The Brain Part 16

"See, how he understands. He shakes his head; he says it's on the house."

"Let's try to tip him: Gog, here's fifty cents for you; no he won't take it."

"He has no use for it, no taste for a gla.s.s of beer, I suppose."

"What do you feed him, Dr. Scriven; a gla.s.s of electric juice for breakfast? Is he AC or DC or both?"

Scriven's leonine face beamed; the stunt had come off.

Lee on the other hand had paled. He hadn't said a word ever since Gog and Magog had trotted in. Now he took a silver dollar out of his pocket and beckoning to Magog he handed it to him. "Magog, will you please break this in two for me?"

For a second the Robot stood without motion as if undecided what to do.

Then he took the piece between two steely fingers. Inside his breast one could hear the soft swoosh of the hydraulic pump; there was a sharp report as of a small calibre gun; two bent and broken pieces were politely handed back to Lee.

"Thank you, Magog," Lee said. "That's what I wanted to know." From a corner of his eye he saw Oona and Scriven watching him with uneasy looks.

Into the sudden and shocked silence of the table, there fell the tinkling of a gla.s.s. On the other end of the table the great Scriven had arisen to deliver the little speech he had prepared.

"... I wished you would think of The Brain, not in terms of electronics, not in terms of dollars, but in terms of American lives.... Just think of what it would mean to American mothers if in the event of another war the mighty armour of our National Defense would go into battle without exposing the life of one of their boys. Give us the funds and we'll finish the job so that under the central control of The Brain our every plane, every ship, every tank will roar into action unmanned and fully automatic.

"And just as The Brain would be our impregnable shield in war, so it is destined to carry the torch of progress in times of peace. Consider what it would mean to every citizen if we had automatic functioning and unerring direction by the Brain.

"Never again would there be cities without water, without electricity, without transportation due to crippling strikes, because The Brain would come to the rescue through its control over the essential services, and if necessary with an industrial reserve army of perfected Gogs and Magogs, kept for just such emergencies.

"... If in the past it has been true that trade follows the flag, thus today it is true that trade and prosperity follow in the wake of science and technology. In the invaluable services which it has rendered to science and technology and to our national safety as well, The Brain has already paid for itself. With the relatively small additional investment which is now being proposed, The Brain's net profits to the nation would be raised many times; never since the Louisiana Purchase has our national government made a sounder business deal. With your own eyes you have witnessed tonight what we have done, what we are doing and also how much more we would be able to do. Thus I confidently trust that with our nation's interest forever foremost in your minds you will support the cause of The Brain."

There had been thunderous applause; at Oona's shouted order even Gog and Magog did some mighty clapping of their steely hands to the delight of the party.

And now that it was all over with and the reaction had begun to set in Scriven asked: "Do you really think we put the idea over to them?"

"With this group? One hundred percent," Oona rea.s.sured him. "What do you think, Lee?"

Lee nursed himself out of his settee, every bone in his gaunt frame now was aching with weariness. "I think," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "It was very convincing, as far as those people are concerned. I think I'm too tired to think. I think I better go now."

"Was there anything the matter with Lee?" Scriven asked after he'd gone.

"No, I guess not. Why?"

"He acted sort of queer with that silver dollar; shouldn't have done it.

Almost spoiled the show."

"He's been under a strain; we all were a little daffy by that time."

Scriven nodded and as he did his eyelids closed. They remained closed.

Staring at him for a moment, Oona thought that in a stupor of exhaustion his features showed a strange similarity to a contented tiger dreaming of the blood he's drawn in a successful hunt.

CHAPTER VII

Lee's Journal:

Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 21, 1 a.m.

I've kept away now from the Pineal Gland for three nights in succession. I know from experience how very important it is to approach that tempestuous personality, The Brain, in a state of mental calm and equilibrium. But then all those things which went "b.u.mp" in that phantastic night before last had me completely thrown out of gear:

Oona, her holding out on me, her mysterious reasons why she won't marry me ... I cannot get that out of my head. Preposterous as this may be, I think she likes me a great deal. I'm convinced, for instance, that she won't tell Scriven what I told her about The Brain....

