Terry Baker was one of the lucky ones.  He would be safe in the Martian Terradome when the asteroid slammed into Earth.  The asteroid was predicted to collide with Earth on September 23rd, 2046, leaving few--if any--survivors on the planet.  In less than thirty-six hours Terry would be aboard a shuttle heading for one of the two ships--already in orbit--that would carry one hundred people to Mars.
Terry was one of the lucky ones, but he was unable to suppress his feelings of guilt.  Of the billions of people on Earth, why him?  In his own mind he tried to justify his position by reasoning that he had been selected because he was considered one of the best robotic engineers on Earth.  He had no equal when it came to handling androids.
But guilt feelings gnawed at him, especially when he thought of the many talented people who had turned down the opportunity to flee to Mars.  The president himself had declined to go, saying that it was his duty to remain behind.
The president named his scientific advisor, John Bishop, as director of the ultra secret project, dubbed Operation Red Ball.  The president also gave Bishop authority to select the hundred people--from among several nations--who would go to the safe haven of the Martian Terradome.
Terry played a large role in the construction of that dome.  Because androids could function in the thin atmosphere of Mars without life support equipment, androids made up the bulk of the labor force during construction of the dome.  Terry was responsible for the programming, fine-tuning, and maintenance of the androids.
Terry was in his shop office and getting ready to quit for the day when Phil Clark came in.  Something was up, Terry thought.  Phil, a noted scientist from London and one of Bishop’s top lieutenants, was third in command behind Bishop and Oliver Slade, the other lieutenant.  Terry met Phil on Mars during the terradome construction, and the two became friends.
“Hi, Phil.  C’mon in.”
“Terry, I can only stay a minute.  There’s something I’ve got to tell you.  I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Terry noted that Phil was pale and appeared nervous.
“What is it, Phil?”
“You’re going to be scratched from Red Ball.  Slade recommended it to Bishop.  Bishop said that you had a drinking problem and would be a poor risk on Mars.  Bishop, who believes anything Slade says, bought it.”
“Slade’s a damn liar.  You know that I don’t have a drinking problem.  I rarely...”
“I know that,” said Phil, “and I protested to Bishop.  But Slade has him convinced.  But that’s not all--I’m sure they plan to kill you.”
Terry was almost speechless.  “But...why on Earth...”
“Bishop is afraid that you’ll seek revenge by blabbing about the project to reporters, possibly causing Operation Red Ball to be scratched.  He doesn’t want to take that risk.  He hinted that he had a pal in military intelligence who could handle the matter.  My friend, I can’t stay--it wouldn’t be healthy for me if they knew I talked to you.  Keep your eyes open.”
With that, Phil rushed out the door.
At first, Terry was bewildered, and then angered, by what Phil had just told him.  He tried to think of a motive for Slade’s actions, but could think of none. 
At least he was forewarned--thanks to Phil.  He could hide  until the ships left Earth, and then he should be out of danger.  Once the ships were on their way to Mars, Bishop could not care less what happened to Terry.  But even if Terry escaped Bishop’s assassin, he would only be prolonging his life by a few months--until the asteroid hit.
He could take consolation only in the possibility that the asteroid might be deflected.  Phil, an astronomer, once told Terry that Scientists had been warning governments for years of the possibility of a hit by a comet or asteroid.  But no one listened until it was confirmed that a large asteroid was on a collision course with Earth.
By the time world governments were ready to deal with the problem, time was already running out.  In the little time remaining, scientists hoped to drive the asteroid off course with a series of nuclear blasts.  Phil had said that there was little chance--perhaps twenty percent--for success.  Official news releases, however, claimed the chance of success was a hundred percent.
The president went along with this deception, hoping to avoid panic.  Besides, he said, if the asteroid were indeed intercepted and deflected, everybody would be happy--but if the scientists failed, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
It was ironic, Terry thought, that the twenty-eight androids he had programmed would be safe on Mars when the asteroid hit, but Terry himself would remain on Earth.  Sixteen of his androids were now on Mars as caretakers, and the remaining twelve  would be on the ships to Mars seeing to the comfort of passengers during the six-week trip.     
He wondered who they would get to replace him.  There weren’t that many in the field of robotics who specialized in androids.  Terry was one of the few who could fine-tune an android to the point that it seemed almost human.  If it weren’t for the bald heads and black uniforms of androids, many people couldn’t tell the difference.  Before he grew a beard, Terry once shaved his head and donned an android uniform as a joke on friends.
It occurred to him that if he shaved his head and beard, he could pose as one of his own androids on the trip to Mars.  And why not?  What could they do if they caught him?  No worse than they’d planned to do to him anyway.  Suddenly, his guilt feelings about going to Mars melted away.
He left his office for the day and walked toward the parking lot.  On his way to his apartment, he’d stop at the drugstore for clippers and a tube of permanent depilatory cream.  He couldn’t afford to let his hair and whiskers grow once he began posing as an android.
He got into his car, but as he started to insert the key into the ignition, the last words of Phil echoed in his mind: “Keep your eyes open.”  This was a high security compound on a military reservation, but his prospective killer would feel at home here--maybe he even worked here.
He got out and walked to the front of the car.  He opened the hood, and although he was expecting it, the sight of the bomb sent shivers through his body.  He closed the hood and looked around. 
Two security guards were in full view--one manning the gate to the compound, and one walking the compound perimeter as a roving guard .  Whoever planted the bomb had to be someone with authorization--or fake authorization--to enter the compound.  Fake ID would be easy for an intelligence agent.
There was a PX a few blocks from the compound where he could buy the items he needed.  He walked to the gate and presented his ID to the guard.
“I’m going to the PX,” he told the guard.  “I’ll be coming back shortly since I have to work late tonight.”
“Something still wrong with your car, sir?  The mechanic said he fixed it.”
So the agent had posed as a mechanic.  “No, it’s fine,” he said, “but I’ll walk.  Need the exercise.”
“Very good, Sir.”
He showed his special status civilian ID at the PX entrance, entered, and purchased the depilatory cream as well as clippers and a pair of scissors.  
                                                    
