Astounding Science Fiction (British Edition), April 1944 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

64 Gallegher surmised. “The mills of the gods—” “I see Hopper’s gone,” appearing with fresh drinks. “Yeah. Why?” “TI thought he would. I gave him a Mickey Finn,” the robot explained. “He never looked at me once. I’m not. exactly vain, but a man so insensitive to beauty deserves a lesson. Now don’t disturb me. I’m going into the kitchen and practice dancing, and Narcissus said, you can get your own liquor out of the. organ. You may come and watch if you like.” Narcissus spun out of the lab, his innards racing. Gallegher sighed. “That’s the way it goes,” he said. “What?” “Oh, I dunno. Everything. I get, for example, orders for three entirely different things, and I get drunk and make a gadget that answers all three problems. My sub- conscious does things the easy way. Un- fortunately, it’s the hard way for me—after I sober up.” “Then why sober up?” Smeith asked co- gently. “How does that liquor organ work?” Gallegher demonstrated. “I feel lousy,” he confided. “What I need is either a week’s sleep, or else—” “Wha t 99 “A drink. Here’s how. You non eone item still worries me.” “What, again?” “The question of why that machine sings ‘St. James Infirmary’ when it’s operating.” “It’s a good song,” Smeith said. “Sure, but my subconscious works logic- ally. Crazy logic, I'll admit. Nevertheless—” ‘““Here’s how,” Smeith said. Gallegher relaxed. He was beginning to feel like himself again. A warm, rosy glow. There was money in the bank. The police had been called off. Max Cuff was, no doubt, suffering for his sins. And a heavy thumping ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION announced that Narcissus was dancing in the kitchen. It was past midnight when Gallegher choked on a drink and said, “Now I re- member!” “Swmpmf,” Smeith said, startled. “Whatzat?” “T feel like singing.” “So what?” “Well, I feel like singing ‘St. James Infirmary.’ ” “Go right ahead,” Smeith invited. “But not alone,” Gallegher amplified. “I always like to sing that when I get tight, but I figure it sounds best as a duet. Only I was alone when I was working on that machine.” “Ah? 99 “I must have built in a recording play- back,”’ Gallegher said, lost in a vast wonder at the mad resources and curious deviations of Gallegher Plus. “My goodness. A machine that performs four operations at once. It eats dirt, turns out a spaceship manual control, makes a stereoscopic non- distorting projection screen, and sings a duet with me. How strange it all seems.” Smeith considered. “You’re a genius.” | “That, of course. Hm-m-m.” Gallegher got up, turned on the machine, and returned to perch atop Bubbles. Smeith, fascinated by the spectacle, went to hang on the windew sill and watch the flashing tentacles eat dirt. Invisible wire spun out along the grooved wheel. The calm of the night was shattered by the more or less melodious tones of the “St James Infirmary.” Above the lugubrious voice of the machine rose a deeper bass, passionately exhorting someone unnamed to search the wide world over. “But you'll never find Another sweet ma-a-ahn like me.” Gallegher Plus was singing, too. THE BEAST—continued from page 45. EPILOGUE It was a spring morning fifty years later. Len Christopher, assistant keeper, New York Greater Zoological Gardens, walked slowly along the line of big cat cages. Suddenly, he stopped and stared at a vast, metal-barred structure that glittered in the rays of the rising sun. : “Funny,” “I swear that he muttered, wasn't there last night. Wonder when it arri—” He stopped. The top of his head made a valiant effort to unfasten from the rest of him. For a moment he stood gaping at the blue-green-yellow-red nightmare that loomed collossal behind the four-inch metal bars. And then— Then he was running, yelling, for the superintendent's office. oO Ccomiclbookks.c©