"IT'S GONE, GOVERNOR," said Davlo Lentrall. "Everything I've ever worked on is gone." He was glad to be speaking over an audio-only link to the governor. Kresh had called on an audio link because it was easier to maintain a secure line that way, but Davlo didn't care about that. He was simply glad he did not have to show his face. It was bad enough that Kresh could hear the panic in his voice. He wouldn't want anyone to see him this way. Davlo Lentrall paced frantically up and down in front of his comm center. "All my core files, all the backups, everything."
"Take it easy, son. Easy now. There must be some way to retrieve it all. I thought the system was designed to make it impossible to lose things irretrievably."
Davlo tried to calm himself. Kresh had called from-from wherever he was-just as Davlo had finally, absolutely confirmed that all was lost. It was no easy thing to talk to the planetary leader when he was at his lowest ebb.
"Normally, yes, sir. But this wasn't an accident. This was sabotage. Five minutes after I discovered that my files were gone, I got a call from University Security. Someone broke into my office there and threw in a firebomb. They think there were at least two separate break-ins. By the end of the second intrusion, everything that wasn't stolen was bummed. They say there's nothing left. Nothing at all. All my notes and work-including the comet data. The comet coordinates, the tracking information, the orbital projections-everything."
"Burning stars," Kresh's voice half whispered. "Maybe that whole escapade at Government Tower was just a diversion."
Davlo laughed bitterly. "Trying to kidnap me, perhaps kill me, a mere diversion for stealing my life's work?"
"I don't mean to sound harsh, son, but yes. Exactly that. I grant that you would have a different point of view-but for the rest of the world, right now, your life's work is of far greater importance than your life. And you're sure everything is gone? Irretrievably gone?"
"Everything. "
"I see."
"Governor Kresh? Who did this? Was it the Settlers?"
"Probably," said Kresh. "But it could have been anyone who wanted to keep the comet from coming down. Right now that doesn't matter. Right now we have to deal with the situation, not worry about how the situation came to be."
"That's not going to be easy, sir. I'll try."
There was silence on the line for a moment. "All right, then. Your computer files containing your plans are gone. We have to set to work at once to get them back-or at least get the main part of them back. I've seen enough of what the twin control units can do to be sure they could start from the basics of your plan and reconstruct it-probably in greater detail than you had to start with."
"How very kind of you to say so," Davlo muttered.
"I meant no offense to your work," Kresh said. "The control units are designed for this kind of job, and they have the capacity to oversee the climate of an entire planet. Of course they can do more detailed projections than one man working alone, no matter how gifted-especially when that man is working outside his field of expertise. And I might add that no robot or computer or control unit found that comet and saw what it might mean to this planet."
Davlo sat down in the chair facing the comm unit, folded his arms over his chest, and stared down at the floor. "You're flattering me," he said. "Trying to soothe me, make me feel better."
"Yes, I am," Kresh agreed, his voice smooth and calm. "Because I need you, and I need you right now. As I was about to say, the control units can reconstruct and refine your plan for targeting the comet-but we need you in your field of expertise."
"Sir? I don't understand."
"Son, we need you to look through your telescope again and relocate that comet. And fast."
Davlo took a deep breath, shook his head, and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "Sir, I never found the comet in the first place."
"What! Are you saying this has all been some kind of hoax? Some kind of fraud?"
"No! No, sir. Nothing like that. I didn't mean it that way. I meant that the computers found the comet. Automated telescopes found it while doing preprogrammed scans. I've never looked through a telescope myself in my life."
Again, silence on the line, but this time Davlo spoke first. "All the data is gone, sir. Without my computer files, without my written notes, without the log files-there is simply no way at all I can find that comet again in time."
"But the thing is kilometers across! It's practically headed straight for the planet right now! How hard could it be to spot?"
Davlo Lentrall let out a tired sigh. The man was right. It shouldn't be hard at all. How could he explain that it would be all but impossible? "It is extremely hard to spot, sir. It is coming straight for us, and that is part of the problem. Normally we track a comet by spotting its motion against the night sky. Comet Grieg appears to be all but stationary. Not quite motionless, but close. And while it's a relatively large cometary body, even a big comet is rather small from tens of millions of kilometers away. It also happens to be a rather dark body-and at its present distance, it has a very low apparent magnitude."