He was alone in the robotics building.  Even the usual late workers were gone for the day.  He entered the men’s room.
Using the scissors and clippers, he trimmed his beard and hair as closely as possible.  He smeared the cream over the stubble, waited ten minutes, and then wiped the hair away with a damp cloth.  He looked at his bare face and bald head in the mirror.  I’d better get used to it, he thought.  It’ll never grow back.
He entered the robot holding point to find all robots and androids deactivated, as he expected.  He surveyed the twelve androids that would make the trip to Mars.  After arriving on Mars, the twelve were programmed to perform duties as food service workers, plumbers, and hydroponics tank tenders.  The sixteen already on Mars would be handling other duties, such as electricians and life-support techs.
Terry must now choose which android he would replace.  The choice boiled down to either hydroponics or food service--these were the only jobs that would not require duties in the deadly Martian atmosphere outside the dome.
He chose to replace a hydroponics worker--food service was too risky because there were too many humans to deal with.  There were two hydroponics workers, Alpha Six and Alpha Seven.  He would pose as Alpha Seven.
He pressed a spot behind Alpha Seven’s right ear and activated the android.  He ordered the android to remove its coveralls, then removed his own clothing and switched with the android.
“I have a mission for you Alpha Seven.”
“Alpha Seven is at your service, Mr. Baxter.”
Terry never ceased to be amazed at an android’s ability to recognize humans, even in disguise.  Android sensors detected the unique sound of each human voice.
“Alpha Seven, you are to leave this building and go to an automobile parked in slot number thirty.  It is directly in front of the door, five rows away.  Do not leave the building until your sensors tell you that the parking lot is clear of humans.  You are to get in the car and start the motor.
He gave the android a few more detailed instructions, gave it the key, and sent it on its way.
A few minutes later, the building shook from the blast.  Terry knew that Alpha Seven was only a machine, but oddly, he felt a tinge of remorse.  Moments later, he heard the approaching sirens.
Let the investigators figure that one out, he mused.  By the time they figure out that it was an android in my car, I’ll be on the way to Mars.
He went to the mirror to double check his appearance.  He knew androids well enough to mimic their mannerisms, but there was something about his appearance that bothered him.
He stared at his reflection trying to find something out of place--and then he saw it.  The diamond-shaped tag above his breast pocket identifying him as Alpha Seven was missing.  The tag, held in place by velcro, must have snagged on something and pulled off during the clothes swap with the android.  He hurried back to the robot holding point.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the tag in the area where he’d made the swap.  He reattached the tag to the velcro gripper above his pocket. 
There was no turning back now; he could not leave the robot holding point.  Whenever people were around, he must sit on the bench with the androids and pretend to be deactivated until someone “activated” him.
He walked along the bench and activated the androids scheduled for Operation Red Ball.  When they were all activated, he faced them.
“By my special order, from this point on you will regard me as another android and address me as `Alpha Seven.’  But this special order will apply only when humans are present.  This order will be in effect until I tell you that the special order is rescinded.”         
Everything was working for him so far.  He saw no problem with his appearance.  As a hydroponics worker he could sneak baths and perform human functions.  He would not be called upon to work outside the dome.  Sneaking food was his only problem.
There would be no problem sneaking food during the trip to Mars, since the androids would be serving food in their capacity as stewards.  But he would have to think of a way to sneak food after arriving on Mars.
He deactivated all the androids except Alpha Six.  “Alpha Six, you are to awaken me when a human approaches.”

