'I know. Do you think I enjoy what I'm doing? This isn't a hero's job. I'm enough of a psychologist to want to know what's going on, but I've been sent here to protect the Federation, and to the best of my ability I intend doing it - and a dirty job it is. But I can't help it.'
'You can't have thought it out. What can you know of the insight it will give us into the basic ideas of psychology? This will amount to a fusion of two Galactic systems, that will send us to heights that will make up in knowledge and power a million times the amount of harm the robots could ever do, if they were metal-electricity supermen.'
The secretary shrugged. 'Now you're the one that is playing with faint possibilities.'
'Listen, I'll make a deal. Blockade them. Isolate them with your ships. Mount guards. But don't touch them. Give us more time. Give us a chance. You must!'
'I've thought of that. But I would have to get Congress to agree to that. It would be expensive, you know.'
The Board Master flung himself into his chair in wild impatience. 'What kind of expense are you talking about? Do you realize the nature of the repayment if we succeed?'
Murry considered; then, with a half smile, 'What if they develop interstellar travel?'
The Board Master said quickly, 'Then I'll withdraw my objections.' The secretary rose, 'I'll have it out with Congress.'
Brand Gorla's face was carefully emotionless as he watched the Board Master's stooped back. The cheerful pep talks to the available members of the expedition lacked meat, and he listened to them impatiently.
He said, 'What are we going to do now?'
The Board Master's shoulders twitched and he didn't turn. 'I've sent for Theor Realo. That little fool left for the Eastern Continent last week -'
'Why?'
The older man blazed at the interruption. 'How can I understand anything that freak does! Don't you see that Murry's right? He's a psychic abnormality. We had no business leaving him unwatched. If I had ever thought of looking at him twice, I wouldn't have. He's coming back now, though, and he's going to stay back.' His voice fell to a mumble. 'Should have been back two hours ago.'
'It's an impossible position, sir,' said Brand, flatly.
'Think so?'
'Well- Do you think Congress will stand for an indefinite patrol off the robot world? It runs into money, and average Galactic citizens aren't going to see it as worth the taxes. The psychological equations degenerate into the axioms of common sense. In fact, I don't see why Murry agreed to consult Congress.'
'Don't you?' The Board Master finally faced his junior. 'Well, the fool considers himself a psychologist, Galaxy help us, and that's his weak point. He flatters himself that he doesn't want to destroy the robot world in his heart, but that it's the good of the Federation that requires it. And he'll jump at any reasonable compromise. Congress won't agree to it indefinitely, you don't have to point that out to me.' He was talking quietly, patiently. 'But I will ask for ten years, two years, six months -as much as I can get. I'll get something. In that time, we'll learn new facts about the world. Somehow we'll strengthen our case and renew the agreement when it expires. We'll save the project yet.'
There was a short silence and the Board Master added slowly and bitterly, 'And that's where Theor Realo plays a vital part.'
Brand Gorla watched silently, and waited. The Board Master said, 'On that one point, Murry saw what we didn't. Realo is a psychological cripple, and is our real clue to the whole affair. If we study him, we'll have a rough picture of what the robot is like, distorted of course, since his environment has been a hostile, unfriendly one. But we ca0 make allowance for that, estimate his nature in a- Ahh, I'm tired of the whole subject.'
The signal box flashed, and the Board Master sighed. 'Well, he's here. All right, Gorla, sit down, you make me nervous. Let's take a look at him.'
Theor Realo came through the door like a comet and brought himself to a panting halt in the middle of the floor. He looked from one to the other with weak, peering eyes.
'How did all this happen?'
'All what?' said the Board Master coldly. 'Sit down. I want to ask you some questions.'
'No. You first answer me,'
'Sit down!'
Realo sat. His eyes were brimming. 'They're going to destroy the robot world.'
'Don't worry about that.'
'But you said they could if the robots discovered interstellar travel. You said so. You fool. Don't you see -' He was choking.
The Board Master frowned uneasily. 'Will you calm down and talk sense?'
The albino gritted his teeth and forced the words out. 'But they'll have interstellar travel before long.'
And the two psychologists shot toward the little man.
'What!!'
'Well... well, what do you think?' Realo sprang upward with all the fury of desperation. 'Did you think I landed in a desert or in the middle of an ocean and explored a world all by myself? Do you think life is a storybook? I was captured as soon as I landed and taken to the big city. At least, I think it was a big city. It was different from our kind. It had - But I won't tell you.'
'Never mind the city,' shrieked the Board Master. 'You were captured. Go ahead.'
'They studied me. They studied my machine. And then, one night, I left, to tell the Federation. They didn't know I left. They didn't want me to leave.' His voice broke. 'And I would have stayed as soon as not, but the Federation had to know.'
'Did you tell them anything about your ship?'
