by Isaac Asimov
“For starters, is that an all-human crew on the spaceside team? You have to assume that any robots on that job will do their best to sabotage the job. Even a low-function fetch-and-carry robot will have enough capacity to realize that an incoming comet represents danger.”
“Burning devils,” said Kresh. “I hadn’t thought of that. I hope someone else has, but we’ve got to damn well make sure the crews on those ships are all human. Donald, pass that order and explain –” Alvar stopped and looked at Donald. “No, wait a minute,” he said. “I can’t use you to pass the order for the same reason. Your First Law means you won’t cooperate either.”
“On the contrary, sir. I am able to pass the message.”
Fredda looked at Donald in surprise. “But don’t you feel any First Law conflict?” she asked.
“A certain amount of it, Dr. Leving, but as you well know, a properly designed Three Law robot feels some First Law stress most of the time. Virtually every circumstance includes some danger, if only low-probability-danger, for a human. A human could drown swallowing a glass of water, or catch a deadly plague by shaking hands with an off-planet visitor. Such dangers are not enough to force a robot to action, but are enough to make the First Law felt. There is some potential danger here, yes, but you designed me as a police robot, and I am equipped to deal with more risk than most robots.”
“I see,” said Kresh, keeping his voice very steady. Fredda had the very strong impression that she was going to have to ask him about all this in the very near future. “But, meaning no offense,” said Kresh, “I think it might be best if I took care of that order myself. I’ll call the spaceside planning group, banning all robots from the operation, and explaining why.”
“No offense taken, sir. You must take into account the possibility that I am deceiving you. I can imagine a scenario where I would disobey that order, and see to it that as many robots as possible went into the spaceside operation in order to sabotage it.”
Kresh gave Donald a quizzical look. “My imagination works a lot like yours,” he said. He turned to Fredda. “Donald’s good example to the contrary,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where robots have done so much to make my job difficult. To make everyone’s job difficult.”
“That’s what you get when you try and take risks, even necessary risks, around robots,” Fredda said. “I think the real story is that none of us have ever really tried to take risks before.”
“And robots don’t like risks,” said Kresh. “They’re going to keep us all so safe they’re going to get us all killed. Sooner or later we’re going to have to –”
“Excuse me, Governor,” said Donald. “The Residence security system has alerted me via hyperwave that an aircar is landing in the visitor’s parking area.”
“Who the devil has found me here?” Kresh muttered.
“It could just be some tourist who wants to get a look at the Winter Residence,” Fredda said.
“Not with our luck,” he said, getting up. He crossed the room and sat down at the comm center. He punched in the proper commands, and brought up the view from the main entrance security cameras. There was the car, all right. And someone getting out. Kresh zoomed in on the figure, pulled in to a tight head-and-shoulders shot, and set the system to track the shot automatically. It was a man, his back to the camera as he climbed out of his armored long-range aircar. He turned around, and looked straight toward the concealed surveillance camera, as if he knew exactly where it was. He smiled and waved..
“What the devil is he doing here?” Kresh muttered to himself.
“Who is it?” Fredda asked, coming up to stand behind her husband.
“Gildern,” said Kresh. “Jadelo Gildern. The Ironhead chief of security.” He frowned at the image on the screen. “He’s no tourist come to get a look at the place. He knows we’re here. I think you’d better go let him in, Donald. Bring him to the library. We’ll wait for him there.”
“Yes sir,” said Donald.
“What does he want?” Fredda asked. “Why is he here?”
Kresh shut off the comm system and stood up. “From what I know of Gildern, there’s only one thing he ever wants,” he said. “What he wants is a better deal for Jadelo Gildern.”
“Good evening. master Gildern,” said the short blue robot who met him at the door. “The Governor has ordered me to escort you to him.”
