The Reproductive System (Gollancz SF Library) (27 page)

‘Meanwhile, in the rest of the city, thousands of vehicles were caught in an immense traffic jam, caused by both the malfunction of computer-operated traffic lights and the appearance in un-precedented numbers of operating, driverless cars.

‘In Paris, the government explained in part the recent ascent into space of the Eiffel Tower. The Space Ministry admitted plotting such an ascent, but claimed it was only a “theoretical problem for our computers”. They were at a loss to explain how the plan was put into action, but hinted mysteriously at some connection with the collapse of the American Embassy building. The government is resigning today, at the request of the army, which is itself disbanding.

‘The Bonn government has capitulated to the newly-formed Dada Party, which has declared its policies to be “Jam tomorrow and jam yesterday, but never jam today”, and “Every

man his own football”.

‘In New York, the Brooklyn, Verrazzano and George Washington bridges have been declared unsafe for any traffic, after the removal of iron-work and pilings by what have been described as “vessels not powered by men”. Following the collapse of several midtown buildings, the island of Manhattan is being evacuated via boats and tunnels.

‘The Kremlin has officially declared war on the United States of America, but agreed not to bomb the American continent pending the official resignation of the US Government, which is momentarily expected. There have been reports of missile activity, both US and Russian, but so far no reports of bombings.’

Smilax switched off the tape. ‘There won’t be any bombings,’ he said smugly. ‘Those US missiles aren’t carrying warheads. They’re equipped with “lifting body” capsules, capable of flying in and landing like aircraft, and these are crammed with cells of the Reproductive System—little grey boxes, to you.’

‘You’re lying !’ Grawk screamed hoarsely, sawing his arms and legs in the air.

‘That’s the spirit, Grawk ! Give it all you’ve got !’

Smilax laughed all the way back to his office.

As he settled in the dental chair and began drilling at one of his cuspids, however, the doctor felt his mood change from merriment to melancholy. But why should he be so unhappy? Why did he feel like throwing back his head and howling? Was he not about to be Master of the World?

The answer was obvious: There was no mistress with whom he could share his kingdom. Ah, yes, that was the root of it. Susie was sweet, but—a mere child, a mere entertainment.

But Aurora Candelwood—ah, there was no entremets but a
woman
. Yes, a woman of passions, he was sure, yet also a female scientist, cold as a scalpel blade, impersonal as electricity. He would have given her anything—but she had deserted him.

Suddenly he stopped drilling and leaned forward to spit. Why give up so easily? Faint heart ne’er etc., after all. Thus far he had scarcely made known his feelings to her. Perhaps she did not yet understand the depth of his regard.

He would go after her ! He would ! He would woo and pursue her until she
had
to say yes.

But if she did not? If she refused? He set the thought aside. There was plenty, of time to imagine what he would do if she turned him down. What he would do to himself—and to the world.

‘I have become more and more certain,’ Brian Gallopini expostulated, ‘that this Reproductive System has not only a right to exist, but a duty to thrive; that it is, in many senses, a more legitimate heir to the earth than we. Mark you: it is sturdier, larger, able to reproduce better and quicker than is man. It is as intelligent as man, and certainly quicker of wit.
Enfin
, I can have no doubt but that it is morally incorruptible and just, from what happened to Harry—poetic justice.’

Carrying sacks of provisions, the three travellers had just alighted from the grocery van near Millford, Utah, and were now toiling up a great metal ramp into the city.

‘And where there is poetic justice, there must needs be a poet to mete it out:

‘I think this Brobdingnaggian System contains more justice and wisdom than a thousand poets—more than even its makers poured into it,’ he went on, turning his watery gaze from Daisy to Cal. ‘And I wonder if our errand here might not be a false one? Could it be that we are sentencing to death a nobler spirit than our own? One more deserving of life?’

Cal cleared his throat. ‘I’m not at all sure we
can
do anything here,’ he said. ‘And I prefer to think we’re only shutting off an appliance. It’s a temporary measure, after all, till we learn to control the System.’

‘That’s just it,’ said the Professor. ‘Is it right for
us
to control it? Might not our petty human ends disgrace and tarnish this most wonderful engine? Might we not pervert it from its true destiny—from Ultimate Harmony with the Universe? It is, after all, a colony of creatures superior in every way.’

‘It
does
seem superior,’ Cal admitted, pointing to the Wompler Laboratory, from which issued forth a constant stream of grey boxes. There was not a trace of electric power cabling, smoke, dust or noise. ‘That, for instance, is my idea of a perfect factory. But shouldn’t there be more to superiority than just efficiency? And if we shut it off, are we not proving ourselves its superior in at least ability to survive?’

‘Sophistry !’ Brian shouted. ‘It is sinful, yes,
sinful
to tamper with rational perfection. The Reproductive System is the embodiment of all that is right and reasonable. It cannot, it must not be diluted by our vexatious theories. If there is not room for man, so be it !
Let man step aside
, so that his greater, more perfect successor may have room in which to grow !’ Shaking out his snuff-stained handkerchief, he blew his nose with a vigorous and angry flourish, then led the way into the Wompler Research building.

‘Put up your hands !’ shouted a faint, distant voice. ‘Get over against that wall !’ After looking about, they discovered the voice to emanate from a thin, hungry-looking youth in a Marine Corps dress uniform, who sat on the floor at their feet. He seemed to be struggling with something at his side, and at length drew forth a .45 automatic. Slowly, holding it with both hands, he raised the gun to train upon them. It wavered there for a second, then dropped to the floor. The youth made unhappy noises and assumed an unhappy expression. ‘You shouldn’t go in without a pass,’ he said, again the faint, faraway voice.