The following morning he recognized his replacement when the man entered the holding point.  Although a skilled robotics engineer, Kevin Sanders had little experience in working with androids.  But now Terry understood why Slade had blackballed him; Sanders was among Slade’s circle of friends.
Terry watched as Sanders studied the program sheet to familiarize himself with each android’s duties.  Sanders studied the sheet for about ten minutes, and then walked up to the bench where the androids were seated.  He walked along the bench, activating each android. 
Terry felt the slight pressure behind his ear.  “Alpha Seven activated.  All systems operating.  I am at your service, sir.”
After all androids were activated, Sanders stood before them.  “I am Mr. Sanders, and from now on you will address me as such.  I am your new commander.  For any of you who may feel an allegiance to Mr. Baxter, I can assure you that he is dead.”
Terry almost laughed.  Sanders was talking to the androids as though they were human, with human emotions.  They felt no allegiance to any human--they simply obeyed instructions.  They were programmed for more complicated tasks than standard robots, but they were robots nevertheless.
Sanders went on.  “Be ready to board the ship at 1000 hours this morning.  You will be taken to the ship to prepare it for the human passengers, who will board later.”
Terry almost laughed again.  Be ready?  How does an android get ready--pack its bags?  But I can’t laugh, he thought.  Even I think of them as almost human sometimes.

The ship set out for Mars on June 30, 2046.  It arrived at Mars on August 10, 2046, forty-three days before the asteroid was due to collide with Earth.
Scientists disagreed on when Earth would again become habitable after the impact, but Phil was among those who estimated it to be less than a year.  The cloud kicked up by the impact, he said, should cover the planet about six months.
Terry wondered if he could keep up his pretense for a year--provided that Phil was right in his calculations.  It would be tough to keep from slipping up for such a long time. 
The first four weeks went well.  Terry had no trouble tending the hydroponics tanks.  He ordered the food service androids to sneak food to him.  He had settled down into a comfortable routine when the accident happened. 
The accident occurred while life support techs were performing modification procedures on the pumps to improve the life support system.  One of the androids was disabled when struck by a piece of falling equipment.  Sanders was unable to repair the disabled android, and chose Alpha Seven--Terry-- as a replacement.
“Alpha Seven, you are to be assigned a new duty,” said Sanders.  “Be ready to start with the life support crew tomorrow morning.  Tending the hydroponics tanks is not a critical duty, and can be managed by one android.”
“Alpha Seven is at your service, Mr. Sanders.”
For once, Terry was grateful that Sanders had alerted him to be ready.  Now he would have time to think of a way to avoid the duty.  The life support crew was working on the pumps outside the dome, and as an android, Terry would not be suited up.
Perhaps he could pretend to go haywire--run around in circles or something.  But Sanders would take him to the robot repair point, and that would give him away.
When he thought of a solution, it was simple.  He walked up to Alpha Six and simply swapped ID tags with the android.  He attached the Alpha Six tag to his velcro grip.
“From this point on,” he instructed the android, “you will be Alpha Seven.”
Now he would be working alone in the hydroponics tanks, but he could handle that.
Several days later, he learned that the life support crew was having trouble modifying the pumps.  He overheard people remarking that Sanders had so far been unable to fine-tune the androids to perform the modification tasks.  But everyone seemed confident that Sanders would solve the problem.
To Terry, it seemed simple enough.  Programming the androids had already been accomplished; that was the easy part.  But fine-tuning was almost an art, and could be very difficult for an inexperienced tech.
Sanders would have had no problems if the modification procedures had not come up. The androids had been fine-tuned to operate the existing pumps, but now the fine-tuning must be adjusted for the modification procedures.
Terry was tempted to reveal his identity and step in to take charge of the androids.  But he thought better of it.  People would see him as an android gone haywire and claiming to be human.  He had heard of people getting nasty with haywire androids.  And there was Bishop and Slade to consider.  Anyway, maybe Sanders would work out the fine-tuning problem.
There were twelve androids on the life-support crew, and only two human techs.  The techs would be unable to manage without the assistance of androids.  The dome, constructed over an underground Martian lake, was divided into four independent sections, with three androids maintaining each section.  It was critical that the androids functioned properly.

