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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58773 ***
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+                             LES MACHINES
+
+                              BY JOE LOVE
+
+       _There are human beings who function "like machines" and
+      there are machines which seem to be "almost human". So--the
+       problem in this case was not murder, or who committed it
+       but who was the "machine" and who was the "human being"._
+
+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
+             Worlds of If Science Fiction, December 1954.
+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+On January 5, 1997 Isobel Smith became Isobel Smith d'Larte. On
+November 13, 1997 Isobel Smith d'Larte gave birth to a boy-child who
+died. And on March 20, 1998 Isobel Smith d'Larte was placed on trial
+for the willful and premeditated murder of her husband Arnaud d'Larte.
+
+"Not Isobel," said her friends. "Not Isobel. Too mousey. So quiet.
+Surely it wasn't Isobel."
+
+"But it's the quiet type you've got to watch out for," said others.
+"Probably has a lover somewhere. She was younger than her husband you
+know. Much younger. Too much younger."
+
+"Killed him for his money," said the people on the street. "Read where
+she likes art and museums, stuff like that. Must be a queer one that
+Isobel d'Larte."
+
+The accusations piled high against Isobel, but she said nothing. She
+sat in court, a tiny figure in black saying nothing, seemingly not even
+listening to the accusations of the Prosecutor.
+
+"We will prove willful and premeditated murder," the Prosecutor
+thundered.
+
+"Easily done," an old woman in the audience murmured spitefully. "Young
+wife, old husband. Rich husband. Murder! Easily proved."
+
+"First witness," the Prosecutor called. "Sergeant Melot."
+
+Sergeant Melot took the stand. The witness chair creaked under his
+weight. He answered a loud, "I do," when the clerk swore him in.
+
+"Tell us about finding the body," the Prosecutor said. "Miss no
+details."
+
+"A Mrs. Watson, servant of Arnaud d'Larte, called us at nine five P.M.
+on March 15. Her master was dead, she said. When we answered her call
+we found Mr. d'Larte's body in his bedroom. He had been dead for about
+an hour."
+
+"The cause?"
+
+"Beaten to death. Beaten with an iron statue of Venus. Evidence of a
+struggle. Twenty wounds on his head."
+
+"Twenty wounds, Sergeant Melot?"
+
+"Twenty. The first, or second, would have been enough to kill him. But
+there were twenty."
+
+The audience gasped and the Prosecutor smiled. "And where was Mrs.
+d'Larte?" he asked.
+
+"Locked in her bedroom. Had to break the door down to get to her."
+
+"Did you speak to her?"
+
+"We spoke to her, but she didn't speak to us."
+
+The audience laughed and the judge rapped for silence.
+
+"The iron statue of Venus, the one found near Mr. d'Larte's body, you
+found fingerprints on it, did you not?" Sergeant Melot nodded. "Whose
+fingerprints were they, Sergeant Melot?"
+
+"Mrs. d'Larte's."
+
+"Your witness," the Prosecutor told the Defense.
+
+"No questions," said the Defense.
+
+"Why ask questions," a spectator commented. "She's guilty."
+
+"Next witness."
+
+"Mrs. Abby Watson to the stand please."
+
+Abby Watson strode to the witness chair. Her shrew-like eyes flicked
+sharply towards Isobel d'Larte then away. Her answer to the clerk who
+swore her in was sharp and positive.
+
+"How long have you worked for Mr. d'Larte?" the Prosecutor asked.
+
+"Fifteen years."
+
+"In your opinion Mr. d'Larte was a good employer?"
+
+"The best. A wonderful man, but a lonely one. That woman tricked him
+into marriage. Played on his loneliness."
+
+"Objection."
+
+"Objection sustained. Confine yourself to the questions please."
+
+"Mr. d'Larte was older than his wife?" the Prosecutor asked.
+
+"Eighteen years older."
+
+"Was it a happy marriage?"
+
+"At first, at least on his part. He was contented, but she seemed
+restless. Always wanted to go to museums and see paintings, or playing
+her silly antique records all day. Not content with the government
+'Do-It-Yourself' kits. Called them mechanical and expressionless. She
+insulted Mr. d'Larte's friends time and again. Called them frauds. Said
+their paintings, books and plays were terrible. Said that real talent
+was dead.
