THE LEARNING MAZE

Robert Bloch

Jon couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been in the Maze.

He must have been very young at first, because his earliest recollection was a confused impression of lying on his back and sucking greedily from a tube extended by a Feeder.

The Feeder, of course, was a servo-mechanism, but Jon didn’t realize that until much later. At the time, he was only aware of the tall tangle of moving metal hovering over him and extending a hollow tentacle toward his eager lips. There had been a Changer too, approaching him at regular intervals to remove soiled clothing, cleanse his body and cover it with fresh garments.

Jon’s memories became more vivid as his areas of perception slowly extended. The first unit of the Maze was a vast enclosure in which hundreds of infants lay in their individual plastic life-support units while the Feeders and Changers moved amongst them. From time to time another type of servo-mechanism appeared without warning, disturbing the regular rhythm of eating, sleeping, and elimination by superimposing its bulk upon his body.

Now Jon realized it must have been a Medimechanism, but he still thought of it as a spider—a gigantic insectoid creature straddling him on extended silvery legs as its myriad extra appendages poked and probed the organs and orifices of his body. It recorded pulse, respiration, brain-wave patterns, and his entire metabolism and corrected deficiencies by injection. Jon could still remember the sting of the needles and how he had writhed and screamed.

Naturally he’d feared and hated the process. Even now that he knew the whole procedure was impersonal and computer-directed for his welfare and well-being, he still resented it.

The other infants had screamed, too. But not everything was that unpleasant. As time passed, they began to move around more freely, aided by handgrips within their cubicles, and then they started to crawl. Jon crawled with them, eventually leaving the shelter of the life-support unit to seek the source of sounds and images beyond.

The sounds and images came from the walls, from the closed-circuit televisor screens. The screens sang soothingly to him at night, and by day they showed images of other infants crawling and feeding happily. Watching the screens, Jon and his peer group began to imitate the actions of the images; soon they learned to take nourishment from little sterile containers deposited by the Feeders at regular intervals once the tubes were no longer offered. Some of Jon’s companions cried when the tubes disappeared, but in time they all began to eat what was set before them.

They began the educational process, and that, of course, was the real function of the Learning Maze—to teach them how to live and grow.

In the antiseptic atmosphere of the chamber with its controlled temperature and humidity levels, they watched the infant-images on the screens as the figures crawled, then stood erect and took their first faltering steps.

Imitating them, Jon started to walk. Soon all the others were walking, exploring the chamber and one another. Touch, bodily contact, the discovery and awareness of differences and similarities, sexual awakening—all of this was a part of learning.

The Maze guarded and waited, and when the time came, its screens disappeared into the walls and there was only a doorway visible at the far end of the chamber. Through that doorway Jon could glimpse another chamber beyond, filled with other youngsters larger than himself who walked freely without falling and uttered complicated sounds as they pursued fascinating, glittering objects in bigger and brighter surroundings.

At first Jon merely watched, uncertain and afraid. Then, inevitably, came an urge to move through the doorway. There was no barrier, no impediment, and he entered easily into the adjoining section of the Maze.

Here the individual plastic cubicles were larger and the screens more sophisticated in their offerings. They still sang soothingly at night, but by day they talked to him.

Night was dark and day was light; that was one of the first things Jon learned. Even before he could understand the words, Jon learned many things. He learned to dispense with the Feeders and Changers because here the servo-mechanisms were different. Their metallic shapes roughly resembled his own on a larger scale; they had arms and legs and heads and they moved about almost in the same fashion that he did. Only, of course, mechanisms never seemed to tire or express emotion. Perhaps that’s why they had no faces—merely a blank surface meshed over the front of their heads through which voices filtered instructions and commands. Gradually Jon began to understand the voices, whether they issued from the screens or from the servo-mechanisms, and presently he learned to respond and to answer in kind.

Soon Jon was established in a normal pattern of boyhood. He played with the glittering objects—the educational toys which tested and extended physical strength, improved his motor reflexes and coordination, and taught him mechanical dexterity and skills. He talked to his companions, all of whom were males. He made friends and enemies, embarked upon the give-and-take of social relationships, rivalries, and dependencies. Competition provided him with motivation; he wanted to excel in order to attract attention and approval.

Jon’s orientation came from the screens. As he grew older, he became aware of the world beyond—the real world outside the Learning Maze. The world which had once existed without mazes of any sort and in which human beings had lived all their lives with only the crudest kind of servo-mechanisms to help them. History—or theirstory, as it was now correctly called—dealt with the quaint quality of this primitive culture in which the biological parents undertook the education of their offspring, assisted by crude instructional institutions.

