Cybernetic Controller

by A. V. Clarke

  The vanes above whirled, catching the sun, and the helicopter sprang into the air and darted off southwards.

  “Not far, now, Lin,” said Merryl with a smile.

  “This is most interesting,” said Wray, weakly, and clung firmly to his support.

  Lin laughed.

  “You heard what the lady said, you’re quite safe.”

  “I prefer to have both feet on the ground.”

  Syme grunted contemptuously.

  They skimmed a cloud, slanting downwards to a cluster of ruined huts and hangars. Lin was inspecting the ground from his side, noticing wide, cleared spaces, with hangars scattered round the perimeter. He just had time to observe what appeared to be a collection of needles standing upright when the helicopter darted between two massive walls and bumped lightly to a standstill.

  Rearing up to the sky, massive and beautiful, a shining bulk took all his attention.

  “A spaceship!” he gasped, awed.

  Chapter Seven

  A space had been cleared in the largest hangar, stools and benches scattered round in a rough semi-circle. Scientists, technicians and workmen occupied the seats, all gazing at a long table, where sat Merryl, Lin, Wray and Syme.

  ‘“Now you have seen our installations, Lin, what do you think of the project?” Merryl was intent and serious, her fingers nervously playing with a pencil.

  “It’s rather—overpowering,” Lin replied, uncertainly.

  “Do you think we can span the void to Mars? Have you the same faith that we have?”

  Lin had walked round the buildings in a daze. He had seen strange machines, instruments salvaged from the wreck of the ancient civilisation, books that he had never dreamed existed. The spaceship itself had been the last great achievement of man, before he had engulfed himself in the final war. Naked and grand, it had stood through the years, defying corrosion and decay, protected by its cosmic-ray sheathing. Lin had gazed up at its shining flanks and felt himself a part of that ancient, flaunting drive of man’s ambition to reach and conquer the stars.

  “Yes,” he said, slowly. “Yes, I have the faith.”

  “Then you are with us?” Merryl broke in, eagerly.

  “No.”

  A gasp came from the assembled scientists. They had the knowledge that Lin was not just some wandering Fifth. Lin was aware that they appreciated that he represented a young and growing force, capable of destroying the whole idea of spaceflight.

  “No,” went on Lin, his voice rising above the murmurs. “No, I am not with you in this desire to escape from Earth. Oh, I know you can do it. This spaceship is wonderful, past belief. The ancients built well and you have reconstructed and remodelled so that she can fly to Mars carrying sufficient crew to set up the first colony there. But I will not go.”

  Syme half rose from his chair, fists clenched, then dropped back as Merryl’s clear voice dominated the noise in the hangar.

  “Why? Why, if you believe in the ship, will you not go along with us?”

  Lin knew why. Deep down inside himself he saw the basic fallacy of this urge to run and escape the dangers and trials of life on Earth. The idea of setting up a new world on Mars, of planting a new Garden of Eden, and, through science, control any re-emergence of the snake. This idea took the fancy, caught the imagination, fired the spirit. Then he remembered the thousands of Fifths, like himself, chained to the drudgery of toil to keep in luxurious idleness the Firsts. The lack of life’s finest offerings, the cabbage-like living in the burrows of Earth, the complete lack of any hope in the future.

  “Co-operate with Victor,” he said, abruptly. “Help him to fashion this world aright, straighten out the injustice, put all men on an equal footing, give each man his chance within the framework of the Cybernetic Controller. Some must always work and some must direct, but help us make the workers’ lot a human one. Help us bring dignity into their lives.”

  His voice died out and there was silence in the hangar.

  Wray was gazing with shining eyes at Lin. Lin looked at him, briefly, seeing in Wray all the toiling masses below earth, then across at Merryl. She was sitting back in her chair, face white, strained.

  Then Syme laughed.

  The silence broke like a burst balloon. Voices in passionate protest, scientists leapt to their feet, fists shaking. Syme’s deep voice boomed out, roaring over the din.

