Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net _Robert J. Shea, of Rutgers University, makes an interesting contribution to robotics with this story of Rankin, who prided himself on knowing how to handle robots, but did not realize that the robots of the Clearchan Confederacy were subject to a higher law than implicit obedience to man._ the helpful robots _by ROBERT J. SHEA_ They had come to pass judgement on him. He had violated their law--wilfully, ignorantly, and very deliberately. "Our people will be arriving to visit us today," the robot said. "Shut up!" snapped Rod Rankin. He jumped, wiry and quick, out of the chair on his verandah and stared at a cloud of dust in the distance. "Our people--" the ten-foot, cylinder-bodied robot grated, when Rod Rankin interrupted him. "I don't care about your fool people," said Rankin. He squinted at the cloud of dust getting bigger and closer beyond the wall of _kesh_ trees that surrounded the rolling acres of his plantation. "That damned new neighbor of mine is coming over here again." He gestured widely, taking in the dozens of robots with their shiny, cylindrical bodies and pipestem arms and legs laboring in his fields. "Get all your people together and go hide in the wood, fast." "It is not right," said the robot. "We were made to serve all." "Well, there are only a hundred of you, and I'm not sharing you with anybody," said Rankin. "It is not right," the robot repeated. "Don't talk to me about what's right," said Rankin. "You're built to follow orders, nothing else. I know a thing or two about how you robots work. You've got one law, to follow orders, and until that neighbor of mine sees you to give you orders, you work for me. Now get into those woods and hide till he goes away." "We will go to greet those who visit us today," said the robot. "Alright, alright, scram," said Rankin. The robots in the fields and the one whom Rankin had been talking to formed a column and marched off into the trackless forests behind his plantation. A battered old ground-car drove up a few minutes later. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a deep tan got out and walked up the path to Rankin's verandah. "Hi, Barrows," said Rankin. "Hello," said Barrows. "See your crop's coming along pretty well. Can't figure how you do it. You've got acres and acres to tend, far's I can see, and I'm having a hell of a time with one little piece of ground. I swear you must know something about this planet that I don't know." "Just scientific farming," said Rankin carelessly. "Look, you come over here for something, or just to gab? I got a lot of work to do." Barrows looked weary and worried. "Them brown beetles is at my crop again," he said. "Thought you might know some way of getting rid of them." "Sure," said Rankin. "Pick them off, one by one. That's how I get rid of them."