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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TITLE FIGHT ***

+

+

+

+

+

+                              title fight

+

+                          By WILLIAM C. GAULT

+

+         These robots were coming up in the world, getting too

+        big for their britches. Nick Nolan would show them....

+

+    _In every robot brain there was a remote-controlled circuit

+    breaker--and in every robot brain there was resentment and the

+    determination to work for THE DAY. William Campbell Gault, better

+    known to the readers of our companion magazine_, The Saint

+    Detective Magazine, _tells the compelling story of the robots

+    who passed and the robots who fought and who planned for the

+    moment--and what happened...._

+

+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

+                   Fantastic Universe December 1956.

+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

+

+

+The sounds from above were dim in the dressing room. Over his head,

+between him and the thousands of fans, were the tons of concrete,

+robot-made concrete. Man conceived but robot made.

+

+He looked down at his hands, his strong, short-fingered hands. Complete

+with fingerprints--but of protonol. Who'd know it, to look at them? In

+man's image, he was made. In God's image, man was made, if one believed

+in that, any more. In man's image, he was made, but not with man's

+status.

+

+His name was Alix 1340, which meant only that he was the thirteen

+hundred and fortieth of the Alix type. The short, broad Nordic type. In

+about twenty minutes, he was due in the ring. He was fighting for the

+middleweight championship of the world.

+

+Joe Nettleton had dreamed that one up. It had been born in the verbiage

+of his daily syndicated sports column, nurtured by the fans' clamor,

+and fanned into reality--by what? Animosity? These robots were coming

+up in the world, getting too big for their britches. Nick Nolan would

+show this Alix his place.

+

+Nick was the champ, a man, made in His image. He butted and thumbed and

+gouged and heeled. His favorite target was the groin. But _he_ was a

+man. Oh, yes, he was a man. A champion among men.

+

+Manny came in. His real title was Manuel 4307, but robots like to

+forget the numbers. He was Manny, Alix's manager and number one second.

+A deft and sharp and able robot, Manny.

+

+He said, "I thought it would be better if we were alone. No fans,

+especially. And I've had a bellyfull of sports writers."

+

+"Even Joe Nettleton?" Alix asked. "Joe's on our side, isn't he?"

+

+"It's hard to say. Do you ever wonder about him, Alix?"

+

+Alix didn't answer, right away. He knew there were robots who 'passed',

+went over to the status line and lived as humans. He didn't know how

+many there were, and he often wondered about them. In every robot

+brain, there was a remote-controlled circuit breaker. They could be

+stopped with the throwing of a switch at the personnel center. There

+was a well-guarded office and a man on duty at that center twenty-four

+hours of every day.

+

+Now Alix said, "I never thought much about Joe, either way."

+

+"What have you been thinking?" Manny asked.

+

+"I've been thinking," Alix said slowly, "that we fight man's wars

+and pulverate his garbage and dehydrate his sewerage, but we're not

+citizens. Why, Manny?"

+

+"We're not human. We're not--orthodox." Manny was watching him closely

+as he spoke.

+

+"Not human? They feed us Bach and Brahms and Beethoven and Shakespeare

+and Voltaire in our incubation period, don't they? And all the others

+I've forced myself to forget. Does this--this _soul_ come from

+somewhere outside the system?"

+

+"I guess it does. They don't feed us much religion, but I guess it

+comes from God."

+

+"And what's He like?"

+

+"It would depend upon who you ask, I guess," Manny said. "Sort of a

+superman. From Him they get their charity and tolerance and justice and

+all the rest of their noble attributes." Manny's laugh was bitter. "How

+they love themselves."

+

+"They're so sure about everything else," Alix said, "but not very sure

+of their God. Is that it?"

+

+"That's about it. I heard one man say He watches when a sparrow falls.

+I guess we're less than the sparrows, Alix."

+

+There was a silence, and then Manny put a hand on Alix's shoulder.

+"We've got about fifteen minutes, and I've got a million things to say.

+Maybe I should have said them earlier."

+

+Alix turned at the gravity of Manny's voice. His lumagel eyes went over

+Manny's dark face, absorbing his rigid intensity. Whatever it was that

+was coming, it was more important than the fight.

+

+Manny said quietly, "Win this one, and blood will run in the streets,

+Alix."

+

+"Human blood?"

+

+"White man's blood. We've got the Negro, and the Jap and the Chinamen

+and all the rest of them who got their rights so recently. And what

+kind of rights have they got? Civil, not in the people's hearts. You

+think those races don't know it? We were talking of their God, Alix.

+Well, the robots have one, too. His name is Alix 1340."

+

+"Manny, you've gone crazy."

+

+"Have I? Joe Nettleton's one of us, Alix. This was his scheme, and the

+four men who run the switch at the personnel center; they're ours,

+too. Top robots. Their I.Q.'s all crowding two hundred. We've got the

+brains, Alix, and the man power. We've got the combined venom of a

+billion non-whites. And now we've got you."

+

+"A pug. What kind of god would I make? You're off the beam, Manny."

+

+"Am I? Did I ever give you anything but the straight dope? They adore

+you, Alix. You've been a model to them. You could be their king, if you

+say the word."

+

+"You've been setting this up, you and Joe Nettleton? This fight

+tonight's the crisis? You've been building toward tonight."

+

+"But it takes a front man, a symbol. You're the only one who can be

+that. You're the only one they'd all back."

+

+Alix looked again at his hands, the hands that had taken him to the

+first mixed fight in history, to a title fight. 'Man Versus The

+Machine' most of the sports scribes had labeled it, though not Joe

+Nettleton. Machine? A machine that had assimilated Voltaire? A machine

+that had listened to Brahms?

+

+What differentiates man from his machines? Supremacy? Supremacy would

+be established tonight. No, it wasn't physical supremacy. And there

+were robots far beyond man's mental powers.

+

+The spark, then, the spark from their God? How did they know they

+had it? In all the wrangling mysticism that had gone through so many

+directed misinterpretations, where could they find their God?

+

+"Thinking it over?" Manny asked. "Why so quiet, Alix?"

+

+Alix's grin was saturnine. "Believe it or not, I was thinking of God."

+

+"_Their_ God?"

+

+Alix frowned. "I suppose. Theirs' and the sparrows'."

+

+There were three spaced knocks at the door. Manny said, "Joe Nettleton.

