The voice told him of the war on Grismet and of the permallium constructed robots, and of the cement blocks. This, however, he already knew, because he had been one of the delegates to the Peace Conference who had decided to dispose of the robots. The voice, however, also told him things he did not know, such as the inability of the robots to commit any crime that any other sane human being would not commit, of their very simple desire to be allowed to live in peace, and most of all of their utter horror for the fate a civilized galaxy had decreed for them.
When the voice stopped, the Cassiopeian delegate was a greatly shaken little being.
Back on the ship, Hall opened the circuit to the nineteen, and they spoke in words, in memory pictures and in sensations.
A copter cab driver was hurrying with his fare from Manhattan to Oyster Bay. Suddenly, in his mind, he became a permallium robot. He was bound with cables of the heavy metal, and was suspended upside down in a huge cement block. The stone pressed firmly on his eyes, his ears, and his chest. He was completely immobile, and worst of all, he knew that above his head for six miles lay the great Grismet Ocean, with the blue mud slowly settling down encasing the cement in a stony stratum that would last till the planet broke apart.
The cab driver gasped: “What the hell.” His throat was so dry he could scarcely talk. He turned around to his fare, and the passenger, a young man, was pale and trembling.
“You seeing things, too?” the driver asked.
“I sure am,” the fare said unsteadily. “What a thing to do.”
For fifteen minutes, over the northwest quadrant of Earth, the words and the pictures went out, and thirteen billion people knew suddenly what lay in the hearts and minds of nineteen robots.
A housewife in San Rafael was at the moment in a butcher shop buying meat for her family. As the thoughts and images started pouring into her mind, she remained stock-still, her package of meat forgotten on the counter. The butcher, wiping his bloodied hands on his apron froze in that position, an expression of horror and incredulity on his face.
When the thoughts stopped coming in, the butcher was the first to come out of the trancelike state.
“Boy,” he said, “that’s sure some way of sending messages. Sure beats the teledepths.”
The housewife snatched her meat off the counter. “Is that all you think of?” she demanded angrily.
“That’s a terrible thing that those barbarians on Grismet are doing to those . . . those people. Why didn’t they tell us that they were human.” She stalked out of the shop, not certain what she would do, but determined to do something.
In the ship Hall reluctantly broke off the connection and replaced the trap door. Then he went back to his cell and locked himself in. He had accomplished his mission; its results now lay in the opinions of men.
Jordan left the ship immediately on landing, and took a copter over to the agency building. His conversation with his superior was something he wanted to get over with as soon as possible.
The young woman at the secretary’s desk looked at him coldly and led him directly into the inner office. The chief was standing up in front of the map of the galaxy, his hands in his pockets, his eyes an icy blue.
“I’ve been hearing about you,” he said without a greeting.
Jordan sat down. He was tense and jumpy but tried not to show it. “I suppose you have,” he said, adding, after a moment, “Sir.”
“How did that robot manage to break out of his cell and get to the power source on the ship in the first place?”
“He didn’t break out,” Jordan said slowly. “I let him out.”
“I see,” the chief said, nodding. “You let him out. I see. No doubt you had your reasons.”
“Yes, I did. Look—” Jordan wanted to explain, but he could not find the words. It would have been different if the robots’ messages had reached Grismet; he would not have had to justify himself then. But they had not, and he could not find a way to tell this cold old man of what he had learned about the robots and their unity with men. “I did it because it was the only decent thing to do.”
“I see,” the chief said. “You did it because you have a heart.” He leaned suddenly forward, both hands on his desk. “It’s good for a man to have a heart and be compassionate. He’s not worth anything if he isn’t. But”— and he shook his finger at Jordan as he spoke—”that man is going to be compassionate at his own expense, not at the expense of the agency. Do you understand that?”
“I certainly do,” Jordan answered, “but you have me wrong if you think I’m here to make excuses or to apologize. Now, if you will get on with my firing, sir, I’ll go home and have my supper.”
The chief looked at him for a long minute. “Don’t you care about your position in the agency?” he asked quietly.
“Sure I do,” Jordan said almost roughly. “It’s the work I wanted to do all my life. But, as you said, what I did, I did at my own expense. Look, sir, I don’t like this any better than you do. Why don’t you fire me and let me go home? Your prisoner’s safely locked up in the ship.”
For answer the chief tossed him a stellogram. Jordan glanced at the first few words and saw that it was from Galactic Headquarters on Earth. He put it back on the desk without reading it through.
“I know that I must have kicked up a fuss. You don’t have to spell it out for me.”
“Read it,” the chief said impatiently.
Jordan took back the stellogram and examined it. It read:
To: Captain Lawrence Macrae Detection Agency, Grismet.
From: Prantal Aminopterin Delegate from Cassiopeia Chairman, Grismet Peace Committee of the Galactic Senate.
Message: You are hereby notified that the committee by a vote of 17-0 has decided to rescind its order of January 18, 2214, directing the disposal of the permallium robots of Grismet. Instead, the committee directs that you remove from their confinement all the robots and put them in some safe place where they will be afforded reasonable and humane treatment.
The committee will arrive in Grismet some time during the next month to decide on permanent disposition.
Jordan’s heart swelled as he read the gram. “It worked,” he said. “They have changed their minds. It won’t be so bad being discharged now.” He put the paper back on the desk and arose to go.
The chief smiled and it was like sunlight suddenly flooding over an arctic glacier. “Discharged? Now who’s discharging you? I’d sooner do without my right arm.”
He reached in a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of old Earth bourbon and two glasses. He carefully poured out a shot into each glass, and handed one to Jordan.
“I like a man with a heart, and if you get away with it, why then you get away with it. And that’s just what you’ve done.”
He sat down and started sipping his whisky. Jordan stood uncertainly above him, his glass in his hand.
“Sit down, son,” the old man said. “Sit down and tell me about your adventures on Earth.”
Jordan sat down, put his feet on the desk and took a sizable swallow of his whisky.
“Well, Larry,” he started, “I got into Earth atmosphere about 2:40 o’clock—”
THE GOLEM
by Avram Davidson
Dr. Merliss, a practicing professional man of science, was of course primarily concerned with the soul and psyche of his incredible machine.