JAMES P. CROW

by PHILIP K. DICK

“YOU’RE a nasty little—human being,” the newly-formed Z Type robot shrilled peevishly.

Donnie flushed and slunk away. It was true. He was a human being, a human child. And there was nothing science could do. He was stuck with it. A human being in a robot’s world.

He wished he were dead. He wished he lay under the grass and the worms were eating him up and crawling through him and devouring his brain, his poor miserable human’s brain. The Z-236r, his robot companion, wouldn’t have anybody to play with and it would be sorry.

"Where are you going?” Z-236r demanded.

"Home.”

“Sissy.”

Donnie didn’t reply. He gathered up his set of fourth dimensional chess, stuffed it in his pocket, and walked off between the rows of ecarda trees, toward the human quarter. Behind him, Z-236r stood gleaming in the late afternoon sun, a pale tower of metal and plastic.

‘'See if I care,” Z-236r shouted sullenly. "Who wants to play with a human being, anyhow? Go on home. You—you smell.”

Donnie said nothing. But he hunched over a little more. And his chin sank lower against his chest.

“Well, it happened,” Edgar Parks said gloomily to his wife, across the kitchen table.

Grace looked quickly up. "It?”

"Donnie learned his place today. He told me while I was changing my clothes. One of the new robots he was playing with. Called him & human being. Poor kid. Why the hell do they have to rub it in? Why can’t they let us alone?”

"So, that's why he didn’t want any dinner. He’s in his room. I knew something had happened.” Grace touched her husband’s hand. “He’ll get over it. We all have to learn the hard way. He’s strong. He’ll snap back.”

Ed Parks got up from the table and moved into the livingroom of his modest five-room dwelling unit, located in the section of the city set aside for humans. He didn’t feel like eating. "Robots.” He clenched his fists futilely. "I’d like to get hold of one of them. Just once. Get my hands into their guts. Rip out handfuls of wire and parts. Just once before I die.” "Maybe you’ll get your chance.”

"No. No, it’ll never come to that. Anyhow, humans wouldn’t be able to run things without robots. It’s true, honey. Humans haven't got the integration to maintain a society. The Lists prove that twice a year. Let’s face it. Humans are inferior to robots. But it’s their damn holding it up to us! Like today with Donnie. Holding it up to our faces. I don’t mind being a robot’s body servant. It’s a good job. Pays well and the work is light. But when my kid gets told he’s—”

Ed broke off. Donnie had come out of his room slowly, into the livingroom. "Hi, Dad.”

"Hi, son.” Ed thumped the boy gently on the back. "How you doing? Want to take in a show tonight?”

Humans entertained nightly on the vidscreens. Humans made good entertainers. That was one area the robots couldn’t compete in. Human beings painted and wrote and danced and sang and acted for the amusement of robots. They cooked better, too, but robots didn’t eat. Human beings had their place. They were understood and wanted: as body servants, entertainers, clerks, gardeners, construction workers, repairmen, odd-jobbers and factory workers.

But when it came to something like civic control coordinator or traffic supervisor for the usone tapes that fed energy into the planet’s twelve hydro-systems—

“DAD,” Donnie said, "can I ask you something?”

"Sure." Ed sat down on the couch with a sigh. He leaned back and crossed his legs. "What is it?”

Donnie sat quietly beside him, his little round face serious. "Dad, I want to ask you about the Lists.”

"Oh, yeah.” Ed rubbed his jaw. "That’s right. Lists in a few weeks. Time to start boning up for your entry. We’ll get out some of the sample tests and go over them. Maybe between the two of us we can get you ready for Class Twenty.”

“Listen.” Donnie leaned close to his father, his voice low and intense. "Dad, how many humans have ever passed their Lists?”

