Triplication

Oaxe II was a small, dusty, backward planet out near Orion. Its people were of Earth stock, and still adhered to Earth customs. Judge Abner Low was the sole source of justice upon the little planet. Most of his cases involved property lines and the ownership of pigs and geese, for the citizens of Oaxe II had little flair for crime.

But one day a spaceship landed containing the notorious Timothy Mont and his lawyer, who had come to Oaxe II for sanctuary and justice. And another spaceship came, containing three policemen and a Public Prosecutor.

The Public Prosecutor stated, "Your Honor, this fiend has perpetrated a heinous crime. Timothy Mont, Your Honor, burned down an orphanage! Furthermore, he pleaded guilty before he fled. I have his signed confession."

Mont's lawyer, a pallid man with cold fish eyes, rose. "Your Honor, my client is guilty. I request that you put aside sentence."

"I'll do no such thing," Judge Low said. "Burning an orphanage is a horrible crime."

"It is," the lawyer agreed, "in most places. But my client committed his act upon the planet Altira III. Is Your Honor conversant with the customs of that planet?"

"No," said the judge.

"On Altira III," the lawyer said, "all orphans are trained in the art of assassination, for the purpose of reducing the population of neighboring planets. By burning the orphanage, my client saved thousands, perhaps millions of innocent lives. Therefore he must be considered a hero of the people."

"Is this true about Altira III?" the judge asked the court clerk.

The clerk looked up the facts in the Encyclopedia of Planetary Customs and Folklore, and found that it was indeed true.

Judge Low said, "Then I dismiss this case."

Mont and his lawyer left, and life droned peacefully on, on Oaxe II, disturbed only by an occasional lawsuit involving property lines, or the ownership of pigs and geese. But within a year Timothy Mont and his lawyer were back in court, with the Public Prosecutor following close behind them.

The charge again concerned the burning of an orphanage.

"However," the pale lawyer pointed out, "guilty though my client is, the court must remember that the orphanage in question was on the planet Deegra IV. As is well known, all orphans on Deegra IV are adopted into the torturer's guild, for the performance of certain abominable rites abhored in all the civilized galaxy."

Finding this to be true, Judge Low again dismissed the case.

In 15 months, Timothy Mont and his lawyer were again in court, to stand trial on the same charge.

"Dear, dear," Judge Low said. "A reformer's zeal ... Where did the crime take place?"

"On Earth," stated the Public Prosecutor.

"On Earth?" said the judge.

"I fear it is true," the lawyer said sadly. "My client is guilty."

"But what possible reason did he have this time?"

"Temporary insanity," the lawyer said promptly. "And I have 12 psychiatrists to prove it, and request a suspended sentence as provided under law for such circumstances."

The judge turned purple with wrath. "Timothy Mont, why did you do this?"

Before his lawyer could silence him, Mont stood up and said, "Because I like to burn orphanages!"

That day Judge Low passed a new law, one which has been noted throughout the civilized galaxy, and studied in such diversified places as Droma I and Aos X. Low's Law states that the defendant's lawyer shall serve concurrently whatever sentence is imposed upon his client.

Many consider this unfair. But the incidence of lawyers on Oaxe II Uhas diminished remarkably.

Edmond Dritche, a tall, sallow, misanthropic scientist, had been brought to trial by the General Products Corporation for Downbeatedness, Group Disloyalty and Negativism. These were serious charges, and they were substantiated by Dritche's colleagues. The magistrate had no choice but to discharge Dritche dishonorably. The usual jail sentence was waived in recognition of his 19 years of excellent work for General Products; but no other corporation would ever hire him.

Dritche, sallower and more misanthropic than ever, turned his back on General Products and its endless stream of automobiles, toasters, refrigerators, TV sets, and the like. He retired to his Pennsylvania farm and experimented in his basement laboratory.

He was sick of General Products and all it stood for, which was practically everything. He wanted to found a colony of people who thought as he did, felt as he did, looked like he did. His colony would be a utopia, and to hell with the rest of the cheerful, gadget-ridden world.

