Turning Point Page 2
"Of course, Erikson will come in wearing an energy shield," Gravessaid.
"He will. And we have none," Virginia Merrick said softly.
"Can we compromise with him?" Graves asked.
There it was again, Merrick thought, the weasel-word 'compromise.'There was a moral decay setting in everywhere--the founders of theCreche would never have spoken so. "No," he said flatly, "We cannot.Erikson has conceived a robot-menace. All the old hate-patterns arebeing dusted off and used on the rabble. People are actually askingone another if they would like their daughters to _marry_ robots. Thatsort of thing, as old as _homo sapiens_. And one cannot compromisewith prejudice. It seduces the emotions and dulls the mind. No, therewill be no appeasing of Sweyn Erikson or his grey-shirtednightriders!"
"You're talking like a starry-eyed fool, Han," Virginia Merrick saidsharply.
"Can't we take him in and give him the works?" Graves asked hopefully."Primary Conditioning could handle the job. Give him a fill-in withfalse memory?"
Merrick shook his head. "We can't risk narcosynthesis and that'sessential. He'll surely be tested for blood purity when he leaves, andscopolamine traces would be a dead give-away that we had been tryingto hide something here."
"Then it looks as though compromise is the only way, Han. They've gotus up against the wall. See here, Han, I know you don't agree, butwhat else is there? After all, we all believe in human supremacy.Erikson calls it a robot-menace, we look at it from another angle, butour common goal is the betterment of the human culture we'veestablished. People are on an emotional jag now. There has been no warfor five centuries. No emotional release. And there have beenregulations and conventions set up since the Atom War that only a veryfew officials have been allowed to understand. Erikson is no savage,Han, after all. True he's set off a rash of robot-baiting, but he canbe dealt with on an intelligent plane, I'm sure."
"He is a man of ability, you know," Virginia Merrick said.
"Ability," Merrick said bitterly. "Rabble rouser and bigot! Look athis record. Organizer of the riots in Low Chicago. Leader in theAntirobot Labor League--the same outfit that slaughtered fifty robotsin the Tycho dock strike. Think, you two! To tell such a man what theCreche is would be to tie a rope around the neck of every androidalive. Lynch law! The rope and the whip for every one of them. Andthen suppose the worm turns? _It can, you know!_ Our methods here arefar from perfect. What then?"
"I still say we must compromise," Graves said. "They will kill us ifwe don't--"
"He's no troglodyte, Han, I'm certain--" Merrick's wife saidplaintively.
The Director felt resistance flowing out of him. They were right, ofcourse. There was nothing else he could do.
"All right," Merrick's voice was low and tired. He felt the weight ofhis years settling down on him. "I'll do as you suggest. I'll try tolead him off the trail first--" that was his compromise with himself,he knew, and he hated himself for it-- "and if I fail I'll tell himthe whole truth."
He flipped the telescreen toggle in time to see Sweyn Erikson detachhimself from his followers and disappear through the dilated outergate in the side of the Creche. A faint, almost futile stirring ofdefiance shook him. He found himself in the anomalous position ofwanting to defend something that he had long felt was wrong in conceptfrom the beginning--and not being able to take an effective course ofaction.
He reached into his desk drawer and took out an ancient automatic. Itwas a family heirloom, heavy, black and deadly. He pulled back theslide and watched one of the still-bright brass cartridges snap upinto the breech. He handled the weapon awkwardly, but as he slipped itinto his jumper pocket some of the weariness slipped from him and acold anger took its place. He looked calmly from his wife to Graves.
"I'll tell him the whole truth," he said, "And if he fails to react asyou two think he will, I shall kill him."
* * * * *
Sweyn Erikson, in a pre-Atom War culture, might have been a dictator.But the devastation of the war had at long last resulted in a peacefulworld-state, and where no nations exist, politics becomes a sterilebusiness of direction and supervision. It is war or the threat of warthat gives a politician his power. Sweyn Erikson wanted power aboveall else. And so he founded a religion.
He became the Prophet of the Fanatics. And since a cult must have anobject of group hate as a _raison-d'etre_, he chose the androids. Withefficiency and calculated sincerity, he beat the drums of prejudiceuntil his organization had spread its influence into the world's highplaces and his word became the law of the land.
People who beheld his feral magnificence, and listened to thespell-binding magic of his oratory--followed. His power sprang fromthe masses--unthinking, emotional. He gave the mob a voice and apurpose. He was like a Hitler or a Torquemada. Like a Long or a JohnBrown. He was savage and rapacious, courageous and bitter. He was Man.
There were four cardinal precepts by which the membership of the HumanSupremacy Party lived. First, Man was God. Second, no race could sharethe plenum with Man. Had separate races still remained after the AtomWar, the HSP racism might have been more specific, but since thereremained only humanity en masse, all human beings shared the godhead.Third, the artificial persons that streamed from the Creche wereblasphemy. Fourth, they must be destroyed. Like other generationsbefore them, the humans of this age rallied to the banner of the whipand the rope. Not since the War had blood been spilled, but thedestructive madness of homo sapiens found joy in the word of theProphet, and though the blood was only the red sap of androids, thethrill was there.
Thus had Sweyn Erikson, riding the intolerant wave of antirobotism,come to the Creche. He stood now, in the long bare foyer, waiting.Behind him lay the Party and the League. The Council of Ten was inhand and helpless. Upon his report to the world, the future of anentire robot-human culture pattern rested. This, he told himself, wasthe high point of his life. Naked power to use as he chose rested inhis hands. The whole structure of world society was tottering. Thechoice was his and his alone. He could shore it up or shatter it andtrample on the fragments....
The Prophet savored the moment. He watched with interest as the doorbefore him dilated. The Creche Director stood eyeing himhalf-fearfully, half-defiantly, flanked by his wife and his assistant.They were all three afraid for their lives, Erikson thought withsatisfaction.
"We welcome you to the Creche," Han Merrick said formally.
"Let there be no ceremony," Erikson said, "I am a simple man."
Merrick's lips tightened. "You haven't come here for ceremony. Therewill be none."
"I came for truth," the Prophet said sonorously. "The people of theworld are waiting for my words. The mask of secrecy must be rippedfrom this place and truth and knowledge allowed to wash it clean."
Merrick almost winced. The statement was redundant with the propagandathat Erikson's nightriders peddled on every street corner. Itbetokened an intellectual bankruptcy among men that was frightening.
"I shall do my best to allay your fears," he said thickly.
Erikson's eyes glittered with suspicion. "I need only a guide. Thedecisions I shall make for myself. And mind that I am shown everyconcealed place. The roots of this place must be laid bare. 'For Godshall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing;whether it be good or whether it be evil.' The Scriptures command itin the name of Man, the True God."
_Twisted, pious, hypocrite_! thought Merrick.
"I am sure, sir," Graves was saying placatingly, "that when we haveshown you the Creche you will see that there is no menace."
Erikson scowled at Graves deliberately. "There is menace enough in theblasphemy of android life, my son. Everywhere there are signs ofunrest am
ong the things you have built here. On Mars, human beingshave died at their hands!"
Merrick's face showed his disgust. "Frankly, I don't believe that.Androids don't kill."
"We shall see, my son," Erikson said settling the belt of his energyscreen more comfortably about his hips. "We shall see."
Merrick studied Erikson's face. There was a tiny scar under his chin.That would be where the transmitter was planted. He had no doubt thatevery word of this conversation was being monitored by the Fanaticsoutside the Creche. The turning point was coming inexorably nearer. Heonly hoped that he had the physical and moral courage to face it