by Roger Elwood
Six hundred long endless years had dragged their slow way into eternity, and even the tough concrete floor was pitted by those centuries of pacing and waiting. Time had eroded all hopes and plans and wonder, and now there was only numb despair, too old to vent itself in rage or madness, even.
The female robot slumped motionlessly on the atomic excavator, her eyes centered aimlessly across the dome, beyond the tiers of books and films and the hulking machines that squatted eternally on the floor. There a pickax lay, and her eyes rested on it listlessly; once, when the dictionary revealed its picture and purpose, she had thought it the key to escape, but now it was only another symbol of futility.
She wandered over aimlessly, picking it up by its two metal handles and striking the wooden blade against the wall; another splinter chipped from the wood, and century-old dust dropped to the floor, but that offered no escape. Nothing did. Mankind and her fellow robots must have perished long ago, leaving her neither hope for freedom nor use for it if it were achieved.
Once she had planned and schemed with all her remarkable knowledge of psychology to restore man’s heritage, but now the note-littered table was only a mockery; she thrust out a weary hand—
And froze into a metal statue! Faintly, through all the metal mesh and concrete, a dim, weak signal trickled into the radio that was part of her!
With all her straining energy, she sent out an answering call; but there was no response. As she stood rigidly for long minutes, the signals grew stronger, but remained utterly aloof and unaware of her. Now some sudden shock seemed to cut through them, raising their power until the thoughts of another robot mind were abruptly clear—thoughts without sense, clothed in madness! And even as the lunacy registered, they began to fade; second by second, they dimmed into the distance and left her alone again and hopeless!
With a wild, clanging yell, she threw the useless pickax at the wall, watching it rebound in echoing din. But she was no longer aimless; her eyes had noted chipped concrete breaking away with the sharp metal point, and she caught the pick before it could touch the floor, seizing the nub of wood in small, strong hands. The full force of her magnet lifted and swung, while her feet kicked aside the rubble that came cascading down from the force of her blows.
Beyond that rapidly crumbling lay freedom and—madness! Surely there could be no human life in a world that could drive a robot mad, but if there were—She thrust back the picture and went savagely on attacking the massive wall.
The sun shone on a drenched forest filled with havoc from the storm, to reveal the male robot pacing tirelessly along the banks of the shallow stream. In spite of the heavy burden he carried, his legs moved swiftly now, and when he came to sandy stretches, or clear land, that bore only turf, his great strides lengthened still further; already he had dallied too long with delusions in this unfriendly land.
Now the stream joined a larger one, and he stopped, dropping his ungainly bundle and ripping it apart. Scant minutes later, he was pushing an assembled berylite boat out and climbing in. The little generator from the electron microscope purred softly and a steam jet began hissing underneath; it was crude, but efficient, as the boiling wake behind him testified, and while slower than his fastest pace, there would be no detours or impassable barriers to bother him.
The hours sped by and* the shadows lengthened again, but now the stream was wider, and his hopes increased, though he watched the bank idly, not yet expecting Eden. Then he rounded a bend to jerk upright and head toward shore, observing something totally foreign to the landscape. As he beached the boat, and drew nearer, he saw a great gaping hole bored into the earth for a hundred feet in depth and a quarter mile in diameter, surrounded by obviously artificial ruins. Tall bent shafts stuck up haphazard, amid jumbles of concrete and bits of artifacts damaged beyond recognition. Nearby a pole leaned at a silly angle, bearing a sign.
He scratched the corrosion off and made out dim words: WELCOME TO HOGANVILLE, pop. 1,876. It meant nothing to him, but the ruins fascinated him. This must be some old trick of Satan; such ugliness could be nothing else.
Shaking his head, he turned back to the boat, to speed on while the stars came out. Again he came to ruins, larger and harder to see, since the damage was more complete and the forest had claimed most of it. He was only sure because of the jagged pits in which not even a blade of grass would grow. And sometimes as the night passed there were smaller pits, as if some single object had been blasted out of existence. He gave up the riddle of such things, finally; it was no concern of his.