Ed got up abruptly and paced around the room, filling his pipe and frowning. "Well, son, that's hard to say. I mean, humans don’t have access to the C-Bank records. So, I can’t check and see. The law says any human who gets a score in the top forty per cent is eligible for classification with a gradual upward gradation according to subsequent showing. I don’t know how many humans have been able to—

"Has any human ever passed his List?” Ed swallowed nervously. "Gosh, kid. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t honestly know of any, when you put it like that. Maybe not. The Lists have been conducted only three hundred years. Before that the Government was reactionary and forbade humans to compete with robots. Nowdays, we have a liberal Government and we can compete on the Lists and if we get high enough scores ...” His voice wavered and faded. "No, kid,” he said miserably. "No human ever passed a List. We’re—just—not— smart enough.”

The room was silent. Donnie nodded faintly, expressionless. Ed didn’t look at him. He concentrated on his pipe, hands shaking.

“It’s not so bad,” Ed said huskily. have a good job. I’m body servant to a hell of a fine N Type robot. I get big tips at Christmas and Easter. It gives me time off when I’m sick.” He cleared his throat noisily. “It’s not so bad.”

Grace was standing at the door. Now she came into the room, eyes bright. "No, not bad. Not at all. You open doors for it, bring its instruments to it, make calls for it, run errands for it, oil it, repair it, sing to it, talk to it, scan tapes for it—” "Shut up,” Ed muttered irritably. “What the hell should I do? Quit? Maybe I should mow lawns like John Hollister and Pete Klein. At least my robot calls me by name. Like a living thing. It calls me Ed.” "Will a human ever pass a List?” Donnie asked.

"Yes,” Grace said sharply.

Ed nodded. “Sure, kid. Of course. Someday maybe humans and robots will live together in equality. There’s an Equality Party among the robots. Holds ten seats in the Congress. They think humans should be admitted without Lists. Since it’s obvious—” He broke off. “I mean, since no humans have ever been able to pass their Lists so far—”

“Donnie,” Grace said fiercely, bending down over her son. “Listen to me. I want you to pay attention. Nobody knows this. The robots don’t talk about it. Humans don’t know. But it’s true.”

“What is it?”

“I know of a human being who—who’s classified. He passed his Lists. Ten years ago. And he’s gone up. He’s up to Class Two. Someday he’ll be Class One. Do you hear? A human being. And he’s going up.” Donnie’s face showed doubt. "Really?” The doubt turned to wistful hope. “Class Two? No kidding?”

"No kidding,” Grace said.

"It’s just a story,” Ed grunted. "I’ve heard that all my life.”

“It’s true! I heard two robots talking about it when I was cleaning up one of the Engineering Units. They stopped when they noticed me.”

"What’s his name?” Donnie asked, wide- eyed.

"James P. Crow,” Grace said proudly. “Strange name,” Ed murmured.

"That’s his name. I know. It’s not a story. It’s true! And sometime, someday, he’ll be on the top level. On the Supreme Council.”

BOB McINTYRE lowered his voice. "Yeah, it’s true, all right. James P. Crow is his name.”

"It’s not a legend?” Ed demanded eagerly.

"There really is such a human. And he’s Class Two. Gone all the way up. Passed his Lists like that” McIntyre snapped his fingers. "The robs hush it up, but it’s a fact. And the news is spreading. More and more humans know.”

The two men had stopped by the service entrance of the enormous Structural Research Building. Robot officials moved busily in and out through the main doors, at the front of the building. Robot planners who guided Terran society with skill and efficiency.

Robots ran Earth. It had always been that way. The history tapes said so. Humans had been invented during the Total War of the Eleventh Millibar. All types of weapons had been tested and used; humans were one of many. The War had utterly wrecked society. For decades after, anarchy and ruin lay everywhere. Only gradually had society reformed under the patient guidance of robots. Humans had been useful in the reconstruction. But why they had originally been made, what they had been used for, how they had served in the War —all knowledge had perished in the hydrogen bomb blasts. The historians had to fill in with conjecture. They did so.

“Why such a strange name?” Ed asked. McIntyre shrugged. “AH I know is he’s sub-Advisor to the Northern Security Conference. And in line for the Council when he makes Class One.”

“What do the robs think?”

