by Isaac Asimov
“Then plead illness, “Kresh said. “Announce pressing business back in the capital. Get back to Hades, and hold a party there. A bigger one. A better one. Hold it in Government Tower, where we can do a decent job of protecting you.”
“Kresh, can’t you see that it would defeat the whole point of the exercise to entertain the Settlers there? That would as much as confess to the whole planet that the Spacers own the island of Purgatory. One island is just the thin edge of the wedge, they’ll say. Next thing you know they’ll be taking over the planet. You know the Ironhead line. You’ve heard Beddle spout it often enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you know why I had to entertain them all here, be the host here. Show them this is still the Governor’s Winter Residence. Here, on the island of Purgatory. Show that Purgatory is still Spacer territory, Infernal territory. I’m here showing this is still our planet, our land, even if we have temporarily ceded some jurisdiction for the moment. I can’t make that statement by hunkering down in that fortress of a tower.”
“Sir, how much can any of that matter?” Kresh asked. “Who the devil cares about all that posturing? No one outside of the Ironheads cares if the Settlers have partial jurisdiction over the island.”
“Damnation, Kresh, don’t you think I know all that? Do you think I care who runs this or that patch of this damned rock? It’s all nonsense, and it sucks up my energy and attention, takes me away from all the things that do matter.”
“Then why risk your life with all these appearances? It’s not as if this is the first time.”
“Because if I don’t look to be in control, I can’t govern. The bill of impeachment cleared the first subcommittee today, did you know that? Or did you know that twenty percent–twenty percent–of the voting population has already signed that damned recall petition?”
“I didn’t know the numbers were that high, sir, but all the same–”
“All the same, if they get me out of office, Quellam takes over. He’ll cave in to the pressure to hold a special election rather than serve out my term, and in one hundred days Simcor Beddle will be Governor of the planet! He’ll kick the Settlers off-planet the second the last vote is counted–”
“And the terraforming project will collapse without the Settlers around to support it. I understand all that.”
“Then try and understand that as of right now, I still have the political strength to fend off the recall and the impeachment. Just barely. I can ride it all out, until the situation starts to improve. But if I show any weakness, or indecision, or if I even appear to knuckle under to the Settlers, I go down, Quellam takes over, and Beddle comes in.”
“Then can’t you talk to the Settlers? Ask them to back down just a bit? Renegotiate the jurisdiction agreement?”
Grieg laughed and shook his head. “You do amaze me sometimes, Kresh. You’re so good at your job, and certainly that involves politics enough. You proved that when you solved the Caliban case. So consider the politics in my job. It shouldn’t be too hard–there’s nothing else to my job. Don’t you think the Settlers know that if I go down, Beddle comes in?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so.”
“The Settlers also know that they aren’t exactly the most popular group on the planet. If they were seen as supporting me, they’d be cutting their own throats. They know that if they want to build me up, they have to be ready to lose a fight or two in order to do it.”
“So they’re going to cave in?” Kresh asked. “You’ve talked to them? The fix is in?”
Grieg smiled, but in a cold, hard-edged way. There was nothing of pleasure about his expression. “Oh, no. Far from it. I can’t afford to have secret agreements with the Settlers. Not with the number of people out there trying to dig up any dirt they can on me. And I assume that Tonya Welton and the other Settler leaders would find it just as embarrassing if someone uncovered a secret codicil between us.
“I believe the Settler leaders have come to the conclusion I have just described, but I don’t dare ask them–and they certainly aren’t going to volunteer the information. And bear in mind, they have to placate their own reactionaries. It may well be that Tonya Welton feels obliged to take the jurisdiction issue right to the wall.”
“But you don’t think so,” Alvar suggested.
“No, I don’t. I think that she and I will work through our little ritual battle for the sake of the masses, and at the end of this weekend I will be able to announce a settlement on terms highly favorable to us. And then, next time, it will be my job to do a favor for Welton. There will be some battle she needs to win more than I do, and I will put up a good fight and then surrender gracefully.”
“Politics,” Alvar said, scorn in his voice.
“Politics,” Grieg agreed cheerfully. “The pointless, useless, self-absorbed, time-wasting charade that makes everything else possible. Without the meetings, the compromises, the smoothing out, the posturing and posing, we would not be able to deal with each other. Politics is the way we try and get along with each other–and we do try. Think about the mess things are in most of the time. Can you imagine the state of affairs if we didn’t make the attempt?”
“But staging a fake confrontation with the Settlers just to keep the Ironheads happy? Pretending you care about who owns which scraps of useless wasteland just to keep the electorate happy? What possible use can that be?”
Grieg lifted his hand and shook an admonitory finger at Alvar. “Be more careful with the facts, Sheriff. I only said I thought it was a false confrontation. It might actually turn out to be real. I must assume it is real in any event, so what difference does it make? Besides, I would submit that keeping the people happy does me a great deal of good. The more content the people are, the fewer recruits there will be for the Ironheads.”
“But you’re wasting your time on all this nonsense when there is a planet to save! You should be concentrating on the terraforming project.”
