Now the Robot had set a trembling Burwood down on the ground. Now a great noose of rope was drawn about his neck, its other end slung over the branch of a huge, bare-limbed tree. Now....
Something neither warm nor cold touched Diane, grasped her about the middle, lifted her. It was a nightmare. It was unreal, not happening to her. The ground spun giddily, all vision receded behind a wave of vertigo, then returned, still spinning.
Diane clawed at the metal head, at the hard, unblinking eyes, scraping uselessly. She might as well try to scrape down the side of a mountain with her fingernails.
Burwood was hanging.
Feet dangling, arms bound behind him, he twisted and writhed in his last death agony. Diane shuddered, turning away, striking her head sharply against the hard metal of the Robot. When her vision cleared again, she was on the ground, another Robot stalking soundlessly toward her for all its great bulk, a noose identical to the one from which Burwood dangled suspended from its metal hand.
But the scene had changed, Diane realized wildly. A great air-ship, a rocket, had landed midway between the file of Robots and the burning village. Vaguely, she remembered that Starbuck had once said only Robots from the Citadel itself used the rockets, since only a few remained from man's last great War.
Starbuck was nearby, shaking but holding his ground, shouting at the Robots as if his very life depended on it. And, Diane thought despairingly, it did.
"Leave her be!" Starbuck cried. "You're making a terrible mistake. We're not from the village. We're Shining Ones. We're Shining Ones, I tell you. We came here to join you, to be conscripted. We want to work for the Robots. See, we're Shining Ones!"
Did they understand? Diane couldn't tell. The Robots with the noose reached down and grabbed her, drawing her aloft again. She wanted to scream, but all her energy could bring forth only a whimper. She wanted to shut her eyes tightly and wake up, trembling but otherwise all right, in her tent. She could feel a lurching motion as the Robot began to move.
Burwood hung slackly now, twisting gently from side to side, like a rag doll, with the motion of the rope. Diane fainted.
Within half an hour, all the Robots had filed into their waiting ship. It blasted skyward on a jet of flame which was all but lost against the fires which consumed Hamilton Village.
CHAPTER V
"Will Harry Starbuck please step forth and make his report?" One of Keleher's assistants brought the command to the Shining Ones who had joined the larger group near Hamilton Village.
There was a silence.
"Where is Starbuck?"
No one knew. The assistant shook his head and returned to Keleher for further instructions. Had anyone seen Starbuck? A short while ago, yes. Not for the past hour, though. Keleher next called for Diane, who had found Johnny Hope, the alleged traitor, along with Starbuck.
Some of them had seen her marching toward the rear of the column with Tom Burwood not long since. She did not answer the summons. And Burwood could not be found anywhere.
"Is everyone going crazy?" Keleher stormed. "Fetch the prisoner himself. We'll see what's going on."
Moments later: "Hope, charges have been brought against you concerning our raid on Hamilton Village."
"I know all about the charges. I refuse to discuss them now."
Keleher smiled without mirth. "You—refuse?"
"They were looking for Diane. They couldn't find her. They were looking for Starbuck too, and couldn't find him. It is Starbuck who has made the accusation, so we'll have to wait until he's found. I don't care one way or the other about Starbuck, but I want to find Diane."
Plump Gilbert came forward, said, "I may be able to shed some light on this. After Starbuck gave me charge of the column he conferred with Tom Burwood for a time, then disappeared. But Burwood whispered something to Diane and she joined him, heading for the rear of the column."
"You see?" Johnny demanded. "Starbuck went someplace with Diane. From the looks of it, she was tricked into going with him."
"Mere supposition," said Keleher, "although I wouldn't trust Starbuck particularly."
"Listen," Johnny went on, "that girl saved my life. I want to find her. Since you can't try my case until Starbuck is found, let me look for them and—"
"How do we know you will return?"
"My word," said Johnny, but the look on Keleher's face said that would never satisfy him.
"If the lad promises and if meanwhile he cannot be tried ..." began Gilbert.
"When I want your advice, I'll ask for it," Keleher said curtly. "The boy stays here."
"But he merely wants to find Diane," persisted Gilbert.
"Enough. If someone thinks to depose me, let him try. Meanwhile, I command here. The boy stays. He will be considered innocent until we can bring him to trial, but he will not be permitted to leave the encampment."
"Her life may be in danger," Johnny said grimly.
"I doubt it. I have given my orders."
"They don't satisfy me," Johnny told Keleher bluntly. "Am I to be regarded as prisoner or member of the community until my trial?"
"You are one of us, a Shining One, until proven guilty. It is the way of our law."
"In that case," Johnny informed him, "I challenge your right to rule.Iwould depose you." Even as he spoke the words, Johnny doubted their wisdom. Keleher was large and powerful; Johnny had recently recovered from the Plague and did not feel fully himself. Still, he had to find Diane, and if there was no other way....
Keleher was grinning. "Perhaps you do not know what that entails. I'll admit, it's primitive. Upon your challenge we fight. Not with weapons, Johnny Hope. With our bare hands. Call it a peculiarity of mine, but I prefer brute strength. It is as if civilization, in closing its book for mankind, has put men like me in its stead. The ballot, the tribunal, the town meeting—all these are sophistications leading ultimately back along the road to civilization. If that means another war and a worse one, I want no part of it. Small communities, living by mean strength, fighting for their existence tooth and nail, can't start a civilization growing.
"The level I want to maintain is physical, brutal, elemental. Knowing that, do you still challenge my right?" Keleher folded huge-muscled arms across his massive chest and stared with scorn at Johnny. "Well?"
"I was aware of that. The answer is yes."
"Then we can start making arrangements for the time and place. Would you prefer it on our journey before we reach a new permanent encampment, or after we have arrived to set up camp? You still look pale from your time with the Plague, my young friend."
"I prefer it right here," Johnny said. "I can't wait. Right here, and right now."
The sudden complete silence was broken by Keleher's explosive laughter as he unbuckled his weapon-belt and let it fall with knife and club to the ground.
"What do you think, Diane?"
"Don't speak to me. I think it was a dirty trick, but I should have expected it from you. And you let Tom Burwood die, too."
"I couldn't do anything about that," Starbuck protested. "I tried. By the time I got through to them, Burwood was already dead. As it is, I saved your life."
"For this?" Diane gestured around her scornfully, to take in the tiny cubicle aboard the rocket which they occupied. After depositing them within it ten minutes before, the Robots had ignored them.
"I'm surprised at you. Have some patience, Diane. Someday you'll be grateful I took you along. You're young, you have no idea what life could be like in a civilized place."
"Do you? How do you know how the Robots treat people?"
"I have heard rumors. We all have. But I'm older than I look. I was a small boy before the war, Diane. But I remember, I remember. The luxuries, the comforts. You'll see."
