The Early Asimov. Volume 2

by Isaac Asimov

  He leaned against the wall panting. The spot of fire was now two spots, crawling both ways from a twenty foot break in the belt. Everyone in the cavern, some two hundred people, was in motion, and everyone made some sort of noise.

  Somehow, the sight stimulated him. It nerved him to further efforts to get into the hole. Wildly, he tried walking up the sheer wall, but this didn't work.

  And then Mr. Crumley stuck his head out of the hole and said, 'Oh, mercy me, what a perfectly terrible mess. Dear, dear! Come up here, Cullen! Why do you stay down there!'

  A great peace descended upon Cullen. 'Hail, Mr. Crumley.' he cried. 'May you sniff the essence of roses forever.'

  Mr. Crumley looked pleased, 'Thank you, Cullen.' He waved his hand, and the conductor was beside him - a simple matter of levitation. Once again,.Cullen decided in his inmost soul that here was a god.

  'And now,' said Mr. Crumley, 'we must hurry, hurry, hurry. I've lost most of my power when the Disciples rebelled, and my subway car is stuck half-way. I'll need your help. Hurry!'

  Cullen had no time to admire the tiny subway at the end of the tunnel. He jumped off the platform on Crumley's heels and dashed about a hundred feet down the tube to where the car was standing idle. He wafted into the open front door with the grace of a chorus-boy. Mr. Crumley took care of that.

  'Cullen,' said Mr. Crumley, 'start this thing and take it back to the regular line. And be careful; he is waiting for me.'

  'Who?'

  'He, the new god. Imagine those fools - no, idiots - thinking they could create a controllable god, when the very essence of godship is uncontrollability. Of course, when they made a god to destroy me, they made a Destroyer, and he'll just destroy everything in sight that I created, including my Disciples.'

  Cullen worked quickly. He knew how to start car 30990; any conductor would. He raced to the other end of the car for the control lever, snatched it off, and returned at top speed. That was all he needed. There was power in the rail; the lights were on; and there were no stop signals between him and God's Country.

  Mr. Crumley lay himself down on a seat, 'Be very quiet. He may let you get past him. I'm going to blank myself out, and maybe he won't notice me. At any rate, he won't harm you - I hope. Dear, dear, since this all started in section four, things are such a mess.'

  Eight stations passed before anything happened and then came Utopia Circle station and - well, nothing really happened. It was just an impression - an impression of people all around him for a few seconds watching him closely with a virulent hostility. It wasn't exactly people, but a person. It wasn't exactly a person either, but just a huge eye, watching -Watching - watching.

  But it passed, and almost immediately Cullen saw a black and white ' Flatbush Avenue ' sign at the side of the tunnel. He jammed on his brakes in a hurry, for there was a train -waiting there. But the controls didn't work the way they should have, and the car edged up until it was in contact with the cars before. With a soft click, it coupled and 30990 was just the last car of the train.

  It was Mr. Crumley's work, of course. Mr. Crumley stood behind him, watching. 'He didn't get you, did he? No - I see he didn't.'

  'Is there any more danger?' asked Cullen, anxiously.

  'I don't think so,' responded Mr. Crumley sadly. 'After he has destroyed all my creation, there will be nothing left for him to destroy, and, deprived of a function, he will simply cease to exist. That's the result of this nasty, slipshod work.

  I'm disgusted with human beings.'

  'Don't say that,' said Cullen.

  'I will,' retorted Mr. Crumley savagely, 'Human beings aren't fit to be god of. They're too much trouble and worry. It would give any self-respecting god gray hairs and I suppose you think a god looks very dignified all gray. Darn all humans! They can get along without me. From now on, I'm going to go to Africa and try the chimpanzees. I'll bet they make much better material.'

  'But wait,' wailed Cullen. 'What about me? I believe in you.'

  'Oh, dear, that would never do. Here! Return to normal.'

  Mr. Crumley's hand caressed the air, and Cullen, once more a God-fearing Irishman, let loose a roar in the purest Gaelic and made for him.

  'Why, you blaspheming spalpeen -'

  But there was no Mr. Crumley. There was only the Dispatcher, asking very impolitely - in English - what the blank-ety-blank hell was the matter with him.

