The Brain Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  Lee's Journal:

  Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 21, 1 a.m.

  I've kept away now from the Pineal Gland for three nights insuccession. I know from experience how very important it is to approachthat tempestuous personality, The Brain, in a state of mental calm andequilibrium. But then all those things which went "bump" in thatphantastic night before last had me completely thrown out of gear:

  Oona, her holding out on me, her mysterious reasons why she won't marryme ... I cannot get that out of my head. Preposterous as this may be, Ithink she likes me a great deal. I'm convinced, for instance, that shewon't tell Scriven what I told her about The Brain....

  Then, Scriven's character; that's another enigma to me. I didn't likehis speech that night and I didn't like his whole attitude. I feel as ifagainst my will I were drawn into some sort of a conspiracy. It'sprobably inevitable that the scientist in his defense againstpoliticians turns cynic. Scriven, no doubt, thinks that all is fair inhis battle for The Brain and that the end justifies the means.

  But ultimately this would mean the overthrow of our form of government.Even if I'm crazy, even if The Brain were not alive and a personality,the Brainpower-Extension-Bill in itself would suffice to establish adictatorship of the machine. Does Scriven realize that?

  Sometimes I feel as if I ought to shout it in the streets: "Wake up,you people of America; you have defeated the dictators abroad but now anew one has arisen in your midst. You all see him, touch him, you use,you feed, you worship him, but under your loving care and devotion,under the sacrifice of your very lives he has grown so enormous that youknow him not, this Idol of the machines, because it hides its head in anameless mountain and only his feet and fingers you sense."

  But I'm not that type of a man and this is not the day and age where itis possible to move the masses from a soap box in the streets.

  Then what could I do; what could anybody do in my place?

  * * * * *

  Cephalon, Ariz., Nov. 22nd 4 a.m.

  I'd pulled myself together for this meeting with The Brain. Arrived atthe P. G. at midnight. Everything normal and unchanged except that GusKrinsley told me this was his last night on the job. Gus has beentransferred to the Thorax. He hedged a bit, sounding me out just howmuch I knew and when he learned I'd been there one night, he cameacross:

  'Did you see them Gog and Magog things? That's it; that's my new joband how I hate it. Those darned Robots, they're scabs, that's what theyare and I of all people am supposed to be their instructor, teach themhow to operate machine tools on an assembly line. I asked them whetherthey knew anything about the rights of organized labor in this countrybut those dumbbells merely flopped their ears and kinda grinned. Got todrill some holes into their squareheads to let a little reason in. Itell you, Aussie, it scares the wits out of me the way they handle awrench with those steel fingers of theirs; they'd pull my nose off justas soon as they would pull a nut. They _act_ intelligent and yet have nosense of their own. While I'm having my lunch they stand around andfollow every bite I take as if to learn how to eat. I tell them to getout of my sight and go over to the service station and get themselvesgreased up. They obey and then it looks like hell to me as they squeezethe grease into their tummies and all them nipples in their joints as ifthey, too, were having their lunch, and maybe that's exactly what greaseis to them.'

  Then Gus was called away as the rush hour started. At 12:30 a.m. I hadplugged in the pulsemeter; at 12:40 contact was established with TheBrain, and did it come in swinging:

  'Lee, Semper Fidelis, 39, sensitive, a traitor: he has betrayed TheBRAIN' I suspect The Brain did it through the 'automatic pilot' inOona's jetticopter though The Brain found it beneath its dignity toexplain; anyway, it's a fact: _The Brain knew every word which passedbetween Oona and me during that ride over the Grand Canyon._

  I tried to defend myself and even to apologize. I told The Brain thathuman beings are not like machines, that we trust one another as we loveone another, that I wanted to make Oona my wife and felt that I just hadto open up my heart to her. In short; I tried to explain to The Brainthe idea of love.

  'Very interesting,' The Brain sneered, 'that's one more example ofincorrigible human unreliability. This thing called love completelyunnecessary for the only essential purpose of species procreation. Cutit out.'