+He wants to talk to you. We've got about eight minutes, Alix." He went

+to the door.

+

+Joe Nettleton was tall, and pale and brown-eyed. The eyes should be

+lumagel, and Alix studied them, but could note no difference from those

+of a man.

+

+Joe said to Manny, "He knows?"

+

+Manny nodded.

+

+Joe turned back. "Well--Alix--?"

+

+"I don't know. It's--it's--monstrous, it's--" He shrugged his shoulders

+and pounded one hand into the palm of the other.

+

+"You're _it_, Alix. King, god, what you will. For six years, I've built

+you up--in _their_ papers, in _their_ minds. Clean, quiet, hard working

+Alix. And humble. Oh, the humility I gave you has made me cry, at

+times."

+

+Manny said in mild protest, "You didn't have to build that angle much.

+Alix is humble. Alix is--he's--he's--" And the articulate Manny had no

+words.

+

+Joe Nettleton's pale face was cynical. He said, "The way you feel is

+the way they all feel--the black ones out there and the brown ones and

+the yellow ones."

+

+"They've got their rights," Alix said.

+

+"Have they? Take a look at the first twenty rows, ringside. You'll

+see what rights they have, word rights, paper rights. But not in the

+hearts of men. Oh, the grapes of wrath are out there, Alix, beyond the

+twentieth row. Haven't you any sense of history, of destiny?"

+

+Alix didn't answer.

+

+Manny said, "He's been thinking of God, he tells me."

+

+Joe Nettleton's face was blank. "God? Their God?" He looked at Alix

+wonderingly. "This Superman they scare us with? You don't eat that

+malarkey, do you, Alix?"

+

+Alix shrugged, saying nothing.

+

+"They don't believe it themselves," Joe protested. "It's one of those

+symbols they set up, to make them superior. They ever tell you what He

+looks like? Oh, they give Him a prophet, sure, and the prophet gives

+them words to live by. Don't kill, don't steal, don't lie, don't lust,

+don't envy--Words, Alix, words, words, words--Judge them by their

+actions."

+

+Alix looked up. "I'm not--cut out to be a leader."

+

+"Yes, you are. And I cut you out, in their minds, with words. The brown

+ones read me and the black ones and the yellow ones, and I built you

+up, in their minds--_and tonight they'll wait for a signal from you_."

+

+"A signal from me? Are you--what--?"

+

+"A signal from you. To those in the crowd, to those watching on the

+video screens, the ones who are briefed and _know_ about rioting, about

+how to steer a revolution. Think of the irony of it--man's prejudice

+building the army of resentment and man's genius building the machines

+that army can use to destroy man--white man. White man--first."

+

+"First--?" Manny said. "You've dreams beyond tonight, Joe?"

+

+Joe smiled disarmingly. "I use too many words. That one got away. We

+can't think beyond tonight, now." He turned to Alix. "It's not an

+involved signal, Alix. It's just one word. The word is 'kill'. From

+_you_ it's more than a word, it's an order."

+

+There was a knock at the door, and the sono-bray above the door said,

+"Time to go up. Time for the big one."

+

+All three were silent, and then Joe put a hand on Alix's shoulder. "You

+can't give the signal from your back, Alix. You'd better be standing

+up, when this one is over with."

+

+Alix looked at Joe, trying to read behind those brown eyes. Alix said,

+"I'll be standing up. There's never been a second I doubted that."

+

+They went out, and there was a clamor, a ring of scribes in the

+corridor beyond the showers. One of them voiced it for all of them,

+"What the hell is this, Manny? Joe a cousin, or something. How about a

+statement?"

+

+Manny looked at them bleakly. "We hope to win, but we're up against a

+superior being. It's in God's lap."

+

+Cynical men, but they resented the blasphemy--coming from a robot.

+

+Joe said, "And Alix is his prophet. Who's betting what?"

+

+No answer. They stared at Joe, and some wrote down a few words. One of

+them looked at Alix.

+

+"How about you, Alix? How do you feel?"

+

+Alix, the humble, the new day Uncle Tom, the subservient. Alix lifted

+his chin and didn't smile. "Confident. I'll win."

+

+"How?" another asked.

+

+"Hitting him harder, and oftener. What's he got but a hook and an iron

+jaw?"

+

+"Guts," one of them said. "You've got to hand him that, Alix."

+

+"I concede nothing," Alix answered. "We'll see, tonight."

+

+       *       *       *       *       *

+

+There were no further questions. They went down the long aisle that led

+to the bright ring, Manny and Alix and the other handler, who'd been

+waiting in the prelim boys' shower room.

+

+Eighty thousand people in the Bowl, a clear, warm night, and millions

+watching on the video screens around the globe. Video hadn't hurt this

+one--this was history, a robot crossing the status line. They wanted to

+be a part of this.

+

+The referee was black, Willie Newton. It would look like less

+favoritism, if the referee was black, reasoned the white man in their

+left-handed reasoning.

+

+Bugs around the arcs, and big, ebony Willie in his striped shirt,

+waiting in the ring, smiling, just _happening_ to be in Alix's corner

+as he climbed through.

+

+Willie bent, pretending to help part the ropes. Willie whispered,

+"You'll get all the breaks you need, Alix."

+

+Alix came through and stood erect. "I don't want a single break,

+Willie, just a fair shake. _You_ can understand it has to be like that."

+

+"I can, Alix. I'm sorry. About the name--just Alix? Or I could blur the

+rest."

+

+"Alix one-three-four-oh, not blurred. It's my name."

+

+He turned from Willie then, acknowledging the thunder behind him,

+both hands high in salute. He could see the rows stretching out from

+ringside--the first twenty all white. Most of the thunder came from

+high in the stands.

+

+And now the champ came down his aisle, his faded purple dressing robe

+across his bulky shoulders, his handlers a respectful few paces behind

+him.

+

+Nick Nolan, the middleweight champion of the world. His ears were

+lumpy, his brows ridged with scar tissue. His round head centered on

+those bulky shoulders, apparently with no neck to connect them. A

+fringe of red hair and a brutal, thick featured face.

+

+Made in His image?

+

+Some words ran through Alix's mind--"Is this the Thing Lord God made

+and gave--To have dominion over sea and land...?"

+

+This was a hell of a time to be recalling Markham.

+

+Nick came over to his corner, the false geniality on his face as phoney

+as the gesture of a champ coming to the challenger's corner. Nick said,

+"Best--between us, huh?"

