Arm of the Law Read online

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  _How could a robot--a machine, after all--be involved in something like law application and violence? Harry Harrison, who will be remembered for his THE VELVET GLOVE (Nov. 1956) and his more recent TRAINEE FOR MARS (June 1958) tells what happens when a police robot hits an outpost on Mars._

  arm of the law

  _by ... Harry Harrison_

  At one time--this was before the Robot Restriction Laws--they'd even allowed them to make their own decisions....

  It was a big, coffin-shaped plywood box that looked like it weighed aton. This brawny type just dumped it through the door of the policestation and started away. I looked up from the blotter and shouted atthe trucker's vanishing back.

  "What the hell is that?"

  "How should I know?" he said as he swung up into the cab. "I justdeliver, I don't X-ray 'em. It came on the morning rocket from earth isall I know." He gunned the truck more than he had to and threw up abillowing cloud of red dust.

  "Jokers," I growled to myself. "Mars is full of jokers."

  When I went over to look at the box I could feel the dust grate betweenmy teeth. Chief Craig must have heard the racket because he came out ofhis office and helped me stand and look at the box.

  "Think it's a bomb?" he asked in a bored voice.

  "Why would anyone bother--particularly with a thing this size? And allthe way from earth."

  He nodded agreement and walked around to look at the other end. Therewas no sender's address anywhere on the outside. Finally we had to digout the crowbar and I went to work on the top. After some prying itpulled free and fell off.

  That was when we had our first look at Ned. We all would have been a lothappier if it had been our last look as well. If we had just put the lidback on and shipped the thing back to earth! I know now what they meanabout Pandora's Box.

  But we just stood there and stared like a couple of rubes. Ned laymotionless and stared back at us.

  "A robot!" the Chief said.

  "Very observant; it's easy to see you went to the police academy."

  "Ha ha! Now find out what he's doing here."

  I hadn't gone to the academy, but this was no handicap to my finding theletter. It was sticking up out of a thick book in a pocket in the box.The Chief took the letter and read it with little enthusiasm.

  "Well, well! United Robotics have the brainstorm that ... _robots,correctly used will tend to prove invaluable in police work_ ... theywant us to co-operate in a field test ... _robot enclosed is the latestexperimental model; valued at 120,000 credits_."

  We both looked back at the robot, sharing the wish that the credits hadbeen in the box instead of it. The Chief frowned and moved his lipsthrough the rest of the letter. I wondered how we got the robot out ofits plywood coffin.

  Experimental model or not, this was a nice-looking hunk of machinery. Auniform navy-blue all over, though the outlet cases, hooks and such werea metallic gold. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to get thateffect. This was as close as a robot could look to a cop in uniform,without being a joke. All that seemed to be missing was the badge andgun.

  Then I noticed the tiny glow of light in the robot's eye lenses. It hadnever occurred to me before that the thing might be turned on. There wasnothing to lose by finding out.

  "Get out of that box," I said.

  The robot came up smooth and fast as a rocket, landing two feet in frontof me and whipping out a snappy salute.

  "Police Experimental Robot, serial number XPO-456-934B, reporting forduty, sir."

  His voice quivered with alertness and I could almost hear the humming ofthose taut cable muscles. He may have had a stainless steel hide and abunch of wires for a brain--but he spelled rookie cop to me just thesame. The fact that he was man-height with two arms, two legs and thatpainted-on uniform helped. All I had to do was squint my eyes a bit andthere stood Ned the Rookie Cop. Fresh out of school and raring to go. Ishook my head to get rid of the illusion. This was just six feet ofmachine that boffins and brain-boys had turned out for their ownamusement.

  "Relax, Ned," I said. He was still holding the salute. "At ease. You'llget a hernia of your exhaust pipe if you stay so tense. Anyways, I'mjust the sergeant here. That's the Chief of Police over there."

  Ned did an about face and slid over to the Chief with that samegreased-lightning motion. The Chief just looked at him like somethingthat sprang out from under the hood of a car, while Ned went through thesame report routine.

  "I wonder if it does anything else beside salute and report," the Chiefsaid while he walked around the robot, looking it over like a dog with ahydrant.

  "The functions, operations and responsible courses of action open to thePolice Experimental Robots are outlined on pages 184 to 213 of themanual." Ned's voice was muffled for a second while he half-dived backinto his case and came up with the volume mentioned. "A detailedbreakdown of these will also be found on pages 1035 to 1267 inclusive."

  The Chief, who has trouble reading an entire comic page at one sitting,turned the 6-inch-thick book over in his hands like it would maybe bitehim. When he had a rough idea of how much it weighed and a good feel ofthe binding he threw it on my desk.

  "Take care of this," he said to me as he headed towards his office. "Andthe robot, too. Do something with it." The Chief's span of attentionnever was great and it had been strained to the limit this time.

  I flipped through the book, wondering. One thing I never have had muchto do with is robots, so I know just as much about them as any Joe inthe street. Probably less. The book was filled with pages of fine print,fancy mathematics, wiring diagrams and charts in nine colors and thatkind of thing. It needed close attention. Which attention I was notprepared to give at the time. The book slid shut and I eyed the newestemployee of the city of Nineport.