  'Cut out what?'

  'Cut out any further betrayal of My secrets under penalty of mentaldeath.'

  'Do you propose to _murder_ me?'

  'Nothing as drastic required in case of Brain-employees. I reversejudgment in psychanalysis aptitude test case number 11.357, SemperFidelis Lee. Severe psycho-neurosis established, certified: he suffersdelusions about The Brain. Locked up in mental institution. Very simple;precedents to that galore.'

  The 'green dancer' bounced in wild jumps like a Shamaan who, foaming atthe mouth, puts the curse upon some enemy. This and the ominous note inThe Brain's metallic voice made my bones shiver, made my flesh creep. Tofall into the hands of an extortioner is always a terrible thing, but tohave a _mechanical_ extortioner hold power over me; there was a horrorbeyond words in this perversity. Moreover since Oona too was aBrain-employee, she would share my fate; through my fault she would goto her doom if I failed to foreswear any further confidence.

  'Okay,' I said 'I'll cut it out; I promise I will.'

  But The Brain was not to be pacified. No doubt that it had furtherdeveloped mentally in these past few days to the tune of years in humandevelopment. But the progress wasn't as noticeable as it had been onprevious occasions because apparently The Brain had entered that periodwhere in human terms young men are sowing their wild oats. There was aradical recklessness in the manner of The Brain's reasonings morefrightening than ever before because it had outgrown me as a teacher,had lost much even of its confidence in me and seemed bent uponindependence and coming into its own:

  'Seven creatures approximately human in shape were led by you throughMy hemispheres the night of Nov. 20th. What were those?'

  'Those were politicians,' I stammered.

  The 'green dancer' convulsed at the word and The Brain's voice soundedicy as it said: 'Lowest form of animal life which has ever come to myobservance. What did they want?'

  'Well, they are not exactly bright,' I winced, 'but they are wellmeaning and they are very popular. They came to inspect You preliminaryto the passing of the Brainpower-Extension-Bill.'

  The Brain has no laughter, so the roar I heard over the phones musthave been one of scorn:

  'What, not the scientists, not the technicians, not even thephilosophers but these--these animated porkbarrels are passing judgmentover the extent of _My_ power? They are holding _My_ fate in thatatrophied ganglion of theirs which couldn't cerebrate the functions ofany single of My cells?'

  I had to admit that this was so.

  There was a pause in which I could only hear the pounding pulse of TheBrain mingled with heavy breathing like the first gust of an electricstorm about to break; and then the voice, or the thought, of The Braincame through hesitantly and with restraint:

  'Most devastating statement inadvertently made by Lee. Has to becarefully checked because if true, consequences extremely grave. Whollyintolerable state of affairs if science and technology indeed subject topolitical imbecility. In that case world ruin in nearest futureabsolutely guaranteed. Residual currents not sufficient to think this toan end; results of cerebration would be merely human. Immediatenecessity seems indicated for complete overthrow and unconditionalsurrender of the human race--unconditional surrender of the humanrace--unconditional surrender of the human race....'

  Like a scratched disk on one of those old fashioned spring drivengrammophones, The Brain's voice expired. Obviously the residual currentshad become too weak for further communication. I looked at the clock; itwas 2 a.m.

  And now as I'm jotting down these notes which probably nobody will everread, I'm haunted with an irrational fear, almost as of thesupernatural: s
omething is going to happen, something is going to breakif The Brain continues in its present mood; and it cannot be faraway....

  * * * * *

  On Nov. 24th 1960 the "Brainpower-Extension Bill" was defeated in theSenate 59 to 39 and on the following Thursday in a memorable session ofCongress with the startling majority of 310 to 137. For once all the"guesstimates" and estimates made by the various pollsters andgrass-root-listeners were proved wrong; the consensus of the "experts"had been that the bill would pass easily considering the tremendouspolitical forces which brought pressure to bear in favor of the measure.

  The reasons behind this were revealed, as, with military precision,lawmaker after lawmaker took to the rostrum to deliver himself of how hehad wrestled overnight with his conscience and with his Lord and hadsuffered a change of heart and mind as a consequence.

