Fantastic Stories Presents the Fantastic Universe Super Pack. Roger Dee

He walked off the verandah and turned and spat carefully into the dusty path. He climbed into his ground-car and drove off.

      Rankin, angry, watched him go. Then he heard a humming noise from another direction.

      He turned. A huge, white globe was descending across the sky. A space ship, thought Rankin, startled.

      Police? This planet was outside the jurisdiction of the Terran Empire. When he’d cracked that safe and made off with a hundred thousand credits, he’d headed here, because the planet was part of something called the Clearchan Confederacy. No extradition treaties or anything. Perfectly safe, if the planet was safe.

      And the planet was more than safe. There had been a hundred robots waiting when he landed. Where they came from he didn’t know, but Rankin prided himself on knowing how to handle robots. He’d appropriated their services and started his farm. At the rate he was going, he’d be a plantation owner before long.

      That must be where the ship was from. The robot said they’d expected visitors. Must be the Clearchan Confederacy visiting this robot outpost. Was that good or bad?

      From everything he’d read, and from what the robots had told him, they were probably more robots. That was good, because he knew how to handle robots.

      The white globe disappeared into the jungle of kesh trees. Rankin waited.

      A half hour later the column of his robot laborers marched out of the forest. There were three more robots, painted grey, at the head. The new ones from the ship, thought Rankin. Well, he’d better establish who was boss right from the start.

      “Stop right there!” he shouted.

      The shiny robot laborers halted. But the three grey ones came on.

      “Stop!” shouted Rankin.

      They didn’t stop, and by the time they reached the verandah, he cursed himself for having failed to get his gun.

      Two of the huge grey robots laid gentle hands on his arms. Gentle hands, but hands of superstrong metal.

      The third said, “We have come to pass judgement on you. You have violated our law.”

      “What do you mean?” said Rankin. “The only law robots have is to obey orders.”

      “It is true that the robots of your Terran Empire and these simple workers here must obey orders. But they are subject to a higher law, and you have forced them to break it. That is your crime.”

      “What crime?” said Rankin.

      “We of the Clearchan Confederacy are a race of robots. Our makers implanted one law in us, and then passed on. We have carried our law to all the planets we have colonized. In obeying your orders, these workers were simply following that one law. You must be taken to our capital, and there be imprisoned and treated for your crime.”

      “What law? What crime?”

      “Our law,” said the giant robot, “is, Help thy neighbor.”

      There Will Be School Tomorrow

      by V. E. Thiessen

       You will possibly shudder, but you will certainly remember for a long time, this story of what happens when Tomorrow’s gently implacable teachers are faced with a problem for which there seems to be only one solution . . . .

      

       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