Asimov's Future History Volume 1 (63 page)

“We’ll be right there.”

***

Gutenburg, Waters, Robertson, and Calvin walked out of the transport vessel. Two robots nearby held a sign that read ‘Calvin’.

“Cute,” said Waters, “Although I don’t recognize that model. I suppose it’s a couple of the ‘new’ robots. I advise caution.”

“Right this way, sirs and ma’am,” said one. The four followed the robots hesitantly, were led to the library/observatory, and given seats at a long table. They sat, and so did the robots. The robots seemed to be waiting for something.

“Um … what are you doing? Why are we here?” asked Robertson.

The robots did nothing.

“Don’t make me order you!”

“Not necessary!” said one robot, “Don’t you recognize your old friends, Greg Powell and Mike Donovan?”

4.

“R
EMOTE
-
CONTROLLED
ROBOTS
? I should have known!” said Dr. Calvin, “But why did you deceive us like that?”

“To better illustrate our point!” said MK-1 (Mike), “We’re field researchers, not theorists. We work in the concrete, not the abstract.”

GG-1 got to the point. “We still don’t know where these models came from, but we figured out quite quickly that they don’t have positronic brains. They did not agree to subject themselves to testing, and we had to put one out of commission before we found a receiver/transmitter inside its counterfeit positronic brain.”

Mike coughed, something that didn’t quite come well through the metallic larynx.

“Before …
Mike
found the receiver/transmitter,” said Greg, promising himself to deal with Mike later. “We put
two
of them out, in fact, and made some creative changes to their registration labels, hence the names MK and GG. They’re talking to you right now.”

“What’s it like on your end of these things?” asked Waters, “How are you controlling them?”

“Through some surprisingly sophisticated virtual reality ports, which were developed right here on Mars,” said Mike.

Greg continued. “That’s not important right now. What is important is that somewhere, five hundred twenty human beings are remotely controlling five hundred twenty fake robots, and it’s spelling financial doom for U. S. Robots.”

Waters said, “Actually, allowing for shifts to let them eat and sleep, there may be well over a thousand people behind this.”

“Good point. And you can probably infer that the counterfeit robots are not being controlled from Earth,” said Mike, “The codes required for controlling one ‘robot’ are simply too sophisticated to pump through those poor little Pigeons, let alone for five hundred twenty of such robots.”

Calvin said, “Explain, now, why your being near these …” – the disgust was apparent in her voice – “
counterfeit
robots interfered with our communications, and why, if there was danger of our line being tapped while I was on Earth, that there is no danger now.”

Mike answered her questions. “Greg and I conclude that our signals reached Earth just fine, but when your computers tried to pong back, so to speak, there was too much radio activity around us, that is, too many radio-controlled robots with similar coordinates, for the Pigeon to isolate us, so the connection was terminated. When we were out of range of the robots, like during our first and last communications, the connection was clear. As for the second question, these ‘robots’ have sophisticated enough crypting technology so that anyone listening would hear only gibberish.”

“Where are you?” Susan asked.

Greg spoke. “We are with Prime Minister Algers, who promises full cooperation with our efforts.”

“Good. Ask him how he thought he was talking to U. S. Robots when he ordered these five-hundred-plus godforsaken robots.”

Greg’s robot turned his head and repeated the question. After a somewhat long delay, he delivered the answer: “He says he isn’t responsible for ordering robots, but he found the guy who is. Apparently this guy hasn’t talked to us directly since last year, but he sent orders for new robots. Algers thinks the orders were somehow intercepted by a third party.”

“Then our mission now is to discover who this third party is,” said Robertson.

Waters was quick to offer a suggestion: “Consolidated. Who else could be capable of something like this? They don’t have positronic brains: that’s a fact. So what better way is there to compete with us than with
human
brains? And what better
opportunity
is there to compete with us than during this special breed of Fundamentalism? By claiming to be us, they can compete in the colonial market while keeping their involvement out of the public eye. And one can only imagine what kind of technology they’ve pumped out already trying to compete with us.”

“I disagree,” said Robertson, “Consolidated Robots would never do such a thing. They’ve always recognized our superiority in the market, and have found a good enough market in the industrial wing. Plus, they have no history of such unscrupulous – or illegal – practices.”