'How could I? I'm no mechanic. I don't know the theory or construction. But I showed them how to work the controls and let them look at the motors. That's all.'
Brand Gorla said, to himself mostly, 'Then they'll never get it. That isn't enough.'
The albino's voice raised itself in sudden shrieking triumph. 'Oh, yes, they will. I know them. They're machines, you know. They'll work on that problem. And they'll work. And they'll work. And they'll never quit. And they'll get it. They got enough out of me. I'll bet they got enough.'
The Board Master looked long, and turned away - wearily. 'Why didn't you tell us?'
'Because you took my world away from me. I discovered it -by myself - all by myself. And after I had done all the real work, and invited you in, you threw me out. All you had for me was complaints that I had landed on the world and might have ruined everything by interference. Why should I tell you? Find out for yourselves if you're so wise, that you could afford to kick me around.'
The Board Master thought bitterly, 'Misfit! Inferiority complex! Persecution mania! Nice! It all fits in, now that we've bothered to take our eyes off the horizon and see what was under our nose. And now it's all ruined.'
He said, 'All right, Realo, we all lose. Go away.'
Brand Gorla said tightly, 'All over? Really all over?'
The Board Master answered, 'Really all over. The original experiment, as such, is over. The distortions created by Realo's visit will easily be large enough to make the plans we are studying here a dead language. And besides - Murry is right. If they have interstellar travel, they're dangerous.'
Realo was shouting, 'But you're not going to destroy them. You can't destroy them. They haven't hurt anyone.'
There was no answer, and he raved on, 'I'm going back. I'll warn them. They'll be prepared. I'll warn them.'
He was backing toward the door, his thin, white hair bristling, his red-rimmed eyes bulging.
The Board Master did not move to stop him when he dashed out.
'Let him go. It was his lifetime. I don't care any more.'
Theor Realo smashed toward the robot world at an acceleration that was half choking him.
Somewhere ahead was the dustspeck of an isolated world with artificial imitations of humanity struggling along in an experiment that had died. Struggling blindly toward a new goal of interstellar travel that was to be their death sentence.
He was heading toward that world, toward the same city in which he had been 'studied' the first time. He remembered it well. Its name was the first words of their language he had learned.
New York!
On July 26, 1943, which was a Monday, I had one of the rare days off I could take during wartime. (It was, after all, my first wedding anniversary.) I was in New York that day, and I visited Campbell just as in the good old days. I discussed with him another story in the 'Foundation' series, as well as another in the 'positronic robot' series. From then on, I always saw Campbell on the rare days when I was in New York on a weekday, and of course we corresponded regularly.
I was definitely back at writing. Output was low, but during the remaining war years I wrote two positronic robot stories, 'Catch That Rabbit' and 'Paradoxical Escape,' which appeared in the February 1944 and August 1945 issues of Astounding, respectively. Both were eventually included in I, Robot. (The latter story appears in /, Robot under the title of 'Escape.' The word 'Paradoxical' had been added by Campbell in one of his few title changes, and I didn't like it.)
I also wrote no less than four stories of the 'Foundation' series during those same years. These were 'The Big and the Little,' 'The Wedge,' 'Dead Hand' and 'The Mule.' All appeared in Astounding, of course, the first three in the August 1944, October 1944, and April 1945 issues, respectively.
'The Mule' set several records for me. It was the longest story I had ever written up to that time - fifty thousand words long. Yet even so, and despite the fact that I had to work on it in small scraps of time left over from job and marriage, I managed to complete it in three and a half months. It was submitted on May 21, 1945, and was accepted on the twenty-ninth. (Indeed, throughout the war I never got a single rejection, or even a delayed acceptance. Nor did I submit to anyone but Campbell.)
What's more, at the beginning of 1944 Campbell raised his basic rate to one and a half cents a word and some months later to a cent and three quarters. For 'The Mule' I received a check at the higher rate, for $875. It was by far the largest check I ever received for a single story. By the end of the war, in fact, I was making half as much money writing in my spare time as I was making at my N.A.E.S. job, even though I had been promoted and was receiving sixty dollars a week by the end of the war.
Then, too, 'The Mule' was the first story I ever had published as a serial. It appeared in two parts in the November and December 1945 issues of Astounding.
Of the wartime 'Foundation' stories, 'The Big and the Little' and 'The Wedge' are included in Foundation, while 'Dead Hand' and 'The Mule,' together, make up all of Foundation and Empire.
During the two years between mid-1943 and mid-1945, I wrote only one story that was neither one of the 'Foundation' series nor one of the 'Positronic robot' series, and that one was inspired directly by the N.A.E.S. This story was 'Blind Alley,' which was written during September and early October of 1944. It was submitted to Campbell on October 10, and accepted on the twentieth.
