Isaac Asimov's Utopia Read online

  “Ah, yes, somewhat, ma’am.” There was a longish pause. At a guess, Lews was doing a lookup on “snowball” in some sort of reference system. Fredda smiled. It was increasingly obvious to her that Lews was not quite as smooth and prepared as he let on. That was also good. “It’s a project to mine ice from comets and drop it into the atmosphere,” Lews said, in a tone of voice that made it obvious that he was reading the words from off some screen or another.

  “Precisely. In effect, dropping a comet on the planet—a few kilograms at a time. Snowball has been going on for some time, and it is the only officially approved project concerning comets that I know about.” The statement was true, if misleading in the extreme. The Comet Grieg plan was not, after all, approved. “I trust that answers your questions, Mr. Lews?”

  “Well, I suppose so,” Lews replied.

  Suppose what you will, thought Fredda, just so long as l’ve muddled the trail enough to hold you off. “In that case, I’ll be getting back to bed. Good night—or good morning—Mr. Lews.” Fredda made a throat-cutting gesture to Donald, and he cut the connection. “I hope I did that right,” she said, more to herself than to Donald. “See to it that a copy of the original broadcast, and a copy of that conversation, are in the governor’s data mailbox. When he does check in, he’ll need to know what’s going on.”

  “I have already put copies into his mailbox, Doctor.”

  “Excellent.” Fredda slumped backward onto the bed, her feet still dangling down over the front of the mattress. That wouldn’t do. No point dozing off like that when she could so easily crawl back beneath the covers. She stood up, went around the bed, and got back into it, wondering if there was indeed any point in getting comfortable. It wouldn’t surprise her if she were unable to sleep at all. She certainly had enough things to worry about for her to keep her staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Where was Alvar? What was he going to do about the comet? Had she done it right, or had she just made a bad mess worse? No way to know. No way to know until it was too late.

  It seemed her to that was the running theme for everything that had happened in the last few days. She yawned, shut her eyes, rolled over on her side, and set forth on a valiant effort to fall asleep.

  FREDDA OPENED HER eyes again, to Donald staring down at her once more.

  “Your pardon, Dr. Leving, but there is an urgent call for you. The pseudo-robot Caliban says he must speak with you at once.” Fredda sighed. She knew she had to take the call, and that Caliban would only call if it were important. But even so, it was turning into a very long night. “Now what time is it?” she asked.

  “It is now 0429 hours,” Donald said.

  “It would be,” she muttered. “All right, on the bedroom comm again. Audio only.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have cared how she looked to a robot, but she did.

  “Very well, Dr. Leving. Caliban can hear you—now.”

  “Caliban, hello,” Fredda said, struggling not to yawn. “What’s going on?”

  “Dr. Leving, please forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, but I felt that we must talk. Prospero and I are leaving the city now, headed for Depot and beyond. We have learned through our own sources what is likely to befall our city.”

  Fredda blinked in surprise. She had always known that Caliban and the New Law robots had good sources of information, but she had not known they were that good. And then there was the way Caliban had phrased it. “Befall” the New Law city. A subtle pun that would reveal very little to anyone who did not know what was going on. It told her Caliban was being cautious—and that he wanted her to be equally cautious. Was he worried about eavesdroppers, or snooper robots with orders to listen for certain words? Or was he just assuming that Alvar was still there, and might be able to overhear? “I think you are being wise,” she said. “Events are moving quite rapidly, and I don’t think they will be easy to control.”

  “I quite agree,” said Caliban. “We must set to work at once preparing our citizens for the contingency in question. We may well need to call on our friends for help.”

  “You can certainly call on me,” said Fredda. “Whatever I can do, I will.” She hesitated for a moment. That was a rather sweeping promise, after all. It seemed likely that all of the Utopia region would have to be evacuated, and that would put a huge strain on transport and other resources. Few people were likely to worry about the New Law robots getting their fair share of the help. “But there will probably be limits—severe limits—on what I can do.”

  “I understand that,” said Caliban. “We have always been on our own. But even marginal assistance could turn out to be vitally important.”

  Fredda felt a pang of guilt. It was bad enough when you could do very little for your own creations. It was worse when they expected even less. “Contact me when you get there,” she said. “Let me know whatever you need, and I’ll do my damnedest to get it.”

  There was a moment’s silence on the line. “What we need,” said Caliban, “is a place where we can be left alone. We thought we had that, up until now. Caliban out.”

  The line went dead, and Fredda cursed to herself, fluently, violently, and at length. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had never asked for, never considered, the burden of obligation she had put on herself when she had created the New Law robots. She had never felt that she owed a debt, a creator’s debt to the Three-Law robots she had built. But with Caliban, with the New Law robots, she felt she owed them something, simply by virtue of calling them into existence.

  Perhaps that was the difference between creating a race of willing slaves, and a race of beings who wanted to be free.

  Fredda slumped back in bed. Damnation. Now she’d never get to sleep.

