INTRODUCTION
Volodymyr Vladko, the pseudonym of V. N. Eromchenko, was a prominent Ukrainian author, who began publishing journalism in 1917, and started writing science fiction in 1926 with the story "Rocket Plane S-218". "The Defeat of Jonathan Govers" was initially published in Ukrainian under the title "Jonathan Govers' Mistake" in the magazine "Knowledge and Work", 1929, No. 3, with illustrations by J. Deitz. It was later republished in Vladko's 1936 anthology "Twelve Stories". Later, the author reworked this story into the story "The Robots are Coming!" (1931), and again later in the novel "Iron Revolt" (1967).
Vladko's most famous work within the Soviet Union was "Argonauts of the Universe" (1935), and was extremely well recognized within the Soviet Union, being awarded two Orders of the Badge of Honor, a Certificate of Honor from the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Ukrainian SSR, a Certificate of Honor from the Pravda newspaper, and Certificates of Honor from the Central Committee of the Komsomol. Vladko remained a prolific writer in both print and radio until his death in 1974.
Despite this, and the fact that his works have been translated into Russian, Belarusian, Bulgarian, Hungarian, Lithuanian, German, Serbian, Czech and Japanese, it appears he is almost totally unknown within the English speaking world. We are not aware of any previous translations of any of his works into English.
A translation of the original version of the story into Russian was done by Semyon Gogolin, which can be found here: https://coollib.com/b/286234/read#t1
This translation was based off of the original Ukrainian, which can be found in the modern Vladko anthology "A Meeting in Space", which includes the illustrations included with the 1929 magazine version can be found here: https://chtyvo.org.ua/authors/Vladko/Zustrich_u_kosmosi_zbirka/
Additionally, the full text of "Twelve Stories", which contains a different illustration, can be found here: https://coollib.net/b/313052-volodimir-mikolayovich-vladko-dvanadtsyat-opovidan/read
For this post, we have incorporated illustrations from both sources.
The story is rather straightforward, but might be useful to note that the words "robot" ("роботар"/"robotar") and "worker" ("робітник"/"robitnyk") are similar and derived from the same source. Additionally, for the name "Govers", it is spelled "говерс" in the original, "г" sometimes transliterated as "H", and "в" sometimes transliterated as "w", so potentially the name could be translated as "Gowers", "Hovers" or "Howers".
THE DEFEAT OF JONATHAN GOVERS
A note was printed in the smallest type (in printing houses it's called "nonpareil") and placed somewhere on page eighteen of the weekly magazine "Scientific News", between a report that another ichthyosaur skeleton had been found in Yellowstone Park and an article about the preliminary results of experiments in directed radio transmission. The note read:
"At the machine-building plants of Jonathan Govers in New Harris, successful attempts are being made to mass-produce mechanical people - robots. According to the information we received, Govers' robots can now already replace people in work with the most complex machines. Production of robots at Govers' company is said to be done in secret. The method in which the robots receive their external power is unknown."
The hand that had been turning the pages of "Scientific News" stopped. Tim Crounty, a reporter for the working-class newspaper "The Chronicle", pushed his immutable horn-rimmed glasses down onto his forehead.
- "Johnny!" - he shouted, addressing the editor's secretary, who was sitting at another table. - "Govers is making robots".
- "Well?"
- "Have you forgotten that New Harris has been on strike for eight days now? The bosses aren't giving in. And what if Govers puts the robots on the machines?"
- "You've got a crazy imagination, Tim! Where'd you get that from?"
Crounty silently slipped him the issue of "Scientific News" with the note about the robots. Johnny re-read it carefully and frowned at Tim.
- "Go, Tim," - he finally said, - "try to find something out. Anything can happen these days."
Thus began this story that was destined to thunder throughout the country. The story that was later called the defeat of Jonathan Govers.
