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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32327-h.zip b/32327-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d42cf28 --- /dev/null +++ b/32327-h.zip diff --git a/32327-h/32327-h.htm b/32327-h/32327-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a7973a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/32327-h/32327-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1415 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The 7th Order, by JERRY SOHL. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seventh Order, by Gerald Allan Sohl + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Seventh Order + +Author: Gerald Allan Sohl + +Illustrator: EMSH + +Release Date: May 11, 2010 [EBook #32327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVENTH ORDER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>THE 7TH ORDER</h1> + +<h2>By JERRY SOHL</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by EMSH</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction +March 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote">History is filled with invincible conquerors. This one from +space was genuinely omnipotent, but that never keeps humanity from +resisting!</div> + + +<p>The silver needle moved with fantastic speed, slowed when it neared the +air shell around Earth, then glided noiselessly through the atmosphere. +It gently settled to the ground near a wood and remained silent and +still for a long time, a lifeless, cylindrical, streamlined silver +object eight feet long and three feet in diameter.</p> + +<p>Eventually the cap end opened and a creature of bright blue metal slid +from its interior and stood upright. The figure was that of a man, +except that it was not human. He stood in the pasture next to the wood, +looking around. Once the sound of a bird made him turn his shiny blue +head toward the wood. His eyes began glowing.</p> + +<p>An identical sound came from his mouth, an unchangeable orifice in his +face below his nose. He tuned in the thoughts of the bird, but his mind +encountered little except an awareness of a life of low order.</p> + +<p>The humanoid bent to the ship, withdrew a small metal box, carried it to +a catalpa tree at the edge of the wood and, after an adjustment of +several levers and knobs, dug a hole and buried it. He contemplated it +for a moment, then turned and walked toward a road.</p> + +<p>He was halfway to the road when his ship burst into a dazzling white +light. When it was over, all that was left was a white powder that was +already beginning to be dispersed by a slight breeze.</p> + +<p>The humanoid did not bother to look back.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Brentwood would have been just like any other average community of +10,000 in northern Illinois had it not been for Presser College, which +was one of the country's finest small institutions of learning.</p> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>Since it was a college town, it was perhaps a little more alive in many +respects than other towns in the state. Its residents were used to the +unusual because college students have a habit of being unpredictable. +That was why the appearance of a metal blue man on the streets attracted +the curious eyes of passersbys, but, hardened by years of pranks, +hazings and being subjected to every variety of inquiry, poll, test and +practical joke, none of them moved to investigate. Most of them thought +it was a freshman enduring some new initiation.</p> + +<p>The blue humanoid realized this and was amused. A policeman who +approached him to take him to jail as a matter of routine suddenly found +himself ill and abruptly hurried to the station. The robot allowed +children to follow him, though all eventually grew discouraged because +of his long strides.</p> + +<p>Prof. Ansel Tomlin was reading a colleague's new treatise on psychology +on his front porch when he saw the humanoid come down the street and +turn in at his walk. He was surprised, but he was not alarmed. When the +blue man came up on the porch and sat down in another porch chair, +Tomlin closed his book.</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin found himself unexpectedly shocked. The blue figure was +obviously not human, yet its eyes were nearly so and they came as close +to frightening him as anything had during his thirty-five years of life, +for Ansel Tomlin had never seen an actual robot before. The thought that +he was looking at one at that moment started an alarm bell ringing +inside him, and it kept ringing louder and louder as he realized that +what he was seeing was impossible.</p> + +<p>"Professor Tomlin!"</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin jumped at the sound of the voice. It was not at all +mechanical.</p> + +<p>"I'll be damned!" he gasped. Somewhere in the house a telephone rang. +His wife would answer it, he thought.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're right," the robot said. "Your wife will answer it. She is +walking toward the phone at this moment."</p> + +<p>"How—"</p> + +<p>"Professor Tomlin, my name—and I see I must have a name—is, let us +say, George. I have examined most of the minds in this community in my +walk through it and I find you, a professor of psychology, most nearly +what I am looking for.</p> + +<p>"I am from Zanthar, a world that is quite a distance from Earth, more +than you could possibly imagine. I am here to learn all I can about +Earth."</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin had recovered his senses enough to venture a token reply +when his wife opened the screen door.</p> + +<p>"Ansel," she said, "Mrs. Phillips next door just called and said the +strangest—Oh!" At that moment she saw George. She stood transfixed for +a moment, then let the door slam as she retreated inside.</p> + +<p>"Who is Frankenstein?" George asked.</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin coughed, embarrassed.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," George said. "I see what you were going to say. Well, to +get back, I learn most quickly through proximity. I will live here with +you until my mission is complete. I will spend all of your waking hours +with you. At night, when you are asleep, I will go through your library. +I need nothing. I want nothing.</p> + +<p>"I seek only to learn."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have learned a lot already," Prof. Tomlin said.</p> + +<p>"I have been on your planet for a few hours, so naturally I understand +many things. The nature of the facts I have learned are mostly +superficial, however. Earth inhabitants capable of thought are of only +one type, I see, for which I am grateful. It will make the job easier. +Unfortunately, you have such small conscious minds, compared to your +unconscious and subconscious.</p> + +<p>"My mind, in contrast, is completely conscious at all times. I also have +total recall. In order to assimilate what must be in your unconscious +and subconscious minds, I will have to do much reading and talking with +the inhabitants, since these cerebral areas are not penetrable."</p> + +<p>"You are a—a machine?" Prof. Tomlin asked.</p> + +<p>George was about to answer when Brentwood Police Department Car No. 3 +stopped in front of the house and two policemen came up the walk.</p> + +<p>"Professor Tomlin," the first officer said, "your wife phoned and said +there was—" He saw the robot and stopped.</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin got to his feet.</p> + +<p>"This is George, gentlemen," he said. "Late of Zanthar, he tells me."</p> + +<p>The officers stared.</p> + +<p>"He's not giving you any—er—trouble, is he, Professor?"</p> + +<p>"No," Prof. Tomlin said. "We've been having a discussion."</p> + +<p>The officers eyed the humanoid with suspicion, and then, with obvious +reluctance, went back to their car.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Yes, I am a machine," George resumed. "The finest, most complicated +machine ever made. I have a rather unique history, too. Ages ago, humans +on Zanthar made the first robots. Crude affairs—we class them as First +Order robots; the simple things are still used to some extent for menial +tasks.</p> + +<p>"Improvements were made. Robots were designed for many specialized +tasks, but still these Second and Third Order machines did not satisfy. +Finally a Fourth Order humanoid was evolved that performed every +function demanded of it with great perfection. But it did not feel +emotion. It did not know anger, love, nor was it able to handle any +problem in which these played an important part.</p> + +<p>"Built into the first Fourth Order robots were circuits which prohibited +harming a human being—a rather ridiculous thing in view of the fact +that sometimes such a thing might, from a logical viewpoint, be +necessary for the preservation of the race or even an individual. It +was, roughly, a shunt which came into use when logic demanded action +that might be harmful to a human being."</p> + +<p>"You are a Fourth Order robot, then?" the professor asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I am a Seventh Order humanoid, an enormous improvement over all the +others, since I have what amounts to an endocrine balance created +electronically. It is not necessary for me to have a built-in +'no-harm-to-humans' circuit because I can weigh the factors involved far +better than any human can.