"Now Judge," Carl shouted with happiness, "I have the gavel, let's see what I do!" He swept around the end of the bench and hammered the judge's sleek metal head into a twisted ruin. The judge, merely an extension of the machinery of Central Control, made no attempt to defend itself.
There was the sound of running feet in the hall and someone pulled at the door. Carl had no plan. All he wanted to do was remain free and do as much damage as he could as long as the fire of rebellion burned inside of him. There was only the single door into the courtroom. Carl glanced quickly around and his technician's eye noticed the access plate set in the wall behind the judge. He twisted the latch and kicked it open.
A video tube was watching him from a high corner of the courtroom, but that couldn't be helped. The machine could follow him wherever he went anyway. All he could do was try and stay ahead of the pursuit. He pulled himself through the access door as two robots burst into the courtroom.
"Carl Tritt, surrender at once. A further change has been. . has been. . Carl. . Carl… Ca…"
Listening to their voices through the thin metal door, Carl wondered what had happened. He hazarded a look. Both robots had ground to a halt and were making aimless motions. Their speakers rustled, but said nothing. After a few moments the random movements stopped. They turned at the same time, picked up the unconscious peace officers, and went out. The door closed behind them. Carl found it very puzzling. He watched for some minutes longer, until the door opened again. This time it was a tool-hung repair robot that trundled in. It moved over to the ruined judge and began dismantling it.
Closing the door quietly, Carl leaned against its cool metal and tried to understand what had happened. With the threat of immediate pursuit removed, he had time to think.
Why hadn't he been followed? Why had Central Control acted as if it didn't know his whereabouts? This omnipotent machine had scanning tubes in every square inch of the city, he had found that out. And it was hooked into the machines of the other cities of the world. There was no place it couldn't see. Or rather one place.
The thought hit him so suddenly he gasped. Then he looked around him. A tunnel of relays and controls stretched away from him, dimly lit by glow plates. It could be — yes it could be. It had to be.
There could be only one place in the entire world that Central Control could not look — inside its own central mechanism. Its memory and operating circuits. No machine with independent decision could repair its own thinking circuits. This would allow destructive negative feedback to be built up. An impaired circuit could only impair itself more, it couldn't possibly repair itself.
He was inside the brain circuits of Central Control. So as far as that city-embracing machine knew he had ceased to be. He existed nowhere the machine could see. The machine could see everywhere. Therefore he didn't exist. By this time all memory of him had been probably erased.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, he walked down the corridor.
"Free!" he shouted. "Really free — for the first time in my life! Free to do as I want, to watch the whole world and laugh at them!" A power and happiness flowed through him. He opened door after door, exulting in his new kingdom.
He was talking aloud, bubbling with happiness. "I can have the repair robots that work on the circuits bring me food. Furniture, clothes — whatever I want. I can live here just as I please — do what I please." The thought was wildly exciting. He threw open another door and stopped rigid.
The room before him was tastefully furnished, just as he would have done it. Books, paintings on the walls soft music coming from a hidden record player. Carl gaped at it. Until the voice spoke behind him.
"Of course it would be wonderful to live here," the voice said. "To be master of the city, have anything you want at your fingertips. But what makes you think, poor little man, that you are the first one to realize that? And to come here? And there is really only room for one you know."
Carl turned slowly, very slowly, measuring the distance between himself and the other man who stood behind him in the doorway, weighing the chances of lashing out with the gavel he still clutched— before the other man could fire the gun he held in his hand.
Laugh — I Thought I Would Cry
The Greening of the Green
"Be careful with that dinghy, you idiots.” the admiral bellowed in a whisper. "It's the last one we have."
He looked on anxiously while the sweating sailors lowered the dinghy from the deck of the submarine into the water. There was no moon, but the crowded stars in the clear Mediterranean sky glowed like tiny light bulbs.
"Is that the shore, Admiral?" the passenger asked. His teeth chattered as he spoke, probably from fear since the night was warm.
"Captain," the admiral said. "Fm captain of this sub so you call me captain. And, no, that is a fog bank. The shore is over there. Are you ready?"
Giulio started to speak, then, sensing the trembling of his jaw, nodded instead. He felt as scruffy as he looked with his ancient beret, decaying corduroy trousers and decayed jacket. Felt even scruffier next to the crisply uniformed figure of the admiraclass="underline" in the dark the patches and darns of his uniform did not show. Giulio nodded again when he realized the admiral had not seen his nod the first time.
"Good. Then you know your instructions?"
"Of course I don't know my instructions," Giulio said with petulant irritation, trying not to stammer the words. "I only know that there is a piece of paper in my pocket with a word on it and I'm to read that word then eat the paper. At dawn."
"Those are the instructions I'm talking about, you idiot." The admiral grumbled like a volcano, his authority insulted.
"You can't talk to me like that," Giulio squeaked, realized he squeaked and lowered his voice. "Do you know who I am. .?"
He choked himself into silence. No, the admiral did not know who he was, and if he told him then the CIA would kill them both; they had promised him that. No one was to know.
"I know you are a goddamned passenger and a goddamned nuisance and the sooner you are off this vessel the better. I have far more important things to do."
"What?" Giulio tried and succeeded in getting a sneer into his voice. "Sail A.desk? What's an admiral doing in charge of a crummy sub? Too many brass hats, that's what!"
"No, not enough ships. This is the last pig boat." A little tear of self-pity formed in the admiral's eye, for he had been hitting the vodka bottle hard. "My last command. After this the beach. I should consider myself lucky even for this…" He swallowed and gulped and shuddered away from this topic, which obsessed him night and day. "Here is your bag. I wish you good luck on your mission, whatever it is. Here is a receipt form — sign here."
Giulio scratched his name as well as he could in the darkness, clutched the battered but exceedingly large and heavy suitcase to him, then was half-carried into the bobbing dinghy. As soon as he was aboard the line was cast off and the four sailors began rowing furiously. An officer crouched in the bow with a compass and muttered instructions in arcane nautical terms. The beans and salt fish that Giulio had wolfed so hungrily an hour earlier now fought each other for a return journey up his throat. The dinghy bobbed and splashed through the waves. Giulio groaned aloud, then almost fell overboard as they grated to a stop. Horny hands seized him in silence, slid him over the side into a foot of cold water, then grabbed up paddles again and pulled hastily away.