by Various
He was walking now, at the left side of a modern super-highway, against the traffic. Autos sped by him, too quickly for him to determine the year of model. Across the divider the traffic was heavier, autos speeding crazily ahead in the direction he was walking; none stopped. He halted for a moment and looked around him. There was nothing on the sides of the road: no people, no fields, no farms, no cities, no blackness. There was nothing. But far ahead there was green etched around the horizon as the road dipped and the cars sped over it. He walked more quickly, catching his breath, and came closer and closer to the green.
Allenby stopped momentarily and turned around, looking at the highway that was behind him. It was gone. Only bleak, black and gray hills of rock and rubble were there, no cars, no life. He shuddered and continued on toward the end of the highway. The green blended in with the blue of the sky now. Closer he came, until just over the next rise in the road the green was bright. Not knowing or caring why, he was filled with expectation and he ran again and was in the meadow.
All around him were the greens of the grasses and leaves and the yellows and blues of the field flowers. It was warm, a spring day, with none of the discomfort of summer heat. Jubilant, Roger spun around in circles, inhaling the fragrance of the field, listening to the hum of insect life stirring back to awareness after a season of inactivity. Then he was running and tumbling, barefoot, his shirt open, feeling the soft grass give way underfoot and the soil was good and rich beneath him.
He saw a stream ahead, with clear water melodiously flowing by him. He went to it and drank, the cold, good water quenching all his thirst, clearing all the stickiness of his throat and mind. He dashed the water on his face and was happy and felt the coolness of it as the breeze picked up and swept his hair over his forehead. With a shake of his head he tossed it back in place and ran again, feeling the air rush into his lungs with coolness and vibrance unknown since adolescence. No nicotine spasms choked him and the air was refreshing.
Then up the hill he sped, pushing hard, as the marigolds and dandelions parted before him. At the top he stopped and looked and smiled ecstatically as he saw the green rolling land and the stream, curving around from behind the house, his house, the oaks forming a secret lair behind it, and he felt the youth of the world in his lungs and under his feet. He heard the voice calling from that house, his house, calling him to Saturday lunch.
"I'm coming!" he cried happily and was tumbling down the hill, rolling over and over, the hill and ground and sky blending blues and greens and nothing had perspective. The world was spinning and everything was black again. He shook his head to clear the dizziness.
* * * * *
"Well?" Jenkins said. "How was it?"
Allenby looked up at him as Jenkins swung the helmet back and unhooked the seatbelt. He squinted as Jenkins flipped the light switch and the brightness hit him.
His surroundings became distinguishable again very slowly and he knew he was back in the room. "Where was I?" he asked.
Jenkins shrugged. "I don't know. It was all yours. You went wherever you wanted to go, wherever home is." Jenkins smiled down at him. "Did you visit more than one place?" he asked. The buyer nodded. "I thought so. It seems that a person tries a few before finally deciding where to go."
The buyer stood up and stretched. "Could I please see the barn?" he asked, meaning the huge workshop where Jenkins did the construction work.
"Sure," Jenkins said and opened the door opposite the red curtain into the workshop. It was empty.
"You mean it was all up here? I didn't move at all?" He tapped his cranium with his index finger.
"That's right," Jenkins said anxiously. "Do you want it or not?"
Allenby stood looking into the empty room. "Yes ... yes, of course," he said. "How long did the whole thing last?"
"About ten seconds," Jenkins said, looking at his watch. "It seems much longer to the traveler. I'm not sure, but I think the imagined time varies with each person. It's always around ten seconds of actual time, though, so you can make a lot of money on it, even if you only have one machine."
"Money?" Allenby said. "Money, yes, of course." He took a checkbook from his inside pocket and hurriedly wrote a check for six thousand dollars. "When can we have it delivered?" he asked.
"You want it shipped the usual way?"
"No," Allenby said, staring at the red-cushioned chair. "Send it air freight. Then bill us for the expense."
"Whatever you say," Jenkins said, smiling, taking the check. "You'll have it by the first of the week, probably. I'll put a complete parts and assembly manual inside the crate."
"Good, good. But maybe I should test it again, you know. Star-Time can't really afford to make a mistake as expensive as this."
"No," Jenkins said quickly. Then, "I'll guarantee it, of course. If it doesn't work out, I'll give you a full refund. But don't try it again, today. Don't let anyone have it more than once in one day. Stamp them on the hand or something when they take the trip."
"Why?"
Jenkins looked troubled. "I'm not sure, but people might not want to come back. Too many times in a row and they might be able to stay there ... in their minds of course."
"Of course, of course. Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Jenkins. I hope to see you again soon." They walked back to Allenby's not-very-late model car and shook hands. Allenby drove away.
On the way back to the hotel, and as he lay for a long time in the bathtub, letting the warmness drift away from the water, the thought ran over and over in his mind. They might be able to stay there, Allenby said to himself. They might be able to stay there. He smiled warmly at a crack in the plaster as he thought of the first of the week and the fragrant meadow.
* * *
Contents
THERE WILL BE SCHOOL TOMORROW
By V. E. Thiessen
There is a quiet horror to this story from Tomorrow....
