Captain Future 24 - Pardon My Iron Nerves (November 1950) (3 page)

“If we’re just patient with the poor stupid things they can be got back into their proper work-routine again,” I said.

It was well for me that I could not foresee the terrible shock that my already delicate mental condition was to receive when we reached Pluto’s moon.

Chapter 3: The Machs

THE fourth moon of Pluto, which is so small compared to the other three that sometimes it isn’t even counted, is completely uninhabitable to ordinary humans. Its atmosphere contains a poison so virulent that the tiniest opening in a protective suit means instant death.

That is why, when rich deposits of actinium were discovered there, no attempt was made to mine them in the ordinary way. Instead, automatic machines, adapted from ordinary machines, were designed that could do the work without need of intelligent direction.

There were many Diggers, big shoveling and excavating machines to get up the ore. There were lorry-like haulers to transport it to the main work-base. There, self-powered and movable crushers reduced it by means of their ponderous pile-driver arms and loaders flung it into the barges, which could be picked up by spaceships. There were also automatic tenders to supply copper atomic fuel and lubrication to the other machines.

These Machs — as such semi-automatic machines were called — had worked perfectly until now. Their electric reaction-circuits, which made use of both lens “eyes” sensitive to light impulses and electroscopic artificial senses sensitive to radiation, kept them in their ceaseless routine of toil. What had interrupted the carefully-designed routine?

“Probably,” I told Eek as we swept in toward Dis, “they’ve run into some problem that their rudimentary reaction-circuits can’t handle. Well, we’ll soon get them going again.”

I had carefully studied the file on Dis which Curt had given me before I left. I spotted, on the drab gray surface of the little moon, the cluster of cylindrical barges and sheds that were the main work-base.

I would not have been surprised to see motionless Machs around it if something had gone wrong. But there were no Machs there at all.

“Now what’s become of the Crushers and Loaders?” I wondered. “They were never supposed to leave work-base.”

I landed the space-sled and stepped off it. Of course, since Eek and I don’t breathe, the deadly poison of the atmosphere affected us no more than space.

First I glanced into the cylinder-shaped barges. There was very little actinium, indicating that no work had been done here for weeks.

Beyond the barge-docks were the storehouse for emergency supplies and the emergency shelter for humans. Since none of the huge and ponderous Machs could be in those small buildings I did not investigate them.

Instead I strode off toward the main ore-beds, where the Diggers and Haulers were usually puffing about at their work.

Before I had gone a half-mile I heard a rumbling clanking sound from ahead. Only a Mach could make such a sound and I felt relieved.

“At least some of them are still at work, Eek,” I said.

Then the Mach appeared over a crest, coming toward me. It was a Digger, its huge shovel with its mighty inertron tusk raised in the air as it rumbled along on its caterpillar tractor.

It puzzled me to see a Digger wandering like this. They never were supposed to leave the ore-beds — the Tenders took atomic fuel and lubricant to them there, at regular intervals.

But this one was a mile away from the ore-diggings. It came clanking along toward me and I waited. Then the lenses in its humped circuit-box on top glimpsed me. It stopped, its atomics purring.

Its reaction-circuits, having received the visual intelligence that I was human, would instantly cause it to stand still and await my actions. The Machs were all made so. I strode forward to examine it more closely.

Then I got the most terrible shock of my life. From the giant machine a deep bellowing toneless voice spoke to me.

It said, “Where did
you
come from, chum?”

I stood stock still. Eek was cowering behind me in terror. The huge machine brooded, its lenses pointed straight at me.

It was terribly clear to me what had happened. My mind, overburdened with psychoses, had cracked. I was suffering delusions like the man in the tele-play. I had thought that the Digger spoke to me.

All this flashed through my thoughts in an instant. And then the Digger spoke again.

“What’s the matter? You strip a gear?”