Grieg’s expression grew serious. “You must understand, Sheriff. All this is nonsense–but it is an integral part of the terraforming effort. I need political cover if I am to have room to maneuver. If I am to get labor and materials and data, I am going to have to get them from the people that control them. It would do me no good at all to stare at engineering plans all day if the Ironheads got strong enough to pressure the engineers into refusing to provide their services.”
“But what use is it expending so much of your energy on this charade over jurisdiction?”
“Oh, it’s a very great deal of use. It short-circuits the Ironheads, keeps them from having an issue to use against me. It reassures the people that I am looking out for their interests–and perhaps by my bowing to their wishes this time, I will earn a bit of credit with them. Perhaps they will be patient with me, willing to go along with me on some other, more meaningful issue. I need to do some things to maintain my political standing. I might have the best intentions in the world, but I can’t do much good if I am impeached.”
“Well, to be blunt about it, Governor, you can do even less good if you’re assassinated.”
“That thought has crossed my mind,” the Governor said with a note of grim humor. “But if I just holed up in some bunker under Government Tower to hide from the assassins, then not only would there be no way to kill me–but there would be no need to kill me. It would be such an admission of weakness and fear that I could do no good anyway.”
“Sirs, if I might interject–”
“Yes, what is it, Donald?” Kresh asked. To an outsider, it would surely have seemed incongruous, to say the least, for a mere robot to interrupt a conversation between the planetary Governor and the Sheriff of the planet’s largest city. But Donald had worked with Kresh for years, and Kresh knew that Donald would not speak unless it was something that would be of help to Kresh.
The robot turned and addressed the Governor directly. “Sir, there is a factor that you have not considered.”
“And what might that be?�
�� the Governor asked, smiling a bit more openly this time. Clearly, he found the idea that Donald could contribute to the conversation highly amusing.
Careful, Governor, Alvar thought. Don’t underestimate Donald. It’s always a mistake. People often assumed Donald was as subservient as his appearance made him seem. They were wrong to do so.
“I cannot permit you to attend the reception,” Donald told the Governor. Scarcely the words of a meek robot.
“Now just a minute–”
“I am sorry, sir, but I am afraid that the conversation I have just heard, coupled with the incident downstairs, has so heightened my concern for your safety, and my belief that the evening as planned will be dangerous to you, that First Law constrains me to prevent you from leaving this room.”
“‘A robot may not, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,’ “Kresh quoted with a chuckle.
Grieg looked at Donald, opened his mouth as if to protest, and then thought better of it. Sensible of him, Kresh thought. There was no appeal against a robot driven by a First Law imperative–especially an Inferno-built robot. The planet had a tradition of setting First Law potential very high indeed. Grieg had to know that arguing with Donald would be about as effective as shouting at a stone wall.
Grieg turned toward Kresh. “You set him up to this,” the Governor protested. “You had this planned.”
Alvar Kresh laughed and shook his head. “Sir, I wish I had set it up. But Donald deserves all the credit.”
“Or all the blame,” Grieg said, still rather irritated. He turned to the robot. “You know, Donald, it’s remarkable, really, how soon one forgets.”
“Forgets what, sir? The need to take reasonable precautions?”
“No. It’s remarkable how soon one forgets the habits of slavery.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand, sir.”
“Not so long ago I sent my own personal robots away,” Grieg said. “I started taking care of myself. And I discovered that I no longer had to be careful about what I said or did. All my life, up until that time, I had been careful. I knew that if I phrased something a bit too adventurously, or stood a trifle too close to an open window in a tall building, or reached for a piece of fruit that had not been sterilized, you robots would rush in to protect me from myself. A year ago, I never would have dared discuss my personal safety in front of a robot–precisely because the robot would overreact in just the same way you have now. I would not have dared say or do anything that might upset a robot. My robots controlled my actions, my words, my thoughts. Who controls whom, Donald? Human or robot? Which is the slave, and which is the master?”
“I wouldn’t suggest repeating that pretty speech in public, sir,” Kresh cut in, thinking it was probably best not to give Grieg the chance to play any more word games. “Not unless you wanted to face an Ironhead lynch mob.”
Grieg laughed without humor. “You see, Donald? I am a slave to robots. I am the Governor of this world, and yet I dare not speak out against them, for fear of my life. How does that square with your First Law? How does a robot deal with the knowledge that its very existence could cause harm to humans?”
“There are low-function general-purpose robots who would experience significant First Law cognitive dissonance when asked that question,” Donald said. “However–”
“Donald, damnation,” Kresh said. “The Governor was asking a rhetorical question.”
“Forgive me if I was in error. I thought the Governor required me to answer.”
“As I do, Donald,” Grieg said, grinning at the Sheriff. Kresh sighed. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that I am a police robot, with my Third Law potential especially strengthened so as to allow me to witness unpreventable harm to a human in the course of my work and survive. The bald statement that my existence harms humans does not cause me any meaningful distress, as I know it to be untrue. Beyond that, I would observe that you did not make any statement to the effect that robots harmed you.”
“I did not?”
“No, sir. You said that being near robots caused you to be more careful of your safety, and that expressing your opinion of robots–not robots themselves–might expose you to danger at the hands of your enemies.”