The next day, Terry learned that Section Three went out.  The air in the section quickly became noxious, and people fled to the other sections.  Three people had been unable to escape in time and died from asphyxiation.
Sanders was claiming to be on the verge of solving the problem, but it was clear to Terry that Sanders was deceiving himself as well as others.  If Sanders knew what he was doing, he would have already solved the problem.
Terry had no choice.  He must find Phil and reveal himself before another section went out.  Phil would recognize him.  He made his way toward Section One, where Phil’s office was located.  Crowds were milling about, but he noted no signs of panic--but the type of people who came to Mars were not the type to panic easily.
He finally made it to Section One and immediately hurried toward the operations building.  He entered the building and stepped into a large office room where a number of people sat at desks.  He spied Phil talking to a small group in the rear of the room.
One of the men at a nearby desk jumped up.  “You there!  Android!  Leave this office immediately and return to your place of duty.”
“I am not an android and it is urgent that I see Phil Clark immediately.”
“Haywire android here,” the man yelled.  “I need help to subdue it and get it out of here before it causes problems.”
Several men jumped in to help, and Terry found himself pinned to the floor by the group.  A woman came with a roll of duct tape and began winding it around his legs as the men held him.
“Dammit!  Your lives depend on my seeing Phil...”
One of the men clamped his hand over Terry’s mouth.  “Tape his mouth,” he told the woman.
Terry bit down on one of the man’s fingers, and the man cursed in pain.
Terry shouted out, “Phil!  It’s me.  Terry Baxter.”
As the woman was trying to tape his mouth, Terry looked up to see Phil.
“Good Lord!  It is you,” Phil exclaimed.  “This is no android; he’s a friend of mine.  Let him go.”
Terry got to his feet and Phil led him to his desk.
“Phil, I’ve got to get suited up and go outside.  I can fine-tune the androids to perform the modification procedures, but we’ve got to hurry.”
As Terry was suiting up, he gave Phil a brief rundown on what had happened.
“As third in command,” said Phil, “I could have my superiors arrested if I had solid proof of criminal activity.  That’s the law, but it’s meaningless.  Bishop controls everything, including the small security force.  He is, in effect, sheriff, judge, and jury.”                      
Terry finished suiting up and rushed out to the work site.  Sanders was near a nervous breakdown when Terry arrived, and was only too glad to relinquish his command of the androids. 
The life support tech gave Terry the modification plans for the pumps.  Terry studied the plans and began fine-tuning the androids to perform the procedures.
Just as the modification of Section One was completed, Sections Two and Three went out almost simultaneously.
“Thanks to you, the pumps for Section One are running perfectly now,” said one of the techs, “but with the number of people in Section One now, it’s going to be too much of a strain on the equipment.  There are already indications that the pumps are faltering.  But at least the pumps in Section One are working well enough to buy us time get everybody aboard the ships.”
“But what then?”  Terry asked.  “Where will we go from here?”
“Back to Earth.  We’ll have to take our chances there.  Here it’s certain death--on Earth at least we’ll have a chance.”  He pulled out his phone.  “I’ll call Bishop and recommend an immediate evacuation.”

The ships left Mars on September 11, 2046, twelve days before the asteroid was due to impact.  Shortly after Terry was seated in his compartment, an announcement came over the intercom.
“Give me your attention, please.  This is your pilot, Captain Lucy Grant speaking.  I have just come from a meeting  with several key scientists on board, and we have prepared the following announcement.  The asteroid will hit Earth in twelve days.  Our flight to Earth will last forty-one days, so we will be spared when the asteroid hits.
The ships are designed to make an emergency landing almost anywhere on Earth where the terrain is suitable.  But if we do manage to land safely, there is a very small chance for survival--we would need a great deal of luck.  Our chances are small, but keep in mind that that’s better than no chance at all.

Two days later, The captain came on again.  There was excitement in her voice.  “Give me your attention, please.  This is Captain Grant, and ladies and gentlemen, this time I have good tidings for all.  We have received word from Earth that the asteroid was intercepted and successfully deflected.”
Applause and cheers exploded around the passenger compartments.  When the cheers died down, the captain continued. 
“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Terry Baxter on behalf of all aboard both ships.  His actions bought enough time for all of us to be evacuated.  If not for Terry, none of us would be here.  Thanks, Terry.”
Terry was embarrassed as more applause erupted.
“And Terry,” the captain went on, “I’d like to see you in my quarters, please.”

