The Complete Stories, Vol. 1: Final Reckonings

  "What are you going to do with him?" she persisted.

  "Simple. He'll do whatever I say, won't he? When I get back, just before we leave, I'll lock him in the furnace. Then I'll set fire to this joint. Destroy the evidence, see? The law will think Charlie got caught in the flames, get me? There won't be anything left. And if they ever poke around the ruins and find Junior in the furnace, he ought to be melted down pretty good."

  "Isn't there another way? Couldn't you get rid of him now, before you leave?"

  "I wish I could, for your sake, baby. I know how you feel. But what can I do? I've tried to figure all the angles. You can't shoot him or poison him or drown him or chop him down with an axe. Where could you blow him up in private? Of course, I might open him up and see what makes him tick, but Junior wouldn't let me play such a dirty trick on him. He's smart, Junior is. Got what you call a criminal mind. Just a big crook — like me."

  Again Duke laughed, in harsh arrogance.

  "Keep your chin up, Lola. Junior wouldn't hurt you. He likes you. I've been teaching him to like you. He thinks you're pretty."

  "That's what frightens me, Duke. The way he looks at me. Follows me around in the hall. Like a dog."

  "Like a wolf you mean. Ha! That's a good one! Junior's really growing up. He's stuck on you, Lola!"

  "Duke — don't talk like that. You make me feel — ooh, horrible inside!"

  Duke raised his head and stared into the darkness, a curious half-smile playing about his lips.

  "Funny," he mused. "You know, I bet the old Professor would have liked to stick around and watched me educate Junior. That was his theory, wasn't it? The robot had a blank chemical brain. Simple as a baby's. He was gonna educate it like a child and bring it up right. Then I took over and really completed the job. But it would have tickled the old Professor to see how fast Junior's been catching on. He's like a man already. Smart? That robot's got most men beat a mile. He's almost as smart as I am. But not quite — he'll find that out after I tell him to step into the furnace."

  Lola rose and raced to the door. She flung it open, revealing an empty hallway, and gasped with relief.

  "I was afraid he might be listening," she whispered.

  "Not a chance," Duke told her. "I've got him down in the cellar, putting the dirt over Charlie."

  He grasped Lola's shoulders and kissed her swiftly, savagely. "Now keep your chin up, baby. I'll leave. Be back tomorrow about eight. You be ready to leave then and we'll clear out of here."

  "I can't let you go," whispered Lola, frantically.

  "You must. We've gone through with everything this far. All you must do is keep a grip on yourself for twenty-four hours more. And there's one thing I've got to ask you to do."

  "Anything, Duke. Anything you say."

  "Be nice to Junior while I'm gone."

  "Oooh — Duke — "

  "You said you'd do anything, didn't you? Well, that you must do. Be nice to Junior. Then he won't suspect what's going on. You've gotta be nice to him, Lola! Don't show that you're afraid. He likes you, but if he gets wrong ideas, he's dangerous. So be nice to Junior."

  Abruptly, Duke turned and strode through the doorway. His footsteps clattered on the stairs. The outer door slammed below. The sound of a starting motor drifted up from the roadhouse yard.

  Then, silence.

  Lola stood in the darkness, trembling with sudden horror, as she waited for the moment when she would be nice to the metallic Junior.

  It wasn't so bad. Not half as bad as she'd feared it might be.

  All she had to do was smile at Junior and let him follow her around.

  Carefully suppressing her shudders, Lola prepared breakfast the next morning and then went about her packing.

  The robot followed her upstairs, clanking and creaking.

  "Oil me," Lola heard him say.

  That was the worst moment. But she had to go through with it. "Can't you wait until Duke gets back tonight?" she asked, striving to keep her voice from breaking. "He always oils you."

  "I want you to oil me, Lola," persisted Junior.

  "All right."

  She got the oilcan with the long spout and if her fingers trembled as she performed the office, Junior didn't notice it.

  The robot gazed at her with his immobile countenance. No human emotion etched itself on the implacable steel, and no human emotion altered the mechanical tones of the harsh voice.

  "I like to have you oil me, Lola," said Junior.

