by John Blaine
“We don’t want words with too similar patterns. It would confuse the machine. If you think of it in terms of teaching just enough English words to a Hottentot for simple directions, you’ll have the idea.”
Scotty laughed. “We not only build it, we teach it to understand English. Why not use Morse code or something?”
Julius Weiss answered that one. “This will have military use, as you know. Suppose a control unit fell into enemy hands, and required only a few simple code impulses? Knowing the military desire for simplification, the code would probably be printed on the outside of the unit. The enemy could use our own machines against us, or at least confuse them. But if we make the commands simple English, it becomes more difficult. We will set the circuits so they will respond only to proper, uninflected pronunciation. Then, even if an enemy speaks English, it won’t help. He must speak English without the slightest accent in order to have the machine obey. We’re choosing words that are pronounced, generally, the same way in all regions of theUnited States .”
Parnell Winston had been working at the tractor. “Hartson,” he called. “I’m set for the starting command. Want to try it?”
The scientist picked up the control unit Rick and Scotty had built. “All right, Parnell. Say when.”
“Any time,” Winston called.
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Rick’s father flicked the toggle switch on the unit and spoke one word.“Switch.”
Across the room, relays clicked, a solenoid switch rammed home, and the tractor engine coughed into life, raced for a moment, and then idled.
Rick and Scotty looked at each other with amazement. To know how the machine was expected to work was one thing. To actually see a voice start it running with one word was something else.
“I’m snowed!” Rick exclaimed. He noticed that a tiny directional antenna, no larger than a doughnut, had swung as his father spoke and steadied on a direct line with the scientist. He pointed to it. “Dad, what’s that antenna for?”
“Directional control.When we give directions, it will be in terms of the position of the control unit. In other words, the word to will mean come to me. Right will mean to swing ninety degrees to my right.”
The scientist stopped as yells rose from across the room and the engine raced. Rick looked up as the tractor started spinning on its caterpillar treads.
Parnell Winston jumped on the thing and did something, and the engine cut out. “Hey,” he yelled. “Be careful! Turn off the control unit before you talk.”
The machine was working, all right! Hartson Brant had forgotten to throw his switch to the off position and the tractor had tried to obey two commands at once!
Rick and Scotty walked over to the machine. Parnell Winston greeted them with a pleased grin. “Some baby, eh?”
“It certainly is,” Rick agreed. “But I see one change we have to make in the control unit. We can’t have things happening like what just happened. Suppose I put a spring button in it instead of the switch? Then the controller can’t forget to shut it off.”
“Very good,” Winston said. “Go ahead. I’m sure you’ll find spring buttons of some kind around.”
“It’s too late to change this unit,” Scotty pointed out. “The switch terminals are set in solid plastic. But we can put spring buttons on the rest.”
The boys retired to their bench and started work. Rick cleaned the silk screen with solvent, leaving it ready for use. Scotty cut plastic sheets of the right size for the circuits,then started cutting pieces for the cases. It was fast work because he used the first sheets of plastic he had shaped as patterns to make the original box. There was a piece of plastic for each piece of the case, and Scotty needed only to place his models on sheets of stock, trace, and then cut.
Rick used the silk screen to print four more circuits,then he left them to dry and wandered over to where the scientists were at work.
Hartson Brant was compiling a vocabulary for the machine. Checked off as suitable were the words switch, off, to, go, stop, right, left, get, round, jump, slow, and ML
Rick saw the meaning of most of the words at once, but a few puzzled him. He asked Zircon about them.
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“Get means to lower the bulldozer blade and start pushing dirt,” Zircon explained. “Round means to go around something. If the machine strikes an obstacle and gets the command round, it will not try to push the obstacle aside. It will go around it. Jump means full power. Slow means just that. Kill means to keep working on the object until no obstacle remains in the way.
“Our toughest job,” the big scientist added, “is finding words that have a uniform pronunciation and still come close to the right meaning. They must be close so the controller can remember them easily. It doesn’t matter to the machine. We could use any combination of sounds.”
Rick went back to work, gluing the parts in place on all four sheets and then starting the precise, tiring work of connecting them into the circuit. Scotty was making good progress in shaping the case parts.
By lunch time the workman who was welding parts of the outer plating had finished.
Sandwiches in hand, Rick and Scotty surveyed the finished product. It was forall the world like a giant turtle’s shell. There was a hole in the top with patent fasteners around the edge. That was an access port through which work could be done when the plating was in place. There were other, smaller holes through which the machine could be filled with gas, oil, and water, the battery filled or checked, and adjustments made in the bulldozer blade. The blade would not be put on until the plating was in place.
On the front of the domed plating were two projections which would take lights like auto head lamps.
They gave the thing an odd appearance.
“It will look like a nightmare when they get it finished,” Scotty said.“Sort of a cross between a tractor and a dinosaur.”
“A tractosaur ,” Rick agreed.“New variety of beast.”
Parnell Winston had come up behind them in time to hear their comments. “You’ve named it,” he said.
“Listen, everybody. Rick and Scotty have come up with a name. It’s the Tractosaur!”
