Don retorted,
"All right, then step back and I'll...." His voice trailed off at the
sight of the needle gun held by the roboe, pointed directly at him. The
hithertofore pleasant features of the roboe, common to all of them,
were now set in harsh lines.

[Illustration: A needle gun, held by the roboe, pointed directly at
Don. The hithertofore pleasing features of the roboe, common to all of
them, were now set in harsh lines.]

Astonished, Don blurted, "But you ... then ... you must be a rebel
roboe." He took another step forward, "Put that down and do as I told
you, or leave!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The reflexes originally built into the mechanical but living creature
caused the gun to waver slightly, then steady as living and thinking
reflexes overcame the mechanical ones. There was pain in the roboe's
eyes as he warned, "I'll be forced to kill you, sir. Reinforcements
will arrive soon to complete the creation of the new roboes, then we'll
depart. But no harm must come to the protoplasm for the present."

Don looked from the roboe to Shiela, who stood to one side, trembling.
"Get out of my way," he ordered roughly, turning to the master control
panel. Out of the corner of an eye he saw the needle gun come to the
level of the roboe's eyes and he instinctively stiffened himself for
the shock of the needle that would result in the paralysis of his heart
muscles and a quick death. There might be time to reach the control
panel and damage it sufficiently to kill the protoplasm.

There was a loud explosion and he fell almost to his knees before
recovering. The roboe, he saw to his astonishment, had a big hole blown
in his chest and the colorless life-fluid gushed out, before the roboe
sank to his knees. The needle gun had fallen out of reach.

"I thought I'd better check in here," came a bellow from the door. Don
looked around and saw General Adams standing just inside, an ugly but
efficient blaster held in an oversized hand. It leveled at the rapidly
dying roboe. "Surprised you, didn't it?"

The roboe said nothing, large eyes pleading with Don like those of a
deer that has been mortally wounded and wonders why such a thing should
have happened to it. Before the horrified Don could do anything, the
blaster shook the lab again and blasted the roboe into an inanimate
heap of flesh.

"Oh!" wailed Shiela, sinking weakly to her knees.

"Why you ..." began Don moving towards the general, rage blazing from
his eyes.

"Don't move," warned the other, blaster swinging quickly to cover him.
"I'm in complete control now by order of the Earth Council and it's
fortunate for you that I followed or you'd be lying there like that
machine is."

"But that second shot was pure murder!"

"It was a rebel," came the emotionless statement. "Even if I hadn't
killed him now, execution would have been certain as soon as practical."

"But he was dying!" wailed Shiela; "that, that was inhuman. We're
supposed to be superior, but if you're an example of the human race,
then I wonder if we are."

The cold eyes of the general stared at her. "Those words closely
approach the borderline of treason, young lady. And in time of war,
such as exists now, that could mean a court-martial."

"You overestimate yourself, General," Don informed him; "the young lady
happens to be the daughter of Doctor Stone."

The other's face dropped in momentary astonishment, "But I didn't know
he was married."

"My mother died at my birth," Shiela informed him quietly.

"Nevertheless, I'm in full command of all Earth peoples until the war
has been successfully completed; and with such authority, I can order a
summary execution of anyone who threatens its progress."

"How do you think the Earth Council would react if you were to kill
the earth's leading scientist and his daughter?" reminded Don, softly.
"You'd have to make a complete job of us all, you know."

The older man's eyes blazed from deep in his fat face. "They wouldn't
say anything about you," he growled, lifting his blaster again.

"General, what goes on here?" demanded a new voice from behind him.
Dr. Stone and the Under-Secretary came into view, rapidly sizing the
situation.

The events were quickly reported and, after another severe
tongue-lashing from the Under-Secretary, the glowering general took up
a position beside the door, away from the rest. Stone reached up and
twisted the temperature control knob with no more a show of emotion on
his face than an uncontrolled twitch of a muscle under one eye.




                                   3


The next few days passed quickly, then commenced dragging along once
affairs had been wound up at the laboratory and the last tanks cleaned.
More than ever, the weary Don appreciated the effort that the roboes
had gone to make his life easier.

There was now time to study the flood of notes and history from
the caves, deciphering those that looked as if they might prove of
immediate interest. Even Stone forgot the pain occasioned by his
destruction of the protoplasm tanks and became excited over the elusive
clue they were following.