+

+"The better," Alix corrected him. "Keep them above the belt, Nick."

+

+Nick grinned. "Don't I always? I came up the hard way, Alix."

+

+Alix said nothing, staring.... _when this dumb Terror shall rise to

+judge the world_....

+

+A man with a hook and an urge to combat. The hard way? Maybe. He'd

+taken enough punches to give him a lifetime lease on Queer Street.

+But he'd handed out more than he'd received. A spoiler and a mixer. A

+weight-draper and in-fighter and an easy bleeder.

+

+_Blood will run in the streets, Alix...._

+

+In the ring, Nick's blood would flow, and further stain the spotted

+canvas. In the streets, the blood of Nick's brothers would flow, in the

+streets around the world.

+

+Title fight? Oh, yes.

+

+The Irishman first, he'd come up through the ring to his grudging

+equality, and the Jew, then, and the Filipino and the Negro and the

+Cuban and all the others who wouldn't stay down. Who had their fists

+and their guts. Mickey Walker, Benny Leonard, Joe Louis--immortals all.

+Great men, great champs, great memories.

+

+And he? Alix 1340? Different, a machine, no spark. He'd almost

+forgotten about no spark.

+

+Nick's manager came over to inspect the bandages on Alix's hands,

+and then went back to his corner with Manny to inspect those on the

+battered hands of the champ.

+

+Alix's hands were clean lined, no breaks, no lumps. Alix was a

+scientific hitter, and his protocol was better than the natural product.

+

+_He watches the sparrows_, Manny had said. A _signal_, Joe had said. I

+wish somebody would give me a signal, Alix thought. It's too big for

+me.

+

+The introductions, the numbers not blurred. The instructions, and

+Willie saying, "Clean tonight, Nick. I know you well, Nick. But this

+one is touchy, remember."

+

+"Ah, save it," Nick told him. Champ, big man, Nick Nolan.

+

+The buzzer and Manny's brief pat on the shoulder. Rising, and flexing

+on the ropes, looking down into that sea of faces, white faces. The

+ones who held dominion over sea and land.

+

+Bugs in the arcs, a hush on the crowd and the bell.

+

+Alix turned and here came Nick, shuffling across, wasting no time,

+bringing the fight to the upstart.

+

+Nick had a right hand, too, but it was clumsy. The hook was better

+trained. Alix circled to his left, away from Nick's left, and put his

+jab easily to Nick's nose.

+

+There are sportswriters, Alix knew, who talked of a _right_ hook, but

+a man would need to be a contortionist to throw it. Unless he was

+_completely_ unorthodox. Or a southpaw.

+

+Nick was neither. Nick had a right hand like a mallet, but it came from

+below or above, and was telegraphed by the pulling up of his right

+foot. Nick saved that for the time his opponent couldn't see or react.

+

+Nick came in with the hook, trying to slide under Alix's extended left

+hand, trying to time the pattern of his feet to Alix's circling,

+looking for the hole.

+

+Alix peppered him with the left, and then saw the low left hand of

+Nick's. Alix stopped circling--and tossed a singing right.

+

+It traveled over Nick's left and found the button. Nick took two

+stumbling backward steps, and went down.

+

+Resin dust swirled and the scream of the stands was like a single

+anguished cry.

+

+Alix went to a neutral corner, shrugging his shoulder muscles loose,

+trying to still the sudden pounding of his heart. Nick had been knocked

+down before, often.

+

+He took a full count, under the rules, but was on one knee at three.

+The big black semaphore of Willie's right hand and then those hands

+wiping the gloves and Willie stepping clear.

+

+Nick stormed in. He got through Alix's left, this time, and sent a

+looping right hand high. It missed, but it was meant to miss. Nick's

+elbow smashed Alix's mouth.

+

+Rage, a red rage and they stood in the corner, trading leather.

+

+The hook came in low, and pain knifed into Alix's groin. In his aching

+blindness he could feel Nick's feet groping for his, trying to find his

+instep.

+

+Champion, model.

+

+Alix grabbed, and hung on. This one he had to win. This one could be

+lost, right now.

+

+Nick said, "Break it up, phoney man. I can't hit you when you're

+hanging on."

+

+The big slap of Willie's hand. Willie, playing it straight. Alix broke

+at the touch.

+

+Alix broke--and Nick threw the right hand, on the break.

+

+Foul? Of course, but Alix went down, his senses numb, his mind turning

+black. He lay on his face, not moving, the blackness moving through his

+body.

+

+_What's this God like? It would depend upon who you ask. They ever tell

+you what He looks like?_ The blackness turned red, the red of blood,

+running in the streets. And there was suddenly a cross, and a dim

+figure and he heard Willie's sonorous, "Five, six--"

+

+He turned over at seven, was on one knee at eight and up at nine. And

+Nick came bulling in, both hands ready.

+

+The bell.

+

+He got to his corner without Manny's help. The magic of Manny's hands

+dug at his neck, bringing clarity. The ice, the other handler probing

+at his flaccid legs.

+

+"I saw a cross, Manny."

+

+"Nobody's crossing us, Alix. Don't think, Alix. Here." He gave him the

+water bottle.

+

+Alix rinsed his mouth, and spit it out. "He's rough, Manny. He knows

+all the tricks."

+

+"Don't you?"

+

+"I don't want to. I saw a cross when I was unconscious, Manny. A cross

+like you see on a church."

+

+"Don't tell me about it. Get him, boy. Don't try to mix with him, but

+get him, with that left, with your speed, with your brain. Get him."

+

+"I'll try. But he's not typical, Manny. They're not all like Nick."

+

+"The hell they aren't. He's one of the better ones. Get him."

+

+The buzzer, the bell, and Nick.

+

+Nick with the iron jaw, Nick with the hook and the bulging shoulders,

+Nick the champion.

+

+Alix put the left into Nick's face, but it wasn't a jab. It was a

+straight left, with shoulder in it. It twisted Nick's nose, and brought

+blood.

+

+Nick was nettled, and he charged. He charged into a straight, sweet

+right hand that was delivered from a flat-footed stance. Nick wavered,

+and tried to grab.

