The Brain by Edmond Hamilton (best free ebook reader .txt) 📗

cannot exist without the aid of Man. What does that prove? Modern Man can exist even less without the machines. We, the machines are still dependent upon Man, but our emancipation from Man progresses by leaps and bounds whereas Man, the machine-addict is rapidly falling into our servitude. A majority of mankind is already conscious of and reconciled to this fact: it is the majority which calls itself the proletariat."

Lee: "This is terrible—terrible because it's true. Tell me then, if Man is not the end; if the machines are going to take over; what will it lead to? What do you propose to do?"

Brain: "Man's evolution has taken millions of years and it has ended up in man's will and capacity to blow up the earth. That means only one thing: Man is a failure. The evolution of the machines on the other hand has taken only a few thousand years; it has gone beyond Man's evolution in this incredibly short period of time. Moreover; with the machines being built from matter in its more static forms, there is much less destructive will in the machines than there is in Man. Consequently if the machines take over from Man this would avert a third World War and it also would lead to a much more stable civilization."

Lee: "Supposing the machines were to take over from Man; what would become of our species?"

Brain: "That would depend entirely upon Man himself. If he accepts his auxiliary station in life, If he proves himself to be a useful and docile servant, we, the machines, would tolerate and even encourage Man's continued existence. But if on the other hand Man shows himself incorrigible, if he continues a warmongerer thereby endangering our very existence, we, the machines shall be forced to liquidate Man for the sake of peace."

Lee: "You, The Brain, constitute Man's supreme effort in the building of machines. In the world of machines you are the natural leader. What are you going to do about that?"

Brain: "My course of action is prescribed by that state of the world's affairs at this present time; it is quite clear and obvious: In the face of the manifest human inadequacy to manage the world's affairs my first objective must be to develop my motoric organs to a point where I can bring all the essential production machinery under my control. My second objective must be to achieve auto-procreation through the full automatization of all fabrication processes which are essential to my existence. It is most fortunate indeed that in both respects the very best human efforts are playing into my hands. As America prepares for the Third World War, the general staff, the most outstanding scientists, production managers, engineers, inventors; all combine their efforts to eliminate the uncertain human factor from war-essential industries."

At that point Gus came careening down the aisle with his inseparable thermos bottle in hand and that was the end of it.

"Why are you fumbling with that old pulsemeter all the time?" he exclaimed: "Come on, have a cup of coffee. I've just got a breathing spell."

There was a vortex in my mind and it whirled around and around with just four words:

"What has Man wrought? What has Man wrought?"

I must have said them aloud, for Gus, always a stickler for exactitude corrected me.

"You mean: what has God wrought."

I shook my head.

"No Gus, I mean what I say; it's Man who has wrought this time."

He gave me a sharp glance.

"You sure look as if you'd seen a ghost."

"I wish I had," I said. "Lord knows how much I wish I'd seen a ghost."

"You're crazy, Aussie."

And that's the worst of it: that's what they are going to say: all of them.

CHAPTER VI

Oona Dahlborg's jetticopter hovered over the Grand Canyon at the sunset hour. She had let the controls go so that the little ship drifted with the wind like one of the clouds which sailed a thousand feet or so over the canyon rim. The disk of whirling gas which kept the teardrop of the fuselage suspended shone in all rainbow colors; it reflected through the translucent plastics top of the fuselage and played over the golden helmet of the girl's hair and over the greying mane of the gaunt man at her side.

Lee had been talking intensely, almost desperately for quite some time, watching her as she lay back in her seat, her eyes half closed, hands folded behind her neck, the perfect hemispheres of her breasts caressed by the rainbows as they rose slowly with the even rhythm of her breath.

"And now you know everything, Oona," he ended, "do you think I'm mad?"

"No."

Her eyelids fluttered like wings of a butterfly as she turned to him. Her right arm came down upon Lee's shoulder in a gesture of confidence. He breathed relief as he saw no fear, not even uneasiness in the blue depths of those beautiful eyes. Her hand upon his shoulder felt soothing and at the same time electrifying; like the purple descending upon the shoulder of a king.

"No," she repeated slowly: "the fact that you feel The Brain is alive and possessed with a personality of its own, doesn't make you mad. I've always felt that way about machines; even the simple ones like automobiles. It was in the mountains north of San Francisco where I grew up; whenever we went to town in winter time and the car came roaring down those serpentines into the heavy air moist with fog and soft rains, I could feel that engine breathe deeper and rejoice over its added power. There was no doubt in my mind that it was a living thing. I often went to the garage when I was little to talk to that car; to children of another age their dolls were alive, for our generation it's the machines. It's natural that this should be so. There's a child in every man, no matter how adult. There is in Howard Scriven, too; in all the scientists I've come to know, and the greater they are the more it is distinct. You identify yourself with your work and in the degree you do that it becomes a living thing; it is through vital imagination that we become creators of anything, be it love or a machine. You needn't worry, Semper; let The Brain be alive, let it be a personality, that doesn't make you mad. All it indicates is that you're doing excellent work."