  ***

  I am sorry to say that I have no clear memory, at this time, what parts of the story are mine and what parts are Pohl's. Going over it, I can say, 'This part sounds like me, this part doesn't,' but whether I'd be right or not I couldn't swear,

  Fantasy Book was a very borderline publication that lasted only eight issues. 'The Little Man on the Subway' was in the sixth.

  An amusing fact about this issue of a small magazine that had to make do with what it could find among the rejects of the field was that it included 'Scanners Live in Vain,' by Cord-wainer Smith. Thia was Smith's first published story and he was not to publish another for eight years or so. In the 1960s, Smith (a pseudonym for a man whose real identity was not made clear until after his death) became a writer of considerable importance, and this first story of his became a classic.

  While working on 'The Little Man on the Subway' I was also doing another 'positronic robot' story, called 'Liar!' In this one, my character Susan Calvin first appeared (she has been a character in ten of my stories up to the present time and I don't eliminate the possibility that she will appear yet again).

  It was while Campbell and I were discussing this story, by the way, on December 16, 1940, that the 'Three Laws of Robotics' were worked out in full. (I say it was Campbell who worked them out and he says it was I - but I know I'm right. It was he.)

  'Liar!' was accepted at once by Campbell, at the end of January, without revision, and appeared in the May 1941 issue of Astounding. It was my fourth appearance in that magazine. The fact that it appeared the month after 'Reason' helped fix the 'positronic robot' stories in the readers' minds^as a 'series.' 'Liar!' eventually appeared in /, Robot.

  The sale of two 'positronic robot' stories, 'Reason' and 'Liar!' virtually back to back put me all on fire to do more of the same. When I suggested still another story of the sort to Campbell on February 3, 1941, he approved, but he said he didn't want me, this early in the game, tying myself down too completely into a rigid formula. He suggested I do other kinds of stories first. I was a good boy; I obeyed.

  On that very day, in fact, I decided to try fantasy again. I wrote a short one (1,500 words) called 'Masks,' and heaven only knows what it was about, for I don't. I submitted it to Campbell for Unknown on February 10, and he rejected it. It is gone; it no longer exists.

  Later that month I also wrote a short story called 'The Hazing,' intended for Pohl. I submitted it to him on February 24, and he rejected it at once. Eventually I submitted it to Thrilling Wonder Stories. They requested a revision, I obliged, and they accepted it on July 29, 1941.

  The Hazing [8]

  The campus of Arcturus University, on Arcturus's second planet, Eron, is a dull place during mid-year vacations and, moreover, a hot one, so that Myron Tubal, sophomore, found life boring and uncomfortable. For the fifth time that day, he looked in at the Undergraduate Lounge in a desperate attempt at locating an acquaintance, and was at last gratified to behold Bill Sefan, a green-skinned youngster from Vega's fifth planet.

  Sefan, like Tubal, had flunked Biosociology and was staying through vacation to study for a make-up exam. Things like that weave strong bonds between sophomore and sophomore.

  Tubal grunted a greeting, dropped his huge hairless body -he was a native of the Arcturian System itself - into the largest chair and said:

  'Have you seen the new freshmen yet?'

  'Already! It's six weeks before the fall semester starts!'

  Tubal yawned. 'These are a special breed of frosh. They're the very first batch from the Solarian System - ten of them.'

  'Solarian S
ystem? You mean that new system that joined the Galactic Federation three-four years ago?'

  That's the one. Their world capital is called Earth, I think.'

  'Well, what about them?'

  'Nothing much. They're just here, that's all. Some of them have hair on the upper lip, and very silly it looks, too. Otherwise, they look like any of a dozen or so other breeds of Humanoids.'

  It was at this point that the door flew open and little Wri Forase ran in. He was from Deneb's single planet, and the short, gray fuzz that covered his head and face bristled with agitation, while his large purple eyes gleamed excitedly.

  'Say,' he twittered breathlessly, 'have you seen the Earth-men?'

  Sefan sighed. 'Isn't anyone ever going to change the subject? Tubal was just telling me about them.'

  'He was?' Forase seemed disappointed. 'But - but did he tell you these were that abnormal race they made such a fuss over when the Solarian System entered the Federation?'

  'They looked all right to me,' said Tubal.