Evening had begun to fall. In the cities the clamor softened along the streets, and the women made small, comfortable, rattling noises in the kitchens. Out in the country the cicadas started their singing, and the cool smell began to rise out of the earth. But everywhere, in the cities and in the country, the children were late from school.
There were a few calls, but the robotic telephone devices at the schools gave back the standard answer: "The schools are closed for the day. If you will leave a message it will be recorded for tomorrow."
The telephones between houses began to ring. "Is Johnny home from school yet?"
"No. Is Jane?"
"Not yet. I wonder what can be keeping them?"
"Something new, I guess. Oh, well, the roboteachers know best. They will be home soon."
"Yes, of course. It's foolish to worry."
The children did not come.
After a time a few cars were driven to the schools. They were met by the robots. The worried parents were escorted inside. But the children did not come home.
And then, just as alarm was beginning to stir all over the land, the robots came walking, all of the robots from the grade schools, and the high schools, and the colleges. All of the school system walking, with the roboteachers saying, "Let us go into the house where you can sit down." All over the streets of the cities and the walks in the country the robots were entering houses.
"What's happened to my children?"
"If you will go inside and sit down--"
"What's happened to my children? Tell me now!"
"If you will go inside and sit down--"
Steel and electrons and wires and robotic brains were inflexible. How can you force steel to speak? All over the land the people went inside and sat nervously waiting an explanation.
There was no one out on the streets. From inside the houses came the sound of surprise and agony. After a time there was silence. The robots came out of the houses and went walking back to the schools. In the cities and in the country there was the strange and sudden silence of tragedy.
; The children did not come home.
* * * * *
The morning before the robots walked, Johnny Malone, the Mayor's son, bounced out of bed with a burst of energy. Skinning out of his pajamas and into a pair of trousers, he hurried, barefooted, into his mother's bedroom. She was sleeping soundly, and he touched one shoulder hesitantly.
"Mother!"
The sleeping figure stirred. His mother's face, still faintly shiny with hormone cream, turned toward him. She opened her eyes. Her voice was irritated.
"What is it, Johnny?"
"Today's the day, mommy. Remember?"
"The day?" Eyebrows raised.
"The new school opens. Now we'll have roboteachers like everyone else. Will you fix my breakfast, mother?"
"Amelia will fix you something."
"Aw, mother. Amelia's just a robot. This is a special day. And I want my daddy to help me with my arithmetic before I go. I don't want the roboteacher to think I'm dumb."
His mother frowned in deepening irritation. "Now, there's no reason why Amelia can't get your breakfast like she always does. And I doubt if it would be wise to wake your father. You know he likes to sleep in the morning. Now, you go on out of here and let me sleep."
Johnny Malone turned away, fighting himself for a moment, for he knew he was too big to cry. He walked more slowly now and entered his father's room. He had to shake his father to awaken him.
"Daddy! Wake up, daddy!"
"What in the devil? Oh, Johnny." His father's eyes were sleepily bleak. "What in thunder do you want?"
"Today's the first day of roboteachers. I can't work my arithmetic. Will you help me before I go to school?"
His father stared at him in amazement. "Just what in the devil do you think roboteachers are for? They're supposed to teach you. If you knew arithmetic we wouldn't need roboteachers."
"But the roboteachers may be angry if I don't have my lesson."
Johnny Malone's father turned on one elbow. "Listen, son," he said. "If those roboteachers give you any trouble you just tell them you're the Mayor's son. See. Now get the devil out of here. What's her name--that servorobot--Amelia will get your breakfast and get you off to school. Now suppose you beat it out of here and let me go back to sleep."
"Yes, Sir." Eyes smarting, Johnny Malone went down the stairs to the kitchen. It wasn't that his parents were different. All the kids were fed and sent to school by robots. It was just that--well today seemed sort of special. Downstairs Amelia, the roboservant, placed hot cereal on the table before him. After he had forced a few bites past the tightness in his throat, Amelia checked the temperature and his clothing and let him out the door. The newest school was only a few blocks from his home, and Johnny could walk to school.
* * * * *
The newest school stood on the edge of this large, middlewestern city. Off to the back of the school were the towers of the town, great monolithic skyscrapers of pre-stressed concrete and plastic. To the front of the school the plains stretched out to meet a cloudy horizon.
A helio car swung down in front of the school. Two men and a woman got out.
"This is it, Senator." Doctor Wilson, the speaker, was with the government bureau of schools. He lifted his arm and gestured, a lean, tweed-suited man.
The second man, addressed as Senator, was bulkier, grey suited and pompous. He turned to the woman with professional deference.
"This is the last one, my dear. This is what Doctor Wilson calls the greatest milestone in man's education."
"With the establishing of this school the last human teacher is gone. Gone are all the human weaknesses, the temper fits of teachers, their ignorance and prejudices. The roboteachers are without flaw."
The woman lifted a lorgnette to her eyes. "Haow interesting. But after all, we've had roboteachers for years, haven't we--or have we--?" She made a vague gesture toward the school, and looked at the brown-suited man.
