The thin voice died away, and Alvin’s thoughts returned to the world he knew. More than ever before the extent of his ignorance overwhelmed him. A tiny fragment of the past had been illuminated for a little while, but now the darkness had closed over it again.
The world’s history was a mass of such disconnected threads, and none could say which were important and which were trivial. This fantastic tale of the Master and the Great Ones might be no more than another of the countless legends that had somehow survived from the civilizations of the Dawn. Yet the three machines were unlike any that Alvin had ever seen. He could not dismiss the whole story, as he had been tempted to do, as a fable built of self-delusion upon a foundation of madness.
“These machines,” he said abruptly, “surely they’ve been questioned? If they came to Earth with the Master, they must still know his secrets.”
The old man smiled wearily.
“They know,” he said, “but they will never speak. The Master saw to that before he handed over the control. We have tried times without number, but it is useless.”
Alvin understood. He thought of the Associator in Diaspar, and the seals that Alaine had set upon its knowledge. Even those seals, he now believed, could be broken in time, and the Master Associator must be infinitely more complex than these little robot slaves. He wondered if Rorden, so skilled in unravelling the secrets of the past, would be able to wrest the machines’ hidden knowledge from them. But Rorden was far away and would never leave Diaspar.
Quite suddenly the plan came fully fledged into his mind. Only a very young person could ever have thought of it, and it taxed even Alvin’s self-confidence to the utmost. Yet once the decision had been made, he moved with determination and much cunning to his goal.
He pointed towards the three machines.
“Are they identical?” he asked. “I mean, can each one do everything, or are they specialized in any way?
The old man looked a little puzzled.
“I’ve never thought about it,” he said. “When I need anything, I ask whichever is most convenient. I don’t think there is any difference between them.”
“There can’t be a great deal of work for them to do now,” Alvin continued innocently. Theon looked a little startled, but Alvin carefully avoided his friend’s eye. The old man answered guilelessly.
“No,” he replied sadly, “Shalmirane is very different now.”
Alvin paused in sympathy: then, very quickly, he began to talk. At first the old man did not seem to grasp his proposal: later, when comprehension came, Alvin gave him no time to interrupt. He spoke of the great storehouses of knowledge in Diaspar, and the skill with which the Keeper of the Records could use them. Although the Master’s machines had withstood all other enquirers, they might yield their secrets to Rorden’s probing. It would be a tragedy if the chance were missed, for it would never come again.
Flushed with the heat of his own oratory, Alvin ended his appeal:
“Lend me one of the machines—you do not need them all. Order it to obey my controls and I will take it to Diaspar. I promise to return it whether the experiment succeeds or not.”
Even Theon looked shocked and an expression of horror came across the old man’s face.
“I couldn’t do that!” he gasped.
“But why not? Think what we might learn!”
The other shook his head firmly.
“It would be against the Master’s wishes.”
Alvin was disappointed—disappointed and annoyed. But he was young, and his opponent was old and tired. He began again to go through the argument, shifting his attack and pressing home each advantage. And now for the first time Theon saw an Alvin he had never suspected before—a personality, indeed, that was surprising Alvin himself. The men of the Dawn Ages had never let obstacles bar their way for long, and the will-power and determination that had been their heritage had not yet passed from Earth. Even as a child Alvin had withstood the forces seeking to mould him to the pattern of Diaspar. He was older now, and against him was not the greatest city of the world but only an aged man who sought nothing but rest, and would surely find that soon.
Nine
Master of the Robot
The evening was far advanced when the ground-car slid silently through the last screen of trees and came to rest in the great glade of Airlee. The argument, which had lasted most of the journey, had now died away and peace had been restored. They had never quite come to blows, perhaps because the odds were so unequal. Theon had only Krif to support him, but Alvin could call upon the arguseyed, many-tentacled machine he still regarded so lovingly.
Theon had not minced his words. He had called his friend a bully and had told Alvin that he should be thoroughly ashamed of himself. But Alvin had only laughed and continued to play with his new toy. He did not know how the transfer had been effected, but he alone could control the robot now, could speak with its voice and see through its eyes. It would obey no one else in all the world.
Seranis was waiting for them in a surprising room which seemed to have no ceiling, though Alvin knew that there was a floor above it. She seemed to be worried and more uncertain than he had ever seen her before, and he remembered the choice that might soon lie before him. Until now he had almost forgotten it. He had believed that, somehow, the Council would resolve the difficulty. Now he realized that its decision might not be to his liking.
The voice of Seranis was troubled when she began to speak, and from her occasional pauses Alvin could tell that she was repeating words already rehearsed.
“Alvin,” she began, “there are many things I did not tell you before, but which you must learn now if you are to understand our actions.
“You know one of the reasons for the isolation of our two races. The fear of the Invaders, that dark shadow in the depths of every human mind, turned your people against the world and made them lose themselves in their own dreams. Here in Lys that fear has never been so great, although we bore the burden of the attack. We had a better reason for our actions, and what we did, we did with open eyes.
