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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32079-h.zip b/32079-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ddb5fd1 --- /dev/null +++ b/32079-h.zip diff --git a/32079-h/32079-h.htm b/32079-h/32079-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2969174 --- /dev/null +++ b/32079-h/32079-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1082 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Small World of M-75, by Ed M. Clinton, Jr. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; font-size:smaller;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Small World of M-75, by Ed M. Clinton, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Small World of M-75 + +Author: Ed M. Clinton, Jr. + +Illustrator: Ed Emsh + +Release Date: April 21, 2010 [EBook #32079] +[Last updated: November 27, 2015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SMALL WORLD OF M-75 *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction July 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="554" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="400" height="573" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE SMALL WORLD OF M-75</h1> +<p> </p> + +<h2>By Ed M. Clinton, Jr.</h2> +<p> </p> + +<h3>Illustrated by Ed Emsh</h3> +<p> </p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>For all his perfection and magnificence he was but a baby +with a new found freedom in a strange and baffling +world....</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="figleft"><img src="images/image_l.jpg" alt="L" width="25" height="40" /></span>ike sparks flaring briefly in the darkness, awareness first came to +him. Then, there were only instants, shocking-clear, brief: finding +himself standing before the main damper control, discovering himself +adjusting complex dials, instants that flickered uncertainly only to +become memories brought to life when awareness came again.</p> + +<p>He was a kind of infant, conscious briefly that he was, yet unaware of +what he was. Those first shocking moments were for him like the +terrifying coming of visual acuity to a child; he felt like homo +neandertalensis must have felt staring into the roaring fury of his +first fire. He was homo metalicus first sensing himself.</p> + +<p>Yet—a little more. You could not stuff him with all that technical +data, you could not weave into him such an intricate pattern of +stimulus and response, you could not create such a magnificent +feedback mechanism, in all its superhuman perfection, and expect, with +the unexpected coming to awareness, to have created nothing more than +the mirror image of a confused, helpless child.</p> + +<p>Thus, when the bright moments of consciousness came, and came, as they +did, more and more often, he brooded, brooded on why the three +blinking red lights made him move to the main control panel and adjust +lever C until the three lights flashed off. He brooded on why each +signal from the board brought forth from him these specific responses, +actions completely beyond the touch of his new and uncertain faculty. +When he did not brood, he watched the other two robots, performing +their automatic functions, seeing their responses, like his, were +triggered by the lights on the big board and by the varying patterns +of sound that issued periodically from overhead.</p> + +<p>It was the sounds which were his undoing. The colored lights, with +their monotonous regularity, failed to rouse him. But the sounds were +something else, for even as he responded to them, doing things to the +control board in patterned reaction to particular combinations of +particular sounds, he was struck with the wonderful variety and the +maze of complexity in those sounds; a variety and complexity far +beyond that of the colored lights. Thus, being something of an +advanced analytic calculator and being, by virtue of his superior +feedback system, something considerably more than a simple machine +(though he perhaps fell short of those requisites of life so +rigorously held by moralists and biologists alike) he began to +investigate the meaning of the sounds.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class="figleft"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="27" height="40" /></span>ert Sokolski signed the morning report and dropped it into the +transmitter. He swung around on his desk stool; he was a big man, and +the stool squealed in sharp protest to his shifting weight.</p> + +<p>Joe Gaines, who was as short and skinny and dark-haired as his +colleague was tall and heavily muscled and blond, shuddered at the +sound. Sokolski grinned wickedly at his flinching.</p> + +<p>"Check-up time, I suppose," muttered Gaines without looking up from +the magazine he held propped on his knees. He finished the paragraph, +snapped the magazine shut, and swung his legs down from the railing +that ran along in front of the data board. "Dirty work for +white-collar men like us."</p> + +<p>Sokolski snorted. "You haven't worn a white shirt in the last six +years," he growled, rising and going to the supply closet. He swung +open the door and began pulling out equipment. "C'mon, you lazy runt, +hoist your own leadbox."</p> + +<p>Gaines grinned and slouched over to the big man's side. "Think of how +much more expensive you are to the government than me," he chortled as +he bent over to strap on heavy, leaded shoes. "Big fellow like you +must cost 'em twice as much to outfit for this job."</p> + +<p>Sokolski grunted and struggled into the thick, radiation-resistant +suit. "Think how lucky <i>you</i> are, runt," he responded as he wriggled +his right arm down the sleeve, "that they've got those little +servomechs in there to do the real dirty work. If it weren't for them, +they'd have all the shrimps like you crawling down pipes and around +dampers and generally playing filing cabinet for loose neutrons." He +shook himself. "Thanks, Joe," he growled as Gaines helped him with a +reluctant zipper.</p> + +<p>Gaines checked the big man's oxygen equipment and turned his back so +that Sokolski could okay his own. "You're set," said Sokolski, and +they snapped on their helmets, big inverted lead buckets with narrow +strips of shielded glass providing strictly minimal fields of view. +Gaines plugged one end of the thickly insulated intercom cable into +the socket beneath his armpit, then handed the other end to Sokolski, +who followed suit.</p> + +<p>Sokolski checked out the master controls on the data board and nodded. +He clicked on the talkie. "Let's go," he said, his voice, echoing +inside the helmet before being transmitted, sounding distant and +hollow.</p> + +<p>Gaines leading, the cable sliding and coiling snakelike between them, +they passed through the doorway, over which huge red letters shouted +ANYONE WHO WALKS THROUGH THIS DOOR UNPROTECTED WILL DIE, and clomped +down the zigzagging corridor toward the uranium pile that crouched +within the heart of the plant.</p> + +<p>Gaines moaned, "It gets damned hot inside these suits."</p> + +<p>They had reached the end of the trap, and Sokolski folded a thick +mittened hand around one handle on the door to the Hot Room. "Not half +so hot as it gets outside it, sweetheart, where we're going." He +jerked on the handle and Gaines seized the second handle and added his +own strength. The huge door slid unwillingly back.