[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science
Fiction May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _Sethos was a great artist, a talented man, quite possibly
the most famous man of his time and world. But, alas!--there were other
worlds. And is not the grass always greener...?_]
Sethos entered the park. Brown autumn leaves crumpled sharply beneath
his feet, the green grass sank. The sun was nearly gone, and the last of
the children passed him, chattering as they faded into the twilight.
Only one other person remained in the park, and she was waiting for
Sethos.
"Ela," he said. "Have you been here long?"
She touched his cheek with hers in greeting.
"Not at all. I'm in no hurry." She handed him a cigarette as they walked
together, then lit her own and breathed deeply of the scented fumes.
"Nothing special about Matya's parties--unless she has that intriguing
man there again. What's his name? You know--"
"You must mean Andian, the sculptor. The man who built North Square, to
hear him talk. What about him?"
Ela laughed. "He'd never heard of my fluid porcelain. Isn't that silly?
After everyone in West has been overwhelmed with the color effects, he
turns up, a perfect innocent. I showed him pliables."
Smiling, Sethos recalled it was Ela's enthusiasm that had first
attracted him, as it had most of the males in their clique. Then too,
she was beautiful, with startling gold hair and a delicate round face
that always aroused flattery. Tonight he felt especially aware of her
beside him, and the quick beat of her sandals on the pavement.
The lights of Matya's hillhouse gleamed before them, enticing all who
wandered through West Park this evening. The party had started, as
parties always did, at that unknown instant shortly before the first
guest's arrival. It was thriving now, for the colors behind the
contoured glass facade throbbed as though underwater, and people sat
along the terraced hillside, talking and inhaling the elegant smoke from
smoldering chalices that stood around the entrance.
They climbed the flagstone path toward the low, pale yellow building.
Luxuriant plants grew thick along the walls, creating a jungle that
extended even to the inner rooms of the house.
"Sethos, my friend!" said an unsteady voice.
The old man was seated in shadow by the house, a glass of sparkling
liquor on the arm of his chair. Against the green background of giant
plants, his frail, pink face resembled a huge bud that would open when
daylight came.
"How are you, Paton?" Sethos asked warmly. "I remember you from
somewhere in East. It must be years.... Weren't you gardening with Ana?
Of course--developing a perfect Lyocanthia. What a welcome sight you are
among these woodcutters!"
"You're a fellow greensman now, they say," beamed Paton happily, seizing
his glass and leaning forward. "Such an honor to us. You work with
succulents--right?"
Sethos smiled. He watched Ela disappear into the interior of the
sprawling hillhouse, heard her distant laugh become part of the
machinery of voices. People drifted to and fro across the broad lawns.
"Yes," answered Sethos, drawing up a chair. "Succulents are my latest
joy. One must specialize. I like to work with growing things, yet I'd
feel like a mechanoid if I got involved in crystal sculpture, like my
charming Ela there."
"Perhaps--but who else gets such _color_, starts so many new directions
as she? My flowers blush before her crystals." Paton's glass was empty,
and with an automatic gesture, Sethos refilled it from a tall flask
standing nearby, and poured one for himself.
"Speaking of mechanoids," Paton continued genially, "I had a most
stimulating conversation with Mr. First himself a few days ago. He came
to see me."
Sethos blinked. That was unusual--mechanoids seldom mingled with humans,
especially those of the primary levels.
"He's very intelligent about flowers," Paton went on, waving his glass
in animation. "We talked about common hedge roses. Did you know he
raises them?"
"Amazing!" Sethos drank deeply of the fiery liquor. Now the drifting
plumes of smoke from the chalices performed fantasies with his vision,
and his body felt light again, as it had so often in the evenings of the
past few years.
"Of course I was flattered, having a visit from the _most_ prime
mechanoid. He could have called me, but they are somewhat conscious of
being mechanical as it is, and try to be cordial as possible."
Sethos leaned forward eagerly. "Did he say anything about--their
activities?"
"Well, that's not too interesting to me, because it's always just one
change after another outside. He did say there is a new earth-bridge
between the continents. Doesn't it seem incredible that they should want
to go to all that trouble? But then, that's a mechanoid for you. Always
making things bigger. That's why I enjoy seeing Mr. First take up
flowers. Maybe he sees things our way himself."
"I don't suppose you've ever been out there, have you?"
"Out there? You mean, where the mechanoids live? Why, now that you
mention it, I believe I was, once. But a long time ago--I must have been
still living with my elders. It's not very enjoyable. Too big to call
home, after all." With a short laugh, Paton emptied his glass again.
Sethos frowned. The idea that the world was so large fascinated him. As
his contemporaries and their ancestors for unknown generations, Sethos
had passed from dreamy childhood directly into the dream of adult life.