"I ought to kill you," Diane said coldly. Starbuck blanched. "I might, too, first chance I get. You're so self-centered, you're almost inhuman. But maybe I'm dumb enough to think you'll realize your mistake someday and two of us will have a better chance of getting away than one. I don't know. I ought to kill you, though."
"I did it for you. I wanted you with me. I couldn't enjoy the life we're going to lead without you."
"You're a fool, Harry ... I can't even hate you. I feel sorry for you. What do the Robots do from day to day? You don't even know that. You haven't the slightest idea what you've let us in for. You don't even know for sure where we're going."
Starbuck shook his head. "You're wrong about that. We're going to the Citadel in New York. We should be arriving in a few minutes. You'll change your mind, Diane. Wait until you see the Citadel. Wait until—"
"You've never seen it. You're just guessing."
"It's more than a guess. Every rumor I have ever heard. Diane, I want you to share it with me, to learn to love it with me. You're beautiful. You weren't meant for buckskins," Starbuck fingered the tattered clothing barely covering her torso.
"Keep away from me."
"Don't you realize it's just the two of us now—and the Robots?"
"I'm warning you."
Starbuck shrugged and sat down at the other side of the small cubicle. "You're frightened now," he said. "I've got patience, if you haven't. Wait and see how the Robots will provide for us."
Diane shuddered and tried to hide it. Trapped aboard a ship full of Robots, she was companion to a madman. Strangely, no thought could comfort her but the image of Johnny Hope, somewhere many miles behind them, a prisoner of Keleher and the band of Shining Ones. Perhaps, she thought grimly, the madman had for company a madwoman....
The Shining Ones were bivouacing not two miles above the gutted ruins of Hamilton Village. Wood had been stacked for the cook-fires, but as yet no spark had been coaxed into flame. Half the tents had been raised tautly about their ridge poles, others were still to be unpacked. Five-hundred strong, the whole group gathered around a natural clearing in the woods, where deft-fingered girls were applying grease to Keleher and Johnny Hope.
They had stripped to shorts, Keleher with his thick-thewed limbs glistening in the fading sunlight, arms folded like some immobile, heroic statue, all muscle and sinew, carved from granite, Johnny fidgeting, waiting for the fight to start. He was surprised at his own objective lack of fear; he wanted only to start out after Diane.
"You probably wonder why they grease you," Amos Westler declared. Westler was a small, slim man with close-cropped graying hair and eyes that would twinkle, Johnny thought, even in darkness. He had come to Johnny's corner as a sort of unexpected second, to ready him for battle. "It's a concession on the part of Keleher, Johnny Hope. He has declared openly your strength is no match for his. The slicking will make speed and dexterity count for more."
"Am I supposed to be grateful? The only reason I'm fighting him is because he won't let me seek Diane any other way. She could be in danger right now, her life might be at stake. Keleher is a fool."
"And life among the Shining Ones has always been an expendable item. Diane's life, your life, even Keleher's."
"What happens if I win?"
Westler sighed wistfully. "You won't. This won't be the first fight for Keleher, nor the last. Actually, I hope you do win."
"Why? And you haven't answered my question."
"Because I've always wanted to leave the encampment. But I'm not a man for the outdoors, Johnny. I wouldn't survive a week. With your companionship, I might. Should you win the fight, and should you decide to seek Diane, I would like to join you."
Johnny grasped his hand, shook it. "Done," he said.
Westler smiled, wiping grease on his trousers. "To answer your question, if you win you're the chief of this encampment."
Now Johnny was smiling. "A job I'm not particularly interested in. I only want to—"
"I know. Look for the girl. During the excitement, something went entirely unnoticed. A rocket ship took off, near the ruins of the Village. Rockets mean Robots—and from the Citadel. Tell me, Johnny Hope, if the trail leads there, will you follow?"
Johnny shrugged. "I hadn't thought of that, I didn't realize the Robots were near."
"Then you're going to back down?" Disappointment was in Westler's expressive eyes.
"Never. I saw New York once. I stood on the Jersey cliffs at sunset and gazed across the broad river at the Citadel with its winking lights and beacons. It is not a place of fear, but a place that men built, long ago. I will go."
Again Amos Westler sighed. "I wish you win this fight, Johnny Hope. I never wished for anything as much in my life. I was a college professor before the war and I learned this: the search for knowledge is a strange thing and knows no fear. But I am no young man, and this may be my last opportunity."
"Ready?" Keleher's voice roared across the clearing. "If the girls are finished caressing you with their oils...?"
The girls stepped back, looked at Johnny, tall and lithe but so small compared to Keleher, and shook their heads.
"Ready," Johnny said, moving out toward Keleher warily.
"His legs," Amos Westler confided. "He uses them like another pair of arms. Watch them."
The grease on his face had been applied too close to his eyes and Johnny found he had to blink to clear his vision. Keleher came lumbering across the clearing, gathering momentum. By the time he neared Johnny he was fairly rocketing down upon him. The muttering of the assembled encampment had been stilled as if by some unspoken command. There was the sound of Keleher's thundering feet and nothing else.
Juggernaut thundered close, was almost upon him, great arms outstretched, huge body shining red in the last light of the sun. At the last moment, Johnny sidestepped, thrust out his leg, added momentum to Keleher with his arms as he pounded by. Something struck his leg, there was a loud, bull-bellowing cry. Keleher flipped completely over and sprawled in the dust a dozen feet away.
He came up roaring his rage as Johnny waited, balancing on the balls of his feet, fists up and ready. Keleher parried Johnny's left hand when the blow was too long in coming, struck with his own great right fist. Johnny went over on his back and felt Keleher at his throat almost before he had hit the ground. Now the crowd was churning with excitement and Johnny found himself thinking they must have smelled blood on the air.
Their heavily greased bodies prevented Keleher from applying a stranglehold. Johnny squirmed out from under, straddled the bigger man's back and felt himself borne aloft, still clinging there, as Keleher climbed to his feet and charged about the clearing. Johnny held grimly, his forearm circling the thick throat, choking off Keleher's breath. But the shaggy head twisted, broke free. The legs drummed backwards and Johnny whirled in time to fathom Keleher's plan.
He was going to crush Johnny against the bole of an oak tree, cracking his ribs and ending the battle at once. Without mirth, Johnny smiled. So intent was Keleher upon his plan, he did not bother to hold Johnny on his back. Possibly he thought that was Johnny's intention, anyway. Johnny leaped away, rolling clear, as Keleher backed into the tree trunk with all the strength of his huge muscles.
There was a terrible crunching sound as Keleher hit the tree and went down as if axed. Groggily, he began to rise, but Johnny was waiting for him, waiting to see if there was any fight left in the half-conscious man. The eyes were watery, the lips slack, the arms twitching. Johnny waited....
"Stop!" someone cried. "I bring news."
