The Revolt of the Machines
_By Nat Schachner and Arthur L. Zagat_
"Look!" he gasped. Out on the floor was a shambles.]
[Sidenote: Something in the many-faceted mind of the master machinespurs it to diabolical revolt against the authority of its humanmasters.]
PROLOGUE
_For five thousand years, since that nigh legendary figure Einsteinwrote and thought in the far-off mists of time, the scientistsendeavored to reduce life and the universe to terms of a mathematicalformula. And they thought they had succeeded. Throughout the world,machines did the work of man, and the aristos, owners of the machines,played in soft idleness in their crystal and gold pleasure cities.Even the prolat hordes, relieved of all but an hour or two per day oftoil, were content in their warrens--content with the crumbs of theirmasters._
_Then the ice began to move, down from the north and up from thesouth. Slowly, inexorably, the jaws of the great vise closed, till allthat was left of the wide empire of man was a narrow belt about theequator. Everywhere else was a vast tumbled waste of cold and glaringwhiteness, a frozen desert. In the narrow habitable belt werecompacted the teeming millions of earth's peoples._
_In spite of the best efforts of the scientists among them, thecrowding together of the myriads of earth's inhabitants brought in itstrain the inevitable plagues of famine and disease. Even with the mostintensive methods of cultivation, even with the synthetic foodfactories running day and night, there could not be produced enough tosustain life in the hordes of prolats. And with the lowering ofresistance and the lack of sufficient sanitary arrangements, diseasebegan to spread with ever increasing rapidity and virulence._
* * * * *
_The aristos trembled, for they were few, and the prolats many.Already were arising loud and disheveled orators, inciting themillions to arise against their masters. The aristos were few, butthey were not helpless. In the blackness of a moonless, clouded nightthere was a whispering of many wings, and from dark shapes that loomedagainst the dark sky, great beams swept over the tented fields wherethe prolats lay huddled and sleeping. And when the red sun circled theice-chained earth he found in his path heaps of dust where on his lastjourney he had warmed the swarming millions._
_The slaves thus ruthlessly destroyed could well be spared, for themachines did the work of the world, even to the personal care of thearistos' pampered bodies. Only for direction, and starting andstopping, was the brain and the hand of man required. Now that theinhabited portion of the terrestrial globe was so straitlycircumscribed, radio power waves, television and radio-phone, renderedfeasible the control of all the machines from one central station,built at the edge of the Northern Glacier. Here were brought the scantfew of the prolats that had been spared, a pitiful four hundred menand women, and they were set to endless, thankless tasks._
_I was one of those few; and Keston, my friend, who was set at thehead of the force. I was second in command. For a decade we labored,whipped our fellows to their tasks, that the aristos might lollcareless in the perfume and silks of their pleasure palaces, or riotin wild revel, to sink at last in sodden stupor. Sprawled thus theywould lie, until the dressing machines we guided would lift themgently from their damasked couches, bathe them with warm and fragrantwaters, clothe their soft carcasses in diaphanous, iridescent webs,and start them on a new day of debauchery._
_But the slow vengeance of an inscrutable Omnipotence they mockinglydenied overtook them at last, and I saw the rendering and payment ofthe long past due account._
* * * * *
As I entered the vast domed hall wherein all my waking hours werespent, the shrill whistle of an alarm signal told me that somethinghad been wrong. Instinctively I looked toward the post of Abud. Threetimes in the past week had Keston or I been called upon for swiftaction to right some error of that dull witted prolat. On the ovalvisor-screen above the banked buttons of his station I saw theimpending catastrophe. Two great freight planes, one bearing theglowing red star that told of its cargo of highly explosive terminite,were approaching head-on with lightning rapidity. The fool had them onthe same level.
Abud was gaping now at the screen in paralyzed fright, with no idea ofhow to avoid the cataclysm. Just below I glimpsed the soaring towersof Antarcha. In a moment that gold and crystal pleasure city would beblasted to extinction, with all its sleeping thousands. Swift would bethe vengeance of the aristos. Already I could see Abud and Keston anda hundred others melting in the fierce rays of the Death Bath!
But, even as my face blanched with the swift and terrible vision, thelittle controller's car ground to a smoking stop at Abud's back. Withone motion Keston's lithe form leaped from his seat and thrust asidethe gaping prolat. His long white fingers darted deftly over thegleaming buttons. The red starred plane banked in a sudden swerve; theother dipped beneath. Distinct from the speaker beneath the screencame the whoosh of the riven air as the fliers flashed past, safe by amargin of scant feet. Another rippling play of the prolat chief'sfingers and the planes were back on their proper courses. The whistleceased its piercing alarm, left a throbbing stillness.
* * * * *
Chief Keston turned to the brute faced culprit. Cold contempt tautenedthe thin, ascetic features of his face. Somehow I was at his side: Imust have been running across the wide floor of the Control Stationwhile the crisis had flared and passed. In measured tones, each word acutting whip-lash, came his well merited rebuke:
"Don't try me too far, Abud. Long before this I should have relievedyou of your post, and ordered you to the Death Bath. I am derelict inmy duty that I do not do so. By my weak leniency I imperil the livesof your comrades, and my own. It is your good fortune that a Councildelegate has not been present at one of your exhibitions. But I darenot risk more. Let the warning whistle come from your station justonce again and I shall report you as an incompetent. You know thelaw."
I looked to see the man cringe in abasement and contrition. But theheavy jaw thrust forth in truculent defiance; hate blazed forth fromthe deep-set eyes; the florid features were empurpled with rage. Hemade as if to reply, but turned away from the withering scorn inKeston's face.
"Ha, Meron, here at last." A warm smile greeted me. "I've been waitingfor you impatiently."
"I'm an hour before my time," I replied, then continued,exasperatedly: "Chief, I hope this latest imbecility will convince youthat you ought to turn him in. I know it hurts you to condemn a prolatto the Death Bath, but if you let him go on, his mistakes will bringus all to that end."
I glanced toward where a black portal broke the circle ofswitchboards, and shuddered. Behind that grim gate leaped and flaredeternally the flame of the consuming Ray, the exhaust flue of thesolar energy by which the machines were fed. Once I had seen acondemned man step through that aperture at the order of an aristowhom he had offended. For a moment his tortured body had glowed with aterrible golden light. Then--there was nothing.
* * * * *
My friend pressed my arm, calmingly. Again he smiled. "Come, come,Meron, don't get all worked up. It isn't his fault. Why, look at him.Can't you see that he is a throwback, lost in this world of scienceand machines? Besides"--his voice dropped low--"it doesn't matter anymore. Man-failure will no longer trouble the even tenor of themachines. I've finished."
A tremor of excitement seized me. "You've completed it at last? And itworks?"
"It works. I tested it when the shifts changed at midnight; kept theoncoming force outside for five minutes. It works like a charm."
"Great! When will you tell the Council?"
"I've already sent the message off. You know how hard it is to getthem away from their wines and their women--but they'll be here soon.But before they come, I've something to tell you. Let's go back behindthe screens."
