Philip Dick: James P. Crow

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.”