***
In the waiting room of the supreme overlord of the New Harris Junction factories, Mr. Govers, it was quiet and spacious. Crounty waited. He knew that Govers wouldn't talk much. But to turn back was impossible. All the more so as footsteps were already audible outside the door from Govers' secretary, who had reported Crounty's visit and was now coming back. Tim got up from his chair.
- "Mr. Govers will receive you."
Jonathan Govers knew his worth. His full face was stern and motionless. Small gray eyes were looking intently at the interlocutor.
- "I'd like to—" Tim began, but Govers stopped him:
- "I know the purpose of your visit, Mr. Crounty. Unfortunately, I can't tell you anything."
- "But the note..."
- "The note is correct. We're thinking of expanding the production of robots. I can't say any more than that."
- "Are these the automatons that'll replace the workers on the machines?" Tim asked sharply. Govers laughed dryly.
- "I understand, I understand your curiosity. And yet, you will not learn anything from me. However, I can tell you that the factories of New Harris will be in perfect order in a week. The strike will be over."
Tim Crounty smiled inadvertently. Govers noticed this and angrily struck his fist on the table:
- "Right! To hell with you! Look!" - and he pressed a button on the table.
In front of Crounty, doors quietly opened, which had been hidden by the oak paneling of the study. In their black square stood a tall dark figure. Govers' voice rang out dry and ironic:
- "Look, Mr. Crounty, and try to smile again."
Tim Crounty instinctively grabbed the arm of the chair.
- "Don't worry", squeaked Govers's voice.
The robot suddenly turned at Crounty's feet. It extended its hand to Govers, who placed his briefcase in it. Then the robot turned around, and with the same slow steps that made the vase on the table jingle, disappeared behind the door that slid shut behind it.
A cold sweat broke out on Crounty's forehead.
- "Why aren't you smiling?", Govers mockingly squeaked again. - "Tell me, how did you like the automaton?"
- "It gives one the impression of a living person", - Tim said dully.
Govers laughed, - sharply and abruptly:
- "Rest assured, the accuracy of its work is guaranteed. Although the problem is complex, my laboratory, as you can see, has solved it. There will be no more strikes, Mr. Crounty."
- "You're going to use robots instead of workers? But this won't make you any profit. Your robots will be much more expensive than human workers."
- "I know that. Yes, a robot will cost me more than someone who's unemployed. However," - Jonathan Govers raised his hand triumphantly, - "if even it would be unprofitable, - so what? I've demoralized the strike, it will not last. The company will incur losses in replacing human workers with robots. Let it. But in the near future, when the strikers give in, we'll make up for it. However, our conversation is dragging on. All the best, Mr. Crounty!"
***
Days passed, each one the same as the next - gloomy, rainy and harsh. The strike at New Harris continued. Every evening, the workers gathered for volatile meetings, the strike committee had patrols posted, as one could expect the arrival of strikebreakers. Tim Crounty listened with interest to the conversations of the workers. At exactly twelve o'clock every night he went to the telegraph and gave a detailed dispatch on the situation in New Harris. And now, already on the sixth day, these dispatches usually ended like this:
"The position hasn't changed. The bosses won't give in. Among the workers, there are a few people who are uncertain. The strike is holding firm."
On the morning of October 30th, Tim, as usual, left the hotel and headed out for the factory. The workers ran out to meet him: people were excited and inflamed, they ran into the houses, shouted something, and then ran further.
- "Robots!.. Robots!.." - Tim heard amongst their cries.
He worriedly ran a hand over his forehead.
- "Really?... No, it can't be!"
Rattling and clanking, Tim was overtaken by a large, tarpaulin-covered freight hauling truck. He drove further, to those very gates of the factory, and stopped right before them. Armed with rapid-fire rifles and chemical grenades, the police had pushed a crowd of workers back from the gates with a tight chain.
