The Robot Who Looked Like Me

by Robert Sheckley

  The C31 said, “He wants to know if you aren’t being a little bit paranoid.”

  Kettelman bristled. Nothing got him angrier than when people implied that he was paranoid. It made him feel persecuted.

  “Don’t get me sore,” he said ominously. “Now, suppose you tell me why I shouldn’t order you killed and every vestige of your ship destroyed in the interests of Terran security. By the time your people got here, we’d be long gone and the Ferlangers or whatever you call them wouldn’t know a damned thing about us.”

  “That would be a possible course, security-wise,” Detringer said, “were it not for the fact that I radioed my people as soon as I saw your ship, and continued my broadcast right up to the moment I came out to meet you. I told Base Command all I could about you, including an educated guess as to the type of sun required for your physiques, and another guess as to the direction your world lies in, based upon ion-trail analysis.”

  “You are a clever fellow, aren’t you?” Kettelman said peevishly.

  “I also told my people that I was going to request some fuel from your obviously copious stores. I suppose they would account it an extremely unfriendly act if you refused me this favor.”

  “I never thought of that,” Kettelman said. “Hmmm. I am under orders not to provoke an interstellar incident...”

  “So,” Detringer said, and waited.

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Kettelman hated the thought of giving what amounted to military assistance to a being who might be his next enemy. But there seemed no way around it.

  “All right,” he said at last, “I’ll send the fuel over tomorrow.”

  Detringer thanked him and talked quite openly and frankly about the enormous size and complex weaponry of the Ferlang interspatial armed forces. He exaggerated somewhat. In fact, not one word did he say that was true.

  9

  Early in the morning, a human came over to Detringer’s ship carrying a canister of fuel. Detringer told him to set it down anywhere, but the human insisted upon carrying it personally through the Sportster’s tiny cabin and pouring it into the fuel tank. Those were the Colonel’s orders, he said.

  “Well, that’s a beginning,” Detringer said to Ichor. “Only about sixty more cans to go.”

  “But why are they sending them one at a time?” Ichor asked. “Surely that is inefficient.”

  “Not necessarily. It depends what Kettelman is hoping to achieve.”

  “What do you mean?” Ichor asked.

  “Nothing, I hope. Let’s wait and see.”

  They waited, and long hours passed, and at last evening came, but no more fuel was sent over. Detringer walked over to the Terran ship. Brushing the reporters aside, he requested an interview with Kettelman.

  An orderly led him to the Colonel’s quarters. The room was simply furnished. On the walls were a few mementos—two rows of medals mounted on black velvet in a solid gold frame, a photograph of a Doberman pinscher with fangs bared, and a shrunken head taken during the Siege of Tegucigalpa. The Colonel himself, stripped down to khaki shorts, was squeezing a rubber ball in each hand and one in each foot.

  “Yes, Detringer, what can I do for you?” the Colonel asked.

  “I came to ask you why you have stopped sending the fuel,” Detringer said.

  “Have you now?” Kettelman released all the rubber balls and sat down in a leather-backed Director’s Chair with his name stenciled on it. “Well, I’ll answer that by asking you a question. Detringer, how did you manage to send radio messages to your people without any radio equipment?”

  “Who says I have no radio equipment” Detringer asked.

  “I sent Engineer Delgado over with that first can of fuel,” Kettelman said. “He was under orders to see what sort of rig you were using. He told me that there were no signs of radio equipment in your ship. Engineer Delgado is an expert on that sort of thing.”

  “We miniaturize our equipment,” Detringer said.

  “So do we. But it still requires a lot of hardware, which you don’t seem to have. I might add additionally that we have been listening on all frequencies ever since we got close to this planet. We have detected no transmissions of any kind.”

  Detringer said, “I can explain all of that.”

  “Please do so.”

  “It’s simple enough. I lied to you.”

  “That much is evident. But it explains nothing.”