The combined effects of emotional conflict and ignorance had their inevitable effect: the world had been plunged into endless warfare in which both the inhabitants and their natural environment were almost totally destroyed.

Then, and only then, the Learning Maze concept came to the rescue. Once a mere toy for the study of animal behavior in old-fashioned “laboratories,” then a simple experimental device developed for the psychological conditioning of children in a few “universities,” the Learning Maze principle had been expanded to bring true sanity and civilization to mankind. The perfection of various types of servo-mechanisms, completely controlled by computerization, eliminated all error.

Gone was the outmoded human hierarchy of masters and servants that had created destruction. Today these roles were played by machines and man was free to fulfill his true function—learning how to live.

Jon soon realized that his only problem was how to avoid pitfalls along the way. Because there were pitfalls in the Learning Maze. Although the surface beneath his feet seemed solid and substantial, it could give way. He’d seen it happen.

Not all his companions learned as quickly as he did. Some of them seemed uninterested in watching the screens and absorbing the information they provided. If this indifference persisted, the servo-mechanisms noted it and took action.

The action was simple and direct, but startlingly effective. The mechanism merely focused its blank-faced attention on a lazy or noncompetitive youngster and then, with a quick gesture, reached up and pulled a switch located at the side of its metal head. Suddenly, without warning, the ground directly under the child parted and he fell into the dark opening below. Sometimes there was a scream, but usually it happened too quickly for that—for, in an instant, the gaping hole was gone again as though it and the child it had swallowed no longer existed.

No one ever discovered what happened to those who disappeared and neither the screens nor the servo-mechanisms offered any explanation. Jon’s companions couldn’t find any physical evidence pointing to the exact location of the pitfalls; they seemed to be completely camouflaged and scattered at random all over the Maze, so there was no way in which to avoid them. There were all sorts of guesses, but no one really knew and it was better not to think too much about it. The important thing was to realize the danger existed and could confront one at any time. Pulling the switch was the punishment for not learning, for being unable to learn, and for being too sick or too weak or too helpless to learn.

But learning brought rewards. Because now, once again, another doorway appeared leading to an area beyond. Peering through it, Jon could see a new vista of the Maze, expanded and elaborate, filled with evidence of exciting activity.

The screens told him about that activity—about males and females and the pleasure of their relationships. The responses of his own body affirmed the truth of what he was told. Jon and his companions were anxious to enter that next section and enter into its activities. But when they attempted to move through, an invisible barrier prevented their progress.

Not yet, said the voices from the screens. You must learn more before you’re ready.

Impatiently, Jon and the others looked and listened, but their inner awareness was concentrated on the delights beyond the doorway. From time to time, someone would desert his learning-post and steal away towards the other chamber, but always a servo-mechanism barred his path and uttered a warning. If ignored, the mechanism pulled its switch and the heedless one dropped down to disappear.

But there were moments when Jon and his fellows were unobserved, and then they would steal up to the opening to stare at the scene beyond and to test the invisible force-field of the barrier.

Eventually they grew stronger or the barrier became weaker; finally, one by one, they broke through. And there, in the next segment of the Maze, Jon and the others found their females. Pairing off, they sought still larger cubicles to share with their partners, and the pattern of existence changed.

Jon’s partner was called Ava; it was she who now prepared the food left by the servo-mechanisms who ministered to the needs of this section. At first Jon was not too greatly interested in food, but as time passed, and the novelty of physical contact waned, nourishment and comfort became more important again.

Once more Jon learned the pattern of rewards and punishments governing this area of the Maze. Food was distributed only to those who were willing to spend time watching the screens. Since Ava seemed completely absorbed in the day-to-day routine of life within their cubicle, Jon was forced to appear regularly before a screen as further lessons in living were presented.

The images were quite diversified and complex now—there were scenes of full-grown adults engaging in a great variety of activities. Some seemed to be full-time screen-watchers, some appeared to ignore the screens and devote themselves to tests of strength with companions, rivaling them for the interest of females.

Jon was not tired of Ava, but he found himself studying various techniques of competition with increasing interest. It would appear that in the real world he was preparing to enter, the biggest and strongest acquired the best cubicles and the most attractive females. In addition, they received the envy and admiration of their companions.