  “There you see the thalamic processes of a common Fifth! We scum are equal to you men of science. Give us this and give us that.” Syme’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I say he has condemned himself out of his own mouth. We need to give him one thing only. A burst from a heat rifle.”

  Merryl rose to her feet, but could not make herself heard. Wray pulled his heat rifle nearer and Lin realised with sick despair that his appeal had failed. And he knew with hopeless conviction that now he knew both sides of the question he could not hope to go back to Victor and be his man. Both sides were right, and both incompatible.

  He saw that in a few moments Syme would have the hangar in uproar against, him, that he stood a good chance of being killed here and now.

  Lin sprang to his feet and shouted with a frantic sense of haste.

  “Wait a minute, all of you! Maybe there is a way. Let me speak to Victor, arrange a meeting of both sides, put the two points of view. Let us handle this with sanity as befits men and not the savage intolerance of beasts.”

  Slowly the uproar subsided. Merryl at last made herself heard and strongly upheld Lin’s request for a conference of the two parties. Lin had sensed, with a peculiar feeling of exultation, that Syme was not liked by the majority of his fellow workers. After the first natural reactions to his demagoguery had worn off, the scientists were only too willing to arrange a meeting. They had all to lose from exposure, and Lin had made it plain that Victor’s forces were powerful enough to blast the entire group into oblivion.

  As the scientists filed from the hangar, talking and arguing among themselves, Merryl discussed with Lin and Wray the best place in which to hold the proposed meeting.

  Syme had disappeared, and, in his absence, Merryl soon decided with Lin that the old storerooms of the West 5-37 apartments would be the most convenient locale.

  They walked slowly towards the door of the hangar, deep in conversation, when Syme came quickly in.

  “Are you taking these two back to the city-block, Merry 1?” he enquired, pleasantly.

  Lin looked at him suspiciously and Wray nudged him significantly.

  “Yes, if you like, Syme,” replied Merryl, unconscious of the by-play.

  They walked out, under the towering spice of the spaceship, which drew their heads upwards automatically, to the helicopter. Merryl told Syme of the time and place of the conference and stood to one side as Lin opened the cabin door and helped Merryl to clamber in. His help was totally unnecessary, but he relished her smile of thanks.

  Just as Wray seated himself behind Merryl, who was adjusting the controls, Lin found himself studying the helicopter with an interest he found disturbing. Something was wrong. Then he spotted a connection neatly severed and rewired on the dash.

  Turning casually to Syme, Lin pushed his heat rifle back on his shoulder.

  “My friend Wray is a little dubious of this helicopter, Syme. Perhaps it would be better if you flew us back to the city-block.”

  “Merryl is quite competent as an aviator,” said Syme, smoothly. “I am afraid there are things I must attend to here at the site.”

  “Things similar to that which you just attended to when you vanished outside a moment ago, is that it, Syme?” Lin’s voice was hard to his own ears.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I may be a fool Fifth, but I can spot your clumsy attempt to sabotage the helicopter and kill us. You’d have killed Merryl, too, wouldn’t you?”

  Syme backed away, his face glowering with rage.

  “You’re raving, man. I wouldn’t want to kill Merryl.”

  “If you can’t have her, you’d ki
ll her, see that no one else does. All right, Syme. You don’t deserve this, but you’re getting it, just the same.”

  And Lin stepped forward, balanced on straining legs, and smashed his fist into Syme’s sneering lips.

  Without another look, Lin vaulted into the helicopter, pulled the sabotaged wires apart and reconnected them with deft fingers.

  “Take off,” he said shortly to Merryl.

  She complied without a word, and as the helicopter rose Syme picked himself up from the ground. Wray looked down and grinned.

  “He’s tearing mad, Lin.” Wray’s voice took on a menacing note. “I’d have shot him down without another thought.”

  “Let’s not worry about.that traitor,” said Lin. “We’ve got a big job on hand to convince Victor to give the scientists a hearing. Both groups need each other. I only hope they will work together. Now let’s get back to HQ as fast as we can.”

