The 38th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK

by Chester S. Geier

  Their every question was answered—for all eternity.

  And thus it came about, after a time, that two great, faceted crystals emerged from the doorway of the Temple, and lifted, pulsing with a vibrant new life, flashing in rainbow splendor, into the sky. Higher, they lifted, and higher, chiming and tinkling, soaring to join the others of their kind.

  The sun shone brightly in the sky. High and far away in the blue, glittering clouds of crystal creatures darted and danced, sending wave after exquisite wave of crystalline melody upon the gentle shores of air. Among them now were two who had still to learn the intricacies of flight.

  And the city dreamed on.

  A perfect environment, the city. Ideal for the inquisitive humanoid.

  WEEP NO MORE, MY ROBOT

  Originally published in Amazing Stories, June 1945.

  Bryce looked up from the microscope as the click of high heels on the laboratory floor reached his ears. Nadine stood just within the door, pulling on gloves with sharp, brisk movements of her hands.

  “You’re all dressed up,” Bryce commented, stretching cramped arms. “Going for a spin in the gyro?” Nadine Bryce shook her lovely head, her green eyes solemn and steady on his. “No, Curt, I’m leaving.”

  Bryce rose abruptly from his stool.

  “Why, Nadine, what do you mean?”

  “Just what I said, Curt. I’m leaving. Bag and baggage. This is good-bye.”

  Bryce swayed, as though from the force of a blow. “I—I don’t understand…”

  “That has always been the trouble with you, Curt,” Nadine told him, with sudden resentment. “You never did understand anything that wasn’t connected with your work. Well, you’re entitled to an understanding—and you’re going to get it. I’m sick of all this.” The angry sweep of her arm included the gleaming glass and chrome interior of the laboratory, and the lonely vista of cliffs and ocean which showed through the broad windows. “I’m sick of living like a hermit. I’m still young. I want friends, parties, good times. I’ll never get them by staying with you. You’re too absorbed in your work.”

  “I see,” Bryce said, with quiet bitterness. He looked at his hands, and for a moment he was silent. Then his face lifted, urgent with pleading. “Nadine, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. Can’t you see that my work would have meant friends and good times in the end? I know the kind of friends and good times you mean. You can’t have them without money, Nadine. Everything I’ve been doing has been toward the goal of gaining wealth, fame, and influence.” Bryce knew this last was a lie, even as he uttered it. He loved his work for itself, not for what it would bring. But wealth, fame, and influence were things which Nadine would comprehend.

  Nadine hesitated. “Do you really mean that, Curt?”

  “Of course,” Bryce answered, feeling a sudden justification for his falsehood. Anything to keep Nadine, he told himself. She and his work were vitally necessary to him. Each would not be complete without the other.

  The exquisite oval of Nadine’s face softened momentarily—then hardened again. “Oh, Curt, it’s futile! I want to enjoy life now. Now, Curt! Not at some vague time in the future. You won’t get anywhere with your work for years yet—and I’m tired of waiting.”

  “It wouldn’t be much longer, Nadine. I’ve solved the most serious problems. The Bryce electronic brain is almost a reality.” Bryce went to her, placed his hands on her arms. “Nadine, you love me, don’t you?”

  She looked away, biting her lip.

  His hands tightened. “Nadine?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes, Curt! But it’s no use.”

  “You won’t wait?”

  “No, Curt. I’m sorry. I’ve stood this kind of life as long as I could, and I just won’t have any more.”

  Bryce’s hands dropped to his sides as though suddenly devoid of life. His voice was leaden. “Well, I don’t see anything I can do. I could leave all this and take you to the city and try to make you happy—but…the fact is I sunk every cent I had into this laboratory. I’m in too deep to back out.” Bryce straightened, forcing a smile. “Maybe what you need is a vacation, Nadine. I’ve a little money coming in from some patents, and I’ll supply you with what you’ll need. Perhaps after a while you’ll see things differently.”

  “Perhaps, Curt.” Nadine’s voice was a murmur. Her green eyes avoided his.