“They don’t like it. But there’s nothing they can do. The law says they have to let a human hold a job if he’s qualified. They never thought a human would be qualified, of course. But this Crow passed his Lists.

“It certainly is strange. A human, smarter than the robs. I wonder why.”

“He was an ordinary repairman. A mechanic, fixing machinery and designing circuits. Unclassified, of course. Then suddenly he passed his first List. Entered Class Twenty. He rose the next biannual to Class Nineteen. They had to put him to work.” McIntyre chuckled. "Too damn bad, isn’t it? They have to sit with a human being.” "How do they react?”

"Some quit. Walk out, rather than sit with a human. But most stay. A lot of robs are decent. They try hard.”

"I'd sure like to meet this fellow Crow.” McIntyre frowned. "Well—”

"What is it?”

"I understand he doesn’t like to be seen with humans too much.”

"Why not?" Ed bristled. "What’s wrong with humans? Is he too high and mighty, sitting up there with robots—”

"It’s not that.” There was a strange look in McIntyre’s eyes. A yearning, distant look. "It’s not just that, Ed. He’s up to something. Something important. I shouldn’t be saying. But it’s big. Big as hell.”

"What is it?"

"I can’t say. But wait until he gets on the Council. Wait.” McIntyre’s eyes were feverish. "It's so big it’ll shake the world. The stars and the sun’ll shake.”

"What is it?”

"I don’t know. But Crow’s got something up his sleeve. Something incredibly big. We're all waiting for it. Waiting for the day ”

JAMES P. CROW sat at his polished mahogany desk, thinking. That wasn’t his real name, of course. He had taken it after the first experiments, grinning to himself as he did so. Nobody would ever know what it meant; it would remain a private joke, personal and unannounced. But it was a good joke nonetheless. Biting and appropriate.

He was a small man. Irish-German. A little lean light-skinned man with blue eyes and sandy hair that fell down in his face and had to be brushed back. He wore unpressed baggy pants and rolled-up sleeves. He was nervous, high-strung. He smoked all day and drank black coffee and usually couldn’t sleep at night. But there was a lot on his mind.

A hell of a lot. Crow got abruptly to his feet and paced over to the vidsender. "Send in the Commissioner of Colonies,” he ordered.

The Commissioner’s metal and plastic body pushed through the door, into the office. An R Type robot, patient and efficient. "You wished to—” It broke off, seeing a human. For a second its pale eye lens flickered doubtfully. A faint sheen of distaste spread across its features. "You wished to see me?”

Crow had seen that expression before. Endless times. He was used to it—almost. The surprise, and then the lofty withdrawal, the cold, clipped formality. He was "Mister Crow.” Not Jim. The law made them address him as an equal. It hurt some of them more than others. Some showed it without restraint. This one held its feelings back a trifle; Crow was its official superior.

"Yes, I wished to see you,” Crow said calmly. "I want your report. Why hasn’t it come in?”

The robot stalled, still lofty and withdrawn. "Such a report takes time. We’re doing the best we can.”

"I want it within two weeks. No later." The robot struggled with itself, life-long prejudices versus the requirements of Governmental codes. "All right, sir. The report will be ready in two weeks,” It moved out of the office. The door formed behind it.

Crow let his breath out with a rush. Doing the best they could? Hardly. Not to please a human being. Even if he was at Advisory Level, Class Two. They all dragged their feet, all the way down the line. Little things here and there.

His door melted and a robot wheeled quickly into the office. "I say there, Crow. Got a minute?”

"Of course.” Crow grinned. "Come in and sit down. I’m always glad to talk to you.”

The robot dumped some papers on Crow's desk. "Tapes and such. Business trifles.” It eyed Crow intently. "You look upset. Anything happen?”

"A report I want. Overdue. Somebody taking its time.”

L-87t grunted. "Same old stuff. By the way . . . We’re having a meeting tonight. Want to come over and make a speech? Should have a good turn out.”

"Meeting?”

"Party meeting. Equality.” L-87t made a quick sign with its right gripper, a sort of half-arc in the air. The Equality sign. "We’d be glad to have you, Jim. Want to come?”