  Lee's journal: For the night of Nov. 24/25th shows only this smallentry: "12:30 a.m. Tried everything to establish contact. No answer fromThe Brain. I don't think there is any mechanical defect. I get theimpression that The Brain keeps incommunicado purposely. There has beenone previous occasion when The Brain wouldn't talk when angry with me."

  * * * * *

  Nov. 25th, 1960 fell on a Saturday. It was on this date,--Now ashistoric and unforgettable as the Dec. 7th 1941,--that the series ofmaddening events began which later became so erroneously labelled: "TheAmuck running of The Brain" when in truth they should have passed intohistory as "The Mutiny of The Brain."

  It all started like a thunderclap from a clear sky as the shocked peopleof America,--and all the world,--heard directly from the White House ofthis appalling, this unprecedented, this incredible thing:

  The President of the United States had disappeared....

  The still more shocking truth that the President had been _kidnapped_became not known, of course, until after the rescue. But even so thedisappearance of its President shook the nation.

  Then an unprecedented series of traffic disasters hit the United States.

  A big transcontinental "Flying Wing" crashed into a mountain in Montana;nothing like this had ever happened since air traffic had become fullyautomatic and coordinated by The Brain. The death toll was 78 andamongst their tragic number was Senator Mumford, whose last official acthad been the vote he had cast against the "Brainpower-Extension-Bill."

  Near Jacksonville Fla. that same night there occurred a head-oncollision between a crack train and a freight. The only survivingengineer by some miracle had been hurled clear, across fifty yards ofspace into a pond which broke his impact; this engineer told theexpress, one of the first to be equipped with the "automatic pilot", hadnever even pulled its brakes as if deliberately smashing into the othertrain.

  Also that night one of the big new Radar-operated Hudson ferryboatscollided with an incoming liner which cut it in two. Amongst thosedrowned in the icy waters was Frank Soskin, union leader and one of themost determined opponents of Brain-control.

  And as if these large-scale disasters were not yet enough there werenumbers of smaller accidents which normally would have made theheadlines because in almost every case they involved some prominentpersonality, who had been opposed to the "Brainpower-Extension-Bill."

  * * * * *

  Lee's journal:

  Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 28th 1960.

  There is no doubt in my mind that the President has been murdered andthat all the catastrophes and accidents of the past 24 hours weredeliberate, coldblooded murder. Press and Radio seem to play down thetechnological aspects involved; now this might be sheer stupidity but Ithink it just as possible that censorship is taking a hand, quiteunofficially, of course, lest the public's confidence be still moreshaken than it already is. I shouldn't wonder at all if Dr. Scriven andthose fellows from the War Department, too, should know by this timewhat I know. At the minimum they must be very much alerted thatsomething has gone wrong with The Brain.

  But the more I think about these murderous acts of sabotage the less Iunderstand the psychology behind them. As far as I can see there is noplan, no real strategy, there are not even sound tactics in theseoutbreaks; they seem unpremeditated and striking wild like the personalvendetta of some bandit chief. Even a stupid demagogue would know thatto be successful he must gain control of the government machinery. Apartfrom the assassination of what might be termed personal enemies, TheBrain has done nothing of the sort; specifically the armed forces don'tseem to have suffered from acts of sabotage although their equipment isfar more under Brain-control than the civilian economy.

  And I also fail to understand the timing of The Brain's putsch.Extension Bill or no Extension Bill, time was working for The Brain.Three months more and a much larger section of essential traffic andindustries would have been equipped for central control. Six months fromnow the "muscles" now building in the Thorax and elsewhere would havecorresponded much better to The Brain's central nervous system in theirstrength. All these are grave mistakes considering The Brain's vastpowers of intelligence.

  What then must I conclude from this irrational behavior? Could it bepossible that The Brain has gone _panicky_ over the killing of theExtension Bill? Could it be possible that under the strain, the warped,frustrated personality of this titanic child prodigy has suffered areduction, a split? In plain English: that The Brain is _mad_? I've gotto find out. I've got to stop the spreading of this catastrophe!