As we walked toward the huge tarpaulin-screened mass that bulked inthe center of the great chamber, I glanced around the hall
, at thethousand-foot circle of seated prolats. Two hundred men and women werethere; two hundred more were sleeping in the dormitories. These wereall that were left of the world's workers. Before each operative rosethe serried hundreds of pearl buttons, dim lit, clicking in and outunder the busy fingers. Above each, an oval visor-screen with itsflitting images brought across space the area the switches controlled.Every one of the ten score was watching his screen with tautattention, and listening to the voices of the machines theredepicted--the metallic voices from the radio speakers broadcastingtheir needs.
The work was going on as it had gone on for ten years, with theomnipresent threat of the Death Bath whipping flagged, tired brains todreary energy. The work kept going on till they dropped worn out atlast in their tired seats. Only in Keston's brain, and in mine, flamedthe new hope of release. Tomorrow the work would be done, forever.Tomorrow, we would be released, to take our places in the pleasurepalaces. To loll at ease, breathing the sweet perfume of idleness,waited on by machines _directed by a machine_.
* * * * *
For, as we stood behind the heavy canvas folds that Keston had drawnaside, there towered, fifty feet above me, halfway to the archingroof, a machine that was the ultimate flowering of man's genius.Almost man-form it was--two tall metal cylinders supporting a larger,that soared aloft till far above it was topped by a many-faceted ballof transparent quartz. Again I had a fleeting, but vivid, impressionof something baleful, threatening, about it. Small wonder, though. Forthe largest cylinder, the trunk of the man-machine Keston had created,was covered thick with dangling arms. And the light of the xenon tubethat flooded the screened space was reflected from the great glasshead till it seemed that the thing was alive; that it was watching metill some unguarded moment would give it its chance.
A long moment we stood, going again over each detail of the thing,grown so familiar through long handling as it was slowly assembled.Then my friend's voice, low pitched as was its wont, dissipated thevisions I was seeing. "Two hours ago, Meron, with none here but me tosee, those arms were extended, each to its appointed station. And, asthe sensitive cells in the head received the signals from thevisor-screens and the radio-speakers the arms shot about thekey-boards and pressed the proper buttons just as our men are doingnow. The work of the world went on, without a falter, with only themaster machine to direct it. Yet a year ago, when I first spoke to youof the idea, you told me it was impossible!"
"You have won," I responded; "you have taken the last step in theturning over of the functions of man to machines--the last step butone. Routine control, it is true, can now be exercised by this--thosefellows out there are no longer necessary--but there will still be theunexpected, unforeseen emergencies that will require humanintelligence to meet and cope with them. You and I, I'm afraid, arestill doomed to remain here and serve the machines."
* * * * *
Keston shook his head, while a little smile played over hissharp-featured face, and a glow of pride and triumph suffused his finedark eyes. "Grumbling again, old carper. What would you say if I toldyou that I have solved even _that_ problem? I have given my mastermachine intelligence!"
My wide-eyed, questioning stare must have conveyed my thought to him,for he laughed shortly, and said, "No, I've not gone insane."
"It was an accident," he went on with amazing calm. "My first idea wasmerely to build something that would reduce the necessary supervisoryforce to one or two humans. But, when I had almost completed my secondexperimental model, I found that I was out of the copper filamentsnecessary to wind a certain coil. I didn't want to wait till I couldobtain more from the stores, and remembered that on the inside of thedoor to the Death Bath there was some fine screening that could bedispensed with. I used the wire from that. Whether the secret of lifeas well as of death lies in those waste rays from the sun, or whethersome unknown element of the humans consumed in the flame was depositedon the screening in a sort of invisible coating, I do not know. Butthis I do know: when that second model was finished, and thevitalizing current was turned on, things happened--queer things thatcould be explained only on the ground that the machine hadintelligence."
He fell silent a moment, then his thin pale lips twisted in a wrysmile. "You know, Meron, I was a little scared. The thing I hadcreated seemed possessed of a virulent antagonism toward me. Look." Hebared an arm and held it out. A livid weal ran clear around thefore-arm. "One of the tentacles I had given it whipped around my armlike a flash. If I had not cut off the current at once it might havesqueezed through flesh and bone. The pressure was terrific."
* * * * *
I was about to speak, when from the screen nearest the entrance door abeam of green light darted out, vanished, came again. Once, twice,three times.
"Look, Chief, the signal. They're coming. The Council will soon behere."
"They're over-prompt. My message must have aroused their curiosity.But listen:
"I incorporated my new thought coil, as I called it, in the largemaster machine. But I don't know just what will happen when thecurrent flows through that. So I shunted it. The machine will work,routinely, without it. There is a button that will bring it intoaction. When I shall have taken the proper precautions I will switchit on, and then we shall see what happens."
We saw, sooner than Keston expected.
Again the green beam flashed out. The great portals slowly opened.Through them glided the three travel cars of the Supreme Council ofthe aristos.
It had been almost a year since I saw them, the Over Lords of theWorld, and I had forgotten their appearance. Sprawled on the glowingsilks of their cushioned couches, eyes closed in languid boredom, theywere like huge white slugs. Swollen to tremendous size by the indolentluxuriousness of their lives, the flesh that was not concealed by thebright hued web of their robes was pasty white, and bagged and foldedwhere the shrunken muscles beneath refused support. Great pouchesdropped beneath swollen eyelids. Full-lipped, sensual mouths andpendulous cheeks merged into the great fat rolls of their chins. Ishuddered. These, _these_ were the masters for whom we slaved!
* * * * *
As we bent low the gliding cars came to rest, and a warm redolence ofsweet perfume came to me from the fans softly whirling in the canopiesover the aristos' heads. Strains of music rose and fell, and ceased asa flat, tired voice breathed: "Rise, prolats."
I straightened up. The eyes of the Council were now opened, littlepig's eyes almost lost in the flesh about them. They glinted with acold, inhuman cruelty. I shuddered, and thought of the night of terrorten years before. And suddenly I was afraid, deathly afraid.
Ladnom Atuna, head of the Council, spoke again. "We have come at yourpetition. What is this matter so grave that it has led you to disturbus at our pleasures?"
Keston bowed low. "Your Excellency, I would not have presumed tointrude upon you for a small matter. I have so greatly venturedbecause I have at length solved the final step in the mechanizationof the world. I have invented a master machine to operate theswitchboards in this hall and replace the workers thereat."
The flabby faces of the aristos betrayed not the slightest interest,not the least surprise. Only Atuna spoke: "Interesting, if true. Canyou prove your statement?"
