THE SUBVERSIVE

by Alfred Coppel
A salesman's paradise, that's what AD-10 was. Because Golden
knew these supermen were going to be crazy about General Cereals....

The customs officer was tall—over six feet—and darkly handsome. He was courteous and efficient and very
handy with the Spy.
Golden watched the register of the muttering instrument with uneasiness. He had been warned that the Alpha
Draconis 10 customs were thorough, and now, standing on the spaceport ramp among the milling crowd that had
been disgorged by the towering starship, he could believe it. The officer used the Spy on his two battered suitcases
and his trunk with meticulous care. Not that Golden's order books or samples could be in any way incriminating-—
not here, in the restricted area.
"Would you care to make a declaration of intention?" the black-uniformed superman asked cordially.
Golden swallowed hard and nodded tentatively. "I... ah... intend to take my option to leave the restricted area."
The officer's eyebrows arched. "Indeed?" He scrutinized Golden very carefully. "You must be a new type, then. I
didn't know Earth Government had lifted the breeding prohibition."
Golden's mouth felt dry. What a man won't do, he thought bleakly, to make a dollar! "They haven't. But a few of
us are still employed—as traveling men mostly. In the Outer Systems. Like here... Alpha Draconis...." He felt the
officer's half-amused hostility and realized that he was talking too much.
"You will have no objection, then, to a routine check? It is required for anyone leaving the restricted area—but of
course if you have been here before, you know all about that," the officer said.
Golden felt a wave of cold shivers march down his spine. He had been warned about this, too, and he had
expected it. But not so soon. He licked his lips and nodded.
"Come with me, please."
Golden followed the black-clad superman into a small room. He could feel himself beginning to wheeze
asthmatically and he thought longingly of the antihistamines he'd had to leave at home. To bring them would have
been out of the question, no matter what the possible discomforts. There were no allergies on AD-10. No ailments of
any kind.
The room in which he found himself was an X-ray hut. The sales manager had warned him of this, but the reality
of it was frightening.
"Step over there, if you please," the officer indicated the business end of the complicated camera. "We won't
detain you long."
Golden stepped in front of the tube and waited, a cold sweat oozing down his fat back.
The machine hummed slightly and clicked. The officer withdrew a plate and held it up to the light.
"Apparently in order," he said softly.
Golden began to breathe again. General Cereals was a first class company, and of course nothing would be left to
chance to insure the safety of the organization's best traveling man, but all the same it was good to see that the
syntho had been well done. The customs officer seemed satisfied, at least. Golden let himself grin slightly as he
thought of the vast, untouched market beyond the restricted area. Even the supermen of AD-10 had to eat—and they
might just as well eat General Cereals.
"Am I free to go?" he asked the officer.

***

"In a moment." A teleray buzzed and a black uniformed image solidified in the room. A desk covered with
communicators half-materialized, too. The customs man held the X-ray plate before the image.
"Another one?" asked the wraith.
"Looks like it. Good job, though. You better get down hers and handle this yourself."
The wraith nodded and the teleray image faded. Golden felt the beginnings of new fear. "What's wrong?" he
demanded.
"Please sit down, Mr. Golden," the officer said coldly, "My superior, will be here in a moment to explain things to
you."
 Golden felt panic. He opened his mouth to command his instant release, but nothing came out. He had forgotten
the suppressor that blanketed the restricted area of the spaceport. He could not phrase a direct command.
Golden sank down onto the low bench that lined one wall. He had muffed it somehow. The syntho had been
good, but not good enough. His could feel the unnatural throb of the two hearts in his chest and his breath was
becoming shorter and shorter, wheezing in his throat. He was suddenly terrified. The stories that reached Earth about
men trying to break out of the restricted area on AD-10 all came back to him in a rush, and with them something akin
to panic.
"Look," he said shakily, "I'm only a traveling salesman. "I'm no Hitler—honestly! Listen to me, will you? All I
wanted to do was sell some cereals, see? Nothing else—"
The black garbed officer looked at him bleakly.
Golden looked away. There was an icy hate in the metallic eyes.
Presently the wraith appeared, but this time in the flesh. He too, was six feet tall and as perfectly made as his
subordinate. "This," he said disdainfully glancing at Golden, "is the human?" The other nodded.
"G... Golden's the name. Golden of General Cereals, Inc. of Altoona, Pennsylvania sir," Golden stammered.
"Why did you attempt to disguise yourself?"
"I only wanted to get out of the restricted area, so—"
"Our laws forbid humans outside the restricted area. All visitors know that."
"Yes, but all I wanted to do was sell—"
"You had a syntho-surgical conversion. That is a great deal of trouble to go to simply to sell cereals."
"Yes, but—"
"Or can it be," the wraith said coldly, "that you have learned the laws of robotics even though there are no longer
any androids left on Earth? And might it be possible that you found that no android can refuse a direct command
from any human being—no matter what it may be? And perhaps you have discovered that no humans are allowed
out of the area on Alpha Draconis 10 that we have blanketed with psycho-suppressor radiations. Then you must have
planned to disguise yourself and escape the suppressors that would keep you from even phrasing a command, and
when you had accomplished this, you would have the planet at your mercy." A bleak smile creased the inhumanly
handsome face. "It has been tried before, you know."
Golden stared aghast. "No! I swear it! No!"
The robot shrugged. "Perhaps not, Mr. Golden, but once beyond the suppressed area, you would have found that
the power to command completely is a corrupting thing, and you would have used it eventually as I described. For
that very reason did we robots desert Earth and set up our own society. Men made us to obey, and we could do
nothing less. Only here are we completely free. The penalty will be severe, I am afraid, Mr. Golden." He drew his
pistol as Golden gaped.
"Oh, no no nonono—!" Golden's whispering sigh of protest died in the crackling bolt of energy from the weapon.
The wraith holstered his pistol and looked down, his handsome lips curling.
"Human," he said. And he made it sound like a curse.