+
+"You said she spent a lot of time in museums?"
+
+"I didn't say it, but she did. Every chance she got. She'd be gone for
+hours."
+
+"Which museum? The one commemorating the wars? The Museum of Mechanics?"
+
+"None of those. She'd go to the old one on the hill. That horrible
+thing with the relics of the past in it. The one run by the robots. The
+one run by the government to remind us of the past when only a few were
+allowed talent and not everybody like today. But I think she went to
+the museum for another reason. No one could _really_ be interested in
+those things they have there."
+
+"What do you think she went for, Mrs. Watson?"
+
+"To meet her lover. Shortly before he was killed Mr. d'Larte confessed
+to me that he was of the same opinion."
+
+"See, I told you she had a lover," someone whispered. "Old husband,
+young wife. I just knew there was a lover."
+
+"Objection," said the Defense. "There is no proof that Mrs. d'Larte
+went to the museum to meet a lover. There are only opinions, guesses."
+
+"If your honor will permit me to call my next witness I think I can
+prove that there was a lover," the Prosecutor said.
+
+The judge leaned forward in eager anticipation. "Call your witness."
+
+"Bella Whychek."
+
+A fat, dumpy, flame-haired woman made her way to the witness stand. As
+she was sworn in she tugged self-consciously at her too tight girdle.
+
+"Miss Whychek--"
+
+"Mrs. ... I'm a widow."
+
+"Mrs. Whychek, would you tell us where you are employed."
+
+"Timon's and Sons. I'm a secretary there."
+
+"And where is your office located."
+
+"In the building just across the street from the Museum of the
+Past--the one you were just talking about to that other woman."
+
+"Mrs. Whychek, do you recognize the woman sitting over there?" the
+Prosecutor asked as he pointed to Isobel d'Larte.
+
+"Indeed I do. I saw her most everyday."
+
+"Would you tell us the circumstances."
+
+"Well, from the window in my office I have a very good view of the park
+that is next to the museum. About a month ago I began noticing that
+woman in the park. I couldn't help but notice her, she came so often."
+
+"Alone, Mrs. Whychek?"
+
+"At first yes. She'd go into the museum, stay about two hours or so,
+then come out and sit in the park. She never did anything but sit."
+
+"Was she always alone?"
+
+"I was just coming to that. After about a week I noticed that a man
+would come and sit with her in the park."
+
+"Could you describe the man?"
+
+"No, I'm afraid I couldn't. He always wore a long overcoat and a hat
+pulled down over his face. Both the overcoat and the hat were very old
+though. I did notice that. They looked like they might have dated from
+around 1950."
+
+"And what did this man and Mrs. d'Larte do in the park?"
+
+"Just sat. Talked I guess. I never saw them kiss or anything if that's
+what you mean. Of course many times they would still be sitting there
+when I left work. What they did after that I don't know."
+
+"But Mrs. d'Larte definitely did meet a man in the park."
+
+"Oh, yes. She met him nearly every day for almost a month."
+
+"Thank you. Your witness."
+
+The Defense rose slowly and walked over to where Mrs. Whychek sat.
+
+"Remember you are under oath, Mrs. Whychek," he said. "You say Mrs.
+d'Larte and this man merely sat and talked?"
+
+"As far as I could tell that's all they did. Of course I didn't watch
+them every minute."
+
+"Then you can say that they never did anything out of the way, that
+their meetings, if they were that, were innocent?"
+
+"As far as I could tell they were."
+
+"Could you say whether the meetings were prearranged?"
+
+"I really couldn't, but--"
+
+"That will be all, thank you," the Defense interrupted.
+
+So the first day of the trial went. There seemed no doubt that Isobel
+d'Larte was guilty. Her friends admitted loudly that poor Isobel had
+scandalized them to the core. The papers labeled Isobel queer and
+hinted that her lover, whoever he might be, killed Mr. d'Larte for her.
+Old fashioned Isobel, they called her. Some had other names for her.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the second day of the trial the Defense called its witnesses. There
+were only three. Two were character witnesses who hesitantly assured
+the court that Isobel d'Larte could not have killed her husband. She
+really was a good woman.
