The Mechanical Monarch

by E. C. Tubb

  “No, Madam. All I could learn was that an unknown force is operating to render all predictions inaccurate. The force commenced with the landing of the Martian colonists and must be connected with them in some way.”

  “I could have told you that myself.” The Matriarch snorted as she rustled among her papers. “I consulted Comain as soon as I learned of what happened at the casino last night.” “What are we to do, Madam. If Comain can’t help us . . .” Nyeeda looked helplessly at the old woman.

  “Then we must help ourselves. Now. I have interviewed the croupier who operated the roulette wheel which lost all that money. He has described the person who won, and, naturally, has given that information to Comain. It is a man, an unregistered man. There can be no doubt of it.”

  “Unregistered?” Nyeeda stared her surprise. “How can that be?”

  “Why ask me? You were in charge of the landing. Obviously the man came from Mars.”

  “No. The man couldn’t have been a colonist. The metamen counted- them, registered them, and besides, if he had been, Comain would have known of him.”

  “That is true.” The Matriarch frowned' as she pondered the question. “Yet this unknown force is a man. Comain did not recognise him from the memories of the croupier so we must assume that he is unregistered. Whoever he is he won twenty million credits last night, caused three unpredicted accidents, and has given us more trouble with the Martians.” “How so?”

  “They want to buy a space ship. They want to buy supplies and equipment. They want to go back to Mars.”

  "Then why not let them?” /

  “Are you a fool, Nyeeda? Why do you think we brought them to Earth in the first place? It was to have them beneath our full control. We forced them back, and they came because they were dependant on us for supplies: Now they have money, and they seem to think that they can get more. Now do you see the problem?”

  “Refuse them a space ship. Bar them from leaving.” “And cause dissension?” The old woman shook her head. “Once we start doing that, Nyeeda, we won’t know where to stop. No. A man or woman must have the right to spend their own money in their own way. We daren’t tamper with that right. All we can do is to cause delay, I’ve already done that, and hope that after a while they will be content to remain here.” She gritted her teeth. “The main thing is to get hold of this unregistered man. Nothing can be done until then.”

  ‘Us he so important?” Nyeeda shrugged as she picked up the reproduced likeness of what the man probably looked like. “He seems very young. Is he so dangerous?”

  “Dangerous! That man threatens the entire safety of our civilisation!” The Matriarch slumped in her chair. “Years ago it wouldn’t have mattered so much, but now, now that we are so dependent on Comain, he is the most dangerous thing which could happen to us. Think of it, Nyeeda. Everything he does, every action he takes, disturbs the predictions on which our civilisation is built. Last night he won twenty million credits. The mere fact of him doing that altered the predictions of three people. Perhaps they stayed longer than

  they would have done, watching him play. Perhaps they met him, spoke to him, did something, anything which caused them to be at a certain place at a certain time. A place and time when normally they would have been out of harm's-way. Perhaps the pilot of that stratoliner was thinking about him when the ship crashed. Perhaps anything, but we must get that man, Nyeeda, and get him soon.”

  “The metamen?”

  “They have been alerted. His likeness will be displayed in every public place and a reward of a million credits offered for his capture.”

  “But won’t that do. the very thing you fear most? All these unpredicted actions will make it necessary for Comain to revise every scrap of data.”

  “What of it? If we don’t do it he will upset everything anyway. If we do, and it is as good as done by now, then we will get some information to work on. Once we .know where he is, how he reacts to danger, where he is likely to go, then Comain can predict his future actions and make capture simple. But we must know more about him.”

  “One man,” said Nyeeda slowly. “It seems incredible that one extra, man should make all this difference.”

  “It was a danger we couldn’t foresee. Every birth .and death is registered. How the devil he managed to escape registration I don’t know.” The old woman frowned down at her fingers. “We can find all that out later. Now we must get this man. Hunt him down like a dog. Kill him if necessary, but get him, and get him soon.”

  “Am I in charge of the search?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well, Madam. I’ll have him for you within two days.”

  “You’d better,” said the Matriarch grimly, and Nyeeda shuddered to her unspoken threat.

  CHAPTER XIV

  The park was an oasis of calm in a city of bustling strife. Lawns, smooth and green in the late afternoon sun, stretched between flowering shrubs and soaring trees. Flowers filled the air with a heady fragrance and birds trilled and chirped in the leafy branches. Little paths wound between the lawns and seats, comfortable benches of weatherproof plastic rested in quiet places. -

  Curt Rosslyn sat on one and relaxed in the summer warmth.

  It was time for him to think things out. So far he had rode with the tide, did as he was told, believed what others wanted him to believe. So far he had had little choice. His awakening on Mars, the journey to Earth, the rush and excitement of contact with a, to him, new civilisation, had prevented clear thought. Now he was free of all that. Free from Wendis and Lasser, from Carter and Menson. Free of then-propaganda and their selfish interests. Last night he had dodged away from the casino and wandered the streets for hours before finding this park. Since then he had slept a little and thought a lot.

  First. What was it about him which could determine the fall of a pair of dice or the dropping of a tiny ball into a selected compartment? He had never been able to do it before, though, like most gamblers, he had found that concentration helped him to win. But this was more than that.