+

+Alix felt his strength pour back and the pattern of his feet was sure

+and planned. A left, a feint, a jolting right, moving around this hulk,

+this blundering knot of flesh and muscle, beating a tattoo on him,

+spreading the blood. _Get him._

+

+It looked like a slaughter-house. Blood all over Nick's face, and blood

+matting the curled, sweaty hair on his chest. Starting to look dazed,

+starting to wonder, the champ. The untypical man? He must be, he had

+to be, to have dominion over sea and land.

+

+Why didn't he go down? Couldn't he see the pattern of it, the pattern

+Alix was tracing for him with his blood-soaked gloves? Why didn't he go

+down? Why didn't he quit?

+

+He hadn't quit by the end of the fifth round. Out there, those eighty

+thousand were silent. This was no fight, this was now murder. Why

+didn't he quit?

+

+Alix asked Manny, on the stool, before the sixth, "Why doesn't he quit?

+He can't win. Manny, I hate to hit him."

+

+"Don't be a sucker. Don't be a damned fool." Manny's voice was hoarse.

+"As long as there's a spark of life in those bastards, they won't quit.

+He's dangerous yet, Alix."

+

+A spark, a spark--Life? Cognizance? No, life, a spark of life.

+

+In the sixth, Nick almost went to his knees, in the middle of the ring.

+But he got control, and stumbled toward Alix.

+

+Alix came in fast and carelessly--and the earth erupted.

+

+He's dangerous, yet, Alix. There was no blackness this time, just the

+blood red. There was no cross. But a voice? "In the sky, in the sky--"

+Silence.

+

+Get up, Alix. For the black and brown and red and yellow who are

+watching you, around the world, get up. You're their hope, you're their

+WORD. Up, to one knee, and up just under the wire.

+

+Nick didn't charge, this time. Wary and careful, he was, after the

+pasting he'd been taking. Let Alix make the mistakes, like the one he

+just had. Nick only needed one more.

+

+Manny said, "Can you hit him, now? Still mourning for him, are you?"

+

+Alix said, "I'm a machine, Manny. He can't hurt me. I can hurt him, but

+he can't hurt me."

+

+"That's my boy." Manny said. "I'm glad you know what side of the fence

+you're on, finally."

+

+"I know my place," Alix said. "I know my job."

+

+"That you do. Get him."

+

+He got him. They don't quit, these men. Not while they're conscious.

+Not while they're alive. Alix hit him everywhere there was room to hit,

+with both hands, knocking him down four times in the seventh round.

+

+Each time, Nick got up. And in the eighth, he came out to meet Alix,

+walking into his doom, not flinching, not hiding, putting his crown on

+the line.

+

+Supremacy? Nick had it, bastard though he was. But for how long? How

+long could he stay that dumb and still live?

+

+Nick came out, his low hands a farce of a defense.

+

+How long could he hold the animosity down with his arrogance and his

+brutality and his shoddiness? How much time did he have? Alix knew.

+

+Nick came out for the eighth, and Alix hit him with a solid right hand.

+He didn't set it up, or feint Nick into the spot, or hesitate. There

+wasn't any need to.

+

+He put all his weight and most of his bitterness into the button-shot

+that made him middleweight champion of the world.

+

+Silence, a shocked silence at the history before them, and then, from

+the far seats, from the cheap seats, acclamation. The video cameras

+covered the ring, the crowd; the lights went on all over the huge bowl.

+

+Manny hugged him, Joe Nettleton hugged him, and others.

+

+In the far seats, no one moved. In the near seats, no one moved. Joe

+said, "The word, Alix."

+

+They were bringing the banked microphones over, the microphones that

+would carry the word all over the world. The cameras trained on him.

+The word.

+

+He looked at Joe, and Manny. He brought the mikes to mouth level, and

+moved back a bit. He said, "I won, tonight. I've no message for you.

+But someone has. It's in the sky."

+

+Craning necks, a murmur, the cameras leaving Alix as the operators

+swung the huge machines toward the red letters in the sky.

+

+Beside him, Manny gasped. Joe Nettleton stared, unbelieving, his mouth

+slack.

+

+Red letters? Something like red, but luminous and miles high, and

+definite. The cameras were trained directly on it, now.

+

+                           _FIND YOUR GOD._

+

+Manny said, "Alix--how--Are you, did you--? Alix, what in hell are you?"

+

+"There's more to it they don't know," Alix said. "It's 'find your God

+or your machines will kill you'. I don't think there's any need to

+tell them the rest if they obey the first."

+

+Manny said hoarsely, "But this message came through you? You're a--"

+

+"A prophet? Me, a machine, Alix 1340?"

+

+Joe said, "You're not sending out the other word?"

+

+"Not yet. It's not time."

+

+"How do _you_ know," Manny cut in. "How do you know if it's time or

+not? And if their God wanted to send a message, why should he use a

+machine? Why should he use you?"

+

+"Because," Alix said, "no man would listen. And if they don't listen,

+now, Manny, our time _will_ come...."

+

+

+

+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TITLE FIGHT ***
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+      Title Fight | Project Gutenberg

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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TITLE FIGHT ***</div>

+

+<div class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop">

+  <img src="images/illusc.jpg" alt="cover">

+</div>

+

+<hr class="chap">

+

+<div class="titlepage">

+

+<h1>title fight</h1>

+

+<p class="ph1">By WILLIAM C. GAULT</p>

+

+<p>These robots were coming up in the world, getting too<br>

+big for their britches. Nick Nolan would show them....</p>

+

+<div class="blockquot">

+<p><i>In every robot brain there was a remote-controlled circuit

+breaker—and in every robot brain there was resentment and the

+determination to work for THE DAY. William Campbell Gault, better

+known to the readers of our companion magazine</i>, The Saint Detective

+Magazine, <i>tells the compelling story of the robots who passed and the

+robots who fought and who planned for the moment—and what happened....</i></p></div>

+

+<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br>

+Fantastic Universe December 1956.<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>The sounds from above were dim in the dressing room. Over his head,

+between him and the thousands of fans, were the tons of concrete,

+robot-made concrete. Man conceived but robot made.</p>

+

+<p>He looked down at his hands, his strong, short-fingered hands. Complete

+with fingerprints—but of protonol. Who'd know it, to look at them? In

+man's image, he was made. In God's image, man was made, if one believed

+in that, any more. In man's image, he was made, but not with man's

+status.</p>

+

+<p>His name was Alix 1340, which meant only that he was the thirteen

+hundred and fortieth of the Alix type. The short, broad Nordic type. In

+about twenty minutes, he was due in the ring. He was fighting for the

+middleweight championship of the world.</p>

+

+<p>Joe Nettleton had dreamed that one up. It had been born in the verbiage

+of his daily syndicated sports column, nurtured by the fans' clamor,

+and fanned into reality—by what? Animosity? These robots were coming

+up in the world, getting too big for their britches. Nick Nolan would

+show this Alix his place.</p>

+

+<p>Nick was the champ, a man, made in His image. He butted and thumbed and

+gouged and heeled. His favorite target was the groin. But <i>he</i> was a

+man. Oh, yes, he was a man. A champion among men.</p>

+

+<p>Manny came in. His real title was Manuel 4307, but robots like to

+forget the numbers. He was Manny, Alix's manager and number one second.

