The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

by Isaac Asimov

  The Statistician got to his feet, his pale face adamant.

  “As the Chief Magistrate, Doyle, you have, to a certain extent, to be devoid of emotion. You spoke of posterity. Posterity can be assured by your word—now. And remember, the twelve will give their lives voluntarily. Think of the thousands of scientists in the past who have given their lives willingly for a lesser cause.”

  “But the decision to slay twelve did not rest with one man,” President Doyle pointed out. Then he turned impatiently. “Carfax, don’t misunderstand me. I see the value of your idea. I appreciate the great lengths you must have been to, to get the plan worked, but it would be better if the decision did not rest so completely with me!”

  Carfax shrugged. “The facts are plain enough,” he said quietly. “The personal brain power of the twelve best men and women will be pooled. Twelve will die, in order that thousands to come may live in peace!”

  After a brief silence Doyle began to hedge with vague desperation. He drummed his fingers on the desk. There was an inhuman persuasion in Carfax’s cold, emotionless voice.

  “What guarantee have we that opposing factions will consult the Arbiter?”

  “We have the guarantee of twelve imperishable brains in a mobile machine—a machine controlled by thought waves reacting on special mechanisms. In the event of two opposing factions, the Arbiter will cut off all possible means that might lead to force between the parties concerned. Compulsory arbitration will come into being. It’s that—or decay!”

  “It is ruling by force,” Doyle muttered. “Our present method is by votes.”

  “It is common sense! All other scientists are strongly in favor of the plan. I convinced them of its value. That leaves only your sanction.”

  “Not immediately, my friend. I must think.” The President pressed a hand to his forehead. “Leave me for a while. I must talk with Gascoyne first. I’ll acquaint you with my decision later.”

  As something apart he heard the soft click of the door as Carfax went…

  Even after he had beard Rolf Gascoyne’s fully detailed surgical description of the idea of the Arbiter, it took President Doylc several more days of deliberation before he finally gave his consent to the project, And he did it then only when he was assured of the willingness of the twelve people concerned to sacrifice themselves in order that posterity might have an assured peace.

  So he gave the order—and with the twelve men and women and Gascoyne he shut himself away from city affairs for a while in the surgical laboratories.

  He answered no calls except those that demanded his personal attention, leaving everything else to Carfax, his deputy.

  From then on Doyle watched activity in a field that was unfamiliar to him. He saw the twelve human beings go willingly under the anaesthetic. He saw the brains, still living, being fed by synthetic bloodstream and artificial heart. Then, under orders from Gascoyne, the first brain was duly imprisoned within a soft mold of ductile metal.

  Atom by atom, molecule by molecule, under the control of instruments so sensitive that light-vibration disturbed them, metallic molds were set up, fitted into place by slender rods of force timed to a split thousandth of a second, the slightest error in which would have meant utter failure.

  But there was no error. Gascoyne saw to that. He was coldly efficient, intolerant of mistakes. The controlling forces made no slip. They had no human qualities in them to err.

  Day after day the scientists worked on. From time to time Doyle received disquieting reports from Carfax concerning the rapid increase of unrest amongst the unscientific populace. He handed the information on to Gascoyne who promptly made a speed-up all round.

  In a month the first brain was complete. The dried shell of the dead brain was removed and the mechanical counterpart, deadly precise in its way of reasoning, came into being. The actual entity of Unwin Slater, First m Mathematics, had vanished and given place to the computations of Brain Unit No. 1.

  Thereafter it was not difficult. Assured now of success in the operation, Doyle felt a little easier in mind—and the experts worked steadily on. Brain after brain was linked up, until at the end of three months the transference was complete. The knowledge of each was unified to the other by delicate vibratory wires, and thence carried back to a central brain pan—in truth a contrivance of machinery of profound complexity, reactive only to the thoughts of twelve combined brains.