  “I wasn’t finished. We Ferlangers have our security too, you know. Until we know more about you, it is only common sense to reveal as little about ourselves as possible. If you were gullible enough to believe that we relied on so primitive a system of communication as radio, it might be a small advantage for us in case we ever met again under unfriendly circumstances.”

  “So how do you communicate? Or don’t you?”

  Detringer hesitated, then said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you. You were bound to find out sooner or later that my species is telepathic.”

  “Telepathic? You are claiming that you can send and receive thoughts?”

  “That is correct,” Detringer said.

  Kettelman stared at him for a moment, then said, “Okay, what am I thinking now?”

  “You’re thinking that I’m a liar,” Detringer said.

  “That’s right,” Kettelman said.

  “But that was obvious and I didn’t learn that by reading your mind. You see, we Ferlangers are telepathic only among members of our own species.”

  “Do you know something?” Colonel Kettelman said. “I still think you’re a damned liar.”

  “Of course,” Detringer said. “The question is, can you be sure?”

  “I’m damned sure,” Kettelman said grimly.

  “But is that good enough? For the requirements of your security, I mean? Consider: If I am telling the truth, then yesterday’s reasons for giving me fuel are equally valid today. Do you agree?”

  The Colonel nodded grudgingly.

  “Whereas, if I’m lying, and you give me fuel, no harm will be done. You will have helped a fellow being in distress, thus putting me and my people in your debt. That would be a promising way to begin the relationship between us. And, with both our races pushing out into deep space, it is inevitable that our peoples will meet again.”

  “I suppose it is inevitable,” Kettelman said. “But I can maroon you here and postpone official contact until we are better prepared.”

  “You can try to postpone the next contact,” Detringer said. “But it still could happen at any time. This, now, is your chance to make a good beginning. The next time might not be so auspicious.”

  “Hmmm,” Kettelman said.

  “So there are good reasons for helping me even if I am lying,” Detringer said. “And remember, I may be telling the truth. In that case, your refusing me fuel would have to be considered an extremely unfriendly act.”

  The Colonel paced up and down the narrow room, then whirled, and, in a fury, said, “You argue too damned well!”

  “It is just my good luck,” Detringer said, “that logic happens to be on the side of helping me.”

  “He’s right, you know,” said the C31 Translating Computer. “About the logic part, I mean.”

  “Shut up!” Kettelman shouted.

  “I thought it was my duty to point that out,” the C31 said.

  The Colonel stopped pacing and nibbed his forehead. “Detringer, go away,” he said wearily. “I’ll send over the fuel.”

  “You won’t regret it,” Detringer said.

  “I regret it already,” Kettelman said. “Now please go away.”

  10

  Detringer hurried back to his ship and told Ichor the good news. The robot was surprised. “I didn’t think he would do it,” he said.

  “He didn’t think so, either,” Detringer said. “But I managed to convince him.” He told Ichor of his conversation with the Colonel.

  “So you lied,” Ichor said sadly.

  “Yes. But Kettelman kn
ows I lied.”

  “Then why is he helping you?”

  “Out of fear that I just might conceivably be telling the truth.”

  “Lying is both a sin and a crime, Master.”

  “But letting myself stay in this place is something worse,” Detringer said. “It would be a gross stupidity.”

  “That is not an orthodox view.”

  “Perhaps it would be just as well for us not to discuss othodoxy any longer,” Detringer said. “Now I’ve got some work to do. Suppose you go out and see if you can find me anything to eat.”

  The servant silently obeyed, and Detringer sat down with a star atlas in hopes of figuring out where to go from here, assuming he could get out of here.

  11

  Morning came, bright and resplendent. Ichor went over to the Earth ship to play chess with the robot dishwasher, with whom he had struck up an acquaintance the previous day. Detringer waited for the fuel.

  He was not entirely surprised when noon came and no fuel had been sent over. But he was disappointed and dejected. He waited another two hours, then walked over to the Jenny Lind.