"If we could just find the formula the writer hints of," he said to Don
at the conclusion of one long session of deciphering. "It's apparent
that his ancient civilization had an even more violent revolution by
their robots than we have."

"Perhaps if we discover their solution in time, Primo will surrender
rather than face a needless annihilation."

Stone shook his head slowly. "No, Don, somehow I don't believe we can
escape the problem that easily. Our present civilization and robots
must arrive at their own solution. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder
why all of this material--" he waved at the mass of papers before
them--"has been written by one historian and in such a peculiar
style--much as one would write a last will and testament. It surely
doesn't sound like a victorious race with an overwhelming force at its
command."

A slowly throbbing headache made Don stand up forcibly. "I can't
concentrate any more, Doctor. It's maddening to suspect there could be
a solution right at our fingertips and yet just a trifle too late to
be of any good."

The older man smiled sympathetically. "Why don't you go outside and get
some fresh air?" he suggested. "I want to check back and see if perhaps
the answer doesn't lie hidden in code, in the material we already have."

       *       *       *       *       *

Don accepted gratefully and wandered out into the green and restful
gardens. The grass was becoming long, he noted; one more task left by
the roboes for their masters. He threw himself down beside a fountain
and closed his eyes. "Don?" came a whisper.

The soft voice made him start and sit up. Shiela laughed briefly at his
nervousness. "Did you think it Primo?"

"I doubt if he'd warn me now."

"But why not, Don? After all, none of the decisions that have been
reached were due to you."

"Perhaps not--but I doubt now that any of the roboes could find it in
their hearts to like any member of the human race. They're being hunted
down like wild dogs; the people all think it part of a game created for
their express amusement." He paused, groping for words. "Like--like
people at a carnival who shoot at mechanical targets for some cheap
award."

"I know," she said gently, sitting close beside him. "It's not really
their fault; propaganda, turned out by the ton, beats it into them that
this is a rebellion of machines."

There was a moment of silence and Shiela's hand found its way to his.
She sighed, "The harm's all been done now; people will never accept the
roboes as anything but an animated calculating machine or 'electronic
brain.' One or the other must fall."

"I can't understand their inactivity," he puzzled. "With all of their
created abilities, I had expected something devastating. After all,
they were created for atomic and cosmic work and knew all that the best
scientific brains in the world could teach them."

"Did you ever stop to wonder if they wanted nothing but peace and would
try to hide out or escape?" she asked.

He stared at her, "Deep down inside you're hoping that they'll succeed,
aren't you?"

Shiela traced a long, slender finger around in the grass, not looking
at him. "Oh, perhaps. Don't you wish something would happen that would
allow them to escape, perhaps even to another world?"

"But that's impossible!"

"What of the space ships now being built secretly?" she reminded him.

"The weight of necessary fuel to another planet would make it
impossible for a space ship to take off."

"Rocket fuel, yes. But what of the cosmic drive that father and you
have been working on. Isn't it practically perfected now?"

Stiffening, he asked, "Shiela! What in the world do you know about
that? Why, even Stone himself wouldn't have mentioned it to you."

She smiled brightly, laughter dancing from sparkling eyes. "So, it is
true then."

       *       *       *       *       *

As the realization that he had been tricked into the admission soaked
in, Don's lower jaw dropped. He glanced quickly around, "I've said
nothing," he told her, "and make sure that you don't repeat it.
General Adams would like nothing better than an excuse to order me
court-martialed."

"But he couldn't; you're a civilian!"

"Don't forget that all civil rights have been suspended until the
roboes have been exterminated." Shiela's eyes dropped suddenly and she
became sad.

"Do you actually hate the roboes now?" she asked softly.

Don was amazed, "Of course not; after all I helped to create them, you
know. I've the greatest respect and admiration in the world for them.
I still believe that they could have helped to advance man faster and
further than he ever can himself."

"Then why would it be treason to help the roboes escape, Don?"

"Shiela, what in the world has come over you, talking like this? You
know that it would be impossible; even if I wanted to."

Tossing her head quickly, the girl changed moods in an instant. "You're
right; I was just talking. Let's forget it all and go on a picnic this
Sunday." She jumped to her feet.

"Wait, Shiela."

She stopped, inquiringly. "Yes."