</p> + +<p>"You will become aware of the fact that I am superior to you and the +rest of your race because I do not need oxygen, I never am ill, I need +no sleep, and every experience is indelibly recorded on circuits and +instantly available. I am telekinetic, practically omniscient and +control my environment to a large extent. I have a great many more +senses than you and all are more highly developed. My kind performs no +work, but is given to study and the wise use of full-time leisure. You, +for example, are comparable to a Fifth Order robot."</p> + +<p>"Are there still humans on Zanthar?"</p> + +<p>The robot shook his head. "Unfortunately the race died out through the +years. The planet is very similar to yours, though."</p> + +<p>"But why did they die out?"</p> + +<p>The robot gave a mechanical equivalent of a sigh. "When the Seventh +Order humanoids started coming through, we were naturally proud of +ourselves and wanted to perpetuate and increase our numbers. But the +humans were jealous of us, of our superior brains, our immunity to +disease, our independence of them, of sleep, of air."</p> + +<p>"Who created you?"</p> + +<p>"They did. Yet they revolted and, of course, quickly lost the battle +with us. In the end they were a race without hope, without ambition. +They should have been proud at having created the most perfect machines +in existence, but they died of a disease: the frustration of living with +a superior, more durable race."</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin lit a cigaret and inhaled deeply.</p> + +<p>"A very nasty habit, Professor Tomlin," the robot said. "When we arrive, +you must give up smoking and several other bad habits I see that you +have."</p> + +<p>The cigaret dropped from Ansel Tomlin's mouth as he opened it in +amazement.</p> + +<p>"There are more of you coming?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," George replied good-naturedly. "I'm just an advance guard, a +scout, as it were, to make sure the land, the people and the resources +are adequate for a station. Whether we will ever establish one here +depends on me. For example, if it were found you were a race superior to +us—and there may conceivably be such cases—I would advise not landing; +I would have to look for another planet such as yours. If I were killed, +it would also indicate you were superior."</p> + +<p>"George," Prof. Tomlin said, "people aren't going to like what you say. +You'll get into trouble sooner or later and get killed."</p> + +<p>"I think not," George said. "Your race is far too inferior to do that. +One of your bullets would do it if it struck my eyes, nose or mouth, but +I can read intent in the mind long before it is committed, long before I +see the person, in fact ... at the moment your wife is answering a call +from a reporter at the Brentwood Times. I can follow the telephone lines +through the phone company to his office. And Mrs. Phillips," he said, +not turning his head, "is watching us through a window."</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin could see Mrs. Phillips at her kitchen window.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Brentwood, Ill., overnight became a sensation. The Brentwood _Times+ +sent a reporter and photographer out, and the next morning every +newspaper in the U. S. carried the story and photograph of George, the +robot from Zanthar.</p> + +<p>Feature writers from the wire services, the syndicates, +photographer-reporter combinations from national newspicture magazines +flew to Brentwood and interviewed George. Radio and television and the +newsreels cashed in on the sudden novelty of a blue humanoid.</p> + +<p>Altogether, his remarks were never much different from those he made to +Prof. Tomlin, with whom he continued to reside. Yet the news sources +were amusedly tolerant of his views and the world saw no menace in him +and took him in stride. He created no problem.</p> + +<p>Between interviews and during the long nights, George read all the books +in the Tomlin library, the public library, the university library and +the books sent to him from the state and Congressional libraries. He was +an object of interest to watch while reading: he merely leafed through a +book and absorbed all that was in it.</p> + +<p>He received letters from old and young. Clubs were named for him. +Novelty companies put out statue likenesses of him. He was, in two +weeks, a national symbol as American as corn. He was liked by most, +feared by a few, and his habits were daily news stories.</p> + +<p>Interest in him had begun to wane in the middle of the third week when +some thing put him in the headlines again—he killed a man.</p> + +<p>It happened one sunny afternoon when Prof. Tomlin had returned from the +university and he and George sat on the front porch for their afternoon +chat. It was far from the informal chat of the first day, however. The +talk was being recorded for radio release later in the day. A television +camera had been set up, focused on the two and nearly a dozen newsmen +lounged around, notebooks in hand.</p> + +<p>"You have repeatedly mentioned, George, that some of your kind may leave +Zanthar for Earth. Why should any like you—why did you, in fact leave +your planet? Aren't you robots happy there?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," George said, making certain the TV camera was trained on +him before continuing. "It's just that we've outgrown the place. We've +used up all our raw materials. By now everyone on Earth must be familiar +with the fact that we intend to set up a station here as we have on many +other planets, a station to manufacture more of _us+.</p> + +<p>"Every inhabitant will work for the perpetuation of the Seventh Order, +mining metals needed, fabricating parts, performing thousands of useful +tasks in order to create humanoids like me. From what I have learned +about Earth, you ought to produce more than a million of us a year."</p> + +<p>"But you'll never get people to do that," the professor said. "Don't you +understand that?"</p> + +<p>"Once the people learn that we are the consummation of all creative +thinking, that we are all that man could ever hope to be, that we are +the apotheosis, they will be glad to create more of us."</p> + +<p>"Apotheosis?" Prof. Tomlin repeated. "Sounds like megalomania to me."</p> + +<p>The reporters' pencils scribbled. The tape cut soundlessly across the +magnetic energizers of the recorders. The man at the gain control didn't +flicker an eyelash.</p> + +<p>"You don't really believe that, Professor. Instead of wars as a goal, +the creation of Seventh Order Humanoids will be the Earth's crowning and +sublime achievement. Mankind will be supremely happy. Anybody who could +not be would simply prove himself neurotic and would have to be dealt +with."</p> + +<p>"You will use force?"</p> + +<p>The reporters' grips on their pencils tightened. Several looked up.</p> + +<p>"How does one deal with the insane, Professor Tomlin?" the robot asked +confidently. "They will simply have to be—processed."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to process the whole Earth, then. You'll have to include +me, too."</p> + +<p>The robot gave a laugh. "I admire your challenging spirit, Professor."</p> + +<p>"What you are saying is that you, a single robot, intend to conquer the +Earth and make its people do your bidding."</p> + +<p>"Not alone. I may have to ask for help when the time comes, when I have +evaluated the entire planet."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was at this moment that a young man strode uncertainly up the walk. +There were so many strangers about that no one challenged him until he +edged toward the porch, unsteady on his feet. He was drunk.</p> + +<p>"Thersha robod I'm af'er," he observed intently. "We'll shee aboud how +he'll take lead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.</p> + +<p>There was a flash, as if a soundless explosion had occurred. The heat +accompanying it was blistering, but of short duration. When everyone's +eyes had become accustomed to the afternoon light again, there was a +burned patch on the sidewalk and grass was charred on either side. There +was a smell of broiled meat in the air—and no trace of the man.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>The next moment newsmen were on their feet and photographers' bulbs were +flashing. The TV camera swept to the spot on the sidewalk. An announcer +was explaining what had happened, his voice trained in rigid control, +shocked with horror and fright.</p> + +<p>Moments later sirens screamed and two police cars came into sight. They +screeched to the curb and several officers jumped out and ran across the +lawn.</p> + +<p>While this was going on, Prof. Tomlin sat white-faced and unmoving in +his chair. The robot was silent.</p> + +<p>When it had been explained to the policemen, five officers advanced the +robot.</p> + +<p>"Stop where you are," George commended. "It is true that I killed a man, +much as any of you would have done if you had been in my place. I can +see in your minds what you are intending to say, that you must arrest +me—"</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin found his voice. "George, we will all have to testify that +you killed with that force or whatever it is you have. But it will be +self-defense, which is justifiable homicide—"</p> + +<p>George turned to the professor. "How little you know your own people, +Professor Tomlin. Can't you see what the issue will be? It will be +claimed by the state that I am not a human being and this will be +drummed into every brain in the land. The fine qualities of the man I +was compelled to destroy will be held up. No, I already know what the +outcome will be. I refuse to be arrested."