Asimov's Future History Volume 1 (59 page)

The minute-plus until the answer came felt like forever. When it did, they almost wished it hadn’t.

“I … am not … so obliged. You … are robots.”

“Huh? Code Upsilon, damn it!” Donovan roared. “And the Second Law! You can see and hear we’re human!”

Interminability.

“I observe … the semblance. I hear the claim. Also, yes” The scene wavered a little, as if Jack shuddered. “Also the word of command. But — but —”

The voice trailed off. “Go on,” Powell said low. “But what?”

After another dripping away of seconds: “Napoleon warned me of this. He … he said … robots posing as humans … possessing the password … would try to do … exactly what you are trying to do.”

Donovan opened his mouth. Powell made a shushing gesture, leaned nearer the screen, spoke softly and earnestly.

“Listen, Jack. Something is terribly wrong. You’re altogether misinformed. We don’t blame you, but you must help us get to the bottom of this. Help us to help you, understand? Tell us exactly what has happened. Tell us why you think what you think. Who told you what, Jack? For the well-being of humanity, tell us.”

Waiting.

“If you … are robots … you are deceived.” The voice strengthened. “You are serving a disastrous policy. Let me enlighten you.”

“Certainly, Jack. If we, if we are robots, we too obey the First Law. We would never willingly or wittingly cause humans to come to harm. And if we are not robots, then we need to learn about possible dangers, don’t we? Remember, we know Code Upsilon. That implies we are humans, doesn’t it? In a pretty special position, at that. Tell us everything, Jack.”

Waiting. Despite the chill, sweat gleamed on Donovan’s cheeks. He wiped it with large, helpless hands.

The pause went on for an added minute, but when the machine tones arrived, they had steadied. “Very well. The password does require me to give you as much obedience as possible. Napoleon told me it would. In fact, events are proceeding as he foresaw, which you must agree adds credence to his statements.

“On date 23 January, hour 0917 and 3.68 seconds, I was in the Loki area, having taken a flitter there to prospect for new digs while my workers finished up at the Aten lode. A full audiovisual of a human appeared to me. He identified himself as the Emperor Napoleon and described a deadly menace newly discovered through study of specimens sent back to Earth during the first robotic explorations decades ago. It had not been found earlier because it is so subtle and surprising.

“Energized by vulcanism, a kind of pseudolife has evolved here. Napoleon called it a viroid. It derives its own energy by promoting reactions among metallic elements. As a rule this goes very slowly, but in the course of geological time the viroid has infested all minerals, and reduction will not get rid of it. By now it is in equilibrium on Io, essentially dormant, but when it is brought into contact with uncontaminated metal it will spread again, faster at Earth temperatures than here. This station, with robots and machinery, will begin to crumble within ten or fifteen standard years. Let Ionian metals be introduced on Earth, and the whole industrial infrastructure will collapse in a time not much longer. Dependent on it, the vast majority of humans will die horribly.

“Fortunately, thus far only a small tonnage has been exported, and it only to industries off Earth. Samples on Earth have been kept isolated for research purposes. Certain disintegrations led to studies which determined the cause. Steps can be taken to eliminate contaminated metal everywhere; it is not too late. But clearly, no more material of any kind may ever leave Io. Napoleon ordered me under Code Upsilon to halt operations.”

“He lied!” Donovan shouted. “There’s been no such trouble, no such discovery. Lies, I tell you!”

Powell agreed more smoothly, “This is correct. We would have known. If the danger existed, would we be here wanting you to start work again?”

Waiting.

“Napoleon explained this and anticipated your argument,” Jack said. He still didn’t sound quite self-assured. “The findings are, as yet, controversial. They seem to defy the principles of biology, as biology has hitherto been taught. The directors of Project Io have a major personal, financial, and political investment in it. They refuse to believe. They have kept the news from the public. Napoleon represents a group of dissident scientists who realize that, at the least, operations must be suspended until the truth has been ascertained beyond any doubt.

“He told me that, when I took this measure, the directors would try to annul it. They would send robots, because humans might feel qualms and let the world know what is going on. Cleverly misinformed, the robots would have instructions to pose as humans and dissuade me.”