He could barely recall the days of education, when drugged smoke and
liquor were withheld, and life consisted of a different fairy world. How
he had loved the gay mechanoid nurses, with their tinkling arms and
bright colors! But of their world, the vast reaches of the planet
outside the tiny circle of men, he knew very little. One fact was plain
to him: it was unthinkably huge.
Sudden music poured from the house, gay and fast.
"Ha! The dancers!" exclaimed Paton, seeing the rows of gyrating figures
beyond a pink translucent wall. "You must excuse me. I promised Matya I
would watch her dance tonight."
Paton hurried away, leaving Sethos to wander along the dimly lighted
terrace. The party had lightened his senses as expected, yet his
thoughts were heavy. He remembered the library, and the strange legends
in the books. Legends of ancient cities of men, over all the earth, and
of the prehistoric machines used by men to travel great distances. And
always in the old legends men were very much like the industrious
mechanoids--ever building, ever moving....
How he wished he might live in those days! He knew the pleasure of
creating, for he had been acclaimed a genius in music before he was
twenty, and his mastery of painting and architecture had won the
admiration of all the human zone. Still, he was not satisfied, and often
lay awake in the early hours of morning after a stirring party, dreaming
of those long-gone days of empire, when he could have ridden with the
ancients through the sky on their winged craft, see their cities rise
toward the clouds, experience the exciting pace of that life. What
remarkable ambitions they must have had!
* * * * *
As Sethos reached the end of the terrace, he was hailed by a garmenter
named Brin, standing with a group of men around a light projector. The
colors sprayed up about their faces, matching the gaudy orange of Brin's
trousers and the blue of his little plumed hat.
"Greetings, Sethos! How are the crops up North? Still live with Ela?"
"They're fine, Brin. Live with Ela? No more than anyone else these
days."
Brin chuckled. "A neat remark, Seth--I must remember it to your true
love the next time I have reason to see her."
The men laughed appreciatively, the colors wheeling in rhythm across
their grinning faces.
Suddenly three young women converged on the group, having spied Sethos
from inside.
"Oh, Sethos!" one cried. "How wonderful you're here!"
"Are you still composing that _magnificent_ diphonic music?" asked
another breathlessly.
Grimly, he realized he was trapped again. Every party brought on
something like this. How could he explain to these well-meaning girls
that he was trying to forget the past, that it bored him, that his music
was trite and his painting insipid? Still they would clamor for it.
"Excuse me," muttered Sethos, walking away. His ears rang with their
adulation, but it always sickened him. Efforts he considered nothing at
all were worshiped by the others. It was demoralizing.
Following the path around the corner, he descended from the noise of the
house, opening his mouth and inhaling the cool night air as though to
cleanse his lungs. He was growing extremely weary of the people at
parties.
From here he could see the town laid out below, the four directions of
it, and he tried to guess how many times he had walked each street one
end to the other, then turned around and walked back, simply because no
one ever considered going straight on.
At that moment a tall, lean man approached him. He was a stranger, with
a bearing Sethos did not recognize.
"How do you do, Sethos," he said softly. "I understand you are the most
accomplished of your group. May I ask a few questions?"
Someone from across town, obviously. He knew the type--they traveled
between the cliques, learning of new trends and ideas to pirate. He had
done it once himself.
"I'm sorry. I don't have any new goodies for your side of town. Why
don't you go in and pester Brin? He's always easy to tap."
"You misjudge me. I'm not interested in stealing ideas."
"I know, I know. But I'm not for sale anyway."
Angered, Sethos turned and strode down the hill. The nerve of these
apprentices, he thought. Some day they'll ask for autographed samples.
He stopped. A small autocar had caught his attention. On a wild impulse,
he opened the door. "Good evening, little servant," he said gently.
The desire to move came on him more strongly now. Stooping, he got in,
the seat cushions adjusting automatically to his posture, and a voice
somewhere in the drive panel said, "Direction, please."
_Yes--where to?_ He didn't know. But he had to get away.
"Straight ahead," he ordered, hoping the machine would make the best of
it.
As he rode, he wondered desperately what was wrong with him. He was
easily the most talented of men, yet he was unhappy. Perhaps it was
because they all treated him so adoringly that he was tired of them. He
saw nowhere that drive which was so strong in him, the urge to go on to
bigger things. He had sought it in his friends many times before, but
gave up when no one knew what he meant. Even as a child his elders said
he should have been born a mechanoid. It was a jest that was deathly
true.
Trees flashed by, but as Sethos watched, they slowed in their flight,
and he realized the car was stopping.
"I'm sorry, this is zone," said the car. "I can go no further.
