Collected Short Fiction, page 90
“Listen, Culbertson,” Kemridge said grimly. “We don’t want a vacation here, not even with dancing girls twenty-four hours a day and soft violins in the background. We don’t like it here. We want to go home. You people got us into this—now get us out.”
The Consul grew even more unhappy-looking. “I wish you wouldn’t put it that way. We’ll do all we can.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought, and said, “There’s one factor in the case that we haven’t as yet explored.”
“What’s that?” Marner asked uneasily.
“Remember the two Domerangi engineers who went to Earth on the other leg of this hookup?” The Consul glanced around the lab. “Is this place wired anywhere?”
“We checked,” Kemridge said, “and you can speak freely. What do they have to do with us?”
CULBERTSON lowered his voice.
“There’s a slim chance for you. I’ve been in touch with authorities on Earth and they’ve been keeping me informed of the progress of the two Domerangi. You know they got through their first two projects as easily as you did.”
The two Earthmen nodded impatiently.
The old diplomat smiled his apologies. “I hate to admit this, but it seems the people at the Earth end of this deal had much the same idea the Domerangi did.”
“Perpetual motion, you mean?”
“Not quite,” Culbertson said. “They rigged up a phony antigravity machine and told the Domerangi to duplicate it, just as was done here. Our psychologies must be similar.”
“And what happened?” Marner asked.
“Nothing, yet,” the Consul said sadly. “But they’re still working on it, I’m told. If they’re as clever as they say they are, they ought to hit it sooner or later. You’ll just have to be patient and sweat it out. We’ll see to it that you’re well taken care of in the meantime, of course, and—”
“I don’t get it. What does that have to do with us?” Marner demanded.
“If they keep at it, they’ll invent it eventually.”
Marner scowled. “That may take years. It may take forever. They may never discover a workable anti-grav. Then what about us?”
The Consul looked sympathetic and shrugged.
A curious gleam twinkled in Kemridge’s eye. He turned to Marner. “Justin, do you know anything about tensor applications and gravitational fields?”
“What are you driving at?” Marner said.
“We’ve got an ideal lab setup here. And I’m sure those two Domerangi down there wouldn’t mind taking the credit for some one else’s anti-grav, if they were approached properly. What do you think?”
Marner brightened. “That’s right—they must be just as anxious to get home as we are!”
“You mean,” said the Consul, “you’d build the machine and let us smuggle it to Earth so we could slip it to the Domerangi and use that as a talking-point for a trade and—”
He stopped, seeing that no one was listening to him, and looked around. Marner and Kemridge were at the far end of the lab, scribbling equations feverishly.
The Rivals
What about this do-it-yourself craze? It’s caught on like crazy. You can build your own house, fix your own car, tat your own doilies, and psychoanalyze your wife. But all good things must finish, and this is Air. Silverberg’s idea of the complete and final end!
MICHAEL KARREN held the solido slide slightly to one side, tipped it up and down to see which was the proper way of inserting it, and slid it into the projector. Instantly the image of his wife Helen and their two young sons took form at the end of his living room, glowing and life-like in three dimensions. He could almost smell once again the sharp sea tang that had been in the air, and as he looked at the solido image he found himself recapturing every pleasant moment of that glorious vacation.
Phil Jennerton stared at the image for a moment, nodded his appreciation, and strode heavily over to examine Karren’s projector.
“You bought this,” Jennerton said accusingly.
“Four hundred credits,” said Karren.
“You’re very proud of this,” Jennerton said. “You think the mere ownership of a fancy solido-projector is an occasion for pride!”
Puzzled and alarmed by the big man’s tone, Karren turned to look at him. Ever since the Karrens had moved here he had distrusted Jennerton, who lived next door. There was something too confident, too superior about Jennerton that had caused Karren, a mild, quiet young advertising executive, to dislike him from the start. But their wives had become friendly, and, after much conjugal pressure, Karren had agreed to invite Jennerton over for an evening. The solido demonstration was to have been the high point. But Jennerton did not seem at all impressed.
“Of course I’m proud of it,” Karren retorted. “Not many people own a solido-projector, and I’m proud to be able to demonstrate one in my own home.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Jennerton said, and Karren observed the nostrils of his magnificent acquiline nose flicker in a gesture he had long since learned signified impatience. “When you say you’re proud of owning this solido-projector, what do you really mean? Learn to examine the meanings of your words, Karren; it’s the only way to survive in this world.”
“I’ve studied semantics—”
“So has everyone else,” Jennerton continued coolly. “But most people stop thinking when they leave college. Here’s what I’m driving at,” the big man said. “The source of your pride in the solido-projector is really your purchasing power. You’re terribly puffed up simply because you’re able to afford one. Do you share any pride of craftsmanship with the men who made it? No. Do you know how it works? No. You take a pile of credits to the store, and they give you a machine. You plug it in, and then you say you’re proud of it.” He spoke quickly.
“Now hold on a minute, Jennerton. Not everyone can own—”
“You’re missing my point completely, as expected. Man, you’re old-fashioned. You’re just a spectator in this great technological world of ours, not a participator. You’re nothing more than a vegetable!”
