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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f968e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64445 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64445) diff --git a/old/64445-0.txt b/old/64445-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d088f7a..0000000 --- a/old/64445-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1146 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cosmic Castaway, by Stanley Mullen - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Cosmic Castaway - -Author: Stanley Mullen - -Release Date: February 02, 2021 [eBook #64445] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMIC CASTAWAY *** - - - - - COSMIC CASTAWAY - - By STANLEY MULLEN - - _"You aren't human, Bell. And you're not a - robot. What are you?" Bell pondered the query - slowly, cautiously, with his semi-mechanical - superbrain ... a brain that Plutonians dubbed - the most deadly and dangerous in the universe._ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Planet Stories May 1953. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Atmosphere in the ticket agent's office seemed thicker and warmer than -usual, but the disturbing factors were supercharged emotions, not -jammed pressure-gauges or thermal adjusters. Not all the emotions were -human; but they were real enough, both to Bell and to the ticket agent. - -"I know all about you, Bell," the agent said, looking over the -half-man curiously, with a hint of vicious resentment. Like many minor -functionaries, the ticket agent took the troubles of his employers -personally, and Mines, Inc. on Pluto was a subsidiary of the Power and -Transport Trust. "Sure, you think you have return passage coming to -you. Hasn't the company been more than generous? Actually, it must have -cost a fortune to patch you up." - -[Illustration: _Like many minor functionaries the ticket agent studied -the half-man with a hint of vicious resentment._] - -"It did," Bell admitted. "But that's not the problem. I'm not claiming -free passage. I have money to pay." - -Bell was half-man, half-robot, the result of one of those hideous -accidents never mentioned in the Company's much-vaunted Public Reports. -Technologically, even aesthetically, he was a work of art, but his -own mother would not have known him. Item by item, his appearance was -curiously humanoid, but no elasticity of definition could make him -human. Every vital organ was partly or wholly artificial, 64% of his -body being either reclaimed or synthetic tissue. The face was a mask of -stainless steel, washed to flesh color by aluminum bronze tinted toward -copper, and the brain behind it was not the one he was born with. - -Closing his ledger with a bang the agent snorted. "So what? I don't -care if you own half of Pluto. You're still out of luck for passage -home. We're booked solid ... six months ahead." - -"You're a liar," Bell stated flatly, "and even if you were a good one, -I know better. There've been four cancellations by miners who couldn't -pass physical for space. What's the gag?" - -Underground Pluto is an interesting place, but it would be pleasant -only for a race of troglodytes. Heated and pressurized air is -uncomfortably dense; light is artificial and there is a sense of -constant vibration from distant atomic boring. No one ever quite gets -used to the endless maze of galleries in subsurface cities, or to the -jarring quiver of vibrations in octaves above and below audible sound. -Worst of all is the deadly isolation from civilized mankind, and even -hardy miners accustomed to the black pits of Luna and Ganymede require -weeks of readjustment before they can work. For himself, Bell had never -objected to the working and living conditions, but he no longer worked, -and Pluto was no place to spend his life. - -"Are you sure you could pass the physical?" The ticket agent shrugged. -"Don't bother me about it." With a type of insolence not uncommon -in his breed, he attempted to turn away. Bell reached, got the -man's collar into a strangling tourniquet around his throat. Pawing -frantically, the agent tried to release himself but Bell applied force -and waited until the plump face purpled artistically. - -"Now that we understand each other, do I get my ticket?" Bell demanded -without heat, easing pressure to permit reply. - -"No!" gasped his victim, signalling wildly as the pressure of twisted -cloth tightened again. "Wait! I can't sell you a ticket. Even if I -did, no space-skipper would dare honor it. We have orders. You aren't -going back to Earth, Bell. You can't go anywhere!..." - -Bell dropped his prey as a terrier discards a dead rat. - -"Why not? Orders from whom?" - -Glaring, warily resentful, the clerk spat an unprintable reply. "I -wouldn't know," he added. Then anticipating further violence of -discussion, he dived into a fat sheaf of papers and came up waving a -red flimsy. "Go on. Read it yourself. No ticket for you, now or ever. -Nobody tells me why. If anyone had, I wouldn't tell you. Try the Psycho -Lab. That's where the order came from. Maybe they'll give you a reason. -Maybe they'll explain. I hope they do--" - -There was no good will in the expression that followed Bell from the -ticket office. - - * * * * * - -Hastings, in Psycho, dreaded the interview with Bell. He was warned -by the visi-screen that Bell was on his way, so he braced himself and -wondered how best to word an explanation that would not explain. A -buzzer sounded and Hastings pressed the button-release to admit Bell to -the office. - -It was impossible not to stare. Hastings wanted to be kind. As a -scientist he was naturally interested; as a man he recognized tragedy. -Hastings did Bell the courtesy of not attempting to hide his curiosity. - -From a distance, or to casual observation, illusion was both startling -and complete. No functional flaws had shown up under the most -exhaustive tests. Eyes looked like eyes, facial planes bore remarkable -resemblance to human features, new limbs and extremities looked and -worked at least as well as the originals. Design and workmanship was -skillful enough to fool a layman, though a specialist might catch -minute, observable differences, especially in the smooth flow of motor -impulses. Synthetic muscles responded swiftly and in completed curves, -rather than in the stiff, jointed, jerky effects of human locomotion. -Walking became a sinuous, liquid glide; there was superhuman precision, -and a sense of restrained power and agility beyond the human norm. - -Bell stopped before the doctor's desk. Even the gesture of -instantaneous repose jarred slightly, with its hint of high-order -efficiency awaiting stimuli. Hastings catalogued Bell's visible -features, and memory supplied a working picture of the rest. For an icy -moment Hastings was gripped by the craftsman's awareness of his own -work as a masterpiece, but in the tragic motif. - -Bell laughed, the sound flat and metallic, but not unpleasant. "Take -a good look, doc. I know how you feel. When I get up in the morning -I always wonder if I need a shave. It's still a shock to look in a -mirror. It's not shaving I miss, but not having to gripe about it jars -me." - -"Is it as bad as that?" Hastings asked sympathetically. - -"Bad enough." - -In a basically imperfect world, there are various kinds and degrees -of greatness. Interviewing Bell was not Hastings' job or even moral -obligation. Explanation would be difficult, probably impossible. -Hastings officiated at his own request. - -"You know why I'm here," Bell went on. The robot voice held curious -overtones, not harshly metallic, but murmurous like an echo of -low-tuned bells. "I want to go home. Back to Earth. I have a wife -there. While I had a real job here it was all right, but I've been -relieved since the accident. My contract is voided, they tell me. I -could sign another contract but I didn't like the fine print. It said -PERMANENT. No contract, no job, nor reason to stay. Now I'd like some -straight answers." - -Hastings sighed. His alert ears caught belligerence in the tone as well -as the words. - -"They refused your ticket?" - -Bell nodded quickly. Light glanced from the rounded angles of his -face-plate. "Right on the nose. No mistake, either. Orders. From here. -Do I get my answers from you or wait until somebody slips? There could -be a good reason. If so, I have a right to know about it." - -"You do, Bell," Hastings admitted. He hesitated. "I had hoped this -wouldn't come up just yet. What's deadly important about going back to -Earth? Anything immediate? Your contract still had three years to -run ... before the accident." - -Bell glanced swiftly around the office, eyeplates questing for -concealed microphones, alarm scanners. Attention settled back upon -Hastings, the plates fixed with mechanical intentness. The man-robot -was shrewd, intelligent, possessed of odd quirks of humor and wayward -caprices of thought beyond that of either electronic or human brains. A -new and oddly terrifying factor had entered the equation of man versus -machine. - -"Before the accident," Bell chimed in. The incomplete thought seemed to -satisfy him. "I have two good reasons. First, my wife. Second, I want -to get back among normal people and learn what kind of adjustments I -will have to make. I still have my life to live somewhere. This is not -the place." - -"Straight answers, both of them," Hastings said. "Now I'll try to -answer your questions. I'd rather give you arguments first, then the -answers. Simple answers are rarely as simple as they seem. You had a -wife, Bell. She hasn't seen you. She doesn't know what has happened. In -words, perhaps. She knows