Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                       REVOLT ON THE EARTH-STAR

                            By CARL SELWYN

                Carver, lonely derelict from a happier
                earth-age, raises the revolt-cry: "Down
              with the Capeks!" And the luxurious, human
              stockyards discharge their men-of-no-hope.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Spring 1940.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Rod Carver panted heavily and the sweat froze on his brow. Depending on
his ax work now, he swung again and again, chipped shallow holes into
which he wedged trembling fingers and pulled himself a little higher.
Inch by precarious inch he crept up the sheer wall of the glacier,
kicking his toes hard into the niches below. Chilling splinters flew
down into his face as he chopped at the ice, high over the jagged and
glistening crevice.

Not much farther. Just a little more. The patch of gray lichen was
but a few yards above him now. It was on a small ledge. He could rest
there. He had not thought it was so far but he must be several hundred
feet up by now.

Despite the biting wind, he was hot in the fur suit that covered his
muscular body. Eyes half-closed against the stinging shower that fell
upon him, he moved slowly upward. There was a little crack in the ice
just above him. Rod swung hard with the ax and it stuck there. Securing
a firm hold with his left hand and making sure of his feet, he tugged
at the short handle. It held tightly. He joggled the handle back and
forth, then jerked at it. It came loose suddenly. His arm flew back
and his feet slipped beneath him. His face banged against the ice.
Panic screamed in him as he dangled by one arm. Madly, he clawed the
wall with his other hand, flailed with his feet. Numbing fear bathed
his entire body in cold perspiration. Then a foot found support and he
caught a niche with his right hand.

Rod clung there, weak and shaken, almost crying his thankfulness.
Immediately upon the cessation of exertion, however, the cold crept
upon him and he finally regained sufficient control to examine his
plight. He had lost the ax. His mittens were slick and wet; constantly
he stretched numbing fingers for a new grasp upon the faithless ice as
a treacherous film of water formed beneath them.

The wind whipped about him, breathed mournfully in the frozen recesses
of the silent valley below. The sweat of fear formed on Rod's forehead
and he shuddered. Bugs or no bugs, he should have known better than to
venture away from the rest of his friends alone.

He had left the advance base of the expedition for a short explorative
jaunt, thinking he might pick up something new in the way of fauna, of
which the bleak Antarctic wastes had little to offer. He had caught
several large mosquitoes and, entranced by the desolate beauty of this
weirdly distorted and quiet void, had wandered farther than he had
intended. Then he had seen the little growth of lichen high on an icy
crag. Thinking to add the specimen to his private collection, he had
climbed the precipitous wall, and here he was, trapped, without his
ax, unable to move up or down....

He pressed his young body against the ice as a freezing gale lashed
about him in a swirl of snow. Far below, he could see his haversack
beside the cliff.

"Lord!" he breathed. If he fell here they would never find him--the
snow would hide his body in no time. And he must get down or soon fall,
frozen stiff.

He slid his free foot about the wall; there was a slight indention
just below. He must chance it. Gingerly, he shifted his weight. Ice
crumbled beneath his foot. He drew back. He heard a crackling below and
looked down as the sound grew into a deep rumble. A great chunk of ice
had been dislodged just below him. It thundered down into the valley
and the vast walls of the surrounding glacier answered in clangorous
echoes, hurled them back and forth till the valley was filled with
deafening voices.

Rod stared, transfixed with the sound. He did not hear the siren scream
from above as tons of ice smashed down upon him.

It fell into the chasm, roared in a sparkling explosion....

       *       *       *       *       *

His first thought was that there was something which he must do. The
concrete idea lurked far back in the hazy shadows of forgetfulness
and, grope as he might, he could not bring the notion into full
comprehension; it was but a vague, unformed feeling. Next came
the realization of a faint humming in his ears. It whispered in
a monotonous drone and he listened to it for some time. Then
consciousness slowly dawned upon his lazy mind. He remembered the deep
echoes in the valley of ice, something sweeping him away to sudden
blackness....

He looked about him, dazed. He did not know what he expected to find,
but this certainly was not it.

He was in a small, square room, white walled and windowless. A closed
door was at one side and the walls, of a peculiar metallic substance,
were not walls but little cabinets, many square doors with knobs. In
a corner was a large dynamo-like machine--from here came the humming
sound--and beside it was an unfamiliar apparatus of innumerable tubes,
coils and levers. The room was lighted by a phosphorescent glow that
covered the entire ceiling, a sheen of soft whiteness.

And he felt so strange ... a peculiar feeling of detachment, a
dead non-feeling; like the first awakening moments from a sleep of
hazy dreams, as if he were still in that half-world of mysterious
insensibility, his mind awake but his body and all its physical
consciousness yet unaroused from the deep, lethargic coma of abeyance.
Rod felt no awareness of his body; only his mind seemed alive. As
though he were entirely apart from all commonplace sensations of
embodiment, his brain utterly cut off from all external senses, he
possessed no feeling of concrete existence and from the room about him
there emanated no semblance of reality. It stood distant from him and
he felt nothing, merely saw with numb objectivity that it was there....

He raised a hand to his face--he thought the movement with no
deliberation of will but the thought burst upon him with frantic
helplessness when there was no response. His hand did not raise. As in
a stupor, his whole body paralyzed and free of his will, he could not
move.

Rod glanced down at his body. _There was no body!_

He sank sickeningly within himself and a wave of cold fear swept over
him. A barrel-like thing of metal covered his body. And falling to new
depths of swift panic, he saw that the container was much too small to
hold the six feet, four inches of him....

