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Operation “Rock 'n' Roll”. (1964) Ilia Warszawski
🕑 Added 2024-01-18 10:45:18 +0000 UTCTranslator's comments.
My series of drawings "Operation Rock 'n' Roll" is inspired by the story of the same name. But the story has never been translated into English, so I decided to make a translation so that my subscribers would become familiar with the original source.
Tomoboshi
Operation “Rock 'n' Roll”
The return of consciousness was like dawn.
In the dissipating haze, vague outlines of some images appeared that were not associated with specific ideas. It was a strange, abstract world; there was neither past nor present.
Somewhere on the threshold of consciousness a thought was born.
"Alive!" - Bellard thought, lying with his eyes closed. He felt his body, as if immersed in a hot bath, felt the warmth on his face from a powerful source of light flooding him, visible even through closed eyelids.
He painfully tried to remember what happened.
Of course it was a car accident. It was crazy to drive after drinking so much whiskey. How did it happen? He was trying to overtake a Packard going at crazy speed, and then this truck with its headlights off jumped out. For the first time in his life, he was really confused. Alan Bellard - “Astronaut with Nerves of Steel” behaved like a green recruit. He turned sharply to the left, fearing a collision with the Packard, and, deciding to go around the truck on the right, ended up right under its bumper. Of course, the problem was the whiskey. Freddy got him so drunk that it was stupid to drive. Freddy himself is capable of drinking endlessly. This is perhaps the only thing General Fred Grose can truly do. Even in aviation school he was famous for this. He is a crappy pilot. It's good to have a career when one's dad is a billionaire. At thirty-six years old, general, head of the Space Research Department! Why does my whole body burn so much?! No pain, just a burning sensation.
Bellard tried to move his right arm. The arm didn't work. An attempt to move his toes was equally unsuccessful. He carefully tried to cause at least some movement in his body, which he felt well, but it did not obey him.
Paralysis? He felt drops of cold sweat cover his forehead. Paralysis is the end of everything. A disabled, forever bedridden. No livelihood. Under the contract with Space Research Department, he or his family could count on a pension only in the event of an accident while on mission. It is quite obvious that he would not receive a penny from them. How much money does he have in the bank? In any case, no more than two thousand dollars. Half of it will go towards paying the hospital bill. The rest is not enough for several months of the most modest life. How stupid it was that he and Mary didn't put anything aside. He made good money. Mary was always worried about the future, but he calmed her down. He said that a contract with the Space Research Department is more reliable than any insurance policy. No matter what happens to him, she and the girls will be provided for. It was difficult to imagine that danger lurked not in space, but on the highway.
Bellard opened his eyes. At first it seemed to him that his head was immersed in water. Then he realized that he was wearing a transparent helmet. Bent over him stood Fred Grose and the man with the horse's jaw. Both were wearing white coats.
“Alan, how are you feeling?”
Grose's voice seemed oddly muffled. Alan moved his lips silently.
“Don't worry, buddy!,” Freddy bent down to Alan's face. “I forgot that you can't speak yet. You were seriously injured, but I give you my word that everything will be okay. What matters is that you are alive. Morlow performed a miracle. For twelve days he and his assistants kept you cold on the operating table. He claims that now you can even fly. Isn't it true, professor?”
The horse-jawed man nodded his head silently. All his attention was absorbed by the arrows of some sensors.
“In any case, Alan,” Freddy continued, “You will remain in the service of the Department. We covered all treatment costs. Mary and the girls are healthy. The main thing is don't worry about anything.”
“Now we’ll put you to sleep for a long time,” Morlow said. “You will sleep for at least ten days. Once you wake up, you will be able to move and talk. Dormitive, Simpson!” he turned to someone out of Alan’s field of vision.
Bellard woke up from an unbearable, throbbing pain in his temples.
“Too much pressure, Simpson!” he heard Morlow’s voice and opened his eyes. He saw a small, hunchbacked man fiddling around the dashboard.
“He's already waking up. It can be reduced by half.” said the little man, rotating the handles on the dashboard.