At first the encampment shouted him off, but presently Johnny became aware of loud talking, of angry shouts, of a buzzing, as from a sundered hornets' nest, which swept the clearing. He whirled to face the newcomer as Keleher slumped at his feet, clawing the ground and gasping, "I don't ... surrender ... Johnny Hope. Only give ... me ... time to catch my wind ... and...."
They turned to Johnny Hope, all of them, their new leader. For Keleher had spoken those words, then fell forward on his face. Three men carried him off to a tent, where two women brought vessels of water.
"They went looking for the three missing ones, Hope."
"What can we do?"
"The Robots."
"Tell us, Hope."
"What they did once they might do again."
Johnny laughed as reaction from his ordeal set in. They crowded around him, flies swarming for honey. They hadn't given him a chance in the fight, but now because Keleher had cracked his own ribs instead of Johnny's, Johnny was their leader. It was a job he neither wanted nor would tolerate.
"What they're trying to say," Amos Westler told him, "is that they found Tom Burwood not far from here."
"What about Diane?" Johnny demanded eagerly.
"No Diane, no Starbuck. They found Burwood, hanging by his neck, dead."
"Dead?" Johnny said, dazed. "Diane?"
"You're not listening to me, young man. Diane they didn't find." Then, as if he suddenly realized he was addressing their new, if bewildered, leader, Westler apologized. "I'm sorry. While Burwood's corpse was the only one they found, there were shreds of clothing in the undergrowth. There—"
"Diane?"
"Possibly, they're not sure. I would say all indications point to the Robot Citadel. You said you would go, but now that you are our leader, perhaps you've changed your mind. When leadership is thrust upon a man—"
"When an old leader is vanquished," plump Gilbert bubbled effusively, "there is a celebration, sir. And there is an edict to be handed down by the new leader. Do we banish Keleher from the encampment when his condition permits? Do we slay him for you? Do we—"
"Do whatever you want," Johnny said irritably. "I'm not staying."
"This is some joke!"
"I have nothing against Keleher. I still have nothing against him. I'm leaving. When Keleher regains consciousness, when his body heals, you may tell him for me I did not depose him. He is still your leader."
"That is clearly impossible."
"Is it? I command you in this. Keleher remains on as chief. But tell him this for me: some day I may call upon him and his people for help, and when I do...."
"You have vision," said Amos Westler, admiration in his voice.
"When I do, I want no delays. That is my message to your ruler, to Keleher. Is it understood?"
Gilbert and some of the others nodded. A small, intense man, Westler fidgeted about impatiently while the girls returned with thick strips of cloth and scrubbed the grease from Johnny Hope.
"I'm now a celebrity," he said to Westler, feeling himself briefly as one with these wild people as they gathered around for his advice, preparing a victory banquet over roaring fires as darkness covered the bivouac area. He munched a savory leg of fowl, slaked his thirst from a moist leather wine bag, the claret stream gushing into his mouth from the spout.
"You see," Westler could not hide his disappointment. "It is even as I said. You will stay."
Johnny grinned at him. "Are you tired?"
"Why, no."
Tossing a chicken bone into the fire, Johnny went on: "And do you know the way to New York in the darkness?"
"No—o."
"I think I do. Are you ready to start?"
"Are you serious?" Westler cried. "Do you mean that, Johnny Hope?"
"Let's go." And not waiting for an answer, Johnny clapped Gilbert on the back, told him to take charge until Keleher had recovered, and left the clearing with Westler trailing at his heels.
The night closed in about them, not quiet, but alive with the sounds of insects and the occasional soft-pad-padding of small hunting animals. Johnny set a quick, mile-eating pace which made Westler's breath wheeze in and out of his lungs asthmatically, but the older man did not complain once.
CHAPTER VI
"We have openings in the repair bays or for servants among the inner circle of Shining Ones who work hand in hand with our masters," the old woman told Starbuck and Diane after they had been taken from the rocket ship in New York and shunted underground where the subways had been converted into living quarters for humans without being given a chance to see the city. "Which will it be?"
"We're not cut out to be menials," Starbuck said coldly, "but the repair bays don't appeal to me, either. You say servants to the leaders themselves?"
"To the top echelon of Shining Ones, yes. You will find the socio-economic hierarchy rigidly enforced here. Well, which will it be?"
Starbuck had heard about palace revolutions. It would be servants to the leaders, naturally. Let them bide their time, let them learn what they could of the Citadel and its Robots. "Servants," he said.
"Are you married?" The old woman, shamelessly bare to the waist on this hot day, smiled at them with a perfect set of false teeth which seemed laughably incongruous in her gaunt, seamed face. Her bare breasts were dry as parchment and hung, flat but pendulant, almost to her waist. From a distance she looked almost like a manikin, a leathery, humanoid robot.
"We are," Starbuck beamed.
But Diane said, "Certainly not."
The old woman cackled. "I believe the woman. In that case, you will live in these underground dormitories."
"Not in the City upstairs?" Starbuck demanded, disappointed.
"Not in the City, that is correct. Do not ask why, it is merely so. We work for the Robots and obey them, is that clear? Some day the only humans left on Earth will be Shining Ones, or so the Robots tell us. Then we will climb up into the light of day and take our rightful place, side by side with them. Meanwhile, we do as we are told."
"Are you satisfied, Harry?" Diane wanted to know. "The Robots make promises—and destroy our brothers."
"Our brothers?" Starbuck laughed. "You mean the people of the villages? Those, our brothers?"
"The Plague makes brother hate brother, but you're a fool, Starbuck. The Robots want that, this playing of human against human."
"Yes? How do you know? You've never...."
"I don't know. But Amos Westler always said so."
"Westler!" Starbuck spat contemptuously. "A reader of books. We go out to hunt or raid, Westler seeks his books and grows soft looking through them."
"With more Westlers and less Starbucks in the world," Diane began, "we probably wouldn't have had to fight three World Wars and never would have—"
"That's enough," said Starbuck, his eyes darting suspiciously to the old woman, who was taking in their conversation with an amused look on her face.
"It is quite enough," agreed the old woman. "If you want to last here more than a few days."
"Can the Robots actually understand us?" Starbuck asked.
The old woman shrugged thin shoulders. "Some say they can read our minds. It is not important. Those of us who rule can understand. Since they can somehow communicate with the Robots, it is the same thing."
"We will conform," promised Starbuck.
"Like robots of robots," said Diane bitterly.
Johnny Hope rubbed the stubble of beard on his face and frowned at Westler. "I'm not sure, but I think I know this place. We should reach the New York River this afternoon."
They stood in a forest glade not a hundred yards from one of the overgrown concrete highways upon which the Robots were known to tread. A path paralleled the highway through the woods, and upon this they made their way.
"Sometimes I wonder if you know what you're letting yourself in for," Westler mused.
"I want to find Diane. I'll take whatever goes with it."
"Do you mind if I ask why?"
"I'm not sure I know myself. All I know is I think of her all the time. Nothing matters as much as finding her—and freeing her."