He struggled to move about in the barrel. He was stuck there tightly;
he could not budge. Examining the thing, he saw it was a smooth,
seamless cylinder about three feet high. It was shiny black in color
and mid-way on opposite sides were circular openings covered with a
screen of microscopic gauze.

But how could he see outside if he were _in it_? It was as though he
were standing above the object, looking down upon it from a cycloidal
distance.

From the center of the cylinder's flat top, attached to a sort of
socket, projected a snaky, black cable. It ran upward, and following
its spindling curve, Rod was astonished to observe that he could not
see its other end. He craned his neck upward--the cable moved. It was
alive!

He recoiled in unreasoning fright. The wiry thing followed. He shook
his head wildly. And the cable persisted in an imitation of his
movements. He ducked his head down beside the barrel and the black
strand--as much of it as was visible--came after him.

His brain was hot with insane fear. He dashed madly about his limited
sphere of movement. His mind whirled and an unrequited nausea darkened
his consciousness.

Rod fainted.

       *       *       *       *       *

When he came to, he saw a black machine before him. It was cylindrical,
set upon two metal-encased wheels. From sockets in the upper edge
of the cylinder, on opposite sides, hung a pair of triple-jointed,
arm-like bars at the ends of which dangled strands of thick, black
wire. Upon the front of the machine was a little contact lever and
large, raised numerals of glossy white--83. There were two small, mesh
openings on the sides and set in the center of the top was a socket
from which reared a long, slender cable, seemingly rigid, for at its
end was a thin, metal-encircled, glassy disk. And deep within its
prismatic refractions, Rod noticed a dark core--an eye, staring at him.

He gazed at the thing with irresistible fascination. There was life
there, unholy, irrationally terrifying. He tried to back away and could
not move.

He remembered he was imprisoned in the barrel and he glanced down at
the cylinder covering him. It was like the machine's.

And suddenly he realized he was not in the cylinder. He _was_ the
cylinder....

His mind froze to no thought.

The machine rolled silently forward, the eye fixed upon him.

"How do you feel?" It spoke, the sound like a cheap phonograph and with
an insane tone in the words.

Rod was dumb. He merely stared.

"What--!" he finally quavered. But his voice was only a shrill whistle.
The machine moved closer and the arm-like metal rods shot out, adjusted
a small dial upon his drum. And he could speak....

"What are you!" cried Rod. His voice was like the machine's.

"I am 83, Capek," said the thing. "But you do not comprehend. I have a
brain, set within my shell as I fixed yours."

"You did this?" Rod's mind lunged hotly at the machine, but he could
not move. He stayed where he was, helpless.

"Yes, I did it. I took your brain from the frozen body before it could
deteriorate, placed it in this more substantial form.

"Where am I?" demanded Rod.

"These are my compartments, in the shop of Detroy. I found you encased
in an iceberg, floating in the sea. By your dress you must have been
there, perfectly preserved, for well over five thousand years--this is
6984. The last of your form, except those we use, were destroyed during
the reign of A3, in the Great Conquest of the 40th century A.D. Your
body was badly broken but the brain, fortunately, remained intact. I
needed you, smuggled materials here and set your brain in a shell."

Lord, Rod thought. Prisoned in this thing forever! The shock of
understanding was like a blow. He only wanted to die....

       *       *       *       *       *

"Why am I needed?" Rod asked listlessly.

"I discovered by chance a counteraction for R4's _idea_. We are ruled
by this, you see. There are only a hundred of us Capeks, all living
here. Our science making others unnecessary, we limited ourselves to
that number after conquering the world. This is the reign of R4. Each
ruler governs the others by his _idea_--obedience to him instilled
in each new brain by the royal vibration-ray. With my counteractive
mechanism, I was able to liberate myself from his control, and my mind
now free to individual thought, I shall usurp the throne. I could not
trust the others. You arrived most opportunely. I shall give you _my
idea_ and you shall aid me!"

Rod stared about the room helplessly. He was a pawn to this creature,
body and mind. He was but a consciousness that had no will.

The machine called 83 glided to a cabinet upon the wall, returned with
two long, jointed bars and a little wheeled carriage like his own. He
put the burden on the floor beside Rod's cylinder and commenced to
work, metal arms and tendril hands flying skilfully as he assembled the
disjointed parts.

"I shall fit your arms and rollers, then give you the
conditioning-accellerator for my idea," said 83.

Rod watched the progress, his mind far away. Five thousand years....
It could not be--but it was! It was true; the metal body, these
arms of metal which were being prepared for him, this feeling of
disembodiment--it was no dream--he was no longer a man, a human being;
he was a thing of inorganization, a robot of no feeling, no sensation.
He was nothing but a severed brain, without even the power to die....

"Can you never die?" he impassively voiced his thoughts.

"Yes, in a way perhaps. Our span, even with a perfected metabolic
system, but little more than doubles normal mortality; depending upon
the quality of the particular brain. But then we simply change to
another. We remain the same. Only the ruler's number changes with the
new brain."

"How does the brain live?"

"By a simple counterpart of its original requirements and a delicate
system of connectives with which it controls the body. Naturally,
under these perfect conditions it would be immortal did not the
perfection also produce physical growth. It must be changed when the
size increases to such an extent that pressure upon the cup impares its
utility."

"Do you construct the brains also?"

"Oh, no. We breed them. There is apparently no other method; but the
supply is plentiful. They are bred constantly in the stock yards."