The pain in temples went away immediately.
“Turn on the speech,” Morlow said to Simpson. “How are you feeling, Bellard?”
“What happened with me?”
Alan didn't recognize his voice. A low, rumbling bass penetrated from somewhere outside into the helmet placed on his head.
“Change the tone, Simpson,” Morlow said to the hunchback. “Now General Grose will tell you everything. Please, general Grose!”
“Listen, Alan,” Bellard heard Grose’s voice, “we will talk to you about very serious things. Not everything will be pleasant. Face it with courage.”
“Tell me quickly, what’s wrong with me?” It seemed to Alan that his voice was being reproduced by a tape recorder standing somewhere nearby.
“Better now, Simpson,” Morlow said.
“I already told you,” Grose continued, “that the truck completely mutilated you. What they picked up on the highway was, essentially speaking, your corpse. If you are alive now, then first of all you have Morlow to thank for this. He has completely prosthetized you. To be honest, all that's left of the old Alan Bellard is his head. Everything else is prosthetics controlled by the biocurrents of your brain. Moreover: you have a nylon heart that feeds the brain with a synthetic solution containing nutrients, instead of lungs there are artificial gills made of porous material with a supply of liquid oxidizing agent, and you speak with the help of a speaker that converts electrical impulses in the nerve fibers that control the vocal cords of ordinary people . Your body's electromagnetic muscles are powered by portable batteries that need to be recharged periodically.”
Alan felt himself falling into a gray fog.
“Too sudden, Mr. Grose!” Morlow’s voice reached him from somewhere far away. “His brain is real, human. Give a boost of oxidizing agent, Simpson!”
The gray fog quickly cleared.
“I asked you to be courageous, Alan!” Grose said.
“Why did you need all this, Freddy?!” the speaker wheezed.
“You were the country's best pilot and most promising astronaut, Alan, but what you will be capable of now exceeds all human capabilities. You don't need air to breathe. You may be in a vacuum. Your only living organ - your head - is enclosed in a transparent helmet, which maintains constant temperature and pressure. Neither space cold, nor low pressures, nor the poisonous atmospheres of unexplored planets are scary for you. Your body is able to withstand accelerations that are inaccessible to any living creature. A small bottle of the nutrient, which you can inject yourself into your blood replacement fluid, is enough to keep you alive for several years. The supply of oxidizing agent stored in you will ensure brain function for decades. You are guaranteed a fantastically long life, since you do not have a body and internal organs that serve as a container for all kinds of diseases. You are sealed in a sterile state. No bacteria can enter your brain. The nutrients in your blood do not contain components that cause sclerosis. You will outlive not only all of us, but also our great-grandchildren. Really, Alan, many may envy your fate.”
“Stop this nonsense and go to hell!” Bellard shouted. “If there is still anything human left in you, don’t say anything to Mary about what you did to me! Never, do you hear, Fred, will I never agree to the role of a living automaton! It will be better for me and for you if you stop this pathetic parody of life right now!”
“You’re worrying in vain, Alan,” Grose answered mockingly. “We last saw Mary fifteen days ago, at your funeral. She was so upset that she mistook a rather crudely made dummy for your real head. I am not going to tell her any additional information about you. However, if we have already started talking about Mrs. Bellard, then let's find out everything that concerns her. Do you remember the terms of our contract? Your death was caused by a car accident. The investigation established that you were driving while drunk. Your family does not have to rely on retirement. I can tell you that Mary and the girls had to move in with their father, since the house you bought in installments was not fully paid for. I doubt that a postman’s modest earnings would be enough to support his daughter and two granddaughters. Now, Alan, stop fooling around and let's be serious. We suggest that you remain in the service of the Space Research Department. Your earnings will be paid to your family under the guise of a pension. If you die, your family will continue to receive this money. Agree, Alan, that we also make great sacrifices. After all, you will have to spend a lot of time and work before they make you an astronaut again.”
“Asshole!”
“Think carefully, Alan.”
