ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK
The robots were built to serveMan; to do his work, see to hiscomforts, make smooth his way.Then the robots figured out anadditional service—putting Manout of his misery.
There was a sudden crashthat hung sharply in the air,as if a tree had been hit bylightning some distance away.Then another. Alan stopped,puzzled. Two more blasts, quicklytogether, and the sound of ascream faintly.
Frowning, worrying about thesounds, Alan momentarily forgotto watch his step until his footsuddenly plunged into an anthill, throwing him to the junglefloor. "Damn!" He cursed again,for the tenth time, and stooduncertainly in the dimness.From tall, moss-shrouded trees,wrist-thick vines hung quietly,scraping the spongy ground likethe tentacles of some monstroustree-bound octopus. Fitful littleplants grew straggly in theshadows of the mossy trunks,forming a dense underbrush thatmade walking difficult. At middaysome few of the blue sun'srays filtered through to thejungle floor, but now, late afternoonon the planet, the shadowswere long and gloomy.
Alan peered around him at thevine-draped shadows, listeningto the soft rustlings and fainttwig-snappings of life in thejungle. Two short, poppingsounds echoed across the stillness,drowned out almost immediatelyand silenced by anexplosive crash. Alan started,"Blaster fighting! But it can'tbe!"
Suddenly anxious, he slasheda hurried X in one of the treesto mark his position then turnedto follow a line of similar marksback through the jungle. Hetried to run, but vines blockedhis way and woody shrubscaught at his legs, tripping himand holding him back. Then,through the trees he saw theclearing of the camp site, thetemporary home for the scoutship and the eleven men who,with Alan, were the only humanson the jungle planet, Waiamea.
Stepping through the lowshrubbery at the edge of thesite, he looked across the openarea to the two temporary structures,the camp headquarterswhere the power supplies andthe computer were; and thesleeping quarters. Beyond, nosehigh, stood the silver scout shipthat had brought the advanceexploratory party of scientistsand technicians to Waiameathree days before. Except for afew of the killer robots rollingslowly around the camp site ontheir quiet treads, there was noone about.
"So, they've finally got thosethings working." Alan smiledslightly. "Guess that means Iowe Pete a bourbon-and-sodafor sure. Anybody who canbuild a robot that hunts by homingin on animals' mind impulses ..."He stepped forwardjust as a roar of blue flame dissolvedthe branches of a tree,barely above his head.
Without pausing to think,Alan leaped back, and fellsprawling over a bush just asone of the robots rolled silentlyup from the right, lowering itsblaster barrel to aim directly athis head. Alan froze. "My God,Pete built those things wrong!"
Suddenly a screeching whirlwindof claws and teeth hurleditself from the smolderingbranches and crashed against therobot, clawing insanely at theantenna and blaster barrel.With an awkward jerk the robotswung around and fired its blaster,completely dissolving thelower half of the cat creaturewhich had clung across the barrel.But the back pressure of thecat's body overloaded the dischargecircuits. The robot startedto shake, then clicked sharplyas an overload relay snappedand shorted the blaster cells.The killer turned and rolled backtowards the camp, leaving Alanalone.
Shakily, Alan crawled a fewfeet back into the undergrowthwhere he could