The Ego Machine - Chapter 3

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Welcome to Dream Audio Books, your guide through this captivating story.
Relax and let yourself be carried away into a world
where every word resonates with the magic of imagination. Without
further ado, Let's dive together into Ego Machine by Henry Cuttner,
Part two by Henry Cutner, Chapter three. When the robot

(00:26):
walked into Martin's office that evening, he or it went
directly to the desk, unscrewed the buld from the lamp,
pressed the switch, and stuck his finger into the socket.
There was a crackling flash. Each withdrew his finger and
shook his metallic head violently. I needed that, thee sighed,

(00:47):
I've been on to go all day. By the Countercoot's
time scale hereiolithic, Neolithic, technological. I don't even know what
time it is. Well, how cerichallogical adjustment. Getting on Martin
and rubbed his chin thoughtfully badly. He said, tell me,
did Disraeli as Prime minister ever have any dealings with

(01:08):
a country called Mixo Lydia.

Speaker 2 (01:11):
I have no idea, said the robot. Why do you ask?
Because my environment hauled back and took a poke at
my jaw. Martin said shortly, then you provoked it. Eniac
countered a crisis. A situation of stress always brings a
man's dominant trait to the four, and Disraeli was dominantly courageous.

(01:32):
Under stress, his carriage became insolence, but he was intelligent
enough to arrange his environment so insolence would be countered
on the semantic level. Mixo lydia A. I place it
vaguely some billions of years ago when it was inhabited
by giant white apes. Or oh, now I remember. It's
an insisted medieval survival, isn't it. Martin nodded, so is

(01:57):
this movie studio. The robot said, your trouble is that
you've run up against somebody who's got a better optimum
ecological adjustment than you have. That's it. This studio environment
is just emerging from medievalism, so it can easily slip
back into that plenum when an optimum medievalist exerts pressure.

(02:18):
Such types cause the dark ages. Well, you'd better change
your environment to a neo technological one where the Disraeli
matrix can be successfully pro survival in your era, only
a few archaic social insistments like this studio are feudalistic,
so go somewhere else. It takes a feudalist to match

(02:38):
a feudalist. But I can't go somewhere else, Martin complained,
not without my contract release. I was supposed to pick
it up tonight, but Saint Cyr found out what was happening,
and he'll throw a monkey wrench in the works if
he has to knock me out again to do it.
I'm due at Watt's place now, but Saint Cyr's already there.

(02:59):
Spare me the trivia, the robots said, raising his hand.
As for this Saint Seer, if he's a beat evil
character type obviously held knuckle under only to a stronger
man of his own kind, How would Disraeli have handled this,
Martin demanded. Disraeli would never have got into such a
situation in the first place, the robot said, unhelpfully. The

(03:22):
ecologizer can give you the ideal ecological differential, but only
for your own type, because otherwise it wouldn't be your optimum.
Disraeli would have been a failure in Russia in Ivan's time.
Would you mind clarifying that, Martin asked, thoughtfully. Certainly, the
robot said, with great rapidity. It all depends on the

(03:44):
threshold response time of the memory circuits in the brain.
If you assume the identity of the basic chromosome pattern,
the strength of neuronic activation varies in inverse proportion to
the quantitative memory factor. Only actual experience could give you
Disraeli's memories. But your reactivity thresholds have been altered until
perception and emotional indices approximate the Disraeli ratio. Oh, Martin said,

(04:09):
But how would you say, assert yourself against a medieval
steam shovel by plugging my demountable brain into a larger
steam shovel, Eniac told him. Martin seemed pensive. His hand
rose adjusting an invisible monocle, while a look of perceptive
imagination suddenly crossed his face. You mentioned Russia in Ivan's time,

(04:33):
he said, Which Ivan would that be? Not? By any chance?
Ivan the fourth very well adjusted to his environment, he
was too. However, enough of this chit chat. Obviously you'll
be one of the failures in our experiment. But our
aim is to strike an average. So if you'll put
the ecologizer on your That was Ivan the Terrible, wasn't it,

(04:58):
Martin interrupted? Look here, could you impress the character matrix
of Ivan the Terrible on my brain. That wouldn't help
you a bit, the robot said, Besides, it's not the
purpose of the experiment now one moment. Disraeli can't cope
with a medievalist like Saint Cyr on his own level.
But if I had Ivan the Terrible's reactive thresholds, I'll

(05:20):
bet I could throw a bluff that might do the trick.
Even though Saint Cyr's bigger than I am, He's got
a veneer of civilization. Now wait, he trades on that.
He's always dealt with people who are too civilized to
use his own methods. The trick would be to call
his bluff, and Ivan's the man who could do it.

(05:41):
But you don't understand. Didn't everybody in Russia tremble with
fear at Ivan's name? Yes, and very well. Then Martin
said triumphantly, you were going to impress the character matrix
of Ivan the Terrible on my mind, and then I'm
going to put the bite on Saint Cyr. The Ivan
would have done it. Disraeli's simply too civilized. Size is

(06:04):
a factor, but character's more important. I don't look like Disraeli,
but people have been reacting to me as though I
were George Arlis down to the spit curl. A good
big man can always lick a good little man. But
Saint Cyr's never been up against a really uncivilized little man,
one who'd gladly rip out an enemy's heart with his
bare hands. Martin nodded briskly. Saint Cyr will back down.