“I think that’s enough for today, Mr. Grose,” Morlow muttered.
“I think that tomorrow you will be smarter, Alan,” Grose said, leaving the room.
Bellard was apparently given dormitives again, as he immediately fell asleep.
“You see, Alan, you thought and agreed. Isn't it true that today everything does not appear in such a gloomy light as yesterday?”
“You forced me into this in the most vile way.”
“It’s okay, you’ll thank me again. In general, you are very lucky! Not only have we raised you from the dead, we have given you opportunities that mere mortals cannot even dream of. Of course, first there is a long training ahead. You will have to learn a lot again. Now Morlow will take care of you and I won’t interfere. Good luck!”
Grose waved and disappeared from Alan's sight.
“Let’s begin getting acquainted with your new body,” Morlow said dryly. “Your head and spinal cord are enclosed in a transparent, airtight container filled with a special liquid. The same container contains an artificial heart and nylon arteries. The walls of the container have two porous diaphragms - artificial gills. One of the diaphragms communicates the circulatory system with the oxidizing agent, and the other with the liquid to absorb carbon dioxide. The gills operate on the principle of controlled electrolytic diffusion. Induction current collectors for removing biocurrents that control body movement and speech are connected to nerve endings floating in the liquid of the container. A constant temperature and pressure is automatically maintained inside the container. Your eyeballs are covered with thin lenses that provide normal vision in liquid and do not interfere with the movement of the eyelids. The abdominal cavity contains batteries that serve as a source of muscle energy and the electromagnetic drive of the heart. The heart current and the system for maintaining normal conditions in the container are powered by autonomous batteries designed for a longer operating life without recharging than the batteries of the muscular system. Nutrient liquid, oxidizer and carbon dioxide absorber are poured through special necks equipped with biological filters and a radiation biological protection system.
Here are the main elements of your design in general terms. Subsequently, you will have to study it in more detail. Now we will turn on the power to the muscular system and check the motor reactions. Raise your right arm.”
A metal arm shot up and landed with a thud somewhere behind Bellard's head.
Morlow and Simpson lifted Alan by the shoulders and gave him a sitting position, resting his back against something.
Bellard saw his new body for the first time, consisting of articulated mechanisms covered in transparent plastic.
“Reduce the gain, Simpson!” said Morlow. “Like this. Now try again, Bellard. Try to keep your arm at shoulder level.”
The arm raised, but it was impossible to keep it in place. It either went down or went up.
“Did I tell you that this feedback scheme is no good?” Morlow said irritably, turning to Simpson.
Simpson shrugged.
“We tried to speed up the transient processes and ended up in astatic mode. Now I’ll add resistance,” he said, taking the soldering iron.
Long and tiring days of training dragged on. Bellard had never suspected before that one could get so tired without doing any muscular work.
Every morning began with gymnastics. Morlow and Simpson were nearby. During the first days they soldered the circuit board several times. Sometimes Grose appeared. He was mockingly polite to Alan and, every time he left, congratulated him on his new success.
Finally the day came when Bellard completed the prescribed exercise program without any comments. Even the spiteful Morlow did not hide his satisfaction.
“Tomorrow you will learn to fly again,” he said, clapping Alan on the shoulder.
The classes started in the flight simulator. Started with takeoff and landing. Gradually the program became more complicated. Aerobatics, recovery from a spin, and diving onto a target. All this was necessary for the development of motor reactions under conditions of heavy overload. These classes alternated with performing navigation calculations while rotating in a centrifuge, gymnastics in a vacuum chamber and sharply changing temperature conditions.
Bellard lived in a small room adjacent to Morlow's laboratory. There was no furniture in this room, except for a desk and a chair. Bellard's new body needed almost no sleep. Once a day he lay down on the floor, turned off the power supply of the muscular system and closed his eyes. An hour of half-sleep completely restored him.