The more Jon learned, the more interested he became in testing his own powers. Ava’s simple responses began to bore him; she wasn’t concerned with what he told her about the real world beyond and couldn’t understand why he was dissatisfied to stay here forever.

But Jon was tired of the tedium of screen-watching and apprehensive about the fate of his fellows who balked. He had seen them deprived of food by the servo-mechanisms for neglecting their daily duties. Some of those who were content to become completely absorbed in relationships with their partners had already disappeared. There seemed to be no penalty for the females; their limited interests didn’t stamp them as inferior, for their previous conditioning had obviously been different. But the males were obligated to continue the learning-process, and Jon knew he must comply.

Besides, a new opening had appeared in the far wall of the chamber, and now he found himself moving forward to gaze into the next complex beyond.

Jon knew without being told that this must be the real world—the world for which he’d prepared to dwell in during all this period of study and growth.

What waited beyond the invisible barrier was not a simple chamber, but a huge series of corridors, each with an opening which afforded a partial, tantalizing glimpse of activity within. Others like himself prowled these corridors, entering various compartments at will and exiting to move along into still other portions of the Maze. Jon could not see any screens on the corridor walls and that was good. Here men seemed to be living, not learning. They were coupling with many females, carrying huge accumulations of food and clothing from one place to another, trading and exchanging various articles and fighting off others who attempted to take a portion for themselves without permission or barter agreements.

Jon couldn’t wait to join them. And when he crowded up to the opening, he found himself passing through without hindrance—and without a thought of Ava left behind him. Ava, with her dull conversation, her duller caresses, and her swollen belly.

Once across the barrier, Jon forgot Ava completely. There was so much to see, so much to do, for this tangle of corridors stretched off endlessly in all directions, opening upon many types of rooms and rooms within rooms. But it was still a part of the Maze.

From what he’d seen on the outside, Jon had thought there would be no more screens; now he realized he was mistaken, for, if anything, their numbers had increased. The difference was that there was no longer any uniformity to the images on the screens or the messages they imparted.

Pausing at a chamber doorway, Jon could hear some voices from the screens urging him to enter, promising him all sorts of rewards, and describing the pleasures of participation in the activities within. Other voices, equally shrill and urgent, warned him to keep out, to seek still more distant rooms.

The servo-mechanisms were here, too, though less noticeable, for now they more closely resembled Jon’s living companions. They moved naturally; their gestures were less stiff and more assured, their voices rang with confident authority. At first Jon wasn’t even able to identify them as mechanisms because they were masked in faces simulating flesh; faces that smiled benevolently, grinned confidently, or frowned sternly. “Follow me,” they said, and Jon joined the group obediently to be led into a bewildering array of vast, arena-like enclosures.

In one such place, a leader gathered together all those with fair complexions while another assembled those with darker skins. From the walls, the screens screamed at both groups in turn, exciting them with alternate threats and promises, urging them to destroy their opposites.

The noise was ceaseless, the confusion incredible, and in the struggle that followed, the leaders stood aside observing. When one of Jon’s companions slackened, the inevitable gesture was made—a hand went to the side of the head and one of the invisible seams opened to engulf the offender.

It was only then that Jon realized the leaders were servo-mechanisms, for when the switches operated, the masks sometimes slipped to one side and Jon could see the blank, featureless surface beneath, totally devoid of any resemblance to humanity.

That was when Jon fought his way through the struggling throng and escaped into a corridor, only to be swept along into another area where the chief activity seemed to be the removal of metal discs affixed to the walls of the chamber.

Here the screens displayed glittering panoplies of such discs, while their voices extolled the glory of gathering them together and heaping them up into huge piles. According to the screens, great skill and intelligence were required to perform this feat, and there was no higher goal than the acquisition and arrangement of discs. As if to prove the point, large numbers of exotically-dressed, youthful females prowled about inspecting the heaps and offering themselves to those who had managed to accumulate the largest portions.

But Jon observed that the females seldom stayed long with any one accumulator; they always seemed attracted by another collector with a still larger heap.

Jon also noted that obtaining the discs was not an easy procedure; prying them from their fastenings in the walls was a painful task which made the fingers bleed. Sometimes rival disc-gatherers fought with one another over the discovery of a fresh cluster of discs, and many times they resorted to stealing discs from the collections of their companions. Indeed, it seemed as if the most truly imposing amounts were gathered in just this way—by theft alone.