Tim hastened his pace. He didn't want to believe it, but he could already clearly see that the people who had arrived in the truck had quickly thrown back the tarpaulin. They placed a flat board from the vehicle on the ground and began to lower the huge metal figures which resembled people one by one. Then, as if helping to stand them up, the people then raised them. The figures staggered, stood up, and moved with slow heavy steps to the gate, where they passed through and disappeared somewhere into the factory yard.
(Note: this is the only illustration from the 1936 version)
The robots left one by one. They did not hear the curses and damnations from the workers; they were not influenced by the slogans and threats that had been used to intimidate and persuade the hitherto unemployed strikebreakers who had been brought in from other cities. The metallic men walked, firmly stepping on the cobblestones with their steel feet; their heads did not turn, their arms hung soullessly at the sides of their bodies.
One of the members of the strike committee ran up to Tim Crounty:
- "What can we do? We're powerless, Tim. Govers wins!.."
Crounty gritted his teeth. Govers was winning. The robots were going to work the machines. Now the bosses could dictate their terms to the defeated workers. What can we do?
- "This is the sixth truck. The overseer said that fourteen more would come today. An army of automatons," - continued the member of the strike committee.
Tim patted him on the shoulder.
- "Wait. I want to sneak into the factory yard. Will you help me?"
- "It'll be difficult. The yard's guarded by the police. But, - come on, there is one secret passage."
They had to bypass the factory from the northern edge. And wherever they went, policemen were standing at all the gates and passages. Finally, Tim Crounty and his friend reached the warehouse. Here, they hid under the platform where the freight hauling truck approached; Tim's friend confidently made his way between the pillars until he approached a high wall of boards. Here he stopped and with a careful movement, pushed aside two of the boards.
The comrades found themselves in the factory yard near the assembly building. Tim looked around: there was no one here, as the policemen were all standing outside on the other side of the wall. Not far from them, at the main entrance to the building, the guards on duty had only occasionally passed by.
After thanking his companion, Tim carefully approached a large window on the factory's exterior and leaned up against the wall. Through the cloudy panes of the window, one could clearly see the machines standing in long rows. Around them, the gloomy figures of the robots darkened.
The machines were working. The metallic figures moved their arms like levers. These hands made short precise movements, - neither unnecessary motion, nor carelessness. The ideal workers, men of steel, animated by some unknown force, were standing at the machines. Tim Crounty watched ceaselessly.
- "How quiet it must be in the shop..." - he finally whispered. - "Not a word, not a breath... scary even!"
Only occasionally a human walked along the lines of the automatons. This was the overseer, who monitored the work. From time to time he approached one of the robots and with a certain movement, adjusted its function, turning knobs or switches that were visible on both sides of the robots' metallic bodies. Tim Crounty watched.
The minutes passed one by one. And unexpectedly, Crounty noticed how one robot made a wrong move. It staggered, a belt tightened around its arm, and a moment later, the tall metal figure fell to the floor with a thud that Tim heard through the glass. And it was a strange sight, that none of the metallic people who had been working nearby had turned their heads. All of them had remained unconcerned, and continued to work.
The overseer ran up to the fallen robot. He stopped the machine and removed the robot's hand from the wheel. The automaton lay motionless on the floor. Obviously, something had gone wrong with it.
Tim whistled quietly, jumped down from the windowsill and disappeared into the secret passage. He whispered:
- "So, they can also make mistakes? But why, why did this particular robot fail? Why are all the others working?.."
***
Speaking later about those days, Tim Crounty always noted that the main role in the proceeding events did not belong to him, but rather to his comrade, the ardent radio amateur Jim Winston.
It was Jim who came up with the idea that the robots couldn't be controlled by anything other than directed radio waves.
- "Listen," - he convinced Tim, - "it's because there aren't any wires here. These iron devils can't move with the help of batteries or anything else, because there isn't enough space in them for that. They receive power from the outside. Of course, it's only radio waves."