(06:30):
I've found that out, but it would take somebody like
Ivan to make him stay all the way down. If
you think I'm going to impress Ivan's matrix on you,
you're wrong. The robot said. You couldn't be talked into it.
I said, Eniac am a robot, semantically adjusted. Of course
you couldn't talk me into it. Perhaps not, Martin reflected,

(06:55):
but Disraeli, hm man is a machine. Why Disraeli was
the one person in the world ideally fitted for robot coercion?
To him, men were machines, and what was Eniac. Let's
talk this over. Martin began absently pushing the desk lamp
toward the robot, and then the golden tongue that had

(07:18):
swayed Empires was loosed. You're not going to like this,
the robot said, dazedly. Sometime later, Ivan won't do it. Oh,
you've got me all confused. You'll have to EyePrint a.
He began to pull out of his sack, the helmet,
and the quarter mile of red ribbon to tie up

(07:38):
my body, gray brain, Martin said, drunk with his own rhetoric,
put it on my head. That's right, Ivan the Terrible. Remember,
I'll fix Saint Cyr's mix. Olydian wagon differential depends on
environment as much as on heredity, the robot muttered, clapping
the helmet on Martin's head, though naturally, Ivan wouldn't have

(07:59):
had these ardam environment without his particular heredity involving Helena
glinsk There, he removed the helmet. But nothing's happening, Martin said,
I don't feel any different. It'll take a few moments.
This isn't your basic character pattern. Remember, as Disraeli's was,
enjoy yourself while you can. You'll get the Ivan effects

(08:21):
soon enough. He shouldered the sack and headed uncertainly for
the door. Wait, Martin said, uneasily, are you sure be quiet?
I forgot something, some formality Now I'm all confused. Well,
I'll think of it later or earlier as the case
may be, I'll see you in twelve hours. I hope

(08:43):
the robot departed. Martin shook his head tentatively from side
to side. Then he got up and followed Eniac to
the door. But there was no sign of the robot,
except for a diminishing whirlwind of dust in the middle
of the corridor. Something began to happen in Martin's brain.
Behind him, the telephone rang. Martin heard himself grasp with

(09:05):
pure terror, with a sudden, impossible, terrifying, absolute certainty, he
knew who was telephoning assassins. Yes, mister Martin, said Tolliver
Watts butler to the telephone. Miss Ashby is here. She
is with mister Watt and mister Saint Cyr at the moment.
But I will give her your message. You are detained,

(09:26):
and she is to call for you. Where the broom
closet on the second floor of the Writer's building, Martin said,
in a quavering voice. It's the only one near a
telephone with a long enough chord, so I could take
the phone in here with me, but I'm not at
all certain that I'm safe. I don't like the looks
of that broom on my left sir, are you sure

(09:50):
you're Tolliver Watts? Butler Martin demanded nervously. Quite sure, mister,
mister Martin, I mister Martin, cried Martin, with terrified defiance.
By all the laws of God and man, mister Martin,
I am, and mister Martin, I will remain in spite
of all attempts by rebellious dogs to depose me from

(10:11):
my rightful place. Yes, sir, the broom closet, you say, sir,
the broom closet immediately, but swear not to tell another
soul no matter how much you're threatened. I'll protect you
very well, sir. Is that all? Yes? Tell Miss Ashby
to hurry hang up now the line may be tapped.

(10:33):
I have enemies. There was a clique. Martin replaced his
own receiver and furtively surveyed the broom closet. He told
himself that this was ridiculous. There was nothing to be
afraid of, was there true? The broom closet's narrow walls
were closing in upon him alarmingly while the ceiling descended.
Panic stricken Martin emerged from the closet, took a long breath,

(10:56):
and threw back his shoulders a thing to be afraid of,
he said, who's afraid? Whistling. He began to stroll down
the hall toward the staircase, but midway agoraphobia overcame him,
and his nerve broke. He ducked into his own office
and sweated quietly in the dark until he had mustered
up enough carriage to turn on a lamp. The Encyclopedia Britannica,

(11:21):
in its glass fronted cabinet, caught his eye. With noiseless haste,
Martin secured Italy to Lord and opened the volume at
his desk. Something obviously was very, very wrong. The robot
had said that Martin wasn't going to like being Ivan
the Terrible. Come to think of it, but was Martin
wearing Ivan's character matrix? Perhaps he'd got somebody else's matrix

(11:45):
by mistake, that of some arrant coward, or maybe the
mad Tzar of Russia had really been called Ivan. The
terrified Martin flipped the rustling pages nervously. Ivan Ivan here
it was, son of Helena glinsk married Anastasia Zacharina Koshkina.