Wrenching discs free from the walls was more exhausting and a much slower process; sometimes it was necessary to stand on tiptoe for those beyond reach, or to crouch to burrow at the very base of the walls. Yet there was a strange compulsive element involved; those who toiled eventually became so absorbed that they could not even be distracted by the young, nubile females, and even food and slumber seemed unimportant. Similarly, the thieves came to devote themselves solely to stealing, with equally tiring results.

When the efforts slackened or ceased through utter exhaustion, the servo-mechanisms appeared, pushing aside their sober masks to pull the switch. Thus, disc-gatherers and disc-stealers alike disappeared, leaving only a shining heap as a memento of existence—a heap that was immediately plundered by waiting rivals.

But these were only two of the many areas which Jon discovered in the Maze. There was a shouting section—he could think of it in no other terms—in which every occupant was encouraged to drown out the voices of his fellows and reduce them to the status of listeners. Here the rivals emulated the voices from the screens, uttering promises, blandishments, flattery, and exhortations, while at the same time denouncing the words of all the others in a continuous effort to attract the less articulate to support their stated purposes.

At first Jon tried to listen, but the more he heard, the more confused he became. Some praised those who fought in the arena sections, some denounced them; some extolled the virtues of disc-accumulators and others derided. But in the end, their voices hoarsened and failed and their audiences turned away to hear the same messages couched in slightly different phrases by younger and louder voices. When this happened, a servo-mechanism appeared to seek out the speechless orator—deserted by all—and to make the inevitable movement towards the side of the head.

In another area, Jon found speakers equally dedicated to attracting followers, but using softer and more persuasive tones. They spoke of the great secret of the Learning Maze, the secret that had been imparted to them as a special dispensation. Praising the voices from the screens, they explained that the commands and injunctions issuing from them were often cryptic and mysterious and had to be interpreted by speakers such as themselves in order that all might understand.

However, each speaker seemed to have a different explanation of the meaning of the Maze—its creation, its purpose, and how one must conduct oneself within it. Each speaker disputed the statements of his fellows, even to the minor points of words and phrases used by them, so that in the end, the soft voices gave way to angry shouts, denunciations, threats of endless punishment, and commands to destroy all those who refused to agree without question. The speaker would always call upon the servo-mechanisms to punish and eliminate the nonbelievers.

Some of the talk interested Jon at the beginning, for he had often tried to figure out the program of the Maze, but when talk gave way to outcry, it became incoherent and bewildering. Jon noted that the servo-mechanisms never came upon command to destroy the speakers’ enemies. Only when all the prayers for vengeance died did the mechanisms finally appear to make the gesture which removed speakers and followers alike. In the end, no one who stayed in this chamber was spared, whatever his beliefs.

Jon remembered a section where all occupants seemed to be engaged in an endless and complicated measurement-process. Dedicated to observation, they gravely calculated the area of the room, analyzed and tabulated the components of the atmosphere within it, and even attempted to measure one another.

These observers took great pride in their efforts and loudly proclaimed their superiority to those in other sections of the Maze. Someday, they asserted, they would take their rightful place as rulers of the Maze, once they had mastered all its secrets by their methods of measurement.

What was not readily described in terms of size or mass or velocity of movement, they theorized about, paying particular attention to the phenomena of the wall screens and servo-mechanisms, and attempting to fully explain their functions and purposes. But no two theories were exactly alike, and new measurements and methods of measurement constantly superseded the old, so that the end result was once again argument and anger. With all of the careful devotion to the accumulation of data and all of the energy expanded in expounding theory, the room itself remained fixed and unchanged except in minor details. Its occupants never left it until one of the servo-mechanisms—its functions still unfathomable, despite all the hypotheses—made the final motion that put an end to further inquiry.

Again Jon refused to become completely involved in such activity and sought out other sections. There was a new arena where the young seemed to be pitted against the old, each denouncing the other for a greedy and self-centered attempt to take control. But as the young became older, they seemed to switch allegiance, and this so confused Jon that he was impelled to move on.

In another place, food and sex and accumulation appeared unimportant to the occupants. They lay in a drugged stupor, oblivious to their surroundings except for the times when the screens flickered wildly and projected flashes of unrecognizable imagery or assaulted them with screaming sounds. Occasionally, a few of the group would rouse long enough to imitate what they saw or heard, painting weird squiggles upon canvas and even upon their own bodies, or plucking crude instruments to which they wailed accompaniment. What they sang and shouted made little sense to those who were not drugged like themselves. Eventually they relapsed into a mumbling preoccupation, gazing raptly at their faces in tiny mirrors that distorted their features beyond recognition until they came to resemble hairy beasts. Servo-mechanisms moved to those sunk in the deepest stupor, and their switches were swift.