you were hurt and that drastic repairs were -made. Can you expect her to visualize you, as you are now? Be honest -with her, Bell. Get a divorce, or ask her to get one. You aren't the -man she married. Legally, you may have a touchy point to argue, but -legally or not, you aren't married to the woman. It's the kindest way, -believe me. That's professional advice from a doctor. A lawyer would -tell you the same." - -"I'd rather she told me," Bell protested. - -"All right. About the other item. Getting to know people and learning -what adjustments you must make to live among them. Forget it. You -aren't going back, Bell. Not now and maybe never." - - * * * * * - -Bell took the blow without a quiver. Hastings would have given much -for any hint of reaction but dealing with a metal mask and translucent -eyeplates put him at a disadvantage. - -"We'll go into that later," Bell said. "I'm not convinced, but we'll -waive discussion of that point. Your statements lead back to the -jackpot question: What's wrong with me?" - -"Does something have to be wrong with you?" The answer came too -quickly, as if Hastings had readied the parry in advance. - -"I don't know of anything. Do you, doc? Don't fence with me. There has -to be something wrong with me. Otherwise I'd be on the Earth-Express -ship briefing for space right now. I'll ask you once more, doc. Do you -know something about me that I don't? What is wrong with me?" - -Hastings dived reluctantly into the icy waters. "All right, Bell. But -remember you asked for this. I know of nothing wrong with you. Any -tests we could devise showed you without mechanical flaws. Except -for a few minor irregularities that will straighten out under normal -conditions, you are perfect. Your body is the best Lavery ever turned -out, and the only parts he won't vouch for are those you were born -with. Your brain is good, I think. I should know since I designed it. -The trouble is: I don't know. What I think and hope is not evidence. -Neither are our tests, for we have no yardstick to judge you by. You -aren't human, Bell. And you aren't a robot. What are you?" - -Bell reacted suddenly, in a manner that caused Hastings a bad moment. -The chuckle was like bearings rattling in a loose casing. - -"Since you designed my brain, I have a complaint for you, doc. You did -too good a job, if that's an objection." - -"I don't follow you." - -"Let's face it. I'm not exotic enough. Neither man nor robot, as you -point out. I look different to myself and feel different up to a point. - -"But I don't feel different enough. Like shaving. Why do I worry about -it? It's past, no longer a function. And it's only one item. I have all -the same old habits and confusions, same old fears and maladjustments. -Even the same loves and hatreds. There are some too silly to mention, -and others vital. A few are fading, but others are part of my daily -ritual. Why should the gadgets you and Lavery fudged up to replace my -burned parts still fly off on the same old tangents?" - -Hastings groaned. "I don't know, Bell. That's the terrible part of this -whole business. The brain, human or robot, cannot be wholly charted or -pigeonholed. The robots have built-in stops to short-circuit dangerous -electronic relays. But the synthetic or reclaimed tissue is a different -story. There are no stops. None of us can predict what will go on in -your brain. It is partly original tissue, partly something utterly -unknown and challenging. It may be the most deadly and dangerous -combination in our universe. You don't know yourself, Bell. And we -don't know you. We can't take the risk of sending you back to Earth. -Not till we know. If we ever do." - -"Go on," urged Bell flatly. - -"That is only half the problem. Here society is restricted. We are all -used to an unreal and largely artificial environment. We are carefully -selected and screened by hypnotic machines and the Psychographs. Even -here life will be difficult enough for you. On Earth it is probably -impossible. We are not half as worried by your possible reactions to -humanity as we are by their reactions to you. They will fear and resent -you. Doubtless you have been aware that something of the sort goes on -even here. People fear you. - -"Either man or robot can be described in familiar terms. We are -accustomed to both and understand the functions of either. But you are -something new. Totally different. Unpredictable, terribly unfamiliar, -possibly a serious menace. You are disturbed by memory and habit -patterns. These will alter gradually as you overlay the old patterns -with new ones, new memories, instincts and habit impulses. We can't -replace intangibles. The old groove helps you for a time but you'll -outgrow it. And the new grooves may take curious directions before -you're through. You may even be immortal." - -Synthetic flesh puckered Bell's mouth into a curious effect as if his -emotions caricatured a human grin. - -"So I am the jackpot question?" he queried. "I expected such outlandish -ideas from my second-hand thinkbox but you've really pulled up a dilly. -What happens if I don't accept your fantastic diagnosis? Suppose I go -back to Earth anyhow?" - -Hastings shrugged. "I hoped you were too intelligent to insist, -Bell. The people on Earth aren't prepared for you. There were other -experiments, you know. Previous attempts to reconstruct a functioning -being from damaged and spare parts. Their history makes it tougher -for you. They were failures but pretty hard on mankind. Some went -insane. Most of them destroyed themselves. Potentially your brain is -a superbrain. You're the first successful experiment. But you're new -in the saddle and it's a mighty strange horse. You could trample a lot -of innocent people, get thrown and perhaps badly hurt yourself. People -will make it difficult enough for you here. Don't push your luck." - -"I've listened," said Bell oddly. "I believe you're reasonably honest. -But there's something you haven't told me. What is it?" - -Hastings shook his head. "I wanted to make this easy for you, Bell. -I asked for your interview. I was curious, true. Not only in the -scientific sense but snoopy-curious, human-curious. That's the decent -motive, curiosity combined with a desire to help. But there was another -reason. You'll run into it from here on so I'll tell you straight: I'm -afraid of you. Not just your interesting possibilities. I'm afraid of -what you are now. You're different, you and I are civilized enough to -know and accept it. But even we don't dare face how different. My chief -emotion toward you is panic terror. Just how do you think other people -will feel?" - -"I don't have to guess," Bell admitted. "I'm wondering how my wife will -feel. You're afraid of what you don't see in me. And I'm afraid of what -I will see in her. But I have to see it myself. I still want to go -home." - -Hastings' gesture was hopeless. "And you won't be satisfied till you -have a try at stowing away on the spaceship? Is that it?" - -Bell refused audible comment. Hastings made a last try. "You can't do -it, Bell. Ticket or no ticket. No captain or crew would dare trust you -on a spaceship. Try it if you must. But don't hurt anyone. You know -what that would mean." - -Bell's reply was a mechanical grating. "I want people to like me. I -don't want to hurt them. I'm not convinced but I'll think it over...." - -"Be sure, Bell." - -"I will be. But I haven't decided yet...." In silent glide, the -man-robot was gone. Half an hour later, alarms blared.... - - * * * * * - -Frowning, Hastings dialed security police headquarters. Yes, an alarm -had come in. Yes, from Spaceport No. 4. But it was only a headfire -temporarily out of hand; the jetmen were clearing a fused jet in the -booster rockets, a reserve fuel bin ignited. - -A blunt, reassuringly human face grinned from the visi-screen. - -"Stop worrying, Hastings. Two men are watching Bell every minute. -There's no chance of his getting aboardship. Only one spacer in the -cradles at the moment: 11-9334. That's the ship he expected to take -but there's not a chance for him. Passengers are all checked aboard, -briefed for space and put to bed. However, if you'll feel any better -about it, go over and recheck. If you've any doubts I'll put through -emergency priority and you can go along with the ship to Earth. The -staff here can take care of Bell and destroy him if necessary. Yes, I -know the Company wants us to take no chance with him. Seems a waste -after all the trouble you took putting him back together, but nobody -argues with the Company." - -Hastings shrugged unhappily. No, nobody ever argued with the Company. -Regretfully he punched keys and Bell's card snapped from the -electronically coded files. He stamped it with the properly impregnated -ink and fed the pasteboard into a pneumatic chute. - -"Better pick him up for protective custody," he said. "I've put the -order through. Don't take chances with him but try to avoid rough stuff -unless he forces it. You'd better get clearance from the population -board if you do destroy him. I'm not sure the Company has authority for -that. After all, he's not a beast." - -"What is he, then?" The blunt face laughed unpleasantly. - -"I don't know. My nerves are like fiddle strings and my leave's -overdue. Clear my passage and I'll go along ... just in case." - -Hastings reached Space Terminal No. 4 just after the police alarms -went into convulsions. He checked with headquarters and the news was -not reassuring. Bell had been picked up, asked to come along for -questioning and agreed whimsically. Somewhere en route he had simply -vanished, which is not as simple as it sounds in security arrest. -Baffled police and