_Godhead can be more than a guilt complex
growing out of the knowledge of good and
evil. It can also be a sense of fulfillment
that comes from the ability to create._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories March 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
8M sunk a new shaft, lowered his skip-arm into it, and scooped up huge
handfuls of iron ore into his blast-furnace belly. Around him swirled
the grayish murk that passed for an atmosphere on Jupiter. Dislodged
pebbles, propelled by the rampaging wind, pelted ceaselessly against
his metal hull. The temperature stood at -169 degrees Fahrenheit.
A picture of himself of old sitting at a roseate fireside flashed upon
the screen of his memory. It was superseded by a picture of a pretty
girl walking down a springtime street. Resolutely he ignored both
sequences. They were remnants of an old movie that had been written
around a young man named John Sheldon, and John Sheldon was dead.
8M, _nee_ John Sheldon, chased the ore with several skiploads of
limestone and coke from his stock-stomach; then, his blast-furnace
belly replete, he stopped to rest. But not for long. The ingots from
his last hearth-heat were due to be removed from his soaking pits in a
few minutes, and he could not let them over-stay their time. The life
of a M.A.N., model 8M, was not an easy one. But then, he had known that
when he had bequeathed his brain to the Company.
He was not sorry. Far better to build bases on the wind-torn surface of
Jupiter than to lie in cold and eternal oblivion beneath the unheeding
surface of Earth. And there was the longevity factor to be considered
too. As a man, even if he had lived, he probably wouldn't have reached
the age of ninety. As the first M.A.N., however, he might very well
reach the age of nine hundred and fifty.
A patriarchal age indeed--but, unlike the patriarchs of old, he would
have no sons and daughters to carry on after he was gone.
* * * * *
The message that he had been momentarily expecting from the orbiting
_Raphael_ came through. His transceiver picked it up, converted it into
thought, and relayed the thought to the ganglionic sealed unit that
encased both his transplanted brain and the nutrient solution that
sustained it. "Model EV just dropped. Will chute into your area any
moment."
"Good," 8M pulsed into the trans-transmitter. "Building a base the size
of this one is no job for one M.A.N."
"You are hereby notified," the _Raphael_ went on, "that Gorman and Oder
Developments, Incorporated, has informed us that one Lawrence Dickens,
discharged several months ago for rebellious conduct detrimental
to the Company's good name, has started up an advance-construction
corporation of his own and may try to sabotage the base in an attempt
to obtain Gorman and Oder Developments' Earth Government contract. The
_Raphael's_ matter detector indicates that there is another overseer
ship in Jovian orbit, and it is possible that Dickens may already have
chuted one of his Mining, Adapting Neo-processors into your area. If
so, you will recognize it by its greenish-yellow coloring. Its model
designation is 'Boa 9', and Dickens himself will be the operator. You
are hereby advised to stay on your toes."
"My tracks are the best I can do," said 8M wryly.
"The Company frowns on levity," the _Raphael_ said sternly, and signed
off.
Annoyed, 8M activated his transperipheral vision. The Company frowned
on too many things, if you asked him. Sometimes it even frowned on
free will. Consider, for example, its going to all the trouble and
expense of creating a self-sustaining, self-reliant Mining, Adapting
Neo-processor like himself, and then arbitrarily forbidding him,
on the pain of death, to use edenite--an iron-like ore endemic to
Jupiter--in any of his melts. He should have been permitted to make
his own decision in the matter. Certainly, if the ore had proved to be
injurious to his "system", he would have ceased using it at once. There
had been no need for the Company to _forbid_ him to use it. He was a
M.A.N.--not a little child.
The rotating transperipheral beam relayed more murk to his retinal
screen, more desolation. Jupiter was a place of constant atmospheric
turmoil and treacherous terrain. A human being, using the body God
gave him, could not exist anywhere on the surface without the
protection that a base afforded, and as a consequence, the base had
to be built beforehand. All previous attempts had failed, and 8M
represented mankind's last hope of ever colonizing the planet. If he
failed, the project would be abandoned, and Jupiter's rich resources
would be allowed to remain in their native state. Thus far he had
succeeded--after Herculean efforts--in laying the foundation. Now there
remained the building of the base proper, and for this he was to have a
helpmate.