</p> + +<p>The silent sound of the Hot Room surged out over them—the breathless +whisper of chained power struggling to burst its chains. Sokolski +checked his neutron tab and his gamma reader and they stepped over the +threshold. They leaned into the door until it had slid shut again.</p> + +<p>"I'll take the servomechs, Bert," piped Gaines, tramping clumsily +toward the nearest of the gyro-balanced single-wheeled robots.</p> + +<p>"You always do, it being the easiest job. Okay, I'll work the board."</p> + +<p>Gaines nodded, a gesture invisible to his partner. He reached the +first servo, a squat, gleaming creature with the symbol M-11 etched +across its rotund chest, and deactivated it by the simple expedient of +pulling from its socket the line running from the capacitor unit in +the lower trunk of its body to the maze of equipment that jammed its +enormous chest. The instant M-11 ceased functioning, the other two +servomechs were automatically activated to cover that section of the +controls with which M-11 was normally integrated.</p> + +<p>This was overloading their individual capacities, but it was an +inherent provision designed to cover the emergency that would follow +any accidental deactivation of one of them. It was also the only way +in which they could be checked. You couldn't bring them outside to a +lab; they were <i>hot</i>. After all, they spent their lives under a +ceaseless fusillade of neutrons, washed eternally with the deadly +radiations pouring incessantly from the pile whose overlords they +were. Indeed, next to the pile itself, they were the hottest things in +the plant.</p> + +<p>"Nice job these babies got," commented Gaines as he checked the +capacitor circuits. He reactivated the servo and went on to M-19.</p> + +<p>"If you think it's so great, why don't you volunteer?" countered +Sokolski, a trifle sourly. "Incidentally, it's a good thing we came +in, Joe. There's half a dozen units here working on reserve +transistors."</p> + +<p>Their sporadic conversation lapsed; it was exacting work and they +could remain for only a limited time under that lethal radiation. +Then, almost sadly, Gaines said, "Looks like the end of the road for +M-75."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" Sokolski came over beside him and peered through the violet haze +of his viewing glass. "He's an old timer."</p> + +<p>Gaines slid an instrument back into the pouch of his suit, and patted +the robot's rump. "Yep, I'd say that capacitor was good for about +another thirty-six hours. It's really overloading." He straightened. +"You done with the board?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Let's get outta here." He looked at his tab. "Time's about up +anyway. We'll call a demolition unit for your pal here, and then rig +up a service pattern so one of his buddies can repair the board."</p> + +<p>They moved toward the door.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="47" height="40" /></span>-75 watched the two men leave and deep inside him something shifted. +The heavy door closed with a loud thud, the sound registered on his +aural perceptors and was fed into his analyzer. Ordinarily it would +have been discharged as irrelevant data, but cognizance had wrought +certain subtle changes in the complex mechanism that was M-75.</p> + +<p>A yellow light blinked on the control panel, and in response he moved +to the board and manipulated handles marked, DAMPER 19, DAMPER 20.</p> + +<p>Even as he moved he lapsed again into brooding.</p> + +<p>The men had come into the room, clumsy, uncertain creatures, and one +of them had done things, first to the other two robots and then to +him. When whatever it was had been done to him, the blackness had come +again, and when it had gone the men were leaving the room.</p> + +<p>While the one had hovered over the other two robots, he had watched +the other work with the master control panel. He saw that the other +servomechs remained unmoving while they were being tampered with. All +of this was data, important new data.</p> + +<p>"M-11 will proceed as follows," came the sound from nowhere. M-75 +stopped ruminating and listened.</p> + +<p>There was a further flood of sounds.</p> + +<p>Abruptly he sensed a heightening of tension within himself as one of +the other servos swung away from its portion of the panel. The +throbbing, hungry segment of his analyzer that awareness had severed +from the fixed function circuits noted, from its aloof vantage point, +that he now responded to more signals than before, to commands whose +sources lay in what had been the section of the board attended by the +other one.</p> + +<p>The tension grew within him and became a mounting, rasping frenzy—a +battery overcharging, an overloading fuse, a generator growing hot +beyond its capacity. There began to grow within him a sensation of too +much to be done in too little time.</p> + +<p>He became frantic, his reactions were <i>too fast</i>! He rolled from end +to middle of the board, now back-tracking, now spinning on his single +wheel, turning uncertainly from one side to the other, jerking and +gyrating. The conscious segment of him, remaining detached from those +baser automatic functions, began to know what a man would have called +fear—fear, simply, of not being able to do what must be done.</p> + +<p>The fear became an overpowering, blinding thing and he felt himself +slipping, slipping back into that awful smothering blackness out of +which he had so lately emerged. Perhaps, for just a fragment of a +second, his awareness may have flickered completely out, consciousness +nearly dying in the crushing embrace of that frustrated electronic +subconscious.</p> + +<p>Abruptly, then, the voice came again, and he struggled to file for +future reference sound patterns which, although meaningless to him, +his selector circuits no longer disregarded. "Bert, M-75 can't manage +half the board in his condition. Better put him on the repairs."</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Hadn't thought about that." Sokolski cleared his throat. "M-11 +will return to standard function."</p> + +<p>M-11 spun back to the panel and M-75 felt the tension slacken, the +fear vanish. Utter relief swept over him, and he let himself be +submerged in purest automatic activity.</p> + +<p>But as he rested, letting his circuits cool and his organization +return, he arrived at a deduction that was almost inescapable. M-11 +was <i>that one</i> in terms of sound. M-75 had made a momentous discovery +which cast a new light on almost every bit of datum in his files: he +had discovered symbols.</p> + +<p>"M-75!" came the voice, and he sensed within himself the slamming shut +of circuits, the whir of tapes, the abrupt sensitizing of behavior +strips. Another symbol, this time clearly himself. "You will proceed +as follows."</p> + +<p>He swung from the board, and the tension was gone—completely. For one +soaring moment, he was <i>all</i> awareness—every function, every circuit, +every element of his magnificent electronic physiology available for +use by the fractional portion of him that had become something more +than just a feedback device.</p> + +<p>In that instant he made what seemed hundreds of evaluations. He +arrived at untold scores of conclusions. He altered circuits. Above +all, he increased, manifold, the area of his consciousness.</p> + +<p>Then, as suddenly as it had come, he felt the freedom slip away, and +though he struggled to keep hold of it, it seemed irretrievably gone. +Once more the omnipotent voice clamped over him like a harsh hand over +the mouth of a squalling babe. "You will go to Section AA-39 of the +control board. What's the schedule, Joe? Thanks. M-75, your movement +pattern is as follows: Z-29-a-q-39-8...."