Blind Alley
Only once in Galactic History was an intelligent race of non-Humans discovered-
"Essays on History.' by Ligurn Vier
I
From: Bureau for the Outer Provinces
To: Loodun Antyok, Chief Public Administrator, A-8
Subject: Civilian Supervisor of Cepheus 18, Administrative Position as, References:
(a) Act of Council 2515, of the year 971 of the Galactic Empire, entitled, 'Appointment of Officials of the Administra tive Service, Methods for, Revision of.'
(b) Imperial Directive, Ja 2374, dated 243/975 G.E.
1. By authorization of reference (a), you are hereby ap pointed to the subject position. The authority of said position as Civilian Supervisor of Cepheus 18 will extend over non- Human subjects of the Emperor living upon the planet under the terms of autonomy set forth in reference (b).
2. The duties of the subject position shall comprise the gen eral supervision of all non-Human internal affairs, co-ordina tion of authorized government investigating and reporting committees, and the preparation of semiannual reports on all phases of non-Human affairs.
C. Morily, Chief,
BuOuProv, 12/977 G.E.
Loodun Antyok had listened carefully, and now he shook his round head mildly, 'Friend, I'd like to help you, but you've grabbed the wrong dog by the ears. You'd better take this up with the Bureau.'
Tomor Zammo flung himself back into his chair, rubbed his beak of a nose fiercely, thought better of whatever he was going to say, and answered quietly, 'Logical, but not practical. I can't make a trip to Trantor now. You're the Bureau's representative on Cepheus 18. Are you entirely helpless?'
'Well, even as Civilian Supervisor, I've got to work within the limits of Bureau policy.'
'Good,' Zammo cried, 'then, tell me what Bureau policy is. I head a scientific investigating committee, under direct Imperial authorization with, supposedly, the widest powers; yet at every angle in the road I am pulled up short by the civilian authorities with only the parrot shriek of "Bureau policy" to justify themselves. What is Bureau policy? I haven't received a decent definition yet.'
Antyok's gaze was level and unruffled. He said, "As I see it -and this is not official, so you can't hold me to it - Bureau policy consists in treating the non-Humans as decently as possible.'
'Then, what authority have they -'
'Ssh! No use raising your voice. As a matter of fact, His Imperial Majesty is a humanitarian and a disciple of the philosophy of Aurelion. I can tell you quietly that it is pretty well-known that it is the Emperor himself who first suggested that this world be established. You can bet that Bureau policy will stick pretty close to Imperial notions. And you can bet that I can't paddle my way against that sort of current.'
'Well, m'boy,' the physiologist's fleshy eyelids quivered, 'if you take that sort of attitude, you're going to lose your job. No, I won't have you kicked out. That's not what I mean at all. Your job will just fade out from under you, because nothing is going to be accomplished here!'
'Really? Why?' Antyok was short, pink, and pudgy, and his plump-cheeked face usually found it difficult to put on display any expression other than one of bland and cheerful politeness - but it looked grave now.
'You haven't been here long. I have.' Zammo scowled. 'Mind if I smoke?' The cigar in his hand was gnarled and strong and was puffed to life carelessly.
He continued roughly, 'There's no place here for humani-tarianism, administrator. You're treating non-Humans as if they were Humans, and it won't work. In fact, I don't like the word "non-Human." They're animals.'
'They're intelligent,' interjected Antyok, softly.
'Well, intelligent animals, then. I presume the two terms are not mutually exclusive. Alien intelligences mingling in the same space won't work, anyway.'
'Do you propose killing them off?'
'Galaxy, no!' He gestured with his cigar. 'I propose we look upon them as objects for study, and only that. We could learn a good deal from these animals if we were allowed to. Knowledge, I might point out, that would be used for the immediate benefit of the human race. There's humanity for you. There's the good of the masses, if it's this spineless cult of Aurelion that interests you.'
'What, for instance, do you refer to?'
'To take the most obvious - You have heard of their chemistry, I take it?'
'Yes,' Antyok admitted. 'I have leafed through most of the reports on the non-Humans published in the last ten years. I expect to go through more.'
'Hmp. Well- Then, all I need say is that their chemical therapy is extremely thorough. For instance, I have witnessed personally the healing of a broken bone - what passes for a broken bone with them, I mean - by the use of a pill. The bone was whole in fifteen minutes. Naturally, none of their drugs are any earthly use on Humans. Most would kill quickly. But if we found out how they worked on the non-Humans - on the animals-'
'Yes, yes. I see the significance.'
'Oh, you do. Come, that's gratifying. A second point is that these animals communicate hi an unknown manner.'
Telepathy!'
The scientist's mouth twisted, as he ground out, 'Telepathy! Telepathy! Telepathy! Might as well say by witch brew. Nobody knows anything about telepathy except its name. What is the mechanism of telepathy? What is the physiology and the physics of it? I would like to find out, but I can't. Bureau policy, if I listen to you, forbids.'