(12:05):
Private life, unspeakably abominable, memory, astonishing energy, indefatigable ungovernable, fury,
great natural ability, political foresight, anticipated the ideals of Peter
the Great. Martin shook his head, then he caught his
breath at the next line. Ivan had lived in an
atmosphere of apprehension, imagining that every man's hand was against him,

(12:31):
just like me. Martin murmured, But but there was more
to Ivan than just cowardice. I don't understand differential, the
robot had said. Depends on environment as much as on heredity.
Though naturally Ivan wouldn't have had the zardom environment without
his particular heredity. Martin sucked in his breath sharply. Environment

(12:54):
does make a difference, no doubt. Ivan the Fourth had
been a fearful coward, but heredity plus environ had given
Ivan the one great weapon that had enabled him to
keep his cowardice a recessive trait. Ivan the Terrible had
been Czar of all the rushes. Give a coward a gun,
and while he doesn't stop being a coward, it won't

(13:15):
show in the same way. He may act like a violent,
aggressive tyrant instead. That, of course, was why Ivan had
been ecologically successful in his specialized environment. He'd never run
up against many stresses that brought his dominant trait to
the foe. Like Disraeli, he had been able to control
his environment so that such stresses were practically eliminated. Martin

(13:39):
turned green. Then he remembered Erica. Could he get Erica
to keep Saint Cyr busy somehow while he got his
contract release from Watt. As long as he could avoid crises,
he could keep his nerve from crumbling. But there were
assassins everywhere. Erica was on her way to the lot
by now, Martin swallowed. He would meet her outside the studio.

(14:02):
The broom closet wasn't safe. He could be trapped there
like a rat. Nonsense, Martin told himself, with shivering firmness,
This isn't me. All I have to do is get
a grip on myself. Come now, buck up to jour
la das. But he went out of his office and downstairs,

(14:23):
very softly and cautiously. After all, one never knew, And
when every man's hand was against one, quaking the character
matrix of Ivan, the terrible stole toward a studio gate.
The taxi drove rapidly toward bel air. But what were
you doing up that tree? Erica demanded Martin shook violently

(14:47):
aware wolf, he chattered, and a vampire and a ghoul.
And I saw them, I tell you there. I was
at the studio gate and they all came at me
in a mob. But they were just coming back from dinner.
Erica said, you know, Summit's doing a night shooting on
Abbott and Costello meet everybody. Karloff wouldn't hurt a fly.

(15:11):
I keep telling myself that, Martin said, dully, but I
was out of my mind with guilt and fear. You see,
I'm an abominable monster. But it's not my fault. It's environmental.
I grew up in a brutal and degrading condition. Oh oh, look,
he pointed toward a traffic cop ahead, the police, traders,

(15:31):
even in the palace guards. Lady, is that guy nuts?
The cabby demanded, mad or sane? I am Nicholas Martin,
Martin announced, with an abrupt volte face. He tried to
stand up commandingly, bumping his head, screamed assassins, and burrowed
into a corner of the seat, panting horribly. Erica gave

(15:54):
him a thoughtful, worried look. Nick. She said, how much
which of you had to drink? What's wrong? Martin shut
his eyes and lay back against the cushions. Let me
have a few minutes, Erica, he pleaded, I'll be all
right as soon as I recover from stress. It's only
when I'm under stress that ivan you can accept your

(16:16):
contract release from what? Can't you? Surely you'll be able
to manage that, of course, Martin said, with feeble bravery.
He thought it over and reconsidered. If I can hold
your hand, he suggested, taking no chances. This disgusted Erica
so much that for two miles there was no more conversation.

(16:39):
Within the cab, Erica had been thinking her own thoughts.
You've certainly changed since this morning, she observed, threatening to
make love to me, of all things, as if I'd
stand for it. I'd like to see you try. There
was a pause. Erica slid her eyes sideways toward Martin.

(16:59):
I said, I'd like to see you try. She repeated,
Oh you would, would you? Martin said, with hollow valor.
He paused. Oddly enough, his tongue, hitherto frozen stiff on
one particular subject in Erica's presence, was now thoroughly loosened.
Martin wasted no time on theory. Seizing his chance before

(17:22):
a new stress might unexpectedly arise, he instantly poured out
his heart to Erica, who visibly softened. But why didn't
you ever say so before? She asked, I can't imagine,
Martin said. Then you'll marry me? But why were you
acting so? Will you marry me? Yes? Erica said, and

(17:45):
there was a pause. Martin moistened his lips, discovering that
somehow he and Erica had moved close together. He was
about to seal the bargain in the customary manner when
a sudden thought struck him and made him draw back
with a little start. Erica opened her eyes, said, Martin,

(18:06):
I just happened to remember. There's a bad flu epidemic
in Chicago. Epidemic spread like wildfire. You know why it
could be in Hollywood by now, especially with the prevailing
westerly winds. I'm damned if I'm going to be proposed
to and not kissed, Erica said, in a somewhat irritated tone.
You kiss me, but I might give you the bubonic plague.

(18:30):
Martin said, nervously, kissing spread's germs. It's a well known fact.
Nick Well, I don't know when did you last have
a cold? Erica pulled away from him and went to
sit in the other corner. Uh, Martin said, after a
long silence, Erica, don't talk to me, you miserable man.

