Isaac Asimov - The Early Asimov. Volume 3

'Such things have been discussed. It's not feasible in practice. Our social structure couldn't stand much of it, and we don't know enough to set up effective controls.'

Theor suppressed excitement, 'But the ancients did know enough. And they did set up controls.'

Brand considered phlegmatically, 'Startling and interesting, but how do you know?'

'Because I found the documents relating to it.' He paused breathlessly. 'An entire planet, Brand. A complete world picked to suit, peopled with beings under strict control from every angle. Studied, and charted, and experimented upon. Don't you get the picture?'

Brand noted none of the usual stigmata of mental uncon-trol. A closer investigation, perhaps -

He said evenly, 'You must have been misled. It's thoroughly impossible. You can't control humans like that. Too many variables.'

'And that's the point, Brand. They weren't humans.'

'What?'

'They were robots, positronic robots. A whole world of them, Brand, with nothing to do but live and react and be observed by a set of psychologists that were real psychologists.'

That's mad!'

'I have proof - because that robot world still exists. The First Confederation went to pieces, but that robot world kept on going. It still exists.'

'And how do you know?'

Theor Realo stood up. 'Because I've been there these last twenty-five years!'

The Board Master threw his formal red-edged gown aside and reached into a pocket for a long, gnarled and decidedly unofficial cigar.

'Preposterous,' he grunted, 'and thoroughly insane.'

'Exactly,' said Brand, 'and I can't spring it on the Board just like that. They wouldn't listen. I've got to get this across to you first, and then, if you can put your authority behind it -'

'Oh, nuts? I never heard anything as - Who is the fellow?'

Brand sighed, 'A crank, I'll admit that. He was in my class at Arcturus U. and a crack-pot albino even then. Maladjusted as the devil, hipped on ancient history, and just the kind that gets an idea and goes through with it by plain, dumb plugging. He's poked about in Dorlis for twenty-five years, he says. He's got the complete records of practically an entire civilization.'

The Board Master puffed furiously. 'Yeah, I know. In the telestat serials, the brilliant amateur always uncovers the great things. The free lance. The lone wolf. Nuts! Have you consulted the Department of Archaeology?'

'Certainly. And the result was interesting. No one bothers with Dorlis. This isn't just ancient history, you see. It's a matter of fifteen thousand years. It's practically myth. Reputable archaeologists don't waste too much time with it. It's just the thing a book-struck layman with a single-track mind would uncover. After this, of course, if the business turns out right, Dorlis will become an archaeologist's paradise.'

The Board Master screwed his homely face into an appalling grimace. 'It's very unflattering to the ego. If there's any truth in all this, the so-called First Confederation must have had a grasp of psychology so far past ours, as to make us out to be blithering imbeciles. Too, they'd have to build positronic robots that would be about seventy-five orders of magnitude above anything we've even blueprinted. Galaxy! Think of the mathematics involved.'

'Look, sir, I've consulted just about everybody. I wouldn't bring this thing to you if I weren't certain that I had every angle checked. I went to Blak just about the first thing, and he's consultant mathematician to United Robots. He says there's no limit to these things. Given the time, the money, and the advance in psychology - get that - robots like that could be built right now.'

'What proof has he?'

'Who, Blak?'

'No, no! Your friend. The albino. You said he had papers.'

'He has. I've got them here. He's got documents - and there's no denying their antiquity. I've had that checked every way from Sunday. I can't read them, of course. I don't know if anyone can, except Theor Realo.'

'That's stacking the deck, isn't it? We have to take his say-so.'

'Yes, in a way. But he doesn't claim to be able to decipher more than portions. He says it is related to ancient Centaurian, and I've put linguists to work on it. It can be cracked and if his translation isn't accurate, we'll know about it."

'All right. Let's see it.'

Brand Gorla brought out the plastic-mounted documents. The Board Master tossed them aside and reached for the translation. Smoke billowed as he read.

'Humph,' was his comment. 'Further details are on Dorlis, I suppose.'

'Theor claims that there are some hundred to two hundred tons of blueprints altogether, on the brain plan of the posi-tronic robots alone. They're still there in the original vault. But that's the least of it. He's been on the robot world itself. He's got photocasts, teletype recordings, all sorts of details. They're not integrated, and obviously the work of a layman who knows next to nothing about psychology. Even so, he's managed to get enough data to prove pretty conclusively that the world he was on wasn't… uh… natural.'

'You've got that with you, too.'

'All of it. Most of it's on microfilm, but I've brought the projector. Here are your eyepieces.'

An hour later, the Board Master said, 'I'll call a Board Meeting tomorrow and push this through.'

Brand Gorla grinned tightly, 'We'll send a commission to Dorlis?'

'When,' said the Board Master dryly, 'and if we can get an appropriation out of the University for such an affair. Leave this material with me for the while, please. I want to study it a

little more.'

Theoretically, the Governmental Department of Science and Technology exercises administrative control over all scientific investigation. Actually, however, the pure research groups of the large universities are thoroughly autonomous bodies, and, as a general rule, the Government does not care to dispute that. But a general rule is not necessarily a universal rule.

And so, although the Board Master scowled and fumed and swore, there was no way of refusing Wynne Murry an interview. To give Murry his complete title, he was under secretary in charge of psychology, psychopathy and mental technology. And he was a pretty fair psychologist in his own right.

So the Board Master might glare, but that was all.

Secretary Murry ignored the glare cheerfully. He rubbed his long chin against the grain and said, 'It amounts to a case of insufficient information. Shall we put it that way?'

The Board Master said frigidly, 'I don't see what information you want. The government's say in university appropriations is purely advisory, and in this case, I might say, the advice is unwelcome.'

Murry shrugged, 'I have no quarrel with the appropriation. But you're not going to leave the planet without government permit. That's where the insufficient information comes in.'

'There is no information other than we've given you.'

'But things have leaked out. All this is childish and rather unnecessary secrecy.'

The old psychologist flushed. 'Secrecy! If you don't know the academic way of life, I can't help you. Investigations, especially those of major importance, aren't, and can't be, made public, until definite progress has been made. When we get back, we'll send you copies of whatever papers we publish.'

Murry shook his head, 'Uh-uh. Not enough. You're going to Dorlis, aren't you?'

'We've informed the Department of Science of that.'

'Why?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'Because it's big, or the Board Master wouldn't go himself, What's this about an older civilization and a world of robots?'

'Well, then, you know.'

'Only vague notions we've been able to scrabble up. I want the details.'

There are none that we know now. We won't know until we're on Dorlis.'