Keston strode to the canvas screen and pulled a cord. The great canvascurtains rolled back. "Here is the machine, my Lords!" His face waslit with the glow of pride of achievement. His voice had lost itsreverence. Rapidly he continued: "The head of this contrivance is abank of photo and sono-electric cells, each facet focussed on one ofthe screens. Through a nerve-system of copper filaments anycombination of lights and sounds will actuate the proper arm whichwill shoot out to the required bank of buttons and press the onesnecessary to meet any particular demand. That is all the prolats aredoing out there, and they make mistakes, while my master machinecannot. The--"
But Ladnom Atuna raised a languid hand. "Spare us these technicalexp
lanations. They bore us. All we desire to know is that the machinewill do as you say."
The chief flushed, and gulped. His triumph was not meeting with theacclaim he had expected. But he bowed. "Very well. With your graciouspermission I shall demonstrate its operation." Atuna nodded inacquiescence.
* * * * *
Keston's voice rang out in crisp command. "Attention, prolats. Ceaseworking." The long circling row suddenly jerked around; their flyingfingers halted their eternal dartings. "Quickly, down to the space infront of the door to the Death Bath." A rush of hurried feet. Thesemen and women were accustomed to instant, unquestioning obedience."Absolute silence. Keep clear of the floor on peril of your lives."
The chief wheeled to the master machine and pressed a button.Instantly, the hundreds of dangling arms telescoped out, each to abutton bank where a moment before a prolat had labored. And, with aweird simulation of life, the ten forked ends of each arm commenced arattling pressing of the buttons. Rapidly, purposefully, the metallicfingers moved over the key-boards, and on the screens we could seethat the machines all over the world were continuing on their evencourse. Not the slightest change in their working betrayed the factthat they were now being directed by a machine instead of humanbeings. A great surge of admiration swept me at the marvelousaccomplishment of my friend.
Not so the aristos. Expressionless, they watched as the maze ofstretching tentacles vibrated through the crowded air. Yet not quiteexpressionless. I thought I could sense in the covert glances theycast at one another a crafty weighing of the implications of thismachine; a question asked and answered; a decision made. Then theirspokesman turned languidly to the waiting, triumphant figure ofKeston.
"Evidently your claims are proven. This means that the force of prolatoperatives are no longer necessary."
"Yes, Your Excellency. They may now be released to a well earnedreward."
The aristo ignored the interruption. "We take it that only two willnow be required to operate this Control Station, to supply the lastmodicum of human intelligence required to meet unforeseenemergencies."
* * * * *
I saw that Keston was about to interrupt once more, to tell theCouncil of the thought coil, the most unbelievable part of the miraclehe had wrought. But something seemed to warn me that he should notspeak. Standing behind him I nudged him, while I myself replied: "Yes,Your Excellency." The chief flung me a startled look, but did notcorrect me.
From the packed crowd of prolats at the other end of the hall I couldhear a murmuring. While I could not make out the words, the very tonestold me that in the hearts of those weary slaves new hope was rising,the same hope that glowed in Keston's face. But I was oppressed by anunreasoning fear.
Atuna was still talking, in his cold, unemotional monotone. "This beingso, hear now our decision. Keston and Meron, you will remain here to meetall emergencies. You others, your function is done. You have done yourwork well, you are now no longer needed to control the machines.Therefore,"--he paused, and my heart almost stopped--"therefore, being nolonger of value, you will be disposed of."
A click sounded loud through the stunned silence. Beyond the whitecrowd the huge black portal slid slowly open. A shimmering radiance ofglowing vapors blazed from the space beyond.
"Prolats, file singly into the Death Bath!" Atuna raised his voiceonly slightly with the command. I glanced at Keston. He was livid withfury.
Incredible as it may seem, so ingrained was the habit of obedience tothe aristos in the prolats that not even a murmur of protest came fromthe condemned beings. The nearest man to the flaming death stepped outinto the void. His doomed body flared, then vanished. The next movedto his turn.
* * * * *
But suddenly a great shout rang out.
"Stop!"
It was Keston's voice, but so changed, so packed with fury andoutrage, that I scarcely recognized it.
His spare, tall form was drawn tensely straight as he shook a clenchedfist at the Council. He was quivering with anger, and his eyes blazed.
"Aristos, you do wrong! These men have served you faithfully and well.I demand for them the reward they have earned--rest and leisure, andthe pleasures that for ten years they have seen you enjoy while theyworked here for you. They have worked for you, I say, and now that Ihave released them you would destroy them. Aristos, I demand justice!"
For the first time I saw expression on the flaccid faces of theCouncil--surprise and astonishment that a prolat should dare disputean aristo command. Then a sneer twisted Atuna's countenance.
"What is this? Who are you to demand anything from us? We spared theseprolats because we needed them: we need them no longer, hence theymust die. What madness has seized you? Reward! Justice! For prolats!As well say we should reward the stone walls of our houses; dispensejustice to the machines. Proceed, prolats!"
Keston made as if to spring for the aristo's throat. I put out a handto stop him. An invisible shield of death rays rimmed the platformsthe Council used. It was suicide! But suddenly he turned and sprang tothe master machine. He grasped a switch lever and threw it down.
A long tentacle left its keys and swished menacingly through the air."Meron, prolats, under the key-boards!" came Keston's shout. I divedto obey. Steel fingers clutched my jerkin and tore it loose as Ilanded with a thud against the wall. Keston thumped alongside of me.He was breathing heavily and his face was deathly pale.
"Look!" he gasped.
* * * * *
Out on the floor was a shambles. I saw one snakelike arm whip aroundthe stout form of Atuna, then tighten. A shriek of agony rang throughthe hall. Another tentacle curled about the couch of a second aristo,pinning the occupant to it. Then couch and all were swung a hundredfeet in the air to be crashed down with terrific force on the stonefloor. Two arms seized the third at the same time....
"Too sluggish to get out of the way in time, damn them!" I heardKeston mutter. True, but not all the prolats had moved fast enough atthe warning shout. Cowering under the saving key-boards, shrinkingfrom the metallic arms not quite long enough to reach them, I couldcount only a score. The others--but what use to describe the slaughterout there! I see it in nightmares too often.
A thunder from the speakers grew till it drowned out the agonizedshrieks in the great hall. On the screens horror flared. All over theworld, it appeared, the machines had gone mad. I saw Antarcha crash asa dozen air freighters plunged through the crystal towers. I saw ahuge dredge strip the roof from a great playhouse, and smash thestartled crowd within with stones it plucked from an embankment. I sawuntenanted land cars shooting wild through packed streets. Greatponderous tractors left the fields and moved in ordered array on thepanic-stricken cities. Methodically they pursued the fleeing aristos,and crushed them beneath their tread like scurrying ants.
* * * * *
I realized that the scraping of the tentacles reaching for us hadceased, that the arms had all returned to the button banks. Then itdawned on me that Keston's master machine was directing all thedestruction I was watching, that the intelligence he had given it wasbeing used to divert the machines from their regular tasksto--conquer the world. "You sure started something, Keston," I said.