(18:53):
Erica said, you monster, you. I can't help it, Martin
cried wildly. I'll be a coward for twelve hours. It's
not my fault. After eight tomorrow morning, I'll I'll walk
into a lion cage if you want. But tonight I'm
as yellow as i've in the terrible At least let
me tell you what's been happening. Erica said nothing. Martin

(19:15):
instantly plunged into his long and improbable tale. I don't
believe a word of it, Erica said. When he had finished,
she shook her head sharply. Just the same. I'm still
your agent, and your career's still my responsibility. The first
and only thing we have to do is get your
contract released from Tolliver Watt, and that's all we're going

(19:36):
to consider. Right now, do you hear, but Saint Cyr,
I'll do all the talking. You won't have to say
a word. If Saint Cyr tries to bully you, I'll
handle him. But you've got to be there with me,
or Saint Cyr will make that an excuse to postpone
things again. I know him now, I'm under stress again,

(19:57):
Martin said wildly. I can't stand it. I'm not the
Tsar of Russia, lady, said the cab driver, looking back.
If I was you, I'd sure as hell break off
that engagement. Heads will roll for this, Martin said, ominously,
by mutual consent, agree to terminy. Yes, Watt said, of

(20:20):
fixing his name to the legal paper that lay before
him on the desk. That does it. But where in
the world is that fellow Martin? He came in with you?
I'm certain did he? Erica asked, rather wildly. She too
was wondering how Martin had managed to vanish so miraculously
from her side. Perhaps he had crept with lightning rapidity

(20:42):
under the carpet. She forced her mind from the thought
and reached for the contract release. What was folding? Wait?
Saint Cyr said, his lower lip jutting. What about a
clause giving us an option on Martin's next play? Watt paused,
and the director instantly struck comb whatever it may be,
I can turn it into a vehicle for D D

(21:04):
a d D. He lifted a sausage finger at the
lovely star, who nodded obediently. It's going to have an
all male cast, Erica said hastily. And we're discussing contract releases,
not options. He would give me an option if I
had him here, Saint Cyr growled, torturing his cigar horribly.

(21:24):
Why does everything conspire against an artist? He waved a vast,
hairy fist in the air. Now I must break in
a new writer, which is a great waste. Within a fortnight,
Martin would have been a Saint Cyr writer. In fact,
it is still possible, I'm afraid not. Raoul Watt said resignedly.
You really shouldn't have hit Martin at the studio to day,

(21:47):
But but he would not dare charge me with assault
in mix olydia. Why hello, Nick, Dee Dee said, with
a bright smile. Why are you hiding behind those curtains.
Every eye was turned toward the window draperies, just in
time to see the white, terrified face of Nicholas Martin
flip out of sight like a scared chipmunk's. Erica, her

(22:11):
heart dropping, said hastily, Oh that isn't Nick. It doesn't
look like him a bit. You made a mistake. Dee dee,
did I dede asked, perfectly, willing to agree certainly, Erica said,
reaching for the contract release in Watt's hand. Now, if
you'll just let me have this, I'll stop, cried Saint

(22:32):
Cyr in a bull's bellow, head sunk between his heavy shoulders.
He lumbered to the window and jerked the curtains aside. Ha,
the director said in a sinister voice. Martin, it's a lie.
Martin said, feebly, making a desperate attempt to conceal his stress.
Triggered panic, I've abdicated. Saint Cyr, who had stepped back

(22:56):
a pace, was studying Martin carefully slowly the cigar and
his mouth began to tilt upwards. An unpleasant grin widened
the director's mouth. He shook a finger under Martin's quivering nostrils. You,
he said, tonight, it is a different tune. Ay today
you were drunk. Now I see it all valorous with

(23:17):
pots like they say nonsense, Martin said, rallying his courage
by a glance at Erica, who say nobody but you
would say a thing like that. Now, what's this all about?
What were you doing behind that curtain? Watt asked, I
wasn't behind the curtain, Martin said, with great bravado, You

(23:40):
were all of you. I was in front of the curtain.
Can I help it if the whole lot of you
conceal yourselves behind curtains in a library like like conspirators?
The word was unfortunately chosen. A panicky light flashed into
Martin's eyes. Yes, conspirators, he went on, nervously. You think
I don't no Ah, well I do. You're all assassins,

(24:03):
plotting and planning. So this is your headquarters? Is it
all night? Your higher dogs have been at my heels,
driving me like a wounded caribou too. We've got to
be going, Erica said, desperately. There's just tim to catch
the next carib the next plain east. She reached for
the contract release, but Watt suddenly put it in his pocket.