"You're saying it's too dim to see? But you saw it before-or at least the computers and the telescopes did."
"It's not impossible to see. But it's very dim and small and far away and with a very small lateral motion. And it's not just a question of seeing it once. We have to get repeated, accurate measures of its position and trajectory before we can reconstruct the orbit."
"But what about when it gets closer? Won't it develop a tail and all the rest of it? Surely that will make it easier to spot."
"By which time it will be too late. Grieg is a dark-body comet. The comet will be too close, and if it has developed much of a tail, that will mean it is starting to melt. If it gets too warm and melts too much, it will be too fragile to hold together during the course correction. Part of the plan I hadn't worked out yet was shielding from the sun. I was going to come up with some kind of parasol, a shield to keep the sunlight off."
"But there's a chance," said Kresh. "At least there is some sort of chance we could reacquire the comet if we tried." There was a brief moment of quiet again before the governor's voice spoke again. "Here's what we're going to do," he said. "We're going to keep everything moving forward, based on the assumption that we do reacquire the comet, and that we will decide to go forward with the diversion and the impact. We need to move forward on as many fronts as possible, as fast as possible, and I need some work out of you, right now.
"First I want you to set down the closest approximations you can of the mass, size, position, and trajectory of Comet Grieg. Even rough figures will give us someplace to start in planning for the impact itself. Send that information at once to my data mailbox. Then you are going to get to work at once organizing a search to reacquire Comet Grieg. I will instruct your superiors to give you whatever resources and personnel you need for the job. Tell them as much as you can about the comet. But get that started-and let someone else run it. Because I want you to get to work trying to recover your computer files. Maybe they're not as lost as we think. There must be something, somewhere-at least enough to give some leads to the team doing the telescope search. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir. Sir-if I might ask a question?"
"Yes, of course, Dr. Lentrall."
"I get the impression that you've become more convinced that the plan might work."
"That I have, Dr. Lentrall. I've seen and heard quite a bit here about your plan. Enough to make me think we just can't live without it. Was there anything else?"
"Not at the moment, sir. I'll be in touch."
"You certainly will," the governor replied, with just the slightest hint of humor in his voice. "Kresh out."
The line went dead.
That should have been his cue to swing into action, but instead, Davlo simply stared at the speaker, expressionless. After what seemed a very long time indeed, he finally stirred himself into action. He set down all he could recall of his comet data, as accurately as possible, knowing full well that the margin of error in most of his figures would render them close to useless. He sent a copy of it off to Kresh's data mailbox, and another off to the head of the astronomy department, asking for whatever help he could get. Of course, Davlo knew perfectly well that the department head absolutely refused to accept any after-hours calls. She would not get the message until morning. But still, best to have it done.
Simple enough jobs, both of them, but they seemed to take an inordinately long time-and to take a great deal out of Davlo. After the day he had had, there was not really a great deal left to take. When he was at last done with the messages, he did not get up. Instead he sat there, unable to rouse himself. There was a lot more he ought to do, but Davlo Lentrall could not quite bring himself to move. Not quite yet.
It was that hour of the night when rational thought seems most unreasonable, when unreasoning fear seems utterly logical, and disasters seem most probable. Davlo thought of his nameless, faceless, enormously powerful enemies. They were mad enough at him already. He was not entirely sure he wanted to do anything else-like getting out of his chair-that might incur their wrath.
There was some part of Davlo Lentrall that was able to recognize the fragility of his own personality at that moment. A part of him that could see that the game was over. A part of him that knew he had been pretending to be someone and something he was not for a long time. He had seen himself as smarter, braver, better than anyone else. And why not, in a universe where robots protected everyone from the consequences of their actions, where robots did all the hard work and left the posturing for humans? He had always imagined himself as being immune to fear and as impossible to harm. It was easy enough to indulge such fancies when robots warded off all danger.
And that part of Davlo Lentrall could feel it all slipping away. A few more shocks, a few more disasters, and he knew he would not be able to hold together. What was he to do if the mask fell from his face altogether, and the face underneath was blank? He knew now that he was not the person he had pretended to be. But then who was he?
Davlo Lentrall sat in his office chair, still as a switched-off robot, trying to work up the nerve to move.
