“What good side?” muttered Trurl, and kicked the base on which he was sitting.
“Stop that,” said the machine.
“H’m, it’s sensitive too. But where was I? Oh yes… there’s no question but that we have here a stupid machine, and not merely stupid in the usual, normal way, oh no! This is, as far as I can determine—and you know I am something of an expert—this is the stupidest thinking machine in the entire world, and that’s nothing to sneeze at! To construct deliberately such a machine would be far from easy; in fact, I would say that no one could manage it. For the thing is not only stupid, but stubborn as a mule, that is, it has a personality common to idiots, for idiots are uncommonly stubborn.”
“What earthly use do I have for such a machine?!” said Trurl, and kicked it again.
“I’m warning you, you better stop!” said the machine.
“A warning, if you please,” observed Klapaucius dryly. “Not only is it sensitive, dense and stubborn, but quick to take offense, and believe me, with such an abundance of qualities there are all sorts of things you might do!”
“What, for example?” asked Trurl.
“Well, it’s hard to say offhand. You might put it on exhibit and charge admission; people would flock to see the stupidest thinking machine that ever was—what does it have, eight stories? Really, could anyone imagine a bigger dunce? And the exhibition would not only cover your costs, but—”
“Enough, I’m not holding any exhibition!” Trurl said, stood up and, unable to restrain himself, kicked the machine once more.
“This is your third warning,” said the machine.
“What?” cried Trurl, infuriated by its imperious manner. “You… you…” And he kicked it several times, shouting: “You’re only good for kicking, you know that?”
“You have insulted me for the fourth, fifth, sixth and eighth times,” said the machine. “Therefore I refuse to answer all further questions of a mathematical nature.”
“It refuses! Do you hear that?” fumed Trurl, thoroughly exasperated. “After six comes eight—did you notice, Klapaucius?—not seven, but eight! And that’s the kind of mathematics Her Highness refuses to perform! Take that! And that! And that! Or perhaps you’d like some more?”
The machine shuddered, shook, and without another word started to lift itself from its foundations. They were very deep, and the girders began to bend, but at last it scrambled out, leaving behind broken concrete blocks with steel spokes protruding—and it bore down on Trurl and Klapaucius like a moving fortress. Trurl was so dumb-founded that he didn’t even try to hide from the machine, which to all appearances intended to crush him to a pulp. But Klapaucius grabbed his arm and yanked him away, and the two of them took to their heels. When finally they looked back, they saw the machine swaying like a high tower, advancing slowly, at every step sinking to its second floor, but stubbornly, doggedly pulling itself out of the sand and heading straight for them.
“Whoever heard of such a thing?” Trurl gasped in amazement. “Why, this is mutiny! What do we do now?”
“Wait and watch,” replied the prudent Klapaucius. “We may learn something.”
But there was nothing to be learned just then. The machine had reached firmer ground and was picking up speed. Inside, it whistled, hissed and sputtered.
“Any minute now the signal box will knock loose,” said Trurl under his breath. “That’ll jam the program and stop it…”
“No,” said Klapaucius, “this is a special case. The thing is so stupid, that even if the whole transmission goes, it won’t matter. But—look out!!”
The machine was gathering momentum, clearly bent on running them down, so they fled just as fast as they could, the fearful rhythm of crunching steps in their ears. They ran and ran—what else could they do? They tried to make it back to their native district, but the machine outflanked them, cut them off, forced them deeper and deeper into a wild, uninhabited region. Mountains, dismal and craggy, slowly rose out of the mist. Trurl, panting heavily, shouted to Klapaucius:
“Listen! Let’s turn into some narrow canyon… where it won’t be able to follow us… the cursed thing… what do you say?”
“No… better go straight,” wheezed Klapaucius. “There’s a town up ahead… can’t remember the name… anyway, we can find—oof!—find shelter there…”
So they ran straight and soon saw houses before them. The streets were practically deserted at this time of day, and the constructors had gone a good distance without meeting a living soul, when suddenly an awful crash, like an avalanche at the edge of the town, indicated that the machine was coming after them.
Trurl looked back and groaned.
“Good heavens! It’s tearing down the houses, Klapaucius!!” For the machine, in stubborn pursuit, was plowing through the walls of the buildings like a mountain of steel, and in its wake lay piles of rubble and white clouds of plaster dust. There were dreadful screams, confusion in the streets, and Trurl and Klapaucius, their hearts in their mouths, ran on till they came to a large town hall, darted inside and raced down endless stairs to a deep cellar.
“It won’t get us in here, even if it brings the whole building down on our heads!” panted Klapaucius. “But really, the devil himself had me pay you a visit today.… I was curious to see how your work was going—well, I certainly found out…”
“Quiet,” interrupted Trurl. “Someone’s coming…”
And indeed, the cellar door opened up and the mayor entered, accompanied by several aldermen. Trurl was too embarrassed to explain how this strange and calamitous situation had come about; Klapaucius had to do it. The mayor listened in silence. Suddenly the walls trembled, the ground heaved, and the sound of cracking stone reached them in the cellar.
“It’s here?!” cried Trurl.
“Yes,” said the mayor. “And it demands that we give you up, otherwise it says it will level the entire town…”