He never experienced a real feeling of hunger, but at first his non-existent stomach made itself felt. During short sleep sessions, Alan was tormented by visions of steaks sizzling in a frying pan, juicy, aromatic fruits and glasses of cocktails. He woke up with a mouth full of saliva. Over time, the unsatisfied longing for food passed, but he never ceased to feel his old, no longer existing body. He was especially bothered by the sensation of cramping in his toes. Sometimes back itched unbearably.
Bellard was completely isolated from people. Apart from Morlow, Simpson and - occasionally - Grose, he saw no one. He missed his wife and children very much, but Grose was reluctant to talk to him about this topic.
“They are fully provided with the pension that we pay them, they regularly visit your grave, and, really Alan, the less you think about them now, the more successful your training will be,” he once irritably interrupted Alan’s questions.
Once in a conversation with Morlow, Bellard said that he would enjoy reading newspapers and listening to the radio.
“I can’t do this without Grose’s permission,” Morlow replied, looked carefully at Alan, and left the laboratory.
About twenty minutes later an enraged Grose appeared.
“It's time for us to talk seriously!” he said, sitting down on the only chair in Alan's room. “I hope you understand that we did not raise you from the dead to please Morlow’s ego by giving him the opportunity to create a mechanical toy.”
“You are being prepared for an extremely important mission that requires not only training your body, but also mental preparation. You are dead to everything that exists on Earth, and everything earthly must cease to exist for you. You will have to be completely alone for a long time, content with the company of machines. In order to successfully complete the mission, you must convince yourself once and for all that you are exactly the same machine, only with a more complex control system. Otherwise, you and I won’t be able to do a damn thing!”
“What mission are you talking about?” asked Alan.
“Well!” Grose said after a little reflection. “Obviously, the time has come to talk about this. You will be entrusted with the top secret operation "Rock 'n' Roll". The goal of this mission is to build a military missile base on the Moon. Only a few people know about this operation. The base will be fully automated and controlled from Earth. You must deliver the main equipment to the Moon, install and configure it. For construction work you will have twelve robots controlled from a distance by your biocurrents. The telecontrol system was developed by Morlow. Tomorrow Simpson will install it in you. After completion of construction and installation work, management of the base will pass to Elizabeth, and you will be given a new task.”
“Who is Elizabeth?” asked a shocked Bellard.
“Elizabeth is a universal computing machine with fire control devices. Look, don’t play tricks with her, she’s a serious lady, although in your position you don’t have to be particularly picky,” Grose laughed.
The next day, Simpson ordered Alan to lie down on a table, gutted his insides, and installed a system of microscopic robot telecontrol antennas into him.
Now Bellard's workday was compressed to the limit. Along with increasingly complex training, classes began on learning Elizabeth's circuits and controlling robots.
The robots turned out to be small, humanoid machines, the size of a small monkey. They obediently copied Alan's every move. After several days of training, he no longer needed to perform the movements that were required of robots. It was enough for Bellard, turning off the power to his own muscular system, to mentally imagine that he was walking, and all the robots began to march in a given direction.
Along with enormous physical strength, robots had an amazing ability to perform the most delicate work. To test capabilities, Morlow once forced Alan to draw. The robots, equipped with pencils and paper, located at the laboratory table, a few meters away from Bellard, finished their work at the same time as him. When comparing the drawings they turned out to be absolutely identical. Morlow was delighted.
Six months have passed since Bellard's resurrection. He had already been taken twice to a secret rocket launch site for training flights in a ballistic missile into the upper atmosphere.
The flight trajectories were calculated in such a way that the container with Alan fell into the ocean after ejection. A special ship patrolling the landing site delivered the container to a secret base, where it was loaded into a van. Only after the container was delivered to the laboratory did Grose and Morlow remove Alan from it.
One evening Morlow came into Alan's room and told him to follow him. They walked through the laboratory into a long corridor that Alan had never been in. Morlow opened the black leather door and motioned for Alan to enter.
At the back of the room, lounging in a low chair, sat Grose with a cigar in his mouth.
“Sit down, Alan!” he said to Bellard, pointing to the second chair.
Morlow left, closing the door behind him.