  THE FIRST HINTS of dawn were a whisper in the eastern skies of Hades as Caliban, Prospero, and Fiyle rode Prospero’s aircar up out of the city’s tunnel system. Fiyle was clearly exhausted, yawning uncontrollably. He had been up all night, Prospero grilling him relentlessly for any tiny scrap of information he might have concerning the comet operation.

  Caliban looked at the man with something very close to sympathy. Perhaps Fiyle was little better than a turncoat who sold himself to all and sundry, but even so, there was some whiff of honor about the man. Something in him had put limits on his petty betrayals and the buying and selling of trust. Something had put survival of the New Law robots above the lure of Trader Demand Notes. There was something to respect, even in this contemptible man.

  And it was, after all, that impulse to decency that had placed Norlan Fiyle in danger. That meant Norlan Fiyle had best get out of town, and fast. And the two robots, needless to say, had their own reasons to travel. They needed to warn Valhalla.

  Caliban looked from Fiyle to Prospero, and then at the city itself. He bid a farewell—and not an entirely fond one—to Hades. Perhaps he would someday return to the city. But events were moving too quickly, things were happening too fast. Somehow, a part of him knew that the city he saw now, here, today, would soon be changed beyond recognition, even if the buildings and the streets remained the same. For the lives of the people would be changed utterly, and the world beyond the city made anew.

  Unless, of course, city, people, and world were all simply smashed flat instead. Utter destruction was one form of change.

  The aircar reached for sky, and headed into the dawn.

  ALVAR KRESH SWITCHED off the link to his data mailbox, surprised at his own sense of relief. He sat at the console in front of Dum and Dee, where, it seemed to him, he had spent several years, instead of merely most of a night and most of a morning, and tried to consider the situation. The day shift for the Terraforming Center had been filtering in for the last half an hour or so, all of them more than a trifle surprised to find Governor Alvar Kresh in possession. Kresh paid them as little mind, and as little attention, as possible. Dr. Soggdon was still at the center as well, for reasons Kresh did not entirely understand. Perhaps a sense of duty was keeping her there to protect Unit Dee’s
honor against the interloper. If that was the case, she was not at her most effective. She was at her desk, head pillowed on her folded arms, fast asleep.

  Kresh turned his attention back to the news he had just received. The people trying to wreck the comet-capture project did not know it, but they had done him a very large favor indeed. Kresh had been dreading the necessity of informing the world at large of the comet project. Sooner or later, Inferno would have to know, but he had enough on his hands without being forced to calm the inevitable public uproar at the same time.

  By leaking the information, the opposition had relieved Kresh of the necessity of going before the cameras and the reporters. And Fredda had struck precisely the fight note, deflating the uproar without actually discounting the story. Thank Space he hadn’t been home to receive that call himself.

  When he had succeeded to the governorship, Kresh had made a point of eliminating all the layers of press secretaries and communications offices and scheduled appointments and all the other tricks of the trade meant to keep reporters well away from the governor, allowing the news people all but unlimited access to him. There had been plenty of times when he had regretted that policy, and today he thanked whatever source of luck he had that he had managed to avoid the press today. It might not be a bad idea to stay fight where he was, keeping a nice, low profile for a while, with as little direct communication with the outside world as possible. Here he could focus on the project itself. If he went back to Hades, it was all but inevitable that he would get swept up talking about the project, rather than doing something about it.

  Very well. Now the world knew about the comet, and he had not been the one to tell them. All to the good. But now there was another problem. The obvious thing to do now was to allow the public discussion move forward to the point where he could confirm the existence of the comet plan to a populace ready to accept the idea. But how the devil could he do that when he would be forced to make the ridiculous-sounding admission that they had misplaced the comet?

  Plainly, the best answer to that problem was to relocate the comet as soon as possible. But Kresh had done as much as he could in that direction for the moment. Sometimes the job of leadership was simply to get things started, and trust in others to get them done. He would have to keep on here, focusing on other aspects of the project, working on the assumption that they would be able to find the comet in time. Back to work, he told himself.

  “Still with me, Dee?” Kresh asked.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” Unit Dee replied. “Was there anything of interest in your mailbox?”

  “Quite a bit,” he said. “But nothing that you need worry about. I have a new task for you.”

  “I would be delighted to be of further assistance.”

  “Right,” said Kresh, his tone of voice deliberately brusque. There was something about courtly manners from a robot that got on his nerves. “My personal robot, Donald 111, is at work on the preliminary preparations for the cometary impact. Safety plans, evacuations plans, that sort of thing. I want to contact him and have him hand off that job to you. Clearly, you’re better suited to it than he is. I should have assigned the job to you in the first place. Relay my orders to that effect, then order Donald to join me here as soon as possible without revealing my whereabouts.”

  “I will contact him at once,” Dee said.

  “Good,” said Kresh. “I’m going to step out for a breath of fresh air. When I return, we will return to refining your impact targeting plan.”

  “With the extremely rough data we got from Dr. Lentrall, I am not sure there is more we can do.”

  “But there might be,” Kresh said. “At the very least we can work out a range of scenarios and contingencies, so that we are more ready to act when the time comes. We’ll work out a few hundred possible rough trajectories, and give Unit Dum something to do.”

