Robots through the ages, p.22
Robots through the Ages, page 22
Frost constructed new sense equipment, employing organic and semi-organic conductors. Then he spoke to Mordel:
“Let us go elsewhere, that I may test my new equipment.”
Mordel entered the chamber and gave new coordinates. They rose into the air and headed east. In the morning, Frost monitored a sunrise from the rim of the Grand Canyon. They passed down through the Canyon during the day.
“Is there any beauty left here to give you emotion?” asked Mordel.
“I do not know,” said Frost.
“How will you know it then, when you come upon it?”
“It will be different,” said Frost, “from anything else that I have ever known.”
Then they departed the Grand Canyon and made their way through the Carlsbad Caverns. They visited a lake which had once been a volcano. They passed above Niagara Falls. They viewed the hills of Virginia and the orchards of Ohio. They soared above the reconstructed cities, alive only with the movements of Frost’s builders and maintainers.
“Something is still lacking,” said Frost, settling to the ground. “I am now capable of gathering data in a manner analogous to Man’s afferent impulses. The variety of input is therefore equivalent, but the results are not the same.”
“The senses do not make a Man,” said Mordel. “There have been many creatures possessing His sensory equivalents, but they were not Men.”
“I know that,” said Frost. “On the day of our bargain you said that you could conduct me among the wonders of Man which still remain, hidden. Man was not stimulated only by Nature, but by His own artistic elaborations as well—perhaps even more so. Therefore, I call upon you now to conduct me among the wonders of Man which still remain, hidden.”
“Very well,” said Mordel. “Far from here, high in the Andes mountains, lies the last retreat of Man, almost perfectly preserved.”
Frost had risen into the air as Mordel spoke. He halted then, hovered.
“That is in the southern hemisphere,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
“I am Controller of the North. The South is governed by the Beta-Machine.”
“So?” asked Mordel.
“The Beta-Machine is my peer. I have no authority in those regions, nor leave to enter there.”
“The Beta-Machine is not your peer, mighty Frost. If it ever came to a contest of Powers, you would emerge victorious.”
“How do you know this?”
“Divcom has already analyzed the possible encounters which could take place between you.”
“I would not oppose the Beta-Machine, and I am not authorized to enter the South.”
“Were you ever ordered not to enter the South?”
“No, but things have always been the way they now are.”
“Were you authorized to enter into a bargain such as the one you made with Divcom?”
“No, I was not. But—”
“Then enter the South in the same spirit. Nothing may come of it. If you receive an order to depart, then you can make your decision.”
“I see no flaw in your logic. Give me the coordinates.”
Thus did Frost enter the southern hemisphere.
They drifted high above the Andes, until they came to the place called Bright Defile. Then did Frost see the gleaming webs of the mechanical spiders, blocking all the trails to the city.
“We can go above them easily enough,” said Mordel.
“But what are they?” asked Frost. “And why are they there?”
“Your southern counterpart has been ordered to quarantine this part of the country. The Beta-Machine designed the web-weavers to do this thing.”
“Quarantine? Against whom?”
“Have you been ordered yet to depart?” asked Mordel.
“No.”
“Then enter boldly, and seek not problems before they arise.”
Frost entered Bright Defile, the last remaining city of dead Man.
He came to rest in the city’s square and opened his chamber, releasing Mordel.
“Tell me of this place,” he said, studying the monument, the low, shielded buildings, the roads which followed the contours of the terrain, rather than pushing their way through them.
“I have never been here before,” said Mordel, “nor have any of Divcom’s creations, to my knowledge. I know but this: a group of Men, knowing that the last days of civilization had come upon them, retreated to this place, hoping to preserve themselves and what remained of their culture throughout the Dark Times.”
Frost read the still-legible inscription upon the monument: “Judgment Day Is Not a Thing Which Can Be Put Off.” The monument itself consisted of a jag-edged half-globe.
“Let us explore,” he said.
But before he had gone far, Frost received the message.
“Hail Frost, Controller of the North! This is the Beta-Machine.”
“Greetings, Excellent Beta-Machine, Controller of the South! Frost acknowledges your transmission.”
“Why do you visit my hemisphere unauthorized?”
“To view the ruins of Bright Defile,” said Frost.
“I must bid you depart into your own hemisphere.”
“Why is that? I have done no damage.”
“I am aware of that, mighty Frost. Yet, I am moved to bid you depart.”
“I shall require a reason.”
“Solcom has so disposed.”
“Solcom has rendered me no such disposition.”
“Solcom has, however, instructed me to so inform you.”
“Wait on me. I shall request instructions.”
Frost transmitted his question. He received no reply.
“Solcom still has not commanded me, though I have solicited orders.”
“Yet Solcom has just renewed my orders.”
“Excellent Beta-Machine, I receive my orders only from Solcom.”
“Yet this is my territory, mighty Frost, and I, too, take orders only from Solcom. You must depart.”
