My actual work for illustration project at university. Vitali Konstantinov was my mentor at this time. The job was to work with a dystopic literary source to create some illustrations of key scenes. We had free choice of texts. I decided to work with a text from Philip K. Dick because I love his narrative style.
"Autofac" is a 1955 science fiction short story by Philip K. Dick that features one of the earliest treatments of self-replicating machines. It is set some years after an apocalyptic world war has devastated Earth's civilizations, leaving only a network of hardened robot "autofacs" in operation to supply goods to the human survivors. Once humanity has recovered enough to want to begin reconstruction, the autofacs are immediately targeted for shutdown since they monopolize the planet's resources. Unfortunately, the ability to control the autofacs was lost in the war. This leaves the future of humanity, and the planet, in uncertainty as the autofacs consume every resource they can attain to produce what they perceive as needed. The story involves the human survivors as they try to steal the supplies they need and search for a way to take the power of production back into their own hands.
Nervous Guys
Tension hung over the three waiting men. They smoked,paced back and forth, kicked aimlessly at weeds growing by the sideof the road. A hot noonday sun glared down on brown fields, rows of neat plastichouses, the distant line of mountains to the west. "Almost time," Earl Ferine said, knottinghis skinny hands together. "It varies according to the load, a half second for everyadditional pound." Bitterly, Morrison answered,
"You've got itplotted? You're as bad as it is. Let's pretend it just happens to be late."
The third man said nothing. O'Neill was visiting fromanother settlement; he didn't know Ferine and Morrison well enough toargue with them. Instead, he crouched down and arranged the papers clipped to hisaluminum check-board. In the blazing sun, O'Neill's arms were tanned, furry,glistening with sweat. Wiry, with tangled gray hair, horn-rimmed glasses, hewas older than the other two. He wore slacks, a sports shirt and crepe-soled shoes.Between his fingers, his fountain pen glittered, metallic and efficient.
The Truck
The truck was massive, rumbling under its tightlypacked load. In many ways, it resembled conventional human-operatedtransportation vehicles, but with one exception -- there was no driver's cabin. Thehorizontal surface was a loading stage, and the part that would normally be theheadlights and radiator grill was a fibrous spongelike mass of receptors, thelimited sensory apparatus of this mobile utility extension.
The truck was massive, rumbling under its tightlypacked load. In many ways, it resembled conventional human-operatedtransportation vehicles, but with one exception -- there was no driver's cabin. Thehorizontal surface was a loading stage, and the part that would normally be theheadlights and radiator grill was a fibrous spongelike mass of receptors, thelimited sensory apparatus of this mobile utility extension.
Aware of the three men, the truck slowed to a halt,shifted gears and pulled on its emergency brake. A moment passed as relaysmoved into action; then a portion of the loading surface tilted and a cascade of heavy cartons spilled down onto the roadway. With the objects fluttered a detailedinventory sheet.
The Factory Representative
Judith O'Neill served hot black coffee to the people sitting around the living room. Her husband talked while the others listened. O'Neill was as close tobeing an authority on the autofac system as could still be found. In his own area, the Chicago region, he had shorted out the protective fence of the local factory long enough to get away with data tapes stored in its posterior brain. The factory, of course, had immediately reconstructed a better type offence. But he had shown that the factories were not infallible....
A figure had come into the room; it stood silently by the door, surveying them all. In the dull shadows, the figure looked almost human. For a brief moment, O'Neill thought it was a settlement latecomer. Then, as it moved forward, he realized that it was only quasi-human: a functional upright biped chassis, with data-receptors mounted at the top, effectors and proprioceptors mounted in a downward worm that ended in floor-grippers. Its resemblance to a human being was testimony to nature's efficiency; no sentimental imitation was intended. The factory representative had arrived.
Judith O'Neill served hot black coffee to the people sitting around the living room. Her husband talked while the others listened. O'Neill was as close tobeing an authority on the autofac system as could still be found. In his own area, the Chicago region, he had shorted out the protective fence of the local factory long enough to get away with data tapes stored in its posterior brain. The factory, of course, had immediately reconstructed a better type offence. But he had shown that the factories were not infallible....
A figure had come into the room; it stood silently by the door, surveying them all. In the dull shadows, the figure looked almost human. For a brief moment, O'Neill thought it was a settlement latecomer. Then, as it moved forward, he realized that it was only quasi-human: a functional upright biped chassis, with data-receptors mounted at the top, effectors and proprioceptors mounted in a downward worm that ended in floor-grippers. Its resemblance to a human being was testimony to nature's efficiency; no sentimental imitation was intended. The factory representative had arrived.
Recon Flight
Helicopter rotors whined tinnily above O'Neill's head; he ignored them and peered through the cabin window at the ground not far below. Slag and ruins stretched everywhere. Weeds poked their way up, sickly stalks among which insects scuttled.
...
To the right was a human colony, tattered scarecrows, gaunt and emaciated, living among the ruins of what had once been a town.
...
"Ruins-squatters," O'Neill said gloomily. "Too far from the network -- not tangent to any of the factories."
Helicopter rotors whined tinnily above O'Neill's head; he ignored them and peered through the cabin window at the ground not far below. Slag and ruins stretched everywhere. Weeds poked their way up, sickly stalks among which insects scuttled.
...
To the right was a human colony, tattered scarecrows, gaunt and emaciated, living among the ruins of what had once been a town.
...
"Ruins-squatters," O'Neill said gloomily. "Too far from the network -- not tangent to any of the factories."
The Decoy
For a time, there was no movement. A streak of stars showed in the sky overhead, glowing starkly, remotely. Earl Ferine shivered, peered up and huddled closer to the pulsing heat-element placed on the ground between the three men. "Well?" Morrison challenged, teeth chattering. O'Neill didn't answer. He finished his cigarette, crushed it against a mound of decaying slag and, getting out his lighter, lit another. The mass of tungsten -- the bait -- lay a hundred yards directly ahead of them.
...
Dark mist lay spread over the tungsten mound. Occasionally, a night moth fluttered down, attracted by the glow of reflected starlight.
...
As he gunned the truck motor, something flashed a long way off, something large and metallic, moving over the dead slag and ash. It was a dense clot of carts, a solid expanse of heavy-duty ore carriers racing to the scene. Which factory were they from?
For a time, there was no movement. A streak of stars showed in the sky overhead, glowing starkly, remotely. Earl Ferine shivered, peered up and huddled closer to the pulsing heat-element placed on the ground between the three men. "Well?" Morrison challenged, teeth chattering. O'Neill didn't answer. He finished his cigarette, crushed it against a mound of decaying slag and, getting out his lighter, lit another. The mass of tungsten -- the bait -- lay a hundred yards directly ahead of them.
...
Dark mist lay spread over the tungsten mound. Occasionally, a night moth fluttered down, attracted by the glow of reflected starlight.
...
As he gunned the truck motor, something flashed a long way off, something large and metallic, moving over the dead slag and ash. It was a dense clot of carts, a solid expanse of heavy-duty ore carriers racing to the scene. Which factory were they from?
War Of The Machines
Now that the conflict had been sparked, he felt a growing, frigid terror. "Pittsburgh and Detroit are in it to the finish. It's too late for us to change our minds, now -- they're lining up allies."
Now that the conflict had been sparked, he felt a growing, frigid terror. "Pittsburgh and Detroit are in it to the finish. It's too late for us to change our minds, now -- they're lining up allies."
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