There was a chorus of delighted comment. The boys hadn’t known it, but the scientists had been searching for a descriptive name since the start of the project.
“That calls for another sandwich,” Zircon boomed. “Come on, Rick and Scotty. I’m the cook. Name your sandwich and I’ll make it.”
“I’ll have a hot dog,” Scotty said.
“Sorry. No hot dogs.How about a corned beef sandwich?”
“Just had one.I’ll have roast beef on rye.”
“Sorry. No roast beef. How about corned beef?”
Rick grinned. “In other words, Scotty, you can have any kind of a sandwich you want, as long as it’s corned beef on whole wheat.”
“Not quite,” Zircon corrected. “He can also have a cold bean sandwich.How about it, Scotty?”
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“Corned beef,” Scotty said resignedly.
Zircon sawed off a chunk of corned beef that would have strangled an alligator. He stuck it between two slices of bread and handed it to Scotty with a flourish.
“We ate better than this on the trail inChina ,” Scotty grumbled.
“You had a better cook,” Zircon reminded. “Come, Scotty. Relax and enjoy the benefits of civilization.
You’re still a little wild from being in the high hills for so long. Don’t you know corned beef is the ultimate product of modern industry? This fine American product . . .”
Scotty interrupted. He had been reading the label on the corned beef can. “This stuff is fromChile .”
The other scientists laughed. Zircon groaned. “I try to make a fine, patriotic speech and what happens?
I’m betrayed by an imported product. All right, Scotty. I’ll admit corned beef is not the only palatable sandwich filling ever invented if you’ll admit that these sandwiches are much better than no sandwiches at all.”
There was something fishy here, Rick thought. Corned beef was only one of several canned varieties in the small store of food.
“Why didn’t you open something else, professor?” he asked. “We could have had soup, anyway.”
Zircon looked embarrassed.
“Say, that’s right!” Winston said. “I just ate what was handed to me without thinking about it. Why didn’t you fix something else,Hobart ?”
Zircon waved his huge arms. “Why? I’ll tell you why! I was defeated by a fiendish product of this mechanized civilization. I was frustrated by an invention of a warped mind!”
Suddenly Rick got it. He exploded into laughter while the others looked at him with wonderment. “Don’t you get it?” he howled. “He means he couldn’t figure out how to use the can opener!”
“Confounded device!”Zircon muttered.
The corned beef can opened with a key which came attached to it. The others required a can opener, and the only one available was a new type which had completely baffled the big scientist.
The lunch period broke up on a note of merriment. Zircon went back to work shaking his head, and the boys returned to their bench.
“Every time something like this happens I marvel,” Scotty said. “Look at him. He uses complicated equipment I can’t even begin to understand. He can rap out equations on processes so hard that only a handful of men in the entire country can read them. And he bogs down completely on a can opener!”
Rick had often wondered about peculiar little blind spots of that sort. He had them himself. He could figure out very complex electronic circuits, yet he had found himself stumped on a really simple puzzle that Barby had solved easily.
“Guess we’re all meant to fall short of perfection in our thought processes,” he said. “Even men like Page 68
Zircon. Come on, Scotty. Let’s roll. We’ve got a lot to do.”
It was sundown before the next break came. Then the work on the control units was interrupted by the placing of the armor plating on the tractor. The boys hurried to help lower the dome into place. All hands but one held it while a workman pushed bolts in through a number of holes, then tightened them.
The Tractosaur looked more like a dinosaur-age turtle than ever. With the aid of the chainfall , the big bulldozer blade was attached to its movable arms.
The Tractosaur was complete, except for closing the top. The lights were in place and they worked. The antenna thrust up like an oddly shaped ruff on an animal.
“Put the top plate on,” Rick begged. “Let’s see how it looks when finished.”
At a nod from Winston, two workmen slid the plate into place. A few twists of their screw drivers locked the patent fastenings.
The Tractosaur was finished, except for testing.
“Going to try it?” Scotty asked.
Hartson Brant shook his head. “No point in taking it outside tonight. It would be dark before we got started. But I do think an inside test would set our minds at ease. I’m sure it will work exactly as planned, but let’s try a few commands.”
Parnell Winston took the control unit and switched it on. “Switch,” he said. There were a few clickings and the engine roared into life. “Go.” The Tractosaur’s antenna, which had pointed at the scientist on the first command, swiveled briefly. The tractor spun until it was stern-on to the scientist,then started ahead.
“Stop!” he said quickly. The door was only a few feet away. Unless stopped, the tractor would go right through it.
“To,” Winston commanded. The machine spun until it faced him,then started ahead.
Rick watched, interested. The caterpillar treads enabled the machine to spin in its own length. On the command to, the left tread had reversed while the right one went forward, spinning the tractor around.
“That’s enough,” Winston said. He shut the control unit off. “We can put it through its paces in the morning.”
“Off,” the scientist added, and the engine stopped.
“Don’t you have to throw a switch?” Rick asked. “To shut off the receiver, I mean.”
