Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  There was no doubt now of the robot’s motive.

  Rick could feel the hard desperate hammering of his heart as he backed another few feet from the robot’s advance; but his shoulders touched the wall and he knew he was trapped. He risked a desperate glance over his head, but he saw that the turbine extended a full thirty feet in the air, and its sides were smooth steel, offering not the slightest handhold.

  He wheeled back to the robot. The creature was only a few dozen feet away, and moving closer with each passing second.

  Rick felt a desperate helplessness. There wasn’t one thing he could do to save himself. His fists would be ridiculously impotent against the steel power of the giant robot.

  But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw that another robot had left his place at the line and was losing rapidly in on the advancing giant monster.

  Rick watched the second robot breathlessly. Was it coming to the aid of the giant creature? Or was it going to attack it from the rear?

  His question was answered an instant later as the second robot hurled its bulk at the unprotected back of the giant monster, toppling it to the floor with a mighty crash.

  The two creatures rolled wildly on the concrete floor, their steel-thewed arms and legs threshing convulsively. The Herculean combat was madly grotesque. No sound came from the locked monsters, except the harsh rasp of steel on steel.

  Rick backed away from the titanic encounter, as gradually the superior weight of the first giant robot forced the other into helplessness. Astride the second robot, its greater weight pinning it to the floor, the giant monster’s huge, battering fists began to pound into its sides with sledge-hammer force.

  Rick watched with fascinated terror as the steel sides of the smaller robot began to bend under the terrific mauling. Fora moment he was paralyzed by the horrible savagery of the giant creature’s attack; then he leaped into action. He knew he might be sacrificed himself, but he couldn’t stand helplessly by while the robot that had tried to save him was being pounded into a twisted, shapeless mass of metal.

  THE giant robot’s back was to him, and Rick lunged for the control panel that was riveted just below the creature’s right shoulder. His desperate fingers had clawed the steel screen away before the giant robot realized that another antagonist had entered the struggle.

  Rick jerked the screen aside and just as his hand plunged into the delicate wire apparatus that controlled the robot’s actions, a great steel hand closed over his throat.

  His breath stopped with a gasp, and he felt a cloud of blackness sweeping over him. With his last atom of strength his hand closed over the mesh-work of filament in the robot’s control section and, as he fell to the floor, his tensed fingers jerked the finely spun wires loose from their connecting rods.

  He remembered striking the floor, and the feel of steel fingers about his neck, and then he passed out. How long he remained unconscious, he never knew, but when he finally raised his head and pulled himself to a sitting position, he saw that the giant robot was lying motionlessly on its side, and that the smaller robot who had saved him was standing erect.

  Rick stood up with an effort. He glanced at the identification tag of the standing robot and read the numerals 161. He felt his bruised throat and swallowed painfully, then turned to Robot 161. The robot’s sides were pounded out of shape in several places but it looked as if it were still in a functioning condition.

  “You can go back to work, 161,” he said.

  The robot turned slowly, moved back to its place on the assembly line and resumed its work. Rick watched it for an instant and then he walked toward the exit door of the plant. There was a grim set to his jaw and his eyes were hard. He knew, now, that Doctor Farrel’s robots did not go berserk without reason. Someone was deliberately seeing to it that they went mad. And that person had tried to have him destroyed. For he realized that the giant robot that had attacked him had not done so accidentally.

  It had been ordered to kill him!

  CHAPTER VIII

  RICK went directly to Ho Agar’s room and entered without knocking. The Martian looked up from the book he was reading and his yellow eyes regarded Rick with surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked anxiously, putting the book down and rising to his feet. “I thought you were going to spend the night at the plant.”

  Rick told him quickly what had happened. Ho Agar listened intently, his face serious.

  “I was afraid something like that might happen,” he said. He frowned thoughtfully. “Did you get the identification number of the robot who came to your assistance?”

  Rick nodded. “It was 161. And I’m convinced that the attack of the giant robot was not accidental. I’m sure that he was ordered to kill me by someone here at the base.”

  Ho Agar pursed his lips and drew a slow breath through his teeth.

  “What makes you believe that, Rick?” he asked.

  “That creature was looking for me,” Rick said flatly. “Maybe not me, personally, but it was after a human being. I was hidden in the shadows; it couldn’t possibly have seen me when it left its place on the line, yet it headed directly for me. Furthermore I’m convinced, now, that Doctor Farrel’s robots are all right, but that someone is deliberately making them appear to be imperfect, untrustworthy monsters. Now, here’s what I want you to tell me; could someone operate the robots by a system of remote control?”

  “Why, of course,” Ho Agar said. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Doctor Farrel developed a wireless system of communication that would direct the robot from distances of several miles. He worked on it quite extensively before you arrived but I haven’t heard him mention it lately. I don’t even know where the apparatus is now.”

  “I think,” Rick said grimly, “that we may be getting warm. Do you think we could manage to search the doctor’s quarters without his knowing it?”

  “We could right now,” Ho Agar said quickly. “He told me he intended to spend the night working in his office. His rooms are just a few doors from here, you know.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Rick said. “I hope we don’t find anything, but we can’t overlook the chance.”