Together with Tim, Winston made his way into the factory yard, towards the windows. And, watching for an entire hour, the two comrades witnessed how the overseers changed several robots that had moving incorrectly and breaking down. The rest of the automatons functioned flawlessly. And in one place only did each newly installed robot seem to malfunction after a few minutes of work. It would make uncertain movements, the result of which was always the same: falling to the ground and crashing.
- "You understand," - Tim whispered to Winston, - "apparently, it's not something with the robots, but rather it's this part of the workshop. Something is preventing the robot from working properly. But what exactly?"
Winston thought. Then he shook his long mane and said almost loudly, forgetting the need to be careful:
- "I know. Note that not far from this place is an electric clock. A complex web of electrical cables runs along the wall. The wires of the entire workshop are concentrated there. Obviously, this wiring system inductively affects things that are close to it, including the robot. Do you understand?"
Tim shook his head no:
- "You see, Jim, I have an old quarrel with electrical engineering, as with all physics and mathematics. However, if you're convinced that the robot is affected by the induction of the wires - I'll agree. Just tell me, what can we get from that?"
- "Only one thing is apparent: the robots are receiving external power with the help of directed radio waves, and are not insulated from other influences either. So..."
- "What?"
- "We'll talk about it later."
It was this moment that Tim Crounty later characterized as the decisive turning point in the entire story of the defeat of Jonathan Govers.
***
It should be noted that from that day on, Jim Winston sat for hours at his tiny short-wave radio transmitter. Tim, who approached Winston, timidly sat down at a distance two meters away from Jim and, listening attentively to the click of the transmitter's telegraph, studied the colorful receipt stickers that hung on the room's walls, which confirmed the friendly radio telegraph conversations that Jim held with the various distant corners of the globe.
Jim worked tirelessly. He tapped something excitedly with the key while simultaneously listening to the distant melody of the singing crackle of the ether. At times, Winston handed Tim another pair of headphones. Tim listened, but he understood nothing.
It seemed as if the black circlets of the telephone when tightly pressed to his ears were holes, through which a strange, barely audible hum of distant spaces floated to him. And in this noise, signals similar to the chirping of an unknown bird stood out: it was the operation of a distant station.
Every day Crounty, together with Winston, at twelve o'clock in the afternoon made his way to the window of the assembly plant and watched the movements of the robots.
The factory was operating at full speed. Over the course of a week, trucks brought in new and newer detachments of metallic people. The machines did not stop, even for a minute; the factory operated twelve hours a day.
Most likely, the overseers had figured out the reasons for the robots' movement malfunctions in the spot where the wires had been intertwined on the wall. Thick cords of cables had been removed from there. The robot now standing in that spot was functioning just as precisely as all the others.
At exactly twelve o'clock in the afternoon, Crounty and Winston eagerly followed the movements of the robots. And every day they joyfully noticed how, at the very moment when the minute hand had approached the narrow little mark near the number "XII" and merged with the hour hand into one, - the robots, visible through the window, had stopped their movements, as if they were compelled by some strange external force to do this.
Every day, more and more oddities could be observed in the robots' movements during the minute that followed noon. Exactly five days later, all the robots had raised their left hands for an instant, as if they had been greeting someone that afternoon.
- "The left! Tim, the left!" Winston whispered enthusiastically, grabbing Tim by the arm.
What did he mean by this?
But that evening, Jim's transmitter was working especially hard. Two members of the strike committee came to see Jim Winston that evening. They conversed for several hours in a row. Then Winston and Crounty went with them to the committee meeting, where hopelessness noticeably reigned. The door was locked - and quietly, in a low voice, Winston had informed the committee about something. This message made the members of the strike committee forget all their worries, forget the grievances of the workers, forget the hopelessness of the situation, - and they listened with new hope to Jim's excited voice.
And when the hoarse siren had sounded from the factory, announcing the end of work, clenching his fist and, threatening the direction of Eighth Avenue where Jonathan Govers, the supreme overlord of the factories and of the situation, was in his marble palace celebrating his victory, Crounty muttered:
- "Just wait! It still remains to be seen who will emerge victorious in this struggle!"
