_The man is rare who will give his life for what is merely
the lesser of two evils. Merrick's decision was even
tougher: to save human beings at the expense of humanity, or
vice versa?_
* * * * *
_This, then, was the Creche, Anno Domini 2500. A great, mile-square
blind cube topping a ragged mountain; bare escarpments falling away to
a turbulent sea. For five centuries the Creche had stood so, and the
Androids had come forth in an unending stream to labor for Man, the
Master...._
--_Quintus Bland, The Romance of Genus Homo._
Director Han Merrick paced the floor nervously. His thin, almost
ascetic face was pale and drawn.
"We can't allow it, Virginia," he said, "Prying of this sort can only
precipitate a pogrom or worse. Erikson is a bigot of the worst kind.
The danger--" He broke off helplessly.
His wife shook her head slowly. "It cannot be prevented, Han. Someone
was bound to start asking questions sooner or later. History should
have taught us that. And five hundred years of secrecy was more than
anyone had a right to expect. Nothing lasts forever."
_The trouble is_, Merrick told himself, _simply that I am the wrong
man for this job. I should never have taken it. There's a wrongness in
what we are doing here that colors my every reaction and makes me
incapable of acting on my own. Always the doubts and secret
questioning. If the social structure of our world weren't moribund, I
wouldn't be here at all...._
"History, Virginia," he said, "can't explain what there is no
precedent for. The Creche is unique in human experience."
"The Creche may be, Han, but Sweyn Erikson is not. Consider his
background and tell me if there hasn't been an Erikson in every era
of recorded history. He is merely another obstacle in the path of
progress that must be overcome. The job is yours, Han."
"A pleasant prospect," Merrick replied bleakly. "I am an organizer,
not a psychotechnician. How am I supposed to protect the Creche from
the likes of Erikson? What insanity bore this fruit, Virginia? The
Prophet, the number one Fanatic, coming here as an _investigator_ in
the name of the Council of Ten! I realize the Council turns pale at
the thought of the vote the Fanatics control, but surely _something_
could have been done! Have those idiots forgotten what we do here? Is
that possible?"
Virginia Merrick shook her head. "The stone got too hot for them to
handle, so they've thrown it to you."
"But Erikson, himself! The very man who organized the Human Supremacy
Party and the Antirobot League! If he sets foot within the Creche it
will mean an end to everything!"
The woman lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "We can't keep him out
and you know it. There's an army of Fanatics gathering out there in
the hills this very minute. Armed with cortical-stimulant projectors,
Han. That isn't a pleasant way to die--"
Merrick studied his wife carefully. There was fear under her iron
control. She was thinking of the shattering pain of death under the
projectors. Nothing else, really. The Creche didn't matter to her. The
Creche didn't really matter to any of the staff. Three hundred years
ago it would have been different. The custodians of the Creche would
have gladly died to preserve their trust in those times....
What irony, Merrick thought, that it should come like this. He knew
what the projectors did to men. He also knew what they did to robots.
"If they dare to use their weapons on us it will wipe out every
vestige of control work done here since the beginning," he said
softly.
"They have no way of knowing that."
"Nor would they believe it if we told them."
"And that brings us right back to where we started. You can't keep
Erikson out, and the Council of Ten has left us on our own. They don't
dare oppose the Fanatics. But there's an old political maxim you would
do well to consider very carefully since it's our only hope, Han,"
Virginia Merrick said, "'If you can't beat someone--join him.'"
* * * * *
She dragged deeply on her cigarette, blue smoke curling from her
gold-tinted lips. "This has been coming on for ten years. I tried to
warn you then, but you wouldn't listen. Remember?"
How like a woman, Merrick thought bitterly, to be saying I told you
so.
"What would you have me do, Virginia?" he asked, "Help the bigot
peddle his robot-hate? That can't be the way. Don't you feel anything
at all when the reports of pogroms come in?"