“Long ago, Alvin, men sought immortality and at last achieved it. They forgot that a world which had banished death must also banish birth. The power to extend his life indefinitely brought contentment to the individual but stagnation to the race. You once told me that you were the only child to be born in Diaspar for seven thousand years—but you have seen how many children we have here in Airlee. Ages ago we sacrificed our immortality, but Diaspar still follows the false dream. That is why our ways parted—and why they must never meet again.”
Although the words had been more than half expected, the blow seemed none the less for its anticipation. Yet Alvin refused to admit the failure of all his plans—half-formed though they were—and only part of his brain was listening to Seranis now. He understood and noted all her words, but the conscious portion of his mind was retracing the road to Diaspar, trying to imagine every obstacle that could be placed in his way.
Seranis was clearly unhappy. Her voice was almost pleading as it spoke, and Alvin knew that she was talking not only to him but to her own son. Theon was watching his mother with a concern which held at last more than a trace of accusation.
“We have no desire to keep you here in Lys against your will, but you must surely realize what it would mean if our people mixed. Between our culture and yours is a gulf as great as any that ever separated Earth from its ancient colonies. Think of this one fact, Alvin. You and Theon are now of nearly the same age—but he and I will have been dead for centuries when you are still a boy.”
The room was very quiet, so quiet that Alvin could hear the strange, plaintive cries of unknown beasts in the fields beyond the village. Presently he said, almost in a whisper:
“What do you want me to do?”
“I have put your case to the Council, as I promised, but the law cannot be altered. You may remain here and become one of us, or you may return to Diaspar. If you do that, we must first reshape the patte
rns of your mind so that you have no recollection of Lys and never again attempt to reach us.”
“And Rorden? He would still know the truth, even if I had forgotten everything.”
“We have spoken with Rorden many times since you left. He recognizes the wisdom of our actions.”
In that dark moment, it seemed to Alvin that the whole world had turned against him. Though there was much truth in the words of Seranis, he would not recognize it: he saw only the wreck of his still dimly-conceived plans, the end of the search for knowledge that had now become the most important thing in his life.
Seranis must have read his thoughts.
“I’ll leave you for a while,” she said. “But remember—whatever your choice, there can be no turning back.”
Theon followed her to the door but Alvin called after him. He looked enquiringly at his mother, who hesitated for a moment and then nodded her head. The door closed silently behind her and Alvin knew that it would not open again without her consent.
Alvin waited until his racing thoughts were once more under control.
“Theon,” he began, “you’ll help me, won’t you?”
The other nodded but did not speak.
“Then tell me this—how could your people stop me if I tried to run away?”
“That would be easy. If you tried to escape, my mother would take control of your mind. Later, when you became one of us, you would not wish to leave.”
“I see. Can you tell if she is watching my mind now?”
Theon looked worried, but his protest answered the question.
“I shouldn’t tell you that!”
“But you will, won’t you?”
The two boys looked silently at each other for many seconds. Then Theon smiled.
“You can’t bully me, you know. Whatever you’re planning—and I can’t read your mind—as soon as you tried to put it into action Mother would take over. She won’t let you out of her sight until everything has been settled.”
“I know that,” said Alvin, “but is she looking into my mind at this moment?”
The other hesitated.
“No, she isn’t,” he said at last. “I think’s she’s deliberately leaving you alone, so that her thoughts won’t influence you.”
That was all he needed to know. For the first time Alvin dared to turn his mind upon the only plan that offered any hope. He was far too stubborn to accept either of the alternatives Seranis had offered him, and even if there had been nothing at stake he would have bitterly resisted any attempt to override his will.
In a little while Seranis would return. He could do nothing until they were in the open again, and even then Seranis would be able to control his actions if he attempted to run away. And apart from that, he was sure that many of the villagers could intercept him long before he reached safety.
Very carefully, checking every detail, he traced out the only road that could lead him back to Diaspar on the terms he wished.
Theon warned him when Seranis was near, and he quickly turned his thoughts into harmless channels. It had never been easy for her to understand his mind, and now it seemed to Seranis as if she were far out in space, looking down upon a world veiled with impenetrable clouds. Sometimes there would be a rift in the covering, and for an instant she could catch a glimpse of what lay beneath. She wondered what Alvin was trying to hide from her. For a moment she dipped into her son’s mind, but Theon knew nothing of the other’s plans. She thought again of the precautions she had taken: as a man may flex his muscles before some great exertion, she ran through the compulsion patterns she might have to use. But there was no trace of her preoccupation as she smiled at Alvin from the doorway.
“Well,” she asked, “have you made up your mind?”
Alvin’s reply seemed frank enough.
“Yes,” he said. “I will return to Diaspar.”
“I’m sorry, and I know that Theon will miss you. But perhaps it’s best: this is not your world and you must think of your own people.”
With a gesture of supreme confidence, she stood aside to let Alvin pass through the door.