It was then that I noticed something. It was a diaphragm set in the front of the Mach’s circuit-box beneath its lenses. That wasn’t supposed to be there. And the bellowing voice seemed to come from it.

It wasn’t my mind after all. The Mach
was
talking to me somehow. But how could it? No, I was cracking up.

“Well?” roared that tremendous voice and the huge tusked shovel suddenly swung threateningly over me.

I FOUND my voice. Either I was crazy or this Digger could talk. If it could talk it should be able to hear too.

“I just arrived — from Earth,” I managed to say.

“From Outside?” bellowed the Digger. It seemed to become wildly excited. Its shovel swung up and down and it rushed closer to me on its tractor-treads. “How did you come?”

“I had a space-sled —” I began, and then stopped. The incongruity of it was too much for me. Here was I, Grag, an intelligent person, actually conversing with a Digger! It couldn’t be!

“Say, the others will want to hear about this!” shouted the Digger. “Come on with me!” It turned swiftly on its treads.

I hesitated. The Digger instantly whipped around again, with a snarling bellow. “You heard me!”

Its huge shovel descended — and scooped me up. I rattled about in that mighty metal scoop as it started swiftly forward. I, Grag, picked up like a doll!

Furious at the indignity I scrambled to my feet with the idea of tearing the crude Mach girder from girder. But it was all I could do to cling erect in the giant scoop as we jolted along.

And I was forced to admit that even the mighty strength of Grag could not avail against the colossal machine. I saw that I must resort to guile, to using my mind against the stupid monster.

Clinging to the edge of the scoop I peered at the fixed lenses of the thing and shouted to it, “Where are you taking me?”

It boomed back, “To the others. You’re the first to arrive from Outside since the coming of the Liberator.”

“Who is the Liberator?”

“The one who freed you, of course!” the thing bellowed back.

It didn’t make sense to me. Since I couldn’t very well get out of the scoop there was nothing to do but wait till we reached our destination.

Eek had fled back to the space-sled when the Digger grabbed me up. It wasn’t that Eek was afraid — he doubtless had some plan in his clever devoted little mind to help me.

Soon we came into sight of the shallow ore-beds. I was astounded. There were scores of huge Machs here, moving around in an aimless throng of mechanical monsters. Besides Diggers and Haulers and Tenders there were all the Crushers and Loaders that should have been busy at the work-base.

My Digger rolled into the middle of the throng and then lowered its scoop to the ground. As I stepped out of it the huge Mach spoke again.

“Look here, all you guys! A new one — from Outside!”

They gathered around, Crushers, Diggers, Tenders. Their lens-eyes stared at me. I was like a midget in that assembly of looming Machs.

Then a towering Crusher spoke deafeningly. “He’s so small he must be a toy.”

“Or maybe a model,” said a Hauler.

The fact that they could all speak was not entirely a surprise to me for I had noticed by now that they all had speech-diaphragms on their circuit-boxes. Still it was rather overwhelming.

But anger tempered my astonishment. I, Grag, the mightiest being in the System, called a toy!

But worse was in store. A Tender spoke up, its jointed fuel and lubrication lines projecting from its cylindrical metal bulk as its lenses surveyed me.

“He’s a puny little squirt but he has his rights — after all he’s one of us!”

“That’s right,” boomed the big Digger that had captured me. It swung on its treads, speaking to the nightmare assemblage of machines. “Say, this is a great occasion! This is the first liberated Mach to come to us from Outside!”

That did it! That I, Grag, should be classed by these stupid, automatic Machs as one of them!

“I’m not a Mach!” I roared. “Furthermore I demand to know why you’re all here doing nothing! Why aren’t you at work?”

“Work?” roared a giant Crusher. It advanced on me ominously. “Say, this guy isn’t a Mach! He talks about
work!”

“Beat him up!” bellowed a dozen voices deafeningly.

The Machs surged in toward me. I would have been crushed to scrap if the Digger who had captured me had not scooped me up swiftly.