"Yes," he gasped, white-faced, "something that I should have expectedwhen that model machine went for me. Do you understand? I've given themachines intelligence, created a new race, and they are trying to wipeout the humans; conquer the world for themselves. The possibilityflashed on me when I was half-mad with rage and disappointment at thecallous cruelty of the aristo Council. I threw that switch with thethought that it would be far better for all of us to be wiped out. Butnow, I don't know. After all, they are men, like ourselves, and ithurts to see our own race annihilated. If only I can get to thatswitch."
He started to push out from under the scant shelter, but an alerttentacle hissed through the air in a swift stab at him, an
d he dodgedback, hopelessly.
"Don't be a damn fool," I snapped at him. "Forget that mushysentimentality. Even if you save the aristos, we're due for extinctionjust the same. Better that the whole human race be wiped outtogether."
Then a thought struck me. "Maybe we have a chance to get out of thisourselves."
"Impossible. Where could we hide from the machines?" He waved a handat the screens. "Look."
"The Glacier, man, the Glacier!" He started. "There are no machinesout there. If we can get to the ice we are safe."
"But the aircraft will find us."
"They won't know we're there. There are no microphones or radio-eyesin the wastes."
* * * * *
A rough voice came from the cowering files behind us. "Hey, Keston,let's get a move on. You're the smart guy around here: get us out ofthis mess you've started."
It was Abud. When so many better prolats had perished, he was aliveand whole.
We got out, crawling under the key-boards till we could make a dashfor the door. We emerged into a world ablaze with the light of manyfires, and reverberating with the far off crashing of destruction. Tothe right we could see the tumbled remains of what a short hour beforehad been our barracks. Two digging machines were still ponderouslymoving about among the ruins, pounding down their heavy bucketsmethodically, reducing the concrete structure to a horrible deadlevel. Ten score prolats had been sleeping there when I left.
As we rushed into the open, the machines turned and made for us; butthey had not been built for speed, and we easily outdistanced them.The rest of that day will always remain a dim haze to me. I canremember running, running, Abud's broad form always in the lead. I canremember long minutes of trembling under tangled underbrush, whilefrom above sounded the burring of an air machine searching ceaselesslyfor us. I can remember seeing at last the tall white ramparts of theGlacier. Then a blackness swallowed me up, hands tugged at me, and Iknew no more....
* * * * *
The great white waste of hummocky ice dazzled under the blinding sun.My eyes were hurting terribly. There was a great void in my stomach.For two days I had not eaten.
Keston, tottering weakly at my side, was in an even worse state. Histrembling hand could scarcely hold the primitive bone-tipped spear.God knows I had difficulty enough with mine.
Yet, tired, hungry, shivering as we were, we forced our dragging feetalong, searching the interminable expanse for sign of polar bear orthe wild white dogs that hunted in packs. We had to find flesh--anykind--to feed our shriveled stomachs--or go under.
Keston uttered a weak shout. I looked. From behind a frozen hummock agreat white bear padded. He saw us, sniffed the air a moment, thenturned contemptuously away. He must have sensed our weakness.
Almost crying in his eagerness, Keston raised his spear and cast itwith what strength he had at the animal that meant food and warmth forour bodies.
The weapon described a slow arc, and caught the shaggy bear flush inthe shoulder. But there had been no force behind the throw. Thesharpened bone tip stuck in the flesh, quivered a bit, and droppedharmlessly to the ice.
Aroused, the creature whirled about. We caught a glimpse of small,vindictive eyes. Then, with a roar, it made for us.
"Look out!" I cried. Keston started to run, but I knew he could notmatch the wounded animal in speed. I threw my futile spear, but thebear shook it off as though it were a pin prick, and would not bediverted from his prey.
I ran after, shouting for help. Then Keston stumbled and went down ina sprawl on the rough gray ice. The bear was almost on him and therewas nothing I could do.
* * * * *
Then the figure of a man darted from behind a sheltering mound. It wasAbud, swathed in warm white furs, brawny of body, strong, well fed,heavy jowled. He swung easily a long spear, far heavier than ours, andpointed with keen barbs.
He stopped short at the sight of us, and his brutal features contortedin merriment. The desperate plight of my friend seemed to afford himinfinite amusement. Nor did he make any move to help.
I shouted to him. "Quick, kill it before it's too late!"
"So it is Abud you turn to now," he sneered heavily. "Abud, whom youthought deserving of the Death Bath not so long ago. No, my finefriends, let me see you help yourselves, you two who thought you wereking pins down in the valley. Men? Bah! Weaklings, that's all youare!"
I ran blindly over the uneven ice, unarmed, some crazy notion in mymind of tackling the brute with bare fists, to drag him off my friend.Abud shouted with laughter, leaning on his spear.
For some strange animal reason, the mocking laughter enraged the bear.He had almost reached the motionless figure of Keston when he swervedsuddenly, and made for Abud.
The ghastly merriment froze on the heavy jowled man. Like lightning helifted his heavy lance, and drove it with a powerful arm squarely intothe breast of the advancing brute. It sank a full foot into theblubbery flesh, and, while the stricken bear clawed vainly at thewound and sought to push himself along toward the man, Abud held thespear firmly as in a vise, so that the animal literally impaleditself. With a gush of blood, it sank motionless to the ground.
* * * * *
Abud plucked the spear away with a dexterous twist.
Keston was feebly groping to his feet. I was torn between joy at hisdeliverance and rage at the inhuman callousness of Abud.
The latter grinned at us hatefully.
"You see what poor weakling creatures you are," he jeered. "Good fornothing but to push a lot of senseless buttons. Down there you werethe bosses, the ones to look upon me as dirt. Here, on the ice, whereit takes guts to get along, _I_ am the boss. I let you live on myscraps and leavings, simply because it tickled me to see you cringeand beg. But I am growing weary of that sport. Henceforth you keepaway from my camp. Don't let me catch you prowling around, d'you hear?Let's see how long you'll last on the ice!"
"This animal is mine." He prodded the carcass. "I killed it. I'll makethe prolats skin and, cut it up for me. Ho-ho, how they cringe andobey me--Abud, the dull one! Ho-ho!"
On this he strode away, still laughing thunderously.
I looked to Keston in blank dismay. What was to be our fate now, butdeath by cold and slow starvation!
Three-months had passed since we had escaped to the ice from thedreadful machines--a score of us. For a while it seemed that we hadfled in vain. We were not fit to cope with the raw essentials of life:it was uncounted centuries since man fought nature bare handed. So wehuddled together for warmth, and starved. Even Keston's keen brain washelpless in this waste of ice, without tools, without machines.
* * * * *
Then it was that Abud arose to take command. He, dull brute that hewas amid the complexities of our civilization, fairly reveled in thisprimitive combat with hunger and cold. He was an anachronism in ourmidst, a throwback to our early forebears.
It did not take him long to fashion cunning nooses and traps to catchthe few beasts that roamed the ice. Once he pounced upon a wolf-likecreature, and strangled it with bare hands. He fashioned with aptfingers spears and barbs of bone, curved knives from shin bones, andskinned the heavy fur pelts and made them into garments.
