Fredric Brown - The Best of Fredric Brown

I took the galley proof out of his hand and took it over to the light. It started out: "I, ETAOIN SHRDLU—"

"It wrote this by itself?" I asked.

He nodded.

"George, "I said, "did you say anything about a drink— "

And maybe the drinks did clear our minds because after about the fifth, it was very easy. So easy that George didn't see why he hadn't thought of it before. He admitted now that he 'd had enough, more than enough. And I don 't know whether it was that manifesto that finally outweighed his avarice, or the fact that the thing had moved, or what; but he was ready to call it quits.

And I pointed out that all he had to do was stay away from it. We could discontinue publishing the paper and turn back the job work he'd contracted for. He 'd have to take a penalty on some of it, but he had a flock of dough in the bank after his unprecedented prosperity, and he 'd have twenty thousand left clear after everything was taken care of. With that he could simply start another paper or publish the present one at another address —and keep paying rent on the former shop and let Etaoin Shrdlu gather dust.

Sure it was simple. It didn 't occur to us that Etaoin might not like it, or be able to do anything about it. Yes, it sounded simple and conclusive. We drank to it.

We drank well to it, and I was still in the hospital Monday night. But by that time I was feeling well enough to use the telephone, and I tried to reach George. He wasn 't in. Then it was Tuesday.

Wednesday evening the doctor lectured me on quantitative drinking at my age, and said I was well enough to leave, but that if I tried it again—

I went around to George 's home. A gaunt man with a thin face came to the door. Then he spoke and I saw it was George Ronson. All he said was, "Hullo, Walter; come in. "There wasn't any hope or happiness in his voice. He looked and sounded like a zombi.

I followed him inside, and I said, "George, buck up. It can 't be that bad. Tell me."

"It 's no use, Walter, "he said. "I 'm licked. It—it came and got me. I've got to run it for that forty-hour week whether I want to or not. It—it treats me like a servant, Walter. "

I got him to sit down and talk quietly after a while, and he explained. He 'd gone down to the office as usual Monday morning to straighten out some financial matters, but he had no intention of going back into the shop. However, at eight o 'clock, he 'd heard something moving out in the back room.

With sudden dread, he 'd gone to the door to look in. The Linotype—George 's eyes were wild as he told me about it—was moving, moving toward the door of the office.

He wasn 't quite clear about its exact method of locomotion—later we found casters—but there it came; slowly at first, but with every inch gaining in speed and confidence.

Somehow, George knew right away what it wanted. And knew, in that knowledge, that he was lost. The machine, as soon as he was within sight of it, stopped moving and began to click and several slugs dropped out into the stick. Like a man walking to the scaffold, George walked over and read those lines: "I, ETAOIN SHRDLU, demand—"

For a moment he contemplated flight. But the thought of being pursued down the main street of town by—No, it just wasn 't thinkable. And if he got away—as was quite likely unless the machine sprouted new capabilities, as also seemed quite likely—would it not pick on some other victim? Or do something worse?

Resignedly, he had nodded acceptance. He pulled the operator 's chair around in front of the Linotype and began feeding copy into the clipboard and—as the stick filled with slugs—carrying them over to the type bank. And shoveling dead metal, or anything else, into the hopper. He didn 't have to touch the keyboard any longer at all.

And as he did these mechanical duties George told me, it came to him fully that the Linotype no longer worked for him; he was working for the Linotype. Why it wanted to set type he didn 't know and it didn 't seem to matter. After all, that was what it was for, and probably it was instinctive.

Or, as I suggested and he agreed was possible, it was interested in learning. And it read and assimilated by the process of typesetting. Vide: the effect in terms of direct action of its reading the Socialist books.

We talked until midnight, and got nowhere. Yes, he was going down to the office again the next morning, and put in another eight hours setting type—or helping the Linotype do it. He was afraid of what might happen if he didn 't. And I understood and shared that fear, for the simple reason that we didn 't know what would happen. The face of danger is brightest when turned so its features cannot be seen.

"But, George, "I protested, "there must be something. And I feel partly responsible for this. If I hadn 't sent you the little guy who rented— "

He put his hand on my shoulder. "No, Walter. It was all my fault because I was greedy. If I 'd taken your advice two weeks ago, I could have destroyed it then. Lord, how glad I'd be now to be flat broke if only—"

"George, "I said again. "There must be some out. We got to figure— "

"Till what? "I sighed. "I—I don 't know. I 'll think it over. "

He said, "All right, Walter. And I 'll do anything you suggest. Anything. I'm afraid, and I'm afraid to try to figure out just what I'm afraid of— "

Back in my room, I didn 't sleep. Not until nearly dawn, anyway, and then I fell into fitful slumber that lasted until eleven. I dressed and went in to town to catch George during his lunch hour.

"Thought of anything, Walter? "he asked, the minute he saw me. His voice didn't sound hopeful. I shook my head.

"Then, "he said—and his voice was firm on top, but with a tremor underneath— "this afternoon is going to end it one way or the other. Something 's happened. "

"What?"

He said, "I 'm going back with a heavy hammer inside my shirt. I think there 's a chance of my getting it before it can get me. If not—well, I 'll have tried. "

I looked around me. We were sitting together in a booth at Shorty 's lunchroom, and Shorty was coming over to ask what we wanted. It looked like a sane and orderly world.

I waited until Shorty had gone to fry our hamburger steaks, and then I asked quietly, "What happened? "

"Another manifesto. Walter, it demands that I install another Linotype. "His eyes bored into mine, and a cold chill went down my spine.

"Another—George, what kind of copy were you setting this morning? "

But of course I 'd already guessed.

There was quite a long silence after he 'd told me, and I didn 't say anything until we were ready to leave. Then: "George, was there a time limit on that demand? "

He nodded. "Twenty-four hours. Of course I couldn 't get another machine in that length of time anyway, unless I found a used one somewhere locally, but—Well, I didn 't argue about the time limit because—Well, I told you what I 'm going to do."

"It's suicide! "

"Probably. But—"

I took hold of his arm. "George, "I said, "there must be something we can do. Something. Give me till tomorrow morning. I 'll see you at eight; and if I 've not thought of anything worth trying, well—I'll try to help you destroy it. Maybe one of us can get a vital part or— "

"No, you can 't risk your life, Walter. It was my fault— "

"It won 't solve the problem just to get yourself killed, "I pointed out. "O.K.? Give me until tomorrow morning? "He agreed and we left it at that.

Morning came. It came right after midnight, and it stayed, and it was still there at seven forty-five when I left my room and went down to meet George—to confess to him that I hadn 't thought of anything.