SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

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.

"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.