company guards were still searching and a cordon had -been thrown around the terminal area. It took a special order to pass -Hastings through. - -Escape from Pluto is a practical impossibility; a man would be mad -to attempt the gamble. But Bell was not a man. The cargo holds were -airless and scarcely insulated against the temperatures of space. -Leakage from atomic fuel batteries was possible. Crew and passenger -accommodations were so limited that scarcely a mouse could find hiding -place. Rigorous inspection at the airlocks and hatches offered a -problem beyond the powers of a magician, even a real one, not a mere -trick artist. - -Time passed and Bell did not appear near the spaceport. No attempt -was made to crash through the cordon of guards. Nerves grew strained -and the approaching deadline forced decision on Hastings. He dialed -headquarters. - -"I'm going with the ship," he told embarrassed officialdom. "If Bell is -aboard, I'd better be along. Someone who understands the situation." - -Officialdom nodded, no longer amused by the threat of Bell. - -"Tell the captain to take no chances with him...." - -Hastings shrugged unhappily. - -Take-off was unspectacular. Pluto is a freak planet of nearly -Earth-size, but denser, and with the standard peculiarities of the -outer planets. Gravity provides additional problems of reaching escape -velocity, but these are not complicated by atmospheric friction. All -gases, even the lightest, are liquid or solid, and concentrated in thin -layers on the surface. - -A booster sequence of ring magnets operated automatically to raise the -ship from the subsurface spaceport and catapult it past the planetary -skin. Leaving the tube like a projectile, the spacer was carried beyond -the immediate field of Plutonian gravity by triple-stage rockets which -cut loose and dropped back to the surface for pickup. Afterward, orbit -was trimmed just as for a free-flight to Earth, but the ship itself put -in readiness for the hyperdimensional drive. Such immense distances are -involved that no free-flight nor even steady-power atomic propulsion -could solve the problem satisfactorily. Time and money are important -outside Buddhist monasteries. - -During most of the month-long journey from Pluto all occupants of the -spaceship are either blacked-out from acceleration or existing in the -dream-world of hyperdimensions. Building to the extremes of velocity -required for the hyperdimensional translation is painful, dreary and -dangerous. Once terminal velocity is reached and translation occurs, -normal space is warped into a tight elliptical cocoon around the ship, -all inertial forces partially damped out, and drugs or mechanical -trickery must be resorted to while human minds skirt the dark, ravelled -edges of the Unknown. - -In that eerie, hour-long interval between primary acceleration and the -prolonged nightmare of the pocket universe, Hastings and two crewmen -turned out the living quarters and all accessible holds of the ship. -Even the outer cargo holds were examined by scanner and it was obvious -that Bell was not hiding out aboard. Rows of neatly racked crates, -parcels, bins of ore, mail cans, and semi-activated fuel left neither -space nor safety for a stowaway. All passengers and crewmen were double -checked by the officers and by Hastings. - -Afterwards, while alarm howlers vibrated hideously through the -cabin-decks, service passageways and control rooms, Hastings lowered -himself into the shock-block of molded plastic and tried to relax. - -The process was one familiar to him from previous voyages to and from -Pluto. Subconsciously he was aware of sound and movement about him but -it was fading rapidly. From here on every internal function of the -ship, even to the care and feeding of its human element, would perforce -be relegated to robots and the automatic machinery. Grimly, Hastings -recalled one part-machine.... - -Machines.... - - * * * * * - -Quivering grayness surrounded him, claimed him as its own. A hard, -bright core of identity remained alive, but the immaterial suspension -of grayness seemed of infinite extension in all dimensions of time and -space. Time perception and space perception meant little in themselves, -became mere illusions which would pass away for a time and then return -painfully. There had been few accidents, Hastings remembered, and he -clung desperately to this last fading memory of consciousness. - -Coming out was not necessarily as painful as rebirth but it could -have awkward moments. Needle-bite was not the worst, and the tingling -frost-fires spread through veins and nerves communicating Inquisitional -tortures to the awakening body. - -"Bad time, doc," said Bell's voice. "Hurry it up. I need you." - -Idly, oddly, Hastings was not surprised to see the curiously humanoid -figure bending over him. Hypo in hand, balanced in those tentacular -fingers, Bell jabbed again, deftly. Awakening senses screamed with -agony from the harmless, revivifying drug. Hastings did not question -the urgency of command. Jangled universes came together in his tingling -brain, became shimmering chaos, resolved as reality in three familiar -dimensions came into sharp focus, as his disciplined body made habitual -response. - -"What is it?" he asked. - -"Trouble, doc. Your department, not mine. Black Virus, I'd say...!" - -"Oh, Lord! No...." - -Hyperdimensional travel has its penalties. Among them, black virus -infection, which is not black, not virus, not infection. One of the -penalties. An alien protein native to those dark dimensions beyond -dimension. A protein to which all mankind, most animals and plants, and -even a few types of robots, were fatally allergic. - -Strong fingers closed on Hastings' arm and hustled him along. Exertion -cleared his mind and fear roused his senses to action. Now thoroughly -awake, resistance to Bell did not occur to him. He permitted Bell -to drag-lead him through the passenger compartments into the crew's -quarters. One glance was sufficient. Half the crewmen were already -dead. Hideously dead. Others writhed in convulsions, wrenched out of -their shockblocks, their faces blotched with dark weals, chest and -abdomens bloated and bursting with agony. - -"Chiefly the crew, so far," Bell explained. "Only one of the passengers -had contact with it. Or with them. They must have got it on the out -voyage, before reaching Pluto." - -Hastings nodded, numb with horror. - -"Can we help them?" Bell asked calmly. - -"Not much. Drugs by injection to kill the pain. A few may survive, the -stronger ones, and they may wish they hadn't. We'll try to keep it from -spreading to the other passengers. There are treatments, but not here. -If we could reach the hospital at Luna City--" - -Hastings' voice sounded hopeless. - -"It's not too far," Bell commented. "We're well inside the orbit of -Mars. A week of deceleration and orbit trimming. Plenty of fuel." - -"But who'll handle the ship?" - -"They can't?" - -"None of them--ever. Even if they live to reach Luna City." - -"Then I'll have to," Bell said confidently. - -Hastings stared as if the robot-man had suddenly gone mad. "No one man -could handle the ship," he gasped. "Even if you knew all about space -ships and how to land them. Trimming orbit is a full-crew job. And -landing is ticklish enough for old hands. You don't know a thing--" - -"No," agreed Bell. "But I'll manage. No _man_ could, but I'm not a man, -as you pointed out. More or less. We'll find out now which it is. I can -do it. I'll have the robots and the automatic machinery. We understand -each other." - -Hastings wasted no time in futilities. "That's your department. Do -whatever you can. Send a warning to Luna City for relay to Earth and -Pluto. Then get me a couple of the more intelligent passengers. I'll -need help." - -"They won't come," Bell said, with the nearest a grunt of disgust he -could manage. "They're human enough to be scared. Not that I blame -them. I can remember being that human myself. You'll have to settle for -whatever help I can give ... between errands." - -Hastings swore and accepted the inevitable. - - * * * * * - -Nine days of nightmare. Four of the remaining crewmen died and were -promptly incinerated. Bell attended to this gruesome task, and others -too ugly for print. He ate rarely and slept not at all. He took over -completely when Hastings collapsed from sheer exhaustion, rousing -him again only when the vital necessities of ship management demanded -attention. Apparently immune to contact with the alien protein, he -handled living and dead without precautions. During the intervals when -Hastings could manage the clinical requirements of his patients, Bell's -brain went to work. - -Feeding mountains of figures into himself, he became a living -calculator, resolving the mathematical mountains into the twinned -equations of orbit and objective. By tricky gearing and fantastic -jumbles of wiring he increased the efficiency of both automatic -machinery and the non-humanoid robots. Simple devices accomplished -prodigies of result. - -Passengers were herded into a confined space near the nose of the -ship, and kept strictly quarantined. Two of the passengers showed -unmistakable signs of exposure and were segregated. All the routine -tasks of the ship went into the hands of the machines, functioning -under the direction of Bell, half-man, half-machine. - -"I still don't understand how you managed to get aboard," said -Hastings, half-angrily. "But I'm damned glad you did. Even if you don't -make the landing and set us down like a panful of scrambled eggs, it's -still been interesting to know you. We searched every place in the ship -that a stowaway could possibly have