Peyton reached forward to throw the multiplex circuit breakers, but he never completed the movement. Gently but very firmly, four metal arms clasped his body from behind. Kicking and struggling, he was lifted into the air away from the controls and carried to the centre of the room. There he was set down again, and the metal arms released him.
More angry than alarmed, Peyton whirled to face his captor. Regarding him quietly from a few yards away was the most complex robot he had ever seen. Its body was nearly seven feet high, and rested on a dozen fat balloon tyres.
From various parts of its metal chassis, tentacles, arms, rods, and other less easily describable mechanisms projected in all directions. In two places, groups of limbs were busily at work dismantling or repairing pieces of machinery which Peyton recognised with a guilty start.
Silently Peyton weighed his opponent. It was clearly a robot of the very highest order. But it had used physical violence against him – and no robot could do that against a man, though it might refuse to obey his orders. Only under the direct control of another human mind could a robot commit such an act. So there was life, conscious and hostile life, somewhere in the city.
‘Who are you?’ exclaimed Peyton at last, addressing not the robot, but the controller behind it.
With no detectable time lag the machine answered in a precise and automatic voice that did not seem to be merely the amplified speech of a human being.
‘I am the Engineer.’
‘Then come out and let me see you.’
‘You are seeing me.’
It was the inhuman tone of the voice, as much as the words themselves, that made Peyton’s anger evaporate in a moment and replaced it with a sense of unbelieving wonder.
There was no human being controlling this machine. It was as automatic as the other robots of the city – but unlike them, and all other robots the world had ever known, it had a will and a consciousness of its own.
CHAPTER SIX
The Nightmare
As Peyton stared wide-eyed at the machine before him, he felt his scalp crawling, not with fright, but with the sheer intensity of his excitement. His quest had been rewarded – the dream of nearly a thousand years was here before his eyes.
Long ago the machines had won a limited intelligence. Now at last they had reached the goal of consciousness itself. This was the secret Thordarsen would have given to the world – the secret the Council had sought to suppress for fear of the consequences it might bring.
The passionless voice spoke again.
‘I am glad that you realise the truth. It will make things easier.’
‘You can read my mind?’ gasped Peyton.
‘Naturally. That was done from the moment you entered.’
‘Yes, I gathered that,’ said Peyton grimly. ‘And what do you intend to do with me now?’
‘I must prevent you from damaging Comarre.’
That, thought Peyton, was reasonable enough.
‘Suppose I left now? Would that suit you?’
‘Yes. That would be good.’
Peyton could not help laughing. The Engineer was still a robot, in spite of all its near-humanity. It was incapable of guile, and perhaps that gave him an advantage. Somehow he must trick it into revealing its secrets. But once again the robot read his mind.
‘I will not permit it. You have learned too much already. You must leave at once. I will use force if necessary.’
Peyton decided to fight for time. He could, at least, discover the limits of this amazing machine’s intelligence.
‘Before I go, tell me this. Why are you called the Engineer?’
The robot answered readily enough.
‘If serious faults developed that cannot be repaired by the robots, I deal with them. I could rebuild Comarre if necessary. Normally, when everything is functioning properly, I am quiescent.’
How alien, thought Peyton, the idea of ‘quiescence’ was to a human mind. He could not help feeling amused at the distinction the Engineer had drawn between itself and ‘the robots’. He asked the obvious question.
‘And if something goes wrong with you?’
‘There are two of us. The other is quiescent now. Each can repair the other. That was necessary once, three hundred years ago.’
It was a flawless system. Comarre was safe from accident for millions of years. The builders of the city had set these eternal guardians to watch over them while they went in search of their dreams. No wonder that, long after its makers had died, Comarre was still fulfilling its strange purpose.
What a tragedy it was, thought Peyton, that all this genius had been wasted! The secrets of the Engineer could revolutionise robot technology, could bring a new world into being. Now that the first conscious machines had been built, was there any limit to what lay beyond?
‘No,’ said the Engineer unexpectedly. ‘Thordarsen told me that the robots would one day be more intelligent than man.’
It was strange to hear the machine uttering the name of its maker. So that was Thordarsen’s dream! Its full immensity had not yet dawned on him. Though he had been half-prepared for it, he could not easily accept the conclusions. After all, between the robot and the human mind lay an enormous gulf.
‘No greater than that between man and the animals from which he rose, so Thordarsen once said. You, Man, are no more than a very complex robot. I am simpler, but more efficient. That is all.’
Very carefully Peyton considered the statement. If indeed Man was no more than a complex robot – a machine composed of living cells rather than wires and vacuum tubes – yet more complex robots would one day be made. When that day came, the supremacy of Man would be ended. The machines might still be his servants, but they would be more intelligent than their master.
It was very quiet in the great room lined with the racks of analysers and relay panels. The Engineer was watching Peyton intently, its arms and tentacles still busy on their repair work.
Peyton was beginning to feel desperate. Characteristically the opposition had made him more determined than ever. Somehow he must discover how the Engineer was built. Otherwise he would waste all his life trying to match the genius of Thordarsen.