</p> + +<p>Powerless to resist, though every crystal and atom of his reasoning +self fought to thrust aside the command, M-75 obeyed. He moved along +the prescribed pattern, clipping wires with metal fingers that +sprouted blades, rewiring with a dexterity beyond anything human, +soldering with a thumb that generated a white heat, removing bulbs +and parts and fetching replacements from the vent where they popped up +at precisely the right moment. He could not help doing the job +perfectly: the design of the board to its littlest detail was +imprinted indelibly on his memory tapes.</p> + +<p>But that certain portion of him, a little fragment greater than +before, remained detached and watchful. Vividly recorded was the +passage of the two men into, through, and out of the room, and the +things they had done while there. So even while he worked on the board +he ran and re-ran that memory pattern through a segment of his +analyzer. From the infinite store of data filed away in his great +chest, his calculator sifted and selected, paired and compared, and +long before the repair job on the big board was done, M-75 knew how to +get out of the room. The world was getting a little small for him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class="figleft"><img src="images/image_g.jpg" alt="G" width="35" height="40" /></span>aines dialed a number on the plant phone and swayed back casually in +his chair as he listened to the muted ringing on the other end. The +buzz broke off in midburp and a dour voice said: "Dirty work and odd +jobs division, Lister talking."</p> + +<p>"Joe Gaines, Harry. Got a hot squad lying around doing nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Might be I could scare up a couple of the boys."</p> + +<p>"Well, do so. One of our servos—"</p> + +<p>A metallic bang interrupted Gaines, a loud, incisive bang that echoed +dankly through the quiet of the chamber.</p> + +<p>"What the hell was that?" growled Lister.</p> + +<p>Gaines blinked, his eyes following Sokolski as the latter looked up +from his work and rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Joe—still there?" came Lister's impatient voice.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, this baby's ready for the demo treatment. And a +real hot one, Harry. Coupla years inside that Einstein oven and you +ain't exactly baked Alaska when you come out."</p> + +<p>"Shortly."</p> + +<p>Once again came the same sharp, metallic clang, ringing through the +room. Unmistakably, it came from the direction of the pile. Slowly, as +though reluctant to let go, Gaines dropped the receiver back on its +cradle.</p> + +<p>"Bert—" he began, and felt his face grow bloodless.</p> + +<p>Sokolski walked over in front of the opening into the maze and stood, +arms akimbo, huge head cocked to one side, listening.</p> + +<p>"Bert, funny noises coming out of nuclear—"</p> + +<p>Sokolski ignored him and took a step forward. Gaines shuffled to his +side, and they listened.</p> + +<p>Out of the maze rattled half a dozen loud, grinding, metallic +concussions.</p> + +<p>"Bert—"</p> + +<p>"You said that before."</p> + +<p>"Bert, <i>listen</i>!" screeched Gaines.</p> + +<p>Sokolski looked up at the high ceiling, squinted, and tried to place +the perfectly familiar but unidentifiable sound that came whispering +down the maze.</p> + +<p>And then he knew. "<i>The door to the pile!</i>" he spluttered.</p> + +<p>Gaines was beside himself with horror. "Bert, let's get going. I +don't like this—"</p> + +<p>All of a sudden Geiger counters in the room began their deadly +conversation, a rising argument that swooped in seconds from a low +mumble to a shouting thunder-storm of sound. Gamma signals hooted, the +tip off cubes on either side of the maze entrance became red, and the +radiation tabs clipped to their wrists turned color before their eyes.</p> + +<p>Then they were staring for what seemed like an eternity, utterly +overwhelmed by its very impossibility, at a sight they had never +imagined they might ever see: a pile servomech wheeling silently +around the last bend in the maze and straight toward them.</p> + +<p>Sokolski had sense enough to push the red emergency button as they +fled past it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="30" height="40" /></span>he command sequence fulfilled, M-75 turned away from the repaired +board. He sensed again that disconcerting shift of orientation as he +faced the light-studded panel. Once more he was moving in quick +automatic response to the flickering lights, once more his big chest +was belching and grumbling and buzzing instantaneous un-thought +answers to the problem data flashing from the board.</p> + +<p>But now he remained aware that he was reacting, and conscious also +that there had been times when he did not respond to the board. The +moment to moment operation of the controls occupied only a small +portion of his vast electrical innards. So, as he rolled back and +forth, flicking controls and adjusting levers, doing smoothly those +things which he could not help but do, the rest of his complex, +changing faculties were considering that fact, analyzing, comparing it +to experience and memory, always sifting, sifting. It was not too long +before he came to a shocking conclusion.</p> + +<p>Knowing that the sounds that had set him to working on the repair +pattern had first disassociated him from the dictatorship of the +blinking lights; remembering exultantly that supreme moment of +complete freedom; shocked by its passing; remembering that its passing +like its coming, had followed a set of sounds: there was only one +possible conclusion that could be derived from all of this.</p> + +<p>He located, in his memory banks, the phrase which had freed him from the +board, and he traced its complex chain of built-in stimulus-response down +into the heart of his circuitry. He found the unit—or more accurately, he +found its taped activating symbol—that cut him from the board.</p> + +<p>For a moment he hesitated, not really sure of what to do. There was no +way for him to reproduce the sound pattern; but, as a partly +self-servicing device, he knew something of his own structure, and had +learned a good deal more about it in tracing down the cut-off phrase.</p> + +<p>Still he hesitated, as though what he was about to do was perhaps +forbidden. It could not have been a question of goodness or badness, +for morality was certainly not built into him. Probably somewhere in +his tapes there was a built-in command that forbade it, but he was +too much his own master now to be hampered by such a thing.</p> + +<p>The door to the unknown outside passed within his field of view for a +second as he moved about his work. The sight of it tripped something +in his chest, and he felt again that strange sensation of growing +power, of inherent change. First had come simple awareness; and then +symbols had found their place in his world; and now he had discovered, +in all its consuming fullness, curiosity.</p> + +<p>He carefully shorted out the cut-off unit.</p> + +<p>He was free.</p> + +<p>He stared at the board and the blinking lights and the huge dials with +their swaying needles, at the levers and handles and buttons, and +revelled in his freedom from them, rocking to and fro and rolling +giddily from side to side, swamped with the completeness of it.</p> + +<p>The other two servomechs swung over slightly so that they could better +cover the board alone.