  Bryce placed his hand beneath her chin, raised her face, kissed her lips. “Good-bye, Nadine. Have a good time.”

  “Good-bye, Curt.”

  He watched her go, heard the tap-tap of her high heels grow faint, and finally die. There was the roar of the gyro’s motor from the tiny landing field outside. Then that died, too. Bryce sighed, feeling suddenly old.

  He sat down on the stool and touched the microscope, but all desire for work had left him. Removing his smock, he left the laboratory, taking the sea-shell path down to the cliffs. The sun was bright and the sky cloudless. A stiff breeze from the ocean whipped against his shirt and trousers. He drew its cool salty fragrance in deep, walking fast.

  He could not outwalk the bitter knowledge that he and Nadine had made a mistake—Nadine, gay and fun-loving, and he, the staid, serious-minded robotics engineer. Nadine was a Landrey, a name which had long been synonymous with wealth, but generations of Landreys as gay and fun-loving as she had depleted the family fortune until only the prestige of a memory remained. He, Bryce, had not possessed the advantage of a family tradition, having gained recognition through sheer ability in his chosen line of work. Starting as a raw technician with Vanneman Robots—a pioneer firm in robot manufacture—he had quickly worked his way up to head of the research department, attaining a measure of fame by his invention of a new and improved robot type.

  He had met Nadine at a banquet given in his honor by Cyrus Vanneman, famous inventor of the first practical robot and founder of Vanneman Robots. Love was the great leveling agent which had made all differences in heredity and environment seem insignificant. And at that time, intrigued by the novelty of parties and dances, Bryce had not found it difficult to fit into the pattern of Nadine’s life. They had been married while still held in that giddy whirl of entertainment. Then, later, Bryce had again become absorbed in his work to the exclusion of all else. He had left Vanneman Robots for this laboratory near the ocean, to work on a robot brain which he hoped would lead to a robot type almost human.

  Bryce had overcome the most serious difficulties in his work on the Bryce electronic brain. The elusive hand of success had almost been within his grasp—and Nadine had rebelled against the loneliness and seclusion of the life which she had been forced to lead. Bryce wondered if the wealth which his electronic brain was sure to bring would make a difference. A chill of foreboding spread through him as he recalled the lack of response that had been in her farewell kiss.

  * * * *

  The sun was edging its way down toward the horizon when Bryce returned to the house. Jones stood before the entrance to the living room, watching with the expressionless sight-cells that were his eyes. Jones was a Vanneman robot of the latest type, slim-bodied and soft-footed. He served as housekeeper and cook, and was as efficient as he was tireless.

  “I was looking for you, Mr. Bryce,” Jones said. “Dinner is served.”

  Bryce nodded. “I went for a little walk.”

  “I also looked for Mrs. Bryce,” Jones said. “I could not find her.”

  “She went to the city,” Bryce explained. “She won’t be back for some time.”

  The implications of Bryce’s last words were lost on Jones. He repeated, “Dinner is served,” and entered the house, his internal mechanism clicking and humming softly.

  Bryce ate a solitary meal, then went to the laboratory and resumed his work. He felt an urgent necessity to do something. He hoped that busy fingers and an occupied mind would bring relief from thoughts of Nadine. But no amount of concen
tration could ease the dull ache which throbbed deep within him.

  The days passed in bright succession. It was late summer, and the sky was prevailingly blue and dear. Each day was so much like the one preceding that Bryce took no notice of the passing of time. He left the laboratory only for meals, sleeping on a cot in one corner of the room. The electronic brain rapidly neared completion.

  Bryce came to accept Nadine’s absence with a dull resignation, though he did not cease to miss her. There were times when some phase of his work, was of an automatic nature such as not to require his presence. Then he would wander restlessly about the house, or go for walks along the ocean. Once he turned on the television set in the living room, his only contact with the outside world.