It was useless. The robot was one jump ahead of him.
‘You cannot make plans against me. If you do try to escape through that door, I shall throw this power unit at your legs. My probable error at this range is less than half a centimetre.’
One could not hide from the thought analysers. The plan had been scarcely half-formed in Peyton’s mind, but the Engineer knew it already.
Both Peyton and the Engineer were equally surprised by the interruption. There was a sudden flash of tawny gold, and half a ton of bone and sinew, travelling at forty miles an hour, struck the robot amidships.
For a moment there was a great flailing of tentacles. Then, with a sound like the crack of doom, the Engineer lay sprawling on the floor. Leo, licking his paws thoughtfully, crouched over the fallen machine.
He could not quite understand this shining animal which had been threatening his master. Its skin was the toughest he had encountered since a very ill-advised disagreement with a rhinoceros many years ago.
‘Good boy!’ shouted Peyton gleefully. ‘Keep him down!’
The Engineer had broken some of his larger limbs, and the tentacles were too weak to do any damage. Once again Peyton found his tool kit invaluable. When he had finished, the Engineer was certainly incapable of movement, though Peyton had not touched any of the neural circuits. That, somehow, would have been rather too much like murder.
‘You can get off now, Leo,’ he said when the task was finished. The lion obeyed with poor grace.
‘I’m sorry to have to do this,’ said Peyton hypocritically, ‘but I hope you appreciate my point of view. Can you still speak?’
‘Yes,’ replied the Engineer. ‘What do you intend to do now?’
Peyton smiled. Five minutes ago, he had been the one to ask the question. How long, he wondered, would it
take for the Engineer’s twin to arrive on the scene? Though Leo could deal with the situation if it came to a trial of strength, the other robot would have been warned and might be able to make things very unpleasant for them. It could, for instance, switch off the lights.
The glow tubes died and darkness fell. Leo gave a mournful howl of dismay. Feeling rather annoyed, Peyton drew his torch and switched it on.
‘It doesn’t really make any difference to me,’ he said. ‘You might just as well switch them on again.’
The Engineer said nothing. But the glow tubes lit once more.
How on earth, thought Peyton, could you fight an enemy who could read your thoughts and could even watch you preparing your defences? He would have to avoid thinking of any idea that might react to his disadvantage, such as – he stopped himself just in time. For a moment he blocked his thoughts by trying to integrate Armstrong’s omega function in his head. Then he got his mind under control again.
‘Look,’ he said at last, ‘I’ll make a bargain with you.’
‘What is that? I do not know the word.’
‘Never mind,’ Peyton replied hurriedly. ‘My suggestion is this. Let me waken the men who are trapped here, give me your fundamental circuits, and I’ll leave without touching anything. You will have obeyed your builders’ orders and no harm will have been done.’
A human being might have argued over the matter, but not so the robot. Its mind took perhaps a thousandth of a second to weigh any situation, however involved.
‘Very well. I see from your mind that you intend to keep the agreement. But what does the word “blackmail” mean?’
Peyton flushed.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s only a common human expression. I suppose your – er – colleague will be here in a moment?’
‘He has been waiting outside for some time,’ replied the robot. ‘Will you keep your dog under control?’
Peyton laughed. It was too much to expect a robot to know zoology.
‘Lion, then,’ said the robot, correcting itself as it read his mind.
Peyton addressed a few words to Leo and, to make doubly sure, wound his fingers in the lion’s mane. Before he could frame the invitation with his lips, the second robot rolled silently into the room. Leo growled and tried to tug away, but Peyton calmed him.
In every respect Engineer II was a duplicate of its colleague. Even as it came toward him it dipped into his mind in the disconcerting manner that Peyton could never get used to.
‘I see that you wish to go to the dreamers,’ it said. ‘Follow me.’
Peyton was tired of being ordered around. Why didn’t the robots ever say ‘please’?
‘Follow me, please,’ repeated the machine, with the slightest possible accentuation.
Peyton followed.
Once again he found himself in the corridor with the hundreds of poppy-embossed doors – or a similar corridor. The robot led him to a door indistinguishable from the rest and came to a halt in front of it.
Silently the metal plate slid open, and, not without qualms, Peyton stepped into the darkened room.
On the couch lay a very old man. At first sight he seemed to be dead. Certainly his breathing had slowed to the point of cessation. Peyton stared at him for a moment. Then he spoke to the robot.
‘Waken him.’
Somewhere in the depths of the city the stream of impulses through a thought projector ceased. A universe that had never existed crumbled to ruins.
From the couch two burning eyes glowed up at Peyton, lit with the light of madness. They stared through him and beyond, and from the thin lips poured a stream of jumbled words that Peyton could barely distinguish. Over and over again the old man cried out names that must be those of people or places in the dream world from which he had been wrenched. It was at once horrible and pathetic.
‘Stop it!’ cried Peyton. ‘You are back in reality now.’