“This has ceased to be amusing,” Grieg said. “I am going to attend my own reception.”
“No, sir,” Donald said. “I am prepared to restrain you physically in order to prevent it.”
“Excuse me, but I think there is a compromise possible,” Kresh said. “Donald, would you regard the Governor as being sufficiently protected if the security robots in the basement were activated and deployed? Protected enough so you could allow him to attend the party?” There were fifty Security, Patrol and Rescue robots in the basement. SPRs, or Sappers, were sentinel robots. They were powered down for the moment, but ready for use if needed in an emergency. Ten more SPRs had been flown in with the Governor, but those were still stored in a cargo flier, a deep reserve. The ones in the basement could be deployed much more quickly.
Donald hesitated a moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “I could permit it under those circumstances.”
“Governor?”
“The publicity of all those robots around,” the Governor said. “I don’t know.”
Good. He was weakening. “We play up the security threat,” Kresh said. “And we urge the camera crews to keep the robots out of frame as much as possible.”
“Hmmm. The camera crews were supposed to clear off shortly after my entrance in any event. All right–if you make an announcement beforehand that it is a security precaution. If you cause the trouble, Kresh, you’re going to take the blame.”
“Believe me,” said Alvar Kresh, “nothing could make me happier than taking the blame for surrounding you with robots.”
It took far less time to change all the arrangements than anyone had expected. It took a mere twenty minutes for a pair of Rangers to power up the security robots and deploy them, and it would have taken less time than that if they hadn’t lost time working on one defective robot.
It didn’t take much convincing at all to get the press to cooperate, once Kresh made a few dark hints about an unexpected security problem and the possibility of remaining danger. Normally, the Governor was fair game for all sorts of sour coverage–but no one in the press pool was going to twit him for accepting security precautions in the face of a real threat to his life.
And so, in very short order, Governor Grieg was able to attend his own party, making a first-rate entrance from the top of the formal staircase, with a grand and swelling fanfare playing as he descended with everyone cheering and applauding even more loudly than they had for Beddle. Somehow, it all fell into place, and Grieg got exactly the boost he had been looking for. In the twinkling of an eye, the Governor stopped being the man in danger of impeachment and became the dynamic leader, the man of the hour. It could all change back just as fast, of course, but that was in the nature of the beast. For now, it was working. Grieg was in the center of a swirl of noise and light, a focus for adulation.
He stepped off the bottom of the stairs. He spotted Kresh in the crowd and came. over. He pumped Kresh’s hand, patted him on the back, and leaned toward him. “I think it’s going to be all right,” Grieg half shouted into his ear. “But thank you for your concern. We’ll talk again tomorrow, you and I. There are some important things I need to tell you. There isn’t time to cover them properly tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Kresh bellowed back. “But first you go and have a good time tonight.”
“I will, Sheriff, I will,” the Governor said, and made his way into the press of the crowd.
Chapter 4
TIERLAW VERICK WAS deeply annoyed to be in the same room with so many robots. For what seemed the dozenth time, he stepped out of the way of one of the SPR robots on random patrol. They were certainly necessary under the circumstances–he would be the last to argue that–but he did not have to like them. And Beddle’s pr
esence was even more intolerable. Sooner or later someone would have to do something about that man. Verick only hoped it was sooner. He didn’t know a great deal about the man’s politics, but he knew that Beddle was pro-robot, and that was all he needed to know.
Verick was a Settler, and hated robots with a passion rare even for that breed. But he was also a businessman, and he loved profit with a rare passion as well. Love of money, love of the game of business, had pulled him into all sorts of deals–and introduced him to all sorts of interesting, if unsavory, people.
He resisted the temptation to check his watch once again. The night would pass soon enough, and he would have his chance to talk with Grieg. And have his chance at enormous profit, as well.
It all went very well, Grieg thought as he watched the Ranger-waiters take down the last of the serving tables. He turned and went up the stairs to his office. Other than Beddle’s shenanigans, and that spot of bother about the fistfight, the evening had gone more smoothly than he had had any right to expect.
When the host was the Governor, however, the end of the evening by no means meant the end of the night. Both tradition and practicality dictated that he now take the opportunity afforded to meet with those who needed a private word with him.
Now, after the party was over, was the chance to see old political allies with advice to offer, petitioners asking this or that favor of him, admirers who wanted nothing more than to shake the Governor’s hand, people who needed to put a word in his ear but couldn’t risk being seen doing so.
Grieg enjoyed the after-hours meetings. They appealed to the wheeler-dealer politician in him. To him, the back-room meetings represented the game of politics, the fun of it, the juice of it. They were the informal moments that served as a sort of social lubricant for all the official, carefully staged occasions.
The need to keep the various meetings private necessitated some connivance and juggling. This was one reason the Governor’s office had more than one entrance, for those times when an exiting appointment A would not wish to encounter an arriving appointment B. People who did not want to run into other people could slip out the office’s side door, which could be opened by hand–but no one could get in that way. There was a second door, down a short hallway. The first door would not unlatch if the second door was open, and neither could be opened from the outside. A visitor who left could not come back, and that was often a great comfort.