Rod was horrified at his coldness. But what warmth of the human soul
could long dwell in such a malanthropy of glass and steel? Then a faint
spark came to sudden life within him.

"You keep live human beings here, breed them?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Certainly. We keep several hundred of the live stock ready at all
times."

"Where are they kept?"

"In compartments at the north end of the shop. They are raised under
perfect conditions and regularly thinned out."

There were humans here! Rod burned with the thought. He must get to
them! There was something to live for now.... But how could he escape?
He was completely at 83's command; soon, even his mind would be at the
monster's disposal.

The parts were assembled and 83 easily lifted Rod's shell. He stared at
it intently.

"It is a fine piece of work!" he exclaimed, admiringly. "It is as no
other here. We are forced to leave our suspension switches exposed that
we may be conveniently cut off at R4's desire. It disconnects impulse
and response." Rod noticed the lever upon 83's drum. "But I made your
shell in secret. You have no such switch; there is no way you may be
stopped unless dismembered, as you are now. Also your activators are
far stronger than the Capek's; your strength is greater. And I have
tempered your shell to even heat-ray resistance."

The wheeled carriage was fitted to his underside and Rod was lowered to
the floor. The machine screwed one arm in its socket--it was a simple
matter--and picked up the other. He looked at it, turned it about in
his tendrils.

"Zutkuh!" he cried. "I've gotten two left upper-joints by mistake. This
will not fit the right socket. I must go get another from the supply
house." He whirled, rolled toward the door. Then paused, returned. "But
you can be absorbing the _idea_ while I am gone! It will save time."

He went to the peculiar machine Rod had noticed in the corner, rolled
it to him.

It was a wheeled, oblong box, thickly insulated and studded with
calibrated dials and levers. A heavy cord connected it with the dynamo.
Taking a length of wire, 83 attached one end to a contact on the
machine, approached Rod with the other.

"This is a short-wave vibration transmitter which is attuned to my
cerebral frequency. I shall attach it to your brain-cord and when
I return your mind will be on the exact wave-length as mine. Our
every thought will be synonymous, with the exception that the weaker
potential which I give you will place you in my command."

Rod watched 83 and to his mind came a wild, formless plan.

The machine rolled close and 83 enlongated his neck cable, eyed a small
hole in Rod's cylinder. He reached to plug in the wire.

Rod's single arm moved quickly, silently. Before 83 could perceive the
motion, Rod had entwined his steel tendrils about the lever on his
shell, snapped the switch downward.

The black neck of 83 went suddenly limp. His crystal eye mechanism
dulled, clattered to the floor and the jointed arms fell, dangled
lifelessly.

Rod marveled at the ease with which he moved. Given the thought
stimulus, his members sprang into action with amazing speed and
strength. He fumbled with 83's right upper-arm joint, unscrewed it
from the socket, and with a dexterity he had never known, set it in
place upon himself. It responded instantly as contact was made with the
sensitive mechanism within.

Rod rolled to the door, gliding smoothly upon his wheels.

       *       *       *       *       *

He halted at the scene outside. Stretching into a misty distance, the
city of Detroy was a flat plane of concrete-like earth, broken by rows
of long, low buildings and a great tower, windows at the summit, which
soared high above the vast expanse. He glanced about and saw everywhere
the same monotonous panorama--oblong, single-story compartments like
the one he had left, glaring whitely metallic in the noon-day sun. The
high structure, the sole dominating object, towered above everything
else. Lazy clouds wandered over in a sky of summer blue.

The streets swarmed with many machines, all constructed like himself,
entering and leaving the buildings, rolling purposefully about
everywhere, like little cars. There were numbers upon their shells,
none exceeding one hundred. Nervously he watched several approach, but
they passed, paid him no attention.

There was no sound but the soft whine of resilient wheels upon the
street, an occasional murmur of unintelligible, passing conversation.

But he must find the humans! Where were the stock yards? To ask might
arouse suspicion. He would have to chance being taken for one of the
others, though he had no number. He rolled aimlessly down the street.

As he passed one building--all of them were alike--he heard the
vibrant hum of a great machinery and peering in the open door, he
saw a gigantic room filled with dynamos and electrical apparatus of
a simplified, advanced design. It must be a sort of power plant, he
thought as he moved on.

There was scarcely any fraternizing, Rod observed. The Capeks kept
mostly to themselves; carefully avoided collision and there was no
salutations in passing. They truly were things without feeling.
Doubtless, only the governing idea, of which 83 had spoken, forced
their concerted interest in a common society. Unheeded, he advanced up
the crowded thoroughfare.

Two machines approached carrying a long, metal box. It was open at the
top and Rod glanced into the container as they passed. With revulsion
he saw that it held the trephined body of a man, newly dead, fresh
blood upon the smoothly severed crown of the skull. The top of the
shaved head also lay in the box. And weak with new waves of nausea, he
saw that the brain had been cleanly removed. The rest of the nude body
was intact.

The machines carrying the grizzly burden passed on.

A human corpse, freshly dead! The repugnance of the sight was swept
away by a sudden flash of logic. They must have come from the stock
yards....

Rod looked cautiously about--there was no suspicious glance at
him--slowly, with a pretense of just remembering something, he turned
and followed.

The Capeks carried the ghastly box a short way down the street, halted
before a small building. A sliding door opened at a touch and the
container was shoved in, to disappear down a winding shoot. The door
closed and they returned the way they had come.

Rod followed slightly behind them, unnoticed. The shoot must have
led to a kind of incinerator, but he feared to think what ghoulish
eccentricities these soulless creatures might have developed.