  'I'm not talking about them from the physical standpoint,' said the Denebian disgustedly. 'It's the mental aspect of the case. Psychology! That's the stuff!' Forase was going to be a psychologist some day. 'Oh, that! Well, what's wrong with them?'

  'Their mob psychology as a race is all wrong,' babbled Forase. 'Instead of becoming less emotional with numbers, as is the case with every other type of Humanoid known, they become more emotional! In groups, these Earthmen riot, panic, go crazy. The more there are, the worse it is. So help me, we even invented a new mathematical notation to handle the problem. Look!'

  He had his pocket-pad and stylus out in one rapid motion; but Tubal's hand clamped down upon them before the stylus so much as made a mark.

  Tubal said, 'Whoa! I've got a walloping lulu of an idea.'

  'Imagine!' murmured Sefan.

  Tubal ignored him. He smiled again, and his hand rubbed thoughtfully over his bald dome.

  'Listen,' he said, with sudden briskness. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

  Albert Williams, late of Earth, stirred in his sleep and became conscious of a prodding finger exploring the space between his second and third ribs. He opened his eyes, swiveled his head, stared stupidly; then gasped, shot upright and reached for the light switch.

  'Don't move,' said the shadowy figure beside his bed. There was a muted click, and the Earthman found himself centered in the pearly beam of a pocket flash.

  He blinked and said, 'Who the blasted devil are you?' 'You are going to get out of bed,' replied the apparition stolidly. 'Dress, and come with me.' Williams grinned savagely. 'Try and make me.' There was no answer, but the flash beam shifted slightly and fell upon the shadow's other hand. It held a 'neuronic whip,' that pleasant little weapon that paralyzes the vocal chords and twists nerves into so many knots of agony. Williams swallowed hard, and got out of bed.

  He dressed in silence, and then said:

  'All right, what do I do now?'

  The gleaming 'whip' gestured, and the Earthrnan moved toward the door.

  'Just walk ahead,' said the unknown.

  Williams moved out of the room, along the silent corridor, and down eight stories without daring to look back. Out upon the campus he stopped, and felt metal probe the small of his back.

  'Do you know where Obel Hall is?'

  Williams, nodding, began walking. He walked past Obel Hall, turned right at University Avenue, and after half a mile stepped off the roads and past the trees. A spaceship hulked dimly in the darkness, with ports closely curtained and only a dim light showing where the airlock opened a crack.

  'Get in!' He was shoved up a flight of stairs and into a small room.

  He blinked, looked about him and counted aloud.

  '-seven, eight, nine, and I make ten. They've got us all, I guess.'

  'It's no guess,' growled Eric Chamberlain sourly. 'It's a certainty.' He was rubbing his hand. 'I've been here an hour.'

  'What's wrong with the mitt?' asked Williams.

  'I sprained it on the jaw of the rat that brought me here. He's as tough as a spaceship's hull.'

  Williams seated himself cross-legged upon the floor and rested his head against the wall.

  'Has anyone any idea as to what this is all about?'

  'Kidnapping!' said little Joey Sweeney. His teeth were chattering.

  'What the devil for?' snorted Chamberlain. 'If any of us are milionaires, I hadn't heard of it. I know I'm not!'

  Williams said, 'Look, let's not go off the deep end. Kidnaping or anything of that sort is out. These people can't be criminals. It stands to reason that a civilization that has developed psychology to the extent this Galactic Federation has, would be able to wipe out crime without raising a sweat.'

  'Pirates,' grunted Lawrence Marsh. 'I don't think so, but it's just a suggestion.'

  'Nuts!' said Williams. 'Piracy is a frontier phenomenon. This region of space has been civilized for tens of millennia.'

  'Just the same, they had guns,' insisted Joe, 'and I don't like it.' He had left his glasses in his room and peered about in nearsighted anxiety.

  'That doesn't mean much,' answered Williams. 'Now, I've been thinking. Here we are - ten newly arrived freshmen at Arcturus U. On our first night here, we're bundled mysteriously out of our rooms and into a strange spaceship. That suggests something to me. How about it?'

  Sidney Morton raised his head from his arms long enough to say sleepily:

  'I've thought of it, too. It looks like we're in for one hell of a hazing. Gents, I think the local sophs are just having good, clean fun.'

