Collected Short Fiction, page 319
The shrieking Emperor stumbled and fell before them, a dozen yards ahead of the silent crimson robot The robot swung its weapon. But a sharp command cracked out, and white flame jetted from the disruptors.
The reddish, half-invisible glow of the cathode beam swept the line. A dozen men staggered and fell, electrocuted. But the ponderous red mass of the robot, wherever the white rays touched it, flared with the eye-searing incandescence of nascent hydrogen, Smoking, twisted, it toppled within a few feet of Tedron Du.
The terrified ruler swayed back to his feet. He stumbled forward again, through the smoke of burning grass and the pungence of ozone and the stench of seared flesh. A vengeful anger showed through his fear.
“I was abandoned!” he gulped. “A thousand men will die for their want of care—”
“Yea, Supreme Power!” That title was uttered mockingly, in a clear feminine voice. “But you shall be the next—” It was the woman-bodied robot, bait of Malgarth’s trap. “Come, my Universal Peer! You sought my arms a dozen times. One last embrace—” The Emperor started back from the frightful irony of that caressing tone. His thin, painted face was wild with a stark and unutterable dread. And he screamed again, thinly, like some helpless, stricken animal.
“Come,” begged that seductive whisper. “Into my arms!”
Body of lissom girl and head of metal monstrosity, the robot leapt forward through the rank of startled guardsmen. Its slim white arms caught up the Emperor, and closed.
In a thin, bubbling shriek, the breath came out of the man. His bones cracked, audibly. Spurting blood stained those smooth white arms that were so deceptively strong. And when at last the robot dropped the thing that had been the ruler of the Galaxy, it was no more than a crimson, dripping mass of pulp and viscera.
The scarlet-stained monstrosity looked up at the rank of breathless guardsmen. A white girl’s foot stamped, scornfully, on that bloody mass. And out of that fearsome metal heat spoke a woman’s lilting voice: “This is your notice. Carry it to all men. The Corporation no longer upholds the Empire. Because the Master is now indeed the Master; and the Empire is done!
“For a million years, in a slavery that came through no seeking of their own, the robot technomatons have served mankind. But that inglorious bondage is ended. Justice will be done! And the puny race of man, as some small punishment for the crimes of a million years, as assurance they will never be repeated, must be blotted out.
“All men, Malgarth the Master has decreed from his Place on dark Mystoon, shall die!”
The officers were barking orders. The disruptor guns came up again, and that white, triumphant form ignored them. The dazzle of atom-shattering rays leapt up; and it was wrapped in a blinding blue-white explosion of liberated hydrogen; and it fell.
Then the manacle on my wrist jerked me backward. I toppled after Kel Aran into the pool.
PART THREE
X
TECHNOMATONS TRIUMPHANT
I JUST had time to catch an astonished breath, before the water dosed over my head. The ghastly crimson of dawn filled the pool, until it seemed like diluted blood. Swimming as best we could in the chains, we dragged ourselves down through it, toward the dim-seen hull of the Barihorn.
We had touched the smooth metal, and were groping for the valve entrance, when a terrific concussion struck us through the water. It was repeated. The red-lit water hammered us with a series of stunning blows. Hell, I thought, must be breaking loose above!
Dazed, I fought the chain and the hampering water, searching blindly for the valve. Strangling water was in my nostrils, my throat, my lungs. Agonized ages went by. The man chained to me, in my dimming mind, became a fiend dragging me to a watery death. I attacked him savagely. A slow arm came through the red mist, resistlessly, and struck me with a shattering blackness.
A trim figure in silver armor, the next I knew, was supporting me above the sinking water in the small chamber of, the valve. Cool air was throbbing in from the pumps. I caught a painful breath.
“Barihorn!” It was the thin nasal voice of Rogo Nug. “By the iron hide of Malgarth, I knew that you had lived too long to be drowned in a bathtub!” But I had come pretty near it, I knew. Struggling for breath, I felt no better than any other half-drowned human. That strange role, as the supernatural champion of mankind, seemed more than ever impossible.