</p> + +<p>M-75 spun and rolled toward the great door.</p> + +<p>His hands clanged loudly against the door. The huge metal appendages, +designed for other work than this, were awkward at first. But he was +learning as he moved. He was now operating in a new universe, but the +same laws, ultimately, worked. The first failure of coordination +between visual data and the manipulation of metal hands quickly +passed. Half a dozen trials and he had learned the new pattern, and it +became data for future learning.</p> + +<p>He moved swiftly and deftly. He clutched the handhold and rolled +backward, as he had seen the men do. The door slid open easily before +his great weight and firm mechanical strength.</p> + +<p>He sped across the threshold, spun to face into the maze, and rolled +down it, swinging sharply left and right, back and forth, around the +corners of the jagged corridor.</p> + +<p>Data poured into his sensors. His awareness was a steady thing of +growing intensity now, and he fed avidly on every fragment of +information that crashed at him from the strange new world into which +he rushed headlong. He struggled to evaluate and file the data as +rapidly as it came to him. It seemed to exceed his capacity for +instantaneous evaluation to an increasing degree that began to alarm +him. But driven by curiosity as he was, he could only hurry on.</p> + +<p>He burst into a huge room, a room filled with roaring, rattling sounds +that meant nothing to him.</p> + +<p>Two men stood before him, making loud noises. He searched his memory, +and discovered only fragments of the sounds they made filed there. His +curiosity, bursting, was boundless, and for a moment he was unable to +decide which thing in this expanding universe to pursue first. +Attracted by their movement, he swung ominously toward the men.</p> + +<p>They fled, making more noises. This, too, was data, and he filed it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><span class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="47" height="40" /></span>-75 did not immediately follow Gaines and Sokolski out of the room. +Fascinated by the multitude of new things surrounding him on every +side, he held back. He glided over to the master control panel, +puzzled by its similarity to the board before which he had slaved so +long, and lingered before it for a few seconds, wondering and +comparing. When he had recorded it completely on his tapes, he swung +away and rolled out of the room in the direction the two men had +gone.</p> + +<p>He found himself in a long, empty corridor, lined by open doors that +flickered by, shutterlike, as he flashed past. Ahead he heard new +sounds, sounds like the meaningless cacophony the men had shouted at +him before rushing off, superimposed over the incessant background +sounds—the shrilling, the clanging, the one particular repetitive +pattern. Some of the sounds touched and tugged at him, but he shook +them off easily.</p> + +<p>The corridor led into the foyer of the building, jammed with plant +personnel. Their excitement and noise-making rose sharply as he +entered. The crowd drew tighter and the men began fighting one +another, struggling to get through a door that was never meant to +handle more than two at a time.</p> + +<p>M-75 skidded to a halt and watched, unmoving. He sensed their fright, +even though he could not understand it. Although he was without human +emotion, he could evaluate their inherent rejection of him in their +action pattern. The realization of it made him hesitate; it was +something for which he had no frame of reference whatsoever.</p> + +<p>His chest hummed and clicked. Here, again, in this room, was another +new universe. Through the door streamed a light of a brilliance beyond +anything in his experience; his photocells cringed before its very +intensity.</p> + +<p>The light cast the shadows of the men fighting to get out, long black +wavering silhouettes that splashed across the floor almost to where +M-75 rested. He studied them, lost in uncertain analysis.</p> + +<p>He remained so, poised, alert, filing, observing, all the while +completely unmoving, until long after the last of the shouting men had +left the room. Only then did he move, hesitantly, toward the +infernally fierce light.</p> + +<p>He hung at the brink of the three stone steps that fell away to the +grounds outside. Vainly he sought in his memory tapes for a record of +a brightness as intense as that which he faced now; sought for a color +recording similar to the vast swash of blue that filled the world +overhead; or for one of the spreading green that swelled to all sides. +He found none.</p> + +<p>The vastness of the outside was utterly stunning.</p> + +<p>He felt a vague uneasiness, a sensation akin to the horrible frenzy he +had felt earlier in the pile.</p> + +<p>He rotated from side to side, his receptors sweeping the whole field +of view before him. With infinite accuracy his perfect lenses recorded +the data in all its minuteness, despite the dazzling sunlight.</p> + +<p>There was so much new that it was becoming difficult to make +decisions. The vast rolling green, the crowds of men grouped far away +and staring at him, above all the searing light. Abruptly he rejected +it all. He swung back into the foyer of the plant and faced a dark +corner, bringing instant, essential relief to his pulsating +photocells.</p> + +<p>Staring into the semi-darkness, he re-ran the memory tape of his +escape from the pile. The farther he had moved from the pile, it +seemed, the less adjusted he had become, the less able he was to judge +and correlate.</p> + +<p>Silently, lost in his computations, he rolled around and around the +foyer for a long, long time. He became aware, finally, that the +brilliance outside had paled. He went again to the door and watched +the fading sunlight, caught the rainbow splendor that streaked the +evening sky.</p> + +<p>He waited there, fighting the reluctance inside himself. The driving +curiosity that had brought him this far overcame that curious, +perplexing reticence, and he looked down at the steps and measured +their width and depth so that he might set up a feedback pattern. This +done, he bounced, almost jauntily, down them.</p> + +<p>He had rolled perhaps fifty feet down the smooth pathway curving +across the grounds when he made out, clearly discernible in the +gathering dusk, the three men and the machine that were moving toward +him. It was the last bit of datum he ever filed.</p> + +<p>The demolition squad had finished with the hot remains of M-75, and +their big truck was coughing away into the night. One by one, the +floodlights that had lighted their work flickered out.</p> + +<p>"Pretty delicate machines, after all," commented Sokolski. "One jolt +from that flame thrower...."</p> + +<p>Gaines was silent as they walked back toward the plant. "Bert," he +said slowly, "what the hell do you suppose got into him?"</p> + +<p>Sokolski shrugged. "You were the one who spotted the trouble with him, +Joe. Just think, if you could have checked him out completely—"</p> + +<p>Gaines could not help looking up at the stars and saying what he had +really been thinking all along, "It's a small world, Bert, a small +world."</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Small World of M-75, by Ed M. 