Isaac Asimov's Utopia

by Roger MacBride Allen

  “But there’s a chance,” said Kresh. “At least there is some sort of chance we could reacquire the comet if we tried.” There was a brief moment of quiet again before the governor’s voice spoke again. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “We’re going to keep everything moving forward, based on the assumption that we do reacquire the comet, and that we will decide to go forward with the diversion and the impact. We need to move forward on as many fronts as possible, as fast as possible, and I need some work out of you, right now.

  “First I want you to set down the closest approximations you can of the mass, size, position, and trajectory of Comet Grieg. Even rough figures will give us someplace to start in planning for the impact itself. Send that information at once to my data mailbox. Then you are going to get to work at once organizing a search to reacquire Comet Grieg. I will instruct your superiors to give you whatever resources and personnel you need for the job. Tell them as much as you can about the comet. But get that started—and let someone else run it. Because I want you to get to work trying to recover your computer files. Maybe they’ re not as lost as we think. There must be something, somewhere—at least enough to give some leads to the team doing the telescope search. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Sir—if I might ask a question?”

  “Yes, of course, Dr. Lentrall.”

  “I get the impression that you’ve become more convinced that the plan might work.”

  “That I have, Dr. Lentrall. I’ve seen and heard quite a bit here about your plan. Enough to make me think we just can’t live without it. Was there anything else?”

  “Not at the moment, sir. I’ll be in touch.”

  “You certainly will,” the governor replied, with just the slightest hint of humor in his voice. “Kresh out.”

  The line went dead.

  That should have been his cue to swing into action, but instead, Davlo simply stared at the speaker, expressionless. After what seemed a very long time indeed, he finally stirred himself into action. He set down all he could recall of his comet data, as accurately as possible, knowing full well that the margin of error in most of his figures would render them close to useless. He sent a copy of it off to Kresh’s data mail-box, and another off to the head of the astronomy department, asking for whatever help he could get. Of course, Davlo knew perfectly well that the department head absolutely refused to accept any after-hours calls. She would not get the message until morning. But still, best to have it done.

  Simple enough jobs, both of them, but they seemed to take an inordinately long time—and to take a great deal out of Davlo. After the day he had had, there was not really a great deal left to take. When he was at last done with the messages, he did not get up. Instead he sat there, unable to rouse himself. There was a lot more he ought to do, but Davlo Lentrall could not quite bring himself to move. Not quite yet.

  It was that hour of the night when rational thought seems most unreasonable, when unreasoning fear seems utterly logical, and disasters seem most probable. Davlo thought of his nameless, faceless, enormously powerful enemies. They were mad enough at him already. He was not entirely sure he wanted to do anything else—like getting out of his chair—that might incur their wrath.

  There was some part of Davlo Lentrall that was able to recognize the fragility of his own personality at that moment. A part of him that could see that the game was over. A part of him that knew he had been pretending to be someone and something he was not for a long time. He had seen himself as smarter, braver, better than anyone else. And why not, in a universe where robots protected everyone from the consequences of their actions, where robots did all the hard work and left the posturing for humans? He had always imagined himself as being immune to fear and as impossible to harm. It was easy enough to indulge such fancies when robots warded off all danger.

  And that part of Davlo Lentrall could feel it all slipping away. A few more shocks, a few more disasters, and he knew he would not be able to hold together. What was he to do if the mask fell from his face altogether, and the face underneath was blank? He knew now that he was not the person he had pretended to be. But then who was he?

  Davlo Lentrall sat in his office chair, still as a switched-off robot, trying to work up the nerve to move.

  It might have been a minute later, or an hour later, when Kaelor came into the room. “Come along, sir,” the robot said. “You must rest. There is nothing more you can accomplish tonight.”

  Lentrall allowed himself to be led away, allowed Kaelor to peel off his clothes, move him through the refresher, and put him to bed. He was asleep almost before he was fully between the covers. The last thing he saw as his head hit the pillow was Kaelor leaning over him, tucking the sheets up around him.

  And the first thing he would think of the next morning was where he might find quite a bit of his lost data.

  DONALD 111 WAS every bit as motionless as Lentrall had been, but he was far from inactive. Donald stood in his niche in the wall of Alvar Kresh’s home office, and worked the hyperwave links with all the speed and efficiency that he could muster. To an outside observer, Donald would have appeared completely inert, as if he had been shut down altogether. In point of fact, he was linked into a half-dozen databases, patched through to simultaneous conference calls with robots in the City of Hades maintenance offices, the Department of Public Safety, the Emergency Preparedness Service, the Combined Inferno Police, and a half-dozen other agencies. No one knew for sure what would happen if and when the comet hit, but there were certain basic precautions that could be taken—and Donald could at least get them started.

  It had to be anticipated that there would be quakes and aftershocks as a result of the impact, even in Hades, halfway around the planet. That assumption right there meant a great deal of work would have to be done. There were buildings that would have to be braced. Perhaps it would be wise if some old and unneeded buildings were disassembled altogether. Valuable and fragile objects would have to be stored in places of safety.