It might have been a minute later, or an hour later, when Kaelor came into the room. "Come along, sir," the robot said. "You must rest. There is nothing more you can accomplish tonight."
Lentrall allowed himself to be led away, allowed Kaelor to peel off his clothes, move him through the refresher, and put him to bed. He was asleep almost before he was fully between the covers. The last thing he saw as his head hit the pillow was Kaelor leaning over him, tucking the sheets up around him.
And the first thing he would think of the next morning was where he might find quite a bit of his lost data.
DONALD 111 WAS every bit as motionless as Lentrall had been, but he was far from inactive. Donald stood in his niche in the wall of Alvar Kresh's home office, and worked the hyperwave links with all the speed and efficiency that he could muster. To an outside observer, Donald would have appeared completely inert, as if he had been shut down altogether. In point of fact, he was linked into a half -dozen databases, patched through to simultaneous conference calls with robots in the City of Hades maintenance offices, the Department of Public Safety, the Emergency Preparedness Service, the Combined Inferno Police, and a half-dozen other agencies. No one knew for sure what would happen if and when the comet hit, but there were certain basic precautions that could be taken-and Donald could at least get them started.
It had to be anticipated that there would be quakes and aftershocks as a result of the impact, even in Hades, halfway around the planet. That assumption right there meant a great deal of work would have to be done. There were buildings that would have to be braced. Perhaps it would be wise if some old and unneeded buildings were disassembled altogether. Valuable and fragile objects would have to be stored in places of safety.
And then, of course, there were the people. The robots would have to prepare massive places of shelter, where the quakes could be ridden out in safety.
All the computer projections and models made it clear they had to anticipate that the comet impact would inject a large amount of dust, gas, and water vapor into the atmosphere. Theory said the dust injection would be of benefit to the climate in the long run, an aid to the efforts to adjust the planetary greenhouse factor, but it also meant there would be a prolonged period of bad weather. The robots of Inferno had to prepare for this as well.
There were dozens, hundreds, thousands of details to work out, contingencies to prepare for, scarce resources to be allocated between conflicting demands.
Donald had made a status report to the governor three hours after commencing the job, as instructed, although there was not a great deal of new information at that time. Things were really just getting started.
The job his master had given him was enormous in scope, enormous enough that Donald already convinced himself that the job was far beyond his capacity. It was obviously quite impossible for him to organize the entire planet for the comet impact all by himself. But his master, Governor Alvar Kresh, had to know that as well. Clearly, therefore, his orders required some interpretation. Donald would do the best he could for as long as required, but there would come a point where it would be counterproductive for Donald to run things, instead of handing the job to whatever combination of humans and robots were best suited to the job. But until the governor issued orders to that effect, Donald would tackle the job as best he could.
Indeed, the initial stages of the job were well within Donald's capacities. Later there would be decisions to make that were beyond his scope, but for now he even had a little bit of extra capacity-enough to monitor the news channels, for example. That was a routine part of running a large-scale mobilization job like this one. One had to monitor all the uncontrollable variables that affected the situation. From the operations planning side of things, unfavorable news reports were as much an uncontrollable and unpredictable variable as bad weather or plagues or economic crashes. Nor was it just the news itself that mattered-the way in which was reported was equally important. The mood of the report, the things that were left in and left out, the match-up between the facts as reported and the facts as known to the project team-all of those mattered.
And Donald was enough of a. student of human behavior to know that what he heard starting to be reported on the overnight news broadcast was far beyond his ability to judge. All he could know for sure was that it would have some effect, and a complicating one at that.
So he did was any robot would do under the circumstances.
He went looking for a human who could deal with the problem.
FREDDA LEVING OPENED her eyes to see Donald's calm and expressionless gaze looking down on her. She of all people should not have been unnerved by the sight. After all, she had built Donald, and she knew him as well as anyone else in her life. She knew how solid a protection the Three Laws were, and how utterly reliable Donald was in any event. But even so, it had been a long, hard day, and there was something distinctly unnerving about waking up to see a sky-blue robotic face staring down at one's self. "Donald," she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. "What is it?"
"Dr. Leving, I have just monitored an audio channel news report from Inferno Networks concerning the incident today at Government Tower Plaza."
"That's hardly surprising," Fredda said. "What else would they put on the news?"
"True enough, Doctor. However, this report is rather surprising. I believe you should hear it."