“Your flight, Bellard, is scheduled in ten days. Today I want to introduce you in more detail to the planned operation.”
“You take off on a multistage rocket, the controls of which you already know. Tomorrow you will be familiarized with the navigation data necessary for the flight. You will have Elizabeth on board. It had to be disassembled into several parts and packaged in shock-absorbing containers. Immediately after landing on the Moon, you will begin installation. This is the main task. You won't be able to do anything without Elizabeth. The telecontrol of the automatic rockets on which the robots and all the equipment of the base will be delivered to you is tuned to its wavelength. Elizabeth will control the landing of the rockets, making all the necessary calculations on site. In addition, its atomic batteries will recharge your batteries. Its will also recharge the robots as needed.”
“There is very little space in the rocket, so for yourself you will only take a supply of nutrient fluid, an oxidizer, a carbon dioxide absorber and a small box with your spare parts.”
“You will maintain radio contact with me through Elizabeth radio station. Communication will be carried out on a highly directed wave, exactly according to the schedule specified in the instructions that you will be provided with.”
“The base's armament will consist of thirty space rockets. Thermonuclear warheads will be delivered to them in a special container. All you and the robots have to do is install them in place. Pay special attention to protecting Elizabeth and the missiles from possible damage from meteorites. However, all this is detailed in the instructions compiled for you. Once the exact coordinates of the missiles' locations are determined, you will be given target data to enter into the Elizabeth program. It will receive firing commands directly from the Earth.”
“You speak as if the issue of starting military operations has already been decided,” Alan interrupted him. “Do you really think, Freddy, that someone is going to attack us?”
“Since you died, Alan, a lot has happened in the world. I don't think war will break out very soon, but we need to be prepared for anything.”
“Now listen to me carefully: not a single living soul should know about the existence of the base. Now the Moon is a tasty morsel. The possibility of the appearance of research expeditions from other countries on it is not excluded. When landing any spacecraft, our rockets must be immediately detonated. To do this, you only need to press the RED button on Elizabeth's panel.”
“And in this case, Freddy?”
“And in this case, Alan, you will die a second time, and your family will receive a pension legally. Everything is in strict accordance with the contract,” Grose said, getting up from his chair.
The spaceship shuddered from the last flash of the braking engine and sat down on the released shock absorbers.
Bellard moved the muscle enhancement lever to lunar gravity, unbuckled the straps and pressed the button. The oval hatch slowly crawled up.
Alan saw sheer cliffs surrounding an area of several square kilometers.
The bright blue light of the Earth illuminated the bizarre fractures of the rocks, shimmering in the thick layer of dust covering the lunar surface.
Alan lowered the ladder, shouldered one of the boxes and went down with it.
Complete silence reigned in the lunar world.
A few tens of meters from the ship there was an overhanging rock that could be used as a natural shelter for Elizabeth. Having dragged all the boxes there, Bellard began installing the machine.
Simpson's lessons were useful. A few hours later, a green light came on on Elizabeth's panel. Alan glanced at the chronometer. There was about an hour to wait before the radio communication session. Bellard headed towards the ship. Bending down, he pulled out from under the seat a small plastic box labeled "Bellard Spare Parts" - Morlow's special pride.
“Complete interchangeability. You just need to wash off the layer of preservative lubricant with alcohol and feel free to put it in place, without any adjustment,” he recalled the professor’s instructions.
Carefully placed in the box were two arms with shoulder joints, a kneecap, a foot, a bottle of alcohol and three platinum vessels with an oxidizer, a nutrient fluid and an absorber. Alan tucked the box under his arm and walked towards Elizabeth.
“Olympus! Olympus! This is Turtle, over!” he repeated Grose's call sign through Elizabeth's amplifier, connected by a wire to his speaker.
“Hello, Bellard!” he heard Fred's voice in his helmet. I hope everything is fine with you. Set Elizabeth to continuous beeps. Now we will find its coordinates. Tomorrow the communication session will take place at the appointed time.