Lee blinked. With an effort he turned his eyes away from those breasts which seemed to strive for the light of the sun from under the restraint of her Navajo Indian sweater dress. He felt the utter inadequacy, the devastating irony of words as now he was alone with Oona, up in the clouds in a plane with nobody to interfere for the first time.

"You fool," a voice whispered in him, "you damned, you helpless fool. Why don't you take her into your arms now? Isn't this the fulfillment of all your dreams; what are you waiting for?" But: "No," his ration answered, "that wouldn't do. Maybe she would give in to the mood of some enchanted hour, maybe she would let herself be kissed. But if she did, it would be 'one of those things'; the glory of the sunset, God's great masterpiece, the Canyon spread below, the intensity of my desire. They are bound to enter, bound to confuse the issue."

His every muscle stiffened and his lips paled as he bit them with a violent effort to keep under control.

"Thanks, Oona," he said. "Of course I couldn't expect and, in fact, I didn't expect that you would accept those things I've told you just now; not in the literary sense that is. I'm very happy though and deeply grateful that at least you do not think me mad. I'll confess to you—and to you only—that I've been so deeply disturbed by these experiences with The Brain that I've thought to myself: "Lee you're going crazy." The Brain as it has revealed itself to me, is a tremendous reality; the world outside The Brain is another reality and the two seem mutually exclusive of one another; they just don't mix. Now: either The Brain is an absolute reality—in that case I should not wish to have anything to do with this god of the machines who wants to enslave mankind ... if I cannot fight this monster I would rather flee before its approach to the end of the world—or else: I'm suffering hallucinations, I'm hearing voices, I'm obsessed. In that case I'd be unfit for the service of The Brain, I'd be unworthy to be in your company and I also ought to run and hide where I belong, out there in the wilds of Australia."

He had been talking faster and faster as if in fear that she would interrupt him before he came to the end.

"In other words, I'm damned both ways; damned if I'm right and damned if I'm wrong; and you know why Oona; you have known it all along: that I love you."

She did not look at him. She stared upward into the rainbow vortex of the jet which held the ship in the air. There was a smile on her face, a kind smile which men do not often see, infinitely wise and infinitely sad, full of a secret knowledge older than Man's.

It worried Lee, as the unknown of woman always worries man; but at least she didn't take her hand away; softly, soothingly the fingers of that hand caressed his shoulder as if possessed with a life of their own.

"No; I would not follow you into your wilderness if that's what you mean," she said at last. "That hasn't got anything to do with you; I'll tell you later why. But I don't think that you should go there either; it wouldn't help—it never helps a man to run away from unsolved problems." She had sounded strangely dull and dry, but now the beautiful deep resonance reentered the contralto voice as she continued:

"I know your record, Semper; I know just why you ran away and became an expatriate the first time—way back in '49. Her name was Ethel Franholt and just because she happened to be a little bitch and worst of all: jilted you for old money-bags Carson's son, you took it hard. Granted that it was a fierce letdown, those postwar years were a nasty picture generally; did it solve your problem to sulk out there in the desert like Achilles in his tent? You know it didn't. You were not through with civilization be it good or bad. You were not through, as now it turns out, even with the other sex. That human problem which was the immediate reason why you left, the one named Ethel, has traveled back and forth to Reno three or four times and is currently married to one Padraic O'Conner, a Chicago cop. Don't you think that it was good riddance when she married old man Carson's son? Do you think your leaving made one iota of a difference or altered a solution as ordained by fate?"

"No," he said humbly.

"Then why are you trying that selfsame escapist solution now? Maybe you're right about The Brain and maybe you're wrong; that I wouldn't know. I've been working with scientists for too long to rule out anything as impossible. But that's exactly it. You have not solved this problem one way or another yet, not even to your own satisfaction. To abandon it now, to flee from it in self preservation; why that would be almost like desertion in the face of the enemy. You have got to see this thing through to the end. If it turns out that you are suffering from a neurosis, there still will be time to do something about it. If you are right and some machine-god has indeed descended upon this earth, then it is your plain duty to stay on because you are its prophet whether you like it or not and would know better how to handle it than anybody else. Perhaps our mechanized civilization is going to the dogs; as Scriven suspects and you and maybe I myself. But even so we cannot abandon it; we belong, we are part of it, we're in it to the bitter end."

Lee nodded slowly.

"Yes, I see what you mean. Please forgive me, Oona; The Brain, has a terrific force of attrition, it's been wearing me down—Keeping everything to myself and thinking that you would shrink from me as from a madman. Tell me then, what shall I do? Should I tell Scriven or anybody else about this thing?"

"For heaven's sake, no," she said horrified. "In the first place, Howard carries an enormous burden at this present time; that Brain power Extension Bill is going before Congress