hidden." - -It was the last day out from Luna. - -"You tried too hard, doc." Bell laughed, his sharp, metallic clattering -laughter. "I didn't stow away. I was one of the crewmen who helped you -search the holds. Nobody ever notices a man in uniform, and I helped -them overlook me. These eyeplates are the secret, for people look too -hard at them, and it's easy to hypnotize them. Then I will them to see -whatever they expected to see. You made everything too easy for me." - -"That's what I wanted," said Hastings, flushing, "to make things easy -for you. But not exactly as you mean it. Never trust a robot any -further than you can throw him." - -Bell replied thoughtfully. "No one really trusts a machine. Man -instinctively fears and distrusts his own creations. We try to -reassure ourselves by repeating the time-dishonored formula. The -automobile will never replace the horse, nor the airplane the car, -the rocket the airplane. And on down the line. For myself, I'm still -faint-hearted about the hyperdimensional drive in spaceships. A new -invention scares hell out of the stay-put mentality of the human race. -We try desperately to convince ourselves that it isn't so, that these -inventions won't really work." - -"People will eventually outgrow childish fears," protested Hastings. - -"To some extent. But never completely. People accept the new -inventions, but only after they have proved themselves. When they -become commonplace, comfortable, they are taken for granted. Often -too much so. But machines do every job better than their masters and -creators. And civilization goes wherever the machines wish to take -mankind; machines feed man, wake him up, put him to sleep, wipe his -nose, change his didy when necessary. So mankind returns to the nursery -stage--with machines as the new version of benevolent nursery despots. -Machines do the thinking; they are kind masters and eager, tireless -servants. - -"But inside, there is always the hate, the fear, the natural distrust -that flesh always feels for the new, the alien. People learn to -accept, under duress, just as children accept the despotism of the -nursery. But machines are the real rulers. Mankind is at the mercy of -machinery. Machines check progress, pass on the sanity and utility of -every development. They are gruesome guardian angels but until mankind -grows up, they are needed. Theirs is the problem of all guardian -angels ... to make themselves trusted and accepted. That's my problem. -I'm half-machine, even though I am still more flesh than anything else." - -Mars would have been a glowing, pink-orange coal behind the ship had -it not chanced to be elsewhere in its orbit. Earth and Luna were a -pair of faint crescents, one vivid blue, the other pale and ghostly -gray-yellow, so far to the side that one unversed in astrogation would -have feared a clean miss. However, by the time calculated, the ship -would reach Earth's orbit and the planet and satellite would be there, -in proper position and moving at nearly the exact speed to make landing -possible. - -There was hope now for those still living. If Bell could only cap his -miracle with another. - -"What are your plans now?" Hastings asked. "Going on to Earth after -we're cleared from Luna?" - -Bell studied the psychiatrist wistfully. "Is it safe to tell you?" - -"Why not? I'm on your side now," admitted Hastings. "You've proved -yourself. If the population board gives you any trouble about landing, -or going to Earth, refer them to me. I'm your man, your doctor and your -friend. You don't have to worry about me, and I've stopped worrying -about you. I can even believe you'll set down this crate in one piece. -I'm awed. What do you want? Earth?" - -Bell's voice was uneasy. "Not right away. I've sent word on to Jane. -She'll take the E-L shuttle and meet me here. After I've talked to her, -there are things to do. I'm afraid of people, doc. Honestly afraid. And -I don't want to go back empty-handed." - - * * * * * - -It was not a good-landing, technically. But there have been worse with -a full-crew ship. Considering the emergency, and all of his handicaps, -Bell worked the equivalent of a miracle. Bell saw to the transfer of -the still-living crewmen to the Lunar Base hospital, then submitted -himself along with the doctor and the well passengers to the thorough -examinations of space quarantine. He enjoyed the discomfiture caused -the staff by his unorthodox anatomy. - -Fortunately the signs of deadly reactions to the misnamed protein are -easily distinguished. Bell and Hastings were cleared in record time. -And the shuttle from Earth was not due for a full hour when they -reached the landing stages. - -"You haven't answered my question, Bell!" Hastings probed. "I asked -what you wanted. What are your plans?" - -Bell hesitated. "I don't know exactly. It depends on what Jane wants. -I have an idea about proving myself. But it will take money, a lot of -money." - -"You'll have a lot, Bell. Claim salvage for the ship and cargo. Stick -the Company. They owe you something for that accident that should never -have happened. Even according to law they're at fault for not providing -safeties. Nobody ever argues with the Company but you have that fat, -greedy octopus over a barrel. You'll be rich and they'll have to let -you go and come as you please. On Earth or anywhere." - -Bell grinned. "I know they'd like to box me up and keep me buried -alive on Pluto, just to keep my mouth shut. But you don't sound like a -Company man, doc. Aren't you?" - -Hastings snorted savagely. "They strangle business, suppress -initiative, gobble all valuable inventions, and generally dictate -subsistence terms to owners and workers alike. D'you think I went -to Pluto to work under P. & T. terms because I liked it? I had to -go or starve, and I thought I could do something for the men in the -mines. They'll put meters on our breathing next. The P. & T. empire -controls all sources of power, from water wheels to fuel and atomic -generators...." - -"But not sunlight or the cosmic rays, do they?" - -"Wait a minute!" Hastings was pale but interested. "You're not thinking -of wrecking the trust." - -"I might. It would be fun to short-circuit that power. I could do it in -a week. A guardian angel has to prove himself. Free power to everyone -could be my gift. About that salvage money. Would P. & T. settle for -half the legal amount?" - -"They'll settle and be glad for such a comfortable deal." - -"Will you handle that part for me? Save embarrassment. How's your -nerve, doc?" - -"Never better. Sure, I'll arrange the salvage deal. Why not? I'll even -nick them for a fat cut of commission. But you can't get rid of me so -easily. This is one fight I want a share of. And I'm sticking like a -burr." - -They watched the shuttle ship through the giant airlocks. Like a -falling leaf it maneuvered, settling through the dense, hothouse -atmosphere of subsurface Luna. Airlock doors in the hull slid open. - -"About this free power. It's a simple matter of gratings to step down -the frequency--" - -"Skip it," said Hastings absently. "I wouldn't understand the -technology anyhow. That doesn't matter. After all, I built your -superbrain. Anyone who can do what you've done, bringing in the -spaceship and setting it down in one piece, not to mention saving all -our lives and preventing the spread of Black Virus, is my man. If you -say you can do it, you can." - -Bell's metallic eyeplates selected one tiny figure among the many -disembarking. He groaned. - -"I guess this is it." The doctor gripped his arm, then left him alone -to meet his fate. - -She was a trim figure in a simple gray suit. Not beautiful, not -extraordinary nor spectacular except in that individual way every human -being is extraordinary and different from all others. She was in her -middle thirties, even plain by some standards. But she was Jane, which -was somehow important to Bell. - -"It's all right," she said calmly, standing straight and firm, unafraid -of the things time and change can do to love, or to other human -relations. - -"Don't hurry it," Bell advised. "Just remember that whatever you want -is all that really matters." - -"You're changed," she said rapidly. "Different in ways that I can't -understand. Maybe I'll never understand. It may be pretty difficult but -we'll worry about details later. You're still you, I think. Welcome -home." - -Much later Hastings joined the pair and was introduced. He made no -comment worthy of record but while Jane attended to some formalities of -disembarking on Luna the men were left alone. - -Bell fixed his robot stare on Hastings. "Tomorrow we start Project -Power," he promised. "Still with me?" - -"All the way," Hastings agreed. "I guess that settles everything but -the Jackpot Question." - -For once, Bell's face-plate achieved the miracle of a completely human -expression. Puzzlement. - -"Is there another?" - -"I think so. What _are_ you going to do with Humanity?" - -Bell laughed, the sound full of murmurous, metallic overtones. - -"I haven't quite decided...." - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMIC CASTAWAY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Cosmic Castaway</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Stanley Mullen</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 02, 2021 [eBook #64445]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMIC CASTAWAY ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>COSMIC CASTAWAY</h1> - -<h2>By STANLEY MULLEN</h2> - -<p><i>"You aren't human, Bell. And you're not a<br /> -robot. What are you?" Bell pondered the query<br /> -slowly, cautiously, with his semi-mechanical<br /> -superbrain ... a brain that Plutonians dubbed<br /> -the most deadly and dangerous in the universe.