Countdown for blast off. X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one, fire. From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future, adventures in which you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine presents X minus one. Tonight, the time is 1965, the place, a golf course, the story, open warfare. You wouldn't believe it but there are some people that think that caddy is a pet name for a big car. No, I mean it. Over those little wagons you pull around the course or carrying their own clubs, there were people actually playing golf for years, never seen a caddy. As far as I'm concerned, you take the human element out of golf or any sport and what do you got left? Nothing. I mean you could say I'm prejudiced on account of my being a caddy but that's the way I feel about it. Besides, which a caddy is a perfect observer of the passing parade of human experience. I'll give you for instance, now you take Jim Pearson. He won the US Open in 1960, 61 and 64. Well, let me tell you about Jim Pearson. He was the pro at the club here and I remember when it all started. He was out playing with Mr. Hatcher, that Sam Hatcher. He couldn't break 90 if the ball had wings. In the locker room he looked like a sack of flour that had been set down hard but he was loaded with money. Anyway, they were waiting for a foursome of dames who were he shouldn't have been wearing slacks. When Hatcher turned to Jim and with a real sweet smile, he lowered the boom. Jim, you're a good golfer. Thank you, Mr. Hatcher. You're a good golfer even if you can't teach me anything. Oh, you're coming along fine, Mr. Hatcher. We've been good to you at the country club, haven't we? Oh, yes. I want you to do something for me. Yes, sir. Stay away from my daughter. Oh, Mr. Hatcher. I won't have Alice marrying a man who has nothing but coordination and muscles. What? When I was only your age, I was making $50,000 a year. It takes brains to do that. Brains get more valuable. Muscles deteriorate. There's nothing muscles can do that a machine can't do better. You don't think I could make $50,000? I know you can't. You haven't got the guts. Now listen, Mr. Hatcher. I'm just quoting history, Jim. Take the tournament in St. Louis. You blew up. And the good old in the Palm Beach, you could have won all those. But you blew. You chickened out. That's not exactly fair, Mr. Hatcher. But it's true. I can make $50,000. Yes, in your whole life. Oh, no. No. In one year. Oh, you can? Yes, sir. All right, Jim. You're a sportsman. I'll tell you what I'll do. If you can make $50,000 in one year at this infantile pastime that you call golf, you can have Alice. Why, that's the most arrogant thing. What's the matter, Jim? Don't you think you can do it? I know I can do it. All right, then. Is it a bet? All right. All right, it's a bet. Very well, then. I believe the ladies are finished. Shall we drive? Naturally, old man Hatcher set a trap for him. And I guess it worked pretty good, too. Jim knew I heard the whole thing, so he used to talk it over with me. You've been doing real good this season, Mr. Pearson. Sure. Been away on the whole circuit. I haven't seen Alice more than one day at a time in the last six months. You were here for Miss Hatcher? Oh, yes. Yes, I got a telegram right after I won the first tournament. It said, and I quote, I won't be bought and sold. Signed, Alice. She found out about that bet, huh? I'm sure her father made sure she did. Wouldn't that frost you? It did. It did. It cost me $5,000 in tournament money, and then I just got mad. You know, the cold mad, the kind of mad that puts 20 yards on your drive? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes when I get sore at the caddy master, I go out to the driving range. Bingo! Every time you hit it, you got it right between his eyes. Yeah, yeah, that's the idea. Every time I slam a ball down the fairway, I feel as if I've just belted Hatcher right behind the ear. You still figure you got a chance? Oh, I'm gonna get that $50,000 this year, all right. I'm gonna win the U.S. Open, and that's worth $25,000 in cash, plus vaudeville appearances, or Ed Sullivan's television show or something, and I'm gonna take the money and I'm gonna lay it in front of Alice, and I'm gonna say, I wasn't buying you. I was buying the right to tell you I love you. Ah, gee, that's pretty. All right, never mind. Give me a number 7-9. Jim Pearson sure was burning up the circuit. He came into the U.S. Open, the man for watch, the day the tournament opened, Jimmy Cannon had in his column, You are Jim Pearson, the hard luck boy with the velvet swing. It was real philosophical. All the sports writers picked him to win, and then Saul showed up. We was on a practice tee. Jim had been sharpening up his number one wood when all of a sudden the gallery took off like a batch of big birds. They were around another tee about a hundred feet away. Jim knocked off, and the two of us strolled over. Hey, that's some swing. Who is that, Pete? I've never seen him before. His name's Saul. That's some swing. Hey, he's no amateur. I've never seen him on the pro circuit. Hey, Mr. Pearson, look at the caddy. 