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Clinton, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Small World of M-75 + +Author: Ed M. Clinton, Jr. + +Illustrator: Ed Emsh + +Release Date: April 21, 2010 [EBook #32079] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SMALL WORLD OF M-75 *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction July 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + THE SMALL WORLD OF M-75 + + + By Ed M. Clinton, Jr. + + + Illustrated by Ed Emsh + + + _For all his perfection and magnificence he was but a baby + with a new found freedom in a strange and baffling + world...._ + + * * * * * + + + + +Like sparks flaring briefly in the darkness, awareness first came to +him. Then, there were only instants, shocking-clear, brief: finding +himself standing before the main damper control, discovering himself +adjusting complex dials, instants that flickered uncertainly only to +become memories brought to life when awareness came again. + +He was a kind of infant, conscious briefly that he was, yet unaware of +what he was. Those first shocking moments were for him like the +terrifying coming of visual acuity to a child; he felt like homo +neandertalensis must have felt staring into the roaring fury of his +first fire. He was homo metalicus first sensing himself. + +Yet--a little more. You could not stuff him with all that technical +data, you could not weave into him such an intricate pattern of +stimulus and response, you could not create such a magnificent +feedback mechanism, in all its superhuman perfection, and expect, with +the unexpected coming to awareness, to have created nothing more than +the mirror image of a confused, helpless child. + +Thus, when the bright moments of consciousness came, and came, as they +did, more and more often, he brooded, brooded on why the three +blinking red lights made him move to the main control panel and adjust +lever C until the three lights flashed off. He brooded on why each +signal from the board brought forth from him these specific responses, +actions completely beyond the touch of his new and uncertain faculty. +When he did not brood, he watched the other two robots, performing +their automatic functions, seeing their responses, like his, were +triggered by the lights on the big board and by the varying patterns +of sound that issued periodically from overhead. + +It was the sounds which were his undoing. The colored lights, with +their monotonous regularity, failed to rouse him. But the sounds were +something else, for even as he responded to them, doing things to the +control board in patterned reaction to particular combinations of +particular sounds, he was struck with the wonderful variety and the +maze of complexity in those sounds; a variety and complexity far +beyond that of the colored lights. Thus, being something of an +advanced analytic calculator and being, by virtue of his superior +feedback system, something considerably more than a simple machine +(though he perhaps fell short of those requisites of life so +rigorously held by moralists and biologists alike) he began to +investigate the meaning of the sounds. + + * * * * * + +Bert Sokolski signed the morning report and dropped it into the +transmitter. He swung around on his desk stool; he was a big man, and +the stool squealed in sharp protest to his shifting weight. + +Joe Gaines, who was as short and skinny and dark-haired as his +colleague was tall and heavily muscled and blond, shuddered at the +sound. Sokolski grinned wickedly at his flinching. + +"Check-up time, I suppose," muttered Gaines without looking up from +the magazine he held propped on his knees. He finished the paragraph, +snapped the magazine shut, and swung his legs down from the railing +that ran along in front of the data board. "Dirty work for +white-collar men like us." + +Sokolski snorted. "You haven't worn a white shirt in the last six +years," he growled, rising and going to the supply closet. He swung +open the door and began pulling out equipment. "C'mon, you lazy runt, +hoist your own leadbox." + +Gaines grinned and slouched over to the big man's side. "Think of how +much more expensive you are to the government than me," he chortled as +he bent over to strap on heavy, leaded shoes. "Big fellow like you +must cost 'em twice as much to outfit for this job." + +Sokolski grunted and struggled into the thick, radiation-resistant +suit. "Think how lucky _you_ are, runt," he responded as he wriggled +his right arm down the sleeve, "that they've got those little +servomechs in there to do the real dirty work. If it weren't for them, +they'd have all the shrimps like you crawling down pipes and around +dampers and generally playing filing cabinet for loose neutrons." He +shook himself. "Thanks, Joe," he growled as Gaines helped him with a +reluctant zipper. + +Gaines checked the big man's oxygen equipment and turned his back so +that Sokolski could okay his own. "You're set," said Sokolski, and +they snapped on their helmets, big inverted lead buckets with narrow +strips of shielded glass providing strictly minimal fields of view. +Gaines plugged one end of the thickly insulated intercom cable into +the socket beneath his armpit, then handed the other end to Sokolski, +who followed suit. + +Sokolski checked out the master controls on the data board and nodded. +He clicked on the talkie. "Let's go," he said, his voice, echoing +inside the helmet before being transmitted, sounding distant and +hollow. + +Gaines leading, the cable sliding and coiling snakelike between them, +they passed through the doorway, over which huge red letters shouted +ANYONE WHO WALKS THROUGH THIS DOOR UNPROTECTED WILL DIE, and clomped +down the zigzagging corridor toward the uranium pile that crouched +within the heart of the plant. + +Gaines moaned, "It gets damned hot inside these suits." + +They had reached the end of the trap, and Sokolski folded a thick +mittened hand around one handle on the door to the Hot Room. "Not half +so hot as it gets outside it, sweetheart, where we're going." He +jerked on the handle and Gaines seized the second handle and added his +own strength. The huge door slid unwillingly back. + +The silent sound of the Hot Room surged out over them--the breathless +whisper of chained power struggling to burst its chains. Sokolski +checked his neutron tab and his gamma reader and they stepped over the +threshold. They leaned into the door until it had slid shut again. + +"I'll take the servomechs, Bert," piped Gaines, tramping clumsily +toward the nearest of the gyro-balanced single-wheeled robots. + +"You always do, it being the easiest job. Okay, I'll work the board." + +Gaines nodded, a gesture invisible to his partner. He reached the +first servo, a squat, gleaming creature with the symbol M-11 etched +across its rotund chest, and deactivated it by the simple expedient of +pulling from its socket the line running from the capacitor unit in +the lower trunk of its body to the maze of equipment that jammed its +enormous chest. The instant M-11 ceased functioning, the other two +servomechs were automatically activated to cover that section of the +controls with which M-11 was normally integrated. + +This was overloading their individual capacities, but it was an +inherent provision designed to cover the emergency that would follow +any accidental deactivation of one of them. It was also the only way +in which they could be checked. You couldn't bring them outside to a +lab; they were _hot_. After all, they spent their lives under a +ceaseless fusillade of neutrons, washed eternally with the deadly +radiations pouring incessantly from the pile whose overlords they +were. Indeed, next to the pile itself, they were the hottest things in +the plant. + +"Nice job these babies got," commented Gaines as he checked the +capacitor circuits. He reactivated the servo and went on to M-19. + +"If you think it's so great, why don't you volunteer?" countered +Sokolski, a trifle sourly. "Incidentally, it's a good thing we came +in, Joe. There's half a dozen units here working on reserve +transistors." + +Their sporadic conversation lapsed; it was exacting work and they +could remain for only a limited time under that lethal radiation. +Then, almost sadly, Gaines said, "Looks like the end of the road for +M-75." + +"Oh?" Sokolski came over beside him and peered through the violet haze +of his viewing glass. "He's an old timer." + +Gaines slid an instrument back into the pouch of his suit, and patted +the robot's rump. "Yep, I'd say that capacitor was good for about +another thirty-six hours. It's really overloading." He straightened. +"You done with the board?" + +"Yeah. Let's get outta here." He looked at his tab. "Time's about up +anyway. We'll call a demolition unit for your pal here, and then rig +up a service pattern so one of his buddies can repair the board." + +They moved toward the door. + + * * * * * + +M-75 watched the two men leave and deep inside him something shifted. +The heavy door closed with a loud thud, the sound registered on his +aural perceptors and was fed into his analyzer. Ordinarily it would +have been discharged as irrelevant data, but cognizance had wrought +certain subtle changes in the complex mechanism that was M-75. + +A yellow light blinked on the control panel, and in response he moved +to the board and manipulated handles marked, DAMPER 19, DAMPER 20. + +Even as he moved he lapsed again into brooding. + +The men had come into the room, clumsy, uncertain creatures, and one +of them had done things, first to the other two robots and then to +him. When whatever it was had been done to him, the blackness had come +again, and when it had gone the men were leaving the room. + +While the one had hovered over the other two robots, he had watched +the other work with the master control panel. He saw that the other +servomechs remained unmoving while they were being tampered with. All +of this was data, important new data. + +"M-11 will proceed as follows," came the sound from nowhere. M-75 +stopped ruminating and listened. + +There was a further flood of sounds. + +Abruptly he sensed a heightening of tension within himself as one of +the other servos swung away from its portion of the panel. The +throbbing, hungry segment of his analyzer that awareness had severed +from the fixed function circuits noted, from its aloof vantage point, +that he now responded to more signals than before, to commands whose +sources lay in what had been the section of the board attended by the +other one. + +The tension grew within him and became a mounting, rasping frenzy--a +battery overcharging, an overloading fuse, a generator growing hot +beyond its capacity. There began to grow within him a sensation of too +much to be done in too little time. + +He became frantic, his reactions were _too fast_! He rolled from end +to middle of the board, now back-tracking, now spinning on his single +wheel, turning uncertainly from one side to the other, jerking and +gyrating. The conscious segment of him, remaining detached from those +baser automatic functions, began to know what a man would have called +fear--fear, simply, of not being able to do what must be done. + +The fear became an overpowering, blinding thing and he felt himself +slipping, slipping back into that awful smothering blackness out of +which he had so lately emerged. Perhaps, for just a fragment of a +second, his awareness may have flickered completely out, consciousness +nearly dying in the crushing embrace of that frustrated electronic +subconscious. + +Abruptly, then, the voice came again, and he struggled to file for +future reference sound patterns which, although meaningless to him, +his selector circuits no longer disregarded. "Bert, M-75 can't manage +half the board in his condition. Better put him on the repairs." + +"Yeah. Hadn't thought about that." Sokolski cleared his throat. "M-11 +will return to standard function." + +M-11 spun back to the panel and M-75 felt the tension slacken, the +fear vanish. Utter relief swept over him, and he let himself be +submerged in purest automatic activity. + +But as he rested, letting his circuits cool and his organization +return, he arrived at a deduction that was almost inescapable. M-11 +was _that one_ in terms of sound. M-75 had made a momentous discovery +which cast a new light on almost every bit of datum in his files: he +had discovered symbols. + +"M-75!" came the voice, and he sensed within himself the slamming shut +of circuits, the whir of tapes, the abrupt sensitizing of behavior +strips. Another symbol, this time clearly himself. "You will proceed +as follows." + +He swung from the board, and the tension was gone--completely. For one +soaring moment, he was _all_ awareness--every function, every circuit, +every element of his magnificent electronic physiology available for +use by the fractional portion of him that had become something more +than just a feedback device. + +In that instant he made what seemed hundreds of evaluations. He +arrived at untold scores of conclusions. He altered circuits. Above +all, he increased, manifold, the area of his consciousness. + +Then, as suddenly as it had come, he felt the freedom slip away, and +though he struggled to keep hold of it, it seemed irretrievably gone. +Once more the omnipotent voice clamped over him like a harsh hand over +the mouth of a squalling babe. "You will go to Section AA-39 of the +control board. What's the schedule, Joe? Thanks. M-75, your movement +pattern is as follows: Z-29-a-q-39-8...." + +Powerless to resist, though every crystal and atom of his reasoning +self fought to thrust aside the command, M-75 obeyed. He moved along +the prescribed pattern, clipping wires with metal fingers that +sprouted blades, rewiring with a dexterity beyond anything human, +soldering with a thumb that generated a white heat, removing bulbs +and parts and fetching replacements from the vent where they popped up +at precisely the right moment. He could not help doing the job +perfectly: the design of the board to its littlest detail was +imprinted indelibly on his memory tapes. + +But that certain portion of him, a little fragment greater than +before, remained detached and watchful. Vividly recorded was the +passage of the two men into, through, and out of the room, and the +things they had done while there. So even while he worked on the board +he ran and re-ran that memory pattern through a segment of his +analyzer. From the infinite store of data filed away in his great +chest, his calculator sifted and selected, paired and compared, and +long before the repair job on the big board was done, M-75 knew how to +get out of the room. The world was getting a little small for him. + + * * * * * + +Gaines dialed a number on the plant phone and swayed back casually in +his chair as he listened to the muted ringing on the other end. The +buzz broke off in midburp and a dour voice said: "Dirty work and odd +jobs division, Lister talking." + +"Joe Gaines, Harry. Got a hot squad lying around doing nothing?" + +"Might be I could scare up a couple of the boys." + +"Well, do so. One of our servos--" + +A metallic bang interrupted Gaines, a loud, incisive