Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WILLIE : 23 thing slithered along the pavement between Agar’s spread legs until it came to rest against Babu’s foot. It had hair and eyes, but Babu kicked it. The next instant both men were vigorously separated, Babu by a press of savages that compelled him to give ground with fierce distortions of his countenance—Agar by an equally urgent necessity to cleave skulls in the opposite direction. There seemed to be no end fo the struggle. Agar could not even tell whether his people were losing or gaining ground. He only knew that all about him was the hue and cry of battle, and he seemed to be leading his people to victory in the midst of a rout. Unbelievably to victory, though it was -some time before he discovered the reason for the wild exaltation which shone in the eyes of his people as they surged about him. He was in the midst of his people now, and they were no longer fighting for their lives. Only the Prowlers seemed to be fighting, for the yells which continued to arise from one side of the square, quite outside the ring of barbarian faces, were unmistakably savage in timbre. It was a little absurd that he wasn’t allowed to get a clear view of what was happening. But he knew the reason for it. It was the old “the head man is sacrosanct” taboo, closing in on him from all sides, and preventing him from knowing what was going on beyond the tight circle of fighting men determined to protect him from all danger, now that there was no longer any need for him to risk his life in battle. It had almost all happened when his war- riors fell back, affording him a clear view of the square. It was a little sickening, and almost he regretted having yelled and waved his hatchet and insisting on his right to stare, when he might have been spared seeing the last of the Prowlers struggling in the clasp of the great, nonvolitional robots. The Prowlers had tried to escape from the square by the only route open to them— a gleaming motoway that passed to the left of the Half Body, and spiraled upward about the Hall of Monitors. Seemingly they hadn’t seen the robots descending the spiral toward them, clumping downward over the continu- ously ascending pavement and making con- tinuous progress despite its upward sweep. All but six of the robots were at the base of the spiral now and it was easy to see that they had the situation well in hand. The robots were all whirring disks and agile digits. The robots were rectifying a kink in the vast, complex life of the city. Gouging, ripping, breaking up what re-. mained of the kink. Most of the kink lay now in huddled heaps at the base of the Half Body, the motoway beneath it glistening wet and slip- pery. The motoway was slowly carrying the kink out of sight and suddenly a score more limp and twisted Prowlers were hurled down, and the robots ceased to whir. Grooves and hollow openings appeared in their gleaming body cases, and retractile arms were whipped back out of sight. The buzz-saw wheels disappeared more slowly, seeming to glide from view and leaving crimson splotches in their wake. Agar’s harsh skin had whitened under the stunned brightness in his stare. The robots had made no attempt to attack . his people, but suddenly he was aware that one of them had swung about, and was clumping toward him across the square. Nearer it came and nearer, as though the teleo-electronic impulses which were keep- ing it in motion had made it a little drunk. It halted directly before him, settling down on its flat bottom, and transfixing him with the huge, dully gleaming eye in the middle of its hollow chest. Slowly, as though drawn by a magnet. Agar drew close to that great unwinking orb. He did not know why his heart was beating so furiously. He had looked into the eyes of robots often enough. He’d see one of the Public Safety men, of course, reflected in the depths of the eye, directing the. robot from the Chamber of Public Safety. | There was a gruesome jest going the rounds that some day a Monitor would look into a robot’s eye and see something utterly unexpected. A political satirist, a self-styled writer of horror tales, had originated that one. It had gone the rounds of filmstage and musicdrome and taken its toll of shivers. The Monitor would see something dry and huge and hideous instead of a Director of Public Safety, a fearful, whistling shape with a glisteniny stare, sitting in the Chamber of Public Safety and keeping the robots clump- ing to and fro on their appointed rounds. Agar’s face had a harsh, scoured look, as though it had been scraped dry by a bone. Slowly and with a chill prickling up his back, he stooped and stared into the robot’s huge eye. | A startled cry came from his lips. It was insane, unbelievable—it was against comiclbooks.c©