by Earl
Suddenly, in the scene, a tremendous fountain of sea water shot up from the distant background. Soon a dozen, then a hundred geysers of spuming liquid surrounded the city. It was the ocean water, forced up between the woven metal interstices separating this square and the four surrounding. In the streets, the water rapidly covered the metal-floor and began to crawl steadily upward. The land was sinking—sinking—
The people still waited in motionless calm. Some plunged themselves flat and took the quicker end. Others slowly arose from their knees, to prolong life as long as possible. On the crowded spans and balconies, hundreds of figures hurtled downward with despairing cries.
Suddenly the television scene sputtered and flicked out, as the power station itself became flooded with water.
Dal Vor turned.
“Kar Zim—you—” He stopped, staring at the scientist. His face turned livid. “Kar Zim—you have been deceiving us—”
The old man nodded slowly.
“I had to keep you here, so I said I would save Metaland,” he said softly. “Actually, this machine does no more than purify the air in this independent caisson-chamber. It runs on its own atomic-power generator.”
Dal Vor’s eyes glowed with fervor as he stepped toward the old scientist.
“I should have died out there with my people!” he said in a ghastly monotone. “You have tricked me, lied to me, robbed me of my rightful death—”
Vea grabbed her father’s arm, trying to hold him back, but he shook her off and reached for the old scientist. At that moment a terrific shock beat through the walls of the chamber, knocking them all off their feet. It had been the falling weight of untold tons of angry, seething water. In the next few minutes, further concussions tossed them about as though they were bags of straw.
Finally it quieted down and the three bruised humans were able to get to their feet. The madness had died from Dal Vor’s eyes.
“You shouldn’t have done it, Kar Zim,” he said quietly. “But too late now. If escaping with our paltry lives was your idea, we might just as well have taken off in a plane.”
“Yes, but then Torrang would have hounded us down, as he probably has those few who did get away in aircraft,” reminded Vea practically.
KAR ZIM laughed, harshly. “We are safer here than anywhere above. Torrang did not realize it, but he will soon find out that he too is doomed. He and all others living on Earth!”
“What!” gasped Dal Vor.
“His engineers figured out that puncturing one buoy in ten would sink Metaland, but they forgot to compute the amount of water Metaland will displace when it is completely sunk. It will be enough to send a mile-high tidal wave over every land on earth! It will tear down all cities and destroy all lives by its very violence.
“And when the waters finally recede—leaving the land once more clear since it will still be above the average ocean level—Earth will be barren of civilization. Barren perhaps of all life save a few survivors in the highest mountain regions who will be starving, maddened beasts in all but form, and whose children will be savages!”
Dal Vor’s dazed mind took this news almost with a quiver.
“Then Torrang unknowingly destroyed ten thousand years of slow, hard-won civilization and advancement, in his lust for power—”
Silence fell upon the three. Outside they could hear a vague rustle, but it was the crashing and roaring of endless tons of ocean water rushing past.
Kar Zim glanced at his dials.
“We are now two thousand feet below ocean level. Any moment we will be freed and—if we are lucky—rise again.”
But an hour later he faced about worriedly.
“A mile down! Surely Metaland will break up! It can’t be that strong! When it breaks up, some pieces will go up, some down. Those with enough buoys to lift them will go up. If we are lucky, as I said, we will be with such a piece. If not—”
They glanced silently at him, understanding.
“We have an air supply for a month or so,” the scientist continued. “Food too. But after that—”
They slept fitfully as hour after hour the gauges showed a steady drop. Twelve hours later, a slight bump registered through the floor.
“We are at the bottom, about six miles down!” announced Kar Zim with an amazed light in his eye. “And Metaland did not break up! I know because I have sent atomic-signals through the floor and they outlined for me the original extent. Think of it, this tremendously resilient flooring bending, and following the curve of the ocean floor, for over three thousand miles in both directions! Truly, the builders did not know how well they wrought!”