  Ho Agar picked up a small flashlight and stuck a ray-revolver in his belt.

  “If you’re thinking what I am,” he said tightly, “we may need a weapon before this night is over.”

  THEY went quickly to Doctor Farrel’s room, opened the door and stepped inside. Rick snapped the lights on and glanced about. The room was in perfect order. The doctor’s small desk was neat and bare. There were only a few letters and some pictures of himself and Rita on its clean surface. Rick winced inwardly as he saw the picture of Rita. It had been taken outdoors, and a wind was blowing the hair about her face. She was laughing, her teeth incredibly white against the tan of her face. He thought what would happen to that smile if his suspicions of her father were correct, and the thought brought him an instant of bleak misery.

  But he couldn’t let anything personal interfere with his work here. There had been times when he came near to forgetting that he was at this base under orders to investigate anything irregular or suspicious. He couldn’t let himself forget that he had a job to do, and that Captain Wilson was depending on him.

  Ho Agar had rummaged through bureau drawers and now he turned to the closet. His low, excited voice called Rick a moment later.

  “Come here. I think I’ve found what we’re looking for,” he said.

  Rick stepped into the closet and saw that Ho Agar had moved aside a picture that exposed a small, steel cabinet. When he opened the steel door Rick saw a control panel, covered with rheostats and gauges.

  Ho Agar studied the apparatus intently. Rick watched him in silence.

  “This is it,” the Martian said finally. “It’s the same panel the doctor built before you arrived. With it he can control the activity of every robot in his plant.”

  Rick stared at the equipment with hard, angry eyes.

  “The man hasn’t
got a streak of human decency in his body,” he said harshly. “He deliberately sacrificed his daughter’s safety to one of his robots, that was acting under his orders.”

  “We mustn’t jump to conclusions,” Ho Agar said quietly. “The existence of this apparatus is not conclusive proof that the doctor is responsible for the crimes of the robots. In itself, it proves nothing. After all, Doctor Farrel has a perfect right to install this control panel in his room, and possibly he hasn’t been the one using it. Or there may be another such panel on the base, although the possibility of that is slight.” He closed the steel door and put the picture back in place.

  “I think,” he said, “that we had better wait until we discover more definite proof of his guilt before we say anything about this.”

  He stepped from the closet as he was speaking and walked to the doctor’s desk. He glanced through the letters there, tossed them down and then lifted desk blotter. A single sheet of paper was lying beneath the blotter. He picked it up and read it carefully. Finally he handed it to Rick.

  “This,” he said, “explains much of what has been going on here at the base.”

  RICK read the letter. It was addressed to the doctor, but was hot signed. However, the writer, the representative of a group of financiers on Earth, was not subtle in stating the purpose of his letter. For an unspecified, but evidently a large sum of money, the doctor was asked to stall the production of robots on Jupiter until the Earth authorities lost interest and abandoned the project.

  Rick glanced from the letter to Ho Agar and his eyes were bitterly hard.

  “I think this is all we need,” he said. “There is no longer any doubt in my mind that the doctor has been responsible for the imperfect operation of the robots all along. I haven’t mentioned this to anyone before, but I was sent here by the Earth authorities to investigate the situation.”

  Ho Agar regarded him with surprise.

  “You have kept your mission well cloaked,” he said.

  “It was necessary,” Rick said. “But now I intend to inform Earth immediately of Doctor Farrel’s treachery. And I shall also tell them that they can plan to begin mass production of robots at their earliest convenience. That news should please your government too, Ho Agar.”

  “They will be gratified,” Ho Agar said.

  Rick was placing the letter on the desk when they heard heavy, jarring footsteps in the corridor and a second later the door was flung open and a robot moved into the room.

  Ho Agar dropped back a pace and drew the ray weapon from his belt, but Rick caught his arm before he could fire.

  “Wait!” he snapped.

  The robot that stood motionless in the doorway was numbered 161, the same robot who had saved him in the plant from the attack of the giant monster. He recognized it easily from its battered, dented sides.

  Ho Agar jerked his hand loose from Rick’s grip.

  “We can’t take a chance,” he said. “This robot may have been sent here by the doctor to destroy us.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rick said. “This is 161, the robot who saved my life. And it doesn’t seem to have any violent intentions.”

  The robot lumbered forward slowly, its arms at its sides. When it reached the desk it pointed clumsily at a picture of the doctor and shook its head slowly.

  “What does it mean?” Rick said to

  Ho Agar. He stared in bewilderment at the robot, as it pointed again to the doctor’s picture and shook its head again, more emphatically this time.

  “I don’t know,” Ho Agar said. He turned to the robot and said, “Return to your work, 161.”

  But the robot made no move to obey. Ho Agar raised his gun.

  “We can’t take any chances,” he said grimly. “When these creatures refuse to obey, there’s only one thing to do.”

  THERE was suddenly another step in the corridor and Doctor Farrel appeared in the doorway, a gun in his hand. His eyes shifted about the room.

  “What’s going on here?” he cried.

  He raised his gun and covered the entire group. “Don’t anyone make a move until we get this thing settled.”