</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Planet Stories May 1953.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Atmosphere in the ticket agent's office seemed thicker and warmer than -usual, but the disturbing factors were supercharged emotions, not -jammed pressure-gauges or thermal adjusters. Not all the emotions were -human; but they were real enough, both to Bell and to the ticket agent.</p> - -<p>"I know all about you, Bell," the agent said, looking over the -half-man curiously, with a hint of vicious resentment. Like many minor -functionaries, the ticket agent took the troubles of his employers -personally, and Mines, Inc. on Pluto was a subsidiary of the Power and -Transport Trust. "Sure, you think you have return passage coming to -you. Hasn't the company been more than generous? Actually, it must have -cost a fortune to patch you up."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p><i>Like many minor functionaries the ticket agent studied the half-man with a hint of vicious resentment.</i></p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"It did," Bell admitted. "But that's not the problem. I'm not claiming -free passage. I have money to pay."</p> - -<p>Bell was half-man, half-robot, the result of one of those hideous -accidents never mentioned in the Company's much-vaunted Public Reports. -Technologically, even aesthetically, he was a work of art, but his -own mother would not have known him. Item by item, his appearance was -curiously humanoid, but no elasticity of definition could make him -human. Every vital organ was partly or wholly artificial, 64% of his -body being either reclaimed or synthetic tissue. The face was a mask of -stainless steel, washed to flesh color by aluminum bronze tinted toward -copper, and the brain behind it was not the one he was born with.</p> - -<p>Closing his ledger with a bang the agent snorted. "So what? I don't -care if you own half of Pluto. You're still out of luck for passage -home. We're booked solid ... six months ahead."</p> - -<p>"You're a liar," Bell stated flatly, "and even if you were a good one, -I know better. There've been four cancellations by miners who couldn't -pass physical for space. What's the gag?"</p> - -<p>Underground Pluto is an interesting place, but it would be pleasant -only for a race of troglodytes. Heated and pressurized air is -uncomfortably dense; light is artificial and there is a sense of -constant vibration from distant atomic boring. No one ever quite gets -used to the endless maze of galleries in subsurface cities, or to the -jarring quiver of vibrations in octaves above and below audible sound. -Worst of all is the deadly isolation from civilized mankind, and even -hardy miners accustomed to the black pits of Luna and Ganymede require -weeks of readjustment before they can work. For himself, Bell had never -objected to the working and living conditions, but he no longer worked, -and Pluto was no place to spend his life.</p> - -<p>"Are you sure you could pass the physical?" The ticket agent shrugged. -"Don't bother me about it." With a type of insolence not uncommon -in his breed, he attempted to turn away. Bell reached, got the -man's collar into a strangling tourniquet around his throat. Pawing -frantically, the agent tried to release himself but Bell applied force -and waited until the plump face purpled artistically.</p> - -<p>"Now that we understand each other, do I get my ticket?" Bell demanded -without heat, easing pressure to permit reply.</p> - -<p>"No!" gasped his victim, signalling wildly as the pressure of twisted -cloth tightened again. "Wait! I can't sell you a ticket. Even if I -did, no space-skipper would dare honor it. We have orders. You aren't -going back to Earth, Bell. You can't go anywhere!..."</p> - -<p>Bell dropped his prey as a terrier discards a dead rat.</p> - -<p>"Why not? Orders from whom?"</p> - -<p>Glaring, warily resentful, the clerk spat an unprintable reply. "I -wouldn't know," he added. Then anticipating further violence of -discussion, he dived into a fat sheaf of papers and came up waving a -red flimsy. "Go on. Read it yourself. No ticket for you, now or ever. -Nobody tells me why. If anyone had, I wouldn't tell you. Try the Psycho -Lab. That's where the order came from. Maybe they'll give you a reason. -Maybe they'll explain. I hope they do—"</p> - -<p>There was no good will in the expression that followed Bell from the -ticket office.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hastings, in Psycho, dreaded the interview with Bell. He was warned -by the visi-screen that Bell was on his way, so he braced himself and -wondered how best to word an explanation that would not explain. A -buzzer sounded and Hastings pressed the button-release to admit Bell to -the office.</p> - -<p>It was impossible not to stare. Hastings wanted to be kind. As a -scientist he was naturally interested; as a man he recognized tragedy. -Hastings did Bell the courtesy of not attempting to hide his curiosity.</p> - -<p>From a distance, or to casual observation, illusion was both startling -and complete. No functional flaws had shown up under the most -exhaustive tests. Eyes looked like eyes, facial planes bore remarkable -resemblance to human features, new limbs and extremities looked and -worked at least as well as the originals. Design and workmanship was -skillful enough to fool a layman, though a specialist might catch -minute, observable differences, especially in the smooth flow of motor -impulses. Synthetic muscles responded swiftly and in completed curves, -rather than in the stiff, jointed, jerky effects of human locomotion. -Walking became a sinuous, liquid glide; there was superhuman precision, -and a sense of restrained power and agility beyond the human norm.</p> - -<p>Bell stopped before the doctor's desk. Even the gesture of -instantaneous repose jarred slightly, with its hint of high-order -efficiency awaiting stimuli. Hastings catalogued Bell's visible -features, and memory supplied a working picture of the rest. For an icy -moment Hastings was gripped by the craftsman's awareness of his own -work as a masterpiece, but in the tragic motif.</p> - -<p>Bell laughed, the sound flat and metallic, but not unpleasant. "Take -a good look, doc. I know how you feel. When I get up in the morning -I always wonder if I need a shave. It's still a shock to look in a -mirror. It's not shaving I miss, but not having to gripe about it jars -me."</p> - -<p>"Is it as bad as that?" Hastings asked sympathetically.</p> - -<p>"Bad enough."</p> - -<p>In a basically imperfect world, there are various kinds and degrees -of greatness. Interviewing Bell was not Hastings' job or even moral -obligation. Explanation would be difficult, probably impossible. -Hastings officiated at his own request.</p> - -<p>"You know why I'm here," Bell went on. The robot voice held curious -overtones, not harshly metallic, but murmurous like an echo of -low-tuned bells. "I want to go home. Back to Earth. I have a wife -there. While I had a real job here it was all right, but I've been -relieved since the accident. My contract is voided, they tell me. I -could sign another contract but I didn't like the fine print. It said -PERMANENT. No contract, no job, nor reason to stay. Now I'd like some -straight answers."</p> - -<p>Hastings sighed. His alert ears caught belligerence in the tone as well -as the words.</p> - -<p>"They refused your ticket?"</p> - -<p>Bell nodded quickly. Light glanced from the rounded angles of his -face-plate. "Right on the nose. No mistake, either. Orders. From here. -Do I get my answers from you or wait until somebody slips? There could -be a good reason. If so, I have a right to know about it."</p> - -<p>"You do, Bell," Hastings admitted. He hesitated. "I had hoped this -wouldn't come up just yet. What's deadly important about going back to -Earth? Anything immediate? Your contract still had three years to -run ... before the accident."</p> - -<p>Bell glanced swiftly around the office, eyeplates questing for -concealed microphones, alarm scanners. Attention settled back upon -Hastings, the plates fixed with mechanical intentness. The man-robot -was shrewd, intelligent, possessed of odd quirks of humor and wayward -caprices of thought beyond that of either electronic or human brains. A -new and oddly terrifying factor had entered the equation of man versus -machine.</p> - -<p>"Before the accident," Bell chimed in. The incomplete thought seemed to -satisfy him. "I have two good reasons. First, my wife. Second, I want -to get back among normal people and learn what kind of adjustments I -will have to make. I still have my life to live somewhere. This is not -the place."</p> - -<p>"Straight answers, both of them," Hastings said. "Now I'll try to -answer your questions. I'd rather give you arguments first, then the -answers. Simple answers are rarely as simple as they seem. You had a -wife, Bell. She hasn't seen you. She doesn't know what has happened. In -words, perhaps. She knows you were hurt and that drastic repairs were -made. Can you expect her to visualize you, as you are now? Be honest -with her, Bell. Get a divorce, or ask her to get one. You aren't the -man she married. Legally, you may have a touchy point to argue, but -legally or not, you aren't married to the woman. It's the kindest way, -believe me. That's professional advice from a doctor. A lawyer would -tell you the same."</p> - -<p>"I'd rather she told me," Bell protested.</p> - -<p>"All right. About the other item. Getting to know people and learning -what adjustments you must make to live among them. Forget it. You -aren't going back, Bell. Not now and maybe never."