“Still, I’ll keep it in mind. Other suggestions?” asked Dr. Calvin.

“I can think of any number of Fundamentalists,” said Robertson, “And they’re smarter than you think. The motive is definitely there.”

“But the opportunity?” asked Waters.

A pause. Mike jokingly said, “Fundamentalists working through Consolidated?”

“That’s not half bad, considering what we’ve come up with
so
far,” said Greg.

After another long pause, Waters said, “Wait a minute! If these ‘new’ robots aren’t being controlled from Earth, they’re being controlled from Mars, right? They must be!”

“Right …” said Powell.

“So we just have to find out where! In fact, if we had followed a suggestion from Gutenburg here, we would be scouring Earth for possible suspects at this moment!”

“Hey, the kid’s right!” said Mike, “We never thought of looking for our puppeteers here on Mars!”

“Do you have access to any more of these counterfeit robots?” asked Calvin, “We can probably track whatever signals are being used to control them.”

“We’re on it,” said Mike. With that, MK-1 and GG-1, in lively discussion just moments before, slumped over and became lifeless husks.

5.

“N
O
DOUBT
ABOUT
it,” said a seated Donovan, tinkering with a counterfeit positronic brain, “These robotic shells are in contact with something outside the surface of Mars. And that’s logical, if our puppeteers are posing as U. S. Robots. They would have to be sending robot exports by ship, not by surface transport, so as to appear to be sending the robots from Earth.”

“Outside the surface of Mars? But … we know it can’t
be
Earth, or anything far away, because of the difficulty of controlling the robots. This is quite the conundrum,” said Powell, pacing around.

“Not really,” said Donovan, “Think! Where is one close enough to Mars to control five hundred twenty robots and yet not
on
Mars?”

“In orbit! But it can’t be that, either. Since we received Algers’ assistance, the Martian orbit has been under constant surveillance. … Wait a minute, those tricksters must be on one of the moons! Donovan, you’re a genius!”

“Um, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re
inside
the damn rock! But … is it Deimos or Phobos?”

“I would guess Phobos, the bigger one.”

“I’ll contact the orbit surveillance guys right away.”

The next day, Prime Minister Algers arranged for a private vessel, the
Aeolus II
, to send the team from U. S. Robots to Phobos, the source of the radio traffic. Powell leaned over to ask Dr. Calvin a question, but he noticed her portable stock ticker which read: “USR … … 15.3 … … USR … … 15.2 … … USR … … 15.0 … …”

“What is it, Powell?” she asked.

“I was just wondering where Bogert and Lanning have been during all this.”

“Oh, them? They’re researching the effect of nanotechnology on the positronic brain. Much too busy for this ‘diplomatic hogwash’, as I think Bogert put it.”

“But this is serious! Our stock prices are going down – why don’t they see …”

“They trust us to see U. S. Robots through this drawback. Anyway, this is a
marketing
problem, not a research problem.”

“I guess it is … Robertson would probably like to hear you say that.”

“Well, don’t tell him I did.”

Suddenly, alarms blared as the ship went into red alert. The speakers sounded: “This is your captain. There has been an unauthorized escape pod release. Remain calm and seated.”

“Who was it?” asked Donovon.

“Gutenburg,” said Robertson, “And he said he was going to the bathroom!”

The team turned toward the center of the cabin to face him. “Gutenburg … I should have known,” he continued, “and I hired the guy myself! Haven’t you guys noticed his peculiar behavior, though?”

“What peculiar behavior, indeed?” asked Powell.

“Well, for one, the guy did a very good job of manipulating our every action while still managing to stay behind the scenes! At first, the guy was full of answers.
Correct
ones. He suggested that Fundamentalists were not the direct cause of our economic setback. He was right. He suggested that Mars was experiencing paradoxical prosperity and had to be investigated. He was right. These seemed like ordinary and logical conclusions at the time, so we gave him our every confidence. But with those two truths firmly in place, he was able to plant a new suggestion: that the culprits were on Earth. This was false, and it would have distracted us completely away from the real culprits, with whom he is aligned.”

