The Machine That Saved The World Part 6

Yet if we do not destroy ourselves, they will surely do that."

"If we don't b.u.mp ourselves off, it'll be because we got wise,"

acknowledged the sergeant. "If we get wise, we could b.u.mp them off by parachute-transmitter. So they'll beat us to it. They'll have to!"

"Yes," said Lecky. "They'll have to. It has always been said that a death-ray was impossible. This would be a death-broadcast. If we do not broadcast, they will--whoever they are. It is--" He smiled mirthlessly at the magnitude of his understatement. "It is urgent that we do something. What shall we do, Sergeant?"

A squadron of light tanks arrived at Research Installation 83 that afternoon, with a s.h.i.+pment of courier motorcycles. They had been equipped with Mahon units and went to the post to be trained.

The Pentagon was debating the development of a Mahon-modified guided missile, and a drone plane was under construction. But non-military items also arrived for activation and test. Automatic telephone switching systems, it appeared, could be made much simpler if they could be trained to do their work instead of built so they couldn't help it.

Pa.s.senger-cars other than jeeps showed promise. It had long been known that most accidents occurred with new cars, and that ancient jalopies were relatively safe even in the hands of juvenile delinquents. It was credible that part of the difference was in the operating habits of the cars.

It appeared that humanity was upon the threshold of a new era, in which the value of personality would reappear among the things taken for granted. Strictly speaking, of course, Mahon machines were not persons.

But they reflected the personalities of their owners. It might again seem desirable to be a decent human being if only because machines worked better for them.

But it would be tragic if Mahon machines were used to destroy humankind with themselves! Sergeant Bellews would have raged at the thought of training a Mahon unit to guide an atom bomb. It would have to be--in a fas.h.i.+on--deceived. He even disliked the necessity he faced that afternoon while a courier winged his way to the Pentagon with the top-secret tapes Betsy and Al and Gus had made.

The Rehab Shop was equipped not only to recondition machines but to test them. One item of equipment was a generator of subst.i.tute broadcast waves. It could deliver a carrier-wave down to half a micro-micro-watt of any form desired, and up to the power of a nearby transmitter. It was very useful for calibrating communicators. But Sergeant Bellews modified it to allow of variations in type as well as frequency and amplitude.

"I'm betting," he grunted, "that there's different sorts of the wave-type those guys want us to broadcast. Like there's a spectrum of visible light. If we were color-blind and yellow'd bust things, they'd transmit in red that we could see, and they'd tell us to broadcast something in yellow that'd wipe us out. And we wouldn't have sense enough not to broadcast the yellow, because we wouldn't know the difference between it and red until we did broadcast. Then it'd be too late."

Howell watched with tight-clamped jaws. He had committed himself to the authenticity of the broadcasts claiming to be from a future time. Now he was shaken, but only enough to admit the need for tests. Graves sat unnaturally still. Lecky looked at Sergeant Bellews with a peculiarly tranquil expression on his face.

"Only," grunted the sergeant, "it ain't frequency we got to figure, but type. n.o.body hardly uses anything but sine waves for communication, but I got to make this gadget turn out a freak wave-type by guess and golly.

I got a sort of test for it, though."

He straightened up and connected a cable from the generator to the Mark IV communicator which was a factory twin of Betsy.

"I'm gonna feed this communicator half a micro-micro-watt of stuff like the broadcast--I think," he announced grimly. "I saw the diagrams of the transmitters they want us to make. I'm guessing the broadcast-wave they use is close to it but not exact. Close, because it's bad for machines.

Not exact, because they're alive while they use it. I hope I don't hit anything on the nose. Okay?"

Lecky said gently:

"I have never been more frightened. Go ahead!"

Sergeant Bellews depressed a stud. The communicator's screen lighted up instantly. It was receiving the generator's minute output and accepted it as a broadcast. But the signal was unmodulated, so there was no image nor any sound.

The communicator's standby light flickered steadily.

Sergeant Bellews adjusted a k.n.o.b on the generator. The communicator's standby flicker changed in amplitude. Bellews turned the k.n.o.b back. He adjusted another control. The standby light wavered crazily.

Graves said nervously:

"I think I see. You are trying to make this communicator react as Betsy did. When it does, you will consider that your generator is creating a wave like the broadcasts from nowhere."

"Yeah," said Bellews. "It ain't scientific, but it's the best I can do."

He worked the generator-controls with infinite care. Once the communicator's standby light approached sine-wave modulation. He hastily s.h.i.+fted away from the settings which caused it. He muttered:

"Close!"

Then, suddenly, the communicator's lamp began to waver in an extraordinary, hysterical fas.h.i.+on. Sergeant Bellews turned down the volume swiftly. He wiped sweat off his forehead.

"I--I think I got the trick," he said heavily. "It's a h.e.l.l of a wave-type! Are you guys game to feed it into this communicator's output amplifier?"

"I have six sets of cold chills running up and down my spine," said Lecky. "I think you should proceed."

Howell said angrily:

"It's got to be tried, hasn't it?"

"It's got to be tried," acknowledged Sergeant Bellews.

He s.h.i.+fted the generator's cable from the communicator's input to the feed-in for preamplified signal. The communicator's screen went dark.

It no longer received a simulated broadcast signal. It was now signalling--calling. But the instant the new signal started out, the standby light flickered horribly. Sergeant Bellews grimly plugged in other machines--to the three scientists they looked like duplicates of Gus and Al--to closed-circuit relations.h.i.+p with Betsy's twin. The standby light calmed.

"Now we test," he said grimly. "Got a watch?"

Lecky extended his wrist.

"Watch it," said Sergeant Bellews.

He stepped up the output.

"My watch has stopped," said Lecky, through white lips.

Graves looked at his own watch. He shook it and held it to his ear. He looked sick. Howell growled and looked at his own.

"That wave stops watches," he admitted unwillingly.

"But not Mahon machines easy," said Sergeant Bellews heavily, "and not us. There was almost three micro-micro-watts goin' out then. That's three-millionths of a millionth of a ampere-second at one volt. We--"

His voice stopped, as if with a click. The screen of Betsy's factory-twin communicator lighted up. A man's face peered out of it. He was bearded and they could not see his costume, but he was frightened.

"_What--what is this?_" cried his voice shrilly from the speakers.

Sergeant Bellews said very sharply:

"Hey! You ain't the guy we've been talking to!"

The screen went dark. Sergeant Bellews put his hand over the microphone opening. He turned fiercely upon the rest.