  'Exactly,' agreed Williams. 'Anyone have any other ideas?'

  Silence. 'All right, then, so there isn't anything to do but wait. Personally, I'm going to catch up on my sleep. They can wake me up if they need me.'

  There was a jar at that moment and he fell off balance.

  'Well, we're off - wherever we're going.'

  Moments later, Bill Sefan hesitated just an instant before entering the control room. When he finally did, it was to face a highly excited Wri Forase.

  'How is it working?' demanded the Denebian.

  'Rotten,' responded Sefan sourly. 'If they're panicked, then I'm damned. They're going to sleep.'

  'Asleep! All of them? But what were they saying?'

  'How do I know? They weren't speaking Galactic, and I can't make head or tail out of their infernal foreign gibberish.'

  Forase threw his hands into the air in disgust.

  Tubal spoke finally. 'Listen, Forase, I'm cutting a class in Biosoc. - which I can't afford. You guaranteed the psychology of this stunt. If it turns out to be a flop, I'm not going to like it'

  'Well, for the love of Deneb,' grated Forase desperately, 'you two are a fine pair of yellow-bellies! Did you expect them to start screaming and kicking right off? Sizzling Arcturus! Wait till we get to the Spican System, will you? When we maroon them overnight-'

  He tittered suddenly. 'This is going to be the fanciest trick since they tied those stink-bats to the chromatic organ on Concert Night.'

  Tubal cracked a grin, but Sefan leaned back in his chair and remarked thoughtfully.

  'What if someone - say, President Wynn - hears about this?'

  The Arcturian at the controls shrugged. 'It's only a hazing. They'll go easy.'

  'Don't play dumb, M. T. This isn't kid stuff, Planet Four, Spica - the whole Spican System, in fact - is banned to Galactic ships, and you know that. It's got a sub-Humanoid race on it. They're supposed to develop entirely free of interference until they discover interstellar travel on their own. That's the law, and they're strict about it. Space! If they find out about this, we'll be in the soup for fair.'

  Tubal turned in his seat. 'How in Arcturus do you expect Prexy Wynn - damn his thick hide! - to find out about us? Now, mind you, I'm not saying the story won't spread around the campus, because half the fun will be killed if we have to keep it to ourselves. But how will names come out? No one will squeal. Y
ou know that.'

  'Okay,' said Sefan, and shrugged.

  And then Tubal said, 'Ready for hyper-space!'

  He compressed keys and there was the queer internal wrench that marked the ship's departure from normal space.

  The ten Earthmen were rather the worse for wear, and looked it. Lawrence Marsh squinted at his watch again.

  Two-thirty,' he said. 'That's thirty-six hours now. I wish they'd get this over with.'

  'This isn't a hazing,' moaned Sweeney. 'It takes too long.'

  Williams grew red. 'What do you all look half-dead about? They've been feeding us regularly, haven't they? They haven't tied us up, have they? I should say it was pretty evident that they were taking good care of us.'

  'Or,' came Sidney Morton's discontented drawl, 'fattening us up for the slaughter.'

  He paused, and everyone stiffened. There was no mistaking the queer internal wrench they had felt.

  'Get that!' said Eric Chamberlain in sudden frenzy. 'We're back in normal space again, and that means we're only an hour or two from wherever we're going. We've got to do something!'

  'Hear, hear,' Williams snorted. 'But what?'

  'There are ten of us, aren't there?' shouted Chamberlain, puffing out his chest. 'Well, I've only seen one of them so far. Next time he comes in, and we've got another meal due us pretty soon, we're going to mob him.'

  Sweeney looked sick. 'What about the neuronic whip he always carries?'

  'It won't kill us. He can't get us all before we pin him down, anyway.'

  'Eric,' said Williams bluntly, 'you're a fool.'

  Chamberlain flushed and his stub-fingered fists closed slowly.

  'I'm just in the mood for a little practice persuasion. Call me that again, will you?'

  'Sit down!' Williams scarcely bothered to look up. 'And don't work so hard justifying my epithet. All of us are nervous and keyed-up, but that doesn't mean we ought to go altogether crazy. Not yet, anyway. First of all, even discounting the whip, mobbing our jailer won't be particularly successful.