"No. I’d like to, but I have things to do.”

“Oh.” The robot moved toward the door. "All right. Thanks anyhow.” It lingered at the door. "You’d give us a shot in the arm, you know. Living proof of our contention that a human being is the equal of a robot and should be afforded such recognition.”

Crow smiled faintly. "But a human isn’t the equal of a robot.”

L-87t sputtered indignantly. "What are you saying? Aren’t you the living proof? Look at your List scores. Perfect. Not a mistake. And in a couple of weeks you’ll Be Class One. Highest there is.”

Crow shook his head. "Sorry. A human isn’t the equal of a robot anymore than he’s the equal of a stove. Or a diesel motor. Or a snowplow. There are a lot of things human can’t do. Let’s face facts.”

L-87t was baffled. "But—”

"I mean it. You’re ignoring reality. Humans and robots are completely different. We humans can sing, act, write plays, stories, operas, paint, design sets, flower gardens, buildings, cook delicious meals, make love, scratch sonnets on menus—and robots can’t. But robots can build elaborate cities and machines that function perfectly, work for days without rest, think without emotional interruption, gestalt complex data without a time lag.

"Humans excel in some fields, robots in others. Humans have highly developed emotions and feelings. Esthetic awareness. We’re sensitive to colors and sounds and textures and soft music mixed with wine. All very fine things. Worthwhile. But realms totally beyond robots. Robots are purely intellectual. Which is fine, too. Both realms are fine. Emotional humans, sensitive to art and music and drama. Robots who think and plan and design machinery. But that doesn’t mean we’re both the same.”

L-87t shook its head sadly. "I don’t understand you, Jim, Don’t you want to help your race?”

"Of course. But realistically. Not by ignoring facts and making an iliusionary assertion that men and robots are interchangeable. Identical elements.”

A curious look slid across L-87t’s eye lens. "What’s your solution, then?”

Crow clamped his jaw tight. "Stick around another few weeks and maybe you’ll see.”

CROW headed out of the Terran Security Building and along the street. Around him robots streamed, bright hulls of metal and plastic and dn fluid. Except for body servants, humans never came to this area. This was the managerial section of the city, the core, the nucleus, where the planning and organization went on. From this area the life of the city was controlled. Robots were everywhere. In the surface cars, on the moving ramps, the balconies, entering buildings, streaming out, standing in pale glowing knots here and there like Roman Senators, talking and discussing business.

A few greeted him, faintly, formally, with a nod of their metal heads. And then turned their backs. Most robots ignored him or pulled aside to avoid contact. Sometimes a clump of talking robots would become abruptly silent, 'as Crow pushed past. Robot eye lenses fixed on him, solemn and half astonished. They noticed his arm color, Class Two. Surprise and indignation. And after he had passed, a quick angry buzz of resentment. Backward glances at him as he threaded his way toward the human quarter.

A pair of humans stood in front of the Domestic Control Offices, armed with pruning shears and rakes. Gardeners, weeding and watering the lawns of the big public building. They watched Crow pass with excited stares. One waved nervously at him, feverish and hopeful. A menial human waving at the only human ever to reach classification.

Crow waved back briefly.

The two humans’ eyes grew wide with awe and reverence. They were still looking after him when he turned the comer at the main intersection and mixed with the business crowds shopping at the trans-planet marts.

Goods from the wealthy colonies of Venus and Mars and Ganymede filled the open- air marts. Robots drifted in swarms, sampling and pricing and discussing and gossiping. A few humans were visible, mostly household servants in charge of maintenance, stocking up on supplies. Crow edged his way through and beyond the marts. He was approaching the human quarter of the city. He could smell it already. The faint pungent scent of humans.

The robots, of course, were odorless. In a world of odorless machines the human scent stood out in bold relief. The human quarter was a section of the city once prosperous. Humans had moved in and property values had dropped. Gradually the houses had been abandoned by robots and now humans exclusively lived there. Crow, in spite of his position, was obliged to live in the human quarter. His house, a uniform five-room dwelling, identical with all the others, was located to the rear of the quarter. One house of many.