  A leaf rested on the path before him, a tiny scrap of green against the old ivory of the concrete. He stared at it, concentrating his thoughts, keening the edge of his hand.

  The leaf moved.

  It rose a fraction and fluttered. It shifted and spun as if there were a wind, but the trees remained silent and their branches did not rustle to the slightest of breezes. There was no wind. Again he concentrated, feeling his brain burn within his skull and the cold sweat of nervous exhaustion started to his forehead. Again the leaf moved, tilted, and suddenly darted away.

  Telikinesis!

  Curt knew about it, had read about it and even wondered whether such things as paraphysical phenomena could ever • exist. Now he had proved that it could. The only logical explanation for what had happened was that he had controlled the movements of dice and ball, of wheel and leaf with the power of his own mind. He had willed them to move—and they had moved. Somehow, something, had changed him from a normal man into . . .

  Into what?”

  He shrugged, shelving the problem. What he was and how he had turned from a normal man into someone who could control unusual powers was something which could wait. Now he had to decide what to do.

  Despite what Lasser and the others had told him he had little sympathy for the Martians. They had revived him and for that he was grateful, but he had given them twenty million credits and considered the debt-wiped out. They had a grudge, that was natural, but he could also see the problem from the other side. It was uneconomical to pour wealth into a colony which could not survive. Also, if Lasser had spoken the truth, it was not just a matter of keeping a few hundred people on an arid planet. The future of this civilisation depended on their presence on Earth.

  Comain wanted them back home.

  He smiled as he remembered his friend. It was hard to remember that the man and the machine weren’t the same thing. It had seemed such a little time ago that he had heard the thin man’s voice over the
radio, that they had stood together on the wastes of Poker Flats and stared up at the distant stars as they dreamed their individual dreams.

  He missed Comain.

  Now? Now he had to fend for himself. One man couldn’t break an established System of government. No matter what Lasser had said Curt knew that. And really the problem was a simple one. He had to choose between a lost Mars and a real Earth. Earth! He smiled as he stared at the trees and flowers. A wife perhaps, children, a comfortable old age. All the things he had thought lost forever. His now. Waiting for him as soon as he could fit in this new and interesting world.

  Slowly he rose from the bench and walked from the park.

  The booth looked so much like a telephone kiosk that he almost passed it before he realised that it was the thing he was looking for. He entered, closing the door behind him and feeling a peculiar stir of excitement deep in his stomach as he stared at the dull helmet, the ruby scanning eye, the chair and low shelf.

  Comain!

  Nervously he sat down and pressed the signal button.

  “Yes?”'

  “Information, please.”

  “Your name and serial number?” -

  “Wendis. Number . . .” He began to read it aloud when he was interrupted.

  “Place your bared wrist against the scanning eye.”

  “Yes. As you wish.” Nervously he rested his wrist against the smooth face of the red-lit eye. “That right?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good.”

  Silence as he stared at the blank panel of the machine and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for the machine to speak. It didn’t, and with a start he realised that he had lifted his finger from the activating button. Grimly he pressed it.

  "Yes?”

  “Information, please.”

  “Identify yourself.”

  “Wendis.” Curt remembered and rested his left wrist against the scanning eye.

  “Yes?”

  Curt nervously licked his dry lips, remembering to keep his finger hard against the button and wishing that he had asked as to the correct procedure of consulting Comain.

  “What is the penalty for not registering?”

  “Ten years forced labour.”

  “I see. How does a man register?"

  “Don the helmet.”

  “That all?” ' ,

  “Yes.”

  Curt shivered, the cold, inhuman tones from the speaker making him wish that he had never entered the booth. For a moment he struggled with the desire to get up and leave the booth with its inhuman voice and unfamiliar controls. Then he remembered that it was only a machine.

  “What is the best way for a man to earn a living in this . world?”

  "Insufficient data.” --

  “What do you mean?”

  “Insufficient data.”

  “Damn it!” Curt glared at the scanning eye. He was beginning to realise that a machine which could answer every question had its limitations. It was only a machine. It lacked volition and could only answer the questions put to it. Answer them in a coldly logical way without adding anything to the bare answer, and not, as a man would do, filling in the unspoken questions, adding suggestions and volunteering information.

  “I am a stranger in this city,” said Curt slowly. “What is the best thing for me to do?”

  “Don the helmet.”

  “What?” Curt shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Silence as the machine waited for his next question. “Predict my future actions.” Curt grinned as he remembered what Lasser had told him. “What employment shall I do tomorrow?”

  “None.”

  “Why not?”

  “Prediction as to activities. Forty-five per cent probability. Trying to buy space ship.”

  “What?” Curt almost released his pressure on the button as he stared at the scanning eye, then, understanding, he lifted his finger and sagged in the chair. The prediction was right—for Wendis. The machine had taken him to be the Asteroid Miner and that was just what the young man would be trying to do.

