The Lost Machine by John B. Harris

Author:John B. Harris
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science fiction, Fiction
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1932-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

The Beasts

They came upon me as I crossed one of the smooth, green spaces so frequent on this world. My thought-cells were puzzling over my condition. On the fourth planet I had felt interest or disinterest, inclination or the lack of it, but little more. Now I had discovered reactions in myself which, had they lain in a human being, I should have called emotions. I was, for instance, lonely: I wanted the company of my own kind. Moreover, I had begun to experience excitement or, more particularly, apathy.

An apathetic machine!

I was considering whether this state was a development from the instinct of self preservation, or whether it might not be due to the action of surrounding matter on my chemical cells, when I heard them coming.

First there was a drumming in my diaphragm, swelling gradually to a thunderous beat which shook the ground. Then I turned to see them charging down upon me.

Enormous beasts, extinct on my planet a million years, covered with hair and bearing spikes on their heads. Four-footed survivals of savagery battering across the land in unreasoning ferocity.

Only one course was possible since my escape was cut off by the windings of one of the imbecile-built canals. I folded my legs beneath me, crossed my fore-rods protectingly over my lenses and diaphragms, and waited.

They slowed as they drew close. Suspiciously they came up to me and snuffled around. One of them gave a rap to my side with his spiked head, another pawed my case with a hoofed foot. I let them continue: they did not seem to offer any immediate danger. Such primitive animals, I thought, would be incapable of sustaining interest and soon move off elsewhere.

But they did not. Snuffling and rooting continued all around me. At last I determined to try an experimental waving of my fore-rods. The result was alarming. They plunged and milled around, made strange bellowing noises and stamped their hooves, but they did not go away. Neither did they attack, though they snorted and pawed the more energetically.

In the distance I heard a man’s voice; his thought reached me faintly.

“What the ‘ell’s worritin’ them dam cattle, Bill?” he called.

“Dunno,” came the reply of another. “Let’s go an’ ‘ave a look.”

The beasts gave way at the approach of the man and I could hear some of them thudding slowly away, though I did not, as yet, care to risk uncovering my lenses.

The men’s voices drew quite near.

“‘Strewth,” said the first, “‘ow did that get ‘ere, Bill?”

“Search me,” answered the other. “Wasn’t ‘ere ‘arf an hour ago—that I’ll swear. What is it, any’ow?”

“‘Anged if I know. ‘Ere, give us a ‘and and we’ll turn it over.”

At this moment it seemed wise to make a movement; my balancers might be slow in adjusting to an inverted position.

There was a gasp, then:

“Bill,” came an agitated whisper, “did you see that rod there at the end? It moved, blessed if it didn’t.”

“Go on,” scoffed the other. “‘Ow could a thing like that move? You’ll be sayin’ next that it…”

I unfolded my legs and turned to face them.

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