He held his hand up to the front door and the door melted. Grow entered quickly and the door reformed. He glanced at his watch. Plenty of time. An hour before he was due back at his desk.

He rubbed his hands. It was always a thrilling moment to come here, to his personal quarters, where he had grown up, lived as an ordinary unclassified human being—before he had come across it and begun his meteoric ascent into the upper- class regions.

CROW passed through the small silent house, to the work shed in back. He unlocked the bolted doors and slid them aside. The shed was hot and dry. He clicked off the alarm system. Complex tangles of bells and wires that were really unnecessary: robots never entered the human section, and humans seldom stole from each other.

Locking the doors behind him, Crow seated himself before a bank of machinery assembled in the center of the shed. He snapped on the power and the machinery hummed into life. Dials and meters swung into activity. Lights glowed.

Before him, a square window of gray faded to light pink and shimmered slightly. The Window. Crow’s pulse throbbed painfully. He flicked a key. The Window clouded and showed a scene. He slid a tape scanner before the Window and activated it. The scanner clicked as the Window gained shape. Forms moved, dim forms that wavered and hesitated. He steadied the picture.

Two robots were standing behind a table. They moved quickly, jerkily. He slowed them down. The two robots were handling something. Crow increased the power of the image and the objects bloated up, to be caught by the scanning lens and preserved on tape.

The robots were sorting Lists. Class One Lists. Grading and dividing them into groups. Several hundred packets of questions and answers. Before the table a restless crowd waited, eager robots waiting to hear their scores. Crow speeded the image up. The two robots leaped into activity, tossing and arranging Lists in a blur of energy. Then the master Class One List was held up—

The List, Crow caught it in the Window, dropping the velocity to zero. The List was held, fixed tight like a specimen on a slide. The tape scanner hummed away, recording the questions and answers.

He felt no guilt. No sting of conscience at using a Time Window to see the results of future Lists. He had been doing it ten years, all the way up from the bottom, from unclassified up to the top List, to Class One. He had never kidded himself. Without advance sight of the answers he could never have passed. He would still be unclassified, at the bottom of the pile, along with the great undifferentiated mass of humans.

The Lists were geared to robot minds. Made up by robots, phased to a robot culture. A culture which was alien to humans, to which humans had to make difficult adjustment. No wonder only robots passed their Lists.

Crow wiped the scene from the Window and threw the scanner aside. He sent the Window back into time, spinning back through the centuries into the past. He never tired of seeing the early days, the days before the Total War wrecked human society and destroyed all human tradition. The days when man lived without robots.

He fiddled with the dials, capturing a moment. The Window showed robots building up their post-war society, swarming over the ruined planet, erecting vast cities and buildings, clearing away the debris. With humans as slaves. Second-class servant citizens.

He saw the Total War, the rain of death from the sky. The blossoming pale funnels of destruction. He saw man’s society dissolve into radioactive particles. All human knowledge and culture lost in the chaos.

And once again, he caught his favorite of *11 scenes. A scene he had examined repeatedly, enjoying with acute satisfaction this unique sight. A scene of human beings in an undersurface lab, in the early days of the war. Designing and building the first robots, the original A Type robots, four centuries before.

ED PARKS walked home slowly, holding his son’s hand. Donnie gazed down at the ground. He said nothing. His eyes were red and puffy. He was pale with misery.

"I’m sorry, Dad,” he muttered.

Ed's grip tightened. "It's okay, kid. You did your best. Don’t worry about it. Maybe next time. We’ll get started practicing sooner.” He cursed under his breath. "Those lousy metal tubs. Damn soul-less heaps of tin!”

It was evening. The sun was setting. The two of them climbed the porch steps slowly and entered the house. Grace met them at the door. "No luck?” She studied their faces. "I can see. Same old story.”

"Same old story,” Ed said bitterly. “He didn’t have a chance. Hopeless.”