  There was the usual variety of newscasts. Two major European powers nearing a political crisis. A fourth expedition leaving for Mars. Results of the annual Luna rocket race. And—

  “Your reporter has it on good authority that Nadine Bryce, nee Landrey, and Sidney Arthington, wealthy sportsman, are making it a steady twosome. There are rumors current that Nadine Bryce has separated from her husband, Curt Bryce, noted robotics engineer…

  Bryce turned off the set with a vicious twist of his hand. He was breathing hard. Steady twosome… The phrase tore at him. He knew a little about Sidney Arthington, who was a celebrity for no other reason than the possession of enormous wealth. Arthington was a playboy—Nadine’s kind. He’d fit in nicely with the kind of life Nadine wished to live. A constant round of parties, night-clubs, good times.

  Bryce threw himself into his work with redoubled energy. Fall came, and clouds began to fill the blue of the sky. There were occasional squalls, presaging the coming of winter storms, which sent the surf booming against the rocks at the base of the cliffs.

  Finally the electronic brain was finished. Tests still had to be made to determine its degree of efficiency. Bryce had a completely-assembled, spare robot body, which he now began to equip with his invention. He was busy with this one gray day, when the sound of an approaching gyro interrupted him.

  Bryce’s visitor was Nadine—a Nadine who looked more lovely, if possible, than when he had last seen her. Bryce took her into the living room, and began to mix drinks with hands that shook. He found it strangely difficult to breathe. His thoughts were anxious. What did Nadine’s visit mean? Could it be that she was—coming back to him?

  It was a futile hope, he soon realized, for Nadine’s manner toward him bore a markedly noticeable constraint. She began with the usual pleasantries.

  “How have you been getting along, Curt?”

  “Well enough. Jones takes care of everything.”

  “And the Bryce electronic brain, is it finished?”

  “Finished, Nadine. I haven’t experimented with it yet, so I don’t know how good it’s going to be.”

  “I bet it’ll be all right, Curt.”

  “I hope so, Nadine.”

  She studied the contents of her glass, running slim fingers along its edge. Her momentary silence had something of a pause for preparation, a drawing of breath before the plunge. Abruptly she looked up.

  “Curt, I came to see you about something.”

  “Yes, Nadine?”

  “Curt…I want a divorce.”

  It was not entirely unexpected, but Bryce’s stomach climbed a mountain and jumped off. A vast stillness seemed to thicken and press in around him. He stared stupidly at Nadine, and then the stillness was gone. He grew acutely aware of Nadine’s eyes upon him, watching his reaction. He raised his glass, emptied it in three great swallows.

  “Who’s the lucky man, Nadine?” Bryce asked. “There has to be another man, of course.”

  “Sid Arthington, Curt.” Nadine’s voice was barely audible.

  “Sid, eh? Sid Arthington, the wealthy playboy. Nadine, the playgirl. It’ll be a great match.”

  “Curt…Curt, do you have to be this way?”

  “No. Lord, no.” Bryce pressed the palms of his hands hard against his temples, breathing deeply. He straightened. “Nadine, it hasn’t changed with me. I still love you. Won’t…wouldn’t you give me a chance to make up?”

  “I’m sorry, Curt.”

  “Nothing I can say will make a difference?”

  “No, Curt.”

  “If that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it’ll have to be.” Bryce shrugged forlornly. “You can have your divorce, Nadine.”

  “Thanks, Curt,” she murmured. She glanced at him, hesitated. “What will you do, Curt? I mean, what are your plans?”

  Bryce spread his hands. “I’ll remain here, of course, and keep on with my work. That’s about all that’s left for me to do.”

  Conversation was a sponge wrung dry. After a long, awkward silence, Nadine rose. “I’ll have to be going, Curt.”

  “Good-bye, Nadine.”

  They shook hands, and Nadine walked quickly from the room. Bryce gazed bleakly into nothingness, the sound of the gyro fading in his ears. Then it was gone, and the only sound was the dull thunder of surf on rock. Bryce reached for the liquor bottle, filled a glass, drank it straight. He filled the glass again. And again.

  * * * *

  Two days passed before Bryce returned to work. His movements at first were fumbling and abstracted, but with the threads once more in his hands, the old deftness and precision returned. He completed the nerve hook-ups to his electronic brain, impressed certain simple reflex-patterns onto the memory-cells with the aid of a special microfilm conditioner.

