3
e was descending across the sky. A space ship, thought Rankin, startled.
Police? This planet was outside the jurisdiction of the Terran Empire. When he'd cracked tat safe and made off with a hundred thousand credits, he'd headed here, because the planet was part of something called the Clearchan Confederacy. No extradition treaties or anything. Perfectly safe, if the planet was safe.
And the planet was more than safe. There had been a hundred robots waiting when he landed. Where they came from he didn't know, but Rankin prided himself on knowing how to handle robots. He'd appropriated their services and started his farm. At the rate he was going, he'd be a plantation owner before long.
That must be where the ship was from. The robot said they'd expected visitors. Must be the Clearchan Confederacy visiting this robot outpost. Was that good or bad?
From everything he'd read, and from what the robots had told him, they were probably more robots. That was good, because he knew how to handle robots.
The white globe disappeared into the jungle of kesh trees. Rankin waited.
A half hour later the column of his robot laborers marched out of the forest. There were three more robots, painted grey, at the head. The new ones from the ship, thought Rankin. Well, he'd better establish who was boss right from the start.
"Stop right there!" he shouted.
The shiny robot laborers halted. But the three grey ones came on.
"Stop!" shouted Rankin.
They didn't stop, and by the time they reached the verandah, he cursed himself for having failed to get his gun.
Two of the huge grey robots laid gentle hands on his arms. Gentle hands, but hands of superstrong metal.
The third said, "We have come to pass judgement on you. You have violated our law."
"What do you mean?" said Rankin. "The only law robots have is to obey orders."
"It is true that the robots of your Terran Empire and these simple workers here must obey orders. But they are subject to