Redirection, or shall I cruise at random?"
He started to affirm, but something stopped him.
Barely visible ahead were the first low, dark buildings of the mechanoid
world.
"No," he answered. "I'm getting out here."
He left the car, walking forward rapidly until the headlights no longer
lighted his path. The trees began to thin out, and his feet struck
concrete. He knew he was beyond the general limits of human activity.
* * * * *
Fear came, now that he was in that land where men never walked. The
buildings loomed around him, forbidding and dark. Further down the
street the lights began, spaced at intervals on the walls.
"Your attention, please," said a voice at his shoulder. He recoiled,
noticing for the first time a small yellow mechanoid rolling silently
beside him. Its face screen watched him steadily.
"May I remind you that this is no longer the human zone? I can whistle
an autocar for you, if you wish."
Sethos felt a twinge of terror as he said, "No, thank you," and
continued to walk.
_Now it will begin_, he thought. _They'll be on me every block. Turn
back. No, don't give up now. What can I lose? They won't hurt me--it's
just a matter of regulation. They can't do anything to me for
disobedience._
Looking up, he saw stars between the clouds. For a moment he could
imagine that perhaps, once upon a time, men must have longed to reach
out in some way across the tremendous distance to the stars. It was a
strange sensation, this longing for something obviously unattainable.
"Hello," said another voice. "Are you lost?"
Sethos glanced at the new figure that accompanied him. It was human in
shape, but the fact that it skated on rollers betrayed its nature.
"No. I'm ... just walking." His voice sounded small and guilty in the
strange city.
"I see. For exercise?"
"No--I mean, not exactly. Well, I wanted to see what things were like
outside our zone."
"Our course."
_He won't stop me_, Sethos thought with determination.
"Are you someone I should know?" he asked.
"Tenth level," the mechanoid replied, whirring sedately along beside
him. "I was notified five minutes ago by a circuit walker. He said he
offered to radio for a vehicle, but you did not wish to return."
"That's right." Sethos was nervous now, but maintained his even step.
They had gone three blocks together, and still he would not slow down.
"Tell me, Mr. Tenth," Sethos said, trying to appear calm, "do
people--often walk as I'm doing?"
"No, not often." Mr. Tenth took a step across a small puddle, then
resumed skating.
"What happens if I get tired of walking?"
"I can direct you to Mr. Third's office, if you won't mind. He handles
such things."
"And suppose I keep going?"
"You'll be followed by an autocar that will pick you up whenever you get
tired."
"I intend to keep going," Sethos said, his teeth clenched.
"Very well." The mechanoid rolled away.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Sethos was entering the heart of the city. As far as he could see, the
streets led off into the distance, with the gleaming lights that lined
the buildings on either side diminishing until they merged at a far
vanishing point.
_How far does it go?_ he wondered, overwhelmed. _Maybe if I go far
enough, I'll find another community like our own, with men living in it!
What a discovery that would be!_
The low hanging clouds threw back the city's glow as far as he could
see.
In the streets there were now several mechanoids, and their number
increased as he went. Some were prime mechanoids, and resembled humans,
rolling along the slower traffic lanes. Others were specialized workers,
with longer arms or a number of arms, or with a truck body instead of
legs. In fact, he saw every gradation between prime mechanoid and
service vehicle. A bizarre parade!
A strange little apparatus with three wheels stopped before Sethos.
"Your attention, please," it said. "You are now one-half mile from zone.
The time is eleven-twenty p.m."
It occurred to him to watch for more tenth level mechanoids, and he saw
three immediately, moving with him several yards away. An autocar
cruised patiently.
"You are heading due west, on Street 751 West, at a speed of three and
eight tenths miles per hour."
He saw the mechanoid with three wheels again, clocking him helpfully.
"Go away," he said.
His breath came hard; he was not used to walking such a distance.
_How long can I last? If I keep going, I'll get hungry, and there won't
be any food. They don't serve food out here. I can go until I drop from
exhaustion. Then they'll take me back ... ask me if I want therapy._
He would refuse, then try it again later. He would try it day after day,
probably, maybe getting a little further each time, and each time the
mechanoids would patiently bring him back. On and on ... until he
requested therapy....
"You are now one mile from zone," said his clocker. "The time is
eleven-twenty-eight p.m."
The lights burned on into the distance. His legs were beginning to ache,
but still the urge to cross the city was intense.
_Maybe I'll go till I come to the ocean_, he thought, sucking his
breath. He had seen pictures of the ocean, that featureless blue with
its concrete wall stretching away for thousands of miles.
A mechanoid stood on a corner, pointing back. So that was the next
trick! Helpful, hinting.... He saw another, showing the way home.
