THE MIND MACHINE (1)
By:
May 1, 2026
Michael Williams’ The Mind Machine was published in the March 29, 1919 issue of All-Story Weekly. It is generally considered the first work to describe the dystopia brought about by a rogue artificial intelligence. HiLoBooks is pleased to serialize the story for HILOBROW’s readers.
ALL INSTALLMENTS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5.
The following story is drawn from a document placed at our disposal by the Historical Research Section of the United States Commission on the History of the Great War. This commission was appointed by Congress for the purpose of preparing the official history of the part played by this country in the great war, and the events that followed it, through the days of the breakdown as we now call that period of world-wide disorganization which preceded the final peace up to the recognition of the United States as the model republic of the world union. The document in question purports to be an account written by an eye witness of the real reason for the universal breakdown of civilization, which succeeded the premature peace signed by the warring nations, and which lasted for nearly fifty years.
The Historical Research Section has found the problem of explaining the fifty vears of the breakdown an utterly insoluble one. There are scores of plausible theories, of a political, economic, or religious type; but none fully satisifies the section. The explanation discovered in the paper from which the story here given has been drawn was judged to be too fantastic, though, in private, several of the members of the section declare that they are inclined to believe that, strange as it seems, it tells the truth.
It has, therefore, been judged best to give the explanation publicity in this form, so that while not given official sanction, it may bring to light other testimonies supporting its amazing account of the most singular phase in the world’s history, if such testimonies are in existence. Those who believe they can prove — or authoritatively disprove the statements made are, therefore, invited to communicate with the secretary of the Historical Research Section, United States Commission on War History, Washington, District of Columbia.
CHAPTER I.
THE LIQUID MYSTERY.
My name is John A. Cummings. Until three years ago. I was an assistant in the laboratory test department of the International Power and Mechanical Company, in the central office, in the Power Building, Columbus Circle, New York City. I am writing this narrative, in the briefest possible form, upon the last paper left to me, in a cave in the Sierra Nevadas. I shall place the paper in an iron tube which I have been able to manufacture from an old gun-barrel, and bury it at the foot of the mountain, with a mark above it, in the hope that it may prove of service to my fellow men of the future, if they do not continue to go down into savagery, and are able to rebuild the civilization which has so swiftly and frightfully perished. I am not long for this world, but I pray God I may finish this last act of service.
I shall tell my story from the point of view of my own personal observations only, leaving to others better qualified the task of relating the complete account of the matter. But in order that what I have to say may be thoroughly understood, in its relation to the world catastrophe, I shall say a few words about the wider aspect of the case before proceeding with my own story.
It was the day before Easter, 1919, that all the wireless stations, the cables, the telegraphs, and all other forms of communication, spread throughout the world the glad tidings that the international treaty of peace had been signed by the delegates assembled at the peace council in Zurich, Switzerland. The last obstacle had been removed by the belated agreement of the delegates to the ninth article of the treaty — that relating to the method as well as to the principle of the democratization of the European governments. It was well understood that this article was formulated by the President personally, and that he insisted, and was backed up by his country in his insistence, that it be fully complied with. As it had been the splendid fighting power of the new American armies which had compelled the peace, and as those armies were growing greater and stronger every day, there was nothing left for the Central Empires but compliance. Moreover, the rulers knew the people had already agreed, in their hearts, and in their wills, to the democratic idea.
I shall proceed from this point, onward for fifteen years. Once the sword was laid down, and the brief period of reaction from strenuous labor and violent efforts of all kinds had run its course, there was ushered in a most marvelous epoch of international reconstruction, in all its phases, industrial and social and political.
“Build! Build! Build!
“Restore! Restore! Restore!
“Create! Create! Create!”
This was the great song of humanity.
While governments everywhere throughout the world were rapidly assuming forms which gave labor and the mass of the people greater and more lasting power and influence, labor itself, and the bulk of the people, appalled by the things which had happened in Russia and elsewhere, as a result of one-sided class rule, displayed a very practical realization of the necessity of cooperating with capitalists, and men of organizing and administrative ability. Consequently new organizations arose in which labor and capital and men of special abilities coordinated most effectively.
The International Power and Mechanical Company was perhaps the most remarkable example of this new alliance among men of all sorts and conditions in the work of reconstructing the war-torn earth, and at the time of which I am now writing — the year 1934 — not only was the I. P. M., as it was popularly termed, doing the greater bulk of the reconstruction work in Europe, rebuilding cities, and railroads, and cathedrals, but it was also monopolizing the supplying of power, of all kinds, to the vast city of New York; while its multitudinous branches accomplished the same result in most other cities. And as all its operations were controlled by a really effective and wise system of governmental supervision, this efficient centralization of mechanical operations was approved by all.