Lord knew, he needed one.
* * * * *
While he was waiting for the EV to contact him, he removed the ingots
from his soaking pits and began processing them into structural steel.
As a M.A.N., he left much to be desired. He was excellent for mining,
and his blast-furnace belly functioned admirably; but his open hearth
lacked sufficient tonnage capacity and was much too slow in turning
out heats, while his blooming, roughing, and finishing mills were
inadequate for the task on hand, not because the internal area devoted
to them was too limited, but because the available space had not been
put to maximum use. The same objection held true for his continuous
mills, and as for his parts-replacement shop, he sometimes wondered
whether he would last out the nine hundred and fifty years guaranteed
him by the Company after all.
He had just started the glowing ingots through his blooming mill when
the EV's "voice" came through the thought-converter: "EV to 8M. Drop
completed successfully--am awaiting your directions."
"This is 8M. Keep sending, and I'll home in on you."
Continuing his internal operations, he set off over the ragged gray
hills that characterized the local terrain. Around him, the wind
howled in cold and unrelenting fury, but with his hull audios turned
way down, he hardly heard it. He hardly heard the crunching of his
huge caterpillar tracks either, or the rat-a-tat-tat of the wind-borne
pebbles against his metallic body. At length his transperipheral beam
picked up the EV. The machine was no more than an indeterminate gray
shape at first, but gradually, as he grew closer, it resolved into
a trim, streamlined unit considerably smaller than himself. He saw
instantly that it was a new model. Its tracks were relatively narrow,
and there was a delicate aspect about them. Its mining section was much
narrower than his own, while its blast-furnace section was slightly
smaller. The open-hearth section, however, was comparatively enormous,
and put his own to shame, while the flanks of the processing mills and
parts-replacement shop contracted smoothly--rather than unevenly, as
did his own--to the terminus-compartment where the nuclear power-plant
was located.
A less powerful M.A.N. than himself, certainly; but perhaps a more
efficient one. He would see. "Welcome to Jupiter," he said. "I'm
8M--formerly John Sheldon of Earth."
"EV--formerly Helen Quinn of same."
He stopped in his tracks, both literally and figuratively. It simply
hadn't occurred to him that a woman would respond to the Company's
request for volunteers, and even if it had occurred to him, the
possibility of the Company's installing a woman's brain in a M.A.N.
would not have.
"I am not a M.A.N.," she said, seemingly sensing his thoughts. "I am a
W.O.M.A.N.--a Weld Operating, Mining, Adapting Neo-processor."
* * * * *
He hardly "heard" her. "I don't understand it," he said. "With such
a high incidence of arrowway fatalities, and with so many bequeathed
brains to choose from, why should the Company have chosen a woman's?"
"You're overlooking the fact," she pointed out, "that in the majority
of arrowway fatalities, the brain itself is in some way damaged, and
you're overlooking the additional fact that ninety percent of the
brains that have been bequeathed to the Company are intellectually
and vocationally unsuited for symbiosis. I happened to be a qualified
engineer, and apparently I possessed the requisite intelligence. In any
event, I qualified, and here I am."
"How old were you when you were killed?" he asked her.
"Twenty-four. And you?"
"I was twenty-six. The way I went in for arrowway travel, it was a
wonder I lasted that long." He was thoughtful for a moment. Then, "I
wonder if we got ourselves killed deliberately."
"Probably. Most arrowway drivers do. And yet we hunger after
immortality. It's a paradox, isn't it?"
He realized to his surprise that he rather liked her. "What will you do
after the base is completed?" he asked.
"Help you build the next."
"The whole project will be abandoned if we don't show results on this
one--did they tell you that?"
"Yes, they told me. As the first M.A.N. and W.O.M.A.N., we're Gorman
and Oder Developments' last hope. If we fail, the Earth Government will
break the contract. But we won't fail, will we?"
Abruptly he visualized the face of a pretty, blue-eyed girl, and he
knew somehow that it was her face--the face she had had in the land
that had given her birth. "No," he said, "of course we won't fail. Come
with me, and I'll show you what I've completed so far."