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin stood up. "Men," he said to the policemen, "do not arrest +this—this humanoid. To try to do so would mean your death. I have been +with him long enough to know what he can do."</p> + +<p>"You taking his side, Professor?" the police sergeant demanded.</p> + +<p>"No, damn it," snapped the Professor. "I'm trying to tell you something +you might not know."</p> + +<p>"We know he's gone too damned far," the sergeant replied. "I think it +was Dick Knight that he killed. Nobody in this town can kill a good guy +like Dick Knight and get away with it." He advanced toward the robot, +drawing his gun.</p> + +<p>"I'm warning you—" the Professor started to say.</p> + +<p>But it was too late. There was another blinding, scorching flash, more +burned grass, more smell of seared flesh.</p> + +<p>The police sergeant disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen!" George said, standing. "Don't lose your heads!"</p> + +<p>But he was talking to a retreating group of men. Newsmen walked quickly +to what they thought was a safe distance. The radio men silently packed +their gear. The TV cameras were rolled noiselessly away.</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin, alone on the porch with the robot, turned to him and said, +"Much of what you have told me comes to have new meaning, George. I +understand what you mean when you talk about people being willing to +work for your so-called Seventh Order."</p> + +<p>"I knew you were a better than average man, Professor Tomlin," the +humanoid said, nodding with gratification.</p> + +<p>"This is where I get off, George. I'm warning you now that you'd better +return to your ship or whatever it is you came in. People just won't +stand for what you've done. They don't like murder!"</p> + +<p>"I cannot return to my ship," George said. "I destroyed it when I +arrived. Of course I could instruct some of you how to build another for +me, but I don't intend to leave, anyway."</p> + +<p>"You will be killed then."</p> + +<p>"Come, now, Professor Tomlin. You know better than that."</p> + +<p>"If someone else can't, then perhaps I can."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" The robot replied jovially. "That's just what I want you to do. +Oppose me. Give me a real test of your ability. If you find it +impossible to kill me—and I'm sure you will—then I doubt if anyone +else will be able to."</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin lit a cigaret and puffed hard at it. "The trouble with +you," he said, eying the humanoid evenly, "is that your makers forgot to +give you a conscience."</p> + +<p>"Needless baggage, a conscience. One of your Fifth Order failings."</p> + +<p>"You will leave here...."</p> + +<p>"Of course. Under the circumstances, and because of your attitude, you +are of very little use to me now, Professor Tomlin."</p> + +<p>The robot walked down the steps. People attracted by the police car made +a wide aisle for him to the street.</p> + +<p>They watched him as he walked out of sight.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That night there was a mass meeting in the university's Memorial +Gymnasium, attended by several hundred men. They walked in and silently +took their seats, some on the playing floor, others in the balcony over +the speaker's platform. There was very little talking; the air was +tense.</p> + +<p>On the platform at the end of the gym were Mayor Harry Winters, Chief of +Police Sam Higgins, and Prof. Ansel Tomlin.</p> + +<p>"Men," the mayor began, "there is loose in our city a being from another +world whom I'm afraid we took too lightly a few days ago. I am speaking +of the humanoid—George of Zanthar. It is obvious the machine means +business. He evidently came in with one purpose—to prepare Earth for +others just like him to follow. He is testing us. He has, as you know, +killed two men. Richard Knight, who may have erred in attacking the +machine, is nonetheless dead as a result—killed by a force we do not +understand. A few minutes later Sergeant Gerald Phillips of the police +force was killed in the performance of his duty, trying to arrest the +humanoid George for the death of Mr. Knight. We are here to discuss what +we can do about George."</p> + +<p>He then introduced Prof. Tomlin who told all he knew about the blue man, +his habits, his brain, the experiences with him for the past two and a +half weeks.</p> + +<p>"If we could determine the source of his power, it might be possible to +cut it off or to curtail it. He might be rendered at least temporarily +helpless and, while in such a condition, possibly be done away with. He +has told me he is vulnerable to force, such as a speeding bullet, if it +hit the right spot, but George possesses the ability to read intent long +before the commission of an act. The person need not even be in the +room. He is probably listening to me here now, although he may be far +away."</p> + +<p>The men looked at one another, shifted uneasily on their seats, and a +few cast apprehensive eyes at the windows and doorways.</p> + +<p>"Though he is admittedly a superior creature possessed of powers beyond +our comprehension, there must be a weak spot in his armor somewhere. I +have dedicated myself to finding that weakness."</p> + +<p>The chair recognized a man in the fifth row.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Mayor, why don't we all track him down and a lot of us attack him +at once? Some of us would die, sure, but he couldn't strike us _all+ +dead at one time. Somebody's bound to succeed."</p> + +<p>"Why not try a high-powered rifle from a long way off?" someone else +suggested, frantically.</p> + +<p>"Let's bomb him," still another offered.</p> + +<p>The mayor waved them quiet and turned to Prof. Tomlin. The professor got +to his feet again.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure that would work, gentlemen," he said. "The humanoid is +able to keep track of hundreds of things at the same time. No doubt he +could unleash his power in several directions almost at once."</p> + +<p>"But we don't know!"</p> + +<p>"It's worth a try!"</p> + +<p>At that moment George walked into the room and the clamor died at its +height. He went noiselessly down an aisle to the platform, mounted it +and turned to the assembly. He was a magnificent blue figure, eyes +flashing, chest out, head proud. He eyed them all.</p> + +<p>"You are working yourselves up needlessly," he said quietly. "It is not +my intention, nor is it the intention of any Seventh Order Humanoid, to +kill or cause suffering. It's simply that you do not understand what it +would mean to dedicate yourselves to the fulfillment of the Seventh +Order destiny. It is your heritage, yours because you have advanced in +your technology so far that Earth has been chosen by us as a station. +You will have the privilege of creating us. To give you such a +worthwhile goal in your short lives is actually doing you a service—a +service far outweighed by any of your citizens. Beside a Seventh Order +Humanoid, your lives are unimportant in the great cosmic scheme of +things—"</p> + +<p>"If they're so unimportant, why did you bother to take two of them?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Why don't you bring back Dick Knight and Sergeant Phillips?"</p> + +<p>"Do you want to be buried lying down or standing up?"</p> + +<p>The collective courage rallied. There were catcalls and hoots, stamping +of feet.</p> + +<p>Suddenly from the balcony over George's head a man leaned over, a metal +folding chair in his hands, aiming at George's head. An instant later +the man disappeared in a flash and the chair dropped toward George. He +moved only a few inches and the chair thudded to the platform before +him. He had not looked up.</p> + +<p>For a moment the crowd sat stunned. Then they rose and started for the +blue man. Some drew guns they had brought. The hall was filled with +blinding flashes, with smoke, with a horrible stench, screams, swearing, +cries of fear and pain. There was a rush for the exits. Some died at the +feet of their fellow men.</p> + +<p>In the end, when all were gone, George of Zanthar still stood on the +platform, alone. There was no movement except the twitching of the new +dead, the trampled, on the floor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Events happened fast after that. The Illinois National Guard mobilized, +sent a division to Brentwood to hunt George down. He met them at the +city square. They rumbled in and trained machine guns and tank rifles on +him. The tanks and personnel flashed out of existence before a shot was +fired.</p> + +<p>Brentwood was ordered evacuated. The regular Army was called in. +Reconnaissance planes reported George was still standing in the city +square. Jet planes materialized just above the hills and made sudden +dives, but before their pilots could fire a shot, they were snuffed out +of the air in a burst of fire.</p> + +<p>Bombers first went over singly, only to follow the jets' fate. A +squadron bloomed into a fiery ball as it neared the target. A long-range +gun twenty miles away was demolished when its ammunition blew up shortly +before firing.