Gildern nodded curtly. Others might waste their time in courtesy to robots, but Ironheads did not. Besides, he had other things on his mind. It would be best for all concerned if this interview went very quickly indeed. There were unquestionably risks in the game he was playing, and he saw no benefit at all in making those risks greater. The blue robot. Donald 111. That was its name. Built by Leving herself, and Kresh’s personal assistant since he was sheriff. Deliberately designed to seem unthreatening. Frequently underestimated. Gildern smiled to himself. He often found it calming to remember just how much he had in his dossiers.
The robot led them through a large central court and down a corridor leading off to the right, then stopped at the fourth of a series of identical doors. Gildern had memorized the layout of the Residence on the flight down. This was the library.
The robot opened the door and Gildern stepped inside behind him. And there were Kresh and Leving themselves. Both here, precisely as he had guessed. Kresh seated behind a desk, Leving sitting in one of the two chair facing the desk.
“Jadelo Gildern of the Ironheads,” the robot announced, and backed away into a robot niche.
“Governor, Dr. Leving,” said Gildern. “Thank you so much for allowing me to arrive so – informally. I think you will find it to our mutual benefit if this visit is kept as quiet as possible.”
“What do you want, Mr. Gildern?” the governor asked, his voice calm and imperturbable.
Gildern walked up to the desk, made the slightest of bows to Dr. Leving, and smiled at Kresh. “I’m here to give you a present, Governor. Something you’ve wanted for quite some time.”
“And in return?” Kresh asked, his voice and face still hard and expressionless.
“And in return, I simply ask that you do not ask, now or in the future, how I got it. No investigation, no inquiry, no official legal proceedings or private researching.”
“You got it illegally,” Kresh said.
“My condition is that you do not ask such questions.”
“Just now I made a statement,” said Kresh. “I asked no question. And I’m not accepting any conditions. I’m sworn to uphold the law, as you may recall. And I might add that it is generally unwise to request an illegal service of a government official in front of witnesses. “He nodded toward Leving and the robot in its niche.
Gildern hesitated. It wasn’t supposed to have played this way. He had planned on being able to bully Kresh, get what he wanted. But the man had called his bluff. Gildern needed Kresh to have the material, as much as Kresh needed to have it. All of the Ironhead plans, all of Gildern’s plans, would otherwise crumble. Gildern realized that he had made a serious miscalculation. He was too used to working in a world of people who could be coerced, manipulated, led, and blackmailed. He had assumed Kresh would be equally pliable. But Kresh was an ex-police chief who handled cases personally when he saw fit. What reason would he have to be cowed by Gildern? “I don’t want any questions asked,” he said again, in a tone of voice that even he found less than commanding.
“Then I suggest you take your business elsewhere,” said Kresh. “I have had a hard enough couple of days without being threatened and blackmailed by the likes of you. Get out.”
A flash of anger played over Gildern. He opened his mouth to protest, and, then thought better of it. He could play this with his pride, his ego, and lose everything. Or he could play it with his common sense and win it all. And then, later, once he had won, won it all, he would be in a position to indulge his pride. “Very well,” he said. “No conditions.” He pulled a small blue cube out of the poc
ket of his blouse and set it on the table. “Take it with my compliments.”
He bowed once more to Dr. Leving, turned and headed toward the door.
“Wait!” Dr. Leving called out. “What is it? What’s in that datacube?”
Gildern looked back toward her with genuine surprise. “You haven’t figured that out? I expect your husband has.”
“It took me a minute, but I have,” said Kresh. “Lentrall told me there were two break-ins at his lab. One to steal copies of his data, and the other to destroy the originals. I should have figured it out long ago. Lucky for you I didn’t.”
“Will one of you tell me?” Fredda demanded. “What’s in that thing?”
Gildern smiled unpleasantly at her. “Why, Comet Grieg, of course. All of Dr. Lentrall’s calculations and data regarding its location, trajectory, mass, and so on. It’s all there.” He looked from Leving to Kresh and nodded his head at the governor. “Now, then, if you’ll excuse me, I must leave at once. I’m expected at some little town called Depot in the middle of the Utopia region. There’s no suborbital service from here. I’m going to have to fly in a long-range aircar, and it is going to be a very long flight indeed.”