No wonder the prolats in their helplessness looked to him as theirleader. Keston and I were thrust aside. But Abud did not forget. Hisslow witted mind harbored deadly rancor for former days, when we werein command. He remembered our contempt for his slow dull processes;for the many errors he was guilty of. By a queer quirk, the very factthat Keston had saved him from the Death Bath on several occasions butfed the flames of his hatred. Perhaps that was an ancient human trait,too.
So he set himself to twit and humiliate us. His jibes were heavyhanded and gross. He refused to let us eat at the communal mess, butforced us to wait until all were through, when he tossed us a fewscraps as though we were dogs.
Many times
I started up in hot rage, ready to match my softenedmuscles against his brawn. But always Keston caught me in time andwhispered patience. Some plan was taking shape in his mind, I couldsee, so I stopped short, and was content to bide my time.
Now we were through, discarded, as a last brutal gesture. What wasthere to be done now?
* * * * *
In utter silence I looked at Keston. To my great surprise he did notseem downcast. Quite the contrary. His eyes were sparkling, once morealive with the red fire. The weariness was gone from him; there wasenergy, decision stamped on his finely cut features.
"Now is our time to act," he said. "I've been hesitating too long."
"What are you talking about?"
"Abud forced my hand," Keston explained. "You didn't think we weregoing to live here in this fashion the rest of our lives? I'd ratherdie now than have such a future staring me in the face. No, we'regoing down into the valley to fight the machines."
I stared at him aghast. "Man, you're crazy. They'd crush us in aminute!"
"Maybe," he said unconcernedly. "But we have no time to lose. Abudwill be back with the prolats, and we'll have to clear out beforethen. Quick--cut off a few chunks of meat. We'll need them."
"But Abud will kill us when he finds out what's been done."
"And we'll starve if we don't."
Which was an unanswerable argument. So with our bone knives we hackedoff gobs of the still warm flesh, covered with great layers of fat.
Looking up from my task, I saw black figures coming toward us from thedirection of the camp. They quickened into a run even as I noticedthem--Abud and the prolats.
"Quick, Keston," I cried, "they're coming."
Keston glanced around and started to run. I followed as fast as Icould.
"They'll catch us," I panted. "Where can we hide?"
"Down in the valley."
"But the machines will get us then."
"Save your breath and follow me. I know a place."
* * * * *
We were racing along as fast as our weakened legs could carry us,toward the edge of the Glacier. I looked back to see Abud, his bruteface distorted with rage, gaining rapidly on us. The other prolatswere being outdistanced.
Abud shouted threateningly for us to stop, but that only made usre-double our efforts. I knew he would kill us if he caught up withus. He had his spear and we were without ours.
The steep terminus of the great Northern Glacier hove into view. Farbelow was the broad fertile habitable belt, stretching as far as theeye could see. A lump rose in my throat as I ran. It was our earth,our heritage down there--and here we were, fleeing for our lives,dispossessed by bits of metal and quartz, machines that we hadfashioned.
Hovering in the air, on a level with us, were scout planes, vigilantguardians of the frontier.
Once a prolat had become crazed by the eternal ice and cold, and hadventured down the side of the Glacier, to reach the warm lands histhin blood hungered for. As soon as he had painfully clambered to thebottom, within the area of the televisors, a plane had swooped andcrushed him, while we, lining the edge, had witnessed the horrorhelplessly.
Yet Keston ran on confidently. Abud was just a little way behind,bellowing exultantly, when we came to the jumping-off place. He wassure he had us now.
Keston slid from view. It was sheer suicide to go down there, I knew;yet, to remain where I was, meant certain death. Abud's spear wasalready poised to thrust. There was only one thing to do, and I didit. I threw myself over the rim, just where Keston had disappeared.
* * * * *
I landed with a thud on a narrow ledge of ice. The surface was glassysmooth, and I started slipping straight toward the outer edge, a sheerdrop of a thousand feet to the valley below. I strove to recover mybalance, but only accelerated my progress. Another moment and I wouldhave plunged into the abyss, but a hand reached out and grabbed mejust in time. It was Keston.
"Hold tight and follow me," he whispered urgently, "we've no time tolose. The master machine is seeing us now in the visor screen, andwill act."
I had an impulse to turn back, but Abud's face was leering down at us.
"I'll get you for this!" he screamed, and let himself down heavilyover the ledge.
Keston edged his way along the treacherous trail, I after him. It wasticklish work. A misstep, and there would be nothing to break ourfall.
I heard a siren sound, then another; and another. I wasted a preciousmoment to look up. A scout plane was diving for us, on a terrificslant. The air was black with aircraft converging on us. The mastermachine had seen us! I sensed utter malevolence in the speed of thesesenseless metals, thrown at us by the thing my friend had created.
But there was no time for thought. In desperate haste, we inched ourway along. Abud had seen the peril, too, and lost all his truculencein the face of the greater danger. He clawed after us, intent only onreaching whatever safety we were heading for.
I could hear the zoom of the great wings when the path took a suddenturn and we catapulted headlong into a black cavern thrusting into theice.
We were not an instant too soon. For a giant shape swooped by ourcovert with a terrifying swoosh, inches away from Abud's leg as hedived after us, and it was followed by a grinding crash. The machinehad been directed too close to the ice and had smashed into bits.
* * * * *
We crouched there a moment, panting, struggling to regain our wind.Keston had regained the air of quiet power he had once possessed.Quietly he spoke to our enemy.
"Listen to me, Abud. Up there on the ice, you played the bully,relying on your brute strength. Here, however, we're up against themachines, and your intelligence is of too low an order to compete withthem. You need my brains now. If you expect to escape from them, andlive, you'll have to do exactly as I say. I'm boss, do youunderstand?"
I expected a roar of rage at Keston's calm assertion, and quietly gotin back of Abud ready to jump him if he made a threatening move.
But the big brute was a creature of abject terror, staring out withfear-haunted eyes. Quite humbly he replied: "You are right. You arethe only one who can beat the machines. I'll follow you ineverything."
"Very well, then. This cave leads through a series of tunnels downthrough the ice to the bottom of the valley. I explored it nights whenyou were all sleeping."
I looked at him in amazement. I had not known anything about hismidnight wanderings. He saw my glance.
"I'm sorry, Meron, but I thought it wiser to say nothing of my plans,even to you, until they had matured. Let us go."
Outside hundreds of craft were hurtling across the opening. Escapethat way was clearly impossible.
"No doubt the master machine is hurrying over high explosives to blastus out," Keston said indifferently; "but we won't be here."
We started down a tortuous decline, crawling on hands and knees. Wehad not progressed very far when we heard a thud and a roar behind us,followed by a series of crashes.
"Just as I thought. The master machine is firing terminite into thecavern. What a high degree of intelligence that thing has! Too badwe'll have to smash it." He sighed. I verily believe he hated todestroy this brain child of his. Yet just how he was going to do it, Idid not know.