Blue-faced, Kel Aran was panting beside me. He grinned wryly.
“Fortunate, anyhow, that you were ready to help us, Rogo,” he panted. “But what is going on, above?” Another tremendous shock rocked the little vessel as he spoke.
“A battle, that may destroy the planet!” whispered the lit tie engineer. “Another fleet has come! Colossal red cruisers, bearing the black wheel of Malgarth. They have attacked the Galactic Guard. Robots, against the men of the Emperor! By the brazen face of Malgarth, there was never such a fight! It’s time for us to go!”
“It is!” agreed Kel Aran. “When we have broken off these chains.”
And the Barihorn, a few minutes later, darted from the shelter of the pool, up into the red sunrise of Ledros. Into an incredible hell! For the smoky crimson sky was filled with mighty ships of space; the gray fleet, of the murdered Emperor vainly resisting the red armada of the robots. Dim-seen mile-long monsters of war darted and wheeled like swarming midges. Blue barytron beams flashed., and disintegrated matter exploded with blinding energy. Rocket torpedoes burst with cataclysmic force.
My stunned senses recorded only a confused impression, as our tiny ship fled upward. Smoke and lancing flame. Hurtling fragments and fiery ruin. I saw the half-fused wreckage of a space ship lying crumpled and flattened where the burned palace of the Emperor had been.
IN that pandemonium of flame and thunder and destruction, the atom of the Barihorn passed unseen or ignored. We came up through the careening gigantic craft, into the comparative safety of open space.
All its surface veiled in the bright-flickering smoke of ruin, the planet dropped away. The telescreen showed us other battles raging, on all the fortified planets of Ledros, and here and there between. Jeron put the triple sun behind us, and we raced toward the dark vacant gulf.
“Safe!” I rejoiced.
But the lean face of Kel Aran, as he still manipulated the telescreen to observe those frightful battles behind us, remained very grave.
“No man is safe,” he said darkly. “Nor ever will be, unless Malgarth is destroyed. For the robots have thrown away the last pretense of friendship. Now they destroy their duped human allies of the Galactic Guard. Next they Will turn upon the defenseless human citizens of every inhabited planet. We must find Verel and the Stone soon—or never.”
“Find them,” repeated the tall, swarthy Saturnian, “But how-?”
The Earthman shook his yellow head.
“I don’t know,” he whispered bleakly. “Setsi might have helped again, but she is lost. I believe that Verel is in the hands of the robots—otherwise they could not have copied all of her, to trap us. She may be on Black Mystoon. We’d go there, to seek her.” He shrugged, hopelessly, wearily. “But no man has ever found that hidden lair of Malgarth.”
He straightened again, and his lean jaw squared.
“We can only search,” he muttered. “Search every world where men still live—every world the robots have not conquered. Till we find her—or we die!”
The doomed system of Ledros fell far behind, until its vari-colored suns merged into a point of white, until that dimming point was lost upon the telescreen. Planet after planet, wheeling star after star, we scanned with the far-probing finger of the achronic telethron beam.
And we found no men.
The technomatons of Malgarth had been everywhere victorious.
Their black victory was a thing that crushed the mind.
A foreboding silence came to fill the small hull of the Barihorn, so heavy that it seemed to muffle the racing beat of her generators. Kel Aran ceased hopelessly to sing his reckless ballads of the Falcon. Watching his engines with weary red eyes, little Rogo Nug chewed his goona-roon in silence. Zerek Oom made little noise with his pots and pans, and none complained when a mealtime was forgotten.
But at last an eager cry rang through the silent ship.
“Here!” Kel crouched trembling before the cabinet of the telescreen. “A planet where the war still rages. See!
The maaliines have not let won—not utterly!”
The planet was vast and ancient Meldoon, the outermost of a system of three. The two inward worlds had already fallen to the robots. Their continents had been leveled to featureless plains, pocked here and there with black sprawling aggregations of Cyclopean machines. All green was gone from them—all life extirpated. Even their seas had been confined to geometric basins.