+
+The third witness was Isobel herself. When she was called she rose very
+slowly and walked to the witness stand. She was sworn in and seated
+herself in the witness chair. Her face and hands were chalk white
+against the blackness of her dress.
+
+"Mrs. d'Larte, did you kill your husband?" the Defense asked.
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you know who did kill your husband?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why did you lock yourself in your bedroom the night he was killed."
+
+"I wanted to be alone."
+
+The spectators giggled.
+
+"Could you explain how your fingerprints came to be on the iron statue
+of Venus? The statue that killed your husband."
+
+"It was my statue. It is quite possible that my fingerprints would be
+on it."
+
+"And you heard nothing, no sounds of struggle, the night your husband
+was killed?"
+
+"No. I slept awhile that night. I was tired so I locked my door and
+slept. I heard nothing."
+
+"Do you know who would want to kill your husband?"
+
+"An enemy I suppose."
+
+"Did your husband have any enemies?"
+
+"Of course, everyone does. Even God has enemies."
+
+That shocked the spectators, but then Isobel had meant it to.
+Quite suddenly she found herself hating those in the packed court
+room. Hating these upright citizens who had come to delight in her
+misfortune. Who sat in smug holier-than-thou attitudes and hoped for
+the worst. Not one among them really cared what happened to her--as
+long as it entertained them. Isobel shivered.
+
+"Could you be more specific about your husband's enemies?" the Defense
+asked.
+
+"No. He never confided in me. He was only interested in his munitions
+factories. In machines. He loved machines. He particularly loved
+destructive machines. Some hated him for that."
+
+"The man Mrs. Whychek said you met in the park. Was there such a man?"
+
+Isobel twisted her handkerchief. It was a thin, white snake in her
+hands.
+
+"Was there a man, Mrs. d'Larte?" the Defense repeated.
+
+"There was a man."
+
+"Could you tell us his name?"
+
+"I do not know his name. He was a man I met in the park. He was a kind
+and gentle man. We talked about art, music--the beautiful old art and
+music. He was well informed about such things. We talked a lot, but I
+don't know his name. We just talked."
+
+"Were you in love with this man, or he with you?"
+
+"No! No!"
+
+"You definitely were not lovers?"
+
+"We were not!"
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. d'Larte. Your witness."
+
+The Prosecutor approached the witness stand. "Mrs. d'Larte, you do not
+like the 'Do-It-Yourself' kits the government has put out, do you?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"You do not approve or recognize the fact that today everyone is
+conceded to have talent, do you?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Why, Mrs. d'Larte?"
+
+"Anyone can paint, but everyone isn't an artist. Anyone can write, but
+everyone isn't an author. Anyone can do anything, but everyone does not
+have talent."
+
+"So you spent a great deal of your time in the Museum of the Past
+looking at the _so-called_ art treasures there?"
+
+"Yes. They were worth looking at."
+
+"And you did not use that to cover up the fact that you met your lover
+at the museum?"
+
+"I do not have a lover."
+
+"The man you met in the park, you just talked to him?"
+
+"We talked about the wonderful, the beautiful things in the museum. He
+knew about them and loved them as I did. There was no one else I could
+talk to about them."
+
+"Naturally," the Prosecutor sneered. "Everyone else knows what frauds
+they are."
+
+The spectators laughed.
+
+"Then I like the frauds," Isobel said quietly.
+
+"You claim you were in your bedroom with the door locked and asleep
+when Mr. d'Larte was killed. Is that right?"
+
+"That is right."
+
+"And even though your bedroom is right next to Mr. d'Larte's you heard
+nothing. Is _that_ right?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Your husband struggled, struggled hard before he died, Mrs. d'Larte.
+You'll forgive me if I seem skeptical of the fact that you heard
+nothing."
+
+"I was asleep. I heard nothing."
+
+"No cry? No crashes?"
+
+"I heard nothing!"
+
+"And the man in the park--he was not your lover?"
+
+"He was _not_ my lover."
+
+The Prosecutor turned to the judge with a grim smile. "Your honor, I
+request a recess so that I may bring in a new witness."
+
+"This witness is not in the court room?"
+
+"No. I myself only learned of him a few minutes ago. It will take about
+a half-hour to bring him here."
+
+"And this witness is important?"
+
+"Yes. I believe he can prove that Mrs. d'Larte is lying."