280 yards down there. That ain't what I mean. Look, he's got a ball bag in his hands. Now watch. Oh, that's a good catch. He caught that ball right in the bag. Mr. Pearson, that caddy didn't move that sack. That ball dropped right in 280 yards away. Oh, it's an accident. Yeah, look, it happened again. He's a trick shot artist. Where, where, where'd he get into competition? I don't know. He just hit another one dead center. Oh, there isn't anybody that good, not even old Joe Kirkwood. Quite a spectacle, eh, Jim? Oh, hello, Hatchy. Must be unnerving to watch something like that. I can stand it. But will you be able to stand it when the going gets rough? Will you blow up like you always do? It'll be too bad just when you're so close. Don't worry about me. I'm not. I imagine Saul will take care of that. Oh, you know him? I brought him here. My own personal entry. He's going to beat you out of the open. But he's got something to learn. Look at him. Just a dumb country boy who never saw a golf club do a few months ago. I think he might teach you something, Jim. I could tell Jim was gonna have a good day the minute he took his driver out of the bag. He took his practice wings and they went around clean, grooved, loose. Would have put my shirt on him. As a matter of fact, they did. The crowd was sympathetic. They wanted to see him burn up the course. Well, Pete, we all ready? Yeah. What's this? New kind of golf ball? Oh, yeah. A young fella from the AB Wells Sporting Goods Company. He slipped me a fin to talk you into using these balls. I don't know. Any good? Yeah, I figured. They guaranteed they're 20 yards to every drive. I sure could use 20 yards. He's gonna come around to see you later. He wanted to sign you for testimonials and advertising and things. You know, the golf ball used by Jim Pearson when he won the US Open. That kind of thing. A lot of dough in it. Well, we'll give it a try. Let's tee up. Oh, he started off real good. A long straight drive right down the fairway. It was a birdie four. Jim was clicking them off that day. There you are, Pete. 34 into 32 for 66 on the 18. Six birdies, 12 points. Yeah, three more rounds like that should win easy. Hey, how are the new golf balls? Oh, fine, fine. You know, they aren't kidding. It does average out about 20 yards long around the drive. I'll have to get a couple more dozen. We went around and watched Jim score being posted on the big board. Most of the field was still out, but he was ahead of the closest competitor by three strokes. Who's that? Somebody coming down the 18th. It must be a hot round. I'll be posting it in a minute. Oh, Saw. Yeah, you see there he is walking through the crowd. Well, here comes the secretary with a score. Hey, Mr. Pearson, look at it. 32 and 32, 64. 64. That's a new course record. Yeah, well, it's only the first round. New course record. Look at that. Threes and fours, threes and fours. He ain't over four for the whole day. What's the matter, Jim? You don't look well. One round is not a tournament. So comfort yourself while you can. Saul's just getting warmed up. He's that mythical thing, the perfect golfer, but he's dumb. No brains, Jim. No brains at all. Naturally, in the sports broadcasts and the newspapers, Jim could have been playing on a miniature golf course at Asbury Park, New Jersey. The big news was Saul. They all called him silent Saul. The odds the boys in the shower room played around with on Pearson took a dive and you couldn't get even money for Saul. The next morning, Jim's gallery was pretty small. When he stepped up to the ball, it was a smattering of applause like a matinee just before they closed the show. But his drive was as straight as the day before and longer by about 20 yards on the average. That's a nice part, Mr. Pearson. Yeah. Who's that? That's Saul, I'm afraid. He's coming around behind you. Well, he's going to have a big fight. Jim's second nine was a duplicate of the day before. Another 32. He equals Saul's record tying score of yesterday. Then when we came in to read it on the big board, he looked like somebody hit him on the head with a driver. Look at that, Pete. 31 out, 31 back for a 62. He's got me by two strokes today. And four strokes in all. What do you got to say, Jim? Oh, nothing, Mr. Hatcher. Throw me the