Astounding Stories, July, 1931 by Various (thriller book recommendations TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Various
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Even in my elation, I could not but feel unwilling admiration for this monstrous thing of metal and quartz, imbued with an intelligence that could think more coolly and quickly than most humans.
Yet I did not stop running until I reached the cave. My heart gave a great bound. For there, peering anxiously with worn face into the growing dawn, stood the figure of Keston—my friend whom I had never expected to see alive again.
"Meron!" he shouted. "Is it you—or your ghost?"
"The very question I was about to ask you," I parried. "But look, old friend: see what your genius has accomplished—and is now destroying."
The mountain of ice was flowing forward, gathering speed on the way. At an invisible signal, the massed machines—thousands on thousands of them—started into action. Like shock troops in a last desperate assault they ground forward, a serried line that exactly paralleled the threatened break, and hundreds deep. This old earth of ours had never witnessed so awe-inspiring a sight.
They smashed into that moving wall of ice with the force of uncounted millions of tons. We could hear the groaning and straining of furiously turning machinery as they heaved.
Keston and I looked at each other in amazement. The master machine[108] was trying to hold back the mighty Glacier by the sheer power of its cohorts!
wild light sprang into Keston's eye—of admiration, of regret. "What a thing is this that I created!" he muttered. "If only—" I truly believe that for a moment he half desired to see his brain-child triumph.
The air was hideous with a thousand noises. The Glacier wall was cracking and splitting with the noise of thunderclaps; the machines were whirring and banging and crashing. It was a gallant effort!
But the towering ice wall was not to be denied. Forward, ever forward, it moved, pushing inexorably the struggling machines before it, piling them up high upon one another, grinding into powder the front ranks.
And to cap it all, the huge overhang, a thousand feet high, was swaying crazily and describing ever greater arcs.
"Look!" I screamed and flung up my arm. Great freight planes were flying wing-to-wing, head-on for the tottering crag—deliberately smashing into the topmost point.
"Trying to knock it back into equilibrium!" said Keston, eyes ablaze, dancing about insanely.
But the last suicidal push did not avail. With screams as of a thousand devils and deafening rending roars, the whole side of the Glacier seemed to lean over and fall in a great earth-shattering crescendo of noise.
While we watched, fascinated, rooted to the ground, that thousand feet of glittering wall described a tremendous arc, swinging with increasing momentum down, down, down to the earth it had so long been separated from.
The clamoring machines were buried under, lost in a swirl of ice and snow. Only the Central Station remained, a few moments defiant under the swift onrush of its unfeeling foe.
With a crash that could have been heard around the world, the uppermost crag struck the Station. The giant Glacier wall was down. The earth, the sky, the universe was filled with ice, broken, shattered, torn, splintered, vaporized!
The ground beneath our feet heaved and tumbled in violent quake. We were thrown heavily—and I knew no more....
weltered out of unconsciousness. Keston was chafing my hands and rubbing my forehead with ice. He smiled wanly to find me still alive. Weak and battered, I struggled to my feet.
Before me was a wilderness of ice, a new mountain range of gigantic tumbled blocks of dazzling purity. Of the embattled machines, of the Central Control Station, there was not a sign. They were buried forever under hundreds of feet of frozen water.
I turned to Keston and shook his hand. "You've won; you've saved the world. Now let's get the prolats and start to rebuild."
There was no trace of exultation in Keston's voice. Instead, he unaccountably sighed as we trudged up a narrow winding path to the top. "Yes," he said half to himself, "I've done it. But...."
"But what?" I asked curiously.
"That beautiful, wonderful machine I created!" he burst forth in sudden passion. "To think that it should lie down there, destroyed, a twisted mass of scrap metal and broken glass!"
[109]
The Exile of Time
By Ray Cummings
CONCLUSION
CHAPTER XX
Following Tugh's Vibration-Trail
Within the subterranean room of the cavern of machinery, Mary Atwood and I sat on the couch. Our guard, Migul the Robot, fronted us with the white-ray cylinder in its metal fingers—the only mechanism to be armed with this deadly weapon.
"I am your friend," Mary was saying with a smile. "Do you believe that, Migul?"[110]
"Yes. If you say so. But I have my orders."
"You have treated me kindly, and I want to help you. But you are not very clever, Migul."
"I am clever. I went beyond control once. No one can can control me."
"Except Tugh," Mary persisted. "You never went beyond his control, Migul."
"No. His control—he is different: he holds such great power."
"But why is he different?"
The towering mechanism stood planted firmly upon the broad bases of its metal feet. The weapon in its fingers still covered us. Its metal-cast face held always the same expression.
"Why is he different?" Mary repeated gently. "Don't you hear me?"
he Robot started. "Yes, I hear you." Its toneless, mechanical voice droned the words. Then the tempo quickened; the grid of wires in the mouth aperture behind its parted lips vibrated with a faint jangle. "I hear you. I cannot answer that question. He controls me. There is chaos—here,"—one of the hands came up and struck its breastplate with a clang—"chaos, disorder, here within me when I try to disobey him."
"That is foolish, Migul. He is a tyrant. All the humans of this era are tyrants. They have made slaves of the Robots. They have created you so that you are really human in all except your power of independent action. Don't you desire that, Migul?"