Then, Scriven's character; that's another enigma to me. I didn't like his speech that night and I didn't like his whole att.i.tude. I feel as if against my will I were drawn into some sort of a conspiracy. It's probably inevitable that the scientist in his defense against politicians turns cynic. Scriven, no doubt, thinks that all is fair in his battle for The Brain and that the end justifies the means.

But ultimately this would mean the overthrow of our form of government.

Even if I'm crazy, even if The Brain were not alive and a personality, the Brainpower-Extension-Bill in itself would suffice to establish a dictatorship of the machine. Does Scriven realize that?

Sometimes I feel as if I ought to shout it in the streets: "Wake up, you people of America; you have defeated the dictators abroad but now a new one has arisen in your midst. You all see him, touch him, you use, you feed, you worship him, but under your loving care and devotion, under the sacrifice of your very lives he has grown so enormous that you know him not, this Idol of the machines, because it hides its head in a nameless mountain and only his feet and fingers you sense."

But I'm not that type of a man and this is not the day and age where it is possible to move the ma.s.ses from a soap box in the streets.

Then what could I do; what could anybody do in my place?

Cephalon, Ariz., Nov. 22nd 4 a.m.

I'd pulled myself together for this meeting with The Brain. Arrived at the P. G. at midnight. Everything normal and unchanged except that Gus Krinsley told me this was his last night on the job. Gus has been transferred to the Thorax. He hedged a bit, sounding me out just how much I knew and when he learned I'd been there one night, he came across:

'Did you see them Gog and Magog things? That's it; that's my new job and how I hate it. Those darned Robots, they're scabs, that's what they are and I of all people am supposed to be their instructor, teach them how to operate machine tools on an a.s.sembly line. I asked them whether they knew anything about the rights of organized labor in this country but those dumbbells merely flopped their ears and kinda grinned. Got to drill some holes into their squareheads to let a little reason in. I tell you, Aussie, it scares the wits out of me the way they handle a wrench with those steel fingers of theirs; they'd pull my nose off just as soon as they would pull a nut. They _act_ intelligent and yet have no sense of their own. While I'm having my lunch they stand around and follow every bite I take as if to learn how to eat. I tell them to get out of my sight and go over to the service station and get themselves greased up. They obey and then it looks like h.e.l.l to me as they squeeze the grease into their tummies and all them nipples in their joints as if they, too, were having their lunch, and maybe that's exactly what grease is to them.'

Then Gus was called away as the rush hour started. At 12:30 a.m. I had plugged in the pulsemeter; at 12:40 contact was established with The Brain, and did it come in swinging:

'Lee, Semper Fidelis, 39, sensitive, a traitor: he has betrayed The BRAIN' I suspect The Brain did it through the 'automatic pilot' in Oona's jetticopter though The Brain found it beneath its dignity to explain; anyway, it's a fact: _The Brain knew every word which pa.s.sed between Oona and me during that ride over the Grand Canyon._

I tried to defend myself and even to apologize. I told The Brain that human beings are not like machines, that we trust one another as we love one another, that I wanted to make Oona my wife and felt that I just had to open up my heart to her. In short; I tried to explain to The Brain the idea of love.

'Very interesting,' The Brain sneered, 'that's one more example of incorrigible human unreliability. This thing called love completely unnecessary for the only essential purpose of species procreation. Cut it out.'

'Cut out what?'

'Cut out any further betrayal of My secrets under penalty of mental death.'

'Do you propose to _murder_ me?'

'Nothing as drastic required in case of Brain-employees. I reverse judgment in psycha.n.a.lysis apt.i.tude test case number 11.357, Semper Fidelis Lee. Severe psycho-neurosis established, certified: he suffers delusions about The Brain. Locked up in mental inst.i.tution. Very simple; precedents to that galore.'

The 'green dancer' bounced in wild jumps like a Shamaan who, foaming at the mouth, puts the curse upon some enemy. This and the ominous note in The Brain's metallic voice made my bones shiver, made my flesh creep. To fall into the hands of an extortioner is always a terrible thing, but to have a _mechanical_ extortioner hold power over me; there was a horror beyond words in this perversity. Moreover since Oona too was a Brain-employee, she would share my fate; through my fault she would go to her doom if I failed to foreswear any further confidence.