***
The day of November 7th was as gloomy and gray as all the previous ones. The strike lasted for twenty-three days.
And yet, it was no longer a strike, but, more accurately, the hard, desperate obstinacy of hungry workers whose families were hopelessly poor. With the advent of the robots, all hope had disappeared. Govers refused to speak with representatives of the strike committee. He told them through his secretary:
- "I hope that the demands that you have put forth so far have now been resolved amongst yourselves. On my end, I can report that the work in factories with robots is proceeding quite satisfactorily. It's only possible to replace robots with human workers if wages are reduced by fifty cents a day."
It was impossible to agree to the conditions dictated by Govers. But it also seemed impossible to continue the strike. Where was the plan of the strike committee that would give hope to the workers and drag out this ill-fated strike?..
At eleven o'clock on November 7th, the strike committee called a general meeting near the factory, where, as before, the police were on guard. From behind the walls came the rumble of machines that were working incessantly. From all sides, one by one, and in groups, the workers converged. Emaciated, with exhausted faces, with dull eyes, they formed a picture of complete despair.
Crounty, together with Winston, was already near the hastily built podium. Every five minutes, Tim looked at his watch: no, the hand was still moving too slowly on the dial!
The rally began when the square was filled with a huge crowd of workers. The head of the strike committee did not speak for long. The content of his speech was as follows:
- "The strike drags on. Nobody expects us to win. But the strike committee is certain of this. The workers will have the last word. Today, the strike committee invites everyone to advance in an organized march to Eighth Avenue. We will pass Govers' palace, and we'll remind him about us. And, if this does not help, if the situation does not change after this campaign, the strike committee decides to give up and agree to Govers' ridiculous terms."
The workers listened in silence: what was there to say? Part of them agreed to go on the march in order to finally end the strike: let them work at any cost, but get their wives and children out of hunger! The other part of the workers had still hoped for something; however, no one knew exactly what.
Crounty tugged at Winston's arm.
- "Five minutes to twelve! It's time!"
As if he heard this, the chairman of the committee shouted loudly:
- "So, we'll organize our columns! Today, on the day where the first workers' revolution triumphed in the great Red country, in one of those countries where socialism has already been established,- our fate will be decided today."
Crounty's eyes shone; he looked up from his watch only to look at Jim. Winston seemed calmer; however, he was no less worried about Tim.
- "One minute to go, Jim!"
The clock above the gate began to strike twelve, slowly and steadily, as the first column of workers moved toward the city quarters. And at that very moment, the rumble of metal footsteps was heard from the factory yard. Tim Crounty clutched at Winston's sleeve convulsively:
- "They're coming! Jim, they're coming!"
Footsteps were approaching. The gates of the factory opened wide - and before them, appeared the tall metallic figures of the robots. The policemen, who were standing at the gate, were frightened and rushed to the side. Their training could not have prepared them for such an event.
Robots came out of the gate in rows of four, walking without end, dozens, and hundreds of metallic people. They exited through gate, turned left and stopped, as if waiting for those who were lagging behind.
The workers fell silent, stunned by the unexpected exit of the robots. The workers looked at the automatons as if they had been something hostile - and involuntarily retreated before them. Amidst the silence that ensued, Crounty's voice rang out loudly and joyfully, leaping onto the podium:
- "Comrades, the robots are with us! They've left the factory to join our march. Let Govers see; that even the robots will not save him. They are with us, with the workers!"
And, as if responding to Tim Crounty, all of the robots raised their left hands in a wide movement at the same time. The steel workers had greeted the living.
Across the square swept a celebratory "hurrah". Someone had placed a red flag in a robot's raised hand. The shouts rang out again - and the workers' march had started out for the city.
It was an amazing picture. Following the columns of workers, whose emaciated faces glowed with a new joy, the robots walked in friendly ranks, raising up their left hands. Here and there, red flags were flying.
