“The talks aren’t official. Some of the papers have dropped hints, but COSNAV categorically denies everything. Technically, they’re right, Commander. It’s an honest-to-goodness labyrinth. The truth is, they’re operating in a legally shady area, beyond any national or even UN jurisdiction. And with the elections not far away, the President doesn’t dare try to railroad through Congress any of the bills backed by the powerful intellectronic lobby—for fear of antagonizing the professional unions. That’s why—and this is the real crux of the matter—a number of firms, anticipating adverse publicity, protests from organized labor, and so on, decided to let us test a group of semi-prototypes—”
“Excuse me, by ‘us’ do you mean the UN? Isn’t that a little—”
“By ‘us’ I mean UNESCO; you know, the United Nations Education, Scientific—”
“Sorry, but I still don’t—I mean, what do these robots have to do with education, science…?”
“An ‘invasion,’ as you put it, of those … uh … pseudo people has everything to do with human culture. It’s not just a case of economics—the risk of higher unemployment and so on. The implications are legion: psychological, social, cultural. By the way, just for the record, we accepted their offer with reluctance. In fact, the administration would have rejected it out of hand, except the company made assurances that the nonlinears were a better safety risk. Quicker reflexes, immune to fatigue or illness, great energy reserves, functional even during decompression or overheating, not dependent on oxygen or food. These are real gains—not as profits in some owner’s pocket, but as they benefit ship and cargo safety. In which case, the credit, or at least some of the credit… I mean, a test flight sponsored by the UN…”
“I see. But wouldn’t that be setting a dangerous precedent?”
“Why dangerous?”
“Who knows what other professions and administrative positions might not be phased out. Even yours.”
The director gave a somewhat forced laugh, which quickly abated.
“Well, well … that’s beside the point. But what would you do in our position? Even if we were to turn them down, what good would it do? If the nonlinears are really that good, COSNAV will get its robots anyway, and the others will be next in line.”
“What’s to be gained by having UNESCO act as engineering consultant?”
“Who said anything about engineering? What we wanted—and I may as well give it to you straight—was for you to take command of that flight. In the space of one to two weeks—don’t forget, there will be different models aboard—you’ll know what sort of crew you have. All we ask is that on your return you submit a complete rundown, point by point, of their astronautical as well as psychological fitness: how do they adjust to man, are they true to type, do they inspire a sense of superiority, or on the contrary of inferiority… Our people will supply you with forms prepared by the top psychologists in the field.”
“And that would be my mission?”
“You don’t have to commit yourself right away. As I recall, you’re on leave anyway.”
“On a six-week furlough.”
“You could give us your decision, say, in a couple of days.”
“Two more questions. How decisive will my report be?”
“Very.”
“For whom?”
“For us, of course. UNESCO. If the shipping trade is ever to be internationalized, your verdict will be crucial to those UN committees.”
“Those—excuse me—castles in the air you mentioned. Crucial to UNESCO, in other words? Not that UNESCO will be turned into an agency…?”
“Not a chance! Your appraisal will be publicized worldwide. A negative rating would seriously impair negotiations between COSNAV and those companies. That way, we’ll be contributing—”
“Excuse me again. Meaning that if it’s positive, we won’t?”
The director cleared his throat, then smiled.
“You almost make me feel guilty, Commander. It wasn’t we at UNESCO who invented those nonlinear robots. We try to be impartial, to accommodate everyone.”
“That’s just what I don’t like.”
“You can always say no. But remember, if we were to do the same, we’d be no better than Pontius Pilate. Washing your hands of everything is easy. We’re not a world government; we can’t outlaw the manufacture of this or of any other system. That’s up to the individual governments. Anyway, they’ve tried—believe me, I know. So has the church, and you know where they stand on the issue.”
“In short, all are against it, but no one does anything about it.”
“No legal grounds.”
“Those firms will be the first to feel it when the unemployment rate—”
“Now it’s my turn to interrupt. There’s truth in what you say. We all tremble at the prospect. Still, we’re powerless. Or maybe not quite. We can still go ahead with the experiment. Actually, it’s all to the good that you’re biased. That makes you the ideal candidate. If there are the slightest reservations, you’ll make them known!”
“Let me sleep on it,” said Pirx, and he got up.
“Didn’t I hear you say something about
“You’ve already answered the other one. I wanted to know why me.”
“Phone us your decision in two days’ time. A deal?”
“A deal,” said Pirx, who nodded and took his leave.
The secretary, a platinum blonde, sprang up from behind her desk.
“Good morning,” said Pirx. “I—”
“Good morning. Follow me, please.”
“They’re here already?”
“They’re waiting for you.”
She took him down a deserted corridor, her high heels tapping like tiny metal stilts. The cavernous hall, tiled with synthetic granite, resonated coldly, stonelike. They passed dark doors mounted with aluminum numbers and plates. The secretary seemed nervous. Several times she glanced furtively at Pirx. Not a flirting glance; more like fearful. Pirx felt somehow sorry for her and, along with it, sensed the absolute folly of the affair. Suddenly he asked, startling even himself with his question:
“Have you seen them?”
“Just briefly. In passing.”
“What are they like?”
“Oh—you haven’t seen them?”
She seemed almost relieved. As if familiarity bespoke membership in some strange, perhaps sinister conspiracy.
“There are six all together. One even spoke to me. Absolutely convincing! Not a single telltale sign! If I’d met him in the street, I’d never have dreamed… But when I took a closer look, there was something in his eyes, and here.” She touched her lips.
“The others, too?”
“They were standing outside in the corridor.”
They got into the elevator; tiny golden grains of light snaked up the wall. Standing face to face with the girl, Pirx was better able to judge the success of her efforts to erase all vestiges of her own individuality—with the help of pencil, mascara, and lipstick—to become a momentary facsimile of Inda Lea, or whatever the name was of that season’s fashionably frazzled star. When she fluttered her eyelids, he was concerned for her false lashes.
“Robots!” she said in a deep whisper, and shuddered as if brushed by a reptile.
The tenth-floor suite was occupied by six men, all seated. The moment Pirx entered, one of them, until now hidden by a sheet of the
They were more or less of equal height and looked like test pilots in civvies: broad-shouldered, beige-suited, white-shirted, loud-tied. Two were fair-haired, one a redhead, the others dark, but all had the same clear blue eyes. That was all he had a chance to record before the one who had approached him stuck his hand into Pirx’s and, pumping it vigorously, said, “McGuirr’s the name. I once had the pleasure of sailing under your command—on the