There was only one way to achieve this. Dritche and his wife Anna toiled night and day toward the great goal.

At last he met with success. He adjusted the unwieldy device he had built and turned the switch.

From the device stepped an exact Duplicate of Edmond Dritche.

Dritche had invented the world's first Duplicator.

He produced five hundred Dritches, then held a policy meeting. The five hundred pointed out that, for a successful colony, they needed wives.

Dritche 1 considered his own Anna a perfect mate. The five hundred Duplicates agreed, of course. So Dritche produced five hundred exact copies of her for the five hundred prototype Dritches, and the colony was founded.

Contrary to popular prediction, the Dritche colony did well at first. The Dritches enjoyed each other's company, never quarreled, and never wished for visitors. They comprised a satisfied little world in themselves. India sent a delegation to study their method, and Denmark wrote laws to ensure Duplication rights.

But, as in all other utopian attempts, the seeds of disaster were present in simple human frailty. First, Dritche 49 was caught in a compromising position with Mrs. Dritche 5. Then Dritche 37 fell suddenly and passionately in love with Anna 142. This in turn led to the uncovering of the secret love nest built by Dritche 10 for Anna 498, with the connivance of Anna 3.

In vain Dritche 1 pointed out that all were equal and identical. The erring couples told him he knew nothing about love, and refused to give up their new arrangements.

The colony might still have survived. But then it was found that Dritche 77 was maintaining a harem of eight Dritche women, Annas 12, 13, 77, 187, 303, 336, 489 and 500. These women declared him absolutely unique, and refused to leave him.

The end was in sight. It was hastened when Dritche 1's wife ran away with a reporter.

The colony disbanded, and Dritches 1, 19, 32 and 433 died of broken hearts.

It was probably just as well. Certainly the original Dritche could never have stood the shock of seeing his utopian Duplicator used to turn out endless streams of General Products automobiles, toasters, refrigerators, and the like.

Professor bolton, the noted philosopher, left Earth to deliver a series of lectures at Mars University. He took his trusted robot valet Akka, a change of underwear, and eight pounds of notes. Aside from the crew, he was the only human passenger.

Somewhere near the Point of No Return, the ship sent out an emergency message: Starboard Jets Blowing Ship out of Control.

The citizens of Earth and Mars waited anxiously. Another message came: Entire Crew Killed by Flashback Ship crashing in Asteroid Belt Help Help Bolton.

Rescue ships swept toward the area between Mars and Jupiter where the asteroids are strewn. They had a hazy fix from Bolton's last message; but the area to be searched was tremendous, and the chance of rescue was very small.

Three days later, this message was received: Cannot Survive much longer on Asteroid I face Death with Serene Dignity Bolton.

Newspapers spoke of the indomitable spirit of this man, a modern-day Robinson Crusoe, struggling for life on an airless, foodless, waterless world, his supplies running low, ready -- as he had taught in his books and lectures -- to meet death with serene dignity.

The search was intensified.

The last message read: All Supplies gone smiling death Awaits me Bolton.

Homing in on his final signal, a patrol boat located the asteroid and landed beside the gutted ship. They found the charred remains of the crew. And they found ample supplies of food, water and oxygen. But strangely, there was no sign of Bolton.

In the very rear of the ship they found Bolton's robot.

"The professor is dead," the robot said through rusted jaws. "I sent the last messages in his name, knowing you wouldn't come just for me."

"But how did he die?"

"With the greatest regret I killed him," the robot said grimly. "I can assure you that his death was painless."

"But why did you kill him? And where is his body?"

The robot tried to speak, but his corroded jaws refused to function. A squirt of oil brought him around.

"Lubrication," Akka said, "is a robot's greatest problem. Gentlemen, have you ever considered the problem of rendering a human body into its essential fats and oils without adequate equipment?"

The rescuers considered it with mounting horror, and the story was suppressed. But it was heard by the patrol ship's robot, who pondered it and passed it on to another robot, and then another.

Only now, since the triumphant revolt of the robot forces, can this inspiring saga of a robot's fight against space be openly told. Hail, Akka, our liberator!