"We could be wrong. Perhaps she is not with the Robots at all."
"What do you think?"
"I think she is. Everything points to it. I was only pointing out that we're not sure. Johnny, not many years ago I met a man, another Shining One, who had fled from New York. He was old and he didn't last long, but he told me things which—"
"About the Robots, you mean?"
"Yes. You know, of course, they can help cure the Plague. Instead, they spread it."
"I never could figure out why."
"Who knows what sort of thinking the Robots can do? We're not even sure if they possess sentience at all, although I suspect they do. But in the last days of the War, man made a frantic mistake. The Robots were conceived as fighters, were constructed as fighters, were built to hate man and to kill man. When we gave the Robots a different mission entirely, it failed. They've simply strengthened the Plague toxoid and made it lethal. I don't think they'll rest until every man on Earth is destroyed.
"We're weak now, disorganized. We've left civilization behind us. You'd think the Robots could do the job overnight, but the only thing that prevents them, actually, is their lack of numbers."
"Most of my people—I mean the villagers, not my people any longer—most of them believe the Robots somehowwillcure the Plague."
"And most of my people," said Westler, "believe their destiny is hand in glove with the destiny of the Robots. They put it this way: we are hated by the rest of mankind, we are apparently not hated by the Robots. Why not cooperate with them, then? Actually, a free band of Shining Ones as large as Keleher's is the exception, not the rule. Every day, more and more Shining Ones go to the Citadel in New York or elsewhere to work for the Robots. Not a pretty picture, is it?"
"What can we do about it?"
"At present, I don't have the slightest notion. We've got to do something, though. Someone's got to do something, unless nature's ready to write off mankind as a bad experiment. Perhaps I am a pedant, Johnny. I do not know. But I will tell you this: when all the great strides in human history were made, the pedants, the scholars paved the way. I want to see the Citadel not only to learn but to see if there is something, some way, to end the reign of the Robots. It seems incredible that men, their makers, lacked the foresight to equip them with an Achilles Heel, if the need ever arose."
Abruptly, Johnny motioned Westler down with a wave of his hand. "It looks like you're going to find out soon enough. Take a look."
Johnny parted the bushes in front of them. Here the dirt path had angled sharply toward the highway so that not more than thirty yards separated them. Marching silently along the concrete in the direction of New York, quiet but for the clanking of their joints, was a long file of Robots.
"Spongey metal foot-pads," whispered Westler, staring eagerly at the Robots. "We built fine fighting machines, Johnny, and now find we have to suffer the consequences."
Johnny nodded impatiently, hardly feeling philosophical. "This is what we came here for, Amos," he said. "Afraid?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure yet."
Johnny was not sure, either, but did not want to brood about it. He stood up recklessly, forcing his way through the undergrowth toward the highway. By the time he reached it, Westler trailing uncertainly at his heels, he was shouting. It worked magically. The long line of Robots, extending as far as they could see to the left and several hundred yards to the right, stopped its steady advance. The great metal heads, each bigger than a man, swiveled on the sockets which joined them with the tiny bodies. The unblinking eyes which now faced them—another set for each Robot surveyed the rear, Johnny knew—were lined up row on row.
"We want to join you," Johnny called out. "We want employment in the Citadel." Did a human ask a Robot for employment? Johnny hardly knew, for nothing had been further from his mind until recently.
The leading Robot came back down the line toward them. Johnny could read nothing in the artificial eyes and had to check a wild impulse to run.
"Sometimes I prefer the uncomplicated life of an unimaginative man of action," Westler moaned softly.
It was, Johnny knew, a good point. He did not bother telling Westler that both traits had merged in him, which might have been better or worse, depending upon the circumstances.
Then the Robot was upon them.
"63-17-B?"
"Yes, sir?" All Robots, even those with a primary level of thought as high as 63-17-B and an existing secondary level, addressed Central Intelligence as sir.
"After exhaustive tests, it has been adjudged that an over-estimation has been made regarding your mental ability. Since that is the case, it will mechanically be necessary to change your position."
Sullenly, plotting shapeless revenge at a Central Intelligence which would never consider the possibility of an outside factor intervening unexpectedly and hence altering or spoiling what had been planned, 63-17-B listened to his fate.
"A position currently is vacant as supervisor of the Shining Ones in a section of the repair bays. Do you have any objections to assuming this new duty in place of the old?"
To object was disastrous. To object was to admit you needed not merely a lesser job commensurate with your lesser skill but also complete readjustment of your thinking process. "No objections at all, sir," thought 63-17-B, all the while smouldering with resentment. His time would come. What was the old human expression about every dog having his day?
"Then you will report at once to repair bay 151. Do you know its location?"
"I will find it." That was the prescribed answer. One rarely asked questions. One found out for oneself from Central Information. 63-17-B half thought he was still being tested in some less-obvious and hence all the more deadly fashion. But to be placed in charge of a gang of humans! It was degrading.
"In time, 63-17-B, you shall be tested again. If it is our opinion you have gained back what we thought you once possessed, you will again be elevated to a higher station."
63-17-B cursed Central Intelligence on a private wavelength. Central Intelligence was the creator of perfect plans. If a plan misfired, Central Intelligence could not be held responsible. Since accidents of nature had never been considered valid excuses, blame always fell on the executing Robot. Until recently, 63-17-B had managed to beat the system, largely through luck. Now while he realized it was the most mechanical thing in the world to do as you were told, he could not hide his bitter disappointment. But he pushed it from his mind all at once when he felt another mind nibbling at his private wavelength. No one could be trusted, not when each Robot tried to outdo every other Robot in the eyes of Central Intelligence, not when private thoughts could be intercepted by monitors, not when communal thinking was considered preferable to individual thinking.... That thought made 63-17-B shudder, his joints clanking as a sudden surge of power, the electrical equivalent of adrenal secretions, coursed through his frame. He was indeed thinking not along the prescribed lines. Probably somethingwaswrong with him.
"This is ironical," said Amos Westler as the first inert Robot came sliding down the conveyor belt to stop, a rusted man-shaped creature twice man's size with huge conical head and withdrawn antenna, in front of his bench. "We'll never learn anything this way. You won't learn the whereabouts of Diane at this bench, and I won't learn what I've come to find out."
"We're not on duty twenty-four hours a day," Johnny reminded him, unfastening leg-joints with a large, wrench-like instrument and wiping the parts with an oily rag before he reassembled them. "If Diane is here, I'll find her."
"Well, we've learned nothing so far. They took us into the Citadel through a tile-walled tunnel—"
"Surely one of the wonders of the world!" Johnny cried, remembering.
"The world has many wonders, natural and man-made, if we could but see them. Anyway, they then deposited us in those underground quarters where all the humans seem to live here. The old hag interviewed us—"
"Yes. She wouldn't say if she'd seen Starbuck and Diane or not when I described them, but it sure made her smile. I think they're here in the Citadel, Amos."