“I’m not going to stand for that, Jennerton,” said Karren angrily, snapping off the solido. The image of his wife and children spiralled into a small vortex of rainbow colors and vanished.
“Let’s not start an argument, Phil,” said Jennerton’s tall blonde wife. She tugged on his arm, but he ignored her. He tried to goon, but Jennerton continued.
“Let me explain,” Jennerton said. “I don’t mean to insult you, but I mean what I say. Being proud of something you didn’t make yourself is a sign of decadence, of overspecialization. You don’t have any more idea of why that machine works than I do about what you had for breakfast early this morning. You’re just content to go along mindlessly, piling up credits at whatever job you make your living, and spending them on gadgets that you’ll never understand. Pardon me if I’m speaking strongly, old man, but I feel strongly about this.”
“But what would you have me do?” Karren said. “Build a solido?”
“I did,” said Jennerton blandly.
“You what?”
“I said I built one. Every bit as good as yours, even better. I added one little wrinkle that the commercial ones don’t have yet. I hooked mine up with a senso circuit, and when I show my slides I’m able to reproduce every sound and smell I experienced when taking them.”
Karren remembered the salty sea-odor he had thought of while showing the slide.
“That must be good,” he said weakly. “Makes the scene even more real.”
“Of course. But I had to do it myself. And that’s the basis of contemporary civilization, Karen. Do it yourself. It’s the only way a man can maintain any smidgin of self-respect. Everyone does it; you’re the first educated man I’ve seen who relies wholly on commercial readymades. If you let yourself be bullied by technologists, you’ll march on from one gadget to the next without ever understanding why the world runs the way it does. And the longer that goes on, the deeper you slip down into the mindless muck.”
Karren looked at the solido-projector, which now had taken on an ominous, threatening character, and at the intense, powerful figure of Jennerton.
“You build things yourself?” he ventured timidly.
“Phil builds all sorts of things,” said Mrs. Jennerton. “Just last week he put together a pretty little transistor wrist-radio for Carrie, so she wouldn’t miss her favorite programs when she’s coming home from school.”
“That’s right,” Jennerton said. “I build everything. Washing machines, TV sets, air conditioner—you name it. And it’s not because we can’t afford readymades. No; most of the time the separate parts cost more than a readymade would, but—”
It seemed to Karren that at this Mrs. Jennerton widened her eyes in surprise, as if this were something new to her, but Jennerton continued right on.
“Yes, sometimes I spend more,” he went on. “But at least I’m fully alive to 21st Century technology, which you’re not. As I said, you’re a vegetable—completely passive.”
Karren looked at him grimly, and saw his wife also staring at Jennerton. “What do you mean, vegetable? If I had wanted to, I could have built all those things too. I’m just not interested.”
“That’s it exactly,” Jennerton said triumphantly. “You sit back and let technology overwhelm you, and then you say you’re not interested. You can’t sit still. Pretty soon you’re outmoded.”
“Let me worry about that,” Karren said, and flicked the solido-projector back on.
But he did worry about it, for the rest of that evening, after the Jennertons had roundly trounced him and his wife at a game of Canada and had consumed most of his remaining Scotch and had finally gone home, bubbling over with arrogant gaiety.
As he began to tidy up the living room before retiring, he glumly considered the implications of Jennerton’s argument. The electronic dust-catcher seemed to accuse him grimly as he wandered around the living room, straightening cushions and replacing doilies. The solido-projector gaped bleakly at him, and from the kitchen the sound of the dish-dryer whirred incessantly into his tired, discouraged mind. Jennerton was right. So far as contemporary technology was concerned, he thought, he was a vegetable. He had only the vaguest notion of how his autocopter worked, none whatsoever of the principles behind the electronic duster or the dish-dryer or the solido-projector or any of the other things he had accumulated during fifteen years of more-or-less happy housekeeping.
His wife finished her chores and came in.
“You know, dear, I think perhaps Phil’s right. So many men build things for themselves these days; it’s a fascinating hobby, I hear. And all that talk about technology—I think he may have something there t
“I’m sure he does, Helen,” Karren said wearily.
“And there’s something else I’ve meant to tell you all week. The Browns have a wonderful new robot watchdog. It keeps strangers away, and I think Hal built it himself, and—”
“Yes, I saw it,” he said, dropping down tiredly on a couch. “Very handy gadget.”
“You don’t think you—”
But the idea had hit Karren first.
He set to work with frantic haste, converting a section of the basement into a workshop. Karren buckled down to the job with determination. He intended to demonstrate to himself, to his wife, and especially to Jennerton that he was as capable as the next man of making intelligent use of contemporary technology; he was not going to sit back with his readymades and grow roots, not in a world where the dominant philosophy was Do it Yourself.
The first step was a trip to the library, from whence he returned burdened by three textbooks of robotics and a short introductory guide to electronics. Next, acquisition of blueprints, soldering iron, solenoids, riveter, and a host of other items, the very names of which he had not even known the week before.
After a few false starts he got to work on a robot watchdog, similar to the one the Browns had. It ought to impress Jennerton, Karren thought, and it’ll be a useful sort of thing besides. As the days passed, he found himself growing steadily more adept at mechanical techniques, and, almost before he realized it, the watchdog was completed and he was surveying the finished product.