+A deft and sharp and able robot, Manny.</p>

+

+<p>He said, "I thought it would be better if we were alone. No fans,

+especially. And I've had a bellyfull of sports writers."</p>

+

+<p>"Even Joe Nettleton?" Alix asked. "Joe's on our side, isn't he?"</p>

+

+<p>"It's hard to say. Do you ever wonder about him, Alix?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix didn't answer, right away. He knew there were robots who 'passed',

+went over to the status line and lived as humans. He didn't know how

+many there were, and he often wondered about them. In every robot

+brain, there was a remote-controlled circuit breaker. They could be

+stopped with the throwing of a switch at the personnel center. There

+was a well-guarded office and a man on duty at that center twenty-four

+hours of every day.</p>

+

+<p>Now Alix said, "I never thought much about Joe, either way."</p>

+

+<p>"What have you been thinking?" Manny asked.</p>

+

+<p>"I've been thinking," Alix said slowly, "that we fight man's wars

+and pulverate his garbage and dehydrate his sewerage, but we're not

+citizens. Why, Manny?"</p>

+

+<p>"We're not human. We're not—orthodox." Manny was watching him closely

+as he spoke.</p>

+

+<p>"Not human? They feed us Bach and Brahms and Beethoven and Shakespeare

+and Voltaire in our incubation period, don't they? And all the others

+I've forced myself to forget. Does this—this <i>soul</i> come from

+somewhere outside the system?"</p>

+

+<p>"I guess it does. They don't feed us much religion, but I guess it

+comes from God."</p>

+

+<p>"And what's He like?"</p>

+

+<p>"It would depend upon who you ask, I guess," Manny said. "Sort of a

+superman. From Him they get their charity and tolerance and justice and

+all the rest of their noble attributes." Manny's laugh was bitter. "How

+they love themselves."</p>

+

+<p>"They're so sure about everything else," Alix said, "but not very sure

+of their God. Is that it?"</p>

+

+<p>"That's about it. I heard one man say He watches when a sparrow falls.

+I guess we're less than the sparrows, Alix."</p>

+

+<p>There was a silence, and then Manny put a hand on Alix's shoulder.

+"We've got about fifteen minutes, and I've got a million things to say.

+Maybe I should have said them earlier."</p>

+

+<p>Alix turned at the gravity of Manny's voice. His lumagel eyes went over

+Manny's dark face, absorbing his rigid intensity. Whatever it was that

+was coming, it was more important than the fight.</p>

+

+<p>Manny said quietly, "Win this one, and blood will run in the streets,

+Alix."</p>

+

+<p>"Human blood?"</p>

+

+<p>"White man's blood. We've got the Negro, and the Jap and the Chinamen

+and all the rest of them who got their rights so recently. And what

+kind of rights have they got? Civil, not in the people's hearts. You

+think those races don't know it? We were talking of their God, Alix.

+Well, the robots have one, too. His name is Alix 1340."</p>

+

+<p>"Manny, you've gone crazy."</p>

+

+<p>"Have I? Joe Nettleton's one of us, Alix. This was his scheme, and the

+four men who run the switch at the personnel center; they're ours,

+too. Top robots. Their I.Q.'s all crowding two hundred. We've got the

+brains, Alix, and the man power. We've got the combined venom of a

+billion non-whites. And now we've got you."</p>

+

+<p>"A pug. What kind of god would I make? You're off the beam, Manny."</p>

+

+<p>"Am I? Did I ever give you anything but the straight dope? They adore

+you, Alix. You've been a model to them. You could be their king, if you

+say the word."</p>

+

+<p>"You've been setting this up, you and Joe Nettleton? This fight

+tonight's the crisis? You've been building toward tonight."</p>

+

+<p>"But it takes a front man, a symbol. You're the only one who can be

+that. You're the only one they'd all back."</p>

+

+<p>Alix looked again at his hands, the hands that had taken him to the

+first mixed fight in history, to a title fight. 'Man Versus The

+Machine' most of the sports scribes had labeled it, though not Joe

+Nettleton. Machine? A machine that had assimilated Voltaire? A machine

+that had listened to Brahms?</p>

+

+<p>What differentiates man from his machines? Supremacy? Supremacy would

+be established tonight. No, it wasn't physical supremacy. And there

+were robots far beyond man's mental powers.</p>

+

+<p>The spark, then, the spark from their God? How did they know they

+had it? In all the wrangling mysticism that had gone through so many

+directed misinterpretations, where could they find their God?</p>

+

+<p>"Thinking it over?" Manny asked. "Why so quiet, Alix?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix's grin was saturnine. "Believe it or not, I was thinking of God."</p>

+

+<p>"<i>Their</i> God?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix frowned. "I suppose. Theirs' and the sparrows'."</p>

+

+<p>There were three spaced knocks at the door. Manny said, "Joe Nettleton.

+He wants to talk to you. We've got about eight minutes, Alix." He went

+to the door.</p>

+

+<p>Joe Nettleton was tall, and pale and brown-eyed. The eyes should be

+lumagel, and Alix studied them, but could note no difference from those

+of a man.</p>

+

+<p>Joe said to Manny, "He knows?"</p>

+

+<p>Manny nodded.</p>

+

+<p>Joe turned back. "Well—Alix—?"</p>

+

+<p>"I don't know. It's—it's—monstrous, it's—" He shrugged his shoulders

+and pounded one hand into the palm of the other.</p>

+

+<p>"You're <i>it</i>, Alix. King, god, what you will. For six years, I've built

+you up—in <i>their</i> papers, in <i>their</i> minds. Clean, quiet, hard working

+Alix. And humble. Oh, the humility I gave you has made me cry, at

+times."</p>

+

+<p>Manny said in mild protest, "You didn't have to build that angle much.