The machines rolled along swiftly for several minutes. Then they
suddenly turned into a side street, entered a building. Rod remained
in the street, undecided. While he watched, several Capeks passed him,
entered also. Finally he wheeled to the door and went in. What had he
to lose?

Inside was a long, deserted corridor with many closed doors along the
walls. The far end of the hall was open to the sunlight and he rolled
there, looked out.

Before him was an immense, square compound, surrounded by high walls
and partitioned into many sections. And in the enclosures moved throngs
of _human beings_. Rod stood and stared.

The faces of the men and women there possessed no look of the caged
animal--they milled about like cattle, talking and laughing among
themselves. The centuries of captivity had changed men little for their
stature and appearance was as he had known them. He could feel nothing
but it must be warm, for they were lightly clad. Along the partitions
were rows of many compartments, probably living quarters. In one large
section were many women, some holding small children.

Then he noticed that in the geometric divisions of the fenced places
was a purpose of separation. One contained larger children, happily
playing timeless games; another was crowded with older youths, girls
separated from the boys. In a more spacious enclosure, neatly encircled
by compact quarters, were the adults. Some stood about in groups,
conversing pleasantly; others walked the edges of the fences, men
and women in pairs; more sat before their houses, some entering and
leaving. It was as in the crowded settlements of a large city. These
people lived here, carried on a life, perhaps more leisurely, but
little different than in the general environment from which he had come.

Rod saw the adult area was open to smaller enclosures. He noticed a
neatly landscaped park, flowered and with green trees, grassy paths.
There were even brilliantly-hued birds. Men and women sat upon the turf
and upon benches along the little trails. In another partition was an
assortment of gymnastic equipment and Rod visualized these human beings
led like animals out to regular exercise for their health.

Here was real life--flesh, human faces, bodies as he had possessed! And
all penned here, like sheep awaiting the butcher.

So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he was startled to notice two
Capeks coming down the long, wire-barracaded path which bisected the
compound. They were preceded by two men and a woman.

       *       *       *       *       *

As they neared, Rod forgot his caution, watched their approach. One of
the men was huge and swarthy, his bushy hair black and his features
heavy. His forehead, however, was high, and his face, despite the
prominent nose and large eyes, was of a delicate gentleness; a man of
strength, and mind. The other was tall and slender, well proportioned
and broad of shoulder. His features were finely cut and his blond hair
was thick and well groomed. He carried himself rigidly erect and with
an air of suppressed feeling. His firm chin he held high and his eyes
stared straight ahead, apparently at something far beyond. He was
speaking softly to the woman, one muscular arm around her waist. The
woman--she was more a girl--was almost as tall as the man. Her hips
were narrow and her shoulders wide, but the fullness of her breast and
her rhythmic, animal grace proclaimed her richly feminine. There was
a clear beauty in her brown hair, the swift symmetry of her patrician
nose, the ripe lips and in the sparkling blue of her eyes. All wore
identical clothing, a loose suit of thin cloth; sandles upon their feet.

They passed Rod without a glance. But as they passed the woman spoke.

"It has been worth it--" Rod heard her say and they marched in the
building and down the corridor.

The Capeks followed them and Rod turned to watch their departure.
But as they were half-way down the deserted hall, one machine made a
restraining movement and they halted. A door opened and they passed
from view into a side room.

Rod stared at the vacant hall for a long moment, felt a strange sense
of unease. Where were they going? Why were they led out, the others
left behind? What had the woman meant by "It has been--" Suddenly his
mind snapped with a hazard supposition. The brainless corpse he had
seen! The Capeks bred _brains_! They used them as needed; so had said
83....

He dashed down the hall. There was no plan in his mind but action. He
paused before the door, then pushed in.

It was a wide chamber with no windows. The door was the only exit.
Lighted by the same ceiling glow as all these rooms seemed to be, this
light was more intense. Everything was spotless. And stark in the
glare was a raised platform upon which rested five oblong tables. Upon
the tables lay the men and the woman.

Three Capeks stood near, two others--by their numbers those he had
followed--stood by in the center of the room.

The humans were strapped to the tables, a Capek stood over each of
them. Rod noticed the walls were lined with shelves of glittering
instruments. There was a stronger light over the platform.

It was an operating room! His premonitions had been correct--these
people were to be de-brained, at once.

One Capek raised a thin lancet and his eye bent over the form of the
dark-haired man. The others were arranging implements along the sides
of the tables.

Rod had not been noticed. Unresisted admission seemed customary at any
place here.

The voice of the blond man spoke softly but it was clearly audible in
the quiet room.

"Good-bye, Vee," he said.

"Stop!" cried Rod. He shot to the platform, knocked the lancet from the
hand of the nearest machine.

The Capeks turned in obvious astonishment.

"What is the meaning of this!" demanded one. Then his voice changed to
incredulity. "You have no number--"

The next step was unconsidered. He had been finally found out. And he
could not let these people die. It did not matter what happened to him.

He reached out, snapped the suspension switch upon the shell of the
Capek who had spoken. The machine drooped instantly.

Another clutched his arm and Rod whirled upon him. His strength
was as yet untested and he wondered how powerful he really was. He
snapped his arm from the grasp, flicked down and caught the machine
by its carriage. Easily lifting the wriggling Capek over his head, he
flung the thing through the air. It crashed into the far wall with an
explosion of shattered machinery.