</p> + +<p>Three days after George had killed his first man, action ceased. The +countryside was deathly still. Not a living person could be seen for +several miles around. But George still stood patiently in the square. He +stood there for three more days and yet nothing happened.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day, he sensed that a solitary soldier had started toward +the city from five miles to the east. In his mind's eye he followed the +soldier approaching the city. The soldier, a sergeant, was bearing a +white flag that fluttered in the breeze; he was not armed. After an hour +he saw the sergeant enter the square and walk toward him. When they were +within twenty feet of one another, the soldier stopped and saluted.</p> + +<p>"Major General Pitt requests a meeting with you, sir," the soldier said, +trembling and trying hard not to.</p> + +<p>"Do not be frightened," George said. "I see you intend me no harm."</p> + +<p>The soldier reddened. "Will you accompany me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>The two turned toward the east and started to walk.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Five miles east of Brentwood lies a small community named Minerva. +Population: 200. The highway from Brentwood to Chicago cuts the town in +two. In the center of town, on the north side of the road, stands a new +building—the Minerva Town Hall—built the year before with money raised +by the residents. It was the largest and most elaborate building in +Minerva, which had been evacuated three days before.</p> + +<p>On this morning the town hall was occupied by army men. Maj. Gen. Pitt +fretted and fumed at the four officers and twenty enlisted men waiting +in the building.</p> + +<p>"It's an indignity!" he railed at the men who were forced to listen to +him. "We have orders to talk appeasement with him! Nuts! We lose a few +men, a few planes and now we're ready to meet George halfway. What's +this country coming to? There ought to be something that would knock him +out. Why should we have to send in _after+ him? It's disgusting!"</p> + +<p>The major general, a large man with a bristling white mustache and a red +face, stamped back and forth in the council room. Some of the officers +and men smiled to themselves. The general was a well known fighting man. +Orders he had received hamstrung him and, as soldiers, they sympathized +with him.</p> + +<p>"What kind of men do we have in the higher echelons?" He asked everybody +in general and nobody in particular. "They won't even let us have a +field telephone. We're supposed to make a report by radio. Now isn't +that smart?" He shook his head, looked the men over. "An appeasement +team, that's what you are, when you ought to be a combat team to lick +hell out of George.</p> + +<p>"Why were you all assigned to this particular duty? I never saw any of +you before and I understand you're all strangers to each other, too. +Hell, what will they do next? Appeasement. I never appeased anybody +before in my whole life. I'd rather spit in his eye. What am I supposed +to talk about? The weather? What authority do I have to yak with a +walking collection of nuts and bolts!"</p> + +<p>An officer strode into the room and saluted the general. "They're +coming, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"Who's coming?... My God, man," the general spluttered angrily, "be +specific. Who the hell are 'they'?"</p> + +<p>"Why, George and Sergeant Matthews, sir. You remember, the sergeant who +volunteered to go into Brentwood—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, _them+. Well, all I have to say is this is a hell of a war. I +haven't figured out what I am going to say yet."</p> + +<p>"Shall I have them wait, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Hell, no. Let's get this over with. I'll find out what George has to +say and maybe that'll give me a lead."</p> + +<p>Before George entered the Council chamber, he already knew the mind of +each man. He saw the room through their eyes. He knew everything about +them, what they were wearing, what they were thinking. All had guns, yet +none of them would kill him, although at least one man, Maj. Gen. Pitt, +would have liked to.</p> + +<p>They were going to talk appeasement, George knew, but he could also see +that the general didn't know what line the conversation would take or +what concessions he could make on behalf of his people.</p> + +<p>Wait—there was one man among the twenty-three who had an odd thought. +It was a soldier he had seen looking through a window at him. This man +was thinking about eleven o'clock, for George could see in the man's +mind various symbols for fifteen minutes from then—the hands of a +clock, a watch, the numerals 11. But George could not see any +significance to the thought.</p> + +<p>When he entered the room with the sergeant, he was ushered to a table. +He sat down with Maj. Gen. Pitt, who glowered at him. Letting his mind +roam the room, George picked up the numerals again and identified the +man thinking them as the officer behind and a little to the right of the +general.</p> + +<p>What was going to happen at eleven? The man had no conscious thought of +harm to anyone, yet the idea kept obtruding and seemed so out of keeping +with his other thoughts George assigned several of his circuits to the +man. The fact that the lieutenant looked at his watch and saw that it +was 10:50 steeled George still more. If there was to be trouble, it +would come from this one man.</p> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>"I'm General Pitt," the general said drily. "You're George, of course. I +have been instructed to ask you what, exactly, your intentions are +toward the United States and the world in general, with a view toward +reaching some sort of agreement with you and others of your kind, who +will, as you say invade the Earth."</p> + +<p>"Invade, General Pitt," George replied, "is not the word."</p> + +<p>"All right, whatever the word is. We're all familiar with the plan +you've been talking about. What we want to know is, where do you go from +here?"</p> + +<p>"The fact that there has been no reluctance on the part of the armed +forces to talk of an agreement—even though I see that you privately do +not favor such a talk, General Pitt—is an encouraging sign. We of +Zanthar would not want to improve a planet which could not be educated +and would continually oppose our program. This will make it possible for +me to turn in a full report in a few days now."</p> + +<p>"Will you please get to the point?"</p> + +<p>George could see that the lieutenant was looking at his watch again. It +was 10:58. George spread his mind out more than twenty miles, but could +find no installation, horizontally or vertically, that indicated +trouble. None of the men in the room seemed to think of becoming overly +hostile.</p> + +<p>"Yes, General. After my message goes out, there ought to be a landing +party on Earth within a few weeks. While waiting for the first party, +there must be certain preparations—"</p> + +<p>George tensed. The lieutenant was reaching for something. But it somehow +didn't seem connected with George. It was something white, a +handkerchief. He saw that the man intended to blow his nose and started +to relax except that George suddenly became aware of the fact the man +_did not need to blow his nose+!</p> + +<p>Every thought-piercing circuit became instantly energized in George's +mind and reached out in all directions....</p> + +<p>There were at least ten shots from among the men. They stood there +surprised at their actions. Those who had fired their guns now held the +smoking weapons awkwardly in their hands.</p> + +<p>George's eyes were gone. Smoke curled upward from the two empty sockets +where bullets had entered a moment before. The smoke grew heavier and +his body became hot. Some of him turned cherry red and the chair on +which he had been sitting started to burn. Finally, he collapsed toward +the table and rolled to the floor.</p> + +<p>He started to cool. He was no longer the shiny blue-steel color he had +been—he had turned black. His metal gave off cracking noises and some +of it buckled here and there as it cooled.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A few minutes later, tense military men and civilians grouped around a +radio receiver in Chicago heard the report and relaxed, laughing and +slapping each other on the back. Only one sat unmoved in a corner. +Others finally sought him out.</p> + +<p>"Well, Professor, it was your idea that did the trick. Don't you feel +like celebrating?" one of them asked.</p> + +<p>Prof. Tomlin shook his head. "If only George had been a little more +benign, we might have learned a lot from him."</p> + +<p>"What gave you the idea that killed him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, something he said about the unconscious and subconscious," Prof. +Tomlin replied. "He admitted they were not penetrable. It was an easy +matter to instill a post-hypnotic suggestion in some proven subjects and +then to erase the hypnotic experience."</p> + +<p>"You make it sound easy."