"Yes, of course. Years ago your women's clubs fought against roboteachers. That was before they were proven."
"I seem to recall something of that. Oh well, it doesn't matter." The lorgnette gestured idly.
"Shall we go in?" the lean man urged.
The woman hesitated. Senator said tactfully, "After all, Doctor Wilson would like you to see his project."
The brown-suited man nodded. His face took on a sharp intensity. "We're making a great mistake. No one is interested in educating the children any more. They leave it to the robots. And they neglect the children's training at home."
The woman turned toward him with surprise in her eyes. "But really, aren't the robots the best teachers?"
"Of course they are. But confound it, we ought to be interested in what they teach and how they teach. What's happened to the old PTA? What's happened to parental discipline, what's happened to--"
He stopped suddenly and smiled, a rueful tired smile. "I suppose I'm a fanatic on this. Come on inside."
They passed through an antiseptic corridor built from dull green plastic. The brown-suited man pressed a button outside one of the classrooms. A door slid noiselessly into the hall. A robot stood before them, gesturing gently. They followed the robot into the classroom. At the head of the classroom another robot was lecturing. There were drawings on a sort of plastic blackboard. There were wire models on the desk in front of the robot. They listened for a moment, and for a moment it seemed that the woman could be intrigued in spite of herself.
"Mathematics," Doctor Wilson murmured in her ear. "Euclidean Geometry and Aristotelean reasoning. We start them young on these old schools of thought, then use Aristotle and Euclid as a point of departure for our intermediate classes in mathematics and logic."
"REAHLLY!" The lorgnette studied Doctor Wilson. "You mean there are several kinds of geometry?"
Doctor Wilson nodded. A dull flush crept into his cheeks. The Senator caught his eyes and winked. The woman moved toward the door. At the door the robot bowed.
The lorgnette waved in appreciation. "It's reahlly been most charming!"
Wilson said desperately, "If your women's clubs would just visit our schools and see this work we are carrying on ..."
"Reahlly, I'm sure the robots are doing a marvelous job. After all, that's what they were built for."
Wilson called, "Socrates! Come here!" The robot approached from his position outside the classroom door.
"Why were you built, Socrates? Tell the lady why you were built."
A metal throat cleared, a metal voice said resonantly, "We were made to serve the children. The children are the heart of a society. As the children are raised, so will the future be assured. I will do everything for the children's good, this is my prime law. All other laws are secondary to the children's good."
"Thank you, Socrates. You may go."
Metal footsteps retreated. The lorgnette waved again. "Very impressive. Very efficient. And now, Senator, if we can go. We are to have tea at the women's club. Varden is reviewing his newest musical comedy."
The Senator said firmly, "Thank you, Doctor Wilson."
His smile was faintly apologetic. It seemed to say that the women's clubs had many votes, but that Wilson should understand, Wilson's own vote would be appreciated too. Wilson watched the two re-enter the helicopter and rise into the morning sunshine. He kicked the dirt with his shoe and turned to find Socrates behind him. The metallic voice spoke.
"You are tired. I suggest you go home and rest."
"I'm not tired. Why can they be so blind, so uninterested in the children?"
"It is our job to teach the children. You are tired. I suggest you go home and rest."
How can you argue with metal? What can you add to a perfect mechanism, designed for its job, and integrated with a hundred other perfect mechanisms? What can you do when a thousand schools are so perfect they have a life of their own, with no need for human guidance, and, most significant, no failures from human weakness?
Wilson stared soberly at this school, at the colossus he had helped to
create. He had the feeling that it was wrong somehow, that if people would only think about it they could find that something was wrong.
"You are tired."
He nodded at Socrates. "Yes, I am tired. I will go home."
Once, on the way home, he stared back toward the school with strange unease.
* * * * *
Inside the school there was the ringing of a bell. The children trooped into the large play area that was enclosed in the heart of the great building. Here and there they began to form in clusters. At the centers of the clusters were the newest students, the ones that had moved here, the ones that had been in the robot schools before.
"Is it true that the roboteachers will actually spank you?"
"It's true, all right."
"You're kidding. It's only a story, like Santa Claus or Johnny Appleseed. The human teachers never spanked us here."
"The robots will spank you if you get out of line."
"My father says no robot can lay a hand on a human."
"These robots are different."
The bell began to ring again. Recess was over. The children moved toward the classroom. All the children except one--Johnny Malone, husky Johnny Malone, twelve years old--the Mayor's son. Johnny Malone kicked at the dirt. A robot proctor approached. The metallic voice sounded.
"The ringing of the bell means that classes are resumed. You will take your place, please."
"I won't go inside."
"You will take your place, please."
"I won't. You can't make me take my place. My father is the Mayor."
The metal voice carried no feeling. "If you do not take your place you will be punished."
"You can't lay a hand on me. No robot can."
The robot moved forward. Two metal hands held Johnny Malone. Johnny Malone kicked the robot's legs. It hurt his toes. "We were made to teach the children. We can do what is necessary to teach the children. I will do everything for the children's good. It is my prime law. All other laws are secondary to the children's good."