  Lola bent her head to avoid looking at him. If she had to look in a mirror and realize that this nightmare tableau was real, she would have fainted. Oiling a living mechanical monster! A monster that said, "I like to have you oil me, Lola!"

  After that she couldn't finish packing for a long while. She had to sit down. Junior, who never sat down except by command, stood silently and regarded her with gleaming eye lenses. She was conscious of the robot's scrutiny.

  "Where are we going when we leave here, Lola?" he asked.

  "Far away," she said, forcing her voice out to keep the quaver from it.

  "That will be nice," said Junior. "I don't like it here. I want to see things. Cities and mountains and deserts. I would like to ride a roller coaster, too."

  "Roller coaster?" Lola was really startled. "Where did you ever hear of a roller coaster?"

  "I read about it in a book."

  "Oh."

  Lola gulped. She had forgotten that this monstrosity could read, too. And think. Think like a man.

  "Will Duke take me on a roller coaster?" he asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Lola."

  "Yes."

  "You like Duke?"

  "Why — certainly."

  "You like me?"

  "Oh — why—you know I do, Junior."

  The robot was silent. Lola felt a tremor run through her body. "Who do you like best, Lola? Me or Duke?"

  Lola gulped. Something forced the reply from her. "I like you," she said. "But I love Duke."

  "Love." The robot nodded gravely.

  "You know what love is, Junior?"

  "Yes. I read about it in books. Man and woman. Love."

  Lola breathed a little easier.

  "Lola."

  "Yes?"

  "Do you think anyone will ever fall in love with me?" Lola wanted to laugh, or cry. Most of all, she wanted to scream. But she had to answer.

  "Maybe," she lied.

  "But I'm different. You know that. I'm a robot. Do you think that makes a difference?"

  "Women don't really care about such things when they fall in love, Junior," she improvised. "As long as a woman believes that her lover is the smartest and the strongest, that's all that matters."

  "Oh." The robot started for the door.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To wait for Duke. He said he would come back today."

  Lola smiled furtively as the robot clanked down the hallway stairs.

  That was over with. Thinking back, she'd handled things rather well. In a few hours Duke would return. And then — goodbye, Junior!

  Poor Junior. Just a silver stooge with a man's brain. He wanted love, the poor fish! Well — he was playing with fire and he'd be burned soon enough.

  Lola began to hum. She scampered downstairs and locked up, wearing her gloves to avoid leaving any telltale fingerprints.

  It was almost dark when she returned to her room to pack. She snapped on the light and changed her clothes.

  Junior was still downstairs, patiently waiting for Duke to arrive.

  Lola completed her preparations and sank wearily onto the bed. She must take a rest. Her eyes closed.

  Waiting was too much of a strain. She hated to think of what she had gone through with the robot. That mechanical monster with its man-brain, the hateful, burring voice, and steely stare — how could she ever forget the way it asked, "Do you think anyone will ever fall in love with me?"

  Lola tried to blot out recollection. Just a little while now an
d Duke would be here. He'd get rid of Junior. Meanwhile she had to rest, rest. . . .

  Lola sat up and blinked at the light. She heard footsteps on the stairs.

  "Duke!" she called.

  Then she heard the clanking in the hallway and her heart skipped a beat. The door opened very quickly and the robot stalked in. "Duke!" she screamed.

  The robot stared at her. She felt his alien, inscrutable gaze upon her face.

  Lola tried to scream again, but no sound came from her twisted mouth.

  And then the robot was droning in a burring, inhuman voice.

  "You told me that a woman loves the strongest and the smartest," burred the monster. "You told me that, Lola." The robot came closer. "Well, I am stronger and smarter than he was."

  Lola tried to look away but she saw the object he carried in his metal paws. It was round, and it had Duke s grin.

  The last thing Lola remembered as she fell was the sound of the robot's harsh voice, droning over and over, "I love you, I love you, I love you." The funny part of it was, it sounded almost human.