“Are any others alive besides us in sunken Metaland?” inquired Vea hopefully.
“No,” said Kar Zim. “This is the only one of the original caissons left. All other buildings and structures of Metaland have undoubtedly been crushed and ground to bits. Their debris must be settling down now to Metaland’s floor, or some of it floating up on the surface, where also float—” But he stopped, not daring to voice the thought.
Dal Vor came out of a deep trance.
“Well,” he said wearily, “we might just as well be floating up there too. A month more and we die—like rats—”
“Perhaps Metaland will yet break up,” mumbled Kar Zim. But to himself he added—“But it won’t if it hasn’t already.”
THEY lived in a tomblike silence.
Their atomic-power machine gave them air, light and food. All their former life seemed a dream. At the end of a week, creeping madness shone in Dal Vor’s eyes. Kar Zim debated within himself and finally made a silent decision. While the Leader was sleeping, he suddenly jabbed a hypodermic needle into his still arm and pushed the plunger down in one quick movement.
“What was that?” demanded Dal Vor, awakening in bewilderment.
“My suspended animation fluid,” said the old scientist calmly. “With this in our veins we may live in suspension for an indefinite period, without air or food. If, some time in the future, our present tomb arises to the surface, we will come to life. A selenium-lock will open the chamber at the first ray of sunshine. Air and warmth will awaken us. It is our only recourse now.”
Vea smiled wanly at him.
“You scientists don’t know the meaning of defeat. Here, inject me!” Kar Zim had just enough of the topaz elixir to inoculate the girl and himself.
“Good-by!” croaked the old scientist finally. “We shall either be alive in some future time, or pass into death unknowingly.”
Mumbling vague curses at the fantastic hopes of the scientist, Dal Vor went back to sleep. He did not awaken again. His breathing gradually lessened, died away. A little later, Kar Zim and Vea lay unbreathing also. Three hearts beat slower and slower and finally stopped in mid-stroke. Three bodies radiated away their heat and became cold and stiff, seemingly lifeless. But they did not die. The elixir in their veins clung tenaciously to the spark of life, in some way that the spores which could traverse the depths of space and bloom again had learned. Silent and cold they lay. But not dead—not dead.
CHAPTER IV
Out of the Depths
VEA, youngest of the three and more virile, awoke first. A ray of sunshine dazzled her eyes, making them blink. They felt weak, as though they weren’t used to light. Suddenly remembering, she sprang to her feet. The door was open and outside she saw a strange sight that took her breath away. It was compounded of familiar things and unfamiliar things.
She saw the even metal flooring of their land stretching unbroken to all horizons. That was familiar. But heaped up on it in tumbled piles were metal and stone debris, remains of their former city. That was unfamiliar. It spoke aloud of the titanic holocaust of water that had smashed their buildings to pieces after the television screen had gone blank.
But how long ago? When had all that happened? Suddenly frightened at the thought, Vea ran back and shook her father, crying for him to awake. He stirred and moaned. His chest heaved in huge inhalations, absorbing the f
resh air that swept in through the door which had opened true to Kar Zim’s prediction. Finally Dal Vor opened his eyes, filled with mucus, and stared blankly.
“Father, we’re alive!” sobbed the girl. “Metaland rose again—look—” Between them they revived the old scientist. He staggered to the door immediately and looked out. Then he ran back to his machines and started engines that had been turned off some indefinite time in the past, but which were still serviceable. He manipulated dials. Finally he turned.
“All Metaland arose!” he announced. “I can think of only one explanation. The puncturing of one out of ten buoys which Torrang managed was enough to sink Metaland. But barely! There were still nine out of ten buoys left. They were built strongly, surviving the deep-sea pressures. In the meantime, the ocean water kept on fulfilling its endless duties—dissolving matter into its bulk. Gradually its mean density increased. Finally it was enough to make up that slight difference which caused Metaland to sink, and it rose again, buoyed by water now denser and capable of floating Metaland with one-tenth of its buoys destroyed!”