The voice grew firmer. “You are those emissaries. Yes, Napoleon’s group could perhaps be mistaken. But I cannot take the chance. The possibility that humans may die in the billions is … unthinkable … unacceptable under any circumstances, any odds. Consider this, you two, in the light of the First Law. You must set your own orders aside.”

“But we aren’t robots,” Donovan choked. “Just look at us.”

“We could be disguised,” Powell admitted fast. “The simplest way would be to change the digital transmission. Put in a program that converts a robot image to a human image. Voices likewise. It would be much easier the other way around. Humans have many more features, more nuances of expression. Watch my face, my hands.” He went through a repertoire of smiles, frowns, and gestures. “Could a robot do that, with all the shadings you see?”

Waiting.

Renewed uncertainty spoke. “I … am not … acquainted with such details … about humans.”

“Then how do you know Napoleon isn’t a robot?” Donovan flung.

“Pipe down, Mike,” Powell snapped. “Oh, Jack, you do have a lood intelligence and a capability of independent judgment. You must be aware of the possibility that Napoleon has misled you, and we are in fact humans giving you your proper orders. Now think how much more believable it is that that’s’ the case.”

He had expected a pause for pondering, but the reply was as prompt as light-speed allowed, and once more — above an undertone, an unevenness, that sounded anguished — resolute. “It is indeed conceivable. I do not know enough about human affairs to gauge the probability. That does not matter. Given the slightest chance that Napoleon is right, and his use of Code Upsilon indicates that he does have full access to information, the consequences are absolutely impermissible. This outweighs every other consideration. I cannot allow mining and shipment to continue. If the attempt is made, I must do my best to prevent it.” With a naiveté that would have been pathetic under less desperate circumstances: “I shall cache explosives in the hills and devise weapons against future robots. My own workers will follow me.”

Powell gnawed an end ofhis mustache. “I see. Let’s try this from another angle. Tell me about Napoleon. What does he look like? How often has he contacted you, and from where? What precisely has he said?”

Waiting.

“In person,” said Jack, “he is a somewhat stout male, of short stature to judge by what glimpses I have had of his control board, although those are bare glimpses. His hair is black. He wears a cloth around his neck. Otherwise any clothing is covered by an overgarment of a blue color, with golden-hued braid at the shoulders. I have not seen his legs. He commonly keeps his right hand tucked into the coat. He also wears a kind of triangular headgear, likewise blue, of some soft material.”

Donovan’s lips formed a soundless whistle.

The voice plodded on: “As for where he calls from, it must be outside the radiation belt, since he is human, but he has not informed me. I have noted the time lags with my internal clock, and computed that he cannot be on Himalia. In fact, their rather slight variations indicate he is not on any moon.

“He has called three times. The exchanges have been brief. I will attempt to re-create them for you, because … because if you are human, I must obey you to the extent that the First Law permits.”

The words that followed were, indeed, short and to the point. The original communication described the viroids and gave the order to cease and desist. The other two, at intervals of a few days, were essentially reinforcing; such questions as had occurred to Jack got curt answers, which bore down on the danger to mankind and the reckless villainy of Project lo’s directors. Powell and Donovan refrained from asking how Napoleon came to speak fluent English. They were more interested in the additional command.

“Now that you are here,” Jack said, “I must inform him. I will broadcast at sufficient strength that his receivers will pick it up, wherever he is in the Jovian region. Thereafter I will arrange that any further discussions with you will be directly retransmitted in full audiovisual to him. Thus he will hear what you have to say, and join in if he chooses.” Wistfulness? “Perhaps you can persuade him he is misguided.”

“Perhaps,” mumbled Donovan without hope.

Waiting.

“I had better take care of that at once,” Jack said. “I see no profit in further conversation at this point, do you? If you have any valid points to make, factual or logical, call me and I will consider them. So will Napoleon.”

The screen blanked.

The spaceship was a haven of comfort and sanity. Borup heard his passengers out, clicked his tongue, and told them, “What you need first is a stiff drink. I have a bottle of akvavit for emeryencies.”

Donovan raised a hand. “Best offer I’ve had all day,” he said, “but first, can we start searching?”