Fredda sighed and sat up in bed. "Very well, Donald. Play it back for me."
The cool, professional voice of a female newsreader began to speak through Donald's speaker grille. "Sources close to the investigation have uncovered a rumor that has been circulating for most of the day-that the incident at Government Tower today was actually a coup attempt, an effort to seize control of the government itself."
Suddenly, Fredda was fully and absolutely awake. What the devil was the woman talking about? There's hadn't been any coup attempt.
"Even more remarkable is the reason offered as motivation for the coup attempt," the newsreader went on. "The attempt was made to prevent the government from causing a comet to crash into the planet. According to the same source, the government is actively and secretly engaged in just such a project, under the belief that the comet impact will somehow enhance the planetary environment. Attempts to contact Governor Kresh for comment have been unsuccessful. We will of course provide further details of this story as they become available."
The recording ended, and Donald spoke in his own voice. "That was the sum total of reportage on any coup attempt," Donald said, anticipating Fredda's first question. "I might add that Inferno Networks has a tradition of sensationalist reports, and that at various times the Settler and Ironhead organizations, as well as the government itself, have found it a useful conduit for leaks."
"So it could have come from anywhere. When did that broadcast go out?" Fredda asked, trying to think.
"Just a few minutes ago, at 0312 hours local time here in Hades."
"In the dead of night, the time it would be least likely to have much circulation. Interesting. Very, very interesting. Has anyone from any of the news services attempted to reach Alvar-ah, the governor?"
"Not through any of the access points or comm links that I monitor," Donald replied.
"In other words, either they didn't really try to reach him, or they didn't try very hard," Fredda said, half to herself. She thought for a moment. "They're trying to flush us out," she announced at last. "Get us out in the open, right in their sights. That's got to be it."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Donald. "Who is 'they'?"
"I would assume that it's the same people who tried to snatch Davlo Lentrall," Fredda said. "It means they're trying to force us to admit there is a plan to drop a comet-and they're trying to present the idea in the most unfavorable way possible. They want to make it look like the comet idea is so bad that people would risk violence and upheaval rather than let it happen. And if they can make the comet plan seem like some sort of fiendish secret plot, all the better. It will put more pressure on the government-on Alvar-to backpedal, get as far back from the comet idea as possible."
"I see," said Donald in a tone of voice that made it clear he did not. "I must admit that the subtleties of human politics are quite beyond me. Might I ask why whoever it was that did this arranged for it to be broadcast at this hour of the night?"
"They're sending a signal," Fredda said. "They're giving us until morning to put together a denial, to explain it away, and let the whole thing evaporate."
"And if you fail to do so?"
Fredda waved at Donald's speaker grille, vaguely indicating the recorded human voice that had just come from it. "Then they will use all the news outlets they get can to listen to them. They'll raise every kind of hell they can. Maybe try to force Alvar out of office."
"So what do we do?" Donald asked.
Fredda thought for a moment. Logically, the thing to do was call Alvar, consult with him. The trouble was, of course, that she did not know where he was. He had not told her. No doubt she could find him if she wanted to do so. Probably all she had to do was ask Donald. Either he knew, or else he could find out, somehow. But she had the distinct impression that Alvar had wanted to be alone. And Donald had come to her, not to Alvar. That in and of itself strongly implied that Donald did not wish to contact Alvar. Had Alvar left explicit orders with Donald? Or was Donald working on some sort of implied orders? Could she get him to override that instruction with a stated and emphatic command to help her contact her husband? Or suppose he knew where Alvar was but just wanted to protect his master from a politically damaging situation by dumping it in Fredda's lap?
Damnation! The situation was bad enough without having to go into the whichness of what and the balancing of implied commands and hypothetical First Law issues.
Fredda had gotten to precisely that point in her reasoning when Donald spoke. "I beg your pardon, Dr. Leving, but there is an incoming call for you from the Hades News Reporting Service."
"For me?" Why the devil would they call her? Unless they had tried for Alvar already. Or else maybe-"Oh, the hell with it," she said out loud, and stood up. She was too tired for more guessing games. "Audio only. I must look an absolute fright. Put the call through the bedroom comm panel, Donald. And better record the call as well." She started pacing back and forth, for want of a better outlet for her nervous energy.