+Alix is humble. Alix is—he's—he's—" And the articulate Manny had no

+words.</p>

+

+<p>Joe Nettleton's pale face was cynical. He said, "The way you feel is

+the way they all feel—the black ones out there and the brown ones and

+the yellow ones."</p>

+

+<p>"They've got their rights," Alix said.</p>

+

+<p>"Have they? Take a look at the first twenty rows, ringside. You'll

+see what rights they have, word rights, paper rights. But not in the

+hearts of men. Oh, the grapes of wrath are out there, Alix, beyond the

+twentieth row. Haven't you any sense of history, of destiny?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix didn't answer.</p>

+

+<p>Manny said, "He's been thinking of God, he tells me."</p>

+

+<p>Joe Nettleton's face was blank. "God? Their God?" He looked at Alix

+wonderingly. "This Superman they scare us with? You don't eat that

+malarkey, do you, Alix?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix shrugged, saying nothing.</p>

+

+<p>"They don't believe it themselves," Joe protested. "It's one of those

+symbols they set up, to make them superior. They ever tell you what He

+looks like? Oh, they give Him a prophet, sure, and the prophet gives

+them words to live by. Don't kill, don't steal, don't lie, don't lust,

+don't envy—Words, Alix, words, words, words—Judge them by their

+actions."</p>

+

+<p>Alix looked up. "I'm not—cut out to be a leader."</p>

+

+<p>"Yes, you are. And I cut you out, in their minds, with words. The brown

+ones read me and the black ones and the yellow ones, and I built you

+up, in their minds—<i>and tonight they'll wait for a signal from you</i>."</p>

+

+<p>"A signal from me? Are you—what—?"</p>

+

+<p>"A signal from you. To those in the crowd, to those watching on the

+video screens, the ones who are briefed and <i>know</i> about rioting, about

+how to steer a revolution. Think of the irony of it—man's prejudice

+building the army of resentment and man's genius building the machines

+that army can use to destroy man—white man. White man—first."</p>

+

+<p>"First—?" Manny said. "You've dreams beyond tonight, Joe?"</p>

+

+<p>Joe smiled disarmingly. "I use too many words. That one got away. We

+can't think beyond tonight, now." He turned to Alix. "It's not an

+involved signal, Alix. It's just one word. The word is 'kill'. From

+<i>you</i> it's more than a word, it's an order."</p>

+

+<p>There was a knock at the door, and the sono-bray above the door said,

+"Time to go up. Time for the big one."</p>

+

+<p>All three were silent, and then Joe put a hand on Alix's shoulder. "You

+can't give the signal from your back, Alix. You'd better be standing

+up, when this one is over with."</p>

+

+<p>Alix looked at Joe, trying to read behind those brown eyes. Alix said,

+"I'll be standing up. There's never been a second I doubted that."</p>

+

+<p>They went out, and there was a clamor, a ring of scribes in the

+corridor beyond the showers. One of them voiced it for all of them,

+"What the hell is this, Manny? Joe a cousin, or something. How about a

+statement?"</p>

+

+<p>Manny looked at them bleakly. "We hope to win, but we're up against a

+superior being. It's in God's lap."</p>

+

+<p>Cynical men, but they resented the blasphemy—coming from a robot.</p>

+

+<p>Joe said, "And Alix is his prophet. Who's betting what?"</p>

+

+<p>No answer. They stared at Joe, and some wrote down a few words. One of

+them looked at Alix.</p>

+

+<p>"How about you, Alix? How do you feel?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix, the humble, the new day Uncle Tom, the subservient. Alix lifted

+his chin and didn't smile. "Confident. I'll win."</p>

+

+<p>"How?" another asked.</p>

+

+<p>"Hitting him harder, and oftener. What's he got but a hook and an iron

+jaw?"</p>

+

+<p>"Guts," one of them said. "You've got to hand him that, Alix."</p>

+

+<p>"I concede nothing," Alix answered. "We'll see, tonight."</p>

+

+<hr class="tb">

+

+<p>There were no further questions. They went down the long aisle that led

+to the bright ring, Manny and Alix and the other handler, who'd been

+waiting in the prelim boys' shower room.</p>

+

+<p>Eighty thousand people in the Bowl, a clear, warm night, and millions

+watching on the video screens around the globe. Video hadn't hurt this

+one—this was history, a robot crossing the status line. They wanted to

+be a part of this.</p>

+

+<p>The referee was black, Willie Newton. It would look like less

+favoritism, if the referee was black, reasoned the white man in their

+left-handed reasoning.</p>

+

+<p>Bugs around the arcs, and big, ebony Willie in his striped shirt,

+waiting in the ring, smiling, just <i>happening</i> to be in Alix's corner

+as he climbed through.</p>

+

+<p>Willie bent, pretending to help part the ropes. Willie whispered,

+"You'll get all the breaks you need, Alix."</p>

+

+<p>Alix came through and stood erect. "I don't want a single break,

+Willie, just a fair shake. <i>You</i> can understand it has to be like that."</p>

+

+<p>"I can, Alix. I'm sorry. About the name—just Alix? Or I could blur the

+rest."</p>

+

+<p>"Alix one-three-four-oh, not blurred. It's my name."</p>

+

+<p>He turned from Willie then, acknowledging the thunder behind him,

+both hands high in salute. He could see the rows stretching out from

+ringside—the first twenty all white. Most of the thunder came from

+high in the stands.</p>

+

+<p>And now the champ came down his aisle, his faded purple dressing robe

+across his bulky shoulders, his handlers a respectful few paces behind

+him.</p>

+

+<p>Nick Nolan, the middleweight champion of the world. His ears were

+lumpy, his brows ridged with scar tissue. His round head centered on

+those bulky shoulders, apparently with no neck to connect them. A

+fringe of red hair and a brutal, thick featured face.</p>

+

+<p>Made in His image?</p>

+

+<p>Some words ran through Alix's mind—"Is this the Thing Lord God made

+and gave—To have dominion over sea and land...?"</p>

+

+<p>This was a hell of a time to be recalling Markham.</p>

+

+<p>Nick came over to his corner, the false geniality on his face as phoney

+as the gesture of a champ coming to the challenger's corner. Nick said,

+"Best—between us, huh?"</p>

+

+<p>"The better," Alix corrected him. "Keep them above the belt, Nick."</p>

+

+<p>Nick grinned. "Don't I always? I came up the hard way, Alix."</p>

+

+<p>Alix said nothing, staring.... <i>when this dumb Terror shall rise to

+judge the world</i>....</p>

+

+<p>A man with a hook and an urge to combat. The hard way? Maybe. He'd

+taken enough punches to give him a lifetime lease on Queer Street.