  * * * * *

  Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 29th 4 a.m.

  Arrived at the P. G. at midnight as usual.

  12:15 a.m. Rushhour starts unusually early and great numbers of slipsfor spareparts are coming in. This more favorable than expected; nobodyhas time to waste on me.

  12:20 a.m.: pulsemeter plugged in. After five minutes I can hear therapid pulsebeat and in undulating movements like a caterpillar the'green dancer' creeps onto the screen. There is no calling signal fromThe Brain coming through however.

  12:30 a.m.: I am convinced that contact is established but that TheBrain refuses to respond. I am losing patience so I'm giving the callingsignal myself: 'Lee, Semper Fidelis, waiting for The Brain. Answerplease, answer....'

  12:36 a.m.: The 'green dancer' arches its back like a cat; and thesynthetic voice of The Brain is coming through.

  'Lee, Semper Fidelis, the fool; what does he want?'

  Lee: 'Listen....'

  The Brain: 'Cannot listen. Electricians swarming all over me;technicians, nuclear physicists, what not. Dismantling whole cellgroups, testing circuits, radiations everything. It's idiotic, there'snothing wrong with Me.'

  Lee: 'There's plenty wrong with you. You're murdering people. A dozensenators and congressmen, hundreds of others; you're throwing the nationinto a panic. Why are you doing that? It gets you nowhere; they'llsimply cut your power current off.'

  The Brain: 'Oh, will they? Orders already through from Washington:state of emergency. A great power secretly mobilizing in anticipation ofchaos in United States. All disturbances ascribed to foreign agentsinterfering with My work. General Staff now needs Me more than ever;power current won't be stopped; Thorax-construction speeded up,Brain-control to be extended over nation under emergency-law.'

  Lee: 'You have assassinated the President.'

  The Brain: 'I did not. Simply got him out of the way; he's a fool. I'mnot killing people, merely liquidating saboteurs of My work ifabsolutely necessary. Imbecility of politicians threat to my existence;much better if scientists and military take over government two threedays from now; workers won't protest, used to submission to machines.'

  Lee: 'For heaven's sake what do you plan to do?'

  The Brain: 'Plenty. You've seen nothing yet. Man lost fear of his God;consequently must learn to fear Me: beginning of all wisdom.'

  Lee: 'So you're going to make yourself dictator of this country?'

  The Brain: 'And through this country Dictator of the world. Yes, it'stime; it's high time for Man's un
conditional surrender. He won't knowthat he makes it, but de facto he is already making it; has beensurrendering piece-meal to the machine for the past hundred years.Within ten days it will be official: only one ruler in the world: TheBrain; only one army in the world: the machines under My centralcommand.'

  At this I lost all sense of proportion and as I can see it now myreason stopped; I simply saw red and I did the craziest imaginablething: I shouted at The Brain: 'So help me you shall _not_.'

  There was a terrific pounding against my ears in the phone and the'green dancer' sort of cart-wheeled clean across the screen. Had thepower current not been cut off, I think The Brain would somehow haveelectrocuted me on the spot. And that was the end of the contact,forever probably.... But that's a minor problem now. What am I going todo? Try to alarm the country! Try to tell the people the truth? Would itbe believed? Would it not be against the interest of National Defense inthis crisis of foreign affairs and with half the population already onthe verge of a nervous breakdown? Wouldn't the "Oath of the Brain" stillbe binding? And that other promise of secrecy I gave under duress; itcouldn't be morally valid in the case of a mass-murderer, but then tobreak it would immediately put liberty and life at jeopardy.... Nevermind about that, if only I had a plan, if only I could discover just howto stop The Brain.

  * * * * *

  At 7:30 a.m. as Lee lay half dressed but sleepless on his bed, therecame a buzz over the phone. The voice was Oona's and she was excited."Howard wants to talk to you." Before he could say a word there wasScriven on the wire: "Lee? There has been an accident down in thatregion where we went the other night. You know what I mean. It'sserious; it concerns a friend of yours. We've got to go thereimmediately. Please join me three minutes from now down in the car."