Jon continued on, vaguely conscious that he was gradually coming to know the various routes and recesses of the Maze. Eventually he came upon a room that seemed more inviting than the others, even though the servo-mechanism posted at the doorway did not urge him to enter. Perhaps it was this that attracted him, or the fact that the mechanism wore a different mask. In place of human features, there was only a surface emblazoned with a symbol. Jon recognized the curlicue and dot as something he’d seen on a screen long ago—a question mark.

Intrigued, he glanced into the room of silence. A few men sat cross-legged on the floor, gazing at screens that were utterly blank and from which issued only a faint, deep drone. The drone was somehow soothing, but those who listened did not seem to be drugged or sleeping, merely contemplative.

Weary of walking, weary of peering and puzzling, Jon moved into the chamber. Almost automatically, he sank down and assumed the cross-legged position, staring up at a screen. For a moment it seemed that he could see into the emptiness to catch a fleeting glimpse of something beyond. And wasn’t there a voice whispering within the drone?

Concentrating with all his being, Jon strained to see, to hear. But the more he tried, the less he perceived, for such exertion only made him conscious of himself.

He finally relaxed, and then it came. Making no attempt to see, he saw. Making no effort to hear, he heard. But the vision and voice came from within, and suddenly they blended into revelation.

For the first time, Jon understood the Learning Maze. Completely computerized, completely controlled, it was a reasoned reproduction of the past—mankind’s past, in all its aspects, recapitulated in physical form. These were the life-styles constructed by men in the real world long ago, and which they had followed to their own destruction.

Those who sought sensory stimulation to the exclusion of all else were doomed. Those who pursued power, those who concentrated upon accumulating meaningless tokens of ownership, those who fought one another over differences in appearance or belief, were destined for extinction. Preoccupation with data or theory for its own sake was self-defeating, the distortion of phenomena by means of theology, pharmacology, or art was meaningless.

All activity, all inquiry, all self-scrutiny and self-indulgence had its place in the scheme of things, but only in moderation and only as means to an end. The purpose of the Maze was to teach by precept and example, to pinpoint the pitfalls endangering men in their ancestral past and their own individual futures. It illustrated the myriad facets of existence and illuminated the dangers of surrendering wholly to any one phase of behavior in its extreme. The whole man knew and experienced life as a whole, but never gave himself completely to a fraction—only to totality.

In its system of rewards and punishment, the Learning Maze eliminated the weak and unfit from among those seeking to journey through it and emerge into the real world beyond.

Even contemplation such as this could become a self-limiting and self-destructive thing; awareness was granted for a purpose—for use in actual living.

It was time now to leave the Maze, and at last, Jon knew the way.

When he emerged from contemplation and left the quiet drone of the chamber, he no longer hesitated. The method was so simple once one grasped it. These rooms were only blind alleys set to trap the unaware; it was the corridor itself that was important. All he had to do was concentrate upon its convolutions and follow the path to the outer portals.

There was no longer any need to pause or peer or participate—he had experienced enough of the chambers so that his curiosity was no longer aroused by them. Now he was free to direct his footsteps towards the greater goal.

It was almost as though instinct had taken over, finding the proper route for him. Ignoring sham and semblance, he moved towards substance and reality. He came to a point where the twisted passageways merged into a single continuous corridor leading straight upwards.

Now, directly ahead of him, Jon could see the actual opening and the light beyond; not the artificial light of the caverns but the light of reality.

He hastened towards it, toiling up the steep slant with renewed resolution. There was no obstacle now, nothing to impede his progress.

A servo-mechanism loomed up before him at the very threshold, but Jon’s pace did not slacken. He pressed forward, purposeful and determined, his body weary but his voice firm with resolve.

“Let me pass,” he commanded.

The mechanism stood motionless, its featureless face staring, seeming to question without speaking.

Jon, sensing the question, voiced his answer.

“Why? Because I’ve had enough of faceless authority, of artificial motivation, meaningless routine and still more meaningless change. I’ve learned all you can teach me here. Now I’m ready to live in the real world.”

“But you have lived all your life in the real world,” said the mechanism softly. “Try to understand.”

Jon tried, but there wasn’t much time.

Because the mechanism was already pulling the switch.