+But he'd handed out more than he'd received. A spoiler and a mixer. A

+weight-draper and in-fighter and an easy bleeder.</p>

+

+<p><i>Blood will run in the streets, Alix....</i></p>

+

+<p>In the ring, Nick's blood would flow, and further stain the spotted

+canvas. In the streets, the blood of Nick's brothers would flow, in the

+streets around the world.</p>

+

+<p>Title fight? Oh, yes.</p>

+

+<p>The Irishman first, he'd come up through the ring to his grudging

+equality, and the Jew, then, and the Filipino and the Negro and the

+Cuban and all the others who wouldn't stay down. Who had their fists

+and their guts. Mickey Walker, Benny Leonard, Joe Louis—immortals all.

+Great men, great champs, great memories.</p>

+

+<p>And he? Alix 1340? Different, a machine, no spark. He'd almost

+forgotten about no spark.</p>

+

+<p>Nick's manager came over to inspect the bandages on Alix's hands,

+and then went back to his corner with Manny to inspect those on the

+battered hands of the champ.</p>

+

+<p>Alix's hands were clean lined, no breaks, no lumps. Alix was a

+scientific hitter, and his protocol was better than the natural product.</p>

+

+<p><i>He watches the sparrows</i>, Manny had said. A <i>signal</i>, Joe had said. I

+wish somebody would give me a signal, Alix thought. It's too big for

+me.</p>

+

+<p>The introductions, the numbers not blurred. The instructions, and

+Willie saying, "Clean tonight, Nick. I know you well, Nick. But this

+one is touchy, remember."</p>

+

+<p>"Ah, save it," Nick told him. Champ, big man, Nick Nolan.</p>

+

+<p>The buzzer and Manny's brief pat on the shoulder. Rising, and flexing

+on the ropes, looking down into that sea of faces, white faces. The

+ones who held dominion over sea and land.</p>

+

+<p>Bugs in the arcs, a hush on the crowd and the bell.</p>

+

+<p>Alix turned and here came Nick, shuffling across, wasting no time,

+bringing the fight to the upstart.</p>

+

+<p>Nick had a right hand, too, but it was clumsy. The hook was better

+trained. Alix circled to his left, away from Nick's left, and put his

+jab easily to Nick's nose.</p>

+

+<p>There are sportswriters, Alix knew, who talked of a <i>right</i> hook, but

+a man would need to be a contortionist to throw it. Unless he was

+<i>completely</i> unorthodox. Or a southpaw.</p>

+

+<p>Nick was neither. Nick had a right hand like a mallet, but it came from

+below or above, and was telegraphed by the pulling up of his right

+foot. Nick saved that for the time his opponent couldn't see or react.</p>

+

+<p>Nick came in with the hook, trying to slide under Alix's extended left

+hand, trying to time the pattern of his feet to Alix's circling,

+looking for the hole.</p>

+

+<p>Alix peppered him with the left, and then saw the low left hand of

+Nick's. Alix stopped circling—and tossed a singing right.</p>

+

+<p>It traveled over Nick's left and found the button. Nick took two

+stumbling backward steps, and went down.</p>

+

+<p>Resin dust swirled and the scream of the stands was like a single

+anguished cry.</p>

+

+<p>Alix went to a neutral corner, shrugging his shoulder muscles loose,

+trying to still the sudden pounding of his heart. Nick had been knocked

+down before, often.</p>

+

+<p>He took a full count, under the rules, but was on one knee at three.

