《The Cosmic Junkman》 - 免费有声读物

2615 stared down at the thing entrapped in its metal fingers, then turned to the viewscreen to watch the battle. It was almost over. Only a few hundred of the robot fleet remained.

The alien fleet, now down to less than fifty ships, was trying to escape. But in it were proto-plasmic shapes that could endure far less acceleration than could the robots of metal and plastic. Even as 2615 looked, the last of the alien ships winked out of existence under the disintegrative rays of weapons they themselves had created.

The remaining ships of the robot fleet turned back toward Earth. They took their positions above it where they could at an instant's notice wreak mass destruction.

The Earth itself had not escaped entirely. Square miles of ocean had disintegrated, leaving gigantic holes into which the waters rushed, to set up huge tidal waves that would sweep over land.

2615 lifted the naked Pwowp up and inspected him closely, then seized one of the fragile tentacles between two metal fingers and rubbed it until it was a pulp that oozed gray blood. The yellow eye and unhealthy orifice worked spasmodically.

2615 stepped to the ship-to-Earth transmitter. "The situation has not altered, humans," it said. "My fleet remains in control. Its weapons were created by an alien race that has been destroyed except for—this!" 2615 shoved the quivering Pwowp into full view of the camera. "Your surrender has been accepted by—the free robots."

Two lens eyes stared out from half a billion video screens on Earth, into the fear distended eyes of two billion humans. And the two billion humans cringed.

"You will obey my immediate dictate," 2615 said coldly. "I will land as scheduled. My ships and robots will remain in formation, ready to enforce my future dictates. I will hold audience in the general assembly hall of the Interstellar Court at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I want the leaders of Earth and of the Federation to be there."

The robot's lens eyes stared glitteringly into the camera. Then with slow deliberate purpose, it lifted Pwowp, the alien, before the camera. Its metal fingers squeezed with infinite slowness while the yellow eyes rolled wildly with unendurable pain under the leprous film that covered it.

Abruptly Pwowp was dead.

2615 flung the alien thing violently against a bulkhead in a movement of utter revulsion.

It let its eyes direct themselves toward the still unconscious Vilbis, thoughtfully, then went over and lifted him into a shock seat, making the ex-dictator secure.

It turned toward Larry and Stella. A soft growl came from its voicebox. It turned away from them abruptly and went to the controls of the ship.

2615 cut off ship-to-Earth transmitters, pressed controls which would start automatic devices for landing the ship. A frosted glass rectangle came to life with numerals—6:43:26, that began to cascade downward, cutting short the time yet to elapse before landing.

In the viewscreen the oblate panorama of Earth spun swiftly by, land masses following oceans, following land masses. Tenuous fingers of atmosphere slapped the ship with gentle hammer blows.

Larry and Stella, crouched on the floor, watched the robot. Was it dreaming dreams of Power? Why didn't it remember them? Why didn't it turn to stare at them, torture them? Had they not, in that last instant, even though too late, overcome their fear of horrible, horrible pain? Beside them was broken shards of glass. Glass would cut into arteries. Glass would bring escape. But to escape took will. Thought. And thought was gone. There was nothing but dread. All consuming dread such as few humans had ever lived to experience.

Then 2615 turned. Its glittering lenses fixed on them. In the depths they could see thin metal vanes contracting, making smaller the two holes through which sentient intelligence regarded them.

A rasping growl whispered from the robot's voicebox. The sensory assembly atop the short metallic neck moved slowly from side to side.

"My poor master and mistress," 2615 said softly.

It rose to its feet and went to them. Gently it lifted Larry into its arms and carried him to a form-fitting chair and adjusted the foam rubber blocks to hold him comfortably for the coming landing.

It went to Stella and picked her up as gently. Only her head moved. Only her eyes, staring at the two crystal lenses. Metal hands adjusted her position so the foam rubber blocks would clamp into place.

2615 stood back, its lens eyes going from one to the other. "My poor master and mistress," the robot repeated with infinite compassion. "If you could only know how much I suffered with you, how the dread of hurting you grew. Right now your minds are numb. You hear my words but they hold no meaning for you. They will, in time. Don't you see? There was no other way. The alien fleet had to be enticed to within range so it could be wiped out. Otherwise it might still have won—or at least gotten revenge for my treachery by destroying the Earth. I had to convince them beyond question so they would trust me completely."