"—then assigned us to this repair bay for work. Do you realize that except for the brief time it took to go from the tunnel exit to the underground quarters, we haven't seen the light of day. Try learning something in these, these caves!"
Without warning, the conveyor belts were stilled. Hidden lighting in the walls flared brighter as a group of Robots entered the large vault.
"ATTENTION!" A voice blared at them, oddly metallic. Johnny could not tell where it came from. "Robot 63-17-B is now entering the vault. As your supervisor, 63-17-B is to be obeyed as if he were Central Intelligence itself. He is to be addressed not directly, but through your human supervisor."
The Robot numbered 63-17-B (but the numbers were hidden under the central face plate and you hardly could tell the machines apart) made a brief inspection of the vault, then climbed to his niche in the wall, where he sat completely without motion while the other Robots filed from the chamber.
"Although we can't address the Robot, our supervisor can," Westler said eagerly. "That means, at least, communication of some sort is possible."
"I guess so. Why don't you get to know the supervisor?"
"You're much better at that sort of thing than I am, Johnny."
"We came here for different reasons, don't forget. There's an old hag I'd like to answer more questions when I find her."
"Here comes our supervisor now," Westler whispered. Then, aloud: "My name is Amos Westler."
"I don't care what it is. It's recorded. Keep working, friend." The supervisor was a brutal-faced man who snarled out his words. His jaw, cheekbones and forehead were silver-sheened with Plague scar, with the Plague silver remaining there as well as on his limbs. His face seemed metallic as a Robot's.
"See?" Westler whispered in despair as another damaged Robot slid to a stop in front of them.
Johnny offered a wan grin. "Take it easy," he said, but hardly felt more than the last remaining shreds of patience within himself. If the old hag wouldn't talk when he saw her tonight....
"Don't bother calling me names, young man," cackled the hag. "I'm virtually immune. It is against existing regulations to give you that information since it is felt all ties with the past and the outside world must be broken, not gradually but at once."
"Listen," Johnny said desperately, "you must remember your own youth." He had tried every other verbal assault he could think of. Now he hardly thought flattery would work on the ancient bag of bones in front of him, but it seemed his last hope. "You must have had your lovers in your day, were you as attractive for your years as a younger woman...."
Something melted in the hag's eyes. She scrubbed her breastbone with the knuckles of one parchment hand, as if preening. "Why, yes," she admitted.
"I'm in love with the girl. You must know how I feel. He—he took her." At least in part, it was the truth. In love with Diane? He'd never thought of it, yet what had impelled him to battle Keleher in an uneven fight, to set out for New York when he could have ruled the encampment instead, to surrender himself to the Robots of the Citadel? Johnny smiled. Trying to awaken something in the hag, he had succeeded in awakening something, all right, but in himself.
"Such information I cannot give you, young man—"
"And I thought you remembered your youth!"
"—but they say the view from the corridor 13 exit is magnificent. To reach it, one travels along corridor 14, which is a dormitory for some of our young, unmarried women." The hag cackled. "Don't get caught."
"I won't. Thank you."
"Good luck, my boy." The hag patted his shoulder, crowed something which he failed to hear, disappeared from the room.
Outside at a forking of four corridors, Johnny found a map and studied it. Lights recessed high on the walls showed him his direction, and soon he was pounding down the corridors and praying silently that the hag knew what she was talking about. By the time he reached corridor 14 he was breathless.
Several young women stood in the corridor talking. Their chatter was stilled when they saw Johnny, and those who had been in various stages of undress hastened to cover themselves. Clearly, it was not common for a man to venture this way, particularly at night.
"Are you lost, man?"
"No. I'm looking for someone. A girl named Diane."
They were smiling, and Johnny began to wonder. He suspected that corridor trysts were not particularly uncommon.
"Is she expecting you?" demanded the boldest of the women, who had stepped to the fore while her more timid companions drew back, ready to dart into the surrounding cubicles.
"I cannot truthfully say," Johnny admitted. "If she knew I was in the Citadel, I think she would be expecting me." But even that was with tongue in cheek, for ever since he had refused to fight with Starbuck, Diane had said not a word to him.
"This Diane, what does she look like?"
Johnny described her. When he finished, the woman chuckled. "Could you perhaps be trysting? From your description, I would say you love the girl, for no woman could be so beautiful. I think I know who you mean, though."
Still chuckling, the tall woman entered one of the cubicles while her companions melted away into the others. Soon Johnny stood alone in the corridor, waiting as nervously as a youth in Hamilton Village might wait while the village matchmaker entered a house to fetch him his bride. Someone appeared in the doorway. Not the tall woman. Diane!
"Johnny.... Johnny Hope...."
"Diane, I never thought I would see you again. I thought Starbuck...."
"I was so afraid for you, because you couldn't adjust to your new life, because I thought you might do something desperate. I was a fool, I should have known why you refused to fight with Starbuck. Johnny, Johnny ... let me look at you."
"Look later," he said, his eyes suddenly, unexpectedly misty. He drew her to him and for a long time stood there with her, feeling the beat of her heart tight against him, the warmth of her body and long smoothness of limbs. She was trembling, the warmth of her all a-flutter against him. She was murmuring something softly against his shoulder. He was whispering in her ear, "I love you. I love you, Diane...."
Her lips were perfumed and yielding, her arms went behind him, hands joining behind his neck, then playing with his hair. The Plague, his exile from Hamilton Village, the fight with Keleher, the long trek, even captivity in the Citadel—all were a small price to pay, he thought dreamily, then abruptly drew back.
"We don't want to stay here all our lives," he said.
"I'll go anywhere with you, Johnny."
"Save that for later, darling—but I love to hear it. I don't think we'd have much trouble leaving the Citadel."
"Not if we go tonight, we wouldn't. Every day I work with Starbuck, but if we left at once, now, tonight!"
Her new-found enthusiasm not only matched his, but added wings to it. He was on the point of saying yes, of leading her through the corridors in a dash for freedom, when he remembered. "We can't," he said. "Not tonight. We've got to include Amos Westler in our plans."
"Westler is here?"
Johnny explained the situation to her, then added, "Tonight Westler went looking for some information about the Robots. He feels certain they have an Achilles Heel someplace, if only he can find it. Actually, it won't be easy dragging him away from the Citadel, even tomorrow night."
"We can wait one night longer, sweetheart. You convince him tomorrow."
"I don't like the thought of leaving you alone again until tomorrow night."
Diane stilled his words by placing cool fingers to his lips. "We have no choice. I can take care of myself one night more."
"Starbuck?"
"I can take care of myself in that respect, too. Go back to your dormitory and get some sleep."
"Tomorrow night. Same time, same place. Westler will be with me."