Hold on, though, I’ll take that back. It was not approved by all. I am forgetting Dr. David Evans, and the warning which he gave to the I. P. M. — that strange warning which, if we had heeded, might possibly have averted the catastrophe.
Dr. David Evans and his warning brings me to the story of those awful days, so swiftly drawing down upon the world, as I observed them.
It was my duty, as the assistant to the chief of the laboratory test department, to perform most of the important analyses of materials and chemicals entering into our mechanical constructions, and on June 12, 1934, my chief, Dr. Richard Meehan, called me into his office and gave me a small bottle of a bluish-colored liquid, instructing me to analyze its contents as speedily as possible. He said nothing as to the nature of the liquid, nor of the reason for his request for speed.
I went to my private laboratory, which was at the northeast corner of the fiftieth story of the Power Building, intending to hasten through the analysis, so that I might meet my wife at five o’clock, for dinner down-town. It was then three o’clock, and I judged that the operation was a very simple matter.
As a matter of fact, I did not leave my laboratory for two days, and, before I completed my task, I was utilizing the services of every member of my staff, more than seventy chemists in all. The great Edison tradition was the guiding principle of the I. P. M., namely, that when there is something to do, why, go ahead and do it, and eat and sleep as best you may.
Finally I went to Dr. Meehan’s office. I saw a faint smile cross his massive, clean-shaven face as he swung about in his chair and looked at me. I dare say I was a very unshaven and disheveled person.
“Well?” he asked.
“Dr. Meehan,” I said, “I shall have to request you to check up all my reports before I commit myself to my decision in this matter.”
“All right,” he quietly said: “but give me your decision without committing yourself.”
” My decision, then,” I replied, “is that the blue liquid is either an absolutely new substance which I can’t believe — or else it is a combination of known elements mixed in such a way as to produce something wholly new to chemical science. In short, no chemist can analyze that liquid — unless you can.”
He looked at me and nodded.
“I have already failed,” he said.
“Gee whiz!” I gasped. Nobody but a chemist of that particular period can appreciate my surprise, for Dr. Meehan was head and shoulders the superior to any chemist in the world, According to my way of thinking, which simply reflected the judgment of the profession — though in my case there was also my great admiration for him as a man — the problem that baffled Richard Meehan was not a problem, it was an impossibility.
“Yes, Jack,” he nodded. “I can’t analyze the stuff any more than you can. I hoped I had made some mistake, which was why I put you on the job. Jack,” he conttinued with a change of voice in which there was something almost solemn, “sit down and give me your close attention.”
He looked at me again, then shook his leonine head. “But no,” he quickly decided. “You’re played out.”
I attempted a protest.
“No, no,” he said decidedly; “it would not be right to talk with you now. Go home and sleep for twelve hours. Be here to-morrow at this hour. Don’t let me see you show your nose before that time. Vamoose!”
Naturally, I obeyed my orders.
On my way out of the building I met my cousin, Jarvis Cummings, secretary to the accident claims commissioner of the I. P. M. He was just leaving the office of Lawrence Dunn, the chief of our special detective force, and he looked so odd — sort of half scared, half perplexed — that I stopped him and said:
“What’s up, Jarvis?”
He stared at me, saying: “What’s the matter with you yourself?”
“Oh, I’ve been on a work jamboree for a couple of days and nights,” I answered.
“Well, I’ve been having the scare of my life,” said he.
“What’s scared you?” I asked.
He glanced about the great domed hallway, which occupied the central part of the huge Power Building, on the main floor.
“Can’t talk here. But I do want to talk to you, Jack,” he said. “Can’t you come into the restaurant and take a cup of coffee with me?”
“All right,” I said, and we entered the company’s lunch-room.
RADIUM AGE PROTO-SF: “Radium Age” is Josh Glenn’s name for the nascent sf genre’s c. 1900–1935 era, a period which saw the discovery of radioactivity, i.e., the revelation that matter itself is constantly in movement — a fitting metaphor for the first decades of the 20th century, during which old scientific, religious, political, and social certainties were shattered. More info here.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: James Parker’s Cocky the Fox | Annalee Newitz’s “The Great Oxygen Race” | Matthew Battles’s “Imago” | & many more original and reissued novels and stories.