Robert Sheckley - Kenny

Captain said. "I believe one or two models were even tried. But discontinued. The weight-to-lift ratios were all wrong. Esthetically pleasing, however. Personally, I'm glad they stuck with the standard model. It's been around for millions of years, but it's still the best."

"Anything to drink around here?" one of The People asked, pausing at the fringe of the forest.

Kenny sniffed. "Water a couple of miles away, a lake I think! Straight ahead!" He and the others rushed into the forest.

Dexter and the Captain watched from the ship. They saw The People enter the woods and vanish from view.

"Will they come back to report on the water?" Dexter asked.

"No need," the Captain said. "I'm in telepathic contact with them. Kenny will report to me."

"Convenient," Dexter said.

"Saves lugging around a lot of equipment."

"What happens if the water poisons them?"

"We'll have to do something about that. Or perhaps find another planet."

"But The People will be dead."

"Plenty more where they came from," The Captain said.

Kenny reported, "The water is good, Masters. Everything here is good. Oh, there are some things not good to eat or drink, but they are minor, insignificant, easily avoided, the sort of thing you could find anywhere, even back home. Your own bodies are equipped to handle anything this planet has to offer. Now will you join us?"

"We can't land the ship in the forest. But our radar shows an open space a few miles ahead."

"I can sense it, Master."

"Good. We'll meet you there."

Kenny loped off in the direction of the open space, the other People following. He wondered, not for the first time, why the Masters were so lazy. They went everywhere by machine. And when they needed to check something, they constructed an instrument instead of doing it themselves. Or they created The People to do it for them. The Masters were strange!

But why had they constructed The People to be able to move around on their own, even to make decisions, to try things out? That was supposed to be the Masters' job. Why had they given The People intelligence and autonomy, instead of using those things themselves? Was it because they were too lazy? Did they really think it was better to sit around playing games?

He knew how the Masters thought about them. They considered The People nothing more than intelligent multipurpose instruments, self-propelling. But surely they were more than that? Otherwise, why bother to create them?

The Captain stood at the port, looking out on the planet. All of The People were out of sight now. He sighed.

"Well, then," he said, "shall we get on with it?"

"To the rendezvous, sir?" Dexter said. "I'm ready."

"We're not going to the rendezvous! Really, Dexter, I thought you'd have caught on by now."

"Caught on? I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

"Where we're going should be obvious. You young people can be a little obtuse."

Dexter was well over a thousand years old. Nothing to the Captain's estimated five thousand, but old enough to assume maturity. But still, he made no comment.

"Obvious, sir? Is it obvious to The People as well?"

"No, not to those dummies!"

"Is there some other rendezvous point, sir?"

"Yes. Code name, home."

Dexter gaped.

"Real name, home, too."

"I don't understand, sir."

"You don't? It's really very simple. We're going back to our own planet."

"But The People —"

"They'll stay here, of course."

"But no one's warned them!"

"They'll figure it out. Maybe in a month or two, or a year or two, when they finally figure out we aren't coming back."

"But we're leaving them without any tools — weapons — food —"

"Plenty to eat here. Kenny said so himself. As for weapons, tools -well, they'll figure all that out for themselves. Maybe lose a few people, but the rest'll be okay."

Dexter wasn't so sure. "There are only a hundred of them. They've barely scratched the surface of this planet. One bad break and they could all be wiped out."

"No matter. We'll send out another group."

"But why not warn them? Prepare them?"

"You still don't get it, Dexter. This group, as far as they're concerned, are the first. The originals. The autochthons. They are The People. They figure out everything for themselves, or they die. They're not an extension of us. In a few generations, they'll forget we even existed. Except perhaps for a few unprovable legends. As far as they are concerned, they are a new race. No one came before them. They are the originals."

"They'll never know we created them?"

The Captain shook his head. "They can conjecture, but they'll never really know."

Dexter watched through the port as the ship lifted. He couldn't see any of The People. They were off in the forest somewhere. And they'd never know.

Then he had a thought.

"Captain, who created us?"

"There are various theories. You know what our leading thinkers say.

They talk about 'The most persuasive conjecture...' But that's all it is. Conjecture."

"Doesn't anyone know, really?"

The Captain looked ahead into darkening space. "If they do, they aren't telling us, Dexter. And we aren't telling them."

--">