For a moment, words came with difficulty. "Well, you know that ever
since I've started working for your father that I ... I mean you....
Damn it; you know how I feel about you, Shiela, and you didn't seem to
object."

"No, Don."

"Then why can't we get married right away, sweetheart?"

To his surprise, her eyes filled with tears and her lips twisted in
pain. "Don!" she exclaimed, "You shouldn't have said anything."

She melted into his arms and relaxed briefly, supple young body pressed
against his. Then, suddenly, she tore herself from his arms and fled
towards the house.

"Shiela, wait!" Don called but to no avail; she vanished from sight.
He sank slowly to the grass, brow wrinkled in perplexity. It was
understandable, of course, that recent events should have upset her,
but why the sudden outburst just now? He wondered if she'd been let
down by his lack of response to her wild suggestion?

Idly conjecturing, he was about to again sink to the ground when an
alarm bell rang and voices began shouting. Thinking that it might be an
attack by the roboes on the nerve center of their opposition, he leaped
to his feet. A soldier came running up. "Sir," he gasped, "You're
wanted in the conference room immediately."

       *       *       *       *       *

Again it was the same group; Dr. Stone; the Under-Secretary with
a worried frown; a raging General Adams, and several aides. The
Under-Secretary noted his arrival with nothing more than tightened lips
as he announced, "I have just been informed that the only two space
ships in existence have been stolen by the roboes."

"Stolen!" exclaimed Stone.

"Impossible," objected Don; "they'd have to be flown away and the fuel
hasn't yet been produced."

"You're wrong, as usual," snapped the general. "They were loaded with
ordinary rocket fuel for testing purposes and blasted off."

"Were they tracked?" inquired Dr. Stone, anxiously. "Why the loss
of the two ships will set us back at least five years in space
exploration."

"They were tracked, but they flew low over the Pacific and were lost,"
snapped the general. "Missiles are ready even now so that if they
attempt to escape into space they'll be instantly destroyed."

"Where could they conceivably have gone to, General?" asked the
Under-Secretary.

"We suspect some remote section of South America; the entire Air Force
is even now sectoring the entire continent. Africa will come next."

"Even more serious," added the Under-Secretary, "small raids have been
made at various factories and central intelligence has deduced that
they plan on leaving Earth. In one instance they took nothing but seeds
and fertilizers and tools suitable for colonization-farming."

"Still, they could hardly hope to escape Earth without the new fuel
unless they'd developed one of their own," argued Stone.

"How long did it take you and your assistant?" asked the
Under-Secretary.

"Approximately two and one-half years."

"Did any of the roboes assist in any matter, other than testing
finished fuels or doing menial tasks?"

"No, only Donald and myself have ever seen any portion of the formula
only recently perfected. And, it's entirely safe within the inner room
you were recently in."

"Strange, that the roboes haven't raided this, of all places."

"Not so strange," broke in the general with self-satisfaction, "when
you consider that the entire area is bristling with the latest in our
weapons. Even a machine has better sense than that."

"I wondered why your soldiers had so thoroughly ripped apart my
grounds," commented Stone bitterly.

The General's face blackened as he sputtered, "This has gone far...."
There was a loud booming thud and the lights slowly flickered,
leaving the room lighted only by the dim light of the fast-fading
day. Almost immediately a deep-throated alarm horn began its steady
"Boop-boop-boop," summoning all off-duty guards to their emergency
attack stations.

"Everyone stay right here," ordered the general briskly, hurrying
towards the newly installed battle-phone. Brief queries and orders were
quickly barked into the mouth-piece; much as he disliked the man, Don
had to admire his brisk efficiency.

       *       *       *       *       *

The whistle of jets overhead drowned out all other sounds but still
there was no indication of fighting, either on the ground or in the air.

General Adams turned from the battle-phone, darkly frowning. "The
all-clear signal will be given shortly; the alarm was caused by a blast
from within the power room and my intelligence reports that it seems to
have been caused by someone inside, and not by outside attack."

"Very strange," mused the Under-Secretary. "Wait!" he snapped, jumping
to his feet. "The fuel formula--they'd be after that, naturally!"

Followed by a small group of soldiers, they were all soon standing
before the open door of the inner room, light shining brightly from
within but no hum of the force field.

"But that's impossible!" exclaimed the old scientist.

"Even after the power supply failed?" asked the Under-Secretary.

"Naturally. I forsaw long ago that if anyone were to try to enter,
their first act would be to destroy the main power plant. So that
eventuality was provided for by a small auxiliary designed to go into
operation upon the failure of the main plant." He pointed to the lights
burning inside. "Look, there's still power."

A quick examination disclosed that the formula had been taken. "How
long would it take to manufacture a sufficient quantity for space
travel?" asked the Under-Secretary.

"A week, ten days perhaps. The ingredients are relatively simple and
easily obtained."

"A clamp has been set around the entire area with orders to shoot
anyone leaving," the general informed them sourly. "Although I think
that everything was arranged from the inside."

"Explain yourself, General," ordered the grim-faced Under-Secretary.

"Well, even though I was never informed in detail concerning the
safeguards surrounding this inner sanctum--" he snapped the last two
words, "at least I could see that it would require someone with a
special knowledge to enter. Correct?" The last was directed at Stone.

"That's right," affirmed the other. "Donald and myself are the only
ones with the special keys I designed and constructed. They're made of
several alloys and, when inserted in the outside slot, a spectroscope
determines whether or not it's the correct key. Even a minor deviation
in the alloys would sound an alarm."

"And only your assistant and you have possession of the two keys in
existence?"

A curt nod of the head was his only reply so, in louder tones he
demanded, "Then I'd like to see both keys right now, since this is a
matter involving security of an Earth secret. One that should've been
entrusted to me long ago."

       *       *       *       *       *

Stone instantly had his in sight and all eyes swung to Don who was
fumbling in his pockets. "I had it earlier in the day," he mumbled in
a low voice. At last he had to admit that he didn't have the key. Men
sent to investigate his room reported that neither was it there.

"Call everyone in the house together immediately," ordered the general;
"I thought all along that it was an inside job."

"Everyone is here except my daughter," said the scientist. "The only
servants we ever had were roboes."

"Has anyone seen the girl?" asked the Under-Secretary. There were no
answers and a quick but thorough search was fruitless.

"Perhaps she went into town," suggested Don.

"Without telling anyone?" inquired the general with lifted eyebrows.

"Is there a law against it?" snapped back Don.

"You seem interested more than usual in springing to her defense,"
observed the military man with an undertone of triumph that puzzled Don.

"I'd trust her further than I would some others," stated Don with an
implication that didn't go unnoticed. Rather than the usual rage,
however, the general laughed.

"You mean that you don't believe that she'd turn traitor and help the
roboes obtain the formula?"

"Of course not!" the answer was snapped back.

"Then what I have to say may interest all of you. Although my proof
isn't positive, it comes close enough for me."

"Let's get to the point," demanded Don.

       *       *       *       *       *

General Adams rocked back on his heels, then with satisfaction stated,
"It so happens that I ordered a thorough security check on each of you
in this house. You for instance," jutting his chin to indicate Don,
"were rather hard to check completely since the orphanage in which your
records were kept was completely destroyed by fire. Other than that,
everyone was found to be in order."

"Thank you," said Don, sarcastically.

The interruption was ignored. "Dr. Stone's life was easy to check and,
ah, rather routine. Nothing out of the ordinary. His daughter now," he
licked his lips; "there's another matter and quite interesting."

A quick glance by Don at his employer disclosed that Stone's
scientist's face was white. The general had paused for the effect
of his words to penetrate then, rather disappointed at the waiting
silence, continued.

"We found no birth record for Shiela, Dr. Stone; can you explain that?"

"It was lost in the confusion of my wife's untimely death ten years
ago."

"But there's not even a record in the courthouse; how do you account
for that?"

"I'm not concerned with the manner in which government officials
conduct their offices," came the curt reply. However, accustomed as
he was to the scientist, Don thought he detected a slight note of
nervousness.

The other pressed relentlessly, "We checked all of your acquaintances,
Doctor; none could say definitely when your wife first gave birth to
Shiela. In fact, several were even surprised to hear that you had a
child."

"We never had many close friends; my work made that impossible."

"But where did she go to school? Obviously she has a good education."

The scientist's lips tightened; he shot a look of appeal at Don before
looking at the general again. "My wife and I both instructed...." He
broke off suddenly, squaring his shoulders. "It's no use going any
further," he told the other; "you're pretty certain of the truth and it
was bound to come out sooner or later."

The general nodded with satisfaction, "Good, I'm glad that you've come
to your senses. Do you want me to tell them?"

"Tell us what?" Don asked.

"That this 'Shiela' was one of the first roboes to be constructed, even
before the rebel Primo." Don's horrified gaze swung to Dr. Stone who
nodded his head in the affirmative. "So there's no doubt in my mind now
that she obtained the missing key in, ah, some manner or the other and
has gone to the rebels with the formula they needed."

       *       *       *       *       *

Hours after the disclosure that Shiela was not true flesh and blood,
Don was still pacing the darkness in the garden.

At last he sat down on the bench and an uncontrolled sob shook his
frame briefly as his numbed brain began to relax. No wonder she
had quizzed him so hopefully that afternoon; he had thought it the
sensitivity of a young girl who hated to see anything destroyed. She
had not only been in sympathy with the roboes but one of them.

Now they could travel to the stars and the world would well be rid of
them. Or would it? His mind flashed an image of the lovely Shiela when
she was amused, gay laughter tinkling out or the mischievous twinkle in
her eyes when she teased him.

"Don?"

The youth's head sprang up, hopefully. Surely, with the area guarded so
closely, she couldn't have come back.

"Don?" the voice asked again. In the dim light from the house, he saw
that it was Stone. The scientist had seen him by that time and hurried
over to sit beside him.

"Forgive me, son," he begged, laying a hand on his shoulder. "If all of
this trouble hadn't come about, no one would ever have discovered the
truth; she was exactly the same as everyone else."

"That's what I can't understand," protested Don. "I was with you
before Primo and the other roboes and knew Shiela then. She--she had
consciousness and reason even before then, Doctor Stone."

The older man nodded. "Until Primo's disclosure, Donald, concerning
how he obtained his, I was somewhat nonplussed about Shiela. She was
modelled after the daughter my wife and I would have liked to have had
but never could. All the care and love that a father and a scientist
could pour into his effort, went into the creation of Shiela."

"But her inner personalities, what about that?"

"It's apparent to me now. During a later experiment with radiation, at
which time she was helping me, a shield broke down and bathed Shiela
almost to the point of burning her. Fortunately, I had been behind even
another shield or would have been instantly killed. It was shortly
after that that I noticed the change in Shiela; my wife and I were so
overjoyed that we determined to pass her off as our very own daughter."

Both men sat silently, each lost in his thoughts. "You loved her very
much, didn't you?" asked Don of the older man.

"As much or more than if she had actually been my own daughter."

"I know how you feel," Don said softly. "And I can understand now why
she's been so evasive with me during the past few weeks. Before that
I--we had sort of planned...."

"I know, Don," the scientist broke in. "She told me." They arose
slowly, the thought of Shiela tying them closer together than ever
before, and started for the house.




                                   4


Sporadic raids by the roboes still continued and it was obvious, by the
list of supplies they had stolen, that their attempt to escape into
space would shortly be made. The military forces had shot hundreds of
searcher rockets into an orbit around Earth whose sole purpose would
be to seek and destroy any ship attempting to slip through to outer
space. They had been so designed that, once having reached their
pre-determined orbit, their rocket thrust was broken off and would be
reactivated only when directed by radar from the ground or when the
metallic bodies of the fugitive ships passed nearby.

Evidence of a super weapon possessed by the ancients now became
concrete enough that General Adams proclaimed it a military secret; a
team of scientists, headed by Dr. Stone, was put on it. Don neither
noted nor cared that the general had seen to it that he was barred from
the research.

A growing undertone of excitement from the specialists made him demand
an explanation from Stone. The scientist explained, "We've found out
that the history was written by the last of the ancients. Some of the
early miracles passed down through the ages were evidently the last
spasms of a dying civilization."

They were in the garden and he looked at the light flooding the house,
shaking his head slowly. "One point that's not clear yet is whether or
not they used the weapon finally developed for use against the robots.
I'm personally inclined to think that it wasn't."

"Perhaps it won't work," Don said.

"I'm quite sure that it will; in fact, we're in full production right
now. You see, Don, the formula was discovered weeks ago by someone
else so there was no holding it back from the government."

"You mean that Earth has a weapon that will destroy all the roboes?"
anxiously inquired Don.

"Completely."

"But, but--that means that it would also...."

The old man's head dropped, "I know, Donald. It means Shiela too
unless they escape, which is unlikely with all the searcher rockets
now in space." He held up a hand as the younger man opened his mouth.
"No, there's nothing I can do to stop it; the others have sufficient
knowledge to carry on the project without my help."

"Couldn't we warn the roboes? After all, they've not attempted to harm
anyone, in fact no one has been killed yet."

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Stone's head came up hopefully, then dropped. "No, Don, it
wouldn't work. This way will be kinder since they'll never know what
happened to them. There's no possible way they could escape even if
they knew. The notes of this ancient scientist indicate that he, too,
faced the moral problem of whether their robots deserved equal right
to live. In fact, when the decision had to be made, he decided that
total annihilation of the robots was foolish since the master race was
already dead with the exception of himself."

"Is that the reason for all of the hurried construction that's been
going on all over the country?"

"Yes; towers are being built within 500 miles of each other, ostensibly
as a new radar network. Actually, however, the ancient weapon was
designed to work on the type of brain radiation peculiar to the robot
and cause almost instant death."

"Then perhaps it won't work on the roboes; they may be different."

Stone hesitated, "That may be, and ordinarily we'd test it first, but
there's no roboes left in captivity and no time to construct others.
But, it'll only be a small matter to change the settings to correspond
to the roboes' minds if this first attempt fails. Somehow I have an
idea that it will function as the ancients designed it to--horrible as
that may be. But before that happens, son, there's something I must
tell you."

A heavy voice broke in, "At least you won't be around when it does
occur, Dr. Stone."

Their heads snapped around in the dim light to see a small detachment
of soldiers led by the general. "I can promise you that your trial will
be short and there is only one sentence for treasonable thoughts. Come."

"This is utterly foolish," snapped the scientist; "I demand to see the
Undersecretary immediately."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," came the smooth reply. "The council is
in session and he had to attend. Besides, in such matters any authority
is supreme until the last roboe has been destroyed."

"I intend to contact the Council immediately and report your actions,"
threatened the old man, starting for the house.

"Halt, or I'll fire," warned the general, whipping a blaster into
sight. The scientist ignored the command and kept on towards the house.
The general leveled his arm as the frozen Don regained his senses and
dove at him. He sensed rather than saw, the rifle butt swung at his
head by one of the squad and dropped, stunned, as the blaster roared
out.

Lights flashed on all over the garden and, raising his throbbing head
from the ground, Don saw the crumpled heap that had been Dr. Stone but
a few moments ago. Rage coursed through his veins and gave him new
strength.

"You--you murderer!" he screamed, leaping at the smiling general who
stood over the man he had just killed. The blaster came up again but,
before it could be fired, several of the squad had leaped in. Before
he quite realized what had happened, Don found himself securely tied
and being led to the house.

Don neither knew nor cared what charges were brought about during the
course of his court-martial. To his surprise, the country had reacted
favorably to the general's actions and editorials demanded his summary
execution. A grateful public acclaimed General Adams as having saved
Earth from slavery at the hands of brutal machines....

       *       *       *       *       *

Don sat in his cell, not caring about the practically automatic death
sentence. All that he had thought worth living for was gone. Stone had
been killed and Shiela would soon be caught by the new ray.

Day was just beginning to break ... the rising of the sun to be a
signal for his execution. He looked up as the sentry stopped before
his cell. They stared at each other and Don said wryly, "I won't hang
myself until you go off duty, sentry."

The youth opened his mouth to reply when, all of a sudden, everything
seemed to rise, then settle back and crumple. A low roar filled the
room and Don frantically scuttled closer to one of the walls to escape
falling debris. He wondered if the roboes had attacked or if it had
been an earthquake.

The question was soon answered. He scrambled to freedom outside and
heard the rattle of small arms fire. He had no definite plan in mind
but to get away as far as possible. His prison had been situated near a
forest and he dashed for the edge, taking advantage of the confusion.

He had almost reached the fringe when a small band of uniformed men
broke through almost directly in front of him. Don and the party
stopped, everyone momentarily startled. Then he dashed off at a
tangent, knowing it futile but determined to die while free.

There was a shout, then an explosion from a blaster, almost a hit. The
concussion knocked Don to the ground. He came to his feet groggily and
started to run again when there was a familiar call, "Don! Wait!"

He looked and saw that one of the party was Shiela and also recognized
several roboe technicians. He doubled back for the prison but was
instantly felled by a blow from behind that knocked one of his legs
from beneath him. He realized that it could only have been from one of
the older rifles still used for hunting game in order that it wouldn't
be torn apart as with a blaster.

The party quickly surrounded him and sped for the security of the
trees. There was a flurry of shots from behind that the roboes
answered, then the foliage concealed them.

"It's no use," Don gasped from between gritted teeth. "This place is
surrounded by soldiers; in fact, I rather imagine that the general
anticipated and hoped for something like this."

"We'll get out," smiled Shiela tenderly. Don saw why when they broke
into a small clearing and were confronted by one of the two missing
space ships, towering high among the forest giants.

"We came in last night during the storm," Shiela explained. "Once in
the air we'll fly close to the Earth's surface and nothing can touch us
or follow us back to our base."

       *       *       *       *       *

The party hustled aboard and they were soon shooting through the
atmosphere. "Wait!" protested Don as they then turned attention to his
shattered leg. "The sun! Has the sun risen yet?"

"It's just a few minutes more," soothed Shiela, pressing his hot
forehead with a cool palm. "Just lie back while we straighten your leg."

"But I've got to tell you," he insisted. "You haven't long to live if
I'm right. Perhaps you can do something, although I doubt it."

The roboes all stiffened. Shiela was the first to recover and asked
anxiously, "Tell us what, Don?"

He explained about the new weapon. "And," he concluded, "from what's
been hinted and knowing the general as I do, I believe sunrise was to
signal the transmission of the wave."

To Don's surprise, the roboe men smiled at each other. "You were
right," one said to Shiela; "he was for us. I'm glad."

Shiela was almost in tears. "But we'll never make it," she cried. "If
we could've reached him five minutes sooner, then everything would've
been all right."

"I don't understand," puzzled Don.

"We knew all along what the general was planning," Shiela told him.

"Then you have a defense against the wave?" he asked hopefully.

"No, but we had constructed a specially shielded room for Fa--Father
and you," sobbed the girl. Even now Don found it hard to believe that
she was a roboe.

"But why for me?" he queried. "The wave was designed for all of you."

"Not for us," broke in Shiela, "For the robots that rebelled against
the last civilization."

"I know," said Don. "But many of you have a more thorough scientific
training than I. You know that it'll only be a matter of hours before
they discover the wavelength that will kill all of you if the first one
doesn't?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Blake, one of the newer roboes, joined the conversation. "That would be
true," he admitted, "except that when the general gives the signal, he
dooms himself and the human race to instant destruction. The ancient
weapon was designed for the human race and never used."

"You mean that humans were the robots referred to in the records?"
asked the incredulous Don.

"Correct," replied Blake. "It appears that...."

"The sun's rising!" shrieked Shiela. "We're too late!" She threw
herself over Don as if to protect him.

A low hum filled the cabin of the speeding space ship. "We're tuned to
the wave," tersely explained Blake. The roboes stared at Don and he at
them. Evidently their explanation had been right, Don thought; none of
them were showing any sign of distress.

They still kept eyeing him strangely; even Shiela had drawn back in
amazement. Suddenly the thought struck him--the wave hadn't affected
him either!

"Incredible!" exclaimed Blake. "The ship's hull couldn't possibly act
as a shield."

A dawning hope lit Shiela's face. "No," she said softly. "Not
incredible if you stop to think." She came closer to Don. "Where were
you born?" she asked.

"I don't know," the confused Don replied. "My first memories are of the
orphanage and they never told me. All of the records were burned."

"And who so conveniently happened along to take you away with him?"
continued Shiela.

"Why, your fath--Doctor Stone, I mean ..." he stopped in embarrassment.
The answer hammered at him suddenly and Don straightened up, the
throbbing pain in his leg forgotten.

"The wave should've killed me," he practically shouted. His voice sank
down. "Then--then that means I must be one of you."

There was a joyous round of congratulations. Finally Blake raised
a hand for silence. "I believe we'd better leave now," he told the
others. "After all, our creator"--he chidingly stressed the latter
word--"our creator must rest."

The ship sped on, leaving to the future, plans for rebuilding a new
Earth and civilization.