  Ho Agar moved suddenly to one side and his hand flicked out to the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. Blue bolts of energy stabbed across the blackness and Rick heard the doctor scream in agony.

  Rick dropped to the floor. He saw the steel body of Robert 161 suddenly glow a cherry red, as blue blasts of energy raked across it, transforming it to a crumbling mass of molten metal.

  Ho Agar said, “Are you all right. Rick?”

  “Yes,” Rick said.

  The lights went on again and Rick saw that the doctor was lying in the doorway with two black holes in his forehead. The gun had fallen from his hand, a few inches from his distended fingers. Robot 161 was sprawled in a motionless heap on the floor, but as Rick watched its metal fingers began to move with agonizing slowness as they scratched the numeral 4 into the wooden surface of the floor.

  Ho Agar was staring at the doctor’s still form and there was a tight bitter set to his lips, “I had to do it,” he muttered. “It was the only thing I could do.”

  Rick nodded soberly and then he glanced back at the cryptic numeral 4 which Robot 161 had scratched into the flooring with its last energy.

  His eyes were puzzled and thoughtful.

  CHAPTER IX

  TWO days later he talked to Rita Farrel for the first time since her father’s death. She was sitting at the window of the lounge when he entered.

  He said, “I want to talk to you for a moment, Rita.”

  She stood up and started for the door, but he moved his position and put his arm across the opening. “Please,” he said.

  She stared at him and her eyes were dark and heavy in the fragile whiteness of her face. There was no feeling or emotion for him in her expression, not even anger or hate. Her eyes were tired and indifferent.

  “You can keep me here by force, I suppose,” she said evenly, “but I don’t see any point to that. There is nothing for us to talk about.”

  “You hate me because I was involved in your father’s death,” Rick said. “I don’t blame you. I regret that it happened as it did. But there wasn’t anything else Ho Agar could do.”

  “I see,” Rita said. Her face and voice were empty of feeling. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? If you’re through, I’d like to go to my room.”

  Rick felt a baffled feeling of exasperation at the girl’s stony calmness.

  “You can go to your room when I’m through talking,” he said harshly. “You can’t go on like this, Rita. You haven’t eaten or slept in two days. The trouble here is over, you’ve got to realize that and stop nursing a grudge against everybody. I know how deeply you loved your father and I realize he was probably kind and wonderful to you. But that doesn’t alter the fact that the evidence indicates he was a traitor to Earth.”

  Rita turned from him blindly, her face twisted with pain. She put a hand weakly to her forehead and said, “NO! He couldn’t have been a traitor! I—I won’t believe that.”

  Rick took her hands and suddenly she was in his arms and he could feel the sobs that shook her slim shoulders.

  “Oh, Rick, you didn’t know him! No one really knew him,” she cried.

  Rick was silent until she stopped crying, then he patted her shoulders gently. “It’s all right, honey; you’ll feel better now.”

  She moved away from him and he gave her his handkerchief.

  “Will you talk to me for a few minutes now?” he asked.

  SHE nodded and he led her to the divan before the fire. He lit two cigarettes, handed one to her and then shifted about to face her squarely.

  “Please listen carefully,” he said. “I said the evidence indicated that your father might have been a traitor. But that evidence is all circumstantial. You were closer to your father than anyone else, and I think maybe you know something that would explain his actions. Can you remember his speaking of an offer from a group of finan
ciers on Earth who wanted him to sabotage the production of robot life?”

  Rita shook her head distractedly. “Of course not, Rick,” she said. “That’s the most ridiculous thing in the whole set-up. Father would have sacrificed his own life before allowing anything to interfere with the robot plant. And here’s another thing, Rick: those robots couldn’t have done these terrible things on Father’s orders because they are designed only to work. They would never attack a human being under anyone’s orders. Father realized in later years they might be used as soldiers, so he designed them to do only creative work.”

  “But one of them attacked you,” Rick said.

  “I know, I know,” Rita said helplessly. “But there must be some other explanation for that. Father’s robots wouldn’t attack anyone, even under his orders. He tested them for that, hundreds of times.”

  Rick stared at the girl intently.

  “Are you sure of what you’re saying? You mean your father actually tested these robots, ordered them to attack human beings, and they refused?”

  “Yes,” Rita said emphatically. “And he wasn’t satisfied with one test. He tested each robot a number of times.”

  “I see,” Rick said. He looked thoughtfully at the glowing tip of his cigarette. He was still of the opinion that Rita’s father had been mixed up in the dirty business here, but a new idea had occurred to him.

  “The thing that has me puzzled,” he said, frowning, “is the action of Robot 161. That robot saved my life in the assembly plant, and when it came to your father’s room it seemed to be trying to tell me something. It pointed to your father’s picture and then shook its head. And after Ho Agar had burned it down, it scratched a number 4 on the floor. I’ve stewed over that until my head aches and I’ve gotten nowhere. What possible significance could the numeral 4 have in this business? Can you think of anything?”

  “No,” Rita said slowly, “I can’t.”

  Rick heard a step in the corridor and, turning his head, he saw Ho Agar appear in the doorway. The Martian looked from the girl to Rick and said, “I beg your pardon. I’ll come back later.”