"Yes, ma'am," said Donald. "The caller can hear you-now."
Thoughtful of Donald to handle it that way. More than a few people had been embarrassed talking to an audio-only caller who wasn't there-or, worse, by talking indiscreetly before they knew the caller was there. "This is Fredda Leving," she said to the empty air. "Who is calling, please?"
"Good evening, Dr. Leving." A very smooth, professional sounding male voice spoke into the empty air. "This is Hilyar Lews, Hades News Reporting."
Fredda had heard and seen the man on the air, and she did not like him. Besides which, it irritated her that anyone could sound so smooth and polished at this hour of the night. "Did you say, 'Good evening'?" Fredda asked. "Wouldn't 'Good morning' would be a trifle more accurate, Mr. Lews? And I might add that it is traditional to apologize for calling at this hour," she said, hoping to put the man off balance.
"Urn, ah, well, yes, ma'am. My apologies." It was obvious from Lews's tone of voice that he knew exactly how awkward he sounded. Good.
"Well, now that you have me up, Mr. Lews, did you have a particular reason for calling? Or is this just a friendly chat?" Best to keep the fellow as much off balance as possible.
"Ah, no, ma'am. It's a very serious call. We've been trying to reach the governor concerning the allegations that are being broadcast by Inferno Networks News? Ah-have you heard the I-N News reports?"
"I have indeed," said Fredda. "And I can speak for my husband without the necessity of disturbing him at this hour. There absolutely, positively, categorically was no coup attempt. There was and is no threat to the government."
"But what about the-"
"I can't comment on the details of an ongoing investigation." Fredda rolled right over whatever Lews was going to ask, glad to have such a convenient phrase to hand.
"Very well, ma' am. But what about this business concerning a comet? Is there any truth at all to that part of the story? It sounds a little too fantastic for it to have been made up out of nothing at all."
Fredda stopped her pacing back and forth and sat down on the edge of the bed. Why the devil did crises always hit in the middle of the night, when she was half asleep? She had to think, and think fast. It was no good denying the story. Not when it was true, not when it was bound to leak out again, some other way, and soon. But she could not just blandly confirm it either. She had no idea at all how likely the comet plan was. Alvar had gone off somewhere to study the problem. Suppose he had already concluded the idea was, after all, as insane as it sounded? She could not commit him, either way. But she couldn't let it go with a flat "no comment" either. That would simply start the rumor mill churning faster than ever.
In short, there was nothing she could say that wouldn't cause some serious damage. She should never have taken this call in the first place. But it was too late now. She had to say something. She took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, carefully. "There is a comet," she said. "The governor is aware of...studies that have been made concerning the comet." Suddenly Fredda had an inspiration. Something she could say that was utterly truthful, and yet something that was completely misleading. Something that might slow down the rumor long enough to buy them some time. "I do not know all the details, but I believe the project has something to do with Operation Snowball. I assume you are familiar with snowball?"
"Ah, yes, somewhat, ma'am." There was a longish pause. At a guess, Lews was doing a lookup on "snowball" in some sort of reference system. Fredda smiled. It was increasingly obvious to her that Lews was not quite as smooth and prepared as he let on. That was also good. "It's a project to mine ice from comets and drop it into the atmosphere," Lews said, in a tone of voice that made it obvious that he was reading the words from off some screen or another.
"Precisely. In effect, dropping a comet on the planet-a few kilograms at a time. Snowball has been going on for some time, and it is the only officially approved project concerning comets that I know about." The statement was true, if misleading in the extreme. The Comet Grieg plan was not, after all, approved. "I trust that answers your questions, Mr. Lews?"
"Well, I suppose so," Lews replied.
Suppose what you will, thought Fredda, just so long as I've muddled the trail enough to hold you off. "In that case, I'll be getting back to bed. Good night-or good morning-Mr. Lews." Fredda made a throat-cutting gesture to Donald, and he cut the connection. "I hope I did that right," she said, more to herself than to Donald. "See to it that a copy of the original broadcast, and a copy of that conversation, are in the governor's data mailbox. When he does check in, he'll need to know what's going on."
"I have already put copies into his mailbox, Doctor."