  Gascoyne had been clever here. Without twelve brains in unity the machinery would not function, and since this seat of all motivation and pooled knowledge was protected by metals of interlocking atoms, the Arbiter was absolutely foolproof. In fact, the more the atoms of the housing metal continued to disorganize, the more impossible it would be to break down.

  * * * *

  On October 9, 2046, the Arbiter became visible in public for the first time. In appearance it resembled a great circle of metal about fifty feet wide, studded at regular intervals round the edge with unbreakable domes that sheathed the metallic brains inside. The wires, protected by similar armor, led directly to the circle’s center wherein stood the governing machine-unit. For locomotion the thing possessed skillfully jointed metal legs, perfectly balancing the circle of metal they carried. In many ways the Arbiter resembled an enormous wheel studded with twelve nodules and supplied with feet.

  In response to public demand, after Doyle’s initial introduction of it and outline of its purpose, it gave a brief speech, world-relayed. Its thought waves, passing into photoelectric devices, which m turn forced air through replicas of human vocal cords, produced a voice that was completely impartial and yet arresting.

  “People of the world, you are asked to forget that this contrivance is the carrier of twelve brains,” the great machine said. “It is a unity, a single unity with a twelve-fold purpose. That purpose is peace on earth and goodwill towards men. To that end I, the Arbiter, will work. Let any man or woman who thinks of transgressing the peace pause now and think! The Arbiter stands ready!”

  Thereafter the Arbiter was allowed complete liberty. It was entirely self-contained, sleepless. It moved as it chose, but usually stayed pretty close to Major City.

  Its first decisive action was to subdue to a considerable extent the activities of the restive ones. With an uncanny sense of deduction it unearthed a plot whereby a thousand unscientific insurgents were plotting to seize a territory between Major City and its nearest neighbor one hundred miles away.

  The insurgents had hoped to establish a colony for themselves. Had they succeeded they would undoubtedly have been the first to break the unity of a great world-wide nation in which all class distinction and creed had been leveled into one brotherhood.

  But the Arbiter sifted the rebels’ plans from top to bottom, and since in this case there was no question of arbitration between parties the mechanical judge took the next most effective step.

  One by one the entire thousand met death, ruthlessly, inexplicably—but certainly. The scientists became a little worried. That the first act of the Arbiter should be to slay without question was something of a shock.

  If it did nothing else, the action at least quelled all the other restive spirits. They turned in increasing numbers to scientific study.

  Thereafter, for a year, the Arbiter had little of importance to do. It sorted out minor disputes with calm, emotionless words and its decision was implicitly obeyed. President Selby Doyle felt satisfied. His first fears had vanished. The Arbiter was a panacea after all. Then came the affair of Grenson, the physicist.

  Grenson, a young and ardent man of the New Era, was sure that he had discovered the real meaning of an electron’s wave and particle motion. Working alone in his laboratory he knew that he was on the verge of probing the long sought for secret of fusion power from the atom.

  Immediately, he went to the President, stood at the desk and looked for the first time upon the quiet, calm personage who ruled the world.

  “Sit down, young man,” Doyle invited at last, eying his visit
or steadily and inwardly deciding that he liked him. “Sit down and give me the full details.”

  Grenson gathered his courage. President Doyle snapped a recording switch then he sat back to listen to the rush of eager, excited phrases. For fifteen minutes Grenson held forth on the possibilities of his discovery, still theoretical, and through it all the Chief Executive sat in silence, linking up the points in his keen mind, fitting together postulation with postulation.

  At last Grenson became silent, flushed with his own energies. Doyle gave him an encouraging smile. “In theory, young man, I shoukd say your scheme is feasible. If so, you may be sure that Major City will fully reward you. But first we must have advice in this very specialized field.” He pressed the switch of his intercom. “Send in the First in Physics,” he ordered.

  For ten minutes President and worker sat in silence, the young man looking round the great office and Doyle busy at his desk. Then Horley Dodd, the First in Physics, arrived—a sharp-nosed, scrub-headed man with thick-lens eyeglasses.