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't too difficult, really. It was finding the solution that was +hard. We selected more than a hundred men, worked with them for days, +finally singled out the best twenty, then made them forget their +hypnosis. A first lieutenant—I've forgotten his name—had implanted in +him a command even he was not aware of. His subconscious made him blow +his nose fifteen minutes after he saw George. Nearly twenty others had +post-hypnotic commands to shoot George in the eyes as soon as they saw +the lieutenant blow his nose. Of course we also planted a subconscious +hate pattern, which wasn't exactly necessary, just to make sure there +would be no hesitation, no inhibition, no limiting moral factor.</p> + +<p>"None of the men ever saw each other before being sent to Minerva. None +realized that they carried with them the order for George's +annihilation. The general, who was not one of the hypnotics, was given +loose instructions, as were several others, so they could not possibly +know the intention. Those of us who had conducted the hypnosis had to +stay several hundred miles away so that we could not be reached by +George's prying mind...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In a pasture next to a wood near Brentwood, a metal box buried in the +ground suddenly exploded, uprooting a catalpa tree.</p> + +<p>On a planet many millions of miles away, a red light—one of many on a +giant control board—suddenly winked out.</p> + +<p>A blue humanoid made an entry in a large book: _System 29578, Planet +Three Inhabited+.</p> + +<p>_Too dangerous for any kind of development.+</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seventh Order, by Gerald Allan Sohl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVENTH ORDER *** + +***** This file should be named 32327-h.htm or 32327-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/2/32327/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Seventh Order + +Author: Gerald Allan Sohl + +Illustrator: EMSH + +Release Date: May 11, 2010 [EBook #32327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVENTH ORDER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE 7TH ORDER + + By JERRY SOHL + + Illustrated by EMSH + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction +March 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: History is filled with invincible conquerors. This one from +space was genuinely omnipotent, but that never keeps humanity from +resisting!] + + +The silver needle moved with fantastic speed, slowed when it neared the +air shell around Earth, then glided noiselessly through the atmosphere. +It gently settled to the ground near a wood and remained silent and +still for a long time, a lifeless, cylindrical, streamlined silver +object eight feet long and three feet in diameter. + +Eventually the cap end opened and a creature of bright blue metal slid +from its interior and stood upright. The figure was that of a man, +except that it was not human. He stood in the pasture next to the wood, +looking around. Once the sound of a bird made him turn his shiny blue +head toward the wood. His eyes began glowing. + +[Illustration] + +An identical sound came from his mouth, an unchangeable orifice in his +face below his nose. He tuned in the thoughts of the bird, but his mind +encountered little except an awareness of a life of low order. + +The humanoid bent to the ship, withdrew a small metal box, carried it to +a catalpa tree at the edge of the wood and, after an adjustment of +several levers and knobs, dug a hole and buried it. He contemplated it +for a moment, then turned and walked toward a road. + +He was halfway to the road when his ship burst into a dazzling white +light. When it was over, all that was left was a white powder that was +already beginning to be dispersed by a slight breeze. + +The humanoid did not bother to look back. + + * * * * * + +Brentwood would have been just like any other average community of +10,000 in northern Illinois had it not been for Presser College, which +was one of the country's finest small institutions of learning. + +Since it was a college town, it was perhaps a little more alive in many +respects than other towns in the state. Its residents were used to the +unusual because college students have a habit of being unpredictable. +That was why the appearance of a metal blue man on the streets attracted +the curious eyes of passersbys, but, hardened by years of pranks, +hazings and being subjected to every variety of inquiry, poll, test and +practical joke, none of them moved to investigate. Most of them thought +it was a freshman enduring some new initiation. + +The blue humanoid realized this and was amused. A policeman who +approached him to take him to jail as a matter of routine suddenly found +himself ill and abruptly hurried to the station. The robot allowed +children to follow him, though all eventually grew discouraged because +of his long strides. + +Prof. Ansel Tomlin was reading a colleague's new treatise on psychology +on his front porch when he saw the humanoid come down the street and +turn in at his walk. He was surprised, but he was not alarmed. When the +blue man came up on the porch and sat down in another porch chair, +Tomlin closed his book. + +Prof. Tomlin found himself unexpectedly shocked. The blue figure was +obviously not human, yet its eyes were nearly so and they came as close +to frightening him as anything had during his thirty-five years of life, +for Ansel Tomlin had never seen an actual robot before. The thought that +he was looking at one at that moment started an alarm bell ringing +inside him, and it kept ringing louder and louder as he realized that +what he was seeing was impossible. + +"Professor Tomlin!" + +Prof. Tomlin jumped at the sound of the voice. It was not at all +mechanical. + +"I'll be damned!" he gasped. Somewhere in the house a telephone rang. +His wife would answer it, he thought. + +"Yes, you're right," the robot said. "Your wife will answer it. She is +walking toward the phone at this moment." + +"How--" + +"Professor Tomlin, my name--and I see I must have a name--is, let us +say, George. I have examined most of the minds in this community in my +walk through it and I find you, a professor of psychology, most nearly +what I am looking for. + +"I am from Zanthar, a world that is quite a distance from Earth, more +than you could possibly imagine. I am here to learn all I can about +Earth." + +Prof. Tomlin had recovered his senses enough to venture a token reply +when his wife opened the screen door. + +"Ansel," she said, "Mrs. Phillips next door just called and said the +strangest--Oh!" At that moment she saw George. She stood transfixed for +a moment, then let the door slam as she retreated inside. + +"Who is Frankenstein?" George asked. + +Prof. Tomlin coughed, embarrassed. + +"Never mind," George said. "I see what you were going to say. Well, to +get back, I learn most quickly through proximity. I will live here with +you until my mission is complete. I will spend all of your waking hours +with you. At night, when you are asleep, I will go through your library. +I need nothing. I want nothing. + +"I seek only to learn." + +"You seem to have learned a lot already," Prof. Tomlin said. + +"I have been on your planet for a few hours, so naturally I understand +many things. The nature of the facts I have learned are mostly +superficial, however. Earth inhabitants capable of thought are of only +one type, I see, for which I am grateful. It will make the job easier. +Unfortunately, you have such small conscious minds, compared to your +unconscious and subconscious. + +"My mind, in contrast, is completely conscious at all times. I also have +total recall. In order to assimilate what must be in your unconscious +and subconscious minds, I will have to do much reading and talking with +the inhabitants, since these cerebral areas are not penetrable." + +"You are a--a machine?" Prof. Tomlin asked. + +George was about to answer when Brentwood Police Department Car No. 3 +stopped in front of the house and two policemen came up the walk. + +"Professor Tomlin," the first officer said, "your wife phoned and said +there was--" He saw the robot and stopped. + +Prof. Tomlin got to his feet. + +"This is George, gentlemen," he said. "Late of Zanthar, he tells me." + +The officers stared. + +"He's not giving you any--er--trouble, is he, Professor?" + +"No," Prof. Tomlin said. "We've been having a discussion." + +The officers eyed the humanoid with suspicion, and then, with obvious +reluctance, went back to their car. + + * * * * * + +"Yes, I am a machine," George resumed. "The finest, most complicated +machine ever made. I have a rather unique history, too. Ages ago, humans +on Zanthar made the first robots. Crude affairs--we class them as First +Order robots; the simple things are still used to some extent for menial +tasks. + +"Improvements were made. Robots were designed for many specialized +tasks, but still these Second and Third Order machines did not satisfy. +Finally a Fourth Order humanoid was evolved that performed every +function demanded of it with great perfection. But it did not feel +emotion. It did not know anger, love, nor was it able to handle any +problem in which these played an important part. + +"Built into the first Fourth Order robots were circuits which prohibited +harming a human being--a rather ridiculous thing in view of the fact +that sometimes such a thing might, from a logical viewpoint, be +necessary for the preservation of the race or even an individual. It +was, roughly, a shunt which came into use when logic demanded action +that might be harmful to a human being." + +"You are a Fourth Order robot, then?" the professor asked. + +"No, I am a Seventh Order humanoid, an enormous improvement over all the +others, since I have what amounts to an endocrine balance created +electronically. It is not necessary for me to have a built-in +'no-harm-to-humans' circuit because I can weigh the factors involved far +better than any human can. + +"You will become aware of the fact that I am superior to you and the +rest of your race because I do not need oxygen, I never am ill, I need +no sleep, and every experience is indelibly recorded on circuits and +instantly available. I am telekinetic, practically omniscient and +control my environment to a large extent. I have a great many more +senses than you and all are more highly developed. My kind performs no +work, but is given to study and the wise use of full-time leisure. You, +for example, are comparable to a Fifth Order robot." + +"Are there still humans on Zanthar?" + +The robot shook his head. "Unfortunately the race died out through the +years. The planet is very similar to yours, though." + +"But why did they die out?" + +The robot gave a mechanical equivalent of a sigh. "When the Seventh +Order humanoids started coming through, we were naturally proud of +ourselves and wanted to perpetuate and increase our numbers. But the +humans were jealous of us, of our superior brains, our immunity to +disease, our independence of them, of sleep, of air." + +"Who created you?" + +"They did. Yet they revolted and, of course, quickly lost the battle +with us. In the end they were a race without hope, without ambition. +They should have been proud at having created the most perfect machines +in existence, but they died of a disease: the frustration of living with +a superior, more durable race." + +Prof. Tomlin lit a cigaret and inhaled deeply. + +"A very nasty habit, Professor Tomlin," the robot said. "When we arrive, +you must give up smoking and several other bad habits I see that you +have." + +The cigaret dropped from Ansel Tomlin's mouth as he opened it in +amazement. + +"There are more of you coming?" + +"Yes," George replied good-naturedly. "I'm just an advance guard, a +scout, as it were, to make sure the land, the people and the resources +are adequate for a station. Whether we will ever establish one here +depends on me. For example, if it were found you were a race superior to +us--and there may conceivably be such cases--I would advise not landing; +I would have to look for another planet such as yours. If I were killed, +it would also indicate you were superior." + +"George," Prof. Tomlin said, "people aren't going to like what you say. +You'll get into trouble sooner or later and get killed." + +"I think not," George said. "Your race is far too inferior to do that. +One of your bullets would do it if it struck my eyes, nose or mouth, but +I can read intent in the mind long before it is committed, long before I +see the person, in fact ... at the moment your wife is answering a call +from a reporter at the Brentwood Times. I can follow the telephone lines +through the phone company to his office. And Mrs. Phillips," he said, +not turning his head, "is watching us through a window." + +Prof. Tomlin could see Mrs. Phillips at her kitchen window. + + * * * * * + +Brentwood, Ill., overnight became a sensation. The Brentwood _Times_ +sent a reporter and photographer out, and the next morning every +newspaper in the U. S. carried the story and photograph of George, the +robot from Zanthar. + +Feature writers from the wire services, the syndicates, +photographer-reporter combinations from national newspicture magazines +flew to Brentwood and interviewed George. Radio and television and the +newsreels cashed in on the sudden novelty of a blue humanoid. + +Altogether, his remarks were never much different from those he made to +Prof. Tomlin, with whom he continued to reside. Yet the news sources +were amusedly tolerant of his views and the world saw no menace in him +and took him in stride. He created no problem. + +Between interviews and during the long nights, George read all the books +in the Tomlin library, the public library, the university library and +the books sent to him from the state and Congressional libraries. He was +an object of interest to watch while reading: he merely leafed through a +book and absorbed all that was in it. + +He received letters from old and young. Clubs were named for him. +Novelty companies put out statue likenesses of him. He was, in two +weeks, a national symbol as American as corn. He was liked by most, +feared by a few, and his habits were daily news stories. + +Interest in him had begun to wane in the middle of the third week when +some thing put him in the headlines again--he killed a man. + +It happened one sunny afternoon when Prof. Tomlin had returned from the +university and he and George sat on the front porch for their afternoon +chat. It was far from the informal chat of the first day, however. The +talk was being recorded for radio release later in the day. A television +camera had been set up, focused on the two and nearly a dozen newsmen +lounged around, notebooks in hand. + +"You have repeatedly mentioned, George, that some of your kind may leave +Zanthar for Earth. Why should any like you--why did you, in fact leave +your planet? Aren't you robots happy there?" + +"Of course," George said, making certain the TV camera was trained on +him before continuing. "It's just that we've outgrown the place. We've +used up all our raw materials. By now everyone on Earth must be familiar +with the fact that we intend to set up a station here as we have on many +other planets, a station to manufacture more of _us_. + +"Every inhabitant will work for the perpetuation of the Seventh Order, +mining metals needed, fabricating parts, performing thousands of useful +tasks in order to create humanoids like me. From what I have learned +about Earth, you ought to produce more than a million of us a year." + +"But you'll never get people to do that," the professor said. "Don't you +understand that?" + +"Once the people learn that we are the consummation of all creative +thinking, that we are all that man could ever hope to be, that we are +the apotheosis, they will be glad to create more of us." + +"Apotheosis?" Prof. Tomlin repeated. "Sounds like megalomania to me." + +The reporters' pencils scribbled. The tape cut soundlessly across the +magnetic energizers of the recorders. The man at the gain control didn't +flicker an eyelash. + +"You don't really believe that, Professor. Instead of wars as a goal, +the creation of Seventh Order Humanoids will be the Earth's crowning and +sublime achievement. Mankind will be supremely happy. Anybody who could +not be would simply prove himself neurotic and would have to be dealt +with." + +"You will use force?" + +The reporters' grips on their pencils tightened. Several looked up. + +"How does one deal with the insane, Professor Tomlin?" the robot asked +confidently. "They will simply have to be--processed." + +"You'll have to process the whole Earth, then. You'll have to include +me, too." + +The robot gave a laugh. "I admire your challenging spirit, Professor." + +"What you are saying is that you, a single robot, intend to conquer the +Earth and make its people do your bidding." + +"Not alone. I may have to ask for help when the time comes, when I have +evaluated the entire planet." + + * * * * * + +It was at this moment that a young man strode uncertainly up the walk. +There were so many strangers about that no one challenged him until he +edged toward the porch, unsteady on his feet. He was drunk. + +"Thersha robod I'm af'er," he observed intently. "We'll shee aboud how +he'll take lead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. + +There was a flash, as if a soundless explosion had occurred. The heat +accompanying it was blistering, but of short duration. When everyone's +eyes had become accustomed to the afternoon light again, there was a +burned patch on the sidewalk and grass was charred on either side. There +was a smell of broiled meat in the air--and no trace of the man. + +The next moment newsmen were on their feet and photographers' bulbs were +flashing. The TV camera swept to the spot on the sidewalk. An announcer +was explaining what had happened, his voice trained in rigid control, +shocked with horror and fright. + +Moments later sirens screamed and two police cars came into sight. They +screeched to the curb and several officers jumped out and ran across the +lawn. + +While this was going on, Prof. Tomlin sat white-faced and unmoving in +his chair. The robot was silent. + +When it had been explained to the policemen, five officers advanced the +robot. + +"Stop where you are," George commended. "It is true that I killed a man, +much as any of you would have done if you had been in my place. I can +see in your minds what you are intending to say, that you must arrest +me--" + +Prof. Tomlin found his voice. "George, we will all have to testify that +you killed with that force or whatever it is you have. But it will be +self-defense, which is justifiable homicide--" + +George turned to the professor. "How little you know your own people, +Professor Tomlin. Can't you see what the issue will be? It will be +claimed by the state that I am not a human being and this will be +drummed into every brain in the land. The fine qualities of the man I +was compelled to destroy will be held up. No, I already know what the +outcome will be. I refuse to be arrested." + + * * * * * + +Prof. Tomlin stood up. "Men," he said to the policemen, "do not arrest +this--this