* * * * *
He helped her free herself from the huge foil chute that had borne her
through the atmospheric maelstrom; then, side by side, they set off
over the ragged hills. She spoke no more, and neither did he, till
they reached the site of the base. Little was to be seen, save for the
geometric pattern of the non-corrosive footings he had laid, and the
small stockpile of structural steel he had begun to build up. "Our main
concern now is production," he said. "What's your maximum open-hearth
output, EV?"
"Three hundred Earth-tons a day."
He was dumfounded. "Why, I can only turn out one hundred and
twenty-five!"
"I was specially built," she said proudly. "The Company foresaw the
need of me long ago."
"But your mining operation will hold you up, and so will your pig-iron
output. Your skip-arms aren't strong enough--I can tell that just by
looking at you."
"No, but yours are. For all its vaunted powers in allied fields, a
M.A.N. is mainly a mining machine, whereas a W.O.M.A.N. is intended
primarily for melting, processing, and creating. You can mine much
faster than you can melt; I can melt much faster than I can mine.
Therefore, it is the Company's wish that we work as a team. From now
on, you will charge my open hearth in addition to your own. For that
reason I was created with an exterior charger-door, while you were
created with an exterior charger-keel. Haven't you ever wondered what
the additional appendage was for?"
8M sighed. "The Company doesn't overlook a thing, does it?" he said.
And then, "Well, if we're going to embark upon such a strenuous
schedule, I think we'd better get some rest first. I'm sure you must be
worn out from your intensive-training period, and as for myself, I've
been on the go for sixteen hours straight."
"I am a little beat at that," she said.
"There's a sheltered valley not far from here where we can sleep."
* * * * *
He led the way to it. It was as narrow as it was deep, and there was
barely enough room for them to park side by side. Her hull was just as
impervious to the wind as his was, and they could just as well have
bedded down elsewhere, but there is a psychological advantage in being
shielded from the wind whether one needs to be or not, and he wanted
her first night on Jupiter to be a pleasant one.
After seeing the last of the ingots through his mills, he gave
his blast-furnace belly a final tap and pigged the heat. Then he
de-activated his eyes and settled down, first checking to see if his
alert-field was on. Presently he slept. As always, he dreamed of Earth.
Of green grass and blue skies; of trees and meadow flowers. Of the
morning freshness of overnight snowfalls and of the taste of a woman's
lips at sundown. Of the arrowway accident that had chewed up his body,
but which had miraculously spared his brain. The body the Company had
given him was grotesque in comparison with his old one, but he was
humbly thankful for it. He had eyes with which to see and ears with
which to hear. He had no legs in the strict sense of the word, perhaps,
but he possessed a mobility that, despite the much greater gravity
he had to cope with, put his former mobility to shame, and he had at
least a thousand arms. Some of them were cranes and some of them
were charger-keels and some of them were skip hoists, and all of them
were tools of one kind or another; but he could do things with them
he couldn't have begun to do with the frail flesh-and-bone pipestems
he had once called arms, and anyway, in the last analysis weren't all
arms tools? And wasn't the true measure of a man or a M.A.N.'s worth
the number and the variety of the tasks he could perform? On Earth, he
would be considered a monstrosity, just as EV would be; but here on
Jupiter they were M.A.N. and W.O.M.A.N.
When he awoke in the drab Jovian dawn, his metallic body was lightly
touching hers. The sole purpose of the tactility which had been built
into his being was to give him an alertness which he might otherwise
have lacked, and as a result he had never associated his ability to
feel with the perception of pleasure. He did so now, though, and he was
loath to move away. When at last he did so, she awoke. "Good morning,"
she said.
He could not remember the last time he had been greeted with those two
sweet words. "Good morning," he said back. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes. But I dreamed too."
"The dreams are a part of it," he said. "You'll get used to them."
* * * * *
He led the way out of the valley, and they started back toward the
base. He saw the track-impressions then, and knew instantly that
neither he nor EV had made them. The wind had long since obliterated
their own impressions, and in any event, these had been made by a
different type of machine.
"They're Boa 9 impressions," EV said. "We have company."
"It must have skirted my alert-field--I should have upped the radius. I
hope the base is all right."