They came close and drank of each other again. They parted, Johnny edging down the corridor backwards until the last shaft of light disappeared from the entrance to Diane's cubicle. His head was whirling in a giddy new delight, in a rapture which clouded his mind with a buoyant optimism which almost made him forget the Citadel, the Robots, and men like Harry Starbuck....
Footsteps pounding down the hall, heavy, too heavy for a woman's. Quickly, Johnny flattened himself in the darkness of a niche which served some nameless purpose. With the light behind it, a shadow loomed, reared up toward him.
It was Harry Starbuck.
Johnny held his breath until the big man with the smug boy's face strode past. Heading for Diane? In all probability, yes. Follow him? Stop him? Attack him? Wild thoughts ran their course through Johnny's head. And lose everything, all they were looking forward to, for his impulsiveness? Footsteps receded. The shadow vanished. Even if he could follow Starbuck, overpower him and escape with Diane, their secret would be secret no longer, which would leave Amos Westler to fare for himself.
Wait for tomorrow, Johnny Hope. His course seemed clear, yet he had to fight himself all the way back down the corridor until he had reached the male dormitories.
For many hours—which seemed like days—he waited up for Amos Westler, but his thoughts were all with Diane. If Starbuck so much as touched her....
CHAPTER VII
"I found it, Johnny! It was so obvious, it seems incredible no one has tried to end the Robot's reign before. We can do it. One man could do it, alone. One man, with careful planning—"
"Diane is here, Amos. I saw her tonight. We're going to try to break out tomorrow night, the three of us."
"You see," Westler went on, "there are two items of importance to consider. The first is Central Intelligence, the mind, theelan vital, the sentience which motivates the Robots. Did you know, could you ever imagine, that there was but one Central Intelligence for the entire western hemisphere, Johnny? It seems incredible, but it is not. That was the Achilles Heel we sought, the seed of destruction which some pessimistic scientist had sown into the Robots in case man had created a Frankenstein."
"Can you believe it? Tomorrow night, the three of us will be on our way out of here. I think we stand a good chance, Amos. If we—"
"The second item—why, what in the world are you talking about? Escape? Now? Never! Within our grasp is the chance to free humanity from a thraldom which it does not yet fully recognize. Would you give up the chance to render the Robots harmless in exchange for your own personal safety?"
"Not mine. Diane's. We love each other, Amos. I wouldn't expose her to any danger. We're leaving tomorrow and we want you to come with us."
Westler paced back and forth, caged in spirit more than in body. "Look at you," he said bitterly. "You call yourself a man. But have you the right to a woman's love when you think only of tomorrow, of one day out of thousands, of one small life out of all that humanity has to offer? You want to hold the girl and kiss her and show her your virility, eh? While the rest of the race goes to pot."
"That's enough, Amos!" Johnny cried. "My motives are my own. We leave here tomorrow."
"You're weak, Johnny Hope. You're a coward."
Johnny said, "Shut up, damn you." He couldn't deny all that Amos was saying, but his parents had perished at the hands of a man-made Plague, he had been driven from his home, rejected by the Shining Ones, even, until he proved himself in battle. What did he owe to humanity, to that big, sprawling concept which took in all kinds of men and their women, children, good people, bad ones, big and small, with every type of mind and every type of body...?
"All right, marry the girl. Will you raise a family? You're Shining Ones, Johnny, both of you. The rest of humanity fears you, and rightfully. Your children will be stoned away if they venture near normal people. Perhaps life with the Robots would be best for them after all.
"Here you have the chance to stop all that. Not only could we negate the power of the Robots, but we could destroy the Plague as well. Did you hear me, we could destroy the Plague? Before you give me your final answer, let me tell you what I found."
"I'm listening. But—"
"But nothing. Only listen. This Central Intelligence is a vast cybernetics machine occupying an entire building—ironically, it is the United Nations building where once were housed the dreams of mankind. Now, understand this, Johnny. Every Robot in North and South America has its own particular wavelength, although the master intelligence is in tune with all of them. Each individual Robot sentience is dependent for its existence upon the great cybernetics machines in Central Intelligence. In other words, if you were to destroy them, at one blow you would 'kill' every Robot in the hemisphere!"
"How did you find all that out?"
Westler smiled. "There was one thing the Robots did not bargain for—an ex-college professor! The information was available in, of all places, the main library for humans here in the city. It took some finding, but as an old hand at research I had an edge even on the Robots with their mechanical minds. Anyway, all you'd have to do is destroy this Central Intelligence, and—"
"Might as well say destroy the moon, Amos. It's probably so well guarded a whole Army of men couldn't break through, let alone two of us."
"That's right," Westler said eagerly, "men could never hope to get through, but Robots could."
"What are you talking about?"
"The second thing I learned tonight. Once again, it was so deeply cross-referenced, so thoroughly hidden away that although it was available if one knew where to look, the science of research is such a dead thing that no one knew of its existence, probably not even the Robots. Johnny, the earliest model Robots were built to function in a double fashion. They were Robots, yes—but they are also compartments in which a man can fit for manual control. They were originally designed, you might say, as glorified suits of armor. While the research material is naturally old, all I could gather seems to indicate that no changes have ever been made structurally in those early models. In other words, a man could climb inside a Robot today, right now, and no one would know the difference."
"You're forgetting one thing," Johnny pointed out. "Are you going to walk up to a Robot and tell him, 'Pardon me, old fellow, I'd like to borrow you and use you for a disguise for a while'?"
"I'm not forgetting anything. We work in the repair bays, remember? We have access to partially dismantled Robots. We could find ourselves two dismantled old ones, somehow manage to get inside, make our way to Central Intelligence...."
"I still haven't said I'm going to do it. I'd like to help you, Amos. I'll take your word about the plan. It has possibilities. But that still has nothing to do with my own problems. Right now Diane is the most important thing."
"Diane's future, your future, all our futures ultimately depend on this. What's the matter with you? You fail to see the forest for the trees. Tomorrow, what's tomorrow, with all mankind's days ahead of us—slave or free? Perhaps one man could do the job alone, although two would have a better chance. But I think you know I'm not the man for the job. I don't await your answer, Johnny Hope. I've no one else to turn to. Humanity awaits your answer."
"Let me think," said Johnny, waving Westler away when he would have continued talking. More quickly than he dared hope, he had found Diane. With equal swiftness, Westler had discovered what he sought. That left Johnny in the middle of a tug-of-war which wouldn't wait indefinitely for his answer.
As the closing gong sounded, 63-17-B watched the Shining Ones shuffle away from their benches and make their way down the corridor toward the cafeteria which would serve them an unimaginative but well-balanced evening meal. But two humans remained behind, talking avidly over the gleaming bodies of two stripped-down Robots. Strange, thought 63-17-B, who was now confronted with the first even mildly unusual event since taking over the dull routine of his new job that they should continue working after the closing gong had sounded. He could summon Hartness, the scarred human supervisor, and have him talk with the two, or ... Hartness, his metal-jointed foot! He would do no such thing. If perhaps the humans were up to some mischief, and if it did not endanger 63-17-B's own position still further, then let them play. If it gave a few Robots and even Central Intelligence a hard time for a while, it served them right. Of course, nothing really serious could come from the tampering of two helpless humans....