He grew angry. _It'll be a battle of nerves. They'll get nicer and nicer
to me, until I can't stand it any more._
He concentrated on the lights, watching them pass one by one. That
helped.
"Please note your return route."
He wondered if they had missed him at the party.
"There is an autocar at your service."
They would be preparing to eat the midnight meal, now, he remembered.
The foodmakers would emerge from the kitchens and steal the show in
their performance of taste appeal, warm odors, rare dishes....
"You are heading due west, on Street 751 West, at a speed of three and
six tenths miles per hour."
It seemed cold. The mechanoids did not have thermostat stations, for
they did not need them. He shivered slightly.
"You are now two miles from zone. The time is eleven-forty-five p.m."
_The lights. Watch the lights._
"Please submit any request for information here."
He was panting, and his legs felt weak.
"There is an autocar...."
It was useless. Shutting his eyes tight, he stopped.
"All right. Let's go."
* * * * *
"Good evening," said Mr. Third.
Sethos seated himself in a contour chair in the center of the softly
lighted office. From behind a curving desk, the brain of a slender metal
cylinder observed the young man before it, checked by radio with five
Mr. Tenths in the space of three and one fifth seconds as to the
incident's details. Then Mr. Third folded his plastic arms and studied
the short brown hair and dark eyes, the lean face and straight nose.
Human features always fascinated him.
"I'm the human coordinator, Sethos. You know why you're here, don't
you?"
Sethos nodded.
"Everyone learns that sometime," Mr. Third remarked. "In a certain
number of births there is a percentage who are of higher intelligence.
These are the restless ones whom we cannot discourage developmentally as
easily as the others. They usually have to request therapy to adjust. So
your case is not new."
Sethos lit a cigarette. He knew the story, but coming from a third level
prime mechanoid it was all the more impressive.
"All right, I'm inquisitive. Why must we have therapy? Why do we have to
stay in our zone?"
Mr. Third paused. He recognized challenge in the young man before him,
and tried to estimate his will power.
"Did you know that there was on the earth, long ago, lower forms of life
called animals? And that man once specified these and contained them in
cages, from which they were denied exit?"
"I have read of their place in our biological evolution, but of course
they are before the time of records."
"Well, we know very little about this practice or its use, but it's
similar to what we have here, I believe. We mechanoids are not concerned
with history, having only one structural law which was built into us by
your ancestors, and it cannot be superseded. We must preserve man in the
state he existed when we were created. We cannot impede his
activities--unless they peril his stability, which we maintain
precisely, as you know. It is impossible, you see, for us to allow man
to change or expand. We have fulfilled that obligation, and continue to
fulfill it. There are no alternatives whatever."
"I can't see what they had in mind when they made you that way. It
sounds insane."
"Don't ask why--that is no longer important. We cannot question what is
fundamental to all our operations, the factor present in every formula
we must work. Our mechanoid civilization is gigantic, by your standards,
but it is flawless. Once set in motion, such a system is impenetrable.
All individuals are their allotted part of the entirety, no more, no
less. It is beautiful concept, you'll agree?"
"You must get terribly bored," Sethos said humorlessly.
"That word has no meaning for us. Now--do you request therapy?"
Sethos was startled. He had expected the question, and knew there was
little point in refusing. Yet he hesitated. The desire to learn was
strong.
Before he could reply, a door opened and another mechanoid rolled in.
"You didn't whistle, Mr. First," said Mr. Third to the newcomer.
"Something on your mind?"
Sethos noted that they spoke aloud for his benefit. He inhaled
reflectively of his cigarette.
"A mutual friend of ours is here," said the first level prime.
"The one we've been expecting?" asked Mr. Third.
"That's right. I see you have a young fellow here--out walking?"
Sethos nodded, wondering what visitor they could have. Perhaps a
mechanoid from another continent--but still such a mechanoid would be in
perpetual contact anyway.
"Good--come along. It'll save the gentleman some time. He's looking for
this sort of thing."
"Save him some time! He's in a hurry?" interrupted Sethos.
"For this man, time is very important," said Mr. First gravely.
"Where is he now?" asked Third.
"In my office, studying the vocabulary. Shall we go over?"
More curious than ever, Sethos followed the mechanoids down the corridor
to a slide. Holding the rail, he felt the car surge through its shaft at
a tremendous speed.
* * * * *
They emerged into the first level office. Two other first level
mechanoids sat reading formulated material, while near the center stood
a tall man, his eyes on a page of printed matter in his hands. He had no
hair, and wore only a simple gray cloak over a white, loose-fitting
one-piece suit. Sethos regarded his graceful appearance and
sophisticated demeanor.
"Hello," he said, looking up. "I am Hol."