  The Beasts Of Barsac

  IT WAS TWILIGHT when Doctor Jerome reached the ogre's castle. He moved through the fairy tale land of a child's picture book—a realm of towering mountain crags, steeply slanting roads ascending to forbidden heights, clouds that hovered like bearded wraiths watching his progress from on high.

  The castle itself was built of dream stuff. Nightmare qualities predominated in the great gray bulk, rearing its crumbling battlements against a sudden, blood-streaked sky. A chill wind sang its weird welcome as Doctor Jerome advanced toward the castle on the hilltop, and an autumn moon rose above the topmost tower.

  As the moon stared down on man and castle alike, a black cloud burst from the ruined battlements and soared squeaking to the sky. Bats, of course. The final touch of fantasy.

  Doctor Jerome shrugged and trudged across weed-choked flagstones in the castle courtyard until he reached the great oaken door.

  Now to raise the iron knocker . . . the door would swing open slowly, on creaking hinges . . . the tall, gaunt figure would emerge . . . "Greetings, stranger. I am Count Dracula!"

  Doctor Jerome grinned. "Like hell," he muttered.

  For the whole fantasy collapsed when he thought of Sebastian Barsac. This might be an ogres castle, but Barsac was no ogre.

  Nine years ago, at the Sorbonne, he'd made friends with shy, fat little Barsac. Since then they had taken different paths —but it was impossible for Doctor Jerome to imagine his old companion as the ideal tenant of a haunted castle.

  Not that Barsac didn't have some queer ideas. He'd always been a little eccentric, and his theories on biological research were far from orthodox but Jerome could bank on one thing. Barsac was too fat to be a vampire, and too indolent to become a werewolf.

  Still, there was something strange about this invitation, coming after a three years' lapse in correspondence. Merely a scribbled note, suggesting that Doctor Jerome come down for a month or so to look over experimental data — but that was Barsac's usual way of doing things.

  Ordinarily, Doctor Jerome would ignore such a casual offer, but right now it came as a lifesaver. For Doctor Jerome was strapped. He'd been let out of the Foundation, he owed three installments on his rent, and he had — literally — no place to lay his head. By pawning the remnants of his precious equipment he'd managed to cross the Channel and reach Castle Barsac. A month in a real castle with his old friend — it might lead to something.

  So Jerome had seized Opportunity before the echo of its knocking had died away. And now he banged the iron knocker, watched the castle door swing open. It did squeak, a bit.

  Footsteps. A shadow. And then —

  "Delighted to see you!" Sebastian Barsac embraced his friend in the French fashion and began to make Gallic noises of enthusiasm.

  "Welcome to Castle Barsac," said the little man. "You are tired after your long march from the railroad station, no? I will show you to your room — servants I do not retain. And after a shower we shall talk. Yes?"

  Up the winding stairs, pursued by a babble of incoherent conversation, Doctor Jerome toiled, bags in hand. He found his oak-paneled chambers, was instructed in the mysteries of the antique mechanical shower arrangement; then was left to bathe and dress.

  He had no time to marshal his impressions. It was not until later — after a surprisingly good dinner in a small apartment downstairs — that Jerome was able to sit back and appraise his host.

  They retired to a parlor, lit cigars, and sat back before the grateful warmth emanating from the stone fireplace, where a blaze rose to push back the shadows in the room. Doctor Jerome's fatigue had lifted, and he felt stimulated, alert.

  As Sebastian Barsac began to discuss his recent work, Jerome took the opportunity to scrutinize his friend.

  Little Barsac had aged, definitely. He was fat, but flabby rather than rolypoly. The dark hair had receded on his domed forehead, and his myopic eyes peered from spectacles of increased thickness. Despite verbal enthusiasm, the little lord of Castle Barsac seemed oddly languid in his physical movements. But from his talk, Doctor Jerome recognized that Barsac's spirit was unchanged.

  The words began to form a pattern in Jerome's mind — a pattern holding a meaning he did not understand.

  "So you can see what I have been doing these nine years past. All of my life since I left the Sorbonne has been devoted to one end — discovering the linkage between man and animal through the alteration of cell structure in the brain. It is an evolutionary process wherein the cycle occurs in the lifespan of the individual animal. And my key? My key is simple. It lies in the recognition of one fact — that the human soul is divisible."