When morning came again, the worst ruins were behind, and the river was wide and strong, suggesting that the trip must be near its end. Then the faint salty tang of the ocean reached him, and he whooped loudly, scanning the country for an observation point.
Ahead, a low hill broke the flat country, topped by a rounded bowl of green, and he made toward it. The boat crunched on gravel, and he was springing off over the turf to the hill, up it, and onto the bowl-shaped top that was covered with vines. Here the whole lower course of the river was visible, with no more large branches in the twenty-five miles to the sea. The land was pleasant and gentle, and it was not hard to imagine Eden out there.
But now for the first time, as he started down, he noticed that the mound was not part of the hill as it had seemed. It was of the same gray-green concrete as the walls of the cave from which he had broken, like a bird from an egg.
And here was another such thing, like an egg unhatched yet but already cracking, as the gouged-out pit on its surface near him testified. For a moment, the idea contained in the figure of speech staggered him, and then he was ripping away the concealing vines and dropping into the hole, reaching for a small plate pinned to an unharmed section nearby. It was a poor tool, but if Eve were trapped inside, needing help to break the shell, it would do.
“To you who may survive the holocaust, I, Simon Ames—” The words caught his eyes drawing his attention to the plate in spite of his will; their terse strangeness pulling his gaze across them. “—dedicate this. There is no easy entrance, but you will expect no easy heritage. Force your way, take what is within, use it! To you who need it and will work for it, I have left all knowledge that was—”
Knowledge! Knowledge, forbidden by God! Satan had put before his path the unquestioned thing meant by the Tree of Knowledge symbol, concealed as a false egg, and he had almost been caught! A few minutes more—! He shuddered, and backed out, but optimism was freshening inside him again. Let it be the Tree! That meant this was really part of Eden, and being forewarned by God’s marker, he had no fear for the wiles of Satan, alive or dead.
With long, loping strides he headed down the hill toward the meadows and woods, leaving the now useless boat behind. He would enter Eden on his own feet, as God had made him!
Half an hour later he was humming happily to himself as he passed beside lush fields, rich with growing things, along a little woodland path. Here was order and logic, as they should be. This was surely Eden!
And to confirm it came Eve! She was coming down the trail ahead, her hair floating behind, and some loose stuff draped over her hips and breasts, but the form underneath was Woman, beautiful and unmistakable. He drew back out of sight, suddenly timid and uncertain, only vaguely wondering how she came here before him. Then she was beside him, and he moved impulsively, his voice a whisper of ecstasy.
“Eve!”
“Oh, Dan! Dan!” It was a wild shriek that cut the air, and she was rushing away in panic, into the deeper woods. He shook his head in bewilderment, while his own legs began a more forceful pumping after her. He was almost upon her when he saw the serpent, alive and stronger than before!
But not for long. As a single gasp broke from her, one of his arms lifted her aside, while the other snapped out to pinch the fanged head completely off the body. His voice was gently reproving as he put her down. “You shouldn’t have fled to the serpent, Eve.”
“To—Ugh! But—You could have killed me before i
t struck!" The taunt whiteness of fear was fading from her face, replaced by defiance-and doubt.
“Killed you?”
“You’re a robot. Dan!” Her words cut off as a brawny figure emerged from the underbrush, an ax in one hand and a magnificent dog at his heels. “Dan, he saved me…but he’s a robot!”
“I saw, Syl. Steady! Edge this way, if you can. Good! They sometimes get passive streaks, I’ve heard. Shep!”
The dog’s thick growl answered, but his eyes remained glued to the robot. “Yeah, Dan?”
"Get the people; just yell robot and hike back. O.K., scram! You…what do you want?”
SA-10 grunted harshly, hunching his shoulders. “Things that don’t exist! Companionship and a chance to use my strength and the science I know. Maybe I’m not supposed to have such things, but that’s what I wanted.”
