be fooled. He has half the great battles of the world stored up in his circuits, and can recognize at once any variations on them.
Though attempts were made to disguise tactical exercises as problems in mathematics, he could spot the subterfuge right away. And out would come another billet doux for the General.
"As for Dr. Milquetoast, no one could do much about him because he promptly had a nervous breakdown. It was suspiciously well timed, but he could certainly claim to have earned it. When last heard of he was teaching matrix algebra at a theological college in Denver. He swears he's forgotten everything that had ever happened while he was working on Karl. Maybe he was even telling the truth . . ."
There was a sudden shout from the back of the room.
"I've won!" cried Charles Willis. "Come and see!"
We all crowded under the dartboard. It seemed true enough. Charlie had established a zig-zag but continuous track from one side of the checker-board to the other, despite the obstacles the machine had tried to put in his way.
"Show us how you did it," said Eric Rodgers.
Charlie looked embarrassed.
"I've forgotten," he said. "I didn't make a note of all the moves." A sarcastic voice broke in from the background.
"But I did," said John Christopher. "You were cheating—you made two moves at once."
After that, I am sorry to say, there was some disorder, and Drew had to threaten violence before peace was restored. I don't know who really won the squabble, and I don't think it matters. For I'm inclined to agree with what Purvis remarked as he picked up the robot checker-board and examined its wiring.
"You see," he said, "this little gadget is only a simple-minded cousin of Karl's—and look what it's done already. All these machines are beginning to make us look like fools. Before long they'll start to disobey us without any Milquetoast interfering with their circuits. And then they'll start ordering us about—they're logical, after all."
He sighed. "When that happens, there won't be a thing that we can do about it. We'll just have to say to the dinosaurs: 'Move over a bit—here comes homo sap!' And the vacuum tube shall inherit the earth."
There was no time for further pessimistic philosophy, for the door opened and Police Constable Wilkins stuck his head in. "Where's the owner of CGC 571?" he asked testily. "Oh—it's you, Mr. Purvis. Your rear light's out."
Harry looked at me sadly, then shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "You see," he said, "it's started already." And he went out into the night.