Days of complete idleness dragged on. Alan lay next to Elizabeth, turning off the propulsion system, without taking his eyes off the huge disk of the Earth in the sky. What tormented him most was the silence. He looked forward to the communication sessions, but Grose was very brief each time. A few questions, a wish of good luck, and again Alan plunged into the world of silence.
Finally, Fred announced the launch of the first ship with robots.
Elizabeth was the first to detect the approaching missile. Signals began to flash on her panel at breakneck speed. Bellard realized that she had taken control of the landing.
Soon Alan was already running towards the ship rocking on shock absorbers. There were six robots in it. Bellard rejoiced at them as if they were old friends. Now loneliness no longer seemed so painful to him.
A day later, the second batch of robots arrived and work began. Robots used ammonal to blow up rocks, preparing launch tunnels for rockets. The work was carried out day and night. Grose daily demanded information about the progress of preparations for receiving combat missiles.
Finally the tunnels were finished and the combat missiles began to arrive.
Thirty combat space rockets landed at intervals of two hours. The missiles were immediately dragged by robots into the tunnels intended for them. The last to arrive was a ship carrying a container with warheads.
Soon the day came when Alan was able to report to Grose that all work on organizing the base had been completed. All the missiles were in place, equipped with warheads. There were two cables running from each missile to Elizabeth: one to control the launch device, and the other to detonate the warheads.
“Well done, Alan!” Grose said. “You did an excellent job. Now write down the coordinates of your targets. You need to transfer them to a punched card and enter them into Elizabeth's program control. Tomorrow report on completion.”
Alan reread the columns of numbers he had written down under Grose’s dictation and couldn’t believe his eyes. Clutching the piece of paper with the coordinates in his hand, he ran towards the ship that brought him and Elizabeth to the base.
He quickly threw out everything that was there from the box with navigation aids until he found maps of the earth's surface. A quick glance was enough to convince him that his suspicions were correct. As he marked with a pencil the goals dictated to him, the picture acquired an eerie reality.
Bellard climbed out of the cockpit and walked quickly towards Elizabeth. After a few minutes, the control cables for the starting devices were disconnected from the machine's terminal blocks.
He was brought out of a state of prolonged stupor by a flashing signal on Elizabeth's panel. Alan stood up and connected to the radio station.
“Bellard, Bellard!” he heard Grose's voice. “Why the hell aren’t you answering the call?!”
“Yes?”
“Why is Elizabeth sounding a cable fault alarm? There is no confirmation signal about the introduction of the fire control program. Damn, what are you doing there?!”
“There was some error with the coordinates. I checked them on the maps. A third of the missiles are aimed at US cities. The remaining coordinates are designed for bombing the capitals of all major states. Not a single military facility, only populated areas. For God's sake, Fred, explain what's wrong! I can't introduce such a program into Elizabeth! After all, all it takes is some idiot in the Pentagon to press a button and all hell breaks loose all over Earth!”
Alan heard Grose curse. Then there was silence for a long time.
“Listen, Alan!” Fred's voice sounded quiet and insinuatingly in Bellard's helmet. “I couldn’t explain everything to you in detail on Earth. The Pentagon has nothing to do with it. They, of course, know about the organization of the base and finance it, but they are not privy to operation Rock`n`Roll. Try to understand me well. Our planet needs a radical overhaul. There are too many people on it. The heads of our rockets are equipped with cobalt shells that can poison the Earth's atmosphere with radioactive fallout for many years. The construction of underground palaces is now being completed, in which a thousand specially selected lucky people will spend ten serene years until the radiation level drops to a level that allows them to start a new life on the surface of the Earth. I give you my word, Alan, that your family will be included in the list of chosen ones.”
“You are obviously drunk, Freddy, or crazy! I will never allow the idea that the president could commit such vileness!”