  Dee did not respond to the very small joke, but instead spoke with her usual urbane civility. “Very well, sir. I will continue with my other duties while I await your return.”

  “Back in a minute,” Kresh said, and stood up. He stretched, yawned, and ignored the stares of the Center’s workers as he rubbed his tired face. Let them wonder what their governor was doing here. Alvar headed out the huge armored door of Room 103, down the corridor of the Terraforming Center, out the double doors that led to the outside, and into the morning.

  It had been a long time since he had worked a job all night, worked all the clock around. He was close to exhausted, but not quite. There was something invigorating about seeing the morning after a hard night’s work. Somehow Kresh always felt as if he had earned the loveliness of morning after working through the darkness.

  The rains were gone now, and the world was fresh and bright, scrubbed clean. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with perfect white clouds that set off the deep azure of the heavens. The air smelled sweet, and good. Alvar Kresh looked toward the west, in the direction of the governor’s Winter Residence. He remembered another morning like this, with every-thing fresh and bright, and all good things possible. A morning he had spent with Fredda, just after he had assumed the governorship. That had been a morning of good omen. Perhaps this would be as well.

  And maybe it was time to move over to the Winter Residence. That would let him stay on the island. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea to keep a low profile just now. But that could wait until later. Right now there was something else he could do to keep himself isolated. He walked over to his aircar, sitting in the middle of a parking lot that was now half full of aircars. Oberon saw him through the cockpit viewport, and the door of the craft swung open as he approached. Kresh went aboard, and found Oberon just coming aft to meet him.

  “Are we heading home, sir?” Oberon asked in his slow, ponderous voice.

  “You are, but I’m not. Fly the aircar back and give my regards to my wife. Tell her I heard the recordings, and that she handled them exactly right. Tell her where I am, and that if she wishes, she can join me here—if she can do so undetected. I would value her advice. You must make it clear I wish to keep my whereabouts as private as possible for the time being. I need time to think, and work, without the world jiggling my elbow.”

  “What of the workers here, sir?” asked Oberon. “They know where you are.”

  “True enough, and sooner or later something is going to leak. With luck it will be later. Just see to it you aren’t the one that does the leaking. Fly an evasive pattern so it looks like you’re coming in to Hades from someplace besides here.”

  “Very good, sir. Unless there is something further, I will leave at once.”

  “Nothing else,” said Kresh. “Go.” He mined and stepped out of the hatch, and moved back toward the building to get clear for Oberon’s takeoff. After a moment or two the aircar launched, moving smoothly and slowly up into the sky. Kresh was on his own—or at least he could pretend he was. He was, after all, the governor. He could call on any sort of transport or communication he liked, whenever he liked. But without the aircar there, he was just that little bit more cut off, that little bit more isolated.

  He had a little time.

  Now if only he had the trajectory and coordinates for the comet, maybe things would mm out all fight after all.

  Maybe.

  * * *

  12

  * * *

  DAVLO LENTRALL’S EYES snapped open. He sat bolt uptight in bed. He had gone from stone cold asleep to quiveringly awake and alert in the flicker of a heartbeat. He knew. He knew. But he would have to proceed carefully. Very carefully indeed, or it would all be lost, all be over. He forced himself to think it through, work out all the logical consequences in his head. There was only going to be one chance to do this thing, and it was clear the odds were against him. He was going to have to move carefully, and act as normally as possible. Davlo knew he could not give his quarry any reason at all to suspect him.

  Well, if he were going to have to act normally, there was no time li
ke the present to start. He pushed the button by his bedside, and, after the briefest of delays, Kaelor came in. “Good morning,” the robot said. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Very well indeed,” said Davlo in what he hoped was a light and casual tone of voice. “I certainly needed it after yesterday.”

  “One or two things did go on,” Kaelor said, the familiar sardonic tone in his voice.

  “It wasn’t an easy day for you, either,” said Davlo.”And I never did get to thank you for all you did.”

  “I couldn’t help but do it, sir, as you know perfectly well.”

  “Yes,” said Davlo. “But even so, I want you to know it is appreciated.” He got out of bed, and Kaelor produced his robe and slippers from the closet. Davlo shrugged the robe on over his shoulders and knotted the tie loosely in front of him, then stepped into the slippers. He yawned strenuously and walked out of the bedroom, Kaelor following and shutting the door behind him.

  Davlo had long ago decided that breakfast was a meal best consumed in the most soothing surroundings and circumstances possible. Therefore, contrary to the custom in most Infernal households, he did not bathe or dress before going down to breakfast, but instead ate in his pajamas and robe. On the same principle of informal comfort, his breakfast room was large, cool and shady, with the table facing large bay windows that looked out over a meticulously well-kept garden. There were two robots at work pruning the shrubbery, and a third on its knees by one of the flower beds, apparently doing some sort of work by the roots. Most mornings Davlo enjoyed watching the garden robots at their tasks, and used the time to decide what else needed doing about the place, but this morning he hardly paid the yardwork any notice at all.