Kresh picked up the cube and smiled coldly at Gildern. “See our friend out, Donald,” he said. “I have a speech to prepare.”
“I look forward to hearing it, Governor,” Gildern said. And with that, he followed the small blue robot out of the room.
Lacon-03 placed the call to Anshaw as soon as Governor Alvar Kresh had completed his speech, in which Kresh had just confirmed that the government was working on the comet project, and that the Utopia region was the target. Lacon-03 knew perfectly well that there was little Gubber Anshaw could do, but on the other hand, the New Law robots had precious few friends, and now was the moment when they would need all the help they could get.
Lacon-03 was still using the city leader’s office in Prospero’s absence. It had one of the few fully shielded and untraceable hyperwave sets in the city. Of course, if Valhalla were about to be destroyed, how much difference could it make if someone managed to tap the call and zero in on their location?
Gubber Anshaw’s image appeared on the screen. “I was expecting your call, friend Lacon,” he said without preamble. “I take it you heard the governor’s speech?”
“I did,” Lacon replied. “I still have trouble believing they truly intend to drop a comet on us.”
“Denial is a human trait,” said Anshaw. “I would not advise you to indulge in it. The governor has confirmed the stories regarding the comet, and that is all there is to it. Now you must – we all must – deal with available reality. What is Prospero’s opinion of the situation?”
“Prospero continues to be unreachable. My expectation is that he was alarmed by the Government Tower incident, or perhaps learned something of a worrying nature. If that were the case, he would elect to travel as discreetly as possible, and would not risk needless communication. At least that is what I hope has happened. Otherwise it might well be that he is dead.”
“Let’s hope not,” Gubber said.
“Dr. Anshaw, what are we supposed to do?” Lacon-03 asked. “How can we stop this thing from happening?”
“You cannot,” said Gubber. “Now, no one can. Too much has been committed to it, too much has been promised, too much energy has been expended. You have told me many times how much New Law robots want to survive. Now they must survive this, as well.”
“But how are we to do that?” Lancon-03 asked.
Glibber Anshaw shook his head sadly. “I don’t know,” he said. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”
Gubber said his goodbyes to Lancon-03, wondering just how permanent they were, and returned to his wife’s office. Any hope that Tonya might have calmed down while he was out of the room were dispelled as soon as he set foot in the room. He glanced toward the far end of the room, where Cinta Melloy was sitting. Cinta caught his eye, and shrugged helplessly. Clearly Cinta had decided there was nothing for it but to wait out the storm.
“The fools,” said Tonya Welton through clenched teeth as she paced the floor. “The bloody, stupid fools.” Two commentators were on the comm screen, in the midst of animated debate on the subject of Comet Grieg. But Tonya slapped at the comm control panel and the image died, cutting them off in midword.
“I can’t listen to any more of this,” she said, still fuming. “Damn that Kresh! Not only did he publicly commit to the plan, he went and broadcast the precise orbital data for Comet Grieg. It was hard enough erasing one man’s computer files, and we didn’t even manage the kidnapping. Now what the hell do we do? Erase the coordinates from every comm center on the planet?”
It took a moment for Glibber to realize the implications of what Tonya was saying. “You mean – you mean you were the ones who tried to kidnap Lentrall?” he asked.
“Of course we were,” Tonya said. “To prevent exactly this from happening. No one else seemed interested in stopping the comet crash.”
Gubber nodded blankly. Of course it was Tonya. He should have known it in the first place. Why was he always so startled to discover her ruthless streak? When it came to politics, Tonya Welton took no prisoners. “Won’t the CIP find out?” he asked. The question sounded foolish, even to him, but somehow he could think of nothing else to say.
“Probably,” said Tonya, her tone brisk and distracted. “Sooner or later. If we all live that long.” She turned toward Cinta Melloy. “How the devil did they do it?” she demanded. “How did they reconstruct the comet data?”