The glowing eyes seemed to see him for the first time. With an immense effort the old man raised himself.
‘Who are you?’ he quavered. Then, before Peyton could answer, he continued in a broken voice. ‘This must be a nightmare – go away, go away. Let me wake up!’
Overcoming his repulsion, Peyton put his hand on the emaciated shoulder.
‘Don’t worry – you are awake. Don’t you remember?’
The other did not seem to hear him.
‘Yes, it must be a nightmare – it must be! But why don’t I wake up? Nyran, Cressidor, where are you? I cannot find you!’
Peyton stood it as long as he could, but nothing he did could attract the old man’s attention again. Sick at heart, he turned to the robot.
‘Send him back.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Third Renaissance
Slowly the raving ceased. The frail body fell back on the couch, and once again the wrinkled face became a passionless mask.
‘Are they all as mad as this?’ asked Peyton finally.
‘But he is not mad.’
‘What do you mean? Of course he is!’
‘He has been entranced for many years. Suppose you went to a far land and changed your mode of living completely, forgetting all you had ever known of your previous life. Eventually you would have no more knowledge of it than you have of your first childhood.
‘If by some miracle you were then suddenly thrown back in time, you would behave in just that way. Remember, his dream life is completely real to him and he has lived it now for many years.’
That was true enough. But how could the Engineer possess such insight? Peyton turned to it in amazement, but as usual had no need to frame the question.
‘Thordarsen told me the other day while we were still building Comarre. Even then some of the dreamers had been entranced for twenty years.’
‘The other day?’
‘About five hundred years ago, you would call it.’
The words brought a strange picture into Peyton’s mind. He could visualise the lonely genius, working here among his robots, perhaps with no human companions left. All the others would long since have gone in search of their dreams.
But Thordarsen might have stayed on, the desire for creation still linking him to the world, until he had finished his work. The two engineers, his greatest achievement and perhaps the most wonderful feat of electronics of which the world had record, were his ultimate masterpieces.
The waste and the pity of it overwhelmed Peyton. More than ever he was determined that, because the embittered genius had thrown away his life, his work should not perish, but be given to the world.
‘Will all the dreamers be like this?’ he asked the robot.
‘All except the newest. They may still remember their first lives.’
‘Take me to one of them.’
The room they entered next was identical with the other, but the body lying on the couch was that of a man of no more than forty.
‘How long has he been here?’ asked Peyton.
‘He came only a few weeks ago – the first visitor we had for many years until your coming.’
‘Wake him, please.’
The eyes opened slowly. There was no insanity in them, only wonder and sadness. Then came the dawn of recollection, and the man half rose to a sitting position. His first words were completely rational.
‘Why have you called me back? Who are you?’
‘I have just escaped from the thought projectors,’ explained Peyton. ‘I want to release all who can be saved.’
The other laughed bitterly.
‘Saved! From what? It took me forty years to escape from the world, and now you would drag me back to it! Go away and leave me in peace!’
Peyton would not retreat so easily.
‘Do you think that this make-believe world of yours is better than reality? Have you no desire to escape from it at all?’
Again the other laughed, with no trace of humour.
‘Comarre is reality to me. The world never gave m
e anything, so why should I wish to return to it? I have found peace here, and that is all I need.’
Quite suddenly Peyton turned on his heels and left. Behind him he heard the dreamer fall back with a contented sigh. He knew when he had been beaten. And he knew now why he had wished to revive the others.
It had not been through any sense of duty, but for his own selfish purpose. He had wished to convince himself that Comarre was evil. Now he knew that it was not. There would always be, even in Utopia, some for whom the world had nothing to offer but sorrow and disillusion.
They would be fewer and fewer with the passage of time. In the dark ages of a thousand years ago most of mankind had been misfits of some sort. However splendid the world’s future, there would still be some tragedies – and why should Comarre be condemned because it offered them their only hope of peace?
He would try no more experiments. His own robust faith and confidence had been severely shaken. And the dreamers of Comarre would not thank him for his pains.
He turned to the Engineer again. The desire to leave the city had grown very intense in the last few minutes, but the most important work was still to be done. As usual, the robot forestalled him.
‘I have what you want,’ he said. ‘Follow me, please.’
It did not lead, as Peyton had half expected, back to the machine levels, with their maze of control equipment. When their journey had finished, they were higher than Peyton had ever been before, in a little circular room he suspected might be at the very apex of the city. There were no windows, unless the curious plates set in the wall could be made transparent by some secret means.
It was a study, and Peyton gazed at it with awe as he realised who had worked here many centuries ago. The walls were lined with ancient textbooks that had not been disturbed for five hundred years. It seemed as if Thordarsen had left only a few hours before. There was even a half-finished circuit pinned on a drawing board against the wall.
‘It almost looks as if he was interrupted,’ said Peyton, half to himself.
‘He was,’ answered the robot.
‘What do you mean? Didn’t he join the others when he had finished you?’
Collected Stories Of Arthur C. Clarke Page 22