  The robot performed smoothly in response to his commands. The electronic brain was undeniably a success.

  When the first flush of elation had gone, Bryce gazed thoughtfully at the robot. It was a life-sized figure in the shape of a man, with body and head of spun plastics. Artificial hair, rumpled by Bryce’s manipulations, covered its braincase. The robot was almost an exact counterpart of Jones. Jones was a male robot, Bryce remembered. Then, abruptly, an idea made him stiffen tensely. Why not house the electronic brain in a female robot body?

  The thought made his heart pound strangely. Not just an ordinary female robot body—but a female robot body that would be the exact counterpart of…of Nadine! It would be the perfect solution to his loneliness!

  Excitedly, Bryce recalled his possession of a full-length, three-dimensional photograph of Nadine. This could be enlarged to life-size to serve as a model. And as for the construction of the body itself, who could do it better than the genius that was Cyrus Vanneman?

  Hardly had this last passed through Bryce’s mind, when he was running eagerly for the vision-phone. He contacted Cyrus Vanneman, explained what he wanted done.

  “It’ll cost you a fortune,” Vanneman said doubtfully.

  “I don’t care what it costs,” Bryce responded. “Listen, I have several patents on the market that are each worth small fortunes in themselves. You know the ones I mean. I’ll turn all rights over to you in exchange for this job.”

  Vanneman seemed to hesitate, then quickly nodded. “I’ll do it, Curt.”

  “Fine. I’ll send along plans and specifications in a day or so. This is going to have to be a very special job. The usual system of nerve and brain connections will have to be changed entirely.”

  “You working on a new idea, Curt?” Vanneman asked curiously.

  “In a way,” Bryce evaded. “I don’t know yet if it’ll succeed.”

  Bryce broke connection and immediately got to work on the plans. After a week of working almost constantly night and day, he was finished. The plans, along with the three-dimensional photograph of Nadine, were then sent to Vanneman.

  While working on the plans, Bryce had come to realize that the new robot would not be complete unless it possessed emotions. It would be able to think—actually to reason—but it would not be almost human if its thought processes were not accompanied by such
characteristically human emotions as love, hate, jealousy, and fear. In the human body emotions were brought about by various glands, hormones, and secretions. Bryce intended to obtain the same effect in the robot through the aid of mechanical glands, electrical and radio impulses. And so, while awaiting manufacture and shipment of the robot, Bryce got once more to work.

  * * * *

  The gray days shortened, and the wind from the ocean blew stronger. The occasional squalls became storms, and in between, a dreary veil of fog hung over the cliffs. The thunder of surf breaking on the rocks at the base of the cliffs was almost continuous now.

  It was winter, and snow was falling thick and soft when an air van arrived at the landing field outside the house. Bryce’s breath caught in his throat as two men carried a large, coffin-like box into the laboratory. His hands shook as he signed the delivery receipt. The knowledge almost frightened him that this was it. This was the culmination of all his work.

  The air van left, and Bryce eagerly opened the box, pulled away the layers of padding and wrappings. He gasped. His eyes widened with astonishment, and awe and admiration relaxed the muscles of his face.

  Working from the plans and the photograph, Vanneman had wrought a miracle. It was Nadine lying there in the box, the thick lashes curling on her cheek as though in sleep. She was a vision of frozen loveliness, a dream made real in spun plastic. Looking at her, Bryce found it hard to believe that wires and cogs and tubes lay beneath the pink-white plastic that was her skin; that a motor, tiny and powerful, could bring her to life instead of the pulsing beat of a heart.

  Bryce roused into activity. The electronic brain and the mechanical glands were ready. He completed the robot’s assembly with the swift dexterity of a surgeon. Then he turned on her motor, a very special motor which made scarcely a sound. Her eyes opened, eyes as green as Nadine’s, except that they possessed a warmth and softness where Nadine’s were cool and faintly appraising. Her red lips parted. She gazed up at him with a kind of childlike wonder on her lovely face.