"What about that guy up there?" Johnny raised an eyebrow in the direction of the supervising Robot, motionless on his stone perch. "Is he watching us?"
"It appears that he is. Unfortunately, we can't do a thing about it. At least not until we find out if these gadgets will work with us inside them. Here, Johnny—you see these tiny items? These are transistors, using germanium instead of a vacuum grid to activate electrons, smaller, more compact, more powerful, of longer life. Without them the whole science of cybernetics which ultimately made the Robots possible would never have advanced beyond the rudimentary stage. For with transistors replacing vacuum tubes you still need the entire U.N. building to house Central Intelligence. Under the older system, all New York City would not have been enough."
"Tell me later," Johnny pleaded. "I want to get started. The longer we delay here the longer it will take until we're finished. And I still have that appointment with Diane tonight. I couldn't contact her during the day because she said she works with Starbuck. We've got to hurry."
Westler's hands, guiding the complex tools, moved with swift efficiency, as if, indeed, he had worked with the Robots all his life. Wires were crossed, insulated, re-arranged. Gaps and relays were tested and retested, gears changed, long-unused parts oiled, cleaned, checked for defects. Surface plates were clamped into place over layers of insulation. At last the two Robots lay there, supine but—Westler hoped—ready for human use.
"He's still watching," said Johnny.
"Let him. We couldn't prevent him. Only hope he suddenly doesn't decide to come down here for a closer look or send for help. It seems amazing he's done neither so far."
"Maybe he's asleep."
"Robots do not sleep. I assure you. Well, it's ready." Westler reached into the Robots' interior before clamping on the final head plates. Each Robot stood up in ponderous silence.
"You first, Johnny. I can clamp my plate from the inside. Are you sure my explanations on how to work this were satisfactory? Once inside we'll have to contact each other by signals only."
"What about the radio sets inside? I don't know much about radio, but you said they worked."
"They do, but the wavelength might be too close to a Robot wavelength and we'd give ourselves away. Remember, we are to be nothing more or less than two Robots once we climb inside. That way, there shouldn't be any trouble. All ready? Up you go."
Johnny was boosted up, pulled himself within the cramped interior of the Robot. There was barely room for him to stand upright, his shoulders hunched, arms tight in front of him. A dizzying mass of dials and levers confronted him suddenly, and although Westler had explained them and diagrammed them and made Johnny memorize them, he was still bewildered by direct contact. He was almost afraid to try his first movement, lest the Robot remain immobile.
The face plate slammed home. Johnny could see through the one-way plastic of the Robot's eyes as Westler climbed into his own machine.
Johnny pulled the starting lever and felt his Robot lurch forward. Must learn to control the motion ... so ... he was now aware of a lumbering gait, of a steady advance toward the farther wall....
Something made him whirl and peer through the rear eyes. The Robot supervisor was coming toward them at a rate of speed they couldn't match.
"You see?" said Starbuck proudly. "I am no longer a servant. I suppose you would call me a junior executive now. But I'm on the way up. Definitely on the way up. In a while there is no telling how far I can go."
"I'm sure of it," Diane nodded agreement. She didn't want to be bothered by Starbuck today, not when her thoughts were all on the night and Johnny. She was so nervous she couldn't keep from looking anxious. If only Starbuck, all wrapped up in himself the way he was, would fail to see it for a few hours longer.
"I suppose you wonder how I can advance so rapidly. It is quite simple, Diane. I look around me. I make contacts. I miss nothing. As an example, I even know of your meeting with Johnny Hope last night."
"What!"
"I wouldn't really mind it, except that my informant said you are considering escape from the Citadel. That, of course, is out of the question."
In his short time at the Citadel, Diane realized, Starbuck had affected a way of speaking which hardly fit his booming voice or boyish face. It was as if he had decided to ape the Shining Ones who stood highest in the Robots' confidence. To Diane it was contemptuous, although now her mind was awhirl with the thought that she and Johnny had been discovered.
"What are you going to do?" she asked in a small, helpless voice.
"Hope will be arrested. Naturally, he will never be permitted to see you again."
Diane stared at Starbuck in horror. Johnny must be found and warned. There was still time. They could alter their plans, this time in secrecy, without any women around who could spy on them for Starbuck. But she had to find Johnny before it was too late.
In sudden despair, she realized she didn't even know where to look.
CHAPTER VIII
Stop! Stand perfectly still.
The thought was unexpected, peremptory, driving into Johnny's brain with more authority than any words. He wanted to stop, wanted to immobilize the Robot in which he hid—but where had the thought come from?
Westler's Robot was pointing a many-jointed metal arm at the supervising Robot which rushed toward them. Then, did the thought originate there? Could the Robot somehow send a soundless message to them?
Stop! Let me dismantle you.
The urge to render his own Robot motionless became stronger within Johnny. It was as if the unbidden thought originated outside his head but tried to direct his own muscles, as surely as his own mind.
Something made soft beeping noises in his ear and it took a while before he realized Westler wanted to break their radio silence, so soon after they had started. The other Robot was almost upon them.
Awkward and uncomfortable in his cramped quarters, Johnny found the radio switch and pulled it.
"We've got to destroy that Robot, Johnny. Now, at once, or we're finished."
"But how—"
The Robot was upon them, its unbidden thoughts stronger.
Halt....
It was Johnny who struck the first blow—clumsily, lifting his great right arm up and bringing it down stiffly on the other Robot's head. Metal arms came up, swung blurringly. A clanging tumult deafened Johnny as dents appeared inside the chamber of his own Robot's head. He triggered the levers mechanically now, aware that they were fighting under a tremendous disadvantage, for their fingers were still stiff on the unfamiliar controls and their artificial reflexes could not hope to match the Robot's.
"Look out, Johnny—"
Two metal shapes loomed, Westler and the real Robot. The three of them came together, clashing, clanging, metal arms swinging and wrecking metal bodies. It was Westler's Robot which went down first, slowly, buckling at the knee joints and then collapsing. Metal feet drove down upon it ponderously, crushing the head section. Westler's Robot was still.
Johnny hammered with huge metal hands at the other robot hardly knowing where he might strike a mortal blow. But the Robot slowed, its reactions grew feeble, its blows denting Johnny's head-chamber no longer. Finally, it sprawled across Westler's Robot, then rolled away and was still.
Cursing to himself, Johnny climbed down from his Robot, found the battered head plate of Westler's, forced it open.
He saw at once he could never hope to extricate the older man, for the metal walls of his chamber had been crushed, knifing into bone and flesh and trapping him.
"Amos, can you hear me?"