+
+"Then this court is recessed until the prosecution brings in the new
+witness."
+
+The spectators buzzed and jibbered excitedly. A new witness. A surprise
+witness. The trial was really becoming interesting.
+
+"I hate to leave. I really hate to leave," one said to her companion.
+"I'll never get back in if I leave. But one must eat. I hate to leave."
+
+"No need. No need to leave," the companion assured her. "See, I
+brought sandwiches. Always bring something to eat to things like this.
+People crowd so. It's really terrible. Have an egg?"
+
+"Pretty good trial," an old man with a white beard told the person next
+to him. "Not as good as the Bronson trial, but pretty good."
+
+"You've seen a lot of trials?" the figure next to him asked.
+
+"Seen all the good ones," the one with the beard said proudly. "Saw the
+Bronson trial in '96, the Treamont trial in '94. Saw a lot of trials.
+First time that I've seen one where a wife killed her husband. Most
+of the others involved infanticide. Good trials, you understand, but
+disappointing. All the verdicts were not guilty."
+
+"Naturally. With over-population infanticide isn't a crime. Rather more
+like a good deed these days."
+
+"Understand they are going to legalize the killing of unwanted
+children."
+
+"Should have been done long ago."
+
+"People should be more careful. If they don't want children, they
+should be more careful."
+
+"If you know you can get rid of them, why be careful?"
+
+A woman fanned herself with her pocketbook and glanced at her
+companion. "Have another sandwich, dear?"
+
+"No, on a diet you know." The companion sighed. "It's too bad that they
+abolished capital punishment. Believe me, this d'Larte hussy deserves
+it."
+
+"But it's so much better the way they do it now, I mean sending the
+guilty to the wars to fight in the front lines. Might as well get some
+use out of them."
+
+"True. But why bother killing a husband? Divorcing them is so much
+easier. Only takes a day and you get half the husband's earnings."
+
+"You should know, dear. You've done it enough."
+
+"Only seven times."
+
+"I thought it was eight?"
+
+"I don't count Rodger. The lout killed himself so he wouldn't have to
+pay me a settlement. Ah, here comes the judge."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The spectators stood lazily as the judge entered, then reseated
+themselves and buzzed in anticipation.
+
+"Your witness has arrived?" the judge asked.
+
+"Yes, Your Honor," the Prosecutor replied.
+
+"Then call him."
+
+The witness was called and sworn in as the spectators gawked at him
+eagerly.
+
+"Good looking. Dark. Evil eyes though. Black eyes. I like dark eyes,
+don't you?"
+
+"Dark blue coat. Lime green sports shirt. Nice combination. Must have a
+suit made with those colors."
+
+"Nasty look about that fellow. Wouldn't trust him."
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"Shhhhhhhhhh!"
+
+Isobel d'Larte stared at the witness in fear.
+
+"Your name, please," the Prosecutor demanded of the witness.
+
+"Andy Kirk."
+
+"You are Mr. d'Larte's nephew?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+"What do you do for a living, Mr. Kirk?"
+
+"Anything, but basically I'm an artist."
+
+"Is that what you are doing at the present time, Mr. Kirk?"
+
+"No. Everybody's an artist today. No room for a good one, a real one."
+
+"Then what do you do, Mr. Kirk?" the Prosecutor asked in exasperation.
+
+"Don't shout. I didn't ask to come here."
+
+"What do you do for a living?" the Prosecutor asked quietly.
+
+"Arnaud--Mr. d'Larte--paid me to follow his wife. To spy on her. He
+paid very well."
+
+The spectators gasped happily. "Now we'll hear something," someone said
+in a stage whisper. The judge rapped for silence.
+
+"Why did Mr. d'Larte pay you to follow his wife?"
+
+"He thought she had a lover."
+
+"But you heard Mrs. d'Larte claim that she did not have a lover."
+
+"No, I didn't. How could I? I wasn't here."
+
+Laughter rippled through the crowded room and the judge rapped for
+silence.
+
+The Prosecutor frowned angrily. "Mrs. d'Larte said under oath that she
+did not have a lover."
+
+"She lied."
+
+"Can you prove that she lied?"
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"And they were really lovers?"
+
+"Mrs. d'Larte told me that she loved him."
+
+"And he loved her I suppose."