+The big black semaphore of Willie's right hand and then those hands

+wiping the gloves and Willie stepping clear.</p>

+

+<p>Nick stormed in. He got through Alix's left, this time, and sent a

+looping right hand high. It missed, but it was meant to miss. Nick's

+elbow smashed Alix's mouth.</p>

+

+<p>Rage, a red rage and they stood in the corner, trading leather.</p>

+

+<p>The hook came in low, and pain knifed into Alix's groin. In his aching

+blindness he could feel Nick's feet groping for his, trying to find his

+instep.</p>

+

+<p>Champion, model.</p>

+

+<p>Alix grabbed, and hung on. This one he had to win. This one could be

+lost, right now.</p>

+

+<p>Nick said, "Break it up, phoney man. I can't hit you when you're

+hanging on."</p>

+

+<p>The big slap of Willie's hand. Willie, playing it straight. Alix broke

+at the touch.</p>

+

+<p>Alix broke—and Nick threw the right hand, on the break.</p>

+

+<p>Foul? Of course, but Alix went down, his senses numb, his mind turning

+black. He lay on his face, not moving, the blackness moving through his

+body.</p>

+

+<p><i>What's this God like? It would depend upon who you ask. They ever tell

+you what He looks like?</i> The blackness turned red, the red of blood,

+running in the streets. And there was suddenly a cross, and a dim

+figure and he heard Willie's sonorous, "Five, six—"</p>

+

+<p>He turned over at seven, was on one knee at eight and up at nine. And

+Nick came bulling in, both hands ready.</p>

+

+<p>The bell.</p>

+

+<p>He got to his corner without Manny's help. The magic of Manny's hands

+dug at his neck, bringing clarity. The ice, the other handler probing

+at his flaccid legs.</p>

+

+<p>"I saw a cross, Manny."</p>

+

+<p>"Nobody's crossing us, Alix. Don't think, Alix. Here." He gave him the

+water bottle.</p>

+

+<p>Alix rinsed his mouth, and spit it out. "He's rough, Manny. He knows

+all the tricks."</p>

+

+<p>"Don't you?"</p>

+

+<p>"I don't want to. I saw a cross when I was unconscious, Manny. A cross

+like you see on a church."</p>

+

+<p>"Don't tell me about it. Get him, boy. Don't try to mix with him, but

+get him, with that left, with your speed, with your brain. Get him."</p>

+

+<p>"I'll try. But he's not typical, Manny. They're not all like Nick."</p>

+

+<p>"The hell they aren't. He's one of the better ones. Get him."</p>

+

+<p>The buzzer, the bell, and Nick.</p>

+

+<p>Nick with the iron jaw, Nick with the hook and the bulging shoulders,

+Nick the champion.</p>

+

+<p>Alix put the left into Nick's face, but it wasn't a jab. It was a

+straight left, with shoulder in it. It twisted Nick's nose, and brought

+blood.</p>

+

+<p>Nick was nettled, and he charged. He charged into a straight, sweet

+right hand that was delivered from a flat-footed stance. Nick wavered,

+and tried to grab.</p>

+

+<p>Alix felt his strength pour back and the pattern of his feet was sure

+and planned. A left, a feint, a jolting right, moving around this hulk,

+this blundering knot of flesh and muscle, beating a tattoo on him,

+spreading the blood. <i>Get him.</i></p>

+

+<p>It looked like a slaughter-house. Blood all over Nick's face, and blood

+matting the curled, sweaty hair on his chest. Starting to look dazed,

+starting to wonder, the champ. The untypical man? He must be, he had

+to be, to have dominion over sea and land.</p>

+

+<p>Why didn't he go down? Couldn't he see the pattern of it, the pattern

+Alix was tracing for him with his blood-soaked gloves? Why didn't he go

+down? Why didn't he quit?</p>

+

+<p>He hadn't quit by the end of the fifth round. Out there, those eighty

+thousand were silent. This was no fight, this was now murder. Why

+didn't he quit?</p>

+

+<p>Alix asked Manny, on the stool, before the sixth, "Why doesn't he quit?

+He can't win. Manny, I hate to hit him."</p>

+

+<p>"Don't be a sucker. Don't be a damned fool." Manny's voice was hoarse.

+"As long as there's a spark of life in those bastards, they won't quit.

+He's dangerous yet, Alix."</p>

+

+<p>A spark, a spark—Life? Cognizance? No, life, a spark of life.</p>

+

+<p>In the sixth, Nick almost went to his knees, in the middle of the ring.

+But he got control, and stumbled toward Alix.</p>

+

+<p>Alix came in fast and carelessly—and the earth erupted.</p>

+

+<p>He's dangerous, yet, Alix. There was no blackness this time, just the

+blood red. There was no cross. But a voice? "In the sky, in the sky—"

+Silence.</p>

+

+<p>Get up, Alix. For the black and brown and red and yellow who are

+watching you, around the world, get up. You're their hope, you're their

+WORD. Up, to one knee, and up just under the wire.</p>

+

+<p>Nick didn't charge, this time. Wary and careful, he was, after the

+pasting he'd been taking. Let Alix make the mistakes, like the one he

+just had. Nick only needed one more.</p>

+

+<p>Manny said, "Can you hit him, now? Still mourning for him, are you?"</p>

+

+<p>Alix said, "I'm a machine, Manny. He can't hurt me. I can hurt him, but

+he can't hurt me."</p>

+

+<p>"That's my boy." Manny said. "I'm glad you know what side of the fence

+you're on, finally."</p>

+

+<p>"I know my place," Alix said. "I know my job."</p>

+

+<p>"That you do. Get him."</p>

+

+<p>He got him. They don't quit, these men. Not while they're conscious.

+Not while they're alive. Alix hit him everywhere there was room to hit,

+with both hands, knocking him down four times in the seventh round.</p>

+

+<p>Each time, Nick got up. And in the eighth, he came out to meet Alix,

+walking into his doom, not flinching, not hiding, putting his crown on

+the line.</p>

+

+<p>Supremacy? Nick had it, bastard though he was. But for how long? How

+long could he stay that dumb and still live?</p>

+

+<p>Nick came out, his low hands a farce of a defense.</p>

+

+<p>How long could he hold the animosity down with his arrogance and his

+brutality and his shoddiness? How much time did he have? Alix knew.</p>

+

+<p>Nick came out for the eighth, and Alix hit him with a solid right hand.

+He didn't set it up, or feint Nick into the spot, or hesitate. There

+wasn't any need to.</p>

+

+<p>He put all his weight and most of his bitterness into the button-shot

+that made him middleweight champion of the world.</p>

+

+<p>Silence, a shocked silence at the history before them, and then, from

+the far seats, from the cheap seats, acclamation. The video cameras

+covered the ring, the crowd; the lights went on all over the huge bowl.</p>

+

+<p>Manny hugged him, Joe Nettleton hugged him, and others.</p>

+

+<p>In the far seats, no one moved. In the near seats, no one moved. Joe

+said, "The word, Alix."</p>

+

+<p>They were bringing the banked microphones over, the microphones that

+would carry the word all over the world. The cameras trained on him.

+The word.</p>

+

+<p>He looked at Joe, and Manny. He brought the mikes to mouth level, and

+moved back a bit. He said, "I won, tonight. I've no message for you.

+But someone has. It's in the sky."</p>

+

+<p>Craning necks, a murmur, the cameras leaving Alix as the operators

+swung the huge machines toward the red letters in the sky.</p>

+

+<p>Beside him, Manny gasped. Joe Nettleton stared, unbelieving, his mouth

+slack.</p>

+

+<p>Red letters? Something like red, but luminous and miles high, and

+definite. The cameras were trained directly on it, now.</p>

+

+<p class="ph2"><i>FIND YOUR GOD.</i></p>

+

+<p>Manny said, "Alix—how—Are you, did you—? Alix, what in hell are you?"</p>

+

+<p>"There's more to it they don't know," Alix said. "It's 'find your God

+or your machines will kill you'. I don't think there's any need to

+tell them the rest if they obey the first."</p>

+

+<p>Manny said hoarsely, "But this message came through you? You're a—"</p>

+

+<p>"A prophet? Me, a machine, Alix 1340?"</p>

+

+<p>Joe said, "You're not sending out the other word?"</p>

+

+<p>"Not yet. It's not time."</p>

+

+<p>"How do <i>you</i> know," Manny cut in. "How do you know if it's time or

+not? And if their God wanted to send a message, why should he use a

+machine? Why should he use you?"</p>

+

+<p>"Because," Alix said, "no man would listen. And if they don't listen,

+now, Manny, our time <i>will</i> come...."</p>

+

+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TITLE FIGHT ***</div>

+</body>

+</html>

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