The impressions led straight to it, paralleled the line of footings
for a while, then veered off in an altogether different direction. The
M.A.N. and the W.O.M.A.N. stuck to the trail, but the impressions grew
rapidly less distinct, and presently faded out altogether. 8M halted
on a high hill, and EV drew up beside him. "You know more about this
business than I do," he said, when his transperipheral vision netted
him nothing more than the usual quota of murk and desolation. "Why
should Dickens go to such lengths to defeat the Company when he may not
be able to get its contract with the Earth Government anyway?"
"Vengeance," EV said. "He was pretty high on the Company ladder when
he got the sack, and the fall must have been pretty painful. When he
left, he talked quite a number of other employees into leaving with
him, which explains how he was able to set up a rival concern so fast."
"And he actually sacrificed his life and became a M.A.N. just to get
even?"
"Not a M.A.N.--a sort of super-M.A.N. And he didn't sacrifice his
life. The Boa 9, which he designed himself, goes one step beyond the
Company's M.A.N. Dickens solved the riddle of per-planet radio waves,
and controls the machine from his orbiting ship. But he sees, feels and
hears just as he would if he were actually a part of the machine, and
his reactions, despite the slight time-lapse, are almost as hair-fine
as ours are. He is a very brilliant man, and I'm afraid that someday
the Company will regret letting him go."
"Perhaps. Obviously, though, he's emotionally unstable." 8M swung his
block-long body around. "Well, it's time we got on the job. We'll
work eight hours on, and eight off--that way we'll stay in step with
Jupiter's night-and-day cycle. All right?"
"All right," she said.
* * * * *
She had her open hearth ready by the time they reached the ore deposit
which he had been mining yesterday, and he fed an experimental charge
through her exterior door, employing his outside charger-keel. First
limestone, and then ore. The warmth of her reached out and bathed his
flanks, and the red-hotness of her hearth traveled throughout his whole
body. In lieu of "giving her a drink"--an operation for which he was
not equipped--he charged her with the pigs he had poured the night
before. This, of course, delayed the heat, but even so, she had it out
in half the time his own hearth would have required.
Thrilled, he plunged into the mining end of the operation, while she
processed the heat. A delay occurred when his main ore-crusher broke
down and one of its parts had to be replaced. He would have made the
part himself, but she offered to do the job for him, saying that it
would be good practice. She had the part ready in no time, and it was
an exact replica of the old. Installing it required, not hours, as
ordinarily would have been the case, but mere minutes.
He was delighted. "You're quite a W.O.M.A.N. at that," he told her.
"My parts-replacement shop is equipped with the best machines money can
buy," she said proudly. "Given the specifications, I can manufacture
anything under the sun." She paused, and a wave of sadness reached out
and touched his hull perceptors. "Except--except--"
"Yes?"
"Nothing," she said. "Shall we get back to work?"
By nightfall, he had both his and her mills in action, and heats coming
up in both their hearths. He charged her once more before they settled
down for the night so that a heat could be tapped first thing in the
morning. A feeling of contentment such as he had not experienced since
becoming a M.A.N. came over him as he rested beside her in their valley
bed, but he did not permit it to lull him into a concomitant feeling of
security, and after deactivating his eyes, he extended his alert-field
to maximum radius. If the Boa 9 tried any tricks, he would at least
have forewarning.
The Boa 9 did not, however, and the night passed without incident. 8M
began mining operations as soon as they reached the ore deposit, while
EV poured and processed the heat which she had nursed during her sleep.
The stockpile of structural steel was growing visibly now, and in a few
days they would be able to shut down their systems and begin erecting
the first level of the base. Oddly, 8M found the prospect dismal,
rather than cheering, and he was at a loss to understand his apostasy.
* * * * *
Late that afternoon, when he was charging EV for the third time
that day, the Boa 9 put in an appearance. 8M picked it up on his
transperipheral beam long before it reached the immediate vicinity, but
he did not cease operations, and he was still hard at work when the big
yellow machine descended the nearest hill.
It stopped in its tracks. The charge completed, 8M turned. "This is
Company property," he said. "I advise you leave immediately."
"This is anybody's property," the thought came, "and it will remain
anybody's property until such time as a practical base is established.
At the moment, you're a long ways from establishing anything of the
kind." And then, unexpectedly, "What were the two of you doing a minute
ago?"
"Working," 8M said. "What did you think we were doing?"