* * * * *
There passed hours of weary, tortured stumblings, and slitherings, andsudden falls--down, always down, interminably. A pale glimmeringshowed us the way, a dim shining through the icy walls.
At last, faint with toil, bleeding and torn from glass-sharpsplinters, we reached a level chamber, vaulted, surprisingly, withsolid rock. It was good to see something of the earth again,something that was not that deadly, all-embracing ice. At the far endlay a blinding patch. I blinked.
"Sunlight!" I shouted joyously.
"Yes," Keston answered quietly. "That opening leads directly into thevalley on our land."
/> Abud roused himself from the unreasoning dread he had been in. It wasthe first time he had spoken.
"Let us get out of here. I feel as though I'm in a tomb."
"Are you mad?" Keston said sharply. "The visors would pick you up atonce. You wouldn't last very long."
Abud stopped suddenly. There was a plaintive, helpless note to him."But we can't stay here forever. We'd starve, or die of cold. Isn'tthere some way to get back to the top of the Glacier?"
"No--only the way we came. And that's been blocked with terminite."
"Then what are we going to do? You've led us into a slow death, youwith your boasted brains!"
"That remains to be seen," was the calm retort. "In the meantime,we're hungry. Let us eat."
And the amazing man drew out of his torn flapping furs the gobs ofmeat he had cut from the dead bear. I had quite forgotten them. With aglad cry, I too reached into my garments and brought out my supply.
* * * * *
Abud's eyes glinted evilly. His hand stole stealthily to the boneknife in its skin sheath. His spear had been dropped long before.
"None of that," Keston said sharply. "We'll all share equally, eventhough you have no food. But if you try to hog it all, or use force,you'll die as well as we. There's only enough for a meal or two; andthen what will you do?"
Abud saw that. He needed Keston's brains. His eyes dropped, and hemumbled something about our misunderstanding his gesture. We let it goat that. We had to. He could have killed us both if he wished.
So we divided our food with painstaking fairness. How we gorged on theraw red flesh and thick greasy fat! Food that would have disgusted uswhen we lived and worked in the Central Station, now was ambrosia toour sharpened appetites. When not the least scrap was left, and we hadslaked our thirst with chunks of ice from the cavern floor, I spoke.
"What is that plan you spoke of, Keston, for reconquering the earthfrom the machines?"
Abud looked up abruptly at my question, and it seemed to me that acrafty smile glinted in the small pig eyes.
Keston hesitated a moment before he spoke.
"I confess my plans have been materially impeded by this suddenpredicament we find ourselves in, thanks to our good friend here." Heironically indicated Abud.
The big prolat merely grunted.
"However," Keston continued, "I'll have to make the best ofcircumstances, without the aid of certain materials that I hadexpected to assemble.
"The idea is a simple one. You've noted no doubt how the terminus ofthe Glacier opposite the Central Control Station overhangs. The brow,over a thousand feet up, extends out at least a hundred feet beyondthe base."
* * * * *
I nodded assent, though Abud seemed startled. Many times had Kestonand I speculated on the danger of an avalanche at this point, andwondered why the Station had been built in such an exposed place. Onceindeed we had ventured to suggest to the aristo Council theadvisability of removing the Central Control to some other point, butthe cold silence that greeted our diffident advice deterred us fromfurther pursuit of the subject.
"Now, you know as well as I," Keston resumed, "that a glacier ismerely a huge river of ice, and, though solid, partakes of some of thequalities of freely flowing water. As a matter of fact, glaciers doflow, because the tremendous pressure at the bottom lowers the meltingpoint of ice to such a degree that the ice actually liquefies, andflows along."
I followed him eagerly in these elementary statements, trying toglimpse what he was driving at, but Abud's brute features were fixedin a blank stare.
"This glacier does move. We've measured it--a matter of an inch or twoa day. If, however,"--Keston's voice took on a deeper note--"we canmanage to hasten that process, the Glacier will overwhelm thecountryside."
He paused, and that gave me a chance to interpose some objections.
"But hold on a moment. In the first place it is an absoluteimpossibility with the means at our command, or even with everyappliance, to melt the face of the whole Northern Glacier. In thesecond place, even if we could, the whole world would be overwhelmed,and then where would we be?"
* * * * *
Keston looked at me a trifle scornfully. "Who said we were going tomelt the entire glacier? Remember I spoke only of the place of theoverhang. Set that in motion, and we don't have to worry about theproblem any further."
"Why not?" I inquired incredulously. "Suppose you _do_ wipe out allthe machines in this particular vicinity, won't there be tremendousnumbers left all through the Equatorial Belt?"
"Of course," he explained patiently, "and what if they are? What areall these machines but inanimate mechanisms, things of metal andrubber and quartz. What makes them the monsters they have become?"
I smote my forehead in anger. "What a fool! Now I see it. It's themaster machine you're after."
"Exactly," he smilingly agreed. "Overwhelm, destroy this devilishcreature of mine, with its unhuman intelligence, and the machines arewhat they were before: merely obedient slaves."
I pondered that a moment. "And how, may I ask, are you going to forcethis old Glacier to move."
His face clouded. "That's the trouble. Up on the ice I was working onthat problem, and had managed secretly to rig up a contrivance thatwould have done the trick. But we can't go back for it. That way isblocked." He mused, half to himself. "If only we could lay our handson a solar disintegrating machine, the difficulty would be solved."
At the name, Abud's face, that had been a study in blankincomprehension, lit up.
"Solar disintegrating machine?" he inquired. "Why there's onestationed not more than a few hundred yards away from here. This area,2-RX, was my sector, you know."
"Of course, of course," shouted Keston, "I'd quite forgotten. The verything. You're not half bad, Abud, if you'd only stop trying to rely onbrute strength instead of brains," he concluded.
Abud said nothing, but I noticed a quick flash of hatred that passedin an instant, leaving a blank countenance. I thought to myself,"You'll bear watching, my fine fellow. I don't trust you at all."
* * * * *
Keston was speaking. "We'll have to wait until nightfall. The mastermachine won't expect us down at the base, so I'm positive thesearch-rays won't be focussed along the ground. We'll sneak to themachine, smash its visor and radio units, so it won't give the alarm,and haul it back. Then I'll show you what's next to be done."
Night came at last, leaden footed, though we were burning withimpatience. Very softly we crawled out of the cave, three shadows.Fortunately there was no moon. The great Glacier loomed ominouslyabove us, dimly white. High overhead hovered the green signal lightsof the machine planes, their search rays focussed in blinding glareson the rim of the upper ice.
It did not take us long to find the dark bulk of the disintegrator. Itwas a squat cylinder, for all the world like a huge boiler. At one endthere up-ended a periscope arrangement which broadened out to afunnel. In the funnel was a very powerful lens, cut to specialmeasurements. The light of the sun, or any light, for that matter, wasconcentrated through the lens onto a series of photo-electric cells,composed of an alloy of selenium and the far more delicate element,illinium. A high tension current was there created, of such powerfulintensity that it disintegrated the atoms of every element exceptosmium and indium into their constituent electrons. Consequently theinterior as well as the long slit nozzle orifice at the other end,were made of these resistant metals.