From the dining room came a murmur of sound. Voices, men and women.

"Who’s in there?” Ed demanded irritably. "Do we have to have company? For God’s sake, today of all days—” *

“Come on.” Grace pulled him toward the kitchen. “Some news. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. Come along, Donnie. This will interest you, too.”

Ed and Donnie entered the kitchen. It was full of people. Bob McIntyre and his wife Pat. John Hollister and his wife Joan and their two daughters. Pete Klein and Rose Klein. Neighbors, Nat Johnson and

Tim Davis and Barbara Stanley. An eager murmur buzzed through the room. Everybody was grouped around the table, excited and nervous. Sandwiches and beer bottles were piled up in heaps. The men and women were laughing and grinning hap- eyes bright with agitation.

"What’s up?” Ed grumbled. "Why the party?”

Bob McIntyre clapped him on the shoulder. “How you doing, Ed? We’ve got news.” He rattled a public news tape. "Get ready. Brace yourself.”

“Read it to him,” Pete Klein said excitedly.

"Go on! Read it!” They all grouped around McIntyre. “Let’s hear it again!” McIntyre’s face was alive with emotion. “Well, Ed. This is it. He made it. He’s there.”

"Who? Who made what?”

“Crow. Jim Crow. He made Class One.” The tape spool trembled in McIntyre’s hand. “He’s been named to the Supreme Council. Understand? He’s in. A human being. A member of the supreme governing body of the planet.”

"Gosh,” Donnie said, awed.

“Now what?” Ed asked. "What’s he going to do?”

McIntyre grinned shakily. "We’ll know, soon. He’s got something. We know. We can feel it. And we should start seeing it in action—any time, now.”

CROW strode briskly into the Council Chamber, his portfolio under his arm. He wore a slick new suit. His hair was combed. His shoes were shined. "Good day,” he said politely.

The five robots regarded him with mixed feelings. They were old, over a century old. The powerful N Type that had dominated the social scene since its construction. And an incredibly ancient D Type, almost three centuries old. As Crow advanced toward his seat the five robots stepped away, leaving a wide path for him.

“You,” one of the N Types said. "You are the new Council member?”

"That's right.” Crow took his seat. "Care to examine my credentials?”

"Please.”

Crow passed over the card plate given him by the Lists Committee. The five robots studied it intently. Finally they passed it back.

"It appears to be in order,” the D admitted reluctantly.

"Of course.” Crow unzippered his portfolio. “I wish to begin work at once. There’s quite a lot of material to cover. I have some reports and tapes you'll find worth your while.”

The robots took their places slowly, eyes still on Jim Crow. "This is incredible,” the D said. "Are you serious? Can you really expect to sit with us?”

"Of course,” Crow snapped. "Let’s forego this and get down to business.”

One of the N Types leaned toward him, massive and contemptuous, its patina-encrusted hull glinting dully. "Mr. Crow,” it said icily. "You must understand this is utterly impossible. In spite of the legal ruling and your technical right to sit on this—”

Crow smiled calmly back. "I suggest you check my List scoring. You’ll discover I’ve made no errors in all twenty Lists. A perfect score. To my knowledge, none of you has achieved a perfect score. Therefore, according to the Governmental ruling contained in the official Lists Committee decree, I’m your superior.”

The word fell like a bomb shell. The five robots slumped down in their seats, stricken. Their eye lenses flickered uneasily. A worried hum rose in pitch, filling the chamber.

"Let’s see,” an N murmured, extending its gripper. Crow tossed his List sheets over and the five robots each scanned them rapidly.

"It’s true, ’’the D stated. "Incredible. No robot has ever achieved a perfect score. This human outranks us, according to our own laws.”

"Now,” Crow said. "Let’s get down to business.” He spread out his tapes and reports. "I won’t waste any time. I have t proposal to make. An important proposal bearing on the most critical problem of this society.”

"What problem is that?” an X asked apprehensively.

Crow was tense. “The problem of humans. Humans occupying an inferior position in a robot world. Menials in an alien culture. Servants of robots.”