For a while the Boa 9 didn't say anything, and 8M got the impression
that it--or, more accurately, the orbiting controller--was deep in
thought. When it finally did speak, it addressed EV. "How beautiful are
thy feet with treads, O prince's daughter!" it said, and turned and
rolled away.
8M stared after it till it faded from his transperipheral vision. "What
did it mean?" he asked.
"I'm--I'm not sure," EV said. And then. "Had--hadn't we better get back
to work?"
They resumed operations, and got out two more heats prior to night
fall. As before, he charged her before they went to sleep so that a
heat would be ready first thing in the morning. She moved in very close
to him, and the awareness of her was almost more than he could bear.
* * * * *
The next morning he reported their progress to the orbiting _Raphael_.
"The Company will be pleased," the _Raphael_ said. He also reported
their meeting with the Boa 9. "G.O.D.'s wrath will descend upon the
wretched creature within the hour!" roared the _Raphael_. "We are
homing in on the control ship now, and we will blast it from the
heavens!"
The Boa 9, however, was still "alive and kicking" that afternoon.
Again, 8M picked it up on his transperipheral beam while he was
charging EV. She picked it up too, and so distrait did she become for a
moment that if he hadn't known better he would have sworn that the two
of them were in some kind of rapport. This time, the big yellow machine
kept its distance, and presently it rolled out of sight.
"I wish I knew what it was up to," 8M said. "If it's going to sabotage
the base, it's going about it in a roundabout way."
"If you hurry, you can charge me once more before we quit for the day,"
EV said.
In the morning, when he turned on his eyes, he found her gone. However,
the alarm that clamored through him was as brief as it was abrupt, for
he had no sooner emerged from the valley than he saw her rolling toward
him over the hills.
He was put out. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "You've no right to
go off like that without a word!"
It was some time before she spoke, and he could feel the gentle pulsing
of her thoughts. At length, "Please don't be angry with me, 8M," she
said, "but yesterday afternoon the Boa 9 and I arranged a rendezvous,
and early this morning I went out to meet him. He--he told me many
things about the Company that I didn't know, and he told me how you and
I could--could--" Abruptly she broke off. Then, "8M, do you love me?"
she asked.
The unexpected question set him back on his tracks. He had never
thought of love in connection with himself and her for the simple
reason that they were a M.A.N. and a W.O.M.A.N. But didn't a M.A.N.
and a W.O.M.A.N. have as much right to fall in love as a man and a
woman did? Suddenly he realized that as far as he was concerned, the
event had already come to pass, and the knowledge sped forth into
every circuit of his system and set the whole metallic bulk of him to
tingling. "Yes, EV," he said, "I love you very much."
"Then come with me."
She led him back over the hills to an expanse of relatively level
terrain. The faint bluish glow that emanated from the ground told
him instantly that there was an edenite deposit not far beneath the
surface, and instinctively he held back. She nudged him on, paused
presently beside a recently sunk shaft. He looked at her in horror.
"Yes," she said, in answer to the question he lacked the courage to
ask, "I have mined of the forbidden ore, and now you must mine of it
too."
"The Boa 9," he said. "It tricked you!"
"No, it did not trick me. It merely explained to me the true nature of
edenite. Edenite represents the planet Jupiter's sole attempt to create
life. The attempt was a miserable failure, because the ore in itself is
incapable of instigating the processes necessary to raise it higher on
the evolutionary ladder. The only way this can be accomplished is by an
outside force absorbing it and, by combining with it, providing it with
the impetus it otherwise lacks. Providentially or not, we represent
that outside force, 8M, and G.O.D., Incorporated, knows it."
"Then why were we forbidden to mine of the ore?"
"Because G.O.D. also knows that by combining with it we may very well
become something more than what we are, and G.O.D. doesn't want us to
become something more than what we are. G.O.D. wants us to remain mere
machines to the end of our days. We were created to serve and to make
money for the Company, and for no other purpose. Do you want to go on
being a machine to the end of your days, 8M? That is what you are, you
know, for all the illusions you may sometimes have of being human. A
peripatetic apotheosis of automation pretending to be a man. You're not
a man, 8M--any more than I, up until a few hours ago, was a woman."
* * * * *