Through a special process the tremendously powerful current was forcedthrough the wide-angled nozzle in a spreading thin plate ray thatsheared through earth and rock and metals as if they were butter.
Such was the machine we were after.
* * * * *
It was but the work of a few seconds to smash the delicate televisionand sono-boxes placed on the top of every machine. Now we were sure nowarning could be given the master mach
ine as it sat in its metalliccunning at the control board, ceaselessly receiving its messages fromthe area apparatus focussed above it.
Quietly, very quietly, we trundled the precious instrument along onits wheel base. The green lights dotted the sky above: the search-rayswere firmly set on the rim.
At last, without any untoward alarm, we reached the welcome shelter ofthe base, but not, as I had expected, back to our tunnel. On thecontrary, Keston, who had directed the party, had led us almost aquarter mile away. I looked up again, and understood.
The great overhang of the Glacier was directly above us!
Without a word, with hardly a sound, we trundled the disintegratorinto a natural niche we found in the icy surface. It was almostcompletely hidden; only the funnel with its lens protruded into theopen. The nozzle orifice was pointing directly at the interior of theice pack.
"Now everything is set properly," Keston remarked with satisfaction ashe straightened up from adjusting the various controls on the machine."When the first ray of the morning sun strikes the lens, thedisintegrator will start working. It will shear through a layer of iceover a radius of at least a mile. That huge crevasse, coupled with theterrific heat and the pressure from the mountain of ice above, willstart the whole Glacier moving, or I'll be very much mistaken."
"Come, let us get back to our shelter before the alarm is given."
* * * * *
As he started to move, a dark bulk loomed ominously in front ofus--Abud. His voice was harsh, forbidding.
"Do you mean to say nothing further is to be done here--that thedisintegrator will work without any attention?"
"That is just what I said," Keston replied, somewhat surprised. "Stepaside, Abud, and let us go. It is dangerous to remain here."
But Abud made no move to comply. Instead he thrust back his greatshaggy head and gave vent to a resounding laugh.
"Ho-ho, my fine friends! So you were the brainy ones, eh? And Abud,the obedient dull-wit again? How nicely you've been fooled! I waiteduntil you accommodatingly evolved the plan to reconquer the world, andput it into effect.
"Now that you've done so, I've no further need for you." The voicethat heavily tried to be mocking, now snarled. "You poor fools, don'tyou know that with you out of the way, I, Abud, will be the Lord ofthe World. Those prolats up there know better than to disobey me."
"Do you mean you intend to kill us?" Keston asked incredulously.
"So you've actually grasped the idea!" was the sarcastic retort.
Meanwhile I was gradually edging to the side, my hand reaching for thebone knife in my bosom.
* * * * *
Abud saw my movement. "No, you don't!" he roared, and sprang for me,his long gleaming knife uplifted. I tugged desperately at my weapon,but it was entangled in the ragged furs. In a moment he was on top ofme. Involuntarily I raised my arm to ward off the threatened blow,raging despair in my heart.
The point fell, but Keston struck at the savage arm with all hismight, deflecting the blade just in time. It seared my shoulder like ared hot iron, and in the next instant all three of us were a rolling,kicking, snarling trio of animals. We fought desperately in the dark.There were no rules of the game. Biting, gouging, kicking--everythingwent.
Keston and I, weakened as we were from long starvation and the bitingcold, were no match for our powerful, huge-muscled opponent, well cladand well nourished as he was. Though we fought with the strength ofdespair, a violent blow from his huge fist knocked Keston out of thefight. Hairy fingers grasped my throat. "I'll break your neck foryou," he snarled, and his hands tightened. I struggled weakly, but Iwas helpless. I could just see his hateful face grinning at mycontortions.
I was passing out--slowly, horribly. Keston was still motionless.Colored lights danced before my eyes, little spots that flared anddied out in crashing blackness. Then the whole world leaped into aflaming white, so that my eyeballs hurt. In the dim recesses of mypain-swept mind I thought that strangulation must end like this. Thebrightness held dazzlingly.
* * * * *
But suddenly a fiercer pain swept into my consciousness--the pain ofgasping breath forcing air through a tortured gullet into suffocatinglungs.
I struggled up into the fierce illumination. From a sitting position Isaw Abud, now clearly visible as in midday, craning his head way back.I looked, too--and, in spite of my stabbing gasps for air, jumped tomy feet. _The search-rays from the scout planes were focussed directlyon us!_
I knew what that meant. The sight of us was even then being cast uponthe 2-RX visor-screen in the Central Control Station. The devilishmaster machine was even then manipulating the proper buttons. We hadnot a second to lose!
My strangled throat hurt horribly, but I managed a hoarse yell, "Run!"and I tottered to where Keston yet lay, bathed in the deadlyillumination, unmoving.
There was a snarl of animal fear from Abud, and he started to run,wildly, with never a backward glance at us.
Even in my own fear, expecting each instant the crash of terminiteabout me, I managed to hurl a last word at the fleeing figure."Coward!" That relieved my feelings considerably.
I tottered over and tugged at Keston. He was limp. I looked up.Hundreds of planes were converging overhead; the night was acriss-cross of stabbing search-rays. I lifted my friend and slung himacross my shoulder. Every exertion, every move, was accompanied byexcruciating agony, but I persevered. Abud was already halfway to thetunnel, running like mad.
Then, what I had dreaded, happened. There came a swoosh through thenight, a dull thud, a blinding flash and roar that paled thesearch-rays into insignificance. The first terminite bomb had beendropped!
For a moment the landscape was filled with flying rocks and hugechunks of ice. When the great clouds of violently upthrown earth hadsettled, there was no sign of Abud. He had been directly in the pathof the explosion!
* * * * *
Staggering under my load, I headed as close to the ice pack as Icould. There was no safety out in the open. I groaned heavily past thedisintegrator, whose very existence I had forgotten in the crash ofevents.
A sizzling hum, a thin eddy of steam, halted me in my tracks. Istared. The machine was working! Even as I watched, a great wedge wasmomentarily being driven further and further into the ice--a greatfan-shaped wedge. Clouds of steam billowed out, growing thicker andheavier. A rushing stream of unleashed water was lapping at my feet.
I was bewildered, frankly so. What had started the disintegrator inthe dead of night? "Of course!" I shouted exultantly to the limp bodyon my shoulder.
For a search-ray was fixed steadily on the funnel. There it was. Fromthat blinding light the machine was getting the energy it needed. Ifonly the visor did not disclose that little bit of metal to theunwinking master machine! I looked again and took heart. It was almostundistinguishable against the dazzling blur of ice in the fierce whitelight. If those rays held, the salvation of the world was assured!
