The Lost Machine

THE BEASTS

They came upon me as I crossed one of the smooth, green spaces so frequent on this world.

My thought-cells were puzzling over my condi­tion. On the fourth planet I had felt interest or disin­terest, incli­nation or the lack of it, but little more. Now I had disco­vered react­ions in myself which, had they lain in a human being, I should have called emo­tions. I was, for instance, lonely: I wanted the company of my own kind. More­over, I had begun to expe­rience excite­ment or, more parti­cularly, apathy.

An apathetic machine!

I was consi­dering whether this state was a develop­ment from the instinct of self preser­vation, or whether it might not be due to the action of surround­ing matter on my chemical cells, when I heard them coming.

First there was a drumm­ing in my dia­phragm, swelling gradually to a thunder­ous beat which shook the ground. Then I turned to see them charging down upon me.

Enormous beasts, extinct on my planet a million years, covered with hair and bearing spikes on their heads. Four-footed survivals of savagery battering across the land in unreasoning fero­city.

Only one course was possible since my escape was cut off by the windings of one of the imbecile-built canals. I folded my legs beneath me, crossed my forerods protect­ingly over my lenses and dia­phragms, and waited.

They slowed as they drew close. Suspi­ciously they came up to me and snuffled around. One of them gave a rap to my side with his spiked head, another pawed my case with a hoofed foot. I let them continue: they did not seem to offer any imme­diate danger. Such primi­tive animals, I thought, would be incapable of sustaining interest and soon move off else­where.

But they did not. Snuff­ling and rooting conti­nued all around me. At last I deter­mined to try an experi­mental waving of my fore-rods. The result was alarm­ing. They plunged and milled around, made strange bellow­ing noises and stamped their hooves, but they did not go away. Neither did they attack, 'though they snorted and pawed the more ener­geti­cally.

In the distance I heard a man's voice; his thought reached me faintly.

“What the 'ell's worritin' them dam cattle, Bill?” he called.

“Dunno,” came the reply of another. “Let's go an' 'ave a look.”

The beasts gave way at the approach of the man and I could hear some of them thudding slowly away, though I did not, as yet, care to risk uncovering my lenses.

The men's voices drew quite near.

“ 'Strewth,” said the first, “ 'ow did that get 'ere, Bill?”

“Search me,” answered the other. “Wasn't 'ere 'arf an hour ago – that I'll swear. What is it, any'ow?”

“ 'Anged if I know. 'Ere, give us a 'and and we'll turn it over.”

At this moment it seemed wise to make a move­ment; my balancers might be slow in adjust­ing to an inverted position.

There was a gasp, then:

“Bill,” came an agitated whisper, “did you see that rod there at the end? It moved, blessed if it didn't.”

“Go on,” scoffed the other. “ 'Ow could a thing like that move? You'll be sayin' next that it...”

I unfolded my legs and turned to face them.

For a moment both stood rooted, horror on their faces, then, with one accord, they turned and fled towards a group of their buildings in the distance. I followed them slowly: it seemed as good a direction as any other.

The buildings, not all of stone, were arranged so as almost to enclose a square. As the men disap­peared through an opening in one side, I could hear their voices raised in warn­ings and others demand­ing the reason for their excite­ment. I turned the corner in time to face a gaggling group of ten or twelve. Abruptly it broke as they ran to dark openings in search of safety. All, save one.

I halted and looked at this remain­ing one. He stared back, swaying a little as he stood, his eyes blinking in a vague un­certainty.

“What is it?” he exclaimed at last with a strange explo­sive­ness, but as though talking to him­self.

He was a sorely puzzled man. I found his mental processes difficult to follow. They were jumbled and erratic, hopping from this mind picture to that in uncontrolled jerks. But he was un­afraid of me and I was glad of it. The first third planet man I had met who was not terror-ridden. Never­the­less, he seemed to doubt my reality.

“You fellowsh shee the shame s'l do?” he called deafen­ingly.

Muffled voices all around assured him that this was so.

“Thash all right, then,” he observed with relief, and took a step forward.

I advanced slowly not to alarm him and we met in the middle of the yard. Laying a rough hand on my body-case he seemed to steady himself, then he patted me once or twice.

“Goo' ol' dog,” he observed seriously. “Goo' ol' feller. Come 'long, then.”

Looking over his shoulder to see that I followed and making strange whistling noises the while, he led the way to a build­ing made of the hard, brown vege­table matter. At openings all about us scared faces watched our progress with incre­du­lous amaze­ment.

He opened the door and waved an uncertain hand in the direction of a pile of dried stalks which lay within.

“Goo' ol' dog,” he repeated. “Lie down. There'sh a goo' dog.”

In spite of the fact that I, a machine, was being mis­taken for a primi­tive animal, I obeyed the sugges­tion – after all, he, at least, was not af­raid.

He had a little diffi­culty with the door fasten­ing as he went out.