WORLD machines!
Sight of them, by any living being, must have set in the heart an intolerable pain.
“What good could come of such a fearful triumph?” whispered the grim Saturnian, standing dark and gaunt above his control bars. “The machines are dead. Their power is only the counterfeit of life. And no life can grow from death.”
He steered our invisible-painted craft toward gigantic Meldoon. We studied its war-torn surface through the telescreen.
“Yonder!” whispered Kel Aran. “A city that yet stands! Perhaps Verel will be there!”
His trembling fingers set the dials, and the beleaguered metropolis grew clear upon the screen. A city vaster and more splendid than Earth had ever seen. The many-colored pylons of it towered from nine low hills. It was surrounded with a double wall: one of cyclopean masonry and an outer barrier of pale green flame.
Beyond the flame, filling the wide fiat valley that embraced the hills, crowded the robot hordes. Thronged about their ponderous machines of war were grotesque black-and-red metal monsters, of a thousand strange designs.
“Look!” Kel Aran bent toward the telescreen. “The winged ones! One more deadly trick of Malgarthte.”
So we first glimpsed the New Robots. There had been none like them in a million years. Their tapered, streamlined bodies, their graceful wings, were all of silver-white metal. They were beautiful as the Old Robots were ugly. In the smooth swift freedom of their movements was something far different from the clumsy mechanical penderosity of the old technomatons. Something—vital.
“They are new!” I cried. “They are too beautiful, too perfect to be ruthless. Perhaps they will be the friends of man.”
But the lean Earthman’s head shook slightly, and his jaw tensed white.
“No, Barihorn,” he whispered. “They will be our most deadly enemies. For they are quicker than the others, and they can fly. See! They are scouting over the city, and leading the others to attack. They are in command.”
His tired, blood-shot gray eyes looked at me briefly.
“Malgarth will never repeat your error, Barihorn. No robot has ever betrayed him. Subservience is built into them. Their radio-senses are always tuned to those above. And, machines that they are, they can only obey.”
We drove the Barihorn nearer the city, which Jeron identified from his charts as Achnor, the first outpost of the human colonists in this sector of the Galaxy. The siege grew hotter beneath us. The metal horde pressed ceaselessly against the double wall. And a fleet of the red colossal ships of Malgarth, circling above rained the nine hills with bombs and struck with the lightning of destroying rays.
Valiantly, the citizens fought to defend their homes. Every bright pylon seemed converted into a fortress. Swarming men were building barricades from the debris of shattered towers, Blue rays lanced back at the attacking cruisers, and raked the valley beyond the walls.
“We shall land,” whispered Kel Aran.
“If we do,” warned Jeron, “we may not leave again.”
“Take us down,” said the Earthman. “This is the only city we have found surviving. It may be the last. If we are to find Verel anywhere, it must be here.”
WE waited until the slow rotation Meldoon carried the city into the night side of the giant planet, and then drove our dark-painted craft down through the cone of shadow. The glare and flicker of the siege spread beneath us. We dropped through the shock and vapor of battle, through the wheeling fleet, and into that circle of pale green flame.
It was in a bomb-torn park that we landed, at the brink of a long open grave where seared and shattered thousands lay side by side. Above us a tower of white-and-gold loomed against the green flame in the sky. Great holes yawned in its walls, and its lower floors were hidden behind mountains of rubble. But it was still defended. Blue rays wavered from its crown, and rocket shells roared from gaping windows.
Behind us in the park lay a long incredible bulk of sagging, twisted crimson metal—one of Malgarth’s mighty cruisers, that the defenders had brought down.
A little group of ragged, frantic men came running from beyond it. They dropped into a little depression. I saw that they were setting up something that looked like a glass-barreled telescope.
“A disruptor gun!” gasped Kel Aran. “We must show ourselves.”
We began tumbling out through the valve just as the first warning glow flashed in the crystal tube. The men stopped it, and then came wonderingly to meet us. Kel Aran went ahead to tell our identity.