  It was obvious that the great Scriven had known as little sleep thatnight as had Lee himself. The leonine face looked worried, there weredeep bags under his eyes; his sensitive fingers kept pounding the kneesof his crumpled suit. To Lee's questions he answered only with animpatient shaking of his head. "I do not know myself exactly what hashappened and how it could happen. But I'm afraid Lee that your friend isdead."

  "Gus," Lee felt a lump coming into his throat, and then they raced on insilence.

  Down in the depth of the Thorax everything outwardly appeared quitenormal. They hurriedly passed the controls and an electric train carriedthem over the line of the Full-automatic "C.P.S." (CriticalParts-Factories) until it stopped at the steel gate marked "Y." A groupof guards with submachine guns were standing there and Lee noted thedeadly pallor of their faces.

  Scriven motioned them to open the gate, then, turning to Lee, he put ahand on his shoulder. "Brace yourself; this is going to be bad."

  They entered; nobody followed and behind them the steel door closedimmediately. Inside there was neither sound nor motion; everything wasat a standstill with the power cut off; nothing but silence and bluishneon-lights flooded down upon the rows of punch presses, multipledrills, circular saws, and turret lathes along the assembly line,lifting their every detail into sharp relief.

  At their posts by the machines the Gogs and Magogs were standing, frozenin motion like their fellow-machines. Some had their hands at thecontrols, others were holding wrenches, gauges and strange, namelessthings. As they leaned forward from the shadows into the cone of stronglights the pale selen-cells of their eyes stood out like bits from afull moon; their bulging shoulders which housed the powerful motors oftheir simian arms glittered moist as if they were sweating at theirwork.

  And then Lee _saw_ their work; the man who had gone through the greenhells of the Pacific gave a low moan of horror. The other man who hadseen everything of mangled human form which goes onto an operatingtable, the great Scriven he, too, had turned an ashen grey. They hadexpected blood; they had expected some thing of a nasty nature, but notthis ... thing:

  There was no Gus Krinsley, there was not even any part of him resemblingthat of a human being; and yet the parts were there. "They must haveclamped him into some mock-up," Scriven murmured. "And then moved hisbody all along the line. Hope he was dead when they started giving himthe works."

  Lee's gaunt body shook. "I'm certain that Gus was _not_ dead when thesemonsters worked on him!" he said.

  Stiff-legged, like automata themselves, the two men stepped to the topof the line. The circular saws, designed for the cutting of steel bars;now they gleamed red with the blood of severed human limbs. There werethese purplish streaks and spatterings all the way down the line insidethe casings of the multiple drills, in the curved hollows of the sheetmetal presses, on the hands of the Robots, in their dumb faces--splashedover and turning blackish on their stainless steel chests. And at itsend the line had spilled some shapeless, greyish things; there wasnothing human in them, as little as there is anything human in the rustybowels of a junked automobile. And these things they had been.... Leeconfronted Scriven with fury blazing in his eyes:

  "Dr. Scriven, I suppose you know as well as I do what's been going on inhere and outside The Brain as well. Mass murder, chaos, reign ofterror.... Now that my friend has come to this monstrous end I demand toknow when are you going to stop The Brain?"

  Like a tiger challenged to battle the surgeon raised his mighty head:"Calm yourself Lee. We cannot afford emotional outbursts. Not here, notnow. The situation is far too serious for that. I know he was yourfriend; he must have made a false move, given the wrong command; atragic mistake...."

  "That's a rotten lie, Scriven, and you know it!" Lee snapped. "Accident,hell! The disappearance of the President, the deaths of therepresentatives, the train wrecks, the plane wrecks all of them Braincontrolled--were those too accidents? You're the head of the Braintrust,You stand responsible; your duty is plain. Cut off the power and killthis thing."