Another rushed at him, arms rearing. Rod caught one of the metal bars
and tore it from its socket. With his other hand he grasped the neck
cable of a near Capek, pulled out its single eye. He was rapidly
learning to fight with his new powers and he tore into the rest with a
clash of steel against steel.

The machine with the severed neck was flailing the air blindly. Rod
grabbed another and hurled it into the eyeless one. The last machine
raised a broken leg-bar and swung it at Rod's eye. He dodged and the
metal struck his right arm, splintered it. The tendrils dangled,
useless. Rod caught the Capek with his other, whipped it into the wall.

Broken parts littered the floor, reddish fluid seeping from crushed
shells. He turned to see the one-armed machine fleeing from the room,
out the door before he could pursue. He would warn the others. And he
had but one arm now....

       *       *       *       *       *

Rod turned to the men and the woman upon the slabs. Their eyes were
wide. He felt a choking sorrow as he looked at them, helpless there,
and he thought of the others outside in the compound, equally as
helpless and doomed to a fate such as he had saved these. But had he
saved them? The room would be filled with avenging Capeks in a moment.

Hurriedly, he loosened the straps which bound them.

"We must go quickly; he will bring others!" he said.

They sat up, still staring.

"What are you?" asked the blond one.

"I am Rod Carver. I come from that age of freedom which your ancestors
cherished." He saw them look to his machine body and back to his eye,
unbelieving. He struck his shell with a tendril. "One of them did this
to me--put my brain here. I escaped before the _idea_ was given."

They said nothing and the girl moved to the light-haired man, put an
arm upon his shoulder. The stocky one stared at Rod with poignant eyes;
his arms hung limply with the quiet reserve of strength.

"I understand there are but a hundred of them. I shall release all of
you. We can do something!" cried Rod.

"How did you get here?" asked the tall one.

"There is no time--can't you see! I will explain later. We must leave
_now_!"

"What have we to lose, Ralph?" said the dark-haired one, turning to his
companion. He looked back to Rod, jumped down to the platform. "I don't
know why or what you are, but I saw what you just did." He motioned to
the woman and the man. "This is Vee, and Ralph. I am Daro. We will go
with you to whatever comes."

"Shall I release the others?" asked Rod.

"You can't. They're enclosed by electrically charged wire," put in the
one named Ralph.

There was a sudden whirr of machinery in the corridor outside, the
chatter of many voices.

"They come!" cried Daro.

Rod rushed to the door.

"Keep behind me!" he commanded.

He pulled the door open. One end of the hall was packed with machines
coming from the compound. The Capek that had escaped must have gone
there for help. The opening to the street was deserted except for those
passing.

"This way!" Rod yelled and dashed for the street. The others followed
with the mob of Capeks speeding swiftly after them.

For a moment the scene was as he had first observed it, quiet with
moving machines in the afternoon sun. Then, as they burst out of the
building, there was an abrupt cessation of activity. All stopped,
craned their black neck cords and stared.

"Come on!" Rod yelled to his human allies and sped up the street, not
knowing where.

       *       *       *       *       *

But the surprise of the Capeks was brief. As the swarm poured from the
building, all in the streets joined them in mad pursuit.

Rod turned down a deserted side street, then up another. For the time
being, they were lost from view.

Finally, seeing the humans wearily fall behind, he halted.

"How do we leave the city?" he asked.

"We cannnot leave Detroy. We would surely die outside," panted Ralph.
"The Capeks destroyed all life and vegetation when they conquered our
ancestors; it is a blistering desert everywhere."

Suddenly a horde of machines rolled out of an alley in front of them,
cutting off their retreat. Red looked about frantically. There was an
open door in a building across the way. He motioned toward it. They ran
over. When they were inside, he slammed the door.

He saw to the locks as the mob halted outside, shouting. It was a
small, bare chamber, opening into another room at the rear. He looked
in; there was no other exit. Except that there were no cabinets, the
room was similar to the quarters of 83, where he had first been.

In this brief respite, he found them staring at him again.

"How did you get here?" asked Daro.

And briefly, his words loud above the noise outside, he told them what
he knew of his coming and the subsequent happenings.

They listened with sparkling eyes, unmindful of their present
insecurity.

"Why, it's like nothing that ever happened," cried the girl when he had
finished. And Rod's mind was kindled with a single purpose. He had no
idea what he could do--perhaps it was too late now--but he was willing
to give his life in an attempt to set these people free. His life was
nothing, meaningless to him as he was....

"But I guess we're trapped," he said. "With one of my arms gone, we
could never get through that crowd outside."

Something was ramming against the door. It shook under the blows and
Rod rolled over, putting his weight against it. Ralph had found a
thick, metal bar in the room. The massive Daro had procured a hatchet
of sorts. The girl stood against the wall, keeping out of the way.

The pounding upon the door grew stronger. Finally, with a crash it
burst in, flinging Rod across the room. Two Capeks scrambled from the
floor where they had fallen.

Daro swung his hatchet into a shell and as it spurted red, Ralph did
away with the other one. Rod leaped up.

Machines were streaming into the room. Rod pulled the eye from the
nearest, snatched at another and flung him at the mob in the door. He
was fast learning how to steer his powerful body. He thought "speed,"
and darted into the machines with all the force of his weight. A wave
fell, piled at the doorway, barrels smashed. But they were immediately
pushed aside as others came.

Rod rolled into the helpless fight but, with his single arm, was of
little aid. Ralph and Daro swung right and left. But it was a losing
battle from the beginning--those fallen were immediately replaced.

