“Oh, there’s a little more to me than that,” Fleming said. “As much as the machine needs.”
Howard started to giggle nervously, for he had an image of Fleming’s gray brain swimming in a pool of crystal water. He stopped himself, and said, “The machine? What machine?”
“The space station. I imagine it’s the most intricate machine ever built. It flashed the lights and opened the door.”
“But why?”
“I expect to find out,” Fleming said. “I’m a part of it now. Or perhaps it’s a part of me. Anyhow, it needed me, because it’s not really intelligent. I supply that.”
“You? But the machine couldn’t know you were coming!”
“I don’t mean me, specifically. The man outside, in the ship, he was probably the real operator. But I’ll do. We’ll finish the builder’s plans.”
Howard calmed himself with an effort. He couldn’t think any more right now. His only concern was to get out of the station, back to his ship. To do this, he had Fleming to work with; but a new, unpredictable Fleming. He sounded human enough—but was he?”
“Fleming,” Howard said tentatively.
“Yes, old man?”
That was encouraging. “Can you get me out of here?”
“I think so,” Fleming’s voice said. “I’ll try.”
“I’ll come back with neurosurgeons,” Howard assured him. “You’ll be all right.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Fleming said. “I’m all right now.”
Howard lost count of the hours he walked. One narrow corridor followed another, and dissolved into still more corridors. He grew tired, and his legs began to stiffen. As he walked, he ate. There were sandwiches in his knapsack, and he munched on them mechanically, for strength.
“Fleming,” he called finally, stopping to rest.
After a long pause he heard a barely recognizable sound, like metal grating against metal.
“How much longer?”
“Not much longer,” the grating, metallic voice said. “Tired?”
“Yes.”
“I will do what I can.”
Fleming’s voice was frightening, but silence was even more frightening. As Howard listened, he heard an engine, deep in the heart of the station, spurt into life.
“Fleming?”
“Yes?”
“What is all this? Is it a bomb station?”
“No. I do not know the purpose of the machine yet. I am still not entirely integrated.”
“But it does have a purpose?”
“Yes!” The metallic voice grated so loud that Howard winced. “I possess a beautifully functional interlocking apparatus. In temperature control alone I am capable of a range of hundreds of degrees in a microsecond, to say nothing of my chemical mixing stores, power sources, and all the rest. And, of course, my purpose.”
Howard didn’t like the answer. It sounded as though Fleming were identifying with the machine, merging his personality with that of the space station. He forced himself to ask. “Why don’t you know what it’s for yet?”
“A vital component is missing,” Fleming said, after a pause. “An indispensable matrix. Besides, I do not have full control yet.”
More engines began to throb into life, and the walls vibrated with the sound. Howard could feel the floor tremble under him. The station seemed to be waking up, stretching, gathering its wits. He felt as though he were in the stomach of some giant sea monster.
Howard walked for several more hours, and he left behind him a trail of apple cores, orange peels, fatty bits of meat, an empty canteen, and a piece of waxed paper. He was eating constantly now, compulsively, and his hunger was dull and constant. While he ate he felt safe, for eating belonged with the spaceship, and Earth.
A section of wall slid back suddenly. Howard moved away from it.
“Go in,” a voice, which he tentatively identified as Fleming’s said.
“Why? What is it?” He turned his flashlight into the hole, and saw a continuous moving strip of floor disappearing into the darkness.
“You are tired,” the voice like Fleming’s said. “This way is faster.”
Howard wanted to run, but there was no place to go. He had to trust Fleming, or brave the darkness on either side of his flashlight.
“Go in.”
Obediently Howard climbed in, and sat down on the moving track. Ahead, all he could see was darkness. He lay back.
“Do you know what the station is for yet?” he asked the darkness.
“Soon,” a voice answered. “We will not fail them.”
Howard didn’t dare ask who it was Fleming wouldn’t fail. He closed his eyes and let the darkness close around him.
The ride continued for a long time. Howard’s flashlight was clamped under his arm, and its beam went straight up, reflecting against the polished metal ceiling. He munched automatically on a piece of biscuit, not tasting it, hardly aware that it was in his mouth.
Around him, the machine seemed to be talking, and it was a language he didn’t understand. He heard the labored creak of moving parts, protesting as they rubbed against each other. Then there came the liquid squirt of oil, and the pacified parts moved silently, perfectly. Engines squeaked and protested. They hesitated, coughing, then hummed pleasantly into life, And continually, through the other sounds, came the click-clack of circuits, changing, rearranging themselves, adjusting.
But what did it mean? Lying back, his eyes closed, Howard did not know. His only touch with reality was the biscuit he had been chewing, and soon that was gone, and only a nightmare was left in its place.
He saw the skeletons, marching across the planet, all the billions in sober lines, moving through the deserted cities, across the fat black fields, and out into space. They paraded past the dead pilot in his little spaceship, and the corpse stared at them enviously. Let me join you now, he asked, but the skeletons shook their heads pityingly, for the pilot is still burdened with flesh. When will the flesh slough away, when will he be free of its burden, asked the corpse, but the skeletons only shook their heads. When? When the machine is ready, its purpose learned. Then the skeleton billions will be redeemed, and the corpse freed of his flesh. Through his ruined lips the corpse pleads to be taken now. But the skeletons perceive only his flesh, and his flesh cannot abandon the food piled high in the ship. Sadly they march on, and the pilot waits within the ship, waiting for his flesh to melt away.
“Yes!”
Howard awakened with a start, and looked around. No skeletons, no corpse. Only the walls of the machine, close around him. He dug into his pockets, but all the food was gone. His fingers scratched up some crumbs, and he put them on his tongue.
“Yes!”
He had heard a voice! “What is it?” he asked.
“I know,” the voice said triumphantly.
“Know? Know what?”
“My purpose!”
Howard jumped to his feet, flashing his light around. The sound of the metallic voice echoed around him, and he was filled with a nameless dread. It seemed horrible, suddenly, that the machine should know its purpose.
“What is your purpose?” he asked, very softly.
In answer, a brilliant light flashed on, drowning out the feeble beam of his flashlight. Howard shut his eyes and stepped backwards, almost falling.
The strip was motionless. Howard opened his eyes and found himself in a great brilliantly lighted room. Looking around, he saw that it was completely paneled with mirrors.
A hundred Howards looked at him, and he stared back. Then he whirled around.
There was no exit. But the mirrored Howards did not whirl with him. They stood silently.
Howard lifted his right hand. The other Howards kept theirs at their sides. There were no mirrors.
The hundred Howards began to walk forward, toward the center of the room. They were unsteady on their feet, and no intelligence showed in their dull eyes. The original Howard gasped, and threw his flashlight at them. It clattered along the floor.