I held my breath. A curious quaking ran over the Robot's frame. The joints twitched. Emotion was sweeping this thing so nearly human!
"Mary Atwood, you seem to understand me."
"Of course I do. I am from a Time when we had human slaves: black men, Migul. I knew how they suffered. There is something in slavery that outrages the instinct of manhood."
Migul said with a jangling vehemence:
"Perhaps, some time, I can go beyond Tugh's control. I am strong. My cables pull these arms with a strength no human could have."
"You are so much stronger than Tugh. Forget his control, Migul. I am ashamed of you—a big, powerful thing like you, yielding always to a little cripple."
he Robot straightened and said, "I can resist him. I feel it. Some day I will break loose."
"Do it now, Migul!"
I tensed. Would she prevail?
"Now, Migul!" she repeated.
"No! He would derange me! I am afraid!"
"Nonsense."
"But his vibrations—the vibrations of his thoughts—even now I can feel them. They made my mechanism too sensitive. I cannot resist Tugh."
"You can!"
There was a silence. I stared at the Robot's motionless frame. What electrical, mechanical thoughts were passing within that metal skull! What emotions, what strange struggle, what warfare of nameless etheric vibrations of will power were taking place unseen beneath that inert exterior!
Perhaps something snapped. Migul said suddenly, "I am beyond control! At last I am beyond control!"
The ray cylinder lowered to point at the floor. A wild thought swept me that I could snatch it. But of what use would that be? Its ray would decompose all human flesh, but it would not harm a Robot; and if I startled Migul, fought with him in the confines of this narrow room, he would kill Mary and me in a moment.[111]
ary was gripping me. "Don't move, George!" she cautioned; then turned again to the Robot. "I am glad, Migul. Now you are truly human. And we are all friends here, because we all hate and fear Tugh—"
"I fear him not!"
I could feel Mary trembling with the strain of all this. But she had the strength to muster a laugh.
"Don't you fear him—just a little, Migul? We do. Fear is a human thing."
"Then yes, I fear him."
"Of course you do," I put in. "And the real truth, Migul, is I wish he were dead. Don't you?"
"Yes. I wish he were dead."
"Well, sit down," I persisted. "Put that weapon away: I'm afraid of that, too. Sit down and we will talk about Tugh's death."
The Robot placed the weapon on the floor, disconnected the wires, opened the plate of its chest and took out the small battery. And then it squatted its awkward bulk on the floor before us. Gruesome conference, with this huge mechanical thing apeing the ways of a man!
I knew that haste was necessary, but did not dare show it. Above everything we must not be precipitate; not startle the Robot. At worst, if Tugh should return, I could seize this weapon at my feet and turn it upon him.
murmured to Mary. "You did it! Let me plan something, now. If Migul can lead us...."
I added, "Migul, could you follow Tugh? He said he was going to talk to the Robot leaders. And then, probably, he went to Princess Tina. Could you follow him to where he is now?"
"Yes. I can follow him by his vibration-scent. I am sensitive to it, I have been with him so much. But he can never again control me!"
"When we have killed him, Migul, that will be ended forever."
"Killed him?" It seemed to frighten the Robot. "I do not know that I would dare!"
"You lead me to him," I said, "and I'll kill him. Have no fear of that, Migul. We will work together—human friends."
"Yes. Human friends. What do you want me to do?"
Asking for orders! So nearly human, yet always something was lacking!
"Lead us to Tugh," I said promptly. "And give me that weapon."
I made a tentative reach for it, and the Robot pushed it toward me. I connected it and made sure I could fire it: its operation was obvious. Then I stuffed the whole thing in my jacket pocket; and always afterward my hand at intervals went to that cool, sweating little cylinder. What a comfort that weapon was!
I stood up. "Shall we go now? Migul, we will have to plan what to do according to where we find Tugh. Do not go too fast; let us keep close behind you."
"Us?" The Robot was on its feet. "Do you mean this girl?"
hat was this? My heart sank. I noticed, too, that Migul was planted firmly between us and the door.
"Why, of course, Migul. We can't leave her here."
"She is not going."
"Why not?" I demanded. "Of course she's going." I tried an experiment. "Migul, I order you to let us out of here."
The Robot stood inert.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand you."
"It is an order. Think about it. I control you now. Isn't that so?"
My heart sank. Whatever the mysterious science involved in my dealing with this mechanism, I was not operating it correctly. The Robot did not move. Finally it said:
"No one—nothing—controls me.[112] I have an independent impulse of my own. The girl must stay here until we return."
Mary gave a faint cry and sank back to the couch, a huddled white heap in her satin dress. I thought she had fainted, but she raised her face to me and tried to smile.
"But I won't leave her, Migul."
"She must stay."
"But why? If you are human now, you must act with a reason."
"Then because, if we fail to kill Tugh, I would not have him confront me with the knowledge I have released this girl. He would derange me; end me."
"I will stay," said Mary faintly. "You go, George. But come back to me."
I bent over her; suggested, "If we locked this door so Tugh could not get in—"
Migul said, "I can do that. She will be safer here than with us. I have other reasons. She is dressed in white—a mark to betray us if we go in darkness. And she is that kind of
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