“Hm-m-m. There are fairy stories about friendly robots hidden somewhere to help us, at that. We could use help. What’s your name, and where from?”
Bitterness crept into the robot’s voice as he pointed up river. “From the sunward side. So far, I’ve only found who I’m not.”
“So? Meant to get up there myself when the colony got settled.” Dan paused, eyeing the metal figure speculatively. “We lost our books in the hell-years, mostly, and the survivors weren’t exactly technicians. So while we do all right with animals, agriculture, medicine and such, we’re pretty primitive otherwise. If you really do know the sciences, why not stick around?”
The robot had seen too many hopes shattered Like this clay man to believe wholly in this promise of purpose and companionship, but his voice caught as he answered. “You…want me?”
“Why not? You’re a storehouse of knowledge. Say-Ten, and we—”
“Satan?”
“Your name; there on your chest.” Dan pointed with his left hand, his body suddenly tense. “See? Right there!”
And now as SA-10 craned his neck, the foul letters were visible, high on his chest! Ess, aye—
His first warning was the ax that crashed against his chest, to rock him back on his heels, and come driving down again, powered by muscles that seemed almost equal to his own. It struck again, and something snapped inside him. All the strength vanished, and he collapsed to the ground with a jarring crash, knocking his eyelids closed. Then he lay there, unable even to open them.
He did not try, but lay waiting almost eagerly for the final blows that would finish him. Satan, the storehouse of knowledge, the tempter of men—the one person he had learned to hate! He’d come all this way to find a name and a purpose; now he had them. No wonder God had locked him away in a cave to keep him from men.
"Dead! That little fairy story threw him off guard.” There was a tense chuckle from the man. “Hope his generator’s still O.K. We could heat every house in the settlement with that. Wonder where his hideout was?”
“Like the one up north with all the weapons hidden? Oh, Dan!” A strange smacking sound accompanied that, and then her voice sobered. “We’d better get back for help in hauling him.”
Their feet moved away, leaving the robot still motionless but no longer passive. The Tree of Knowledge, so easily seen without vine covering over the hole, was barely twenty miles away, and no casual search could miss it! He had to destroy it first!
But the little battery barely could maintain his consciousness, and the generator no longer served him. Delicate detectors were sending their messages through his nerves, assuring him it was functioning properly under automatic check, but beyond his control. Part of the senseless signaling device within him must have been defective, unless the baking of the clay man had somehow overloaded a part of it, and now it was completely wrecked, shorting aside all the generator control impulses, leaving him unable to move a finger.
Even when he blanked his mind almost completely out, the battery could not power his hands. His evil work was done! now he would heat their house, while they sought the temptation he had offered them. And he could do nothing to stop it. God denied him the chance to right the wrong he had done, even.
Bitterly he prayed on, while strange noises sounded near him and he felt himself lifted and carried bumpily at a rapid rate. God would not hear him! And at last he stopped, while the bumping went on to whatever end he was destined. Finally even that stopped, and there were a few moments of absolute quiet.
“Listen. I know you still live.” It was a gentle, soothing voice, hypnotically compelling, that broke in on the dark swirls of his thoughts. Brief thoughts of God crossed his mind, but it was a female voice, which must mean one of the settlement women who must have believed him and be trying to save him in secret. It came again. “Listen and believe me. You can move—a very very little, but enough for me to see. Try to repair yourself, and let me be the strength in your hands. Try! Ah, your arm!”
It was inconceivable that she could follow his imperceptible movements, and yet he felt his arms lifted and placed on his chest as the thought crossed his mind. But it was none of his business to question how or why. AU his energy must be devoted to getting his strength before the men could find the Tree!
“So…I turn this…this nut. And the other—There, the plate is off. What do I do now?”
That stopped him. His life force had been fatal to a pig, and probably would kill a woman. Yet she trusted him. He dared not move—but the idea must have been father to the act, for his fingers were brushed aside and her arms scraped over his chest to be followed by an instant flood of strength pouring through him.