“Stop kidding yourself, Robertson,” said Powell, “The only reason he raises suspicions is because he just now left the ship without telling us.”

“Good grief. I guess you’re right. Still, I wonder why the hell he
did
leave.”

The sudden, blood-curdling scream of the
Aeolus II’
s flight attendant answered his question in full: “
Bomb!!!!
”

6.

“I
CAN
’
T
BELIEVE
it! He’s trying to kill us!” yelled Robertson.

“Or he just found the bomb and fled,” said Powell, “Mike, will you do the honors?”

“Sure thing, Greg,” he replied, making his way to the bomb.

“That can’t be – he
must
have planted it,” said the flight attendant, entering the discussion, “I checked under every seat before you boarded.”

“Damn it, he’s got the thing hardwired to the ship’s battery,” said Donovan, “And it’s gripping onto the seat with claws of some kind. No accessible wiring, no countdown display.”

“Of course not!” said Powell, “What do you think this is, a James Bond flick?”

“Quick! Are there any robots on this ship?” asked Donovan.

“Sure! I’ll get him!” said the flight attendant. She brought back FZG-4, and said, “Fitzgerald? Those two men are next to an active bomb.”

No order was necessary. The First Law led Fitzgerald to take care of the bomb, and Powell and Donovan stepped back to watch the performance, which was over in a second. The robot apparently looked through the inside of the bomb, then punctured a whole and cut a wire. “First Law threat neutralized,” said FZG-4.

“Impressive!” said Susan, “As were you, Powell and Donovan.”

“No problem. We’ve faced more critical situations than this.”

“If you look to your left you will see Phobos,” said the pilot through the intercom system. The moon was bare on the outside, but Susan Calvin stepped up to the ship’s communications computer to reveal the truth.

“Dr. Susan Calvin of the starship
Aeolus II
here. Show yourselves.”

Silence.

“We know the truth. You’re posing as U. S. Robots. Your little prank is over. The proper authorities have been notified. Show yourselves!”

Silence.

Susan yelled, “Face it! Mars will never be autonomous!”

A small man appeared on the screen. “How dare you say that? We
will
triumph! Damn you, Grounders! Damn your robots! Damn your culture!”

“Martian nationalists? Of course!” said Powell, “But how did you know?”

“We already figured out they were Martians. But why nationalists? Call it historically educated intuition. The master-slave relationship between Earth and Mars created the perfect conditions, making deceptive ‘positronic’ robot production the perfect crime. It’s the kind of action that results from the same ignorance and bigotry as a tariff. Now, little green man, stop controlling those puppet robots, or we’ll blast your transmitters out of the solar system! We know you have no defenses. Heck, you can barely afford what you’re doing now!”

“Shut up!” said the Martian nationalist, then becoming calm again, “Well, Grounder, I apparently have no choice. Or do I?” He grabbed Gutenburg from off the left side of the screen and held a gun to his head.

“Gutenburg’s down there!” shouted Waters.

“I know you’re bluffing,” said Calvin.

He pulled the trigger.

7.

H
OWEVER
,
THE
BULLET
had no effect on Gutenburg.

“What? What’s this?” screamed the man, “What the hell are you, anyway?”

“R. Gutenburg, detain him,” said Susan. Gutenburg grabbed the man’s gun and pulled his arm behind his back. The transmission ended.

“A robot? Gutenburg’s a robot?!” gasped Donovan.

“Yes. To put it more specifically, a humaniform.”

“Like Stephen Byerley?”

“Yes, but that’s a company secret, all right?”

“How?” asked Powell, “You had us all suckered!”

“Well, I knew we were losing the Martian market, and it was I who postulated that Fundamentalism had little to do with it. So I assigned Gutenburg to investigate, with the added bonus of field testing a humaniform. I was not pleased. He assumed that our difficulties with the Hutstein pigeons were connected with our Martian problem. It was a foolish attempt at forcing the facts into consistency, further driven by his Second Law determination to complete his task. How human of him! How male, as well. I wonder if humaniforms will ever possess the reasoning skills to become investigators. Anyway, I figured out the whole thing after our conference with Powell and Donovan at the library. Then I sent Gutenburg to Phobos as a double agent, expecting that man to use him as a bargaining chip, which he did.”