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Bell took the blow without a quiver. Hastings would have given much -for any hint of reaction but dealing with a metal mask and translucent -eyeplates put him at a disadvantage.</p> - -<p>"We'll go into that later," Bell said. "I'm not convinced, but we'll -waive discussion of that point. Your statements lead back to the -jackpot question: What's wrong with me?"</p> - -<p>"Does something have to be wrong with you?" The answer came too -quickly, as if Hastings had readied the parry in advance.</p> - -<p>"I don't know of anything. Do you, doc? Don't fence with me. There has -to be something wrong with me. Otherwise I'd be on the Earth-Express -ship briefing for space right now. I'll ask you once more, doc. Do you -know something about me that I don't? What is wrong with me?"</p> - -<p>Hastings dived reluctantly into the icy waters. "All right, Bell. But -remember you asked for this. I know of nothing wrong with you. Any -tests we could devise showed you without mechanical flaws. Except -for a few minor irregularities that will straighten out under normal -conditions, you are perfect. Your body is the best Lavery ever turned -out, and the only parts he won't vouch for are those you were born -with. Your brain is good, I think. I should know since I designed it. -The trouble is: I don't know. What I think and hope is not evidence. -Neither are our tests, for we have no yardstick to judge you by. You -aren't human, Bell. And you aren't a robot. What are you?"</p> - -<p>Bell reacted suddenly, in a manner that caused Hastings a bad moment. -The chuckle was like bearings rattling in a loose casing.</p> - -<p>"Since you designed my brain, I have a complaint for you, doc. You did -too good a job, if that's an objection."</p> - -<p>"I don't follow you."</p> - -<p>"Let's face it. I'm not exotic enough. Neither man nor robot, as you -point out. I look different to myself and feel different up to a point.</p> - -<p>"But I don't feel different enough. Like shaving. Why do I worry about -it? It's past, no longer a function. And it's only one item. I have all -the same old habits and confusions, same old fears and maladjustments. -Even the same loves and hatreds. There are some too silly to mention, -and others vital. A few are fading, but others are part of my daily -ritual. Why should the gadgets you and Lavery fudged up to replace my -burned parts still fly off on the same old tangents?"</p> - -<p>Hastings groaned. "I don't know, Bell. That's the terrible part of this -whole business. The brain, human or robot, cannot be wholly charted or -pigeonholed. The robots have built-in stops to short-circuit dangerous -electronic relays. But the synthetic or reclaimed tissue is a different -story. There are no stops. None of us can predict what will go on in -your brain. It is partly original tissue, partly something utterly -unknown and challenging. It may be the most deadly and dangerous -combination in our universe. You don't know yourself, Bell. And we -don't know you. We can't take the risk of sending you back to Earth. -Not till we know. If we ever do."</p> - -<p>"Go on," urged Bell flatly.</p> - -<p>"That is only half the problem. Here society is restricted. We are all -used to an unreal and largely artificial environment. We are carefully -selected and screened by hypnotic machines and the Psychographs. Even -here life will be difficult enough for you. On Earth it is probably -impossible. We are not half as worried by your possible reactions to -humanity as we are by their reactions to you. They will fear and resent -you. Doubtless you have been aware that something of the sort goes on -even here. People fear you.</p> - -<p>"Either man or robot can be described in familiar terms. We are -accustomed to both and understand the functions of either. But you are -something new. Totally different. Unpredictable, terribly unfamiliar, -possibly a serious menace. You are disturbed by memory and habit -patterns. These will alter gradually as you overlay the old patterns -with new ones, new memories, instincts and habit impulses. We can't -replace intangibles. The old groove helps you for a time but you'll -outgrow it. And the new grooves may take curious directions before -you're through. You may even be immortal."</p> - -<p>Synthetic flesh puckered Bell's mouth into a curious effect as if his -emotions caricatured a human grin.</p> - -<p>"So I am the jackpot question?" he queried. "I expected such outlandish -ideas from my second-hand thinkbox but you've really pulled up a dilly. -What happens if I don't accept your fantastic diagnosis? Suppose I go -back to Earth anyhow?"</p> - -<p>Hastings shrugged. "I hoped you were too intelligent to insist, -Bell. The people on Earth aren't prepared for you. There were other -experiments, you know. Previous attempts to reconstruct a functioning -being from damaged and spare parts. Their history makes it tougher -for you. They were failures but pretty hard on mankind. Some went -insane. Most of them destroyed themselves. Potentially your brain is -a superbrain. You're the first successful experiment. But you're new -in the saddle and it's a mighty strange horse. You could trample a lot -of innocent people, get thrown and perhaps badly hurt yourself. People -will make it difficult enough for you here. Don't push your luck."</p> - -<p>"I've listened," said Bell oddly. "I believe you're reasonably honest. -But there's something you haven't told me. What is it?"</p> - -<p>Hastings shook his head. "I wanted to make this easy for you, Bell. -I asked for your interview. I was curious, true. Not only in the -scientific sense but snoopy-curious, human-curious. That's the decent -motive, curiosity combined with a desire to help. But there was another -reason. You'll run into it from here on so I'll tell you straight: I'm -afraid of you. Not just your interesting possibilities. I'm afraid of -what you are now. You're different, you and I are civilized enough to -know and accept it. But even we don't dare face how different. My chief -emotion toward you is panic terror. Just how do you think other people -will feel?"</p> - -<p>"I don't have to guess," Bell admitted. "I'm wondering how my wife will -feel. You're afraid of what you don't see in me. And I'm afraid of what -I will see in her. But I have to see it myself. I still want to go -home."</p> - -<p>Hastings' gesture was hopeless. "And you won't be satisfied till you -have a try at stowing away on the spaceship? Is that it?"</p> - -<p>Bell refused audible comment. Hastings made a last try. "You can't do -it, Bell. Ticket or no ticket. No captain or crew would dare trust you -on a spaceship. Try it if you must. But don't hurt anyone. You know -what that would mean."</p> - -<p>Bell's reply was a mechanical grating. "I want people to like me. I -don't want to hurt them. I'm not convinced but I'll think it over...."</p> - -<p>"Be sure, Bell."</p> - -<p>"I will be. But I haven't decided yet...." In silent glide, the -man-robot was gone. Half an hour later, alarms blared....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Frowning, Hastings dialed security police headquarters. Yes, an alarm -had come in. Yes, from Spaceport No. 4. But it was only a headfire -temporarily out of hand; the jetmen were clearing a fused jet in the -booster rockets, a reserve fuel bin ignited.</p> - -<p>A blunt, reassuringly human face grinned from the visi-screen.</p> - -<p>"Stop worrying, Hastings. Two men are watching Bell every minute. -There's no chance of his getting aboardship. Only one spacer in the -cradles at the moment: 11-9334. That's the ship he expected to take -but there's not a chance for him. Passengers are all checked aboard, -briefed for space and put to bed. However, if you'll feel any better -about it, go over and recheck. If you've any doubts I'll put through -emergency priority and you can go along with the ship to Earth. The -staff here can take care of Bell and destroy him if necessary. Yes, I -know the Company wants us to take no chance with him. Seems a waste -after all the trouble you took putting him back together, but nobody -argues with the Company."</p> - -<p>Hastings shrugged unhappily. No, nobody ever argued with the Company. -Regretfully he punched keys and Bell's card snapped from the -electronically coded files. He stamped it with the properly impregnated -ink and fed the pasteboard into a pneumatic chute.</p> - -<p>"Better pick him up for protective custody," he said. "I've put the -order through. Don't take chances with him but try to avoid rough stuff -unless he forces it. You'd better get clearance from the population -board if you do destroy him. I'm not sure the Company has authority for -that. After all, he's not a beast."</p> - -<p>"What is he, then?" The blunt face laughed unpleasantly.</p> - -<p>"I don't know. My nerves are like fiddle strings and my leave's -overdue. Clear my passage and I'll go along ... just in case."</p> - -<p>Hastings reached Space Terminal No. 4 just after the police alarms -went into convulsions. He checked with headquarters and the news was -not reassuring. Bell had been picked up, asked to come along for -questioning and agreed whimsically. Somewhere en route he had simply -vanished, which is not as simple as it sounds in security arrest. -Baffled police and company guards were still searching and a cordon had -been thrown around the terminal area. It took a special order to pass -Hastings through.