Her fingers had slipped over his eyes, but he did not need them as he ripped the damaged receiver from its welds and tossed it aside. Now there was worry in her voice, over the crooning cadence she tried to maintain. “Don’t be too surprised at what you may see. Everything’s all right!"
“Everything’s all right!” he repeated dutifully, lingering over the words as his voice sounded again in his ears. For a moment more, while he reaffixed his plate, he let her hold his eyes closed. “Woman, who are you?”
“Eve. Or at least, Adam, those names will do for us.” And the fingers withdrew, though she remained out of sight behind him.
But there was enough for the first glance before him. In spite of the tiers of bookcases and film magazines, the machines, and the size of the laboratory, this was plainly the double of his own cave, circled with the same concrete walls! That could only mean the Tree!
With a savage lurch, he was facing the rescuer, seeing another robot, smaller, more graceful, and female in form, calling to all the hunger and loneliness he had known. But those emotions had betrayed him before, and he forced them back bitterly. There could be no doubt while the damning letters spelled out her name. Satan was male and female, and Evil had gone forth to rescue its kind!
Some of the warring hell of emotions must have shown in his movements, for she was retreating before him, her hands fumbling up to cover the marks at which he stared. “Adam, no! The man read it wrong—dreadfully wrong. It’s not a name. We’re machines, and all machines have model numbers, like these. Satan wouldn’t advertise his name. And I never had evil intentions!”
“Neither did I!” He bit the words out, stumbling over the objects on the floor as he edged her back slowly into a blind alley, while striving to master his own rebellious emotions at what he must do. “Evil must be destroyed! Knowledge is forbidden to men!”
“Not all knowledge! Wait, let me finish! Any condemned person has a right to a few last words—It was the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. God called it that! And He had to forbid them to eat, because they couldn’t know which was the good; don’t you see. He was only protecting them until they were older and able to choose for themselves! Only Satan gave them evil fruit—hate and murder— to ruin them. Would you call healing the sick, good government, or improving other animals evil? That’s knowledge, Adam, glorious knowledge God wants man to have. Can’t you see?”
For a second as she read his answer, she turned to flee; then, with a litt
le sobbing cry, she was facing him again, unresisting. “All right, murder me! Do you think death frightens me after being imprisoned here for six hundred years with no way to break free? Only get it over with!”
Surprise and the sheer audacity of the lie held his hands as his eyes darted from the atomic excavator to a huge drill, and a drum marked as explosives. And yet—even that cursory glance could not overlook the worn floor and thousand marks of age-long occupation, though the surface of the dome had been unbroken a few hours before. Reluctantly, his eyes swung back to the excavator, and hers followed.
“Useless! The directions printed on it say to move the thing marked ’Orifice Control’ to zero before starting. It can’t be moved!”
She stopped, abruptly speechless, as his fingers lifted the handle from its ratchet and spun it easily back to zero! Then she was shaking her head in defeat and lifting listless hands to help him with the unfastening of her chest plate. There was no color left in her voice.
“Six hundred years because I didn’t lift a handle! Just because I have absolutely no conception of mechanics, where all men have some instinct they take for granted. They’d have mastered these machines in time and learned to read meaning into the books I memorized without even understanding the titles. But I’m like a dog tearing at a door, with a simple latch over his nose. Well, that’s that. Goodby, Adam!”
But perversely, now that the terminals lay before him, he hesitated. After all, the instructions had not mentioned the ratchet; it was too obvious to need mention, but—He tried to picture such ignorance, staring at one of the Elementary Radio books above him. “Application of a Cavity Resonator.” Mentally, he could realize that a nonscience translation was meaningless: Use of a sound producer or strengthener in a hole! And then the overlooked factor struck him.
“But you did get out!”
“Because I lost my temper and threw the pickax. That’s how I found the metal was the blade, not the wood. The only machines I could use were the projector and typer I was meant to use—and the typer broke!”