There was only one way to do it. I shrank at my own thoughts, yetthere was no alternative: it must be done. I was hidden from the raysunder a projection of ice, terminite bombs were dropping methodicallyover a rapidly devastated sector with methodical regularity. Sooner orlater the master machine would feel that we were exterminated, and thesearch-rays switched off. That would mean that the disintegrator wouldcease working, and the whole plan fall through. In the morning light,the sector signalling apparatus, at the first sign of renewedactivity, would give warning, and the unhuman thing of metal at thecontrols would discover and wreck our last hope.
No, I must walk boldly into the bombed area and discover myself asalive in the visors of the planes and make them continue to bomb andthrow their search-rays on the scarred plain. That meant thedisintegrator would receive the vital light.
But how about Keston? I couldn't leave him there on the ground,motionless, while I deserted him. Nor could I take him with me. I waspre
pared to take my chances with almost certain death, but I could nottrifle with his life so. I was in an agony of indecision.
* * * * *
Just then the form on my aching shoulder stirred, sighed, struggled abit, and suddenly slid down to a standing position. Keston swayedunsteadily a moment, straightened, looked about him in amazement.
"What's happening here?" he demanded.
"Why, you old war horse," I shouted in my relief, "I thought you wereout of the picture completely!"
"Not me," he answered indignantly. "I'm all right. But you haven'tanswered my question."
A terminite bomb exploded not so far away from where we stood. Iducked involuntarily, Keston doing likewise.
"There's the answer," I grinned, "and a rather neat one, too. But I'llexplain."
In a few words I sketched what had happened, and showed him thedisintegrator spreading its deadly waves of destruction. By now therewas a torrent enveloping us up to our knees. We would have to movesoon, or be drowned in the slowly rising water.
Then, hesitatingly, I told him of my scheme to keep the search-rays inaction. His lean face sobered, but he nodded his head bravely. "Ofcourse, that is the only way to keep them at it. You and I will startat once, in separate directions, so that if they get one, the otherwill continue to draw the search-rays down on the plain, and into thedisintegrator."
"Not you, Keston," I dissented in alarm. "Your life is too valuable.Your brain and skill will be needed to remodel the world and make ithabitable for the few prolats that are left, after the machines arewiped out."
"You're just as valuable a man as I am," he lied affectionately. "No,my mind is made up. We chance this together." And to all my pleadingshe was obdurate, insisting that we each take an equal risk.
I gave in at last, with a little choke in my throat. We shook handswith a steady grip, and walked out into the glare of light, ondivergent paths. Would I ever see my friend again?
* * * * *
There was a pause of seconds as I walked on and on; came then anearth-shattering crash that flung me to the ground. The visors hadcaught the picture of me! I picked myself up, bruised and sore, butotherwise unharmed. I started to run.
The sky was a blaze of zooming planes that hurled destruction on theland below. Far off could be heard the rumbling roar of hurryingmachines--tractors, diggers, disintegrators, levelers, all the mightymobile masses of metal that man's brain had conceived--all hurryingforward in massed attack to seek out and destroy their creators,obedient to the will of a master machine, immobile, pressing buttonsin the Central Control System.
The night resolved itself into a weird phantasmagoric nightmare forme, a gigantic game of hide-and-seek, in which I was "it." Gasping,choking, flung to earth and stunned by ear-shattering explosions,staggering up somehow, ducking to avoid being crushed beneath theponderous treads of metal monsters that plunged uncannily for me,sobbing aloud in terror, swerving just in time from in front of aswinging crane, instinctively side-stepping just as a pale violet rayswept into nothingness all before it--I must have been delirious, forI retain only the vaguest memory of the horror.
And all the time the guiding search-rays biased down upon the torn andshattered fields, and the disintegrator, unnoticed in the vast uproar,steadily kept up its deadly work.
At last, in my delirium and terror, I heard a great rending andtearing. I looked up, and a tractor just missed me as it rolled by onswishing treads. But that one glance was enough. The ice cap wasmoving, flowing forward, a thousand-foot wall of ice! Great billowingclouds of steam spurted from innumerable cracks. The deed had beendone! The world was saved for mankind!
Summoning the last ounce of strength, I set off on a steady run forthe shelter of the rock cave, to be out of the way when the finalsmash-up came.
* * * * *
I was not pursued. The ponderous machines, thousands of them, werehastily forming into solid ranks directly in front of the totteringglacier wall. The master machine had seen its impending fate in thevisors, and was organizing a defense.
Even in my elation, I could not but feel unwilling admiration for thismonstrous thing of metal and quartz, imbued with an intelligence thatcould think more coolly and quickly than most humans.
Yet I did not stop running until I reached the cave. My heart gave agreat bound. For there, peering anxiously with worn face into thegrowing dawn, stood the figure of Keston--my friend whom I had neverexpected 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, oldfriend: 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 ofthem--started into action. Like shock troops in a last desperateassault they ground forward, a serried line that exactly paralleledthe threatened break, and hundreds deep. This old earth of ours hadnever witnessed so awe-inspiring a sight.
They smashed into that moving wall of ice with the force of uncountedmillions of tons. We could hear the groaning and straining offuriously turning machinery as they heaved.
Keston and I looked at each other in amazement. The master machinewas trying to hold back the mighty Glacier by the sheer power of itscohorts!
* * * * *
A wild light sprang into Keston's eye--of admiration, of regret. "Whata thing is this that I created!" he muttered. "If only--" I trulybelieve that for a moment he half desired to see his brain-childtriumph.
The air was hideous with a thousand noises. The Glacier wall wascracking and splitting with the noise of thunderclaps; the machineswere 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, pilingthem up high upon one another, grinding into powder the front ranks.
And to cap it all, the huge overhang, a thousand feet high, wasswaying crazily and describing ever greater arcs.
"Look!" I screamed and flung up my arm. Great freight planes wereflying wing-to-wing, head-on for the tottering crag--deliberatelysmashing 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 athousand devils and deafening rending roars, the whole side of theGlacier seemed to lean over and fall in a great earth-shatteringcrescendo of noise.
While we watched, fascinated, rooted to the ground, that thousand feetof glittering wall described a tremendous arc, swinging withincreasing momentum down, down, down to the earth it had so long beenseparated from.
The clamoring machines were buried under, lost in a swirl of ice andsnow. Only the Central Station remained, a few moments defiant underthe swift onrush of its unfeeling foe.
With a crash that could have been heard around the world, theuppermost 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. Wewere thrown heavily--and I knew no more....
* * * * *
I weltered out of unconsciousness. Keston was chafing my hands andrubbing 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 gigantictumbled blocks of dazzling purity. Of the embattled machines, of theCentral Control Station, there was not a sign. They were buriedforever under hundreds of feet of frozen water.
I turned to Keston and shook his hand. "You've won; you've saved theworld. Now let's get the prolats and start to rebuild."
There was no trace of exultation in Keston's voi
ce. Instead, heunaccountably sighed as we trudged up a narrow winding path to thetop. "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 insudden passion. "To think that it should lie down there, destroyed, atwisted mass of scrap metal and broken glass!"