(24:23):
He turned his chair toward Martin. Will you give us
an option on your next play? He demanded. Of course,
he will give us an option, Saint Cyr said, studying
Martin's air of bravado with an experienced eye. Also, there
is to be no question of a charge of assault,
for if there is I will beat you. So it

(24:44):
is in mixolydia. In fact, you do not even want
to release from your contract, Martin. It's all a mistake.
I will turn you into a Saint Cyr writer and
all will be well. So now you will ask Tolliver
to tear up that release, will you not? Ha, of
course you won't, nick, Erica cried, say so. There was

(25:06):
a pregnant silence. Watt watched with sharp interest. So did
the unhappy Erica, torn between her responsibility as Martin's agent
and her disgust at the man's abject cowardice. DeeDee watched too,
her eyes very wide and a cheerful smile upon her
handsome face. But the battle was obviously between Martin and

(25:26):
Raoul Saint Cyr. Martin drew himself up desperately. Now or never,
he must force himself to be truly terrible. Already he
had a troubled expression, just like Ivan. He strove to
look sinister too, and enigmatic smile played around his lips.
For an instant he resembled the mad Czar of Russia,

(25:46):
except of course, that he was clean shaven. With contemptuous
regal power. Martin stared down the Mixolydian, you will tear
up that release and sign an agreement giving us option
on your next play too, Pa, Saint Cyr said, but
a trifle uncertainly, I'll do as I please. Martin told him,

(26:09):
how would you like to be eaten alive by dogs?
I don't know, Raoul, Watt said, Let's try to get
this settled, even if do you want me to go
over to Metro and take Deedy with me? Saint Cyr cried,
turning toward Watt, he will sign, and reaching into an
inner pocket for a pen. The burly director swung back

(26:31):
toward Martin. Assassin cried, Martin misinterpreting the gesture. A gluting
smile appeared on Saint Cyr's revolting features. Now we have him, Tolliver,
he said, with heavy triumph, And these ominous words added
the final stress to Martin's overwhelming burden. With a mad cry,

(26:52):
he rushed past Saint Cyr, wrenched open a door and fled.
From behind him, came Erica Valkyrie's voice, Leave him alone.
Haven't you done enough already? Now I'm going to get
that contract release from you before I leave this room.
Tolliver Watt and I warn you, Saint cyr if you,
But by then Martin was five rooms away and the

(27:14):
voice faded. He darted on hopelessly, trying to make himself
slow down and return to the scene of battle. The
pressure was too strong. Terror hurled him down a corridor,
into another room and against a metallic object, from which
he rebounded to find himself sitting on the floor, looking
up at Eniac Kamma the ninety third. Ah, there you are,

(27:38):
the robot said, I've been searching all over space time
for you. You forgot to give me a waiver of
responsibility when you talked me into varying the experiment. The
authorities would be in my gears if I didn't bring
back an eye printed waiver. When a subject scratched by
variants with a frightened glance behind him, Martin rose to
his feet. He asked, confusedly, listen, you've got to change

(28:04):
me back to myself. Everyone's trying to kill me. You're
just in time. I can't wait twelve hours. Change me
back to myself quick. Oh, I'm through with you, the
robot said gallously. You're no longer a suitably unconditioned subject
after that last treatment, you insisted on. I should have
got the waiver from you then, but you got me

(28:25):
all confused with Disraeli's oratory. Now here, just hold this
up to your left eye for twenty seconds. He extended
a flat, glittering little metal disc. It's already sensitized and
filled out. It only needs your EyePrint. Fix it, and
you'll never see me again. Martin shrank away. But what's

(28:45):
going to happen to me? He quavered, swallowing, how should
I know? After twelve hours the treatment will wear off
and you'll be yourself again. Hold this up to your eye. Now,
I will, if you'll change me back to my ee.
Martin haggled. I can't. It's against the rules. One variance

(29:05):
is bad enough even with a filed waiver, but two. No,
to hold this up to your left eye. No, Martin said,
with feeble firmness. I won't, Eniac studied him. Yes you will,
the robot said, finally, or I'll go boo at you.
Martin paled slightly, but he shook his head in desperate determination. No,

(29:31):
he said doggedly. Unless I get rid of Ivan's matrix
right now, Erica will never marry me and I'll never
get my contract released from. What all you have to
do is put that helmet on my head and change
me back to myself. Is that too much to ask,
certainly of a robot? Eniac said stiffly, No more shilly shallying.

(29:51):
It's lucky you're wearing the Ivan matrix, so I can
impose my will on you. Put your EyePrint on this. Instantly,
Martin rushed behind them couch and hid. The robot advanced menacingly,
and at that moment pushed to the last ditch. Martin
suddenly remembered something. He faced the robot. Wait, he said,

(30:12):
you don't understand. I can't I print that thing. It
won't work on me. Don't you realize that it's supposed
to take the EyePrint of the rod and cone pattern
of the retina? The robot said, so, so how can
I do that? Unless I can keep my eye open
for twenty seconds? My perceptive reaction thresholds are ivans, aren't they.

(30:32):
I can't control the reflex of blinking. I've got a
coward synapses, and they'd forced me to shut my eyes
tight the second that gimmick got too close to them.
Hold them open, the robot suggested, with your fingers. My
fingers have reflexes, too, Martin argued, moving toward a sideboard.
There's only one answer. I've got to get drunk. If

(30:54):
I'm half stupefied with liquor, my reflexes will be slow.
I won't be able to shut my eyes. And don't
try to use force either. If I dropped dead with fear,
how would you get my EyePrint? Then? Very easily, the
robot said, I'd pry open your lids. Martin hastily reached
for a bottle on the sideboard in a glass, but

(31:16):
his hand swerved aside and gripped instead a siphon of
soda water. Only Eniac went on the forgery might be detected.
Martin fizzled the glass full of soda and took a
long drink. I won't be long getting drunk, he said,
his voice thickening. In fact, it's beginning to work already.