  “You want me, sir?” His tone was by no means pleasant.

  “Yes, Dodd, I do. This young man here, if his theory is as good as it sounds, has the secret of fusion power. Just listen to the playback of his exposition.”

  President Doyle flicked a button. There was silence as Grenson’s eager voice came forth from the instrument. The First in Physics stood with his hands locked behind him, biting his lower lip and staring up at the ceiling. The voice ceased at last. An automatic switch started the sound track ribbon reeling back to the start again.

  “Well?” the President asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Frankly, I’d say it’s impossible,” Dodd said briefly. “It is at best a mere theory, and as such does not advance us one iota beyond what we already know.”

  “That is a very narrow viewpoint,” the President observed. Dodd’s sharp little eyes sparked defiance.

  “It’s the only viewpoint, your Excellency.”

  “But, sir, I have it all worked out!” Grenson sprang to his feet earnestly. “Naturally, I am a man of only moderate means. I cannot afford the costly apparatus necessary to prove my idea. That is why I brought the scheme to the President. Now you say it’s no good.”

  “You had no right to bring it here!” Dodd snapped.

  “He had every right,” the President said. “What is more, Dodd, I have neither time nor patience for this unseemly wrangling.” He got to his feet decisively. “We have the Arbiter to decide such things for us. Come into the laboratory, both of you.”

  He preceded the pair to a sealed inner door and opened it. They passed within to the monster of legs and nodules occupying the center of the floor.

  “Arbiter, a question arises,” President Doyle stated quietly, stopping before the thing’s sensitive pickup. “Is the theory of atomic energy from fusion about to be given to you practical—or not?” He turned aside and switched on a relay of Grenson’s voice-record. Again that silence and Grenson stood with his gaze uncertainly watching the glittering monster that was to determine his life’s ideal.

  After long thought at the close of the exposition the Arbiter spoke.

  “The theory of Grenson is not practicable! The secret of controllable fusion power will never be found because the very nature of the atom makes it impossible. The judgment is awarded to Horley Dodd.”

  The First in Physics smiled acidly and glanced at the President. Doyle was stroking his chin slowly. Then he turned to the dazed Grenson and patted him gently on the shoulder.

  “I am sorry, my boy—I really am. I did feel that you had something, but the Arbiter cannot be wrong. The decision is final.”

  “Final!” Grenson shouted. “Do you think I am going to take the opinion of a thing like this—this Arbiter? Do you think I shall give up a theory because a few canned brains say so? Not on my life! I’m going on, and on. Yes, I’ll make the money somehow to prove my idea.”

  He swung round, red-faced with anger, and vanished through the doorway.

  Doyle watched him go, then shrugged.

  “You’re too sentimental, Mr. President,” Dodd said brusquely. “You allow too many of these crack-brained theorists to take advantage of you. He has the wrong idea entirely. What he and his sort need is control, not encouragement.”

  “As long as I am Chief Magistrate I shall make my own decisions,” Doyle answered quietly. “I shall not need to detain you any longer, Dodd. Thank you for coming.”

  The scientist went out and President Doyle returned slowly into his own office, stood by the-desk, thinking. That young man had had a great idea.

  It was towards evening when the private wire buzzed. Doyle look up the receiver and Vincent Carfax’s lean, cold visage came onto the screen.

  “Your Excellency, I understand from my agents that you had a young man to see you today? Chap named Grenson? And that the decision of the Arbiter went against him?”

  “Correct.”

  “He died at five thirty this afternoon! He was slain by mind-force from the Arbiter. I thought it would interest you.”

  Doyle stared at the screen fixedly. “You are sure?”

  “I never make mistakes,” Carfax answered dispassionately. “I don’t like it, this continued display of force!”

  “No. Neither do I!”

  President Doyle cut off, his jaw set with uncommon hardness. He got to his feet and walked into the adjoining laboratory, stood staring at the metal monster. Even as he stood making his survey he could sense the inhuman aura the thing radiated.