  And then, of course, there were the people. The robots would have to prepare massive places of shelter, where the quakes could be ridden out in safety.

  All the computer projections and models made it clear they had to anticipate that the comet impact would inject a large amount of dust, gas, and water vapor into the atmosphere. Theory said the dust injection would be of benefit to the climate in the long run, an aid to the efforts to adjust the planetary greenhouse factor, but it also meant there would be a prolonged period of bad weather. The robots of Inferno had to prepare for this as well.

  There were dozens, hundreds, thousands of details to work out, contingencies to prepare for, scarce resources to be allocated between conflicting demands.

  Donald had made a status report to the governor three hours after commencing the job, as instructed, although there was not a great deal of new information at that time. Things were really just getting started.

  The job his master had given him was enormous in scope, enormous enough that Donald already convinced himself that the job was far beyond his capacity. It was obviously quite impossible for him to organize the entire planet for the comet impact all by himself. But his master, Governor Alvar Kresh, had to know that as well. Clearly, therefore, his orders required some interpretation. Donald would do the best he could for as long as required, but there would come a point where it would be counterproductive for Donald to run things, instead of handing the job to whatever combination of humans and robots were best suited to the job. But until the governor issued orders to that effect, Donald would tackle the job as best he could.

  Indeed, the initial stages of the job were well within Donald’s capacities. Later there would be decisions to make that were beyond his scope, but for now he even had a little bit of extra capacity—enough to monitor the news channels, for example. That was a routine part of running a large-scale mobilization job like this one. One had to monitor all the uncontrollable variables that affected the situation. Fr
om the operations planning side of things, unfavorable news reports were as much an uncontrollable and unpredictable variable as bad weather or plagues or economic crashes. Nor was it just the news itself that mattered—the way in which was reported was equally important. The mood of the report, the things that were left in and left out, the match-up between the facts as reported and the facts as known to the project team—all of those mattered.

  And Donald was enough of a student of human behavior to know that what he heard starting to be reported on the over-night news broadcast was far beyond his ability to judge. All he could know for sure was that it would have some effect, and a complicating one at that.

  So he did was any robot would do under the circumstances.

  He went looking for a human who could deal with the problem.

  FREDDA LEVING OPENED her eyes to see Donald’s calm and expressionless gaze looking down on her. She of all people should not have been unnerved by the sight. After all, she had built Donald, and she knew him as well as anyone else in her life. She knew how solid a protection the Three Laws were, and how utterly reliable Donald was in any event. But even so, it had been a long, hard day, and there was something distinctly unnerving about waking up to see a sky-blue robotic face staring down at one’s self. “Donald,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. “What is it?”

  “Dr. Leving, I have just monitored an audio channel news report from Inferno Networks concerning the incident today at Government Tower Plaza.”

  “That’s hardly surprising,” Fredda said. “What else would they put on the news?”

  “True enough, Doctor. However, this report is rather surprising. I believe you should hear it.”

  Fredda sighed and sat up in bed. “Very well, Donald. Play it back for me.”

  The cool, professional voice of a female newsreader began to speak through Donald’s speaker grille. “Sources close to the investigation have uncovered a rumor that has been circulating for most of the day—that the incident at Government Tower today was actually a coup attempt, an effort to seize control of the government itself.”

  Suddenly, Fredda was fully and absolutely awake. What the devil was the woman talking about? There’s hadn’t been any coup attempt.

  “Even more remarkable is the reason offered as motivation for the coup attempt,” the newsreader went on. “The attempt was made to prevent the government from causing a comet to crash into the planet. According to the same source, the government is actively and secretly engaged in just such a project, under the belief that the comet impact will somehow enhance the planetary environment. Attempts to contact Governor Kresh for comment have been unsuccessful. We will of course provide further details of this story as they become available.”

  The recording ended, and Donald spoke in his own voice. “That was the sum total of reportage on any coup attempt,” Donald said, anticipating Fredda’s first question. “I might add that Inferno Networks has a tradition of sensationalist reports, and that at various times the Settler and Ironhead organizations, as well as the government itself, have found it a useful conduit for leaks.”

  “So it could have come from anywhere. When did that broadcast go out?” Fredda asked, trying to think.

  “Just a few minutes ago, at 0312 hours local time here in Hades.”

  “In the dead of night, the time it would be least likely to have much circulation. Interesting. Very, very interesting. Has anyone from any of the news services attempted to reach A1var—ah, the governor?”

  “Not through any of the access points or comm links that I monitor,” Donald replied.

  “In other words, either they didn’t really try to reach him, or they didn’t try very hard,” Fredda said, half to herself. She thought for a moment. “They’re trying to flush us out,” she announced at last. “Get us out in the open, fight in their sights. That’s got to be it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Donald. “Who is ‘they’?”

  “I would assume that it’s the same people who tried to snatch Davlo Lentrall,” Fredda said. “It means they’re trying to force us to admit there is a plan to drop a comet—and they’re trying to present the idea in the most unfavorable way possible. They want to make it look like the comet idea is so bad that people would risk violence and upheaval rather than let it happen. And if they can make the comet plan seem like some sort of fiendish secret plot, all the better. It will put more pressure on the government—on Alvar—to backpedal, get as far back from the comet idea as possible.”