“Does it matter?” Cinta asked. “We always knew there was a chance that there would be a backup copy we missed. “Cinta Melloy sat on the couch and watched her boss stalking back and forth across the floor. “It’s not important how they did it. The point is that they did.”
But Tonya was barely listening. Instead she kept pacing, her face a study in furious concentration. “Beddle,” she said at last. “We’ve been pretty sure for a while that informant of ours was working both sides of the street. And then, all of a sudden Beddle’s all for the government, all for the comet plan, before Kresh makes a public statement. Suppose our informant fed the data to Beddle and Beddle fed it back to Kresh before Kresh went to ground?”
Cinta shrugged. “It’s possible. We tracked Gildern’s long-range aircar headed toward Purgatory. We know from the broadcast just now that Kresh is working at the Terraforming Center there. But what does it matter?”
“It means that Beddle and Gildern bear watching, that’s what,” said Tonya. “It means they may behind this whole suicidal operation. Why else would they support the government? When was the last time they did that?”
Gubber Anshaw crossed the room and sat down next to Cinta Melloy. He looked from Tonya to Cinta, and had a feeling that he knew what the security officer was thinking. Even with his thoughts in a whirl, he was thinking the same thing. Tonya was obsessing on this crisis. He had known the truth about Government Tower Plaza for only a few minutes, but he knew Tonya well. If she were frantic enough, desperate enough, to have ordered that fiasco, Dark Space alone knew what else she would be capable of.
“So what do we do about it all?” Cinta asked, her voice a study in neutrality.
“Why ask her to choose now?” Gubber asked. “There’s no need for rushed decisions. Better to take time, to study things calmly first.”
Tonya wheeled about and glared at both of them. “You’re handling me,” she said. “Humoring me. Don’t. I’m still in command of the Settlers on this planet, and don’t you forget it.”
“I’m not forgetting it for one minute,” Cinta said. “And that’s what scares the living daylights out of me. You’re in charge, and I’ll follow your orders. But your orders have not had good results in recent days.”
The look on Tonya’s face was indescribable, a tangle of fear, anger, mad fury, hatred, and shame. Gubber saw Tonya raise her hand, as if to strike Cinta in the face.
“No!” he cried out. “No.”
Tonya looked at him in shock, as if she not were surprised to see him there.
“No,” he said again, surprised by the firmness in his own voice. When had he even spoken to Tonya, or anyone else, for that matter, in this tone of voice? “Foolishness will accomplish nothing,” he went on. “Now is the time to pause and consider. You are the leader here. Our leader. No one disputes that. So lead us. But do not lead us with fear, or anger, or frustration, or because you do not approve of the available situation. Lead us with reason and care.”
Tonya looked at him in shock. “How dare you!” she said. “How dare you speak to me that way?”
“I – I dare because no one else can, and someone must,” Gubber said, his voice unsteadier than he would have liked. “Cinta just tried, and you wanted to strike her for telling the truth. Well, strike me as well, if that is the way of things. I won’t stop you.”
His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to look up at her steadily. She lowered her hand, than raised it again, but then, at last, let it drop to her side. She turned and walked to the other side of the room, and dropped heavily into a chair. “You’re right,” she said. “But I sure as hell wish you weren’t.”
The silence in the room was a near-palpable thing for a time. Tonya sat in her chair, staring at nothing at all. Cinta sat stone-still, her gaze moving back and forth between Gubber and Tonya.
Gubber knew Tonya. He knew she only needed another push, another nudge in the proper direction. And it was plainly up to him to provide that nudge. This was up to him. He cleared his throat and began, speaking in a calm, casual tone that no doubt fooled no one at all. “I’ve just finished speaking with a New Law robot by the name of Lancon-03. Prospero seems to have dropped out of sight, and left her in charge. She had heard the governor’s speech as well, and she called me, asking for advice as to what the New Law Robots should do. That comet is going to drop right on top of them. I couldn’t think of anything to suggest. Can – can you think of anything?”