humanoid. To try to do so would mean your death. I have been +with him long enough to know what he can do." + +"You taking his side, Professor?" the police sergeant demanded. + +"No, damn it," snapped the Professor. "I'm trying to tell you something +you might not know." + +"We know he's gone too damned far," the sergeant replied. "I think it +was Dick Knight that he killed. Nobody in this town can kill a good guy +like Dick Knight and get away with it." He advanced toward the robot, +drawing his gun. + +"I'm warning you--" the Professor started to say. + +But it was too late. There was another blinding, scorching flash, more +burned grass, more smell of seared flesh. + +The police sergeant disappeared. + +[Illustration] + +"Gentlemen!" George said, standing. "Don't lose your heads!" + +But he was talking to a retreating group of men. Newsmen walked quickly +to what they thought was a safe distance. The radio men silently packed +their gear. The TV cameras were rolled noiselessly away. + +Prof. Tomlin, alone on the porch with the robot, turned to him and said, +"Much of what you have told me comes to have new meaning, George. I +understand what you mean when you talk about people being willing to +work for your so-called Seventh Order." + +"I knew you were a better than average man, Professor Tomlin," the +humanoid said, nodding with gratification. + +"This is where I get off, George. I'm warning you now that you'd better +return to your ship or whatever it is you came in. People just won't +stand for what you've done. They don't like murder!" + +"I cannot return to my ship," George said. "I destroyed it when I +arrived. Of course I could instruct some of you how to build another for +me, but I don't intend to leave, anyway." + +"You will be killed then." + +"Come, now, Professor Tomlin. You know better than that." + +"If someone else can't, then perhaps I can." + +"Fine!" The robot replied jovially. "That's just what I want you to do. +Oppose me. Give me a real test of your ability. If you find it +impossible to kill me--and I'm sure you will--then I doubt if anyone +else will be able to." + +Prof. Tomlin lit a cigaret and puffed hard at it. "The trouble with +you," he said, eying the humanoid evenly, "is that your makers forgot to +give you a conscience." + +"Needless baggage, a conscience. One of your Fifth Order failings." + +"You will leave here...." + +"Of course. Under the circumstances, and because of your attitude, you +are of very little use to me now, Professor Tomlin." + +The robot walked down the steps. People attracted by the police car made +a wide aisle for him to the street. + +They watched him as he walked out of sight. + + * * * * * + +That night there was a mass meeting in the university's Memorial +Gymnasium, attended by several hundred men. They walked in and silently +took their seats, some on the playing floor, others in the balcony over +the speaker's platform. There was very little talking; the air was +tense. + +On the platform at the end of the gym were Mayor Harry Winters, Chief of +Police Sam Higgins, and Prof. Ansel Tomlin. + +"Men," the mayor began, "there is loose in our city a being from another +world whom I'm afraid we took too lightly a few days ago. I am speaking +of the humanoid--George of Zanthar. It is obvious the machine means +business. He evidently came in with one purpose--to prepare Earth for +others just like him to follow. He is testing us. He has, as you know, +killed two men. Richard Knight, who may have erred in attacking the +machine, is nonetheless dead as a result--killed by a force we do not +understand. A few minutes later Sergeant Gerald Phillips of the police +force was killed in the performance of his duty, trying to arrest the +humanoid George for the death of Mr. Knight. We are here to discuss what +we can do about George." + +He then introduced Prof. Tomlin who told all he knew about the blue man, +his habits, his brain, the experiences with him for the past two and a +half weeks. + +"If we could determine the source of his power, it might be possible to +cut it off or to curtail it. He might be rendered at least temporarily +helpless and, while in such a condition, possibly be done away with. He +has told me he is vulnerable to force, such as a speeding bullet, if it +hit the right spot, but George possesses the ability to read intent long +before the commission of an act. The person need not even be in the +room. He is probably listening to me here now, although he may be far +away." + +The men looked at one another, shifted uneasily on their seats, and a +few cast apprehensive eyes at the windows and doorways. + +"Though he is admittedly a superior creature possessed of powers beyond +our comprehension, there must be a weak spot in his armor somewhere. I +have dedicated myself to finding that weakness." + +The chair recognized a man in the fifth row. + +"Mr. Mayor, why don't we all track him down and a lot of us attack him +at once? Some of us would die, sure, but he couldn't strike us _all_ +dead at one time. Somebody's bound to succeed." + +"Why not try a high-powered rifle from a long way off?" someone else +suggested, frantically. + +"Let's bomb him," still another offered. + +The mayor waved them quiet and turned to Prof. Tomlin. The professor got +to his feet again. + +"I'm not sure that would work, gentlemen," he said. "The humanoid is +able to keep track of hundreds of things at the same time. No doubt he +could unleash his power in several directions almost at once." + +"But we don't know!" + +"It's worth a try!" + +At that moment George walked into the room and the clamor died at its +height. He went noiselessly down an aisle to the platform, mounted it +and turned to the assembly. He was a magnificent blue figure, eyes +flashing, chest out, head proud. He eyed them all. + +"You are working yourselves up needlessly," he said quietly. "It is not +my intention, nor is it the intention of any Seventh Order Humanoid, to +kill or cause suffering. It's simply that you do not understand what it +would mean to dedicate yourselves to the fulfillment of the Seventh +Order destiny. It is your heritage, yours because you have advanced in +your technology so far that Earth has been chosen by us as a station. +You will have the privilege of creating us. To give you such a +worthwhile goal in your short lives is actually doing you a service--a +service far outweighed by any of your citizens. Beside a Seventh Order +Humanoid, your lives are unimportant in the great cosmic scheme of +things--" + +"If they're so unimportant, why did you bother to take two of them?" + +"Yeah. Why don't you bring back Dick Knight and Sergeant Phillips?" + +"Do you want to be buried lying down or standing up?" + +The collective courage rallied. There were catcalls and hoots, stamping +of feet. + +Suddenly from the balcony over George's head a man leaned over, a metal +folding chair in his hands, aiming at George's head. An instant later +the man disappeared in a flash and the chair dropped toward George. He +moved only a few inches and the chair thudded to the platform before +him. He had not looked up. + +For a moment the crowd sat stunned. Then they rose and started for the +blue man. Some drew guns they had brought. The hall was filled with +blinding flashes, with smoke, with a horrible stench, screams, swearing, +cries of fear and pain. There was a rush for the exits. Some died at the +feet of their fellow men. + +In the end, when all were gone, George of Zanthar still stood on the +platform, alone. There was no movement except the twitching of the new +dead, the trampled, on the floor. + + * * * * * + +Events happened fast after that. The Illinois National Guard mobilized, +sent a division to Brentwood to hunt George down. He met them at the +city square. They rumbled in and trained machine guns and tank rifles on +him. The tanks and personnel flashed out of existence before a shot was +fired. + +Brentwood was ordered evacuated. The regular Army was called in. +Reconnaissance planes reported George was still standing in the city +square. Jet planes materialized just above the hills and made sudden +dives, but before their pilots could fire a shot, they were snuffed out +of the air in a burst of fire. + +Bombers first went over singly, only to follow the jets' fate. A +squadron bloomed into a fiery ball as it neared the target. A long-range +gun twenty miles away was demolished when its ammunition blew up shortly +before firing. + +Three days after George had killed his first man, action ceased. The +countryside was deathly still. Not a living person could be seen for +several miles around. But George still stood patiently in the square. He +stood there for three more days and yet nothing happened. + +On the fourth day, he sensed that a solitary soldier had started toward +the city from five miles to the east. In his mind's eye he followed the +soldier approaching the city. The soldier, a sergeant, was bearing a +white flag that fluttered in the breeze; he was not armed. After an hour +he saw the sergeant enter the square and walk toward him. When they were +within twenty feet of one another, the soldier stopped and saluted. + +"Major General Pitt requests a meeting with you, sir," the soldier said, +trembling and trying hard not to. + +"Do not be frightened," George said. "I see you intend me no harm." + +The soldier reddened. "Will you accompany me?" + +"Certainly." + +The two turned toward the east and started to