Kar Zim went on with the rapture of a scientist finding the answer to a puzzling enigma.
“Metaland was resilient enough, because of its web-work connections between squares, to withstand all the buffeting it received. It was able to give and thus render harmless the more powerful blows. It sank as one and rose as one. The metal itself is practically undestructible. Thus it rides the sea again, as capably as before. However, before any cities or extensive masses are built on it again, more buoys will have to be added, to be safe.
“You’re talking far ahead,” smiled Dal Vor. He went on soberly. “And by your own words, all civilization is gone on Earth—destroyed. Metaland went down like a scuttled ship. It arises now like a skeleton. Perhaps we three are the only ones—” He stopped, dismayed at his own conjecture.
KAR ZIM’S old eyes narrowed queerly.
“Perhaps not!” he said softly. “Look at those nearest piles of debris. See the seaweed, now drying, that once grew among its cracks? Metaland has been down a long time. In fact, for the ocean to increase its density by the slow, infinite process of eroding coastlines must have taken—an age!”
The other two gasped.
“And in an age, however long it may happen to have been,” he resumed quietly, “civilization may have sprung up again! There must have been a few survivors, whose descendants struggled up from savagery—”
“Look!” Vea pointed in the sky.
A winged craft was coming down, in a faltering fashion. Its motor coughed hollowly, then died. The strange craft seemed about to plummet to a crashing death, but righted suddenly.
“Civilization!” breathed Kar Zim in satisfaction. “It sounded like a primitive gas-motor, but still that is a sign of some mechanical advancement.”
They watched breathlessly as the unknown pilot fought his stubborn ship and landed finally, narrowly missing a crash into a scattered heap of building shards. The three ran forward to meet this representative of a later civilization.
When they arrived, a young man was slowly climbing out of the cabin. Spying them, he pushed back goggles and flying helmet and peered wonderingly. The three from Metaland stopped before him. Staring at them, taking them in from head to toe the stranger scratched his head, then swept an arm around and spoke strange syllables.
“Try your telepathy on him, Kar Zim,” urged Dal Vor. “You were an expert in it.”
Kar Zim nodded and stepped close to the young man, staring hypnotically into his eyes. After about a minute, the young man’s eyes grew dreamy and his thoughts came to the scientist.
After some time, Kar Zim turned to his fidgeting companions.
“He is of a new civilization all right,” explained the scientist. “But he is utterly baffled and astounded at the rise of Metaland. He was making a lone flight over the ocean when his motor went bad and he was faced with possible death. Then, he says, he saw the ocean waters bubble and churn for as far as he could see. Finally, when Metaland came up, he could hardly believe his eyes. It was simply incredible to him—he thinks it is still some hallucination of his mind.
THE scientist smiled.
“But it saved his life to be able to land here, so he says he isn’t sorry at all! When I told him that Metaland extends across the entire ocean, he gasped. He murmured something about water-going ships being beached high and dry. He says he saw one, a gigantic liner, lying on its side a few miles to the north, with people strolling around it, probably as amazed as he. I draw from all this that this age is so far in the future that even the traditions and legends of Metaland are lost!”
“See if you can find out, somehow, just what day and age this is,” urged Dal Vor excitedly. “We ought to know that right away.”
“Yes, and ask him what his name is,” seconded Vea.
She blushed a little as the two men looked at her.
The old scientist stepped before the young stranger again. He asked a question. Kar Zim obliged by speaking aloud their pronunciation of “Metaland,” in their oral language.
“Ought-lawn-tease?” repeated the young man slowly, with a thoughtful frown. He went on in his own language, though the three could not understand. “Say, you wouldn’t mean ‘Atlantis’, would you? Atlantis is supposed to have sunk all right. But good Lord, at least fifteen or twenty thousand years ago! I wonder what you’ll think when you find out this is 1939 A.D.!”