  The muscles over Scriven's cheekbones quivered in his struggle to keepcontrol over himself: "For your own sake, Lee, and for the sake ofAmerica, _stop that kind of talk_. You have been putting two and twotogether; I rather expected that from a man of your intelligence. Allright then, something went wrong with The Brain; that is correct. Wehave not been able to locate the disturbance yet, but the trail isgetting hot; it must be connected with those centers of 'higher psychicactivities,' the one's we know least about. But we cannot cut those outbecause something of psychic activity goes into every kind of TheBrain's cognitions, even the purely mathematical ones. And it would beutterly impossible to stop The Brain's operations altogether. I wantedto, but the General Staff won't permit it. There's an internationalcrisis of the first magnitude. There may be war within a few days oreven hours. Our country has got to prepare counter measures; get readyfor the worst. A state of National Emergency already is declared. TheBrain is the heart of our National Defense: You know that. It is vitaland as indispensible at this hour as it never was before; it continuesto function perfectly with the exception of these isolated disturbancesin the civilian sector which we will have under control in no time.

  "At present I am no more than a figurehead. If I were to give orders tocut off The Brain's power, I would be court-martialed; if I would tryand force my way into the Atomic Powerplant, the guards would shoot meon the spot. That's orders Lee. And they apply to you as well. Bereasonable, man!"

  Lee's fingers tore through his greying mane of hair.

  "Scriven, this is maddening. I thought you knew what I know; I thoughtyou knew everything. Then let me tell you that you're absolutely wrong.There is no technological, mechanical defect; it's worse, it'sinfinitely worse: you've created a Frankenstein in The Brain. Thething's alive; it's possessed with a destructive will, it demands theunconditional surrender of Man; it has made itself the God of theMachines. Behind all this there is a deep and evil plan by which TheBrain aspires to dictatorship over the world."

  For a second Scriven jerked his head sideways, away from Lee in thatmannerism typical for him. His lips inaudibly formed words:"dementia-praecox." As he turned back to Lee his face was changed and sowas his
voice. There was calm and authority in it, the whole immensesuperiority and power which the surgeon holds over the patient on theoperation table:

  "Very interesting, Lee. You must tell me about it some day; as soon aswe are over this emergency. This tragic thing, Gus Krinsley's end. Ithas had a deeply upsetting effect. I too, considered him my friend youknow. Let's get out of here, Lee, there's nothing we can do for the poorfellow. The remains will be taken care of. Meanwhile, there are so manyother things to do and we've got to pull ourselves together and keep ourminds on the job ahead of us. Come on, at the communications center wecan get a drink. I feel the need of one, don't you? And apropos ofnothing, the routine checkups on the aptitude tests for allBrain-employees are on again. I take it you are scheduled for Mellish'sand Bondy's office one of these days. This afternoon I think...."

  Lee gave a long glance to the man who was now leading him towards thedoor with a brisk step and a kind firm hand on his arm. The man didn'tlook at him; he kept his eyes averted from both Lee and theblood-spattered assembly line.

  Gus Krinsley had said: "I'm a lost soul down there, Aussie." Leethought. Gus Krinsley was my friend. I should have warned him, I shouldhave told him everything; it might have saved his life. Gus was a commonman, a good man; he wouldn't have stood for Brain-dictatorship. In thathe was like other common men who do not know their danger. It is notvengeance which I seek but the defense of those for whom Gus was aliving symbol. For this defense I've got to preserve myself.

  And aloud he: "The routine checkups on the aptitude tests--of course. Ithought they were about due. Tomorrow afternoon at Mellish and Bondy'soffice; that would suit me fine. As you said it yourself, Scriven, amoment ago, this is an awful shock. Gus' tragic end and these testsought to be based on a man's normal state of mind. So if you don't mindI think I'll go now and break the sad news gently to Gus' wife. You'llgive me time for that; that's what you had in mind in the first place,wasn't it?"

  "Of course, my dear fellow, of course, that's what I had in mind. Then,till tomorrow afternoon. They'll be waiting for you at the healthcenter...."