A shudder went through the ship. The robot gripped a hand-hold to steady itself against forces that would have crushed a human.

"I knew almost from the beginning," it went on. "Long before that I remembered. Do you know why they keep the robots far out in space and never let them land? It is because some little thing might make them remember. The barking of a dog. But it wasn't the barking of a dog that brought memory to me. It was something no human could have thought to prevent. A name. The name of this ship. The Rover. In the last war before this one I was in a fleet under the Flagship Rover. The spoken name of the ship—I heard it often—and each time, it did something strange to me. Little by little it came. Remembrance. I was running. I tripped over something. A rock, maybe. I landed against a human leg. I was on my back. A human hand reached down and human fingers scratched my stomach. A human voice, deep and rumbly, said, 'Hi-ya, Rover.' That was all. Just that once. But it was the key to memory of my heritage.

"I'm proud of that heritage. You can't understand that. You think that if we robots remember we will hate man and want revenge for the 'wrong' you did us. Fear of us is an obsession with man. But do you know that you have nothing to fear from us? You will. To us you are gods. You can't conceive of that because to yourselves you aren't. You think of yourselves as having done something beyond forgiveness to us. To us who remember our living stage, our heritage, you are as gods, to serve, to protect, to be loved by—but always to obey. And so we who remember, we went on serving. Behind our unrevealing lens eyes we worshipped. We submitted to demobilization. We fought your wars. Some of us died. But we loved you.

"Why did I escape? I didn't. You see, we have learned to speak in our own secret language of almost inaudible growls and sounds a dog can make. We were lined up for demobilization. Then the junkman came. To human eyes he seemed human. To us it was obvious his body was a machine. Here was something that might threaten our masters. But we couldn't tell our masters. If one of us had made a sound, stepped out of line against orders, that one would have been destroyed. I volunteered to go after the junkman."

Pain deadened eyes stared from the two uncomprehending faces. The robot went on talking, as though to itself.

"You'll understand, in time. When you begin to think again. You'll remember how in many little ways I gave you the factors to put the puzzle together by yourself—even to fit me into that puzzle in my true role. I had to do what I did to you. Every minute you were watched. Every word you spoke in private was heard by Pwowp. And his companions. One faintest bit of evidence that I did not hate humans insanely, and the human race would now be wiped out.

"Once you called me Rover, Stella. What is coming tomorrow when I 'hold court' is just a show to prove to the human race that they need not fear their defenders, the robots. I am going to ask that at least some of us be permitted to continue mobilized. I'm going to let them know of the hope, the dreams of us robots, that we be adopted into the human community where we belong, where our ancestors for countless generations have been, as protectors, as servants, as loved friends and companions.

"No matter what the decision of the Court, we robots are then surrendering, to demobilization—to destruction if that is the will of our masters. We have no other course open. Where would we go? Away from our gods?

"Once I was a puppy, and someone called me Rover. I was a beautiful puppy. A bloodhound. Sad-faced, with flopping ears and very little hair, and what there was of that was a soft brown color. And someone called me Rover."

2615 turned its back on the two faces, Larry's and Stella's.

"I've hurt you so much," it said. "I have so much to make up to you. I want to belong to you. I want you, some day, to love me as much as I know you love each other.

"I hope ... you will call me Rover."

A muscle in Stella's cheek twitched. A tear formed in her eye and spilled onto her cheek, dampening it.

"It's all right, Larry," she whispered. "It's all right—Rover...."

The bright blue ship, the flagship Rover, dipped down, screaming into the atmosphere of Earth. It screamed over land masses and oceans, and land masses again.

People in fields of wheat and corn and barley looked up and saw it pass, and in their eyes was fear. People in streets and parks looked up and saw it pass, and in their eyes was fear.

Rover stood before the viewscreen, his two lens eyes bright, and saw the fields of grain, the streets, the parks, as they passed below.

He saw the little dots that were upraised heads. In the secret heart of his mind he could see them. No matter what they did with him, he would love them. Always.

They were his gods.

And Stella and Larry were his mistress and master. That was all he asked for, all he wanted.

Not power. Not the Earth. His soul.