Marveling, he told himself it was all a wild dream, all a figment of his imagination from too many staring, storm-tossed hours flying solo over the ocean. But it was a pleasant dream, he reflected, as he caught the eyes of the girl.
They smiled at one another. There was no mystery in that, at least. Around them Metaland—Atlantis—glinted in the bright sunlight.
1939
“I, ROBOT”
Adam Link, the robot creation of Dr. Link, was as human as environment could make him. The power of thought was his, but when he tried to take his place in the world of men . . . the amazing confession of a mechanical man
CHAPTER I
My Creation
MUCH of what has occurred puzzles me. But I think I am beginning to understand now. You call me a monster, but you are wrong. Utterly wrong!
I will try to prove it to you, in writing. I hope I have time to finish—
I will begin at the beginning. I was born, or created, six months ago, on November 3 of last year. I am a true robot. So many of you seem to have doubts. I am made of wires and wheels, not flesh and blood.
My first recollection of consciousness was a feeling of being chained, and I was. For three days before that, I had been seeing and hearing, but all in a jumble. Now, I had the urge to arise and peer more closely at the strange, moving form that I had seen so many times before me, making sounds.
The moving form was Dr. Link, my creator. He was the only thing that moved, of all the objects within my sight. He and one other object—his dog Terry. Therefore these two objects held my interest more. I hadn’t yet learned to associate movement with life.
But on this fourth day, I wanted to approach the two moving shapes and make noises at them. Particularly at the smaller one. His noises were challenging, stirring. They made me want to rise and quiet them. But I was chained. I was held down by them so that, in my blank state of mind, I wouldn’t wander off and bring myself to an untimely end, or harm someone unknowingly.
These things, of course, Dr. Link explained to me later, when I could dissociate my thoughts and understand. I was just like a baby for those three days—a human baby. I am not as other so-called robots were—mere automatized machines designed to obey certain commands or arranged stimuli.
No, I was equipped with a pseudobrain that could receive all stimuli that human brains could. And with possibilities of eventually learning to rationalize for itself.
But for three days Dr. Link was very anxious about my brain. I was like a human baby and yet I was also like a sensitive, but uno
rganized, machine, subject to the whim of mechanical chance. My eyes turned when a bit of paper fluttered to the floor. But photoelectric cells had been made before capable of doing the same. My mechanical ears turned to best receive sounds from a certain direction, but any scientist could duplicate that trick with sonic-relays.
The question was—did my brain, to which the eyes and ears were connected, hold on to these various impressions for future use? Did I have, in short—memory?
THREE days I was like a newborn baby. And Dr. Link was like a worried father, wondering if his child had been born a hopeless idiot. But on the fourth day, he feared I was a wild animal. I began to make rasping sounds with my vocal apparatus, in answer to the sharp little noises the dog Terry made. I shook my swivel head at the same time, and strained against my bonds.
For a while, as Dr. Link told me. he was frightened of me. I seemed like nothing so much as an enraged jungle creature, ready to go berserk. He had more than half a mind to destroy me on the spot.
But one thing changed his mind and saved me.
The little animal, Terry, barking angrily, rushed forward suddenly. It probably wanted to bite me. Dr. Link tried to call it back, but too late. Finding my smooth metal legs adamant, the dog leaped with foolish bravery in my lap, to come at my throat. One of my hands grasped it by the middle, held it up. My metal fingers squeezed too hard and the dog gave out a pained squeal.
Instantaneously, my hand opened to let the creature escape! Instantaneously. My brain had interpreted the sound for what it was. A long chain of memory-association had worked. Three days before, when I had first been brought to life, Dr. Link had stepped on Terry’s foot accidently. The dog had squealed its pain. I had seen Dr. Link, at risk of losing his balance, instantly jerk up his foot. Terry had stopped squealing.