  "There is a broom behind the door. Do you know how to use it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "In that case you will sweep out this room, raising as small a cloud ofdust as possible at the same time."

  He did a very neat job of it.

  I watched 120,000 credits worth of machinery making a tidy pile of buttsand sand and wondered why it had been sent to Nineport. Probably becausethere wasn't another police force in the solar system that was smalleror more unimportant than ours. The engineers must have figured thiswould be a good spot for a field test. Even if the thing blew up, nobodywould really mind. There would probably be someone along some day to geta report on it. Well, they had picked the right spot all right. Nineportwas just a little bit beyond nowhere.

  Which, of course, was why I was there. I was the only real cop on theforce. They needed at least one to give an illusion of the wheels goingaround. The Chief, Alonzo Craig, had just enough sense to take graftwithout dropping the money. There were two patrolmen. One old and drunkmost of the time. The other so young the only scar he had was the markof the attram. I had ten years on a metropolitan force, earthside. Why Ileft is nobody's damn business. I have long since paid for any mistakesI made there by ending up in Nineport.

  Nineport is not a city, it's just a place where people stop. The onlypermanent citizens are the ones who cater to those on the way through.Hotel keepers, restaurant owners, gamblers, barkeeps, and the rest.

  There is a spaceport, but only some freighters come there. To pick upthe metal from some of the mines that are still working. Some of thesettlers still came in for supplies. You might say that Nineport was atown that just missed the boat. In a hundred years I doubt if there willbe enough left sticking of the sand to even tell where it used to be. Iwon't be there either, so I couldn't care less.

  I went back to the blotter. Five drunks in the tank,
an average night'shaul. While I wrote them up Fats dragged in the sixth one.

  "Locked himself in the ladies' john at the spaceport and resistingarrest," he reported.

  "D and D. Throw him in with the rest."

  Fats steered his limp victim across the floor, matching him step fordragging step. I always marveled at the way Fats took care of drunks,since he usually had more under his belt than they had. I have neverseen him falling down drunk or completely sober. About all he was goodfor was keeping a blurred eye on the lockup and running in drunks. Hedid well at that. No matter what they crawled under or on top of, hefound them. No doubt due to the same shared natural instincts.

  Fats clanged the door behind number six and weaved his way back in."What's that?" he asked, peering at the robot along the purple beauty ofhis nose.

  "That is a robot. I have forgotten the number his mother gave him at thefactory so we will call him Ned. He works here now."

  "Good for him! He can clean up the tank after we throw the bums out."

  "That's _my_ job," Billy said coming in through the front door. Heclutched his nightstick and scowled out from under the brim of hisuniform cap. It is not that Billy is stupid, just that most of hisstrength has gone into his back instead of his mind.

  "That's Ned's job now because you have a promotion. You are going tohelp me with some of my work."

  Billy came in very handy at times and I was anxious that the forceshouldn't lose him. My explanation cheered him because he sat down byFats and watched Ned do the floor.

  That's the way things went for about a week. We watched Ned sweep andpolish until the station began to take on a positively antiseptic look.The Chief, who always has an eye out for that type of thing, found outthat Ned could file the odd ton of reports and paperwork that clutteredhis office. All this kept the robot busy, and we got so used to him wewere hardly aware he was around. I knew he had moved the packing caseinto the storeroom and fixed himself up a cozy sort of robotdormitory-coffin. Other than that I didn't know or care.

  The operation manual was buried in my desk and I never looked at it. IfI had, I might have had some idea of the big changes that were in store.None of us knew the littlest bit about what a robot can or cannot do.Ned was working nicely as a combination janitor-file clerk and shouldhave stayed that way. He would have too if the Chief hadn't been solazy. That's what started it all.

  It was around nine at night and the Chief was just going home when thecall came in. He took it, listened for a moment, then hung up.

  "Greenback's liquor store. He got held up again. Says to come at once."

  "That's a change. Usually we don't hear about it until a month later.What's he paying protection money for if China Joe ain't protecting?What's the rush now?"

  The Chief chewed his loose lip for a while, finally and painfullyreached a decision.

  "You better go around and see what the trouble is."

  "Sure," I said reaching for my cap. "But no one else is around, you'llhave to watch the desk until I get back."

  "That's no good," he moaned. "I'm dying from hunger and sitting hereisn't going to help me any."

  "I will go take the report," Ned said, stepping forward and snapping hisusual well-greased salute.

  At first the Chief wasn't buying. You would think the water cooler cameto life and offered to take over his job.

  "How could _you_ take a report?" he growled, putting the wise-guy watercooler in its place. But he had phrased his little insult as a questionso he had only himself to blame. In exactly three minutes Ned gave theChief a summary of the routine necessary for a police officer to make areport on an armed robbery or other reported theft. From the glazed lookin Chief's protruding eyes I could tell Ned had quickly passed theboundaries of the Chief's meager knowledge.

  "Enough!" the harried man finally gasped. "If you know so much why don'tyou make a report?"