The eyelids fluttered open with pain. "I never will see the end, Johnny...."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't ... fool me. I'm all broken, inside. I—"
"We'll get you out of there in no time."
"You'd have to melt ... the metal down to ... do it, and you know it."
"We'll do it."
"Your only hope is that the Robot did not have time to broadcast a warning. If ... he did ... you will have to hurry, but—"
"They still don't know our plans. Maybe they think we only want to escape, using these Robot bodies for a disguise."
"Perhaps. I hadn't thought ... of that." Westler lapsed into silence, his face twisted with pain. "If you can do it, if you can destroy their cybernetics center ... new start for humanity. I was going to tell you about the Plague, Johnny. The Robots ... have been using ... a particularly virulent form of the ... toxin which does not exist naturally. Spreading it in the air, all over the earth. That, combined with the ... toxin carried by a Shining One, causes illness ... and death." Westler's words were harder to hear now, low, the barest whisper of sound. Johnny leaned close to the glazed eyes, the barely opening lips. "When the Robots are ... gone ... the Plague will die out almost at once. Shining Ones even will be harmless. You see why it's so important? You see...."
"I could never do it without you. We'll hide away somewhere, nurse you back to health—"
"Stop fooling ... an old man. We both know I'm dying."
"That's ridiculous."
"Please ... don't interrupt me. I want to finish telling you ... the Robots communicate with humans by telepathy. You witnessed it yourself, a few ... minutes ago. They can make it seem like your own thoughts and ... who can say? Thought waves are electromagnetic, like ... so many other things. There is nothing mysterious about ... telepathy. Give humanity a chance to study what the ... Robots have done and ... you'll have civilization flourishing again within a generation. Give humanity the chance...." It was a whisper, a prayer.
On that final note of hope, Westler died.
"The human has emerged from the underground within his Robot and is heading north-east across the city."
"I still think we ought to stop him now, while we know we can do it."
"Silence. Think on the primary level. In unity we will triumph. It is our one weapon they cannot hope to match."
"But 63-17-B warned us before he perished—"
"Precisely. That the humans were attempting something other than mere escape. We must find out what that is, what they have learned. Don't you realize that if this man fails another might succeed in his place? Whatever knowledge he has, perhaps it is widely disseminated. We must find out before we kill him."
There was a silence among the conclave of motionless Robots, their unblinking eyes intent upon a huge three-dimensional map of the city, following a tiny pip of light in its slow progress.
"He seems to be heading straight for Central Intelligence."
"That's hardly possible, unless it is mere coincidence."
"I don't think so.... See? Not half a mile away, now."
"Have the supervisors discovered who is missing?"
"Yes. He was employed in the very repair bay where 63-17-B perished—a defective Robot, incidentally, and no great loss. We have given his name to the top-level Shining Ones in the hope that they can help us."
"There is a Shining One, a human, here right now. He wants an audience concerning the rebel."
"Very well, although we'll have to make it brief."
Starbuck entered the chamber cockily, then lost his poise when he saw the solemn, unmoving conclave of Robots. "I have outside," he began, moistening his lips and talking rapidly, "a woman who this man, this Johnny Hope, loves. Can you understand me? Do you know what love is? He won't do a thing that might harm her."
We can understand.
"I thought that—"
We can read your thoughts. Leave your name with the Robot outside. Take this woman within the U.N. building and hold her there until you hear from us.
"The U.N. building?"
No questions. Go.
Starbuck shuffled from the room, self-conscious and fearful under the mental command.
"I doubt if we'll need the hostage, but you never can tell."
"It seems incredible that—"
"Does it? The man has almost reached the U.N. building. It will take him perhaps half an hour, for the rubble is piled high there. Underground he could reach it in a few moments, but apparently he is unfamiliar with the passages."
"He has only recently arrived at the Citadel."
"Somehow, they have learned something. It is why we cannot kill the man until we are sure. Have them alerted at Central Intelligence, but let him enter. Watch him. If he blunders about as if he has arrived there by accident, kill him. If he knows something, take him alive."
"Someday we must learn the secret of Central Intelligence, if we are to survive. We must learn how to duplicate it or face the possibility of perishing in a single accident."
"Men built it once. Men could do it again."
"Defective! Silence. Man can do nothing we cannot do."
Then they were quiet, watching the tiny, darting pip on the three-dimensional map as it struggled through the uncleared rubble southwest of the U.N. building.
Even in ruin, the city held more wonders for Johnny Hope than he had ever thought possible. In many ways, it was like a scar on the face of the earth, pitted with bomb craters, strewn with the debris of toppled towers, its streets choked with fallen, crumbling masonry and blocked by the skeletons of buildings which once had stood, bare and rusted now but not always so, as monuments to the greatness of man. Yet it was a scar which could be healed, a broken, dying city which could be made great again, with men and women roving its streets, repairing the structures, making the living city function once more.
That was Amos Westler's dream. It was the dream of all mankind, Johnny thought philosophically, although they did not realize it as they roved the earth in hunter-bands of Shining Ones or tilled its soil in small communities fearful of the Plague.
Now, directly ahead of him, he could see the monolithic slab of the U.N. building. Like one structure in five, it stood incredibly intact, a remembrance of the past and a promise of the future. We can build again, Johnny thought, without the Robots and the Plague. They could build again or they would die. Natural world or artificial world—men or Robots—they could not survive jointly.
Battered and broken but still functioning adequately, Johnny's Robot pushed through the debris south of the U.N. building to the edge of the river. He stood there a moment and stared upstream at the gaunt ruins of a bridge, now tumbled down the river and resting on the river-bottom, thrusting its towers up beyond the surface of the water and toward the sky. Men had used that bridge once, long ago but within the memory of Johnny's father, to reach the country beyond. The bridge might be rebuilt. Men might learn to use it again. It was as if, in dying, Amos Westler had transferred his own vision to Johnny, showing him a dream of the unborn tomorrow—its birth or stillborn death depending entirely upon Johnny's success or failure today.
Half a dozen Robots stood about the wide terrace leading to the building, but Johnny ignored them, for he had passed many in the broken streets of the city and grown accustomed to them. He entered the building through a door of glass and metal and was not aware of the Robots entering it behind him.
His impulse was to climb down from his Robot, to stretch his cramped arms and legs and find something to eat, then explore the wonders of this new place. Above his head, the ceiling was high and vaulted. Ramps led away, curving and graceful, in all directions and he longed to feel his feet, his own feet, upon them, and to explore until he satiated himself with this wonder and sought another.
To leave the Robot would be suicide. Had the thought been his own—or a metal-made thought, instilled in him some unknown way, an unbidden suicide thought? It was less specific than the commands of the Robot that had perished in the repair bay, but Johnny guessed it came from outside nevertheless.
He advanced mechanically, for Westler had given him careful directions. The ramps led up, higher and higher, past the rooms in which men from many lands once, long ago, used to debate their future—then higher still, climbing....