The rivets up the left side wandered a little out, but otherwise it was an impressive job. The completed robot watchdog was a squat, stubby metal box with two gleaming solenoid eyes and short ballbearing legs. When indoctrinated, it would require all visitors to the Karren house to identify themselves, and it would transmit the identification to the Karrens inside the house. It could be adjusted so members of Karren’s family and certain close friends would be passed through without question.
Karren folded up his work-smock and activated the watchdog. He had equipped it with several motion-patterns, and he set it for the one in which it would follow him obediently around. Then, triumphantly, he headed out to display it to Jennerton.
The watchdog tagged along behind him, purring softly, as he crossed over and headed for Jennerton’s house. He rang the bell.
“Good to see you, Karren,” boomed a hearty voice.
Karren looked up at Jennerton’s big figure framed in the doorway. He was wearing a softly-glowing plastiline jacket, and his graying hair was trimmed close to the scalp in a rugged-looking crew cut. He gestured for Karren to come in, and as he did so Jennerton closed the door behind him. The robot watchdog climbed the steps, batted against the closed door, and buzzed impotently outside.
Karren opened the door and the watchdog shot through and came to a halt next to his trousers-leg. “What’s that?” Jennerton asked.
“I’ve taken your advice,” Karren said. “I’ve done a little job of construction. Put together this watchdog the other day,” he said casually. “Thought you’d like to see it. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be.” He looked at Jennerton a bit smugly.
“Of course,” Jennerton said. “I’ll bet you enjoyed doing it, too. It must have given you a feeling of real satisfaction, discovering that you could cope with robotics.” He bent down and lifted the watchdog expertly, cradling it in his arms while it hummed gently.
“Rivets a little lopsided here,” he said. “You still need practice.”
“Yes, of course,” Karren said. “But you have to admit it’s a pretty good piece of workmanship.”
“Sure, it is—for a beginner,” Jennerton said. Karren felt devastated. All that work, tossed off in one sentence. Pretty good—for a beginner.
He looked up at Jennerton, and started to say something, when suddenly he felt chill hands lift his coat off his shoulders. He whirled and confronted a short figure with a cold, metallic face.
A robot.
“Hope he didn’t frighten you,” Jennerton said. “I just activated him the other day, and the word’s not around yet that I have one.”
Karren studied the robot. It was about five feet tall, roughly humanoid, with a few extra non-humanoid features, such as a pair of long, wiry tentacles and a strange-looking multipurpose fifth arm.
“Pretty nice, eh? Does the dishes, mixes drinks with that other arm, minds the baby, winds the clock, walks and talks, and it’s a shark at Canada. Strange we should both be dabbling in robotics at the same time, isn’t it?”
“Very strange,” Karen said, and then he realized it. “You mean you built that robot?” He looked down at his watchdog, making small circles around his feet. Suddenly the watchdog seemed a pathetic, inconsequential little thing.
“Of course,” Jennerton said jovially. “After all I said when I was over at your house, you didn’t think I’d be buying one, did you? No, I built it. Took a couple of weeks. I’m sort of proud of it,” he said.
“You should be,” said Karren, looking at his watchdog. “I feel very—very—well, envious.”
“No need to be,” Jennerton replied. “It’s just a matter of application, of good hard work. The technology’s nothing at all, nothing at all. But say—care for a drink? I’ll have my robot mix you something.”
Karren stared gloomily at the little robot watchdog, feeling utterly deflated. He had gone to Jenner ton’s bursting with pride, but after Jennerton had finished describing the circuits of his robot butler, Karren and his watchdog had slunk home, crushed.
Inferiority.
That was the word he found it impossible to escape. For the first time he noticed how frequently the other men at the office talked of building some gadget or other, the ease with which they contemplated their projects, and he became acutely conscious of his own mechanical ineptitude. There was always the towering figure of Jennerton to remind him of his—inferiority.
He discovered that there was a tremendous Do-It-Yourself craze in which almost everyone seemed involved but himself. While he had blissfully gone on buying ready-made dishwashers and solido-projectors, just about everybody else had succumbed to the delights of Do-It-Yourself.
Karren deliberately began a campaign of studying technical books, subscribing to home mechanics magazines, coming home with great boxes of components. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt amusement and horror at the hobby Jennerton had goaded him into, but he felt now that he would be marked forever as an outcast, an incompetent, un less—
What was it Jennerton had said, that fateful first night? “Do it yourself. It’s the only way a man can maintain any smidgin of self-respect.”
He began disappearing into his workshop as soon as he returned home each night, often toiling long hours into the night.
An electronic mousetrap.
A steam-heated bird-house.
A collapsible canoe for use on summer hiking trips.
A monstrous bookcase with built-in dust-removing circuits.
A twelve-stringed guitar.
He showed each new gadget to his wife and family with pride, and contrived to get Jennerton over to see and be impressed. But somehow Jennerton failed to be impressed.
The dust-removing bookcase had an occasional tendency to swallow a book or two along with the dust. “It doesn’t really matter,” Barren protested. “What’s a book or two?”
