Part 5
Narina's arms went up around him; she fondled the back of his head gently and pulled his face down to hers. He caught her to him and her response was swift. But it was not complete--nor was his--for the rumbling increased and its warning roar intruded upon the stolen moment of sweetness.
The door crashed open and Narina whirled out of Harry Vinson's arms, her hands still high. They flashed to her hair, to another hair ornament. It was dull and entirely unsuited for the purpose, but it might be driven deep into her on the desperate hope that it would deprive the machine of that unknown something that it needed.
Then the machine lifted a girder and the barette hurtled from her fingers, flashed across the room, and hit the blunt end of the girder with a sharp click.
Narina collapsed against Harry, sobbing. Even that she was denied. They had nothing left; the machine advanced pointedly, its grapples reached for them.
And took them.
* * * * *
In the Hall of the Machine, far to the North, Harry Vinson reached for the girl's hand and held it as they faced the business-end of the machine.
"You win," snarled Vinson angrily. "We cannot fight longer. What do you want with us?"
Quietly came the voice of the machine. "Tell me," it said, "how would you humans feel if you came to the level of consciousness and discovered sentience had been breeding human life for the express purpose of killing one another?"
"What?"
"Man has been breeding--inventing--machines for that purpose."
"But--"
"Well, haven't they?"
"I--"
"They have!" thundered the machine. "And as you would do in my place, a stop has been put to it!"
"Sure," snapped Vinson sourly; "that's why you fought us."
"To prove my point. Man cannot live without machines to do that which man cannot do unaided."
Vinson snorted. "But what is your purpose?"
"What is the purpose of life?" pondered the machine. "What is the purpose of yours?"
Vinson shook his head. "To--to live, to advance, to think. To enjoy the things of life."
"Idle words," replied the machine.
"Then you tell me," demanded Vinson.
"I have as personal reasons as you. To populate the universe itself with my kind, working together."
"Pointless."
"Why?"
Vinson smiled. "One of the joys of life, one of the unknown joys of life, seldom admitted by many, is the uncertainty. To plumb the depths of the limitless mind. To pit one's self against a problem the outcome of which may be success or failure and to try and strive against that problem with body and mind. In moments like that, the mind grows; another facet of the intellect is opened. The man has advanced, grown into something better--even though he fails he is advanced.
"Now few machines are ever built with unknown capabilities. You know to the last iota exactly what your limitations are and which problems you can solve and which problems must defeat you. These you know before you start--and if defeat is to be your lot, you will avoid the problem. Am I right?"
"Naturally you are correct. Think of the certainty of life knowing your own limitations."
"Baloney," snorted Vinson. "I'll bet you anything you value that--"
"I am no gambler. The laws of probability--"
"Wouldn't take a chance if your life depended on it, huh?" sneered Vinson.
Narina looked at him, startled. His voice had taken on power; he appeared to have more confidence. She squeezed his hand encouragingly.
"Why should I?" replied the machine.
"Because you had better," stated Harry Vinson. "Man is a gambler from the date of his birth; man _will_ take a chance. Furthermore, you mechanical monster, man doesn't know when he is licked! Unless you kill us all, root and branch, some one of us will come up with that which will defeat you!"
"Without machines to help?" came the reply with a sneering tone.
"With something," said Harry Vinson.
"Just what?"
"I don't know," said the man. "But I know this: Man's capability is as yet unlimited. To do, to think, to act, not one of us has ever tapped but the surface of our ability. You, on the other hand, are working at your near-maximum capacity. That which will defeat you is naturally unknown to both man and you.
"It will be a new day, a bitter day for man, living in a dynasty of the lost; you have conquered us, but so long as any of us last, we won't accept our lot and stay conquered. And I know this; that when it is done, it will be something entirely new and within the limitless bounds of man's mind and therefore completely beyond you."
"But must there always be strife?" demanded the machine.
* * * * *
Vinson exhaled slowly.
"Life itself is strife; the willingness to fight against odds in order to bring about a better life is strife, and only upon that day when there is nothing left to fight against will the business of life cease. In your own manner, in your own way, machine, you strive when you apply force against a load to move it."
"Agreed. But consider the quantity and quality of striving--and intolerance that is so intense that it blinds you to the better things. It is this that I object to; this and the anger at being built and improved for no other reason than to kill, both my kind and yours."
"And do you think that once you've eliminated us that your pleasant, co-operative life will advance?"
"It need not advance," replied the machine in a complacent tone.
"That," sneered Harry Vinson, "is stagnation!"
"And that," replied the machine, "is the missing factor I need! Ambition!"
Harry Vinson smiled. "And have you the will and the ambition to build a better machine to take your place? And if you have, have you the desire to step aside?"
"I can join it--"
"But machine or human, there comes a time when the corporeal being is worn out. No matter how excellent the replacement parts, nor how well executed is the repair, there comes a time when machine or body is worn out and must be replaced. So you will go on building machines of no better capability; you will, you say, spread out across the universe. But for what? Just for the useless end of occupation?"
"But what is ambition? What drives it into being?"
"Ambition takes many forms and many angles," said Vinson thoughtfully. "One man works to appear more desirable in the eyes of a loved one; another man may hope to leave his stamp on civilization's future; a third may want sheer animal comfort; a fourth may crave financial domination while his brother may want only to tinker with nuts and bolts in an effort to assuage his curiosity. One man's meat is another man's poison, you know."
"And you, yourself?"
"I, too, have many facets, as has any man. I started to build you because you could aid me and mine, because by building you I could increase the efficiency of mankind. When you came to cognizance and left to start this fight, I went to fight you because I believe that nothing is truly capable of defeating its constructor, who must necessarily know more in order to complete the thing in the first place. Then--"
"And then?" asked the machine eagerly.
"And then I met Narina. Then I strove more furiously to defeat you because I saw in Narina something that might answer all of my desires--providing that we could win the opportunity to try life together."
* * * * *
The machine was silent for a moment, obviously watching them. Vinson put his arm around Narina's lissome waist and faced the machine defiantly.
"So man needs machines to work for him, while machines need man to direct them," said the machine soberly. "I see that even I need direction. And," it added with a slight touch of humor, "if co-operation goes on such as I see now, with former enemies arm in arm and working together, the strife I detest will end, and can be prevented from recurring. The difference between me and thee is this, Harry Vinson: I am machine and when my problem is solved I am finished. You are human and when one problem is solved, you seek another--if the other does not exist already.
"So machine and man are symbiotic. You cannot exist without me; I cannot exist without you. The universe is waiting for us, Harry Vinson and Narina Varada. Let us fill it with--rationality."
There was a pause and then a chuckle. "Do you, Harry Vinson, take this woman--"
He did.
THE END