Terry entered the captain’s quarters to find Phil waiting there with the captain.  After Phil introduced him, Terry was seated.
“Terry,” she said, “Phil told me all about the criminal activities of John Bishop and Oliver Slade.  I contacted Earth and learned that the authorities who investigated the explosion of your car traced it to a military intelligence agent named Scott Warren.
“At the time I called Earth, Warren’s whereabouts was still unknown.  But as luck would have it, while I was still in contact with them, I checked my manifest and learned that Warren was aboard this ship.  I had him arrested, and during questioning, he implicated Bishop and Slade.  All three are now in custody.”
As Terry was returning to his compartment, he stopped and instructed one of the androids to bring him a cup of coffee.
“I do not serve androids, Alpha Seven.”
Terry had forgotten his special order.  People were staring at him and the android.                            
“The special order is rescinded,” he said.
“I am at your service, Mr. Baxter.  I will bring the coffee to your compartment.”
Terry could have sworn that the android smiled at him.


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The Zorquin starship was in its fifth year of space exploration.  Its mission was to search the galaxy for intelligent life and to welcome all peace loving cultures into The Galactic Union.  Conversely, planets found to be populated with savage, barbaric people would be considered a threat to The Galactic Union and would be marked for destruction.

Ibyx, the science officer,  studied the data supplied by the ship's computer.  "Looks like we've found another inhabited planet, Commander."

"This far out toward the edge of the galaxy?  Where is it Ibyx?"

"My instruments tell me it's in that group of stars directly in the center of your screen.  There's a star in there with eight planets and one planetoid orbiting the star; the one we want is the third one out."

"Very well.  Let's go in and take a closer look.  The usual procedure.  We'll go in close enough for our instruments to study the planet, but stay far enough out that they can't detect us."
The ship entered the star system, and parked near the fourth planet.
 
"We're in pretty close," said the commander.  "Are you sure they don't detect us?"

"There is no indication that they detect us.  Apparently their equipment is primitive.  At this range,  we'll be able to study them in fairly good detail."
****
Ibyx completed his studies of the planet and reported to the commander.  "We have completed our studies of the planet, commander."

"Yes, Ibyx.  Give me a briefing now, and follow up with a written report later."

"We have found that the dominant species on this planet is very much like us.  They walk upright on two legs as we do and their bodies bear a close resemblance to our bodies.  But the resemblance ends at the head.   They have no natural adornments on their heads as Zorquins do.  Nothing grows from their heads except hair."

The commander nodded.  "Hmmm.  Interesting."

Ibyx continued.  "The inhabitants of this world have a violent history of warfare, and even now there is fighting going on in many areas of the planet.  At first glance, it would seem that we should just mark them for destruction and move on.  But there may yet be hope for them.
"Though they are constantly warring with each other, at the same time they are struggling to attain peace.  On the one hand, they are savage and barbaric.  But on the other hand, they show a reverence for life and a desire for peace.  Our studies on this planet are inconclusive.  What do you suggest, commander?"
 
The commander thought about it for a few moments.  "Commander Kryk in Sector Five was faced with a similar situation and came up with a solution.  He chose to test a small group, and based his decision on the reaction of that group.

"And it was the right choice that Kryk made.  That planet in Sector Five, though questionable at the time, is now a peaceful member of the Galactic Union.  I will follow Commander Kryk's example.

"Find an isolated group of the inhabitants, and we will send one unarmed Zorquin to make contact with them.  He will approach them in a peaceful and friendly manner, bowing to them in the intergalactic sign of peace and goodwill.  My decision will depend on the reaction of this group when faced with a lone, unarmed stranger approaching them peacefully."

"A wise decision, Commander," said Ibyx, "I will locate an isolated group."
****
Ibyx decided that a forested are would be an ideal place to begin the search.  After some time, he spotted a group moving through the forest.

"I have found four of them moving through a forest," he told the commander.  "They wear brightly covered headgear, and their clothing appears to be camouflaged.  They carry strange looking devices that appear to be wooden handles affixed to metal tubes.  The devices resemble instruments that our surveyors use to launch markers. They are probably surveyors.  They are accompanied by several domesticated animals, probably trained to assist them in their surveying work."

"Very well," said the commander.  "This group will serve as our trial group.  Do we have a volunteer to establish contact with them?"

"I'll volunteer," said Ibyx.  "I'm overdue for a mission such as this."

"Prepare to beam down, then.  The crew will be prepared to beam you up at the first sign of trouble."
****
The ship's crew watched intently as Ibyx materialized in a small clearing near the group of four.  He moved through the brush toward the group, and halted when he realized that they had become aware of him.  His presence seemed to cause excitement among the group.  He quickly executed the intergalactic sign of peace.
 
He bowed low, then raised his head until his stately antlers pointed skyward...