  Dust and gloom spread thickly in the old storerooms of West 5-37 apartments, a few isolated fluorescents glowed wanly in the ceiling. Victor’s blocky form strode jerkily to and fro, bald head gleaming. Brush, his red beard bristling, sat on a broken barrel, cleaning his immaculate pistol.

  Ranged at vantage points round the walls members of Victor’s personal guards kept a vigil that promised to be unfruitful.

  Lin had been relieved when Victor had assented to the plan of meeting the scientists. He knew that Victor’s plans for revolution were almost mature, and hoped that the group of scientists working on their spaceship would be able to retain their identity and carry on their work. But he was firm in his conviction that first they should help Victor in his task of organising the city-block after the revolt.

  Now it looked as though the Firsts had backed out of their agreement. Only Victor’s men were in the storerooms, not a scientist had so far arrived.

  Then guards pushed upright from the wall, crowding a small door. Through the door, escorted by self-conscious gunmen, came Merryl. Straight and slim, she strode across the dusty floor to Lin.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Lin,” she greeted him. “Had some unfinished business in my apartment. Anyway, it’s a woman’s privilege to be late on any occasion. Where is Syme, and the delegates?”

  Victor swung towards her with a growl, his blue eyes glittering.

  “So! You're this Merryl who has upset our plans. Well, suppose you tell us where these scientists of yours have got themselves hidden?”

  “They’re not here? That's strange. Syme knew exactly when and where the conference was to be held.”

  Lin looked across at Wray, in charge of a short-wave radio set, his heat rifle slung across one shoulder. Uneasiness gripped Lin. Obviously Syme had arranged a meeting for the scientists to attend, but it quite easily might not have been here and now.

  Victor’s massive body quivered with rage and his stumpy fingers twisted in his belt.

  “Don’t bandy words with me, woman! As you have turned up alone, we will have to keep you as a hostage to the good behavior of these mysterious scientists of your.” “But they should be here!” Merryl was distressed and apprehensive. Lin moved over to her, but before he could say any words of consolation a staccato fusillade of shots blasted in the corridors outside.

  A gunman reeled in the door, blood streaming from his forehead. Smoke and fumes billowed in after him.

  “City Police!” he yelled. “The City Guards are here!” Figures in uniform burst through the door, guns blazing. Victor’s gunmen crashed into action, their pistols smoking. Brush yelled obscenities and dived headlong into the fray.

  Lin turned to Merryl and saw her collapse limply to the floor.

  Chapter Eight

  “It's a trap!”

  Victor lumbered past Lin and pushed his bulky body through a narrow opening in the rear wall. Just as he disappeared he shouted something at Wray, crouched over his radio set, but Lin was far too occupied with Merryl to hear what he said.

  Tenderly, Lin took her in his arms, crouched low and staggered after Victor. There was a nasty welt along her white forehead, and Lin felt emotions crowding him which he knew, as a Fifth, were hopeless. Bullets whined past, and Victor’s gunmen fell in little groups around the storerooms.

  The gloom was full of shouting, the crashes of guns, the acrid taste of power smoke, screams of wounded men. Lin squeezed into the opening after Victor and found himself in what had once been a strongroom, or refrigeration vault.

  The walls were of tremendous thickness. It didn’t matter what they had been, thought Lin, wryly, it was their bulletproof armour that mattered now.

  Wray stumbled through, the radio strapped to his back, hair flying, pale eyes blazing. Lin had never seen him as excited before.

  “Did you get that message off?” shouted Victor.

  “Yes, chief. 1 got no reply, didn’t have time to stop.” Wray grinned cheerfully, and carefully placed the radio on the floor.

  “Well, send off again, and make sure they receive you.”

  Wray bent over the radio, tuning dials in his sensitive fingers responding to his delicate touch. The receive*: gave off a few crackles, then an excited voice burst out, as if the speaker were shouting at the top of his voice into his microphone.

  “Can you hear me? All available men are rushing to your assistance immediately! Can you hear me? Put Victor on, put Victor on.”

  “Here.” Victor pushed Wray to one side and spoke into the mouthpiece.

  “This is Victor speaking. The revolt has begun! Spread the word and carry out emergency orders. All members to carry out orders immediately. The day has come. We strike for victory!”