  “I see,” said Donald in a tone of voice that made it clear he did not. “I must admit that the subtleties of human politics are quite beyond me. Might I ask why whoever it was that did this arranged for it to be broadcast at this hour of the night?”

  “They’re sending a signal,” Fredda said. “They’re giving us until morning to put together a denial, to explain it away, and let the whole thing evaporate.”

  “And if you fail to do so?”

  Fredda waved at Donald’s speaker grille, vaguely indicating the recorded human voice that had just come from it. “Then they will use all the news outlets they get can to listen to them. They’ll raise every kind of hell they can. Maybe try to force Alvar out of office.”

  “So what do we do?” Donald asked.

  Fredda thought for a moment. Logically, the thing to do was call Alvar, consult with him. The trouble was, of course, that she did not know where he was. He had not told her. No doubt she could find him if she wanted to do so. Probably all she had to do was ask Donald. Either he knew, or else he could find out, somehow. But she had the distinct impression that Alvar had wanted to be alone. And Donald had come to her, not to Alvar. That in and of itself strongly implied that Donald did not wish to contact Alvar. Had Alvar left explicit orders with Donald? Or was Donald working on some sort of implied orders? Could she get him to override that instruction with a stated and emphatic command to help her contact her husband? Or suppose he knew where Alvar was but just wanted to protect his master from a politically damaging situation by dumping it in Fredda’s lap?

  Damnation! The situation was bad enough without having to go into the whichness of what and the balancing of implied commands and hypothetical First Law issues.

  Fredda had gotten to precisely that point in her reasoning when Donald spoke. “I beg your pardon, Dr. Leving, but there is an incoming call for you from the Hades News Reporting Service.”

  “For me?” Why the devil would they call her? Unless they had tried for Alvar already. Or else maybe—“Oh, the hell with it,” she said out loud, and stood up. She was too tired for more guessing games. “Audio only. I must look an absolute fright. Put the call through the bedroom comm panel, Donald. And better record the call as well.” She started pacing back and forth, for want of a better outlet for her nervous energy.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Donald. “The caller can hear you—now.”

  Thoughtful of Donald to handle it that way. More than a few people had been embarrassed talking to an audio-only caller who wasn’t there—or, worse, by talking indiscreetly before they knew the caller was there. “This is Fredda Leving,” she said to the empty air. “Who is calling, please?”

  “Good evening, Dr. Leving.” A very smooth, professional-sounding male voice spoke into the empty air. “This is Hilyar Lews, Hades News Reporting.”

  Fredda had heard and seen the man on the air, and she did not like him. Besides which, it irritated her that anyone could sound so smooth and polished at this hour of the night. “Did you say, ‘Good evening’?” Fredda asked. “Wouldn’t ‘Good morning’ would be a trifle more accurate, Mr. Lews? And I might add that it is traditional to apologize for calling at this hour,” she said, hoping to put the man off balance.

  “Um, ah, well, yes, ma’am. My apologies.” It was obvious from Lews’s tone of voice that he knew exactly how awkward he sounded. Good.

  “Well, now that you have me up, Mr. Lews, did you have a particular reason for callin
g? Or is this just a friendly chat?” Best to keep the fellow as much off balance as possible.

  “Ah, no, ma’am. It’s a very serious call. We’ve been trying to reach the governor concerning the allegations that are being broadcast by Inferno Networks News? Ah—have you heard the I-N News reports?”

  “I have indeed,” said Fredda. “And I can speak for my husband without the necessity of disturbing him at this hour. There absolutely, positively, categorically was no coup attempt. There was and is no threat to the government.”

  “But what about the—”

  “I can’t comment on the details of an ongoing investigation.’’ Fredda rolled right over whatever Lews was going to ask, glad to have such a convenient phrase to hand.

  “Very well, ma’am. But what about this business concerning a comet? Is there any truth at all to that part of the story? It sounds a little too fantastic for it to have been made up out of nothing at all.”

  Fredda stopped her pacing back and forth and sat down on the edge of the bed. Why the devil did crises always hit in the middle of the night, when she was half asleep? She had to think, and think fast. It was no good denying the story. Not when it was true, not when it was bound to leak out again, some other way, and soon. But she could not just blandly confirm it either. She had no idea at all how likely the comet plan was. Alvar had gone off somewhere to study the problem. Suppose he had already concluded the idea was, after all, as insane as it sounded? She could not commit him, either way. But she couldn’t let it go with a flat “no comment” either. That would simply start the rumor mill churning faster than ever.

  In short, there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t cause some serious damage. She should never have taken this call in the first place. But it was too late now. She had to say something. She took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, carefully. “There is a comet,” she said. “The governor is aware of . . . studies that have been made concerning the comet.” Suddenly Fredda had an inspiration. Something she could say that was utterly truthful, and yet something that was completely misleading. Something that might slow down the rumor long enough to buy them some time. “I do not know all the details, but I believe the project has something to do with Operation Snowball. I assume you are familiar with Snowball?”