</p> - -<p>Escape from Pluto is a practical impossibility; a man would be mad -to attempt the gamble. But Bell was not a man. The cargo holds were -airless and scarcely insulated against the temperatures of space. -Leakage from atomic fuel batteries was possible. Crew and passenger -accommodations were so limited that scarcely a mouse could find hiding -place. Rigorous inspection at the airlocks and hatches offered a -problem beyond the powers of a magician, even a real one, not a mere -trick artist.</p> - -<p>Time passed and Bell did not appear near the spaceport. No attempt -was made to crash through the cordon of guards. Nerves grew strained -and the approaching deadline forced decision on Hastings. He dialed -headquarters.</p> - -<p>"I'm going with the ship," he told embarrassed officialdom. "If Bell is -aboard, I'd better be along. Someone who understands the situation."</p> - -<p>Officialdom nodded, no longer amused by the threat of Bell.</p> - -<p>"Tell the captain to take no chances with him...."</p> - -<p>Hastings shrugged unhappily.</p> - -<p>Take-off was unspectacular. Pluto is a freak planet of nearly -Earth-size, but denser, and with the standard peculiarities of the -outer planets. Gravity provides additional problems of reaching escape -velocity, but these are not complicated by atmospheric friction. All -gases, even the lightest, are liquid or solid, and concentrated in thin -layers on the surface.</p> - -<p>A booster sequence of ring magnets operated automatically to raise the -ship from the subsurface spaceport and catapult it past the planetary -skin. Leaving the tube like a projectile, the spacer was carried beyond -the immediate field of Plutonian gravity by triple-stage rockets which -cut loose and dropped back to the surface for pickup. Afterward, orbit -was trimmed just as for a free-flight to Earth, but the ship itself put -in readiness for the hyperdimensional drive. Such immense distances are -involved that no free-flight nor even steady-power atomic propulsion -could solve the problem satisfactorily. Time and money are important -outside Buddhist monasteries.</p> - -<p>During most of the month-long journey from Pluto all occupants of the -spaceship are either blacked-out from acceleration or existing in the -dream-world of hyperdimensions. Building to the extremes of velocity -required for the hyperdimensional translation is painful, dreary and -dangerous. Once terminal velocity is reached and translation occurs, -normal space is warped into a tight elliptical cocoon around the ship, -all inertial forces partially damped out, and drugs or mechanical -trickery must be resorted to while human minds skirt the dark, ravelled -edges of the Unknown.</p> - -<p>In that eerie, hour-long interval between primary acceleration and the -prolonged nightmare of the pocket universe, Hastings and two crewmen -turned out the living quarters and all accessible holds of the ship. -Even the outer cargo holds were examined by scanner and it was obvious -that Bell was not hiding out aboard. Rows of neatly racked crates, -parcels, bins of ore, mail cans, and semi-activated fuel left neither -space nor safety for a stowaway. All passengers and crewmen were double -checked by the officers and by Hastings.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, while alarm howlers vibrated hideously through the -cabin-decks, service passageways and control rooms, Hastings lowered -himself into the shock-block of molded plastic and tried to relax.</p> - -<p>The process was one familiar to him from previous voyages to and from -Pluto. Subconsciously he was aware of sound and movement about him but -it was fading rapidly. From here on every internal function of the -ship, even to the care and feeding of its human element, would perforce -be relegated to robots and the automatic machinery. Grimly, Hastings -recalled one part-machine....</p> - -<p>Machines....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Quivering grayness surrounded him, claimed him as its own. A hard, -bright core of identity remained alive, but the immaterial suspension -of grayness seemed of infinite extension in all dimensions of time and -space. Time perception and space perception meant little in themselves, -became mere illusions which would pass away for a time and then return -painfully. There had been few accidents, Hastings remembered, and he -clung desperately to this last fading memory of consciousness.</p> - -<p>Coming out was not necessarily as painful as rebirth but it could -have awkward moments. Needle-bite was not the worst, and the tingling -frost-fires spread through veins and nerves communicating Inquisitional -tortures to the awakening body.</p> - -<p>"Bad time, doc," said Bell's voice. "Hurry it up. I need you."</p> - -<p>Idly, oddly, Hastings was not surprised to see the curiously humanoid -figure bending over him. Hypo in hand, balanced in those tentacular -fingers, Bell jabbed again, deftly. Awakening senses screamed with -agony from the harmless, revivifying drug. Hastings did not question -the urgency of command. Jangled universes came together in his tingling -brain, became shimmering chaos, resolved as reality in three familiar -dimensions came into sharp focus, as his disciplined body made habitual -response.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Trouble, doc. Your department, not mine. Black Virus, I'd say...!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Lord! No...."</p> - -<p>Hyperdimensional travel has its penalties. Among them, black virus -infection, which is not black, not virus, not infection. One of the -penalties. An alien protein native to those dark dimensions beyond -dimension. A protein to which all mankind, most animals and plants, and -even a few types of robots, were fatally allergic.</p> - -<p>Strong fingers closed on Hastings' arm and hustled him along. Exertion -cleared his mind and fear roused his senses to action. Now thoroughly -awake, resistance to Bell did not occur to him. He permitted Bell -to drag-lead him through the passenger compartments into the crew's -quarters. One glance was sufficient. Half the crewmen were already -dead. Hideously dead. Others writhed in convulsions, wrenched out of -their shockblocks, their faces blotched with dark weals, chest and -abdomens bloated and bursting with agony.</p> - -<p>"Chiefly the crew, so far," Bell explained. "Only one of the passengers -had contact with it. Or with them. They must have got it on the out -voyage, before reaching Pluto."</p> - -<p>Hastings nodded, numb with horror.</p> - -<p>"Can we help them?" Bell asked calmly.</p> - -<p>"Not much. Drugs by injection to kill the pain. A few may survive, the -stronger ones, and they may wish they hadn't. We'll try to keep it from -spreading to the other passengers. There are treatments, but not here. -If we could reach the hospital at Luna City—"</p> - -<p>Hastings' voice sounded hopeless.</p> - -<p>"It's not too far," Bell commented. "We're well inside the orbit of -Mars. A week of deceleration and orbit trimming. Plenty of fuel."</p> - -<p>"But who'll handle the ship?"</p> - -<p>"They can't?"</p> - -<p>"None of them—ever. Even if they live to reach Luna City."</p> - -<p>"Then I'll have to," Bell said confidently.</p> - -<p>Hastings stared as if the robot-man had suddenly gone mad. "No one man -could handle the ship," he gasped. "Even if you knew all about space -ships and how to land them. Trimming orbit is a full-crew job. And -landing is ticklish enough for old hands. You don't know a thing—"</p> - -<p>"No," agreed Bell. "But I'll manage. No <i>man</i> could, but I'm not a man, -as you pointed out. More or less. We'll find out now which it is. I can -do it. I'll have the robots and the automatic machinery. We understand -each other."</p> - -<p>Hastings wasted no time in futilities. "That's your department. Do -whatever you can. Send a warning to Luna City for relay to Earth and -Pluto. Then get me a couple of the more intelligent passengers. I'll -need help."</p> - -<p>"They won't come," Bell said, with the nearest a grunt of disgust he -could manage. "They're human enough to be scared. Not that I blame -them. I can remember being that human myself. You'll have to settle for -whatever help I can give ... between errands."</p> - -<p>Hastings swore and accepted the inevitable.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Nine days of nightmare. Four of the remaining crewmen died and were -promptly incinerated. Bell attended to this gruesome task, and others -too ugly for print. He ate rarely and slept not at all. He took over -completely when Hastings collapsed from sheer exhaustion, rousing -him again only when the vital necessities of ship management demanded -attention. Apparently immune to contact with the alien protein, he -handled living and dead without precautions. During the intervals when -Hastings could manage the clinical requirements of his patients, Bell's -brain went to work.</p> - -<p>Feeding mountains of figures into himself, he became a living -calculator, resolving the mathematical mountains into the twinned -equations of orbit and objective. By tricky gearing and fantastic -jumbles of wiring he increased the efficiency of both automatic -machinery and the non-humanoid robots. Simple devices accomplished -prodigies of result.</p> - -<p>Passengers were herded into a confined space near the nose of the -ship, and kept strictly quarantined. Two of the passengers showed -unmistakable signs of exposure and were segregated. All the routine -tasks of the ship went into the hands of the machines, functioning -under the direction of Bell, half-man, half-machine.</p> - -<p>"I still don't understand how you managed to get aboard," said -Hastings, half-angrily. "But I'm damned glad you did. Even if you don't -make the landing and set us down like a panful of scrambled eggs, it's -still been interesting to know you. We searched every place in the ship -that a stowaway could possibly have hidden."