“What’s this?” asked Powell.

“Look, if Napoleon is real, he’s got to be hanging around in this neighborhood. Let’s see if we can find him before he figures out some fresh deviltry. If he’s not real, if Jack is quantum hopping, what’ve we lost?”

“If he is hidden on one of the moons, I do not know how we can detect him,” Borup objected.

Donovan shook his head. “Jack doesn’t think he is, and he for sure would not be. In the first place, digging in like that is a lot of work, needs time and equipment and hands. If this is a try to sabotage Project Io, it’s got to be a shoestring kind of thing, a tiny clique, like maybe half a dozen individuals. Anything bigger would take too long to organize, be too hard to manage, and make secrecy impossible for any useful length of time. Investigators would be bound to get clues to the guilty parties.”

Powell regarded his partner closely. “Once in a while you surprise me,” he confessed. “Marvelous, my dear Holmes!”

Donovan bowed. “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Holmes and Watson never said that,” Borup remarked aside.

Donovan continued: “We’ve also got the fact that the gear for using the Trojan relays is special and delicate. On the surface of a moon it would stick up in sight of God and everybody and give the game away. Therefore Napoleon must be in space. And he won’t want to lose touch with Io during the frequent occultations. So he’ll be well above or below the ecliptic, where he always has Io in his instruments. An orbit skewed from Jupiter’s but otherwise with the same elements will keep him in place, fairly stably, over a period of a few weeks, I should think.” He glanced at Borup. “Svend, could we find a ship loitering maybe two, three million klicks from here in the northern or southern sky?”

Powell scowled. “That’s a monstrous volume of space to cruise through.”

“I would not obyect to running up the bill I present the company wit’,” Borup said, “but it is not necessary, and it would waste time that is precious. We do carry very sensitive instruments. When you travel at the speeds a courier reaches, you must be able to detect t’ings far ahead of you.” He pondered. “M-m-m,
tja,
it depends on the size and type of the craft. But somet’ing no bigger than mine, which is close to minimum, we could get on the optics for certain. And radar reaches still farther. The rotation axis of this moon is tilted enough that we need not take off to examine bot’ regions where Napoleon must be in one of if he monitors Io.”

“The ship’s hull could be camouflaged, couldn’t it?” Powell inquired. “Then how’ll you know your radar hasn’t fingered a meteoroid?”

“Camouflage, maybe, I am not sure. But the nature of a radar-reflecting surface shows in the return signal if you got an analyzer like mine. Metal is different from rock and so on. And once we have acquired a suspicious obyect, we have more instruments. In these parts, unless the crew is frozen to deat’, there will be infrared emission — and also from that direction, out of the power plant, neutrinos above the background count. Yes, I t’ink we can find the Emperor’s spaceship unless he is so far away that the communications delay is ridiculous. I will go put Knud on it.” Borup thrust foot against bulwark and arrowed out of the saloon, into the passageway leading to the control room.

He returned with the promised bottle and three small thin glasses, to join Powell and Donovan at the table. There was just sufficient weight to make pouring and drinking feasible, albeit a trifle awkward. “Ole, make dinner,” he called. “A special treat for these poor men. Fishballs and tomato soup. You look too gloomy, my friends.”

“We were wondering what to do if Jack really is insane — which is the simplest hypothesis, after all.” Powell’s tone was dark. “Get him aboard a robotic ship and back to Earth for Dr. Calvin to interview, sure. Except, how? He believes his duty is to stay and fight any new effort to exploit Io. He might return with us anyway, I suppose, if he knew we’re human. Second Law. You could add your voice for reinforcement, Svend. We’d outvote Napoleon three to one. But he can’t be certain. My guess is that even if he granted a ninety-nine percent probability that we’re human, he wouldn’t risk it. That one percent contains an outcome he finds unendurable.”

The smile died on Borup’s mouth. “We all do, no?” he replied most softly. “I would not take such a chance, would you? Better we go back to bad, corrupt politics than nearly everybody on Eart’ die and the survivors are starving savages. Could Napoleon be telling the trut’?”

“Absolutely not,” Donovan stated. “I know that much biology, physics, and geology. Too bad Jack doesn’t.”