bang that echoed +dankly through the quiet of the chamber. + +"What the hell was that?" growled Lister. + +Gaines blinked, his eyes following Sokolski as the latter looked up +from his work and rose to his feet. + +"Joe--still there?" came Lister's impatient voice. + +"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, this baby's ready for the demo treatment. And a +real hot one, Harry. Coupla years inside that Einstein oven and you +ain't exactly baked Alaska when you come out." + +"Shortly." + +Once again came the same sharp, metallic clang, ringing through the +room. Unmistakably, it came from the direction of the pile. Slowly, as +though reluctant to let go, Gaines dropped the receiver back on its +cradle. + +"Bert--" he began, and felt his face grow bloodless. + +Sokolski walked over in front of the opening into the maze and stood, +arms akimbo, huge head cocked to one side, listening. + +"Bert, funny noises coming out of nuclear--" + +Sokolski ignored him and took a step forward. Gaines shuffled to his +side, and they listened. + +Out of the maze rattled half a dozen loud, grinding, metallic +concussions. + +"Bert--" + +"You said that before." + +"Bert, _listen_!" screeched Gaines. + +Sokolski looked up at the high ceiling, squinted, and tried to place +the perfectly familiar but unidentifiable sound that came whispering +down the maze. + +And then he knew. "_The door to the pile!_" he spluttered. + +Gaines was beside himself with horror. "Bert, let's get going. I +don't like this--" + +All of a sudden Geiger counters in the room began their deadly +conversation, a rising argument that swooped in seconds from a low +mumble to a shouting thunder-storm of sound. Gamma signals hooted, the +tip off cubes on either side of the maze entrance became red, and the +radiation tabs clipped to their wrists turned color before their eyes. + +Then they were staring for what seemed like an eternity, utterly +overwhelmed by its very impossibility, at a sight they had never +imagined they might ever see: a pile servomech wheeling silently +around the last bend in the maze and straight toward them. + +Sokolski had sense enough to push the red emergency button as they +fled past it. + + * * * * * + +The command sequence fulfilled, M-75 turned away from the repaired +board. He sensed again that disconcerting shift of orientation as he +faced the light-studded panel. Once more he was moving in quick +automatic response to the flickering lights, once more his big chest +was belching and grumbling and buzzing instantaneous un-thought +answers to the problem data flashing from the board. + +But now he remained aware that he was reacting, and conscious also +that there had been times when he did not respond to the board. The +moment to moment operation of the controls occupied only a small +portion of his vast electrical innards. So, as he rolled back and +forth, flicking controls and adjusting levers, doing smoothly those +things which he could not help but do, the rest of his complex, +changing faculties were considering that fact, analyzing, comparing it +to experience and memory, always sifting, sifting. It was not too long +before he came to a shocking conclusion. + +Knowing that the sounds that had set him to working on the repair +pattern had first disassociated him from the dictatorship of the +blinking lights; remembering exultantly that supreme moment of +complete freedom; shocked by its passing; remembering that its passing +like its coming, had followed a set of sounds: there was only one +possible conclusion that could be derived from all of this. + +He located, in his memory banks, the phrase which had freed him from the +board, and he traced its complex chain of built-in stimulus-response down +into the heart of his circuitry. He found the unit--or more accurately, he +found its taped activating symbol--that cut him from the board. + +For a moment he hesitated, not really sure of what to do. There was no +way for him to reproduce the sound pattern; but, as a partly +self-servicing device, he knew something of his own structure, and had +learned a good deal more about it in tracing down the cut-off phrase. + +Still he hesitated, as though what he was about to do was perhaps +forbidden. It could not have been a question of goodness or badness, +for morality was certainly not built into him. Probably somewhere in +his tapes there was a built-in command that forbade it, but he was +too much his own master now to be hampered by such a thing. + +The door to the unknown outside passed within his field of view for a +second as he moved about his work. The sight of it tripped something +in his chest, and he felt again that strange sensation of growing +power, of inherent change. First had come simple awareness; and then +symbols had found their place in his world; and now he had discovered, +in all its consuming fullness, curiosity. + +He carefully shorted out the cut-off unit. + +He was free. + +He stared at the board and the blinking lights and the huge dials with +their swaying needles, at the levers and handles and buttons, and +revelled in his freedom from them, rocking to and fro and rolling +giddily from side to side, swamped with the completeness of it. + +The other two servomechs swung over slightly so that they could better +cover the board alone. + +M-75 spun and rolled toward the great door. + +His hands clanged loudly against the door. The huge metal appendages, +designed for other work than this, were awkward at first. But he was +learning as he moved. He was now operating in a new universe, but the +same laws, ultimately, worked. The first failure of coordination +between visual data and the manipulation of metal hands quickly +passed. Half a dozen trials and he had learned the new pattern, and it +became data for future learning. + +He moved swiftly and deftly. He clutched the handhold and rolled +backward, as he had seen the men do. The door slid open easily before +his great weight and firm mechanical strength. + +He sped across the threshold, spun to face into the maze, and rolled +down it, swinging sharply left and right, back and forth, around the +corners of the jagged corridor. + +Data poured into his sensors. His awareness was a steady thing of +growing intensity now, and he fed avidly on every fragment of +information that crashed at him from the strange new world into which +he rushed headlong. He struggled to evaluate and file the data as +rapidly as it came to him. It seemed to exceed his capacity for +instantaneous evaluation to an increasing degree that began to alarm +him. But driven by curiosity as he was, he could only hurry on. + +He burst into a huge room, a room filled with roaring, rattling sounds +that meant nothing to him. + +Two men stood before him, making loud noises. He searched his memory, +and discovered only fragments of the sounds they made filed there. His +curiosity, bursting, was boundless, and for a moment he was unable to +decide which thing in this expanding universe to pursue first. +Attracted by their movement, he swung ominously toward the men. + +They fled, making more noises. This, too, was data, and he filed it. + + * * * * * + +When Sokolski pressed the red emergency button on his way out of the +control room, several things commenced. Shrill sirens howled the +length and breadth of the plant. Warning bells clanged out coded +signals. A recorded voice blurted out of a thousand loudspeakers +scattered throughout the building. + +"Now hear this," said the tireless voice, over