(31:37):
See I'm co operating. The robot hesitated. Well, hurry up
about it, he said, and sat down. Martin, about to
take another drink, suddenly paused, staring at Eniac. Then, with
a sharply indrawn breath, he lowered the glass. What's the
matter now, the robot asked, drink your What is it? It's whiskey,

(32:02):
Martin told the inexperienced automaton. But now I see it all.
You've put poison in it. So that's your plan, is it? Well?
I won't touch another drop, and now you'll never get
my EyePrint. I'm no fool, cog almighty, the robot said,
rising you poured that drink yourself. How could I have
poisoned it? Drink? I won't, Martin said, with a coward stubbornness,

(32:27):
fighting back the growing suspicion that the drink might really
be toxic. You swallow that drink, Eniac commanded, his voice
beginning to quiver slightly. It's perfectly harmless, then prove it,
Martin said, cunningly. Would you be willing to switch glasses?
Would you drink this poisoned brew yourself? How do you

(32:50):
expect me to drink? The robot demanded, I he paused,
all right, hand me the glass, he said, I'll take
a sip. Then you've got to drink the rest it Aha,
Martin said, you betrayed yourself that time. You're a robot.
You can't drink, remember, not the same way that I
can anyhow, Now I've got you trapped, you assassin. There's

(33:12):
your brew, He pointed to a floor lamp. Do you
dare drink with me now in your electrical fashion? Or
do you admit that you're trying to poison me? Wait
a minute, what am I saying? That wouldn't prove a
Of course it would, the robot said, hastily, you're perfectly right,
and it's very cunning of you. We'll drink together, and

(33:33):
that will prove your whiskey's harmless. So you'll keep on
drinking till your reflex is slowed down. See well, Martin
began uncertainly, but the unscrupulous robot unscrewed a bulb from
the floor lamp, pulled the switch and inserted his finger
into the empty socket, which caused a crackling flash. There.

(33:54):
The robot said, it isn't poisoned. See you're not swallowing it, Martin,
and said, suspiciously, you're holding it in your mouth. I
mean your finger. Eniac again probed the socket. Well, all right, perhaps,
Martin said, in a doubtful fashion, but I'm not going

(34:14):
to risk your slipping of powder in my liquor, you trader,
You're going to keep up with me, drink for drink
until I can iPrint that gimmick of yours, or else
I stop drinking. But sticking your finger in that lamp
really prove my liquor isn't poisoned. I can't quite. Of
course it does, the robot said quickly. I'll prove it.

(34:34):
I'll do it again. Hmm, powerful d C isn't it?
Certainly it proves it. Keep drinking now, his gaze watchfully
on the robot, Martin lifted his glass of club soda,
cried the robot sometime later, sketching a singularly loose smile

(34:55):
on its metallic face. Best fermented mammos milk I ever tasted.
Martin agreed, lifting his tenth glass of soda order. He
felt slightly queasy and wondered if he might be drowning
mammoth's milk, asked Eniac, thickly, what year is this? Martin
drew a long breath. Ivan's capacious memory had served him

(35:19):
very well so far. Voltage he recalled, increased the frequency
of the robot's thought patterns and disorganized ENIAC's memory, which
was being proved before his eyes. But the crux of
his plan was yet to come, the year of the
Great Hairy One. Of course, Martin said briskly. Don't you
remember then, you, Eniac strove to focus upon his drinking companion.

(35:44):
You must be the mammoth Slayer. That's it, Martin cried,
Have another jolt. What about giving me the treatment? Now?
What treatment? Martin looked, impatient. You said you were going
to impose the character matrix of Mammonthslayer on my mind.
You said that would ensure my optimum ecological adjustment in

(36:05):
this temporal phase, and nothing else would, did I But
you're not Mammoth Slayer, Eniac said, confusedly. Mammoth Slayer was
the son of the Great Hairy One. What's your mother's name,
the Great Hairy One, Martin replied, at which the robot
grated its hand across its gleaming forehead. Have one more jolt,

(36:28):
Martin suggested, Like this, Eniac asked, obeying, I keep feeling
I've forgotten something important. Martin adjusted the crystal helmet on
his skull. Now, he commanded, give me the character matrix
of Mammoth Slay, son of the Great Hairy One. Well,

(36:49):
all right, Eniac said, dizzily. The red ribbons swirled. There
was a flash from the helmet. There. The robot said,
it's done. It may take a few minutes to begin functioning,
but then for twelve hours you'll wait. Where are you going?
But Martin had already departed. The robots stuffed the helmet

(37:09):
and the quarter mile of red ribbon back for the
last time. He lurched to the floor lamp, muttering something
about one for the road. Afterward, the room lay empty,
a fading murmur said Nick. Erica gasped, staring at the
figure in the doorway. Don't stand like that, you frighten me.