  Lin was quite conscious of Victor’s blatant appeal to the men of his gang. He spoke a language they understood. It only surprised Lin that he was able to evaluate the emotional context of these fiery words, and find in them little more than another false credo.

  “In here, and not another step.”

  Brush flung himself into the vault, kicking and prodding the remnants of Victor’s guards before him. They turned and fired fanning bursts of shots out of the opening. Blue smoke curled back, making everyone cough.

  “This is a natural fortress,” shouted Brush, his red beard dyed a deeper red from blood seeping down his cheeks. “We can hold ’em off here till Sissy breaks down!”

  The gunmen fired through the door, taking aim as best they could through the gloom and smoke.

  “Good work, Brush,” said Victor. He drew his own gun and fired twice through the door with a gesture Lin could describe only as grandiloquent. It almost seemed as though Victor thought to win the battle with those two shots.

  Then Lin turned to Merryl, lying limp in his arms. She flickered her eyelashes, then gazed up into Lin’s eyes.

  “Lin, thank goodness you’re here.” Her arms closed around him with a convulsive motion that Lin found wholly delightful.

  “Now that you’re safe,” he said, unsteadily, “I must get on with some fighting. Don’t move until I come for you.”

  “All right, Lin,” she breathed, and closed her eyes.

  Wray was unlimbering his heat rifle as Lin rose to his feet.

  “Wray, do you think it wise to use that now?” Lin found it difficult to decide whether the devastating effects of the heat rifle outweighed its disclosure to Victor.

  Wray looked dubious, as though the thought had only just occurred to him.

  “I don't know, Lin. Perhaps—”

  “Wait and see what happens. If Victor’s men get here first, we’ll be all right. If the police break in, we’ll just have to use the rifles.”

  Lin picked up the pistol hanging limp in a dead man’s hand and handed it to Wray, then found one for himself. There was no lack of ammunition and soon they were both firing with as much accuracy as they could. The inferno mounted, and heat beat in stifling waves over them.

  Then shots which had been chipping stone from the doorway, and ricochetting inside, ceased. Firing was heard far off, then the police broke.


  “Our lads are here!” Victor, blue eyes feverish, bounded forward. “Onward to victory!”

  Brush leaped to his feet, his pistol a smoking haze, and burst through the opening, followed by a ragged crew, yelling and cheering. Lin, despite himself, caught up in the excitement of the moment, ran after them, Wray pounding at his heels.

  Through the decaying storerooms the last of the police were being hounded by fresh arrivals of Victor’s gang. The conflict spread, men running and shooting through level after level. Lin was not aware of groans and shrieks. He could only see the red ruin of Grota’s back, and all his suppressed anger and abhorrence of the city guards frothed over in a mad, whirling frenzy of fighting.

  Down through the Third and Second levels the conflict blazed, more and more police and guards, thrown in by panicking controllers, failing to stop Victor’s triumphant army.

  Workers threw down their tools, overpowered puny guards, joined the fray. Miners, toiling in their rabbit warrens, buried picks deep in the hated bodies of technicians and overseers. Red ruin blazed all through the city-block.

  Lin, panting and blood streaked, led a shouting mob out into the First Level. The white, disinfected corridors, the silence, the even glow of lamps did not affect him now as they had when first he penetrated these sacrosanct halls. The howling mob at his heels broke down door.s, dragged forth cowering Firsts, butchered and pillaged.

  But through all the pandemonium there was still a thread of sanity. When a clumsy rush of blood-crazed Fifths overturned heating units and fire blazed up, all sections at once worked together to quench the flames. It was an uncanny sense of racial preservation too strong to be denied. Fire was everybody’s enemy.

  Then the fighting broke out again and Lin found himself before a great, circular door, cast all of bronze. The weapons of the mob broke unavailingly against it, and soon they pressed on, seeking easier conquests.

  Lin remained, shaking in every limb. He passed a hand wearily over his eyes, smearing his face with blood, his pistol, hot from incessant use, fell from nerveless fingers.