IT WAS THE DAY OF THE ROBOT

by Frank Belknap Long

  I should have taken the initiative then and there. I should have leapt out, carried the battle to the unseen climber. I could have quickly discovered him, and his position directly beneath me would have placed him at a disadvantage. But I waited too long, and the ugly bulk of him came suddenly into view and before I could leap to my feet he covered the distance between us in a powerful but well-timed rush.

  I only just ducked in time as he swung at me, both of his fists flailing. He was a Security Police officer; at his wrist an electro-sap that could have cracked my skull like a mace. It described a flashing arc with his lunge, and I could hear the deadly swish.

  He went spinning past me, shifting his weight as he went to preserve his balance. He almost thudded into the wall behind me, so great and furious had been his initial onslaught. But when he pivoted about on his heels and came swinging back toward me I was ready for him.

  I hit him in the stomach with a slashing right uppercut, and brought my left fist flush with his jaw with all the violence I could muster. He groaned and reeled back, and I kicked at his Achilles tendon with the tip of my boot. The kick seemed to hurt him more than the blows; he let out a yell, ducked low, and weaved back toward me.

  For a moment we traded blows, fierce and heavy; and I had to keep jabbing at him with both my fists to keep him from opening a twelve-inch gash in my chest with the electro-sap.

  I floored him with one very heavy blow delivered with desperate calculation.

  I’d been so busy taking care of him that it wasn’t until he lay sprawled out at my feet with a little ribbon of crimson trickling from his mouth that I realized that another struggle was going on in the shadows.

  I turned just in time to see Claire standing with a knife in her clasp in complete isolation from Agnes. If I’d turned a moment sooner, I might have seen Agnes emerge into view between the projection instruments, and rush straight at Claire as the Security Police officer had rushed at me. I might have seen Claire draw the knife in self-defense.

  But at least I had turned in time to witness the crucial stage of the struggle. And for that I was grateful.

  I was grateful in another way, for it could only mean that the Security Police had arrived to free Agnes a minute or two after we’d heard the drone of the sirens. Obviously they had trailed us to the Occupational Advisory building — the only large structure in the area — and if our departure had been delayed and they’d come after us a little faster we would have had no chance at all.

  Agnes’s eyes were narrowed and she was advancing on Claire with a cold fury in her stare. “Give me that knife!” she warned. “Give it to me, or I’ll take it from you!”

  “Just try!” Claire said.

  Agnes grabbed Claire’s wrist and swung her about. Before I could get between them they started struggling.

  What happened then was like a scene in a dream: fantastic, wildly terrible. Agnes backed Claire against the wall and twisted her wrist cruelly. Claire resisted and fought back, but Agnes got the knife.

  She let Claire break free, and then started for her. She went for Claire with the knife upraised, a killing rage in her eyes.

  She went for Claire fast — too fast. Her foot slipped, and she went down face forward; and as she fell the knife twisted in her clasp.

  A look of almost childlike astonishment came into her eyes.

  For one awful moment she writhed about on the floor, her fingers still clasping the knife. Then a convulsive shudder shook her. Her face twisted in agony, and a dull gaze overspread her pupils. Slowly, horribly, her eyes lidded themselves and her breathing be­came less harsh, finally subsiding entirely. She lay still.

  If you’ve ever seen it happen, you’ll want to forget it as quickly as possible. You won’t want to be tortured by it as I was, even though for one merciful instant my mind became a recording in­strument solely, a gray film which registered only that quick and involuntary act of self-destruction. I felt no horror, no shock.

  I was standing motionless, staring at Claire, when four men and four women emerged from the shadows. The men wore Venus Base uniforms; the women were all very beautiful, with skins like rose petals and large dark eyes that searched my face in eager curiosity. The big man who had helped us at the races stood very straight and still, staring from me to Claire with a relieved and grateful look in his eyes. He seemed even huger in his uniform. We would be indebted to him until we were too old to dream.

  A tall, red-haired girl with sympathetic eyes went up to the limp form on the floor, knelt and made a hasty examination. After a moment she raised her eyes, and spoke to Claire. “Does he know?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “You’d better tell him,” the girl advised.

  Claire looked at me, her eyes compassionate. “Agnes was the android, John,” she said. “Agnes was the most successful of a hundred android robots made and trained by Society in strict secrecy to spy on our activities.”

  The red-haired girl said, “Usually our chosen mates are not told the full truth until they are safely on Venus. But when you brought Claire here, you made a dangerous situation more complicated. Our task now is to get you both to the spaceport as quickly as possible.”

  She smiled. “You’re as good as there already, for you’ll be guarded every foot of the way by members of our organization.”

  I looked at Claire.

  She looked at me.

  I thought of Venus Base, and I thought of Claire lying in my arms, her face hidden.

  Just how lucky can a man be?

  .

  THE END