(37:31):
Everyone in the room looked up abruptly at her cry.
And so we're just in time to see a horrifying
change take place in Martin's shape. It was an illusion,
of course, but an alarming one. His knees slowly bent
until he was half crouching. His shoulders slumped as though
bowed by the weight of enormous back and shoulder muscles,

(37:51):
and his arms swung forward until their knuckles hung perilously
near the floor. Nicholas Martin had at last achieved a
person whose ecological norm would put him on a level
with Raoul Saint Cyr. Nick Erica quavered. Slowly, Martin's jaw
protruded till his lower teeth were hideously visible. Gradually, his

(38:13):
eyelids dropped until he was peering up out of tiny,
wicked sockets. Then, slowly, a perfectly shocking grin broadened mister
Martin's mouth. Eric, he said throatily mine, and with that
he shambled forward, seized the horrified girl in his arms,

(38:34):
and bit her on the ear. Oh, Nick, Erica murmured,
closing her eyes. Why didn't you ever? No, no, no, Nick,
stop it. The contract released. We've got to Nick, What
are you doing? She snatched at Martin's departing form, but
too late. For all his ungainly and unpleasant gait, Martin

(38:55):
covered the ground fast, almost instantly, he was clamoring over
Watts Desk as the most direct route to that startled
tycoon Deedy looked on a little surprised. Saint Cyr lunged
forward in mix o lydia. He began ha so he
picked up Martin and threw him across the room. Oh,

(39:18):
you beast, Erica cried, and flung herself upon the director,
beating at his brawny chest. On second thought, she used
her shoes on his shins with more effect. Saint Cyr,
no gentleman, turned her around, pinioned her arms behind her,
and glanced up at Watt's alarmed cry, Martin, what are

(39:38):
you doing? There was reason for the inquiry. Apparently unhurt
by Saint Cyr's toss, Martin had hit the floor, rolled
over and over like a ball, knocked down a floor
lamp with a crash, and uncurled with an unpleasant expression
on his face. He rose crouching bandy, legged, his arms

(39:58):
swinging low, a snarl, curling his lips. You take my
mate the pithecanthropic, mister Martin inquired, throatily, rapidly, loosing all
touch with the twentieth century. It was a rhetorical question.
He picked up the lamp stand he did not have
to bend to do it, tore off the silk shade

(40:21):
as he would have peeled foliage from a tree limb,
and balanced the weapon in his hand. Then he moved forward,
carrying the lamp standard like a spear, I said, Martin. Kill.
Then he endeavored with the most admirable single heartedness to
carry out his expressed intention. The first thrust of the

(40:41):
blunt improvised spear rammed into Saint Cyr's solar plexus and
drove him back against the wall with a booming thud.
This seemed to be what Martin wanted. Keeping one end
of his spear pressed into the director's belly, he crouched lower,
dug his toes into the rug, and did his very
best to drill a hole in Saint Cyr. Stop it,

(41:03):
cried Watt, flinging himself into the conflict. Ancient reflexes took over.
Martin's arms shot out, Watt shot off in the opposite direction.
The lamp broke. Martin looked pensively at the pieces, tentatively
began to bite one, changed his mind and looked at
Saint Cyr instead. The gasping director, mouthing threats, curses and objections,

(41:27):
drew himself up and shook a huge fist at Martin. I,
he announced, shall kill you with my bare hands. Then
I go over to MGM with deedy in mix oglydia.
Martin lifted his own fists towards his face. He regarded them.
He unclenched them slowly while a terrible grin spread across

(41:48):
his face, and then with every tooth showing, and with
the hungry gleam of a mad tiger in his tiny
little eyes, he lifted his gaze to Saint Cyr's throat.
Mammoth Slayer was not the son of the great Hairy
One for nothing. Martin sprang, so did Saint Cyr in
another direction, screaming with sudden terror. For after all, he

(42:12):
was only a medievalist. The feudal man is far more
civilized than the so called man of Mammoth Slayer's primordially
direct era. And as a man recoils from a small
but murderous wildcat, so Saint Cyr fled in sudden civilized
horror from an attacker who was literally afraid of nothing.

(42:33):
He sprang through the window, and, shrieking, vanished into the night.
Martin was taken by surprise when Mammoth Slayer leaped at
an enemy. The enemy leaped at him too, and so
Martin's head slammed against the wall with disconcerting force. Dimly
he heard diminishing terrified cries. Laboriously, he crawled to his

(42:54):
feet and set back against the wall, snarling. Quite ready,
Erica's voice called Nick, it's me, stop it, stop it,
Dee dee, hmm, Martin said, thickly, shaking his head. Kill.
He growled softly, blinking through red rimmed little eyes at

(43:14):
the scene around him. It swam back slowly into focus.
Erica was struggling with Dee Dee near the window. You
let me go, Dee Dee cried, Where Raoul goes? I
go did? Pleaded a new voice. Martin glanced aside to
see Tolliver Watt crumpled in a corner, a crushed lampshade,