Silence.

THE five robots sat frozen. It had happened. The thing they had feared. Crow sat back in his chair, lighting a cigarette. The robots watched each motion, his hands, the cigarette, the smoke, the match as he ground it out underfoot. The moment had come.

"What do you propose?” the D asked at last, with metallic dignity. "What is this proposal of yours?”

"I propose you robots evacuate Earth at once. Pack up and leave. Emigrate to the colonies. Ganymede, Mars, Venus. Leave Earth to us humans.”

The robots got instantly up. "Incredible! We built this world. This is our world! Earth belongs to us. It has always belonged to us.”

''Has it?” Crow said grimly.

An uneasy chill moved through the robots. They hesitated, strangely alarmed. "Of course,” the D murmured.

Crow reached toward his heap of tapes and reports. The robots watched his movement with fear. "What is that?” an N demanded nervously. "What do you have there?”

"Tapes,” Crow said.

"What kind of tapes?”

"History tapes.” Crow signalled and a gray-clad human servant hurried into the chamber with a tape scanner. "Thanks,” Crow said. The human started out. "Wait. You might like to stay and watch this, my friend.”

The servant’s eyes bulged. He found a place in the back and stood trembling and

watching.

"Highly irregular,” the D protested. "What are you doing? What is this?” "Watch.” Crow snapped on the scanner, feeding the first tape into it. In the air, in the center of the Council table, a three- dimensional image formed. "Keep your eyes on this. You’ll remember this moment for a long time.”

The image hardened. They were looking into the Time Window. A scene from the Total War was in motion. Men, human technicians, working frantically in an undersurface lab. Assembling something. Assembling—

The human servant squawked wildly. "An A! It’s a Type A robot! They’re making it^1.”

The five Council robots buzzed in consternation. "Get that servant out of here!” the D ordered.

The scene changed. It showed the first robots, the original Type A, rising to the surface to fight the war. Other early robots appeared, snaking through the ruins and ash, approaching warily. The robots clashed. Bursts of white light. Gleaming clouds of particles.

"Robots were originally designed as soldiers,” Crow explained. “Then more advanced types were produced to act as technicians and lab workers and machinists.” The scene showed an undersurface factory. Rows of robots worked presses and stampers. The robots worked rapidly, efficiently—supervised by human foremen.

"These tapes are fake!” an N cried angrily. "Do you expect us to believe this?” A new scene formed. Robots, more advanced, types more complex and elaborate. Taking over more and more economic and industrial functions as humans were destroyed by the War.

“At first robots were simple,” Crow explained. “They served simple needs. Then, as the War progressed, more advanced types were created. Finally, humans were making Types D and E. Equal to humans—and in conceptual faculties, superior to humans.”

“This is insane!” an N stated. "Robots evolved. The early types were simple because they were original stages, primitive forms that gave rise to more complex forms. The laws of evolution fully explain this process.”

A new scene formed. The last stages of the War. Robots fighting men. Robots eventually winning. The complete chaos of the latter years. Endless wastes of rolling ash and radioactive particles. Miles of ruin.

"All cultural records were destroyed,” Crow said. "Robots emerged masters without knowing how or why, or in what manner they came into being. But now you see the facts. Robots were created as human tools. During the war they got out of hand.”

He snapped off the tape scanner. The image faded. The five robots sat in stunned

silence.

Crow folded his arms. “Well? What do you say?” He jerked his thumb at die human servant crouching in the rear of the chamber, dazed and astonished. "Now you know and now he knows. What do you imagine he’s thinking? I can tell you. He’s thinking—”

"How did you get these tapes?” the D demanded. "They can't be genuine. They must be fakes.”

"Why weren’t they found by our archeologists?” an N shouted shrilly.

"I took them personally,” Crow said.

"You took them? What do you mean?” “Through a Time Window.” Crow tossed a thick package onto the table. “Here are the schematics. You can build a Time Window yourself if you want.”