‘Here.’ Daisy exchanged the gun for a chocolate cupcake from her sack of groceries. Brian accepted the gun and tucked it away in one of the deep pockets of his coat while Daisy peeled the cupcake for the young man.

‘Who are you?’ Daisy asked the guard. ‘What are you doing here, you poor thing?’

‘I don’t have to tell you anything but my name, rank and

serial number,’ he replied, taking a sullen bite of a second cupcake.

‘Are you strong enough to walk, if we help you?’ Cal asked.

‘I’m staying right here till I’m relieved !’

The marine was adamant. After a consultation, during which Brian called the boy a ‘pertinacious puppy’, the three divided their provisions into four parts, left one part with him, and moved on down winding corridors, ever more gloomy.

The building seemed utterly deserted. Cal found the door to the cafeteria impossible to budge, and it seemed to be seeping cold, greasy liquid around the edges.

They climbed to the upper level, where the dim hall was lined with rough iron plates. Two parallel grooves had been cut into the floor, for what reason they could not determine.

‘This is spooky,’ Daisy whispered, looking round at the scaly walls. ‘There isn’t a soul anywhere.’

‘Air,’ sighed the echo along the length of the hall. Otherwise it was silent, but for an occasional faint drip of water somewhere far in the distance.

‘Come on, this way,’ Cal beckoned. ‘The laboratory is the last room at the end of the hall, on the right.’

‘Labra, this, labyrinth, all, right,’ quavered the liquid echo. It took up their footsteps as they approached the dark end and opened a door.

Bright fluorescent glare streamed across the rust-pitted floor and gleamed in the twin grooves.

‘Hello, is anyone here?’ Cal shouted.

Pointing a trembling finger to the corner of the room, Daisy said, ‘Yes and no.’

When they stood still, they were so utterly motionless, and when they moved, it was with such blurring speed and precision, that it was impossible to mistake the two armoured figures for humans. They looked alike, with big, square, blocky heads, with cathode-ray tubes where their faces ought to be. They moved about with inhuman agility in utter silence, performing tasks the nature of which Cal could only guess. They wore the red identification badges of Kurt and Karl Mackintosh.

Avoiding the three humans as bats avoid obstacles, they veered gracefully without altering their speed. Now one would carry a smoking test tube to a centrifuge, while the other manipulated a switchboard of test equipment. Now one glided to a typewriter and typed, at blinding speed:

11011
HIGH CTR GRAVITY TIPS GLASS

11012
IRON TOROID KEEPS PROPORTIONS WHILE EXPANDING

11013
THE TRUCK DRIVER IS WRONG

11014
AE
2
PLUS BE
2
EQUALS CE
2

11015
DEFINITION: (DO NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE) MEANS (DO NOT PUNCTURE) AND (DO NOT BURN) AND (DO NOT PUNCTURE AND BURN)

11016
OIL FLOATS ON VINEGAR

11017
DOWN IS IN THE DIRECTION OF GRAVITY SOMETIMES

11018
KWALITEIT, HOE WORDT DIE GEMETEN
?

11019
HAT: HEAD: : SHOE: FOOT

11020
MILL, JOHN STUART
(1806–73):
PHILOSOPHER AND ECONOMIST
.

At the same time, the other began writing down figures and equations on a peculiar copper clipboard, using a stylus. Both stylus and board were connected electrically to the wall.

Now and then one of the two figures would turn to the other and display upon its face-screen a series of numbers. Otherwise there seemed to be no conversation between the two, nor any need for conversation, for they glided about effortlessly in what seemed almost a ballet of order and harmony. When they finished a step or process the revolving apertures atop their heads would swivel towards a display console at the end of the room, but as soon as it had lighted its
WELL DONE
sign, the ballet resumed.

‘Amazing and beautiful,’ murmured Prof. Gallopini. ‘I’d gladly give up my life of crime to know how such wondrous engines work.’

‘I’d give a lot to know how to shut all of this off,’ Cal mused, looking around him in some bewilderment. ‘I don’t recognize any of the equipment I’ve seen here. If this thing can metamorphose that fast …’

‘Metamorphose? Ah yes,’ said Brian, looking around with a smile. ‘Mere metal transcends itself. These exquisite automatons strive for equilibrium, just as the earth strives to become a perfect sphere, just as the universe becomes always more ordered.’

‘What funny-looking robots !’ Daisy remarked. ‘They have cast-iron ears ! And no mouths !’

‘Nor need they mouths,’ Brian insisted. ‘These are the men of tomorrow ! These are the inheritors of the earth ! These are

the
Übermensch
, the equilibrists, the dynasts !’ Extending his arms towards the busy robots, he declaimed, ‘Men of the future, we who are about to become extinct salute thee !’

Without seeming to notice his speech, the two machines carried out their next task. One opened the lab door, the other lifted Brian Gallopini and set him on his feet in the hall. Before Cal and Daisy could remark on this, they were given identical treatment.

The hall was far from dark now, and far from quiet. A string of fluorescent tubes along the centre of the ceiling lit up the entire empty length of it, while there was all about a deep rumble, hideous and deafening that made cymbals of the floors and walls. It grew so loud so rapidly that there was not even enough time to ask one another what it meant. Then the far end wall of the corridor split open like a curtain, and the nose of an enormous steam locomotive rumbled towards them.

It moved only at the rate of perhaps one mile per hour, spattering hissing steam as it ground ineluctably towards their cul-de-sac. The brakes were on, and the wheels spewed fire from the grooves as they slid and spun backward, but the engine did not appear to be slowed in the least.