'Oh, dear, that would never do. Here! Return to normal.'
Mr. Crumley's hand caressed the air, and Cullen, once more a God-fearing Irishman, let loose a roar in the purest Gaelic and made for him.
'Why, you blaspheming spalpeen -'
But there was no Mr. Crumley. There was only the Dispatcher, asking very impolitely - in English - what the blank-ety-blank hell was the matter with him.
I am sorry to say that I have no clear memory, at this time, what parts of the story are mine and what parts are Pohl's. Going over it, I can say, 'This part sounds like me, this part doesn't,' but whether I'd be right or not I couldn't swear,
Fantasy Book was a very borderline publication that lasted only eight issues. 'The Little Man on the Subway' was in the sixth.
An amusing fact about this issue of a small magazine that had to make do with what it could find among the rejects of the field was that it included 'Scanners Live in Vain,' by Cord-wainer Smith. Thia was Smith's first published story and he was not to publish another for eight years or so. In the 1960s, Smith (a pseudonym for a man whose real identity was not made clear until after his death) became a writer of considerable importance, and this first story of his became a classic.
While working on 'The Little Man on the Subway' I was also doing another 'positronic robot' story, called 'Liar!' In this one, my character Susan Calvin first appeared (she has been a character in ten of my stories up to the present time and I don't eliminate the possibility that she will appear yet again).
It was while Campbell and I were discussing this story, by the way, on December 16, 1940, that the 'Three Laws of Robotics' were worked out in full. (I say it was Campbell who worked them out and he says it was I - but I know I'm right. It was he.)
'Liar!' was accepted at once by Campbell, at the end of January, without revision, and appeared in the May 1941 issue of Astounding. It was my fourth appearance in that magazine. The fact that it appeared the month after 'Reason' helped fix the 'positronic robot' stories in the readers' minds^as a 'series.' 'Liar!' eventually appeared in /, Robot.
The sale of two 'positronic robot' stories, 'Reason' and 'Liar!' virtually back to back put me all on fire to do more of the same. When I suggested still another story of the sort to Campbell on February 3, 1941, he approved, but he said he didn't want me, this early in the game, tying myself down too completely into a rigid formula. He suggested I do other kinds of stories first. I was a good boy; I obeyed.
On that very day, in fact, I decided to try fantasy again. I wrote a short one (1,500 words) called 'Masks,' and heaven only knows what it was about, for I don't. I submitted it to Campbell for Unknown on February 10, and he rejected it. It is gone; it no longer exists.
Later that month I also wrote a short story called 'The Hazing,' intended for Pohl. I submitted it to him on February 24, and he rejected it at once. Eventually I submitted it to Thrilling Wonder Stories. They requested a revision, I obliged, and they accepted it on July 29, 1941.
The Hazing [8]
The campus of Arcturus University, on Arcturus's second planet, Eron, is a dull place during mid-year vacations and, moreover, a hot one, so that Myron Tubal, sophomore, found life boring and uncomfortable. For the fifth time that day, he looked in at the Undergraduate Lounge in a desperate attempt at locating an acquaintance, and was at last gratified to behold Bill Sefan, a green-skinned youngster from Vega's fifth planet.
Sefan, like Tubal, had flunked Biosociology and was staying through vacation to study for a make-up exam. Things like that weave strong bonds between sophomore and sophomore.
Tubal grunted a greeting, dropped his huge hairless body -he was a native of the Arcturian System itself - into the largest chair and said:
'Have you seen the new freshmen yet?'
'Already! It's six weeks before the fall semester starts!'
Tubal yawned. 'These are a special breed of frosh. They're the very first batch from the Solarian System - ten of them.'
'Solarian System? You mean that new system that joined the Galactic Federation three-four years ago?'
That's the one. Their world capital is called Earth, I think.'
'Well, what about them?'
'Nothing much. They're just here, that's all. Some of them have hair on the upper lip, and very silly it looks, too. Otherwise, they look like any of a dozen or so other breeds of Humanoids.'
It was at this point that the door flew open and little Wri Forase ran in. He was from Deneb's single planet, and the short, gray fuzz that covered his head and face bristled with agitation, while his large purple eyes gleamed excitedly.
'Say,' he twittered breathlessly, 'have you seen the Earth-men?'
Sefan sighed. 'Isn't anyone ever going to change the subject? Tubal was just telling me about them.'
'He was?' Forase seemed disappointed. 'But - but did he tell you these were that abnormal race they made such a fuss over when the Solarian System entered the Federation?'
'They looked all right to me,' said Tubal.
'I'm not talking about them from the physical standpoint,' said the Denebian disgustedly. 'It's the mental aspect of the case. Psychology! That's the stuff!' Forase was going to be a psychologist some day. 'Oh, that! Well, what's wrong with them?'
'Their mob psychology as a race is all wrong,' babbled Forase. 'Instead of becoming less emotional with numbers, as is the case with every other type of Humanoid known, they become more emotional! In groups, these Earthmen riot, panic, go crazy. The more there are, the worse it is. So help me, we even invented a new mathematical notation to handle the problem. Look!'
He had his pocket-pad and stylus out in one rapid motion; but Tubal's hand clamped down upon them before the stylus so much as made a mark.
Tubal said, 'Whoa! I've got a walloping lulu of an idea.'
'Imagine!' murmured Sefan.
Tubal ignored him. He smiled again, and his hand rubbed thoughtfully over his bald dome.
'Listen,' he said, with sudden briskness. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
Albert Williams, late of Earth, stirred in his sleep and became conscious of a prodding finger exploring the space between his second and third ribs. He opened his eyes, swiveled his head, stared stupidly; then gasped, shot upright and reached for the light switch.
'Don't move,' said the shadowy figure beside his bed. There was a muted click, and the Earthman found himself centered in the pearly beam of a pocket flash.
He blinked and said, 'Who the blasted devil are you?' 'You are going to get out of bed,' replied the apparition stolidly. 'Dress, and come with me.' Williams grinned savagely. 'Try and make me.' There was no answer, but the flash beam shifted slightly and fell upon the shadow's other hand. It held a 'neuronic whip,' that pleasant little weapon that paralyzes the vocal chords and twists nerves into so many knots of agony. Williams swallowed hard, and got out of bed.
He dressed in silence, and then said:
'All right, what do I do now?'
The gleaming 'whip' gestured, and the Earthrnan moved toward the door.
'Just walk ahead,' said the unknown.
Williams moved out of the room, along the silent corridor, and down eight stories without daring to look back. Out upon the campus he stopped, and felt metal probe the small of his back.
'Do you know where Obel Hall is?'
Williams, nodding, began walking. He walked past Obel Hall, turned right at University Avenue, and after half a mile stepped off the roads and past the trees. A spaceship hulked dimly in the darkness, with ports closely curtained and only a dim light showing where the airlock opened a crack.