“A time machine.” The D snatched up the package and leafed through the contents. "You saw into the past.” Dawning realization showed on its ancient face. “Then—”

"He saw ahead!” an N searched wildly. “Into the future! That explains his perfect Lists. He scanned them in advance.’

Crow rattled his papers impatiently. “You’ve heard my proposal. You’ve seen the tapes. If you vote down the proposal I’ll release the tapes publicly. And the schematics. Every human in the world will know the true story of his origin, and of yours.”

“So?” an N said nervously. “We can handle humans. If there’s an uprising we’ll put it down.”

"Will you?” Crow got suddenly to his feet, his face hard. “Consider. Civil war raging over the whole planet. Men on one side, centuries of pent-up hatred. On the other side robots suddenly deprived of their myth. Knowing they were originally mechanical tools. Are you sure you’ll come out on top this time? Are you positive?” The robots were silent.

"If you’ll evacuate Earth I’ll suppress the tapes. The two races can go on, each with its own culture and society. Humans here on Earth. Robots on the colon id. Neither one master. Neither one slave.” The five robots hesitated, angry and resentful. "But we worked centuries to build up this planet! It won’t make sense. Our leaving. What’ll we say? What’ll we give as our reason?”

Crow smiled harshly. "You can say Earth isn’t adequate for the great original master race.”

There was silence. The four Type N robots looked at each other nervously, drawing together in a whispered huddle. The massive D sat silent, its archaic brass eye lens fixed intently on Crow, a baffled, defeated expression on its face.

Calmly, Jim Crow waited.

“CAN I shake your hand?” L-87t asked timidly. "I’U be going soon. I’m in one of the first loads.”

Crow stuck out his hand briefly and L-87t shook, a little embarrassed.

"I hope it works out,” L-87t ventured. "Vid us from time to time. Keep us posted.”

Outside the Council Buildings the blaring voices of the street speakers were beginning to disturb the late afternoon gloom. All up and down the city the speakers roared out their message, the Council Directive.

Men, scurrying home from work, paused to listen. In the uniform houses in the human quarter men and women glanced up, pausing in their routine of living, curious and attentive. Everywhere, in all the cities of Earth, robots and human beings ceased their activities and looked up as the Government speakers roared into life.

"This is to announce that the Supreme Council has decreed the rich colony planets Venus, Mars, and Ganymede, are to be set aside exclusively for the use of robots. No humans will be permitted outside of Earth. In order to take advantage of the superior resources and living conditions of these colonies, all robots now on Earth are to be transferred to the colony of their choice.

"The Supreme Council has decided that

Earth is no fit place for robots. Its wasted and still partly-devastated condition renders it unworthy of the robot race. All robots are to be conveyed to their new homes in the colonies as quickly as adequate transportation can be arranged.

"In no case can humans enter the colony areas. The colonies are exclusively for the use of robots. The human population will be permitted to remain on Earth.

"This is to announce that the Supreme Council has decreed that the rich colony planets of Venus—”

Crow moved away from the window, satisfied.

He returned to his desk and continued assembling papers and reports in neat piles, glancing at them briefly as he classified them and laid them aside.

"I hope you humans will get along all right,” L-87t repeated. Crow continued checking the heaps of top-level reports, marking them with his writing stick. Working rapidly, with absorbed attention, deep in his work. He scarcely noticed the robot lingering at the door. "Can you give me some idea of the government you’ll set up?”

Crow glanced up impatiently. "What?” "Your form of government. How will your society be ruled, now that you’ve maneuvered us off Earth? What sort of government will take place of our Supreme Council and Congress?”

Crow didn’t answer. He had already returned to his work. There was a strange granite cast to his face, a peculiar hardness L-87t had never seen.

"Who’ll run things?” L-87t asked. "Who’ll be the Government now that we’re gone? You said yourself humans show no ability to manage a complex modern society. Can you find a human capable of keeping the wheels turning? Is there a human being capable of leading mankind?”

Crow smiled thinly. And continued working.

Content

JAMES P. CROW
by PHILIP K. DICK