  "What is all this?" Doctor Jerome interrupted. "I don't see what you're driving at, Barsac. Where's the connection between biology, alteration of cell structure in the brain, and evolution? And what part does a divisible human soul play in all this?"

  "I will be blunt, my friend. I believe that human characteristics can be transferred to animals by means of mechanical hypnosis. I believe that portions of the human soul essence or psyche can be transmitted from man to animal — and that the animal will then begin to ascend the evolutionary scale. In a word, the animal will show human characteristics."

  Doctor Jerome scowled.

  "In the nine years that you've been dabbling in this unscientific romanticism here in your castle retreat, a new word has come into being to describe your kind, Barsac," he said. "The word is 'Kinky.' And that's what I think of you, and that's what I think of your theory."

  "Theory?" Barsac smiled. "It is more than a theory."

  "It's preposterous!" Jerome interrupted. "To begin with, your statement about the human soul being divisible. I defy you to showme a human soul let alone prove that you can cut it in half."

  "I cannot show you one, I grant," said Barsac.

  "Then what about your mechanical hypnosis? I've never heard it explained."

  "I cannot explain it."

  "And what, in an animal, are human characteristics? What is your basis of measurement?"

  "I do not know."

  "Then how do you expect me to understand your ideas?"

  Sebastian Barsac rose. His face was pale, despite the fire's ruddy glow.

  "I cannot show you a human soul," he murmured, "but I can show you what happens to animals when they possess part of one.

  "I cannot explain mechanical hypnosis, but I can show you the machine I use to hypnotize myself and the animals in order to transfer a portion of my soul.

  "I cannot measure the human characteristics of the animals undergoing my treatment, but I can show you what they look like and let you judge.

  "Even then you may not understand my ideas — but you will see that I am actually carrying them out!"

  By this time, Doctor Jerome had also risen to his feet. "You mean you've been transferring your soul to an animal body?"

  Sebastian Barsac shrugged. "I have been trans
ferring part of what I call my soul to the bodies of many animals," he amended.

  "But you can't — it's biologically impossible. It defies the laws of reality!"

  Behind the bulging spectacles, Barsac's eyes gleamed oddly.

  "What is reality and who makes its laws?" he mocked. "Come, and see for yourself the success of my experiments."

  He led the way across the chamber, down the hall, and up the great circular staircase. They reached the second floor on which Jerome's room lay, but did not pause. Selecting a panel switch from the open box on the wall, Barsac threw it and illumined the upper stairs. They began to climb again.

  And all the while Barsac was talking, talking. "You have seen the gods of ancient Egypt?" he said. "The anthropomorphic stone figures with the bodies of men and the heads of animals? You have heard the legend of the werewolf, of lycanthropic changes whereby man becomes beast and beast becomes man?

  "Fables, all fables. And yet behind the fables lurked a truth. The truth lurks no longer, for I have found it. The seat of evolution lies in the soul, and in the soul's human instrument of expression, the brain. We have grafted cellular structures of one body onto another—why not graft portions of one soul to another? Hypnosis is the key to transference, as I have said.

  "All this I have learned by much thought, much experimentation. I have worked for nine years, perfecting techniques and methodology. Many times I failed. To my laboratory I had brought animals, hundreds of animals. Many of them died. I procured others, working endlessly toward one goal. I have paid the price, myself, dying a thousand mental deaths with the failure of each mistaken attempt. Even a physical price I have paid. A monkey— sale cochon! — took from me my finger. So."

  Barsac paused and held up his left hand in a dramatic gesture to reveal the stump where his left thumb was missing.

  Then he smiled. "But it is not my wounds of battle I wish to display to you — it is the fruits of victory. Come."

  They had reached the topmost tower at last. Doctor Jerome gazed down the dizzying spiral of the stairs they had ascended, then turned his head forward as Barsac unlocked the paneled door of his laboratory and gestured him inside.

  The click of a wall switch heralded the coming of light. Doctor Jerome entered and stood dazzled in the doorway.