The Reproductive System (Gollancz SF Library) Read Online Free PDF Page B

right.’
    They moved on inside.
    ‘Which one of you ginks is Smilax, head-of-project? You?’ he asked Karl, who shook his head.
    ‘He sends his regrets,’ Karl said. ‘He’s unable to meet you in person.’
    ‘What do you mean, “unable”? Where is he?’
    ‘In his office.’ The twins pointed out the office door.
    A bitter smile rippled over the simian lip. ‘I get it. I’m not important enough for him to get up off his bacon and come out to meet, is that it? A mere four-star general is nothing, huh? I guess he only talks to the Joint Chiefs of Staff or something.’
    As the twins made no reply to this, the general stepped to the office door and tried it. It was locked. Lifting a set of knuckles designed to be walked upon, he rapped smartly on the RESTRICTED AREA sign.
    A nearby door opened, and a marine guard, bearing a submachine gun, stepped out.
    ‘I’m afraid you can’t go in there, general,’ he said. ‘“ NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. THIS MEANS YOU ”,’ he quoted from the quite legible sign.
    ‘What the hell do you mean? I got a top secret clearance. I’m supposed to be inspecting this plant. If I ain’t authorized, who is? What the christ is going on here, anyway? Smilax, you come out of there !’ He rattled the knob and pounded on the door until the guard trained his gun on him and waved him away.
    ‘Look,’ Grawk said to him, a more conciliatory note creeping into his voice, ‘I come seven hundred miles in that hot, stuffy helicopter to inspect Smilax’s project. You mean to tell me this freak can’t even come out of his office to talk to me?’
    ‘I’m afraid not, general. Dr. Smilax comes and goes at his pleasure,’ said the marine tersely. ‘If you want to contact him, you’d better forward your message to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.’
    ‘—’ said the general. That is, he opened his mouth but no sound came forth. Purple veins began to writhe in his face, and his boiled eyes bulged.
    Then he turned on his heel, emitting at the same time a short, hysterical laugh. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s see this so-called project, and get it over with.’
    In one corner of the lab a considerable space had been cleared. A bulky object roughly the size of an automobile here lay
    shrouded in a drop cloth. Now the Mackintosh brothers moved in to lift the cloth, folding it rapidly and expertly into a cocked hat.
    ‘What’s all this?’ said the general, waving at the pile of large grey boxes thus revealed. They lay on three lab tables, quivering, turning slightly on their hidden wheels as they sensed movement about them.
    ‘It is a self-reproducing machine,’ the twins announced. ‘A Reproductive System.’
    ‘Yeah? Ugly, ain’t it?’
    During the week, they explained, the boxes had devoured over a ton of scrap metal, as well as a dozen oscilloscopes with attached signal generators, thirty-odd test sets, desk calculators both mechanical and electronic, a pair of scissors, an uncountable number of bottle caps, paper clips, coffee spoons and staples (for the lab and office staff liked feeding their new pet), dozens of surplus walky-talky storage batteries and a small gasoline-driven generator.
    The cells had multiplied—better than doubled their original number—and had grown to various sizes, ranging from shoe-boxes and attaché cases to steamer trunk proportions. They now reproduced constantly but slowly, in various fashions. One steamer trunk emitted, every five or ten minutes, a pair of tiny boxes the size of 3 × 5 card files. Another box, of extraordinary length, seemed to be slowly sawing itself in half.
    General Grawk remained unimpressed. ‘What does it do for an encore?’ he growled.
    ‘I don’t know much about this stuff myself,’ Grandison candidly admitted. ‘I leave all the heavy think-work to my boys here, Kurt, Karl and Cal. They know all about Endymions and revanchist doctrines, all that stuff.’
    With savage glee, the general spoke to one of his WAF’s.