</p> - -<p>It was the last day out from Luna.</p> - -<p>"You tried too hard, doc." Bell laughed, his sharp, metallic clattering -laughter. "I didn't stow away. I was one of the crewmen who helped you -search the holds. Nobody ever notices a man in uniform, and I helped -them overlook me. These eyeplates are the secret, for people look too -hard at them, and it's easy to hypnotize them. Then I will them to see -whatever they expected to see. You made everything too easy for me."</p> - -<p>"That's what I wanted," said Hastings, flushing, "to make things easy -for you. But not exactly as you mean it. Never trust a robot any -further than you can throw him."</p> - -<p>Bell replied thoughtfully. "No one really trusts a machine. Man -instinctively fears and distrusts his own creations. We try to -reassure ourselves by repeating the time-dishonored formula. The -automobile will never replace the horse, nor the airplane the car, -the rocket the airplane. And on down the line. For myself, I'm still -faint-hearted about the hyperdimensional drive in spaceships. A new -invention scares hell out of the stay-put mentality of the human race. -We try desperately to convince ourselves that it isn't so, that these -inventions won't really work."</p> - -<p>"People will eventually outgrow childish fears," protested Hastings.</p> - -<p>"To some extent. But never completely. People accept the new -inventions, but only after they have proved themselves. When they -become commonplace, comfortable, they are taken for granted. Often -too much so. But machines do every job better than their masters and -creators. And civilization goes wherever the machines wish to take -mankind; machines feed man, wake him up, put him to sleep, wipe his -nose, change his didy when necessary. So mankind returns to the nursery -stage—with machines as the new version of benevolent nursery despots. -Machines do the thinking; they are kind masters and eager, tireless -servants.</p> - -<p>"But inside, there is always the hate, the fear, the natural distrust -that flesh always feels for the new, the alien. People learn to -accept, under duress, just as children accept the despotism of the -nursery. But machines are the real rulers. Mankind is at the mercy of -machinery. Machines check progress, pass on the sanity and utility of -every development. They are gruesome guardian angels but until mankind -grows up, they are needed. Theirs is the problem of all guardian -angels ... to make themselves trusted and accepted. That's my problem. -I'm half-machine, even though I am still more flesh than anything else."</p> - -<p>Mars would have been a glowing, pink-orange coal behind the ship had -it not chanced to be elsewhere in its orbit. Earth and Luna were a -pair of faint crescents, one vivid blue, the other pale and ghostly -gray-yellow, so far to the side that one unversed in astrogation would -have feared a clean miss. However, by the time calculated, the ship -would reach Earth's orbit and the planet and satellite would be there, -in proper position and moving at nearly the exact speed to make landing -possible.</p> - -<p>There was hope now for those still living. If Bell could only cap his -miracle with another.</p> - -<p>"What are your plans now?" Hastings asked. "Going on to Earth after -we're cleared from Luna?"</p> - -<p>Bell studied the psychiatrist wistfully. "Is it safe to tell you?"</p> - -<p>"Why not? I'm on your side now," admitted Hastings. "You've proved -yourself. If the population board gives you any trouble about landing, -or going to Earth, refer them to me. I'm your man, your doctor and your -friend. You don't have to worry about me, and I've stopped worrying -about you. I can even believe you'll set down this crate in one piece. -I'm awed. What do you want? Earth?"</p> - -<p>Bell's voice was uneasy. "Not right away. I've sent word on to Jane. -She'll take the E-L shuttle and meet me here. After I've talked to her, -there are things to do. I'm afraid of people, doc. Honestly afraid. And -I don't want to go back empty-handed."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was not a good-landing, technically. But there have been worse with -a full-crew ship. Considering the emergency, and all of his handicaps, -Bell worked the equivalent of a miracle. Bell saw to the transfer of -the still-living crewmen to the Lunar Base hospital, then submitted -himself along with the doctor and the well passengers to the thorough -examinations of space quarantine. He enjoyed the discomfiture caused -the staff by his unorthodox anatomy.</p> - -<p>Fortunately the signs of deadly reactions to the misnamed protein are -easily distinguished. Bell and Hastings were cleared in record time. -And the shuttle from Earth was not due for a full hour when they -reached the landing stages.</p> - -<p>"You haven't answered my question, Bell!" Hastings probed. "I asked -what you wanted. What are your plans?"</p> - -<p>Bell hesitated. "I don't know exactly. It depends on what Jane wants. -I have an idea about proving myself. But it will take money, a lot of -money."</p> - -<p>"You'll have a lot, Bell. Claim salvage for the ship and cargo. Stick -the Company. They owe you something for that accident that should never -have happened. Even according to law they're at fault for not providing -safeties. Nobody ever argues with the Company but you have that fat, -greedy octopus over a barrel. You'll be rich and they'll have to let -you go and come as you please. On Earth or anywhere."</p> - -<p>Bell grinned. "I know they'd like to box me up and keep me buried -alive on Pluto, just to keep my mouth shut. But you don't sound like a -Company man, doc. Aren't you?"</p> - -<p>Hastings snorted savagely. "They strangle business, suppress -initiative, gobble all valuable inventions, and generally dictate -subsistence terms to owners and workers alike. D'you think I went -to Pluto to work under P. & T. terms because I liked it? I had to -go or starve, and I thought I could do something for the men in the -mines. They'll put meters on our breathing next. The P. & T. empire -controls all sources of power, from water wheels to fuel and atomic -generators...."</p> - -<p>"But not sunlight or the cosmic rays, do they?"</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute!" Hastings was pale but interested. "You're not thinking -of wrecking the trust."</p> - -<p>"I might. It would be fun to short-circuit that power. I could do it in -a week. A guardian angel has to prove himself. Free power to everyone -could be my gift. About that salvage money. Would P. & T. settle for -half the legal amount?"</p> - -<p>"They'll settle and be glad for such a comfortable deal."</p> - -<p>"Will you handle that part for me? Save embarrassment. How's your -nerve, doc?"</p> - -<p>"Never better. Sure, I'll arrange the salvage deal. Why not? I'll even -nick them for a fat cut of commission. But you can't get rid of me so -easily. This is one fight I want a share of. And I'm sticking like a -burr."</p> - -<p>They watched the shuttle ship through the giant airlocks. Like a -falling leaf it maneuvered, settling through the dense, hothouse -atmosphere of subsurface Luna. Airlock doors in the hull slid open.</p> - -<p>"About this free power. It's a simple matter of gratings to step down -the frequency—"</p> - -<p>"Skip it," said Hastings absently. "I wouldn't understand the -technology anyhow. That doesn't matter. After all, I built your -superbrain. Anyone who can do what you've done, bringing in the -spaceship and setting it down in one piece, not to mention saving all -our lives and preventing the spread of Black Virus, is my man. If you -say you can do it, you can."</p> - -<p>Bell's metallic eyeplates selected one tiny figure among the many -disembarking. He groaned.</p> - -<p>"I guess this is it." The doctor gripped his arm, then left him alone -to meet his fate.</p> - -<p>She was a trim figure in a simple gray suit. Not beautiful, not -extraordinary nor spectacular except in that individual way every human -being is extraordinary and different from all others. She was in her -middle thirties, even plain by some standards. But she was Jane, which -was somehow important to Bell.</p> - -<p>"It's all right," she said calmly, standing straight and firm, unafraid -of the things time and change can do to love, or to other human -relations.</p> - -<p>"Don't hurry it," Bell advised. "Just remember that whatever you want -is all that really matters."</p> - -<p>"You're changed," she said rapidly. "Different in ways that I can't -understand. Maybe I'll never understand. It may be pretty difficult but -we'll worry about details later. You're still you, I think. Welcome -home."</p> - -<p>Much later Hastings joined the pair and was introduced. He made no -comment worthy of record but while Jane attended to some formalities of -disembarking on Luna the men were left alone.</p> - -<p>Bell fixed his robot stare on Hastings. "Tomorrow we start Project -Power," he promised. "Still with me?"</p> - -<p>"All the way," Hastings agreed. "I guess that settles everything but -the Jackpot Question."</p> - -<p>For once, Bell's face-plate achieved the miracle of a completely human -expression. Puzzlement.</p> - -<p>"Is there another?"</p> - -<p>"I think so. What <i>are</i> you going to do with Humanity?"</p> - -<p>Bell laughed, the sound full of murmurous, metallic overtones.</p> - -<p>"I haven't quite decided...."</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMIC CASTAWAY ***</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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