“Understand, Alan, that the president is part of the same archaism as the degenerate concept of democracy. In Operation "Rock`n`Roll", there are people in front of whom the president is nothing more than a pathetic bug. In such matters, he is not taken into account. In the new society, everything will be arranged differently. We will create a true paradise on Earth. A thousand lucky people will be served by five thousand living automata like you. Morlow's underground factory is already in full swing, producing doctors, hairdressers, cooks, musicians - everything that is needed for the comfort of the survivors. Morlow had to empty half the country's morgues for this purpose. We will have an obedient army of servants who will never rebel. A small brain operation - and complete obedience is guaranteed. This is Morlow's new invention. We will never again allow humanity to multiply uncontrollably. Strict birth control will be introduced. All surplus will be sent to the Morlow factory. We won't forget about you, Alan. In a few years, fuel will be delivered to you, and you will return to Earth. We will appoint you as commander of living machines. You will receive unlimited power. I understand that all this is completely unexpected for you. Think carefully! Think about what awaits you if the order is not followed. Elizabeth will not recharge you until she receives a signal from Earth. Soon the batteries of the muscular system will be discharged, and you will turn into a pile of scrap metal with a living brain. This agony will last indefinitely until the sources of nutrition for the cardiovascular system dry up. Finally, think about your family! I’ll give you a day’s rest to think about it, especially since tomorrow is Christmas. The day after tomorrow I look forward to your message about the introduction of the program in Elizabeth. See you on air soon, buddy! I wish you a merry Christmas! Be careful not to get drunk with your robots!”
Alan turned off the communication wire and stood motionless for some time, looking at the shining disk of the Earth. Then he bent down, picked up a huge piece of rock and stepped towards Elizabeth.
“Get it, bitch! However, no…” he muttered, throwing the stone aside. “I’ll still need you today.”
Twelve motionless robots watched this scene impassively. Alan walked up to them and turned on the remote control switch on himself.
“Guys! General Grose, in honor of the upcoming Christmas, has allowed us a day's rest. True, during this time we still have to think about something, but this is no longer important. I invite you all to Christmas. Help me decorate the Christmas tree!”
Two hours later, Alan lined up the robots at the foot of a high rock. A powerful spotlight, taken from Elizabeth and mounted on the top, flooded the circus area with bright light. Warheads removed from missiles were mounted on rock ledges. From each of them a cable ran to Elizabeth's terminal blocks.
Bellard, having carefully examined the wiring, approached the robots.
“Lunar Base Garrison! Merry Christmas! Thank you for a job well done. You are wonderful guys, hardworking and humble. You don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to kill anyone either. I like people. Morlow the blockhead thinks he's turned me into a living automaton. This was done much earlier than I fell into his clutches. I can't remember when this happened. Maybe in college, maybe in flight school, maybe in early childhood. They threw dollars at me, and I did what they asked of me. Isn't it funny that while I had my head on my own shoulders, I was not able to think sensibly! Now I understand a lot. I don't want a heaven on Earth in which my grandchildren, if born, will be used as raw materials in the Morlow factory. I want the Earth to be populated by free and happy people, and not by a bunch of degenerates served by living automatons. It's a shame that you guys can't hear me, because I want to tell you a lot. It is a pity that I cannot fully fulfill my duties as host and treat you to a glass of whiskey.”
“However,” Alan slapped his helmet, “we’ll arrange it now!”
Bellard went to the spare parts box and took out a bottle of alcohol. Unscrewing the cap on his chest, he poured out a third of the bottle.
The effect of alcohol was immediate. Alan staggered back to the robots.
“No one could yet blame Alan Bellard for not completing the task,” he said, moving the remote control lever to maximum gain. “The operation will be completed. Now, guys, we will dance to rock`n`roll!”
The bright light of the spotlight illuminated a fantastic spectacle of robots circling in a frantic dance, controlled by the intoxicated brain of a long-dead man.
The effect of the alcohol stopped as quickly as it began. The robots froze in the most bizarre poses. The dance completely exhausted the energy reserves in their batteries.
Alan felt mortally tired. He felt unbearably sleepy.
After looking around at the robots, he walked up to Elizabeth and pressed the RED button on its panel.