“The men who can obliterate your memory of Lys are waiting for you: we expected this decision.”
Alvin was glad to see that Seranis was leading him in the direction he wished to go. She did not look back to see if he was following: her every movement told him: “Try and run away if you like—my mind is more powerful than yours.” And he knew that it was perfectly true.
They were clear of the houses when he stopped and turned to his friend.
“Good-bye, Theon,” he said, holding out his hands. “Thank you for all you’ve done. One day I’ll be back.”
Seranis had stopped and was watching him intently. He smiled at her even while he measured the twenty feet of ground between them.
“I know that you’re doing this against your will,” he said, “and I don’t blame you for it. I don’t like what I’m doing, either.” (That was not true, he thought. Already he was beginning to enjoy himself.) He glanced quickly around: no one was approaching and Seranis had not moved. She was still watching him, probably trying to probe into his mind. He talked quickly to prevent even the outlines of his plan from shaping among his thoughts.
“I do not believe you are right,” he said, so unconscious of his intellectual arrogance that Seranis could not resist a smile. “It’s wrong for Lys and Diaspar to remain apart forever: one day they may need each other desperately. So I am going home with all that I have learned—and I do not think that you can stop me.”
He waited no longer, and it was just as well. Seranis never moved, but instantly he felt his body slipping from his control. The power that had brushed aside his own will was even greater than he had expected, and he realized that many hidden minds must be aiding Seranis. Helplessly he began to walk back towards the center of the village, and for an awful moment he thought his plans had failed.
Then there came a flash of steel and crystal, and the metal arms closed swiftly around him. His body fought against them, as he had known it must do, but his struggles were useless. The ground fell away beneath him and he caught a glimpse of Theon, frozen by surprise with a foolish smile upon his face.
The robot was carrying him a dozen feet above the ground, much faster than a man could run. It took Seranis only a moment to understand his ruse, and his struggles died away as she relaxed her control. But she was not defeated yet, and presently there happened that which Alvin had feared and done his best to counteract.
There were now two separate entities fighting inside his mind, and one of them was pleading with the robot, begging it to set him down again. The real Alvin waited, breathlessly, resisting only a little against forces he knew he could not hope to fight. He had gambled: there was no way of telling beforehand if the machine could understand orders as complex as those he had given it. Under no circumstances, he had told the robot, must it obey any further commands of his until he was safely inside Diaspar. Those were the orders. If they were obeyed, Alvin had placed his fate beyond the reach of human interferences.
Never hesitating, the machine raced on along the path he had so carefully mapped out for it. A part of him was still pleading angrily to be released, but he knew now that he was safe. And presently Seranis understood that too, for the forces inside his brain ceased to war with one another. Once more he was at peace, as ages ago an earlier wanderer had been when, lashed to the mast of his ship, he had heard the song of the Sirens die away across the wine-dark sea.
Ten
Duplication
“So you see,” concluded Alvin, “it will carry out any orders I give, no matter how complicated they are. But as soon as I ask questions about its origin, it simply freezes like that.”
The machine was hanging motionless above the Master Associator, its crystal lenses glittering in the silver light like a cluster of jewels. Of all the robots which Rorden had ever met, this was by far the most baffling: he was now almost sure that it had been buil
t by no human civilization. With such eternal servants it was not surprising that the Master’s personality had survived the ages.
Alvin’s return had raised so many problems that Rorden was almost afraid to think of them. He himself had not found it easy to accept the existence of Lys with all its implications, and he wondered how Diaspar would react to the new knowledge. Probably the city’s immense inertia would cushion the shock: it might well be years before all of its inhabitants fully appreciated the fact that they were no longer alone on Earth.
But if Alvin had his way, things would move much more quickly than that. There were times when Rorden regretted the failure of Seranis’ plans—everything would have been so much simpler. The problem was immense, and for the second occasion in his life Rorden could not decide what course of action was correct. He wondered how many more times Alvin would present him with such dilemmas, and smiled a little wryly at the thought. For it would make no difference either way: Alvin would do exactly as he pleased.
As yet, not more than a dozen people outside Alvin’s own family knew the truth. His parents, with whom he now had so little in common and often did not see for weeks, still seemed to think that he had merely been to some outlying part of the city. Jeserac had been the only person to react strongly: once the initial shock had worn off he had engaged in a violent quarrel with Rorden and the two were no longer on speaking terms. Alvin, who had seen this coming for some time, could guess the details but to his disappointment neither of the protagonists would talk about the matter.
Later, there would be time enough to see that Diaspar realized the truth: for the moment Alvin was too interested in the robot to worry about much else. He felt, and his belief was now shared by Rorden, that the tale he had heard in Shalmirane was only a fragment of some far greater story. At first Rorden had been skeptical, and he still believed the “Great Ones” to be no more than another of the world’s countless religious myths. Only the robot knew the truth, and it had defied a million centuries of questioning as it was defying them now.