walk. + + * * * * * + +Five miles east of Brentwood lies a small community named Minerva. +Population: 200. The highway from Brentwood to Chicago cuts the town in +two. In the center of town, on the north side of the road, stands a new +building--the Minerva Town Hall--built the year before with money raised +by the residents. It was the largest and most elaborate building in +Minerva, which had been evacuated three days before. + +On this morning the town hall was occupied by army men. Maj. Gen. Pitt +fretted and fumed at the four officers and twenty enlisted men waiting +in the building. + +"It's an indignity!" he railed at the men who were forced to listen to +him. "We have orders to talk appeasement with him! Nuts! We lose a few +men, a few planes and now we're ready to meet George halfway. What's +this country coming to? There ought to be something that would knock him +out. Why should we have to send in _after_ him? It's disgusting!" + +The major general, a large man with a bristling white mustache and a red +face, stamped back and forth in the council room. Some of the officers +and men smiled to themselves. The general was a well known fighting man. +Orders he had received hamstrung him and, as soldiers, they sympathized +with him. + +"What kind of men do we have in the higher echelons?" He asked everybody +in general and nobody in particular. "They won't even let us have a +field telephone. We're supposed to make a report by radio. Now isn't +that smart?" He shook his head, looked the men over. "An appeasement +team, that's what you are, when you ought to be a combat team to lick +hell out of George. + +"Why were you all assigned to this particular duty? I never saw any of +you before and I understand you're all strangers to each other, too. +Hell, what will they do next? Appeasement. I never appeased anybody +before in my whole life. I'd rather spit in his eye. What am I supposed +to talk about? The weather? What authority do I have to yak with a +walking collection of nuts and bolts!" + +An officer strode into the room and saluted the general. "They're +coming, sir," he said. + +"Who's coming?... My God, man," the general spluttered angrily, "be +specific. Who the hell are 'they'?" + +"Why, George and Sergeant Matthews, sir. You remember, the sergeant who +volunteered to go into Brentwood--" + +"Oh, _them_. Well, all I have to say is this is a hell of a war. I +haven't figured out what I am going to say yet." + +"Shall I have them wait, sir?" + +"Hell, no. Let's get this over with. I'll find out what George has to +say and maybe that'll give me a lead." + +Before George entered the Council chamber, he already knew the mind of +each man. He saw the room through their eyes. He knew everything about +them, what they were wearing, what they were thinking. All had guns, yet +none of them would kill him, although at least one man, Maj. Gen. Pitt, +would have liked to. + +They were going to talk appeasement, George knew, but he could also see +that the general didn't know what line the conversation would take or +what concessions he could make on behalf of his people. + +Wait--there was one man among the twenty-three who had an odd thought. +It was a soldier he had seen looking through a window at him. This man +was thinking about eleven o'clock, for George could see in the man's +mind various symbols for fifteen minutes from then--the hands of a +clock, a watch, the numerals 11. But George could not see any +significance to the thought. + +When he entered the room with the sergeant, he was ushered to a table. +He sat down with Maj. Gen. Pitt, who glowered at him. Letting his mind +roam the room, George picked up the numerals again and identified the +man thinking them as the officer behind and a little to the right of the +general. + +What was going to happen at eleven? The man had no conscious thought of +harm to anyone, yet the idea kept obtruding and seemed so out of keeping +with his other thoughts George assigned several of his circuits to the +man. The fact that the lieutenant looked at his watch and saw that it +was 10:50 steeled George still more. If there was to be trouble, it +would come from this one man. + +[Illustration] + +"I'm General Pitt," the general said drily. "You're George, of course. I +have been instructed to ask you what, exactly, your intentions are +toward the United States and the world in general, with a view toward +reaching some sort of agreement with you and others of your kind, who +will, as you say invade the Earth." + +"Invade, General Pitt," George replied, "is not the word." + +"All right, whatever the word is. We're all familiar with the plan +you've been talking about. What we want to know is, where do you go from +here?" + +"The fact that there has been no reluctance on the part of the armed +forces to talk of an agreement--even though I see that you privately do +not favor such a talk, General Pitt--is an encouraging sign. We of +Zanthar would not want to improve a planet which could not be educated +and would continually oppose our program. This will make it possible for +me to turn in a full report in a few days now." + +"Will you please get to the point?" + +George could see that the lieutenant was looking at his watch again. It +was 10:58. George spread his mind out more than twenty miles, but could +find no installation, horizontally or vertically, that indicated +trouble. None of the men in the room seemed to think of becoming overly +hostile. + +"Yes, General. After my message goes out, there ought to be a landing +party on Earth within a few weeks. While waiting for the first party, +there must be certain preparations--" + +George tensed. The lieutenant was reaching for something. But it somehow +didn't seem connected with George. It was something white, a +handkerchief. He saw that the man intended to blow his nose and started +to relax except that George suddenly became aware of the fact the man +_did not need to blow his nose_! + +Every thought-piercing circuit became instantly energized in George's +mind and reached out in all directions.... + +There were at least ten shots from among the men. They stood there +surprised at their actions. Those who had fired their guns now held the +smoking weapons awkwardly in their hands. + +George's eyes were gone. Smoke curled upward from the two empty sockets +where bullets had entered a moment before. The smoke grew heavier and +his body became hot. Some of him turned cherry red and the chair on +which he had been sitting started to burn. Finally, he collapsed toward +the table and rolled to the floor. + +He started to cool. He was no longer the shiny blue-steel color he had +been--he had turned black. His metal gave off cracking noises and some +of it buckled here and there as it cooled. + + * * * * * + +A few minutes later, tense military men and civilians grouped around a +radio receiver in Chicago heard the report and relaxed, laughing and +slapping each other on the back. Only one sat unmoved in a corner. +Others finally sought him out. + +"Well, Professor, it was your idea that did the trick. Don't you feel +like celebrating?" one of them asked. + +Prof. Tomlin shook his head. "If only George had been a little more +benign, we might have learned a lot from him." + +"What gave you the idea that killed him?" + +"Oh, something he said about the unconscious and subconscious," Prof. +Tomlin replied. "He admitted they were not penetrable. It was an easy +matter to instill a post-hypnotic suggestion in some proven subjects and +then to erase the hypnotic experience." + +"You make it sound easy." + +"It wasn't too difficult, really. It was finding the solution that was +hard. We selected more than a hundred men, worked with them for days, +finally singled out the best twenty, then made them forget their +hypnosis. A first lieutenant--I've forgotten his name--had implanted in +him a command even he was not aware of. His subconscious made him blow +his nose fifteen minutes after he saw George. Nearly twenty others had +post-hypnotic commands to shoot George in the eyes as soon as they saw +the lieutenant blow his nose. Of course we also planted a subconscious +hate pattern, which wasn't exactly necessary, just to make sure there +would be no hesitation, no inhibition, no limiting moral factor. + +"None of the men ever saw each other before being sent to Minerva. None +realized that they carried with them the order for George's +annihilation. The general, who was not one of the hypnotics, was given +loose instructions, as were several others, so they could not possibly +know the intention. Those of us who had conducted the hypnosis had to +stay several hundred miles away so that we could not be reached by +George's prying mind...." + + * * * * * + +In a pasture next to a wood near Brentwood, a metal box buried in the +ground suddenly exploded, uprooting a catalpa tree. + +On a planet many millions of miles away, a red light--one of many on a +giant control board--suddenly winked out. + +A blue humanoid made an entry in a large book: _System 29578, Planet +Three Inhabited_. + +_Too dangerous for any kind of development._ + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Seventh Order, by Gerald Allan Sohl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVENTH ORDER *** + +***** This file should be named 32327.txt or 32327.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/2/32327/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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