Finally Daro dropped his hatchet and, at the risk of his life, knelt
over a fallen Capek. He unscrewed the right arm, then fought his way
to Rod's side. Rod saw his intention and held off the machines with
his left as Daro removed his shattered limb, fitted the new arm in the
socket. He had almost finished when a tendril caught him by a leg. He
was swung high into the air, snapped like a whip. The Capek bashed his
somber head against the shell of another machine. Daro died instantly.

Rod's brain, the only human element he possessed, melted with hot
compassion at the courageous sacrifice, then flamed to blind fury. Like
a thing possessed, he screwed the arm home and wheeled into the fray,
pounding gigantic blows with balled tendrils. In a moment beneath his
onslaught there was not a machine standing in the room.

He looked to the door, saw two Capeks jammed there, unable to move. The
narrow entrance was blocked. Behind them a horde of machines pressed
vainly. Then they drew back, gathered in little groups, shouting and
waving their arms. Rod snapped the switches of those stuck in the
doorway.

"R4, the ruler, has not arrived yet," said Ralph. "Without him, their
brains can conceive of no concerted action."

"And when he comes?" asked Rod.

The tall man mutely pointed to the broken body of Daro upon the floor.

       *       *       *       *       *

"When he comes, R4 will doubtless call for his flame guns and dispense
with the matter at once," Ralph said with resignation. "It was by
those weapons that civilization was overthrown--rays of invisible heat
that withered all it touched. However, since the beginning of their
indubitable security here, they retain only a few of these guns which
they must connect to the main power transmitter. I saw it happen once
when I was a boy, during a brief rebellion."

Suddenly Rod remembered the power building which he had seen on the
way to the compound. The rays were operated by the same power that
ran the city. He remembered 83 saying he was impervious to heat. If
he could reach the power plant, destroy it, then the Capeks would be
weaponless. And with the greater strength that 83 had bestowed--he had
two arms now and he had learned much--they might have a chance against
the machines. There were but a hundred of them. How many had been
accounted for already? But how could he leave with them swarming at the
only exit? And they would get the humans if he left. He whispered to
Ralph of his scheme. It might be that he could do something in time....

"If you got through," Ralph said, "I think I could hold the door. It
will take time for them to unjam the machines there. It's our only
chance. Go!"

Then Rod thought of the rear chamber. It might be suicide, but he must
try.

"Do what you can until I return," he said. "You can always surrender;
they would probably not harm you if you gave up."

"We prefer to die here," said Ralph. Vee came to his side. She held the
hatchet Daro had dropped.

Rod rolled into the other room. He went to the wall, tapped it,
inspected it closely. It was of metal but did not sound very thick.
He backed up, arms and neck cord behind him out of the way. He hurled
himself against the wall.

It smashed before him and he careened into the street behind the
building. There was no machine in sight.

Rod darted down the pavement, turned into the next street. Far in the
distance, he could see the crowd before the building he had left.

He shot across the thoroughfare and into the next, glided swiftly to
the power plant.

He paused at the door, heard again the drone of massive dynamos.

There came a cry from within and several Capeks rushed out, the
afternoon sunlight glittering upon their number plates. Rod hurled one
heavily to the pavement, eluded the others and darted into the building.

It was a monstrous room, walls studded with glowing tubes, machinery
covering the floor. The Capeks--there were six of them--came at him
again but he dodged. He began smashing every tube in sight. He sped
along the wall, one arm rigidly outstretched, breaking tubes as he
passed. Holding the Capeks off with his other hand, he encircled the
room, shattered every tube. But the light of the ceiling continued to
glow. The power was unimpaired.

Finally he was forced to turn upon his tormentors. Two fell at the
first blow of his metal fist. One fled across the room and pushed a
large lever on the wall, as Rod killed the others. A narrow door opened
at the end of the room and Capeks, a steady stream of them, began
rolling out. The one who had opened the door shouted a command as Rod
smashed him.

The machines drew near, then rushed in a body. Rod retreated, wheeled
about the room, a mad thing of metal, breaking everything in his path.
Where was the main mechanism? His efforts had been useless, the light
upon the ceiling still glowed, the whine of power continued. The
controlling unit must be elsewhere.

Suddenly he found himself in a corner, surrounded, others still
entering the door. They were a wall of steel before him.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first wave approached and he fought them off. But slowly, by their
strength of numbers, he was forced to the floor, his wheels knocked
from under him, tendrils covering his arms.

They lifted him, marched to the center of the room. He was caught, He
had failed! Mankind would continue in their power, they would be bred
like sheep forever; mere brains to these mind-vampires. He had been
their only hope....

The Capeks were apparently waiting for orders, holding him there in the
middle of the room. He was held tightly by a dozen of them; the others
returned to the compartment and the door closed. Rod tried commanding
them to release him, to no avail. They remained silent and seemingly
with little interest but to hold him there. They were probably mere
workers, he thought, with practically no independent impulses.

Glancing helplessly about the room, Rod noticed a glowing metal disk
near his ring of captors. It was but a few feet from him, gleaming
with a dull, reddish light; a glass tube encased in wire mesh. He
had overlooked it before. Looking about, he saw it to be the only
unshattered instrument in the room. It might be the main tube!

Rod grew limp in their tendrils for a moment. Then suddenly he lunged
backward, away from the tube with all his strength. It had the desired
effect. The Capeks tugged at him. He went limp again. At the sudden
cessation of his pull, the machines fell backward and he was forced
forward upon their sprawled bodies.