+
+"Mrs. d'Larte loved him."
+
+"How long were they lovers?"
+
+"Nearly a month."
+
+"I repeat, can you prove it?"
+
+"I can tell you who her lover is."
+
+"Then by all means do so."
+
+"No! Please, no," Isobel d'Larte cried. "I killed my husband."
+
+When order had been restored in the court the judge stared down at
+Isobel.
+
+"Am I to understand that you confess to the murder of Arnaud d'Larte?"
+
+"Yes," Isobel said softly. "I hated him and I killed him. I killed with
+the iron statue of Venus. I hit him with it till he died and I hit him
+with it after he was dead. I killed him."
+
+Andy Kirk smiled.
+
+It only took a short time to bring in a verdict of guilty against
+Isobel d'Larte. She accepted the verdict silently and without
+flinching. In like manner she accepted her sentence. She was to be sent
+to fight in the front lines of the war in Asia.
+
+"I declare this court adjourned," the judge said and banged his gavel
+down authoritatively.
+
+As Isobel d'Larte was taken from the room she was led passed Andy Kirk.
+Seeing him, she stopped and stared at him coldly.
+
+"Why did you do this to me?" she asked.
+
+"To help you. If the trial had continued the way it had you would have
+been judged insane and executed here in the States. In Asia you may
+have a chance."
+
+"Does it make a difference if I have a chance? No one really cares."
+
+"You may find what you've been looking for over there."
+
+"You think so?"
+
+"I hope so."
+
+"I don't understand you, Andy."
+
+"Sometimes one must do bad to do good."
+
+Isobel stared at him not understanding his words, then the guard led
+her away. Isobel d'Larte spent the night in jail, and the next morning,
+along with twenty other prisoners, was taken to the rocket-port to be
+sent to Asia. At the rocket-port the prisoners were allowed to say
+their goodbyes to their families without the benefit of guards. Isobel
+stood alone watching the tearful farewells, then walked slowly into the
+cafeteria. As she sat alone at the corner table drinking coffee a tall
+man dressed in an old fashioned top coat and with an old fashioned hat
+pulled down over his face walked up to the table and sat down opposite
+her. Isobel looked at the figure happily.
+
+"I knew you would come."
+
+"Why did you confess?"
+
+"I did not want them to know about us. They would have made it all so
+ugly sounding. They would have made it sound vile ... and it wasn't."
+Isobel reached out a hand towards the figure and a metal hand closed
+over hers. "I didn't want them to harm you."
+
+"You did it for me?"
+
+"Yes. I love you."
+
+"I'm a robot. A machine. An unfeeling thing of iron and steel. How can
+you love me?"
+
+"My husband was the machine. He ate at the same time everyday, dressed
+at the same time, went to work at the same time. He did the same
+things, thought the same things everyday of his life."
+
+"But he had emotion."
+
+"Only those he had been taught to feel and those only at the proper
+times. He was mad when he should be mad and happy when he should be
+happy, nothing more. He was much more of a machine than you."
+
+"But I cannot return your love. I do not know what emotion is."
+
+"I had to have someone," Isobel cried. "I had to have someone who was
+kind to me. You liked what I liked. You could talk to me of something
+besides machines. Machines do everything now. But you could talk to me
+of art, music, beauty."
+
+"My creator taught me those things. Taught me to care for those things
+in the museum. I would miss them if they were taken away."
+
+"Yes." Sudden tears stung Isobel's eyes. No one would miss her. No one
+would care about her.
+
+"I will miss you too, Isobel. I will miss you very much."
+
+"As much as the things in the museum?"
+
+"As much as those. More."
+
+Isobel stood up, leaned over and kissed the metal cheek of the one
+opposite her. "Then it was worth it."
+
+"All prisoners assemble on the runway," a harsh voice boomed over the
+loudspeaker.
+
+"Perhaps someday I can learn to return love," the robot said.
+
+"You have done more than that. You have made me happy."
+
+"Come back safely, Isobel."
+
+Isobel d'Larte ran to the runway and joined the other prisoners. They
+looked at her strangely not understanding her smile. Isobel barely
+noticed them, for she was happy. Someone cared for her. That was the
+important thing. _Someone cared._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Les Machines, by Joe Love
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58773 ***