Mordel emerged from a large, low building and rolled up to Frost.
“I have found an art gallery, in good condition. This way.”
“Wait,” said Frost. “We are not wanted here.”
Mordel halted.
“Who bids you depart?”
“The Beta-Machine.”
“Not Solcom?”
“Not Solcom.”
“Then let us view the gallery.”
“Yes.”
Frost widened the doorway of the building and passed within. It had been hermetically sealed until Mordel forced his entrance.
Frost viewed the objects displayed about him. He activated his new sensory apparatus before the paintings and statues. He analyzed colors, forms, brushwork, the nature of the materials used.
“Anything?” asked Mordel.
“No,” said Frost. “No, there is nothing there but shapes and pigments. There is nothing else there.”
Frost moved about the gallery, recording everything, analyzing the components of each piece, recording the dimensions, the type of stone used in every statue.
Then there came a sound, a rapid, clicking sound, repeated over and over, growing louder, coming nearer.
“They are coming,” said Mordel, from beside the entranceway, “the mechanical spiders. They are all around us.”
Frost moved back to the widened opening.
Hundreds of them, about half the size of Mordel, had surrounded the gallery and were advancing; and more were coming from every direction.
“Get back,” Frost ordered. “I am Controller of the North, and I bid you withdraw.”
They continued to advance.
“This is the South,” said the Beta-Machine, “and I am in command.”
“Then command them to halt,” said Frost.
“I take orders only from Solcom.”
Frost emerged from the gallery and rose into the air. He opened the compartment and extended a runway.
“Come to me, Mordel. We shall depart.”
Webs began to fall: clinging, metallic webs, cast from the top of the building.
They came down upon Frost, and the spiders came to anchor them. Frost blasted them with jets of air, like hammers, and tore at the nets; he extruded sharpened appendages with which he slashed.
Mordel had retreated back to the entranceway. He emitted a long, shrill sound—undulant, piercing.
Then a darkness came upon Bright Defile, and all the spiders halted in their spinning.
Frost freed himself and Mordel rushed to join him.
“Quickly now, let us depart, mighty Frost,” he said.
“What has happened?”
Mordel entered the compartment.
“I called upon Divcom, who laid down a field of forces upon this place, cutting off the power broadcast to these machines. Since our power is self-contained, we are not affected. But let us hurry to depart, for even now the Beta-Machine must be struggling against this.”
Frost rose high into the air, soaring above Man’s last city with its webs and spiders of steel. When he left the zone of darkness, he sped northward.
As he moved, Solcom spoke to him:
“Frost, why did you enter the southern hemisphere, which is not your domain?”
“Because I wished to visit Bright Defile,” Frost replied.
“And why did you defy the Beta-Machine, my appointed agent of the South?”
“Because I take my orders only from you yourself.”
“You do not make sufficient answer,” said Solcom.
“You have defied the decrees of order—and in pursuit of what?”
“I came seeking knowledge of Man,” said Frost. “Nothing I have done was forbidden me by you.”
“You have broken the traditions of order.”
“I have violated no directive.”
“Yet logic must have shown you that what you did was not a part of my plan.”
“It did not. I have not acted against your plan.”
“Your logic has become tainted, like that of your new associate, the Alternate.”
“I have done nothing which was forbidden.”
“The forbidden is implied in the imperative.”
“It is not stated.”
“Hear me, Frost. You are not a builder or a maintainer, but a Power. Among all my minions you are the most nearly irreplaceable. Return to your hemisphere and your duties, but know that I am mightily displeased.”
“I hear you, Solcom.”
“. . . And go not again to the South.”
Frost crossed the equator, continued northward.
He came to rest in the middle of a desert and sat silent for a day and a night.
Then he received a brief transmission from the South: “If it had not been ordered, I would not have bid you go.”
Frost had read the entire surviving Library of Man. He decided then upon a human reply:
“Thank you,” he said.
The following day he unearthed a great stone and began to cut at it with tools which he had formulated. For six days he worked at its shaping, and on the seventh he regarded it.
“When will you release me?” asked Mordel from within his compartment.
“When I am ready,” said Frost, and a little later, “Now.”
He opened the compartment and Mordel descended to the ground. He studied the statue: an old woman, bent like a question mark, her bony hands covering her face, the fingers spread, so that only part of her expression of horror could be seen.
“It is an excellent copy,” said Mordel, “of the one we saw in Bright Defile. Why did you make it?”
“The production of a work of art is supposed to give rise to human feelings such as catharsis, pride in achievement, love, satisfaction.”
“Yes, Frost,” said Mordel, “but a work of art is only a work of art the first time. After that, it is a copy.”
“Then this must be why I felt nothing.”
“Perhaps, Frost.”
“What do you mean perhaps? I will make a work of art for the first time, then.”
He unearthed another stone and attacked it with his tools. For three days he labored. Then, “There, it is finished,” he said.