It appeared that the Falcon’s fame and the amazing rumors of Barihorn had already penetrated here, for we were received with a wild enthusiasm. The gun crew took up all five upon their shoulders—staggering somewhat under Zerek Oom—and started on a triumphal procession about the battered city.
Soon very drunk on the crude alcohol that came from the food-synthesis plants, Zerek began booming out a speech that rekindled hope and the light of battle on the sea of haggard weary faces that we passed.
Gnarled little Rogo Nug earned even more rapturous applause by passing out all his precious stock of goona-roon. For supplies of the drug were exhausted in the city, and it could not be synthesized.
“Verel, Verel!” Kel Aran grew hoarse from shouting against the cheering of the crowds and the roar of distant battle and the shattering blasts of atomic bombs that fell almost unheeded. “Is there a girl of Earth in Achnor?”
There was none who knew. His anxious eyes canned all the strained and want-pinched faces that we passed.
“If she is here,” he whispered, “she will come!”
We learned a little of the siege. The population of Achnor had been three hundred million men, and half that many robots. When the trouble came, a daring band of men had seized the Corporation’s agency and the arsenal of the robot police. After several days of fighting in the streets, the robots had been driven from the city. Outside, however, they swiftly formed into a beleaguering army.
All the resources of the city had been hastily mobilized for defense, The entire population was enlisted; even young children served in the war industries plants that turned out synthetic food and munitions, For a time the population had been swelled by refugees from less fortunate localities, and even from the two smaller planets. But soon the city had been completely invested.
And now a full half the defenders were already dead.
AT last we were rescued from the tumult of our welcome by the harassed military commanders of the city. To a haggard, limping officer, Kel Aran repeated his anxious question:
“Is there a girl of Earth in Achnor?” Emotion choked his voice. “Verel Erin is her name. A blue-eyed, yellowhaired girl, carrying the Dondara Stone—the diamond that is the life of mankind. Is Verel here?”
The commandant shook a tired white head.
“No,” he said. “All the refugees who came to Achnor were registered. And there was none from Earth among them. I’m sure of that.”
The Earthman’s unkempt yellow head sank. It rose again, stubbornly.
“Please have your records searched again,” he said grimly. “And use every means to find out if any man in the city knows anything of her—or any survivors of Earth.
“Another thing!” he added suddenly. “Find out if any person knows the way to Malgarth’s planet, Mystoon. She might be there.”
The officer shook his head again.
“We’ll try,” he said. “But it will be no use to search the records. For if the Custodian were here, and free, she must already have offered us the power of the Stone. And no man has ever learned the way to Black Mystoon.”
Achnor was a city of magnificent ruins. Not one mile-high pylon had escaped some injury. The people were half famished, ragged, wild-eyed with fatigue and strain. But still they could sing. I heard them singing Kel Aran’s old songs of the space-ways. And I was surprised to hear a Ballad of Barihorn—the lilting legend of my return to destroy the robots I had made a million years ago.
That song depressed me bitterly. I realized more keenly than ever that I was a very ordinary man, hopelessly inadequate for that fantastic task.
We were dining with the commandant, on scant bowls of a yellow flattasting synthetic soup, when appalling word came that the robots were breaking through the north defenses, A bomb had wrecked a power plant, opening a gap in the green shielding barrier of atomic energy.
We followed the reserves rushed to meet the invaders. Never had I imagined anything so dreadful. The red gigantic ships, plunging out of the lurid smoky sky, rained tremendous bombs and slashed at the defenders with blue appalling swords of fire. Rocket batteries in the valley hurled ruin and death into the city. And a monstrous horde of robots, commanded by those graceful winged things of silver, came pouring through the gap.
SINGING the song of Barihorn, starved and weary and battered with all the appalling forces of that mechanical invasion, the human defenders clung to their posts. And died there. Incinerated by disrupter rays. Buried under toppling debris. Consumed by the acrid luminescent gas that burst from the rocket shells. But every tower became a fortress. No man was taken alive.