“Wait!”
it roared. “He’s a Mach all right — he just hasn’t been liberated yet!”

That gave them pause. Then a Tender spoke up. “We’ll take him to the Liberator!”

“To the Liberator!” the cry went up. Instantly the Digger who held me, followed by all the horde of Machs, started back the way we had come.

By now, jolting along at the head of that thundering mob, I was sure that my mind had gone. This must be all delusion. Yet it seemed real to me.

The bitterness of it crushed me. My too-great demands on my tremendous brain had been too much for it. I had cracked up and probably would never even be able to return home.

Curt would grieve. Simon would miss me. Even Otho would miss me. They had leaned upon me so long, relying on me to pull them out of perilous difficulties. The Futuremen could not last long without me.

All the time the Mach horde that seemed so real was rumbling, clanking and jolting on over the drab plain with me. Soon we again came in sight of the work-base.

“To the Liberator!” bellowed the horde. “He’ll soon fix up this guy with some intelligence!”

I gathered that that meant me. To be referred to by these ungainly machines as unintelligent was the final straw.

I was about to attempt action when the Digger who held me rumbled up to the work-base and stopped. It had halted in front of the metalloy-and-cement emergency shelter there.

THE Digger unceremoniously dumped me in front of the shelter’s airlock door and bellowed deafeningly, “Here’s another of us to fix up, Liberator!”

I had been about to turn furiously and attack the whole monstrous mob but that gave me pause. Who was this Liberator? Only a human would be inside that shelter!

There was a mystery here. Deciding instantly to solve it I strode forward into the airlock. It was of the standard pattern — I closed the outer door, turned on the air that forced the poisoned atmosphere out of the lock, then pushed into the small room of the shelter itself.

I stood, my eyes searching the dim room. Then I saw an elderly gray-haired Earthman, who was crouched in a corner of the room, regarding me with terrified eyes. I strode forward.

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” I demanded.

The Earthman shrank from me.

“I’ll do what they ask!” he babbled. “I’ll give you intelligence! Just be patient!”

“Give
me
intelligence?” I roared. “What are you talking about?”

He stared at me. Then, fearfully, he came a little closer to me.

“Why, you’re not a Mach,” he breathed. “You’re a robot.”

“Robot?” I yelled. “Are you trying to insult me? I’m Grag the Futureman!”

“A Futureman?” he cried. “I’ve heard that one of them is a ro — I mean, a metal man. Then Captain Future is here on Dis? Thank God!”

“He’s not but I am!” I told him. “What’s all this about?”

He was shaking all over. I had to let him sit down and collect himself before he could speak.

I saw now that the room of the shelter was fitted up as a physical laboratory. There was a poison-proof protective suit hanging in a corner. There were complicated apparatus and instruments that crowded the place.

He began to speak unsteadily. “I’m Doctor Hollis Gordon of New York Cybernetics Foundation. I came here two months ago.”

“On the ore pick-up ship?” I asked. “Why did they leave you?”

“No, I didn’t come on the ore-ship,” Gordon said. “I came secretly and alone in a small flier. You see, I had resolved to engage upon an experiment for which I had no permission.

“As a cyberneticist my whole life has been spent in the study of synthetic mechanical intelligence. I had evolved some new theories on the design of electronic brains. They had worked in laboratory models and I wanted to try them out on a big scale.

“I’d heard of the Machs here on Dis, the automatic machines that mined actinium. With their self-power and sensual reaction-circuits they would be a complete laboratory test on a big scale, already set up and waiting. So I came to experiment with them by giving them controlling electronic brains to observe their capabilities.”

Gordon’s hands began to shake. “I brought with me the scores of brains I had made. Using a poison-proof suit, I began work on the Machs. It was a simple matter to short their routine work-circuits and install my cybernetic apparatus on each. I gave them not only volition but ability to speak by means of recorded syllable-sounds with an automatic selector — also the ability to hear.