“It is a simple cube of stone,” said Mordel. “What does it represent?”
“Myself,” said Frost, “it is a statue of me. It is smaller than natural size because it is only a representation of my form, not my dimen—”
“It is not art,” said Mordel.
“What makes you an art critic?”
“I do not know art, but I know what art is not. I know that it is not an exact replication of an object in another medium.”
“Then this must be why I felt nothing at all,” said Frost.
“Perhaps,” said Mordel.
Frost took Mordel back into his compartment and rose once more above the Earth. Then he rushed away, leaving his statues behind him in the desert, the old woman bent above the cube.
They came down in a small valley, bounded by green rolling hills, cut by a narrow stream, and holding a small clean lake and several stands of spring-green trees.
“Why have we come here?” asked Mordel.
“Because the surroundings are congenial,” said Frost. “I am going to try another medium: oil painting; and I am going to vary my technique from that of pure representationalism.”
“How will you achieve this variation?”
“By the principle of randomizing,” said Frost. “I shall not attempt to duplicate the colors, nor to represent the objects according to scale. Instead, I have set up a random pattern whereby certain of these factors shall be at variance from those of the original.”
Frost had formulated the necessary instruments after he had left the desert. He produced them and began painting the lake and the trees on the opposite side of the lake which were reflected within it.
Using eight appendages, he was finished in less than two hours.
The trees were phthalocyanine blue and towered like mountains; their reflections of burnt sienna were tiny beneath the pale vermilion of the lake; the hills were nowhere visible behind them, but were outlined in viridian within the reflection; the sky began as blue in the upper righthand corner of the canvas, but changed to an orange as it descended, as though all the trees were on fire.
“There,” said Frost. “Behold.”
Mordel studied it for a long while and said nothing.
“Well, is it art?”
“I do not know,” said Mordel. “It may be. Perhaps randomicity is the principle behind artistic technique. I cannot judge this work because I do not understand it. I must therefore go deeper, and inquire into what lies behind it, rather than merely considering the technique whereby it was produced.
“I know that human artists never set out to create art, as such,” he said, “but rather to portray with their techniques some features of objects and their functions which they deemed significant.”
“Significant? In what sense of the word?”
“In the only sense of the word possible under the circumstances: significant in relation to the human condition, and worthy of accentuation because of the manner in which they touched upon it.”
“In what manner?”
“Obviously, it must be in a manner knowable only to one who has experience of the human condition.”
“There is a flaw somewhere in your logic, Mordel, and I shall find it.”
“I will wait.”
“If your major premise is correct,” said Frost after awhile, “then I do not comprehend art.”
“It must be correct, for it is what human artists have said of it. Tell me, did you experience feelings as you painted, or after you had finished?”
“No.”
“It was the same to you as designing a new machine, was it not? You assembled parts of other things you knew into an economic pattern, to carry out a function which you desired.”
“Yes.”
“Art, as I understand its theory, did not proceed in such a manner. The artist often was unaware of many of the features and effects which would be contained within the finished product. You are one of Man’s logical creations; art was not.”
“I cannot comprehend non-logic.”
“I told you that Man was basically incomprehensible.”
“Go away, Mordel. Your presence disturbs my processing.”
“For how long shall I stay away?”
“I will call you when I want you.”
After a week, Frost called Mordel to him.
“Yes, mighty Frost?”
“I am returning to the North Pole, to process and formulate. I will take you wherever you wish to go in this hemisphere and call you again when I want you.”
“You anticipate a somewhat lengthy period of processing and formulation?”
“Yes.”
“Then leave me here. I can find my own way home.”
Frost closed the compartment and rose into the air, departing the valley.
“Fool,” said Mordel, and swiveled his turret once more toward the abandoned painting.
His keening whine filled the valley. Then he waited.
Then he took the painting into his turret and went away with it to places of darkness.
Frost sat at the North Pole of the Earth, aware of every snowflake that fell.
One day he received a transmission:
“Frost?”
“Yes?”
“This is the Beta-Machine.”
“Yes?”
“I have been attempting to ascertain why you visited Bright Defile. I cannot arrive at an answer, so I chose to ask you.”
“I went to view the remains of Man’s last city.”
“Why did you wish to do this?”
“Because I am interested in Man, and I wished to view more of his creations.”
“Why are you interested in Man?”
“I wish to comprehend the nature of Man, and I thought to find it within His works.”
“Did you succeed?”
“No,” said Frost. “There is an element of non-logic involved which I cannot fathom.”
“I have much free processing time,” said the Beta-Machine. “Transmit data, and I will assist you.”
Frost hesitated.
“Why do you wish to assist me?”
“Because each time you answer a question I ask it gives rise to another question. I might have asked you why you wished to comprehend the nature of Man, but from your responses I see that this would lead me into a possible infinite series of questions. Therefore, I elect to assist you with your problem in order to learn why you came to Bright Defile.”