But the windows and doors of Govers' great marble palace on Eighth Avenue were tightly closed: The King of New Harris had already been informed about the betrayal of the robots. And Jonathan Govers had no great desire or curiosity to see such a defeat with his own eyes.
***
Here are excerpts from a letter from Tim Crounty, reporter, to his comrade, the editorial secretary of "The Chronicle", John Derfel:
"Do not think, my friend, that something miraculous has happened in New Harris. Quite simply, one technique has beaten the other. It's even more than that: the technology directed against the capitalists has defeated the exploiters' technology. I've already written to you about how Jim Winston and I had noticed the systematic malfunction of the robots that had been placed under the power lines. Jim had found out that the cause of this malfunction was due to the inductive effect of the wires. 'So,' - he told me, - 'it's possible to influence the automatons from the outside'. Jim got to work.
"As you know, he is an ardent radio amateur and has been working on a short-wave transmitter for a long time. This mad Jim has friends in New Zealand, Africa, Siberia, England, Australia and the Red Countries.
"You probably already know that the robots were controlled, propelled by electricity, which had been transmitted to them through the help of radio waves. Now imagine that some other source of such radio waves, of greater power, began to send waves, radiation, which would be received by the mechanisms of robots. What will happen? At first, the robots' movements will be confused - under the mixed influence of two streams of radiation. Then the force of the more powerful rays will prevail. They will drown out the less powerful stream. The robot will do whatever the humans who control the more powerful energy transmitter order it to do. The robot will refuse to obey its former masters.
"Approximately the same thing happened in New Harris. Govers' robots operated, generally speaking, flawlessly. They very acutely perceived even the smallest changes in vibrations and control signals. This is exactly what helped us.
"Of course, it wasn't me who saved the day, but Jim Winston. He turned for help to his friends, radio engineers who live in one of the Red countries. Jim told them, using his shortwave transmitter, about Govers' victory. He told them that he thought Govers was wrong not to foresee the possibility of their help. And Jim's engineer friends helped us. Throughout seven days, preparatory tests were conducted.
"Jim, with his engineer friends, had arranged that they would use their powerful short-wave station to influence the automatons every day at twelve o'clock. We followed and watched as this powerful station had slowly conquered the robots. And when we saw how at twelve o'clock in the afternoon, as if in agreement, all the robots had raised their left hands, we were finally convinced that Jonathan Govers was wrong and the victory was ours.
"After that, everything went as easily as possible. We agreed with the strike committee, who were already ready to surrender on their positions, regarding the march of the workers to Govers Palace. But it was only a gesture - nothing more. The robots, succumbing to the powerful stream of radio waves from the second transmitter, abandoned their work and went with us. Jonathan Govers' transmitter was powerless in forcing them to continue working at the machines. Victory, true victory was upon us, Johnny, my friend!
"What happened next, you probably already know. However, I can tell you briefly. Govers surrendered. He agreed to all the terms of the strike committee. I think the strange spectacle of the joint march of workers and steel robots past his palace had greatly affected his nerves. Production of the robots stopped. It wasn't the robots who defeated the strike, but the strike who defeated Govers.
"The capitalist, who had created the robots, was afraid of the army he had created. He understood that this army was not only useless, but at the first moment could get out of his control and attack him with an iron wall. All the robots Govers had released were placed in reinforced concrete warehouses. Govers even wanted to destroy them. But then, under the influence of engineers, did not proceed. The robots are lying in the warehouses under a reliable guard - until a certain time.
"But don't worry Johnny, we know where they are. If Govers someday hopes to use them once again, - then we won't give up hope either.
"If necessary, we will be able to open the warehouses and retrieve the steel men from out of there. What will Jonathan Govers say, what will his friends say when, at the decisive moment, an army of steel robots will march together with us - to the revolutionary barricades?..
Yours,
Tim Crounty."
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