It was at this moment that a young man strode uncertainly up the walk. There were so many strangers about that no one challenged him until he edged toward the porch, unsteady on his feet. He was drunk.
"Thersha robod I'm af'er," he observed intently. "We'll shee aboud how he'll take lead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
There was a flash, as if a soundless explosion had occurred. The heat accompanying it was blistering, but of short duration. When everyone's eyes had become accustomed to the afternoon light again, there was a burned patch on the sidewalk and grass was charred on either side. There was a smell of broiled meat in the air—and no trace of the man.
The next moment newsmen were on their feet and photographers' bulbs were flashing. The TV camera swept to the spot on the sidewalk. An announcer was explaining what had happened, his voice trained in rigid control, shocked with horror and fright.
Moments later sirens screamed and two police cars came into sight. They screeched to the curb and several officers jumped out and ran across the lawn.
While this was going on, Prof. Tomlin sat white-faced and unmoving in his chair. The robot was silent.
When it had been explained to the policemen, five officers advanced the robot.
"Stop where you are," George commended. "It is true that I killed a man, much as any of you would have done if you had been in my place. I can see in your minds what you are intending to say, that you must arrest me—"
Prof. Tomlin found his voice. "George, we will all have to testify that you killed with that force or whatever it is you have. But it will be self-defense, which is justifiable homicide—"