He re-established contact with the moles and discussed the problem with them. They agreed to help him, for even these gentle people had the concept of vengeance. They supplied some ideas which were surprisingly human, since the moles also possessed a form of warfare. They explained it to Perceveral and he agreed to try their way.
In a week, the moles were ready. Perceveral loaded the robot with baskets of fruit and led him into the tunnels, as though he were attempting another treaty.
The mole people weren’t to be found. Perceveral and the robot journeyed deeper into the passageways, their flashlights probing ahead into the darkness. The robot’s eye cells glowed red and he towered close behind Perceveral, almost at his back.
They came to an underground cavern. There was a faint whistle and Perceveral sprinted out of the way.
The robot sensed danger and tried to follow. But he stumbled, thwarted by his own programed ineptness, and fmit scattered across the cavern floor. Then ropes dropped from the blackness of the cavern’s roof and settled around the robot’s head and shoulders.
He ripped at the tough fiber. More ropes settled around him, hissing in swift flight down from the roof. The robot’s eye cells flared as he ripped the cords from his arms.
Mole people emerged from the passageways by the dozens. More lines snaked around the robot, whose joints spurted oil as he strained to break the strands. For minutes, the only sounds in the cavern were the hiss of flying ropes, the creak of the robot’s joints, and the dry crack of breaking line.
Perceveral ran back to join the fight. They bound the robot closer and closer until his limbs had no room to gain a purchase. And still the ropes hissed through the air until the robot toppled over, bound in a great cocoon of rope with only his head and feet showing.
Then the mole people squeaked in triumph and tried to gouge out the robot’s eyes with their blunt digging claws. But steel shutters slid over the robot’s eyes. So they poured sand into his joints until Perceveral pushed them aside and attempted to melt the robot with his last beamer.
The beamer failed before the metal even grew hot. They fastened ropes to the robot’s feet and dragged him down a passageway that ended in a deep chasm. They levered him over the side and listened while he bounced off the granite sides of the precipice, and cheered when he struck bottom.
The mole people held a celebration. But Perceveral felt sick. He returned to his shack and lay in bed for two days, telling himself over and over that he had not killed a man, or even a thinking being. He had simply destroyed a dangerous machine.
But he couldn’t help remembering the silent companion who had stood with him against the birds, and had weeded his fields and gathered wood for him. Even though the robot had been clumsy and destructive, he had been clumsy and destructive in Perceveral’s own personal way—a way that he, above all people, could understand and sympathize with.
For a while, he felt as though a part of himself had died. But the mole people came to him in the evenings and consoled him, and there was work to be done in the fields and sheds.
It was autumn, time for harvesting and storing his crops. Perceveral went to work. With the robot’s removal, his own chronic propensity for accident returned briefly. He fought it back with fresh confidence. By the first snows, his work of storage and food preservation was done. And his year on Theta was coming to an end.
He radioed a full report to Haskell on the planet’s risks, promises and potentialities, reported his treaty with the mole people, and recommended the planet for colonization. In two weeks, Haskell radioed back.
“Good work,” he told Perceveral. “The Board decided that Theta definitely fits our minimum-survival requirements. We’re sending out a colony ship at once.”
“Then the test is over?” Perceveral asked.
“Right. The ship should be there in about three months. I’ll probably take this batch out. My congratulations, Mr. Perceveral. you’re going to be the founding father of a brand-new colony!”
Perceveral said, “Mr. Haskell, I don’t know how to thank you—”
“Nothing to thank me for,” Haskell said. “Quite the contrary. By the way, how did you make out with the robot?”
“I destroyed him,” Perceveral said. He described the killing of the mole and the subsequent events.
“Hmm,” Haskell said.
“You told me there was no rule against it.”
“There isn’t. The robot was part of your equipment, just like the beamers and tents and food supplies. Like them, he was also part of your survival problems. You had a right to do anything you could about him.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Well, I just hope you really destroyed him. Those quality-control models are built to last, you know. They’ve got self-repair units and a strong sense of self-preservation. It’s damned hard to really knock one out.”
“I think I succeeded,” Perceveral said.
“I hope so. It would be embarrassing if the robot survived.”
“Why? Would it come back for revenge?”
“Certainly not. A robot has no emotions.”
“Well?”
“The trouble is this. The robot’s purpose was to cancel out any gains you made in survival-quality. It did, in various destructive ways.”
“Sure. So, if it comes back, I’ll have to go through the whole business again.”
“More. You’ve been separated from the robot for a few months now. If it’s still functioning, it’s been accumulating a backlog of accidents for you. All the destructive duties that it should have performed during those months—they’ll all have to be discharged before the robot can return to normal duties. See what I mean?”
Perceveral cleared his throat nervously. “And of course he would discharge them as quickly as possible in order to get back to regular operation.”
“Of course. Now look, the ship will be there in about three months. That’s the quickest we can make it. I suggest you make sure that robot is immobilized. We wouldn’t want to lose you now.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” Perceveral said. “I’ll take care of it at once.”
He equipped himself and hurried to the tunnels. The mole people guided him to the chasm after he explained the problem. Armed with blowtorch, hacksaw, sledge hammer and cold chisel, Perceveral began a slow descent down the side of the precipice.
At the bottom, he quickly located the spot where the robot had landed. There, wedged between two boulders, was a complete robotic arm, wrenched loose from the shoulder. Further on, he found fragments of a shattered eye cell. And he came across an empty cocoon of ripped and shredded rope.
But the robot wasn’t there.
Perceveral climbed back up the precipice, warned the moles and began to make what preparations he could.
Nothing happened for twelve days. Then news was brought to him in the evening by a frightened mole. The robot had appeared again in the tunnels, stalking the dark passageways with a single eye cell glowing, expertly threading the maze into the main branch.
The moles had prepared for his coming with ropes. But the robot had learned. He had avoided the silent dropping nooses and charged into the mole forces. He had killed six moles and sent the rest into flight.
Perceveral nodded briefly at the news, dismissed the mole and continued working. He had set up his defenses in the tunnels. Now he had his four dead beamers disassembled on the table in front of him. Working without a manual, he was trying to interchange parts to produce one usable weapon.
He worked late into the night, testing each component carefully before fitting it back into the casing. The tiny parts seemed to float before his eyes and his fingers felt like sausages. Very carefully, working with tweezers and a magnifying glass, he began reassembling the weapon.
The radio suddenly blared into life.
“Anton?” Haskell asked. “What about the robot?”
“He’s coming,” said Perceveral.
“I was afraid so. Now listen, I rushed through a priority call to the robot’s manufacturers. I had a hell of a fight with them, but I got their permission for you to deactivate the robot, and full instructions on how to do it.”