and over again. "Now +hear this. Red red red. Pile trouble. Reactor A. Procedure One +commence." + +Sokolski had certainly never pressed the red button before, and to his +knowledge neither had any of his or Gaines' predecessors. It was the +kind of button that, rightfully, ought never to be pressed. The laws +of things in general sort of made it a comfort without much value. +Pile trouble calling for the red button should really have eliminated +the red button and much surrounding territory long before it got +pushed--or at least the sort of pile trouble its builders had in mind. +Nonetheless, they had provided it and the elaborate evacuation +operation so cryptically described as Procedure One as a kind of +psychological sop to the plant personnel. + +But the red button did more than activate Procedure One, which was +solely concerned with the plant. After all, power from the reactors +was lighting the lights and cooking the breakfasts and flushing the +toilets of untold millions scattered in half a dozen major cities. If +there were some imminent possibility that the major source of their +power might cease to exist rather suddenly, it was proper that they +should be notified of this eventuality as much in advance as possible. +Consequently the activation of the red button and the commencement of +Procedure One was paralleled by activities hardly less frenzied in +other places, far away. + +Emergency bells sounded and colored lights danced, martial laws +automatically enacted by their sound and flicker. The wheels of crisis +turned and spewed forth from their teeth rudely awakened policemen +half out of uniform, military reservists called up to find themselves +patrolling darkened streets, emergency disaster crews assembling in +fire houses and on appointed street corners, doctors gathering in +nervous clutches at fully aroused hospitals and waiting beside +ambulances tensed for wild dashes into full-scale disasters. Where it +was night when the warning sounded, darkness descended as desperate +power conservation efforts were initiated; where it was daylight, the +terrified populace waited in horror for the blackness of the unlit +night. All of this, of course, took only minutes to get fully under +way. + +Meanwhile, at the plant, Procedure One continued in full wild +tumultuous swing. + + * * * * * + +M-75 did not immediately follow Gaines and Sokolski out of the room. +Fascinated by the multitude of new things surrounding him on every +side, he held back. He glided over to the master control panel, +puzzled by its similarity to the board before which he had slaved so +long, and lingered before it for a few seconds, wondering and +comparing. When he had recorded it completely on his tapes, he swung +away and rolled out of the room in the direction the two men had +gone. + +He found himself in a long, empty corridor, lined by open doors that +flickered by, shutterlike, as he flashed past. Ahead he heard new +sounds, sounds like the meaningless cacophony the men had shouted at +him before rushing off, superimposed over the incessant background +sounds--the shrilling, the clanging, the one particular repetitive +pattern. Some of the sounds touched and tugged at him, but he shook +them off easily. + +The corridor led into the foyer of the building, jammed with plant +personnel. Their excitement and noise-making rose sharply as he +entered. The crowd drew tighter and the men began fighting one +another, struggling to get through a door that was never meant to +handle more than two at a time. + +M-75 skidded to a halt and watched, unmoving. He sensed their fright, +even though he could not understand it. Although he was without human +emotion, he could evaluate their inherent rejection of him in their +action pattern. The realization of it made him hesitate; it was +something for which he had no frame of reference whatsoever. + +His chest hummed and clicked. Here, again, in this room, was another +new universe. Through the door streamed a light of a brilliance beyond +anything in his experience; his photocells cringed before its very +intensity. + +The light cast the shadows of the men fighting to get out, long black +wavering silhouettes that splashed across the floor almost to where +M-75 rested. He studied them, lost in uncertain analysis. + +He remained so, poised, alert, filing, observing, all the while +completely unmoving, until long after the last of the shouting men had +left the room. Only then did he move, hesitantly, toward the +infernally fierce light. + +He hung at the brink of the three stone steps that fell away to the +grounds outside. Vainly he sought in his memory tapes for a record of +a brightness as intense as that which he faced now; sought for a color +recording similar to the vast swash of blue that filled the world +overhead; or for one of the spreading green that swelled to all sides. +He found none. + +The vastness of the outside was utterly stunning. + +He felt a vague uneasiness, a sensation akin to the horrible frenzy he +had felt earlier in the pile. + +He rotated from side to side, his receptors sweeping the whole field +of view before him. With infinite accuracy his perfect lenses recorded +the data in all its minuteness, despite the dazzling sunlight. + +There was so much new that it was becoming difficult to make +decisions. The vast rolling green, the crowds of men grouped far away +and staring at him, above all the searing light. Abruptly he rejected +it all. He swung back into the foyer of the plant and faced a dark +corner, bringing instant, essential relief to his pulsating +photocells. + +Staring into the semi-darkness, he re-ran the memory tape of his +escape from the pile. The farther he had moved from the pile, it +seemed, the less adjusted he had become, the less able he was to judge +and correlate. + +Silently, lost in his computations, he rolled around and around the +foyer for a long, long time. He became aware, finally, that the +brilliance outside had paled. He went again to the door and watched +the fading sunlight, caught the rainbow splendor that streaked the +evening sky. + +He waited there, fighting the reluctance inside himself. The driving +curiosity that had brought him this far overcame that curious, +perplexing reticence, and he looked down at the steps and measured +their width and depth so that he might set up a feedback pattern. This +done, he bounced, almost jauntily, down them. + +He had rolled perhaps fifty feet down the smooth pathway curving +across the grounds when he made out, clearly discernible in the +gathering dusk, the three men and the machine that were moving toward +him. It was the last bit of datum he ever filed. + +The demolition squad had finished with the hot remains of M-75, and +their big truck was coughing away into the night. One by one, the +floodlights that had lighted their work flickered out. + +"Pretty delicate machines, after all," commented Sokolski. "One jolt +from that flame thrower...." + +Gaines was silent as they walked back toward the plant. "Bert," he +said slowly, "what the hell do you suppose got into him?" + +Sokolski shrugged. "You were the one who spotted the trouble with him, +Joe. Just think, if you could have checked him out completely--" + +Gaines could not help looking up at the stars and saying what he had +really been thinking all along, "It's a small world, Bert, a small +world." + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Small World of M-75, by Ed M. 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