"Excellent." Fredda slumped backward onto the bed, her feet still dangling down over the front of the mattress. That wouldn't do. No point dozing off like that when she could so easily crawl back beneath the covers. She stood up, went around the bed, and got back into it, wondering if there was indeed any point in getting comfortable. It wouldn't surprise her if she were unable to sleep at all. She certainly had enough things to worry about for her to keep her staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Where was Alvar? What was he going to do about the comet? Had she done it right, or had she just made a bad mess worse? No way to know. No way to know until it was too late.
It seemed her to that was the running theme for everything that had happened in the last few days. She yawned, shut her eyes, rolled over on her side, and set forth on a valiant effort to fall asleep.
FREDDA OPENED HER eyes again, to Donald staring down at her once more.
"Your pardon, Dr. Leving, but there is an urgent call for you. The pseudo-robot Caliban says he must speak with you at once," Fredda sighed. She knew she had to take the call, and that Caliban would only call if it were important, But even so, it was turning into a very long night. "Now what time is it?" she asked.
"It is now 0429 hours," Donald said.
"It would be," she muttered. "All right, on the bedroom comm again. Audio only." Perhaps she shouldn't have cared how she looked to a robot, but she did.
"Very well, Dr. Leving. Caliban can hear you-now."
"Caliban, hello," Fredda said, struggling not to yawn. What's going on?"
"Dr. Leving, please forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, but I felt that we must talk. Prospero and I are leaving the city now, headed for Depot and beyond. We have learned through our own sources what is likely to befall our city."
Fredda blinked in surprise. She had always known that Caliban and the New Law robots had good sources of information, but she had not known they were that good. And then there was the way Caliban had phrased it. "Befall" the New Law city. A subtle pun that would reveal very little to anyone who did not know what was going on. It told her Caliban was being cautious-and that he wanted her to be equally cautious. Was he worried about eavesdroppers, or snooper robots with orders to listen for certain words? Or was he just assuming that Alvar was still there, and might be able to overhear? "I think you are being wise," she said. "Events are moving quite rapidly, and I don't think they will be easy to control."
"I quite agree," said Caliban. "We must set to work at once preparing our citizens for the contingency in question. We may well need to call on our friends for help."
"You can certainly call on me," said Fredda. "Whatever I can do, I will." She hesitated for a moment. That was a rather sweeping promise, after all. It seemed likely that all of the Utopia region would have to be evacuated, and that would put a huge strain on transport and other resources. Few people were likely to worry about the New Law robots getting their fair share of the help. "But there will probably be limits-severe limits-on what I can do."
"I understand that," said Caliban. "We have always been on our own. But even marginal assistance could turn out to be vitally important."
Fredda felt a pang of guilt. It was bad enough when you could do very little for your own creations. It was worse when they expected even less. "Contact me when you get there," she said. "Let me know whatever you need, and I'll do my damnedest to get it."
There was a moment's silence on the line. "What we need," said Caliban, "is a place where we can be left alone. We thought we had that, up until now. Caliban out."
The line went dead, and Fredda cursed to herself, fluently, violently, and at length. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She had never asked for, never considered, the burden of obligation she had put on herself when she had created the New Law robots. She had never felt that she owed a debt, a creator's debt to the Three-Law robots she had built. But with Caliban, with the New Law robots, she felt she owed them something, simply by virtue of calling them into existence.
Perhaps that was the difference between creating a race of willing slaves, and a race of beings who wanted to be free.
Fredda slumped back in bed. Damnation. Now she'd never get to sleep.
THE FIRST HINTS of dawn were a whisper in the eastern skies of Hades as Caliban, Prospero, and Fiyle rode Prospero's aircar up out of the city's tunnel system. Fiyle was clearly exhausted, yawning uncontrollably. He had been up all night, Prospero grilling him relentlessly for any tiny scrap of information he might have concerning the comet operation.
Caliban looked at the man with something very close to sympathy. Perhaps Fiyle was little better than a turncoat who sold himself to all and sundry, but even so, there was some whiff of honor about the man. Something in him had put limits on his petty betrayals and the buying and selling of trust. Something had put survival of the New Law robots above the lure of Trader Demand Notes. There was something to respect, even in this contemptible man.
And it was, after all, that impulse to decency that had placed Norlan Fiyle in danger. That meant Norlan Fiyle had best get out of town, and fast. And the two robots, needless to say, had their own reasons to travel. They needed to warn Valhalla.