“Not on this one,” Hartson Brant explained. “With transistors, the power drain is so low that it’s really not of consequence. We didn’t bother with a circuit switch. To shut off the electronics portion for repairs or replacement, we remove one battery cable. Rick, how close to doneare you?”
“Another two hours’ work,” he said.“More or less. We’d better stay tonight, Dad. We’ll have the units done in time to get a good night’s sleep.”
Hartson Brant hesitated for a moment. “It’s all right, I guess. The highway has more police cars than I’ve Page 69
ever seen. Just don’t start hunting Soapy Strade again.” After the scientists and technicians had gone, the boys prepared supper, using the can opener that had baffled Zircon. Then they resumed work, completing the assembly of the four control units. The workbench was cluttered with parts. Rick absently put the original unit in his hip pocket to make more room on the bench, then cleared space for the rest of the work. He had intended putting all control units in a single place, but by the time they had finished, he had completely forgotten it.
CHAPTER XIV
A Fine Night for Murder
Rick opened his eyes and stared into darkness. He turned his head and made out the outline of the upstairs room. Next to him Scotty was stirring a little on his canvas cot. He looked at the window and saw a few stars in the sky, but it was still very dark out. The moon had set soon after sundown.
He turned over, punched his pillow into a more comfortable position, and tried to go to sleep again.
Tomorrow they would take the Tractosaur outdoors and really give it a try. That would be exciting. He still couldn’t believe that a handful of words from a controller, plus the machine’s own thoughts, would enable it to do such things as taking out a tree or moving a big pile of earth.
He tried to concentrate on the basic plan of the machine. Each action caused electrons to gather in a particular pattern on a series of specially made condensers in the thing’s “brain.” Those condensers were the Tractosaur’s “memory.” But it wasn’t a very long memory.
Within an hour or so the electrons leaked off the condenser plates. Suppose the machine received the order to go, and went straight ahead and bumped into something it couldn’t move. It would try several times. If it still failed, the electron pattern for that failure would take form on one of the condensers. So long as the pattern persisted, the machine wouldn’t try that particular thing again.
Allowing the electrons to leak off after a short time was deliberate. The scientists didn’t want too many memory patterns to accumulate. Then the machine, instead of being guided by its memories, would become confused.
It was like teaching a baby, Rick thought.
“You awake?” Scotty whispered.
Rick started. He had been listening intently and hadn’t realized it. “Yes. What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep?”
“Can’t you?” Scotty countered.
“I guess not,” Rick answered. “I feel like the night before Christmas. Too excited to sleep, I guess.”
“No,” Scotty said softly. “It’s not that. Something’s happening. I can feel it.”
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Rick’s scalp prickled. Scotty had an uncanny way of sensing things. It had happened before. He thought it was a result of his service in the Marine Corps when night watches had taught him to be aware of every sound or movement. Whatever it was, Rick had a deep respect for the strange talent. He had never known Scotty to be wrong.
He rubbed the bandage on his leg absently, ears straining to hear, and thought he detected a deep, purring sound. “Do you hear anything?”
Scotty moved swiftly from his bed to the window. “Yes, but I’m not sure what.”
Rick followed, but more slowly. His leg was a little stiff, and it was itching, a sign that it probably was healing. He joined Scotty at the window, shivering a little in the cool breeze fr
om the sea.
Both boys listened intently and Rick heard it again, clearer now. He whispered, “So it wasn’t excitement that woke me up. Scotty, that’s a motorboat!”
Scotty was a dim figure at the window beside him. Rick saw him nod.
“Listen.”
It was too dark to see. “It’s right offshore,” Scotty said, “but the engine is just barely idling. What do you make of it?”
Rick didn’t know. He said as much.
The engine noise ceased.
For long moments they crouched at the window, scarcely breathing. Once a car sped by on the highway, but that was the only sound.
Rick listened tensely. The boat was still somewhere close by, probably floating in to shore on the slight swell. It had to mean something. People didn’t keep engines idling at this time of night just for fun. The boatman was trying hard not to make noise. He couldn’t think of any other reason.
He wondered suddenly what time it was and looked at his watch. The luminous dial read4:25 . Dawn couldn’t be too long away.
Scotty gripped his arm, and Rick heard the noise at the same moment. Across the fence, at the amusement park, something had grated on sand. It could only be the boat, landing. At the amusement park! He shivered. Soapy Strade or Lefty the Gonif or both! Who else would be entering the amusement park from the sea in the predawn hours?
But why?
There was another long interval of silence,then footsteps rustled in the grass from the direction of the road.
Scotty put his lips close to Rick’s ear.“Someone coming. Let’s try the other window.”
They had been looking out toward the amusement park. Now they made their way carefully to the back Page 71
of the building, to the window that faced theShore Road .This time they kept their faces partially hidden, each peering out from beside the window.
A dark form moved toward the project building on their side of the fence. He moved with caution, and every few moments he stopped to listen. Once, starlight reflected from something metallic, and Rick knew the man carried a gun.
A shiver ran down Rick’s spine. Was Soapy Strade coming to finish the job?
