Robert Silverberg: The Android Kill

Anti-android hatred was an easy thing to stir up. The synthetic men and women were too handsome, too intelligent, too perfect—too easy to envy and to hate. The three centuries since their development had been marked by a steady history of riots such as this one.

Only now it was here, right here, and I was caught up in the middle of it.

And Laura? Where was she?

Suddenly I felt the desire to wring Clay Armistead’s thick neck.

I started to walk, without knowing where I was going. I just felt that I had to get moving, to walk off the overpowering frustration and fear and hate I was feeling.

Half an hour later, I found myself in a part of Rigel City I had never been in before—the oldest part of town, almost a slum. Here things were quiet. There was no sign of the rioters. Maybe the riot was dying down finally; maybe all the androids were dead or in hiding.

It was now night. The air was becoming chilly, and I felt cold and alone.

A figure moved in front of me. Someone was lurking in the shadows. Instantly, I went on guard.

The prowler was circling toward me in the dimness, and I saw the gleam of a knife suddenly against the dull black of the night. I poised myself and waited for the attack. I was becoming accustomed to violence as the normal activity of life.

Curiously, the man in the shadows remained there. We froze, boxing each other in uneasily, each waiting for the other to spring. Finally he stepped forward, knife upraised.

I moved forward to meet him, and as the knife descended my hand shot up to intercept the other’s arm. I clamped my hand around his wrist and held him there. We stared into each other’s faces.

In the flickering light of the four moons I could see him plainly. His features were even and regular, and he would have been handsome but for the raw, jagged gash across one cheek. Imprinted in the center of his forehead was a neat, five-pointed red star.

He was an android.

“You’re Cleve Preston, aren’t you?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You can let go of me, then. I won’t stab you.” There was something in his voice that made me trust him, and I let go. He sheathed the knife and looked curiously at me. “So you’re one of us! I heard Armistead shouting it.”

“Sorry,” I said. “You’re wrong. I’m no more of an android than Armistead is. He’s just framing me for some motive of his own.”

“But—”

As the knife started to raise again, I quickly said, “But I’m on your side! I’m being hunted like an android, and so I’m fighting like one. I’m with you, whoever you are.”

“George Huntley,” the android said. “I thought you were a human—I mean, one of the rioters. I couldn’t take any chances. I’ve been hiding in the back alleys here ever since the thing started.”

“I understand.”

“They took your wife, didn’t they?” he asked suddenly.

“How did you know?”

“I saw them,” he said. “She’s in Armistead’s headquarters. His supermarket. That’s the headquarters for the whole thing, you know.”

The supermarket was in the heart of town, about half an hour’s quick walk further on. “The place must be guarded,” I said. “Can we get in?”

“They’ll kill you on sight!” Huntley said.

“I have to get in there,” I told him. “My wife is in there. Do you understand that? My wife.”

“Yes, but—all right, come on! You and me—we’ll go in there and get your wife!”

It was a strange alliance—a human being everyone accused of being an android, and a genuine android whose life was forfeit if he got caught. I stood a chance—just a chance.

We arrived at Armistead’s supermarket near midnight, approaching it cautiously from the rear. There was a crowd milling around outside, talking and strutting, probably busy telling each other about their day’s exploits in killing and looting. I shuddered as I saw them—complacent, proud of their day’s work.

“How are we going to get inside?” I asked. “There must be a hundred of them.”

He rubbed his forehead nervously, fingering the damning star. Unconsciously, he seemed to be rubbing some of the grime away so the mark of his non-humanity stood out more clearly. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s a side window. You go in, and I’ll follow you.”

“How about the alarm?”

“You want your wife?” the android asked.

“I want to stay alive,” I said.

“You will,” Huntley said, and prodded me to keep heading forward. After a few minutes he said, “I’d like your wife to get free too.”

“What business is it of yours?”

He looked at me squarely. “Androids have brothers,” he said. “Vat-mates, really, but we feel a pretty close affection. My brother was the android who supposedly murdered Mary Cartwright. Armistead’s butchers cut him down before he could deny it.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said.

“You know something else? Your wife was the only witness to the murder of Mary Cartwright.”

Suddenly I went stiff all over. The puzzle came clear now. Laura had seen the killing, had seen the android murdered too. Perhaps it had happened in our house, our backyard. No wonder Armistead had her put away for safe keeping—it was a miracle he hadn’t just killed her. That also explained why I was being hunted—to get me out of the way, to keep me from reaching her and exposing the truth.

“Now you see?” the android asked.

“I see,” I said. “If we can get Laura out, it’ll clear your brother’s name. It’ll—”

“Stop talking,” he said. “It’s time for action.”

We were practically at the back of the sprawling supermarket building now. We stood at the first-floor window for a second, and I looked back at Huntley.

“Well?”

“Smash the window and go in,” Huntley said. “I’ll take care of the alarm. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How—”

“Go on!”

I grabbed a stone and smashed in the window. The bells began to ring. And then I saw how the android George Huntley had been planning to take care of the alarm.

He gave me a shove that knocked me halfway through the window. I turned and saw him starting to run. For a second I felt betrayed—then horrified.

He was running toward the front of the building, straight toward the crowd of android killers standing out there. And he was shouting, “Come get me! Catch me if you can!”

He had deliberately sacrificed himself. I heard them yelling, heard the sound of footsteps as they started to pursue him, ignoring the alarm.

I had no further time to waste. I leaped over the sill, found the alarm switch, threw it. The supermarket became still.

I began to pick my way through the darkened storeroom, through the heaps of baskets and crates, toward Armistead’s office. I was confident that I would find Armistead there.

I did.

He was sitting with his back to the door, talking on the phone.

“What’s that? Crazy android ran right past the store and they’re all chasing him? I was wondering about that. The alarm bell just went off here, and it must have been the same guy. Musta broke a window in back first.”

He kept on talking. I stopped listening. I was looking at Laura.

She sat tied up in one corner of the room, her eyes wide with astonishment at the sight of me. She seemed to be in pretty good shape. Her blouse was torn, her skirt was slashed to the thigh, and I could see bruises and scratches that made me wince. But they hadn’t hurt her. That was all that mattered. Home, books, furniture—as long as they hadn’t hurt Laura, what did the other things matter?