  “Arbiter, you slew without provocation!” he snapped suddenly. “Why? I demand to know. You told Grenson he was wrong, but what need was there to murder him as well?”

  “That question is outside your province. You are the President, yes, but you had me created for the undisputed adjudication of all matters capable of argument, for the carrying out of these adjudications afterwards. The only way to prevent a continued disobedience of commands is to kill! Grenson, in spite of my decision, was determined to work in spite of me. So he died. So it must always be with those who are defiant. Otherwise, the purpose of the Arbiter is lost.”

  “But it’s barbarism!” President Doyle cried hoarsely. “The very thing I believed you’d stop!”

  “I am not answerable to anybody for what I believe or think,” the Arbiter answered implacably.

  “But suppose young Grenson had been right? Suppose he had touched the verge of unlocking fusion power? Think what it could have meant to us. We need that power. Earth’s stores of radioactive materials, petroleum, coal, and certain metals cannot last much longer. Supplies were drained to the uttermost in building and equipping the cities. Fusion power would solve many things at one bound. Even the economic transmutation of elements, a secret we desperately need to find. At the least you could have let Grenson go on experimenting.”

  “Not in face of my decision. I acted as I saw best. So far as I am concerned the matter is finished.”

  Doyle hesitated, staring at the thing bitterly, then with clenched fists he went slowly from the laboratory. Somewhere, he knew, something was wrong.

  The treasured plans for security had gone utterly awry.

  Very gradually it was forced on the adherents of scientific progress that the Arbiter was anything but what it was intended to be. Science became divided into two camps—the strugglers and the opposers, with Dodd as chief of the opposers.

  Dodd, though a scientist, firmly believed in the inaccessibility of Nature’s inner secrets, and had neither vision nor tolerance. He was too content to accept science for what it was rather than for what it might become. In that very fact lay the seed of disaster; The camp of Science, divided against itself, began to show signs of decay.

  Time and again the Arbiter was called in, and every time the verdict went to Horley Dodd and his party.

  Baffled, sickened by the obvious breakdown in the scheme for universal peace, President Selby Doyle’s grip on things commenced to weaken. Alr
eady worn out with the cares of office, to which had been added crushing disappointment, the illness that preceded his demise was brief.

  Officials were present round his deathbed—but officials were all they were, men who had served him because it had been their duty to serve. To the dying President there was only one face that represented loyalty and friendship, and it belonged to Carfax.

  “Carfax; you must be President,” Doyle whispered. “As—as it is my final wish, you will be chosen. All around this bed are the men who will elect you. I have their promise. I think that I have—have been too lenient, but no such emotions will trouble you, Carfax. You are younger. You are an expert scientist. You must defeat this Arbiter, my friend. Find out why it has turned traitor! You promise?”

  “I promise,” Carfax answered.

  President Doyle relaxed and smiled. It was a smite that remained fixed. The President of the Earth was dead.

  An hour later the assembled scientists, all of them leaders on the side of the Strugglers, filed into the main office to face their new President. They found Carfax at the great desk, coldly silent. He wailed until the group was fully assembled.

  “Gentlemen, for seven years now we have been chained hand and foot by an invention of our own making—a metal dictator—and it bas betrayed us. We don’t know why, yet—but we do know that unless we defy this Arbiter, or find forces which can destroy it, we are a doomed people.”

  Gascoyne shook his head.

  “We cannot destroy it—at least not in the light of present scientific knowledge,” he said seriously. “We made the thing of a metal whose atoms interlock, remember. It is sealed forever. We made it foolproof—and to what end?”

  “It is in our own hands to determine the end,” President Carfax retorted. “Unless we act, we’re finished. It is the very law of the Universe that there must be progress. Every day now brings us up against new difficulties. Sources of power are running low. New sources—intended for us by Nature—are barred, because the scientists that would develop them are prevented by this twelve-brained monstrosity. I tell you we must defeat it!”