soap, will you, Pete? Yeah, sure, Mr. Pearson. Yeah. Thanks. You know, there's something wrong, Pete. Just doesn't happen this way. That's tough luck, Mr. Pearson. Oh, no, no, it's not that. People don't just pop out of nowhere and break all records at the open. Men don't take up golf and become perfect golfers in a month. He's got to have some weakness. Well, if he has, he ain't shown it yet. Well, I've got to find it. Jim was out the next morning and he came in with a classy 32. On the back nine, he slipped a stroke to 33. He was still four down. He shook off a couple of reporters who were trying to egg him into a feud with this Saul, and the two of us just hung around in the crowd watching silent Saul. His first drive went a clean 300 yards down the fairway straight as a ruler. Pete, there's something about his swing. There's something about it. I've seen it before. Oh, you never saw that silent Saul before, Mr. Pearson. Still, there's something about his swing. On a follow-up shot, Saul had about 2.40 to go. He took a club from his bag and took a few wiggling gestures, set his driver behind the ball and swung. Did you see that swing? Those wiggles? Yeah, well, a lot of guys do that. Yeah, but it's unnecessary. I mean, you don't have to make those wiggles before you address the ball. Yeah, sure. And you don't have to spit three times every time you got a tough putt, but you do. But there's still something strange about him. Everything at the bottom is perfection, except those wiggles, and he doesn't talk. Look at him putting. Doesn't this look at him? That could be Todd Winters, couldn't it? He does look something like Winters. Yeah, Emily Putz. But that iron shot, who wiggles like that? Who does those wiggles? George Potter. Yeah, I guess he does. Yeah, and the approach shot, Pete. That's Gordon Brown. Nobody else bends the knee that way. You really gave it a lot of study, huh? And the drive, that grooved swing on the drive. Pete, come on. I've watched enough. Ah, Pearson, a 63, I see. You're six strokes behind with one round to go. You want to give up now? I don't think I will. I think we'd better talk about it privately. Well, that won't be necessary. Well, it doesn't matter to me, but I know that Saul is a robot. So you think he's a robot? Isn't he? Of course he is. How does it feel to be beaten at your own game by a mindless machine? Oh, you haven't won yet. The golf ball takes some funny bounces. How did you find out about Saul? Oh, Saul has a lot of things, but none of them is Saul. He's Todd Winters, George Potter, Gordon Brown, and his drive. That's me. You copied it after me. Take us away and there's nothing left. Tell me, how'd you do it? Money can do anything. All it needs is a purpose. We've been working on colloidal brains up at our place. Our new miniature atomic power plant is ideal. You throw in some sensory mechanisms, some relays, feed in analysis of a slow motion pictorial study. And you have a golf machine. Must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Closer to a million. A million? A million dollars to keep me from winning 25,000? Don't you think that's unfair? Unfair? You listen to me. Nothing is unfair that doesn't break the rules. And the only rule worth remembering is this, that the best man always wins. You mean the best machine? A machine is only an extension of a man, like your golf club. I don't happen to be endowed with golfing muscles and responses. You do. Those in your golf clubs let you hit a ball farther and straighter than anybody else. Saul lets me hit a ball farther and straighter than you do. It's as simple as that. No, no, wait a minute. That wasn't the bet. The bet was that I couldn't make $50,000 in a year. Maybe it was your bet. It wasn't mine. I bet that I could beat you at your own game. I don't think that you're good enough for us. You're not smart enough, not man enough. Should I let a few well-distributed, well-trained muscles blind her to what you really are? And what's that? You're a quitter. You can't stand pressure. You're no competitor. If you can't win at your own game, you can't win at anything else. Suppose I win tomorrow? Six strokes back, playing against the perfect golfer? Suppose. Then I'd have to admit I was wrong. You have my word on that, and you could also have Alice if she wants you. Somewhere, Saul must have an Achilles heel. Pete, the prime fact about man is his adaptability. Yeah, sure. I mean, yeah. They've got to build in at least one constant, if not more. How about judgment? I don't think so. I mean, they could tell whether he'd have wind or rain or sun or slow greens or something. They got to take care of that. Yeah, I suppose so. Hey, maybe you could jimmy him. You know, drop sugar on his gas tank or something, smash him up. No, no, no. That isn't fair. Saul is fair. Well, I mean, Mr. Hatcher, he's playing fair according to his lights. He could have had me crippled or poisoned or something, but he didn't. Well, I'll just have to beat him on our own ground on the golf course. Oh, I don't know, Mr. Pearson. You'll have to shoot in the fifties. A golf ball takes some funny bounces. Yeah, sure does. Wait a minute. There is a constant. Listen, Pete, you know Saul's caddy. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know him. An illiterate type of guy. Yeah. Could he use $10 or maybe 20 or 50? He's a caddy, isn't he? All right. Peter, I want you to talk to him. You'll do better than I can. The management of the tournament is no fool. They know which side their television rights are butted on, and they had Saul and Jim paired for the final round. Jim's drive took a tail end hook. It dived into the rough behind a clump of trees. Wasn't a very happy start. Saul took a ball from his caddy, teed it up and settled himself. Hey, that's some drive, Mr. Pearson. Yeah, yeah, some drive. It's about 340 yards, isn't it? Some drive. You got a tough lie there in your ball, Mr. Pearson. You gonna play it safe out on the fairway? No. You see that hole between those two trees? Mr. Pearson, that ain't sensible golf. Pete, sensible golf won't win. Well, he made it. The ball went through the opening and rolled to a stop just in front of the green. Saul's easy four iron shot was dead on the pin all the way. But it hit the back edge of the green and hopped into the rough. Jim took an easy putt for a birdie and Saul's recovery was long and two putts gave him a pot. Well, that's one of the strokes I need. And that's the way it went. Jim's game sparkled and Saul's game kept fine and trouble. For the first nine, Jim came in with a scorching 30 while Saul came in with a 33. Kept on like that. Saul kept overshooting the green. They came into the 18th hole with Saul still two strokes up. Now look, don't you worry, Mr. Pearson, you're gonna tie him for sure. That's no good, Pete. By tomorrow, his game will be on again perfectly. Jim's drive sliced behind a fringe of trees. He had to shoot blind. He made it. He's on the green about 25 feet from the cup. Okay, Pete, this is it. Saul's in for a five. Don't you worry, Mr. Pearson, don't you worry. Okay, okay, I won't. He lined it up. He studied the green. He noted the slope and the lay of the grass. Then he stroked the ball. We did it, Mr. Pearson. We did it. You're the new US Open champion. We finally busted loose from the television and the movies and all those hangers on and we ducked around the back to the Pro Shop where we run into Mr. Hatcher. How did you do it? How did you do it? Well, Mr. Hatcher, under extremely restricted sets of circumstances, a machine is better than a man, but over the long run, over the gamut of situations, a machine doesn't have a chance. It just can't compete. I still don't understand. It cost a million dollars. A million dollars. Here, have a souvenir. You can take this golf ball. No, no, no, no. Look at it. That's the ball Saul was using. What? Mm-hmm. Well, that's another brand. That isn't Saul's regular ball. That's right. It's a new one. Guaranteed to add 20 yards to the average drive. But that's unfair. Well, your robot was built in with one constant. It had to be a golf ball. Well, it just couldn't adapt to a better ball. But that's not fair. Why, that's... Well, well. How about that? There are no perfect golfers, Mr. Hatcher. There are only good ones and better ones. But, well, I've been thinking about this robot of yours and I'll be around in a few days to talk to you at your office. Huh? About what? Well, I'm sure you don't want to support your son-in-law for the rest of his life, and I have $50,000 to invest in business making robots. Useful robots. And leave golf to the men. They're better competitors. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Hatcher, I've got a telephone call to relate to your daughter. You have just heard X minus one presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, which this month features The Other Celia, a story which proves that something drastic should happen to all snoopers, but nothing as shocking and frightful as this. Galaxy Magazine on your newsstand today. Tonight by transcription, X minus one has brought you Open Warfare, a story from the pages of Galaxy written by James E. Gunn and adapted for radio by Ernest Kanoi. Featured in our cast were Jack Grimes as Pete, Larry Haynes as Jim, and Wendell Holmes as Mr. Hatcher. This is Fred Collins. X minus one was directed by Daniel Sutter and is an NBC radio network production.