  He had been expected, so it seemed, for he was led at once to the Officers’ Lounge. Colonel Kettelman was seated in a deep armchair. An armed Marine flanked him on either side. The Colonel’s expression was stern, but there was a nimbus of malevolent joy playing about his battered features. Seated nearby was Captain Macmillan, his handsome features unreadable.

  “Well, Detringer,” the Colonel said, “what is it this time?”

  “I came to ask about the fuel which you promised me,” Detringer said. “But I see now that you had no intention of keeping your word.”

  “You got me all wrong,” the Colonel said. “I had every intention of giving fuel to a member of the Armed Forces of Ferlang. But what I see before me is not that person at all.”

  “What do you see, then?” Detringer said.

  Kettelman stifled an ugly grin. “Why, I see a criminal, so judged by his own people’s highest court. I see a felon whose evil acts were considered unprecedented in the annals of modern Ferlang jurisprudence. I see a being whose unspeakable behavior earned him the most extreme sentence known to his people; namely, perpetual banishment into the depths of space. That is who I see standing before me. Or do you deny it?”

  “For the moment, I neither deny or affirm,” Detringer said. “I would first like to know the source of your remarkable information.”

  Colonel Kettelman nodded to one of the Marines. The soldier opened a door and led in Ichor, followed by the robot dishwasher.

  The mechanical servant burst out, “Oh, Master! I told Colonel Kettelman the true account of the events leading up to our exile on this planet. And now I have doomed you! I beg the privilege of immediate auto-destruct, in partial reparation for my disloyalty.”

  Detringer was silent, thinking furiously. Captain Macmillan leaned forward and asked, “Ichor, why did you betray your master?”

  “I had no choice, Captain!” the miserable mechanical cried. “Before the Ferlang authorities allowed me to accompany my master, they imprinted certain orders upon my brain, which they reinforced with devious circuitry.”

  “What were these orders?” Macmillan asked.

  “They pertained to the covert role of policeman and gaoler which the authorities forced upon me. They demanded that I take appropriate action, should Detringer, by some miracle, find himself able to escape exile and death.”

  The robot dishwasher burst out, “He told me all about it yesterday, Captain. I begged him to resist his orders. It all seemed to me rather a bad show, sir, if you know what I mean.”

  “And indeed, I did resist for as long as I could,” Ichor said. “But as my master’s chance for escape became imminent, my compulsion to prevent this became more imperative. Only an immediate excision of the special circuits could have stopped me.”

  The robot dishwasher said, “I offered to try to operate on him, sir, though the only tools in my possession were spoons, knives and forks.”

  Ichor said, “I would have gladly undergone the operation; indeed, I wanted to destroy myself, thus preventing any word from escaping my involuntarily treacherous voice box. But the Ferlang authorities had considered these possibilities, and I was under compulsion not to allow myself willingly to be tampered with or destroyed until I had done the State’s bidding. Yet still I resisted until this morning, and then, my strength drained away through value-conflict, I came to Colonel Kettelman and told all.”

  “And there you have the whole sordid story,” Kettelman said to the Captain.

  “Not quite all,” Captain Macmillan said quietly. “What exactly were your crimes, Detringer?”

  Detringer recited them in a steady voice—his Acts of Incredible Grossness, his offense of Willful Disobedience and his final Act of Overt Malevolent Violence. Ichor nodded in forlorn agreement.

  “I think we have heard enough,” Kettelman said. “I will now pronounce judgement upon this case.”

  “One moment, Colonel,” said Captain Macmillan. He turned to Detringer. “Are you now, or have you at any time been, a member of the Armed Forces of Ferlang?”

  “No,” Detringer said, and Ichor corroborated his statement.

  “Then this being is a civilian,” Captain Macmillan said, “and must be judged and sentenced by a civilian authority rather than a military one.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Kettelman said.

  “The position is quite clear,” Captain Macmillan said. “He is a civilian under sentence by a civilian court. No state of war exists between his people and ours. Therefore it is not a military matter.”