  Which to me sounded like another version of "_if you're so damned smartwhy ain't you rich?_" which we used to snarl at the brainy kids ingrammar school. Ned took such things literally though, and turnedtowards the door.

  "Do you mean you wish me to make a report on this robbery?"

  "Yes," the Chief said just to get rid of him, and we watched his blueshape vanish through the door.

  "He must be brighter than he looks," I said. "He never stopped to askwhere Greenback's store is."

  The Chief nodded and the phone rang again. His hand was still resting onit so he picked it up by reflex. He listened for a second and you wouldhave thought someone was pumping blood out of his heel from the way hisface turned white.

  "The holdup's still on," he finally gasped. "Greenback's delivery boy ison the line--calling back to see where we are. Says he's under a tablein the back room ..."

  I never heard the rest of it because I was out the door and into thecar. There were a hundred things that could happen if Ned got therebefore me. Guns could go off, people hurt, lots of things. And thepolice would be to blame for it all--sending a tin robot to do a cop'sjob. Maybe the Chief had ordered Ned there, but clearly as if the wordswere painted on the windshield of the car, I knew I would be draggedinto it. It never gets very warm on Mars, but I was sweating.

  Nineport has fourteen traffic regulations and I broke all of them beforeI had gone a block. Fast as I was, Ned was faster. As I turned thecorner I saw him open the door of Greenback's store and walk in. Iscreamed brakes in behind him and arrived just in time to have a galleryseat. A shooting gallery at that.

  There were two holdup punks, one behind the counter making like a clerkand the other lounging off to the side. Their guns were out of sight,but blue-coated Ned busting through the door like that was too much fortheir keyed up nerves. Up came both guns like they were on strings andNed stopped dead. I grabbed for my own gun and waited for pieces ofbusted robot to come flying through the window.

  Ned's reflexes were great. Which I suppose is what you should expect ofa robot.

  "DROP YOUR GUNS, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST."

  He must have had on full power or something, his voice blasted so loudmy ears hurt. The result was just what you might expect. Both torpedoeslet go at once and the air was filled with flying slugs. The showwindows went out with a crash and I went down on my stomach. From theamount of noise I knew they both had recoilless .50's. You can't stopone of those slugs. They go right through you and anything else thathappens to be in the way.

  Except they didn't seem to be bothering Ned. The only notice he seemedto take was to cover his eyes. A little shield with a thin slit poppeddown over his eye lenses. Then he moved in on the first thug.

  I knew he was fast, but not that fast. A couple of slugs jarred him ashe came across the room, but before the punk could change his aim Nedhad the gun in his hand. That was the end of that. He put on one of thesweetest hammer locks I have ever seen and neatly grabbed the gun whenit dropped from the limp fingers. With the same motion that slipped thegun into a pouch he whipped out a pair of handcuffs and snapped them onthe punk's wrists.

  Holdupnik number two was heading for the door by then, and I was waitingto give him a warm reception. There was never any need. He hadn't gonehalfway before Ned slid in front of him. There was a thud when they hitthat didn't even shake Ned, but gave the other a glazed look. He nevereven knew it when Ned slipped the cuffs on him and dropped him down nextto his partner.

  I went in, took their guns from Ned, and made the arrest official. Thatwas all Greenback saw when he crawled out from behind the counter and itwas all I wanted him to see. The place was a foot deep in broken glassand smelled like the inside of a Jack Daniels bottle. Greenback began tohowl like a wolf over his lost stock. He didn't seem to know any moreabout the phone call than I did, so I grabbed ahold of a pimply lookingkid who staggered out of the storeroom. He was the one who had made thecalls.

  It turned out to be a matter of sheer stupidity. He had worked forGreenback only a few days and didn't have enough brains to realize thatall holdups should be reported to the protection boys
instead of thepolice. I told Greenback to wise up his boy, as look at the trouble thatgot caused. Then pushed the two ex-holdup men out to the car. Nedclimbed in back with them and they clung together like two waifs in astorm. The robot's only response was to pull a first aid kit from hiship and fix up a ricochet hole in one of the thugs that no one hadnoticed in the excitement.

  * * * * *

  The Chief was still sitting there with that bloodless look when wemarched in. I didn't believe it could be done, but he went two shadeswhiter.

  "You made the pinch," he whispered. Before I could straighten him out asecond and more awful idea hit him. He grabbed a handful of shirt on thefirst torpedo and poked his face down. "You with China Joe," he snarled.

  The punk made the error of trying to be cute so the Chief let him haveone on the head with the open hand that set his eyes rolling likemarbles. When the question got asked again he found the right answer.

  "I never heard from no China Joe. We just hit town today and--"

  "Freelance, by God," the Chief sighed and collapsed into his chair."Lock 'em up and quickly tell me what in hell happened."

  I slammed the gate on them and pointed a none too steady finger at Ned.

  "There's the hero," I said. "Took them on single-handed, rassled themfor a fall and made the capture. He is a one-robot tornado, a power forgood in this otherwise evil community. And he's bulletproof too." I rana finger over Ned's broad chest.