  Tiredly Curt left the booth and wandered out along the street. He felt hungry, and looked around for a restaurant. He would eat, and then find a policeman and give himself up. The machine couldn’t help him and he had no desire to wander the city like an outcast. Not even his ability to win money would compensate him for a total lack of companionship and understanding.

  He could always win money.

  The bright lights of a restaurant showed clear against the sunlight and he entered, slumping in a chair, and staring dully at a row of buttons to his right. He pressed several of them, then waited,'wondering what was the next thing to do. Machinery whined beneath the' smooth surface of the table, a panel slid aside, and a tray, loaded with steaming dishes, rose before him. As he lifted the tray the panel closed again and he smiled as he recognised an old idea in its modern form.

  He had chosen a self-service cafeteria.

  The food wanned him, easing some of the cold fear that had gripped his stomach, and he relaxed staring curiously around the crowded restaurant. At the next table a man and a woman sat, more engrossed in each other than in their food, and he noted the unabashed way in which they displayed their affection. In one way at least the world hadn’t changed.

  Against one wall a wide sheet of clear material suddenly flared with light and swirling colour. It steadied and a woman stared from the screen. A woman with long dark hair and eyes that were like twin pools of midnight beneath her heavy brows. She wore a dress of some shining black material and her full lips were red against the whiteness of her skin. Curt stared at her, savouring her remarkable beauty, and was barely conscious of the hush which settled over the restaurant.

  “An important announcement from the Matriarch,” said the woman. “Today it has been discovered that an enemy of the state is at large. This man threatens the safety of each of us, and, so important does the Matriarch consider him, that a reward of one million credits will be paid to the person giving information leading to his capture. Remember. It is vitally important that this man be captured as soon as possible. His likeness will be thrown on every public screen and will remain until such time as the Matriarch sees fit to remove it. That is all.”

  Her image shifted and dissolved in a writhing mass of colour, then, replacing the calm features of the woman, another likeness took shape.

  Curt stared at it, feeling the blood pound through his temples and an invisible hand begin to constrict his heart. There, on the screen, drawn with remarkable clarity, was his- own picture.

  He heard the muted hum of conversation rise around him, the droning of many voices and the tiny sounds made by people eating. He ignored them. All he could see was the brilliant picture. His own face, subtly different in minor details, but wholly recognisable. He stared at it, and at the caption beneath the portrait.

  ONE MILLION CREDITS REWARD FOR THE CAPTURE OF THIS MAN

  Numbly he rose and made his way to the exit, expecting a challenge at any moment. A woman smiled at him as he neared the door and he felt panic rise within him.

  “Your bill, sir.”

  “Yes, of course.” He dropped a wad of crumpled notes into her hand and thrust past her. Three steps from the wide portal he heard her startled exclamation.

  “That man! Stop that man!”

  The rest was lost in a blur of- motion.

  A man lunged towards him and reeled back with a pulped mouth. Another thrust out his leg and screamed with pain as Curt kicked at the extended limb. Then he was at the

  door and his legs thrust at the smooth concrete as he flung himself away from the restaurant.

  Men stared at him. A woman screamed a warning. Something loomed from an alcove, something huge and metallic, with articulated arms- and heavy metal feet. Curt skidded to a halt, staring wildly at the advancing figure of the metaman, and darted to one side.

  Blue fire streamed through the air where he had stood & moment before. It swung, lif
ted and Curt felt his legs go numb and almost lifeless as the blue ray stabbed past him, missing him by a fraction.

  Desperately he darted between a couple of women, flung himself around a comer, and raced for the remembered sanctuary of the little park.

  He didn’t stand a chance! He knew that. Knew that as a stranger in a strange city they were bound to catch him • within a few hours, but instinct forced him to keep' running, to keep his legs thrusting against the concrete as he flung himself away from the robot-like thing pursuing him. Again the blue ray sent coldness through him, slowing his reflexes and chilling his blood with the touch of paralysis, and he sobbed with pain' as he forced his sluggish muscles to carry his sagging weight.

  A car droned past with a shrilling whine from its turbine. A man stared at him from the driving seat, and, with shocking abruptness, the car whined to a halt and the man tumbled out onto the roadway. He crouched, something metallic gleaming in his hand, and from his open mouth words poured in a rapid stream.

  “This way, Curt! Get in the car.”

  “Wendis!”

  “Curt, do as I say.” Anger drew the young man’s lips hard against his teeth. He lifted the gleaming thing in his hand and the thin, spiteful sound of shots echoed from the surrounding buildings. “Get-in the car. Hurry!”

  Curt grunted, throwing himself towards the open door of the low-slung turbine car, and behind him he heard Wendis curse as he fired his weapon.

  Then blue fire seared him with a freezing cold and he fell into a bottomless pit of overwhelming darkness.

  CHAPTER XV

  Pain, and the grunted sounds made by men engaged in arduous labour. Pain, and the dull ache of heavy blows. Pain, and the screaming protest of numbed nerve and muscle as it warmed and crawled a reluctant path back to life and awareness. Curt groaned and writhed against the grasp of many hands. He shuddered, writhed, and screamed with the searing agony of returning circulation.

  As if from a great distance he heard a familiar voice. “Steady, Curt. This is going to hurt.”