(43:35):
half obscuring his face. With a violent effort, Martin straightened up.
Walking upright seemed unnatural somehow, but it helped submerge Mammots
Slayer's worst instincts. Besides, with Saint Cyr, Gone's dresses were
slowly subsiding, so that Mammoth Slayer's dominant trait was receding
from the active foreground. Martin tested his tongue cautiously, relieved

(43:57):
to find he was still capable of humans speech. Huh,
he said, er ah what? Watt blinked at him anxiously
through the lampshade. Er release, Martin said, with a violent effort,
contract release, gimme Wat had carriage. He crawled to his feet,

(44:20):
removing the lampshade contract release. He snapped, you mad man,
don't you realize what you've done. Ddee's walking out on me.
D D don't go. We will bring Raoul back. Raoul
told me to quit if he quit, d D said stubbornly.
You don't have to do what Saint Cyr tells you,
Erica said, hanging on to the struggling star. Don't I,

(44:44):
Dede asked, astonished, Yes, I do. I always have. D D.
Watt said, frantically, I'll give you the finest contract on earth,
a ten year contract. Look here it is. He tore
out a well creased document. All you have to do
is sign and you can have anything you want. Wouldn't
you like that? Oh? Yes, Dede said, but Raoul wouldn't

(45:09):
like it. She broke free from Erica Martin. Watt told
the playwright frantically, get Saint Cyr back. Apologize to him.
I don't care how, but get him back. If you don't,
I I'll never give you your release. Martin was observed
to slump slightly, perhaps with hopelessness, then again perhaps not.

(45:31):
I'm sorry. Dedee said, I liked working for you, Tolliver,
but I'd have to do what Raoul says, of course,
and she moved toward the window. Martin had slumped further
down till his knuckles quite brushed the rug. His angry
little eyes, glowing with baffled rage, were fixed on d
d Slowly, his lips peeled back, exposing every tooth in

(45:52):
his head. You, he said, in an ominous growl. Dedee paused,
but only briefly. Then the enraged roar of a wild
beast reverberated through the room. You come back, bellowed the
infuriated Mammothslayer, and with one agile bound sprang to the window,
seized Dee Dee and slung her under one arm wheeling.

(46:16):
He glared jealously at the shrinking wad and reached for Erica.
In a trice, he had the struggling forms of both
girls captive, one under each arm. His wicked little eyes
glanced from one to the other. Then, playing no favorites,
he bit each quickly on the ear. Nick Erica cried,

(46:36):
how dare you mine? Mammoth Slayer informed her hoarsely. You bet,
I am, Erica said, But that works both ways. Put
down that hussy you've got under your other arm. Mammothslayer
was observed to eye Dee Dee doubtfully well. Erica said, tartly,

(46:57):
make up your mind, both, said the uncivilized playwright. Yes no,
Erica said, yes. D Dee breathed an entirely new tone
limp as a dishrag. The lovely creature hung from Martin's
arm and gazed up at her captor with idolatrous admiration. Oh,

(47:19):
you hussy, Erica said, what about Saint cyr him? Dee
Dee said, scornfully, he hasn't got a thing the sissy.
I'll never look at him again. She turned her adoring
gaze back to Martin. Ha The latter grunted, tossing Dede
into Watt's lap. Yours keep her, he grinned approvingly at Erica.

(47:44):
Strong she better. Both Watt and Dee Dee remained motionless,
staring at Martin. You, he said, thrusting a finger at
Dee Dee. You stay with him. Hah, he indicated Watt.
Dedee nodded in slavish adoration. You signed contract nod. Martin

(48:05):
looked significantly into Watt's eyes. He extended his hand. The
contract released. Erica explained, upside down, Give it to him
before he pulls your head off. Slowly, Watt pulled the
contract release from his pocket and held it out, but
Martin was already shambling toward the window. Erica reached back
hastily and snatched the document. That was a wonderful act,

(48:30):
she told Nick. As they reached the street. Put me down,
now we can find a cab. Some no act. Martin growled,
reel till tomorrow. After that, he shrugged. But tonight, Mammoth Slayer,
he attempted to climb a palm tree, changed his mind

(48:50):
and shambled on, carrying the now pensive Erica. But it
was not until a police car drove past that Erica screamed,
I'll bail you out to tomorrow, Erica told Mammoth Slayer,
struggling between two large patrolmen, her words were drowned in
an infuriating bellow. Thereafter, events blurred to solidify again for

(49:12):
the irate Mammothslayer, only when he was thrown in a cell,
where he picked himself up with a threatening roar, I kill,
he announced, seizing the bars. Ah two in one night,
said a bored voice, moving away outside. Both in Bellaire
too think they're popped up. We couldn't get a coherent

(49:35):
story out of either one. The bars shook. An annoyed
voice from one of the bunks said to shut up,
and added that there had been already enough trouble from
nincom Poops without here. It paused, hesitated, and uttered a shrill,
sharp piercing cry. Silence prevailed momentarily in the cell block

(49:56):
as Mammoth Slayer, son of the Great Hairy One, turned
slowly to face Raoul Saint cyr And of Part two
of the Ego Machine and of the Ego Machine by

(50:16):
Henry Cutner