Caliban looked from Fiyle to Prospero, and then at the city itself. He bid a farewell-and not an entirely fond one-to Hades. Perhaps he would someday return to the city. But events were moving too quickly, things were happening too fast. Somehow, a part of him knew that the city he saw now, here, today, would soon be changed beyond recognition, even if the buildings and the streets remained the same. For the lives of the people would be changed utterly, and the world beyond the city made anew.
Unless, of course, city, people, and world were all simply smashed flat instead. Utter destruction was one form of change.
The aircar reached for sky, and headed into the dawn.
ALVAR KRESH SWITCHED off the link to his data mailbox, surprised at his own sense of relief. He sat at the console in front of Dum and Dee, where, it seemed to him, he had spent several years, instead of merely most of a night and most of a morning, and tried to consider the situation. The day shift for the Terraforming Center had been filtering in for the last half an hour or so, all of them more than a trifle surprised to find Governor Alvar Kresh in possession. Kresh paid them as little mind, and as little attention, as possible. Dr. Soggdon was still at the center as well, for reasons Kresh did not entirely understand. Perhaps a sense of duty was keeping her there to protect Unit Dee's honor against the interloper. If that was the case, she was not at her most effective. She was at her desk, head pillowed on her folded arms, fast asleep.
Kresh turned his attention back to the news he had just received. The people trying to wreck the comet-capture project did not know it, but they had done him a very large favor indeed. Kresh had been dreading the necessity of informing the world at large of the comet project. Sooner or later, Inferno would have to know, but he had enough on his hands without being forced to calm the inevitable public uproar at the same time.
By leaking the information, the opposition had relieved Kresh of the necessity of going before the cameras and the reporters. And Fredda had struck precisely the right note, deflating the uproar without actually discounting the story. Thank Space he hadn't been home to receive that call himself.
When he had succeeded to the governorship, Kresh had made a point of eliminating all the layers of press secretaries and communications offices and scheduled appointments and all the other tricks of the trade meant to keep reporters well away from the governor, allowing the news people all but unlimited access to him. There had been plenty of times when he had regretted that policy, and today he thanked whatever source of luck he had that he had managed to avoid the press today. It might not be a bad idea to stay right where he was, keeping a nice, low profile for a while, with as little direct communication with the outside world as possible. Here he could focus on the project itself. If he went back to Hades, it was all but inevitable that he would get swept up talking about the project, rather than doing something about it.
Very well. Now the world knew about the comet, and he had not been the one to tell them. All to the good. But now there was another problem. The obvious thing to do now was to allow the public discussion move forward to the point where he could confirm the existence of the comet plan to a populace ready to accept the idea. But how the devil could he do that when he would be forced to make the ridiculous-sounding admission that they had misplaced the comet?
Plainly, the best answer to that problem was to relocate the comet as soon as possible. But Kresh had done as much as he could in that direction for the moment. Sometimes the job of leadership was simply to get things started, and trust in others to get them done. He would have to keep on here, focusing on other aspects of the project, working on the assumption that they would be able to find the comet in time. Back to work, he told himself.
"Still with me, Dee?" Kresh asked.
"Yes, sir, I am," Unit Dee replied. "Was there anything of interest in your mailbox?"
"Quite a bit," he said. "But nothing that you need worry about. I have a new task for you."
"I would be delighted to be of further assistance."
"Right," said Kresh, his tone of voice deliberately brusque. There was something about courtly manners from a robot that got on his nerves. "My personal robot, Donald 111, is at work on the preliminary preparations for the cometary impact. Safety plans, evacuations plans, that sort of thing. I want to contact him and have him hand off that job to you. Clearly, you're better suited to it than he is. I should have assigned the job to you in the first place. Relay my orders to that effect, then order Donald to join me here as soon as possible without revealing my whereabouts."
"I will contact him at once," Dee said.
"Good," said Kresh. "I'm going to step out for a breath of fresh air. When I return, we will return to refining your impact targeting plan."
"With the extremely rough data we got from Dr. Lentrall, I am not sure there is more we can do."
"But there might be," Kresh said. "At the very least we can work out a range of scenarios and contingencies, so that we are more ready to act when the time comes. We'll work out a few hundred possible rough trajectories, and give Unit Dum something to do."
Dee did not respond to the very small joke, