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.

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.