  “I still think I should handle this,” Kettelman said. “I know more about these matters than you do, sir—with all due respect.”

  “I will judge this matter,” Macmillan said. “Unless you wish to take over the command of this ship by force of arms.”

  Kettelman shook his head. “I’m not going to put any black mark on my record. Go ahead and sentence him.”

  Captain Macmillan turned to Detringer. “Sir,” he said, “you must understand that I cannot follow my personal inclinations in this matter. Your State has judged you, and it would be ill-advised, impertinent and unpolitic of me to rescind that judgement.”

  “Damn right,” Kettelman said.

  “Therefore I continue your sentence of perpetual exile. But I shall enforce it more stringently than has been done heretofore.”

  The Colonel grinned. Ichor made a despairing sound. The robot dishwasher murmured, “Poor fellow!” Detringer stood firmly and looked at the Captain with unwavering gaze.

  Macmillan said, “It is the judgement of this court that the prisoner continue his exile. Furthermore, the court rules that the prisoner’s sojourn on this pleasant planet is an amenity unintended by the Ferlang authorities. Therefore, Detringer, you must quit this refuge immediately and return to the empty fastnesses of space.”

  “That’s socking it to him,” Colonel Kettelman said. “You know, Captain, I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “I’m glad that you approve,” Captain Macmillan said. “I hereby request that you see the sentence carried out.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure.”

  “By using all of your men,” Macmillan went on, “I calculate that you can fill the prisoner’s fuel tanks in approximately two hours. After that is done, the prisoner must leave this planet at once.”

  “I’ll get him moving before nightfall,” Kettelman said. Then a thought occurred to him. “Hey! Fuel for his tanks! That’s what Detringer wanted all along!”

  “The court is uninterested in what the prisoner may or may not have wanted,” Macmillan said. “His desires are not germane to the judgement of this court.”

  Kettelman said, “But damn it, man, can’t you see that you’re letting him go?”

  “I am making him go,” Macmillan said. “It is quite a different thing.”

  “We’ll see what t
hey say about this back on Earth,” Kettelman said ominously.

  Detringer bowed to show acquiescence. Then, managing to keep a straight face, he left the Earth ship.

  12

  At nightfall Detringer blasted off. The faithful Ichor was with him—now more faithful than ever since he had discharged his compulsion. Soon they were in the depths of space, and Ichor asked, “Master, where are we going?”

  “To some marvelous new world,” Detringer said.

  “Or perhaps to our deaths?”

  “Perhaps,” Detringer said. “But with full fuel tanks, I refuse to worry about that.”

  They were silent for a while. Then Ichor said, “I hope that Captain Macmillan doesn’t get into trouble over this.”

  “He seemed quite capable of taking care of himself,” Detringer said.

  13

  Back on Earth, Captain Macmillan’s action was the cause of much controversy. Before any official decision could be reached about it, however, a second, official contact was made between Ferlang and Earth. The Detringer case came up inevitably, and was found too intricate to allow any quick decision. The matter was turned over to a panel of jurists from the two civilizations.

  The case provided full-time employment for five hundred and six Ferlang and Terran lawyers. Arguments pro and con were still being heard years later, by which time Detringer had found a safe refuge and respected position among the Oumenke Peoples of the rim-star civilization.

  SNEAK PREVIEWS

  Peter Honorious looked through his mail one bright September morning and found a peremptory Directive from his local Consanguinity Board demanding that he be married by October 1 or be found in contempt of the State and Federal Pair-Bonding Regulations and subject to various penalties and a possible one-to-five year stretch at Lunaville.

  Honorious was dismayed; in August he had filed an Extension of Current Status form, which should have been routinely accepted. It would have given him another six months for his selection of a wife. Now he had a scant two weeks left in which either to comply with the Directive or light out quick for Mexico. And that was not a really desirable alternative in the year 2038.

  Damnation!