Swiftly he enlongated his neck. He raised it high, lashed down at the
tube with his eye. Rod saw the mesh cave in and the glass shatter.
Then his eye burst and all was black. He was jerked to his feet again,
and despite the rattle of his captors' machinery, he felt a strange
silence. The dynamos had halted. The power was off!

Then the tendrils of the Capeks fell away from his arms. He heard
the clatter of cylinders falling to the floor. He could see nothing.
But something in his inner consciousness told him to flee; some deep
intuition older than thought, born of a time when the desert beyond the
city was lush vegetation and furry animals roamed its dawn trails, an
ancient wisdom cried of danger in the darkness.

He remembered he had been facing the door. Arms outstretched, he moved
forward, hit the wall, groped about and finally found the opening.

He moved outside into the street. He remembered which way to go, but
blind he could never find the building in which he had left the humans.
He could be of little assistance now if he did. And he had lost so much
time.

Rod rolled slowly, his mind devoid of a solution. He would be an
easy prey to the first Capek that chanced upon him. The wheels of
his carriage hit something. Before he could stop, he fell over the
obstacle, crashed to the pavement.

He lay there prepared for anything and expecting immediate death. But
there was no sound. Carefully, he felt about him, discovered the thing
over which he had fallen. By its shape, he made out the form of a dead
Capek--the one he had killed on the way in.

Whispering a prayer to whatever god still lingered in this unsanctioned
age, he felt for the neck cable, would have made burnt offerings when
he found the dead eye unbroken. He detached it and, removing his own,
set it there--could see again.

He glanced to the power plant. It was now a mass of twisted, steaming
metal. The whole building had melted silently to the ground and in
the rising waves of heat, he could see the glowing shells of cremated
Capeks, those that had captured him. Looking to his own cylinder, Rod
saw it was blistered with heat, one arm was badly bent. The destruction
of the dynamos had released tremendous stored energy, had consumed the
whole building as it dissipated into the air.

As Rod hurried up the street, his mind was filled with a three-fold
thankfulness; to a sixth sense that even his soulless reincarnation
could not disavow, to the Capek 83 who, with whatever motive, had given
him a body with such resistance, and to a merciful guiding spirit that
sent in his path the accident of regained sight.

Swiftly he shot up the street. The sun was low in the west and the
alleys were darkening. But he made no attempt at concealment now. The
Capeks were nothing to the fate he had survived. Thanks again to 83, he
would have a fair chance against them unless greatly outnumbered.

As Rod neared the squat building where he had left Ralph and the woman,
he saw no movement. Before the door was a great heap of machinery, the
street was filled with scattered parts. The street was deserted. The
Capeks were gone. All was silent.

       *       *       *       *       *

On each side of the door, which was still jammed with suspended
machines, were smooth holes. Rod peered in. The unmoving body of Ralph,
his clothing in tatters, lay upon the floor amid a mass of broken
metal. His face was bloody. The girl was not there.

Rod entered, placed his tendrils beneath the body, raised it. As he did
so, the man moaned, slowly opened his eyes. He stared at Rod blankly.
Then he recoiled and his eyes filled with fright.

Rod held him gently but firmly.

"It is I, Rod Carver! What happened? Where is Vee?"

Ralph sighed with relief, tried to sit up.

"R4 came soon after you left," he whispered hoarsely. "They entered
with the flame gun. I fought but they beat me down, without using the
weapon. R4 came in. I struggled up, hit him with the hatchet. I killed
him." He laughed hysterically. "A Capek hit me and they thought I was
dead." Suddenly he started and writhed, attempting to rise. A leg was
broken. "Vee!" he cried. "They took Vee! They went to the tower to
create another ruler immediately--_to use her brain_!"

Rod swung the man to the flat top of his shell, leapt out into the
street. The tower, rising miles above the city, was close by. He
rolled there with all the speed of his wheels, was at the door almost
instantly.

The edifice was octagonal of shape and windowless except high in its
corniced loft; a single door at it's base. Rod entered the great door.
The chamber within, vaulted with distorted curves and planes, decorated
with unknown instruments, was vacant. The room was lighted. The tower
must have a small separate power unit....

Faintly, he heard sounds from above, noticed a winding slide that
spiraled to the upper floors. He rolled upon the little incline and
shot upward, dizzily around and around, following the increasing sounds
coming down the shaft. He reached the top floor, halted at the landing.

The sounds were voices, chanting, an insane metallic chatter. Rod
rolled silently down a wide, smooth corridor. The voices came from
behind a massive door at the end of the hall.

Ralph still upon his shell, Rod flung the door open. The chant died
away. It was an immense chamber, dark windows upon the far wall, lights
hanging from the high ceiling. Around the walls stood the Capeks,
all eyes upon him. In the center of the room, Rod saw a long dais,
shimmering of a yellow metal, and upon it, swathed in white cloth, was
the bound body of Vee. Beside here were two Capeks, the numbers 2 and
3 upon their shells. Holding a platter of glistening instruments, one
stood at the side. With a lancet poised in his hand, the other stood
over the girl.

"Stop!" cried Rod.

He dropped Ralph to the floor, advanced. The Capeks remained
motionless, staring. Number 2 watched his approach, hand in the air
over Vee's head.

Rod thought, "speed. Great speed!" In a flash, he was there, caught the
arm with the knife, jerked it from its socket.

The machines made quick recovery from their surprise. There remained
perhaps sixty of them after the day of destruction; they swept toward
him in a murderous wave. Madly, they rushed upon him from all sides
and he was knocked from his carriage, covered by falling cylinders.
He fought with a deadly power but was at last lifted bodily from the
floor. His arms were strapped to his sides. He was rolled into a
corner. The ceremony continued without another glance at him.

Across the room, Ralph was bound in a like manner, head sagging upon
his chest. They had lost! It was all over now....

A Capek again stood over the body of Vee, the lancet in his hand. The
machines were lined against the walls as before.

       *       *       *       *       *

"A ruler is born!" shouted the Capek flourishing the knife. "From this
despised clay arises a super-being--R-_five_!" He leveled the lancet
at the side of Vee's head, to plunge it into the scalp; to uncover the
brain.

Rod struggled at his bonds with all his mechanical strength. He could
not move. His wheels were also locked, strapped to the wall. He must
stand here and watch her die--a deathless death--to be reincarnated as
the foul brain of a cruel thing of metal. There was nothing he could do!

Rod watched the unwavering knife move close. Horror fused his mind.

Suddenly the knife paused. There was a clamoring of many voices in the
hall outside--human voices! The machines' eyes all turned to the door.
Rod looked, saw men and women pouring into the room.

They came in droves, waving metal spikes and bars, slashing into the
dumbstruck Capeks. The tide swelled, engulfed the room. Rod saw the
Capeks with the lancet raised into the air, flung screaming through the
window.

Finally--it was but a moment--the shouts were silenced and not a Capek
stood in the room. They were hulks of reddening machinery scattered
about the floor.

Two men released Vee and, swirling the cloth about her trim figure,
she rushed to Ralph who revived in her arms. Then everyone talked at
once and Rod, thrilling with exultance, heard in snatches that they had
climbed the fences when they discovered the electrical charge was cut
off--when the power plant was destroyed. They had left the stock yards
and come here.

Vee supporting him, Ralph came and cut Rod's bonds. His besmeared face
was a radiation of complete happiness and he gave not a glance to his
injured leg.

"We owe it all to you," he said softly, then turned to the staring
crowd. "Here is our true saviour! He shall be our ruler forever!"

"Yes?" disputed a vibrant voice at the door. All heads turned.

A Capek stood there, eye blazing. Upon his chest was the number
_eighty-three_.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Stand back!" he shouted. "My strength is not as these weaklings you
have conquered! Stand back or die!" He advanced into the room. Several
men leaped upon him but he swept them down with a wave of his arm. He
came to Rod, eye stretched close.

"I have much to thank you for, my creation!" he said. "You have saved
me considerable trouble. Did you think it your mind that set these
miserable humans free? Fool! I gave you my _idea_ long before you
regained consciousness in my compartments. And your every action
was the result of my initial impulse, even your pulling the false
suspension switch upon my shell. I instilled it in your mind to kill
every Capek if you could!"

The crowds had drawn away, shrunk back from the two machines. Ralph and
Vee stood at the edge of the crowd, transfixed.

"Now I am ruler," shouted 83. "That was my original purpose, you
remember." He raised one hand dramatically. "I command you to take
these slugs back to the stock yards!"

Rod's mind whirled. _Was_ he in this monster's power? Had he no
original thoughts? Was it thus that he had survived the destruction
of the power plant? Something within him told him to obey; but the
hatred of the machine, the Capek before him, was greater than the urge
to obedience. He might be at his bidding but 83 had overlooked one
thing....

"Whether it is your idea or mine, I do not know," said Rod, "but I
shall kill you--for you, too, are a Capek!" He rolled slowly forward.

"Stop!" 83 faltered. "See this body, mind. It is as strong as yours. I
made both. What I created, I can destroy!"

Rod said nothing. He shot out an arm and grasped the long neck.

With a snap of the cable, 83 tore loose from his tendrils. He was more
powerful than the others had been.

Arms flailing, seeking a death-hold upon the darting machine, Rod
caught a wheel of 83's carriage, up-ended him. But the thing was on its
wheels instantly, upon him again. Rod found a grip upon one black arm,
hurled him against the floor. The crash which would have ruined another
Capek affected 83 not at all. He charged again. Rod was taken by the
neck, flung against the wall. A roller was broken.

Rod careened about the room, sparring for an opening. Twice men
interfered, to be instantly killed by a stroke of 83's hand.

Catching a firm hold upon the other's arms at the upper joint, close
to the shell, they remained deadlocked for a moment, staring into each
other's eye.

Rod twisted with all his might. Then 83's arms snapped--and so did his.

Both dismembered, they paused.

And 83 whirled, fleeing from the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rod was after him instantly, passed him at the landing, blocked his
escape downward. Turning, 83 dashed up the slide to the roof. Rod
followed. The Capek, dashing madly about the level, was finally trapped
in a corner of the light railing.

Rod gazed at him in the dimming light, advanced slowly. A great
sadness filled his mind as he came on, the city of Detroy lying silent
in the shadows far below; a great sadness and a great joy. Sadness
for himself, trapped forever in this half-tomb of metal; joy at the
restoration of the human race. They, the people below, would eternally
worship him for their salvation. But he could never be one of them,
never again thrill to the little things which are essentially human.
He would ever be a lonely brain, encased in cold, impassive steel. He
could see the sunset and the soft dusk over the city, hear the whispers
of night; but never could he feel them....

He looked to the cringing shape of 83 and, had he been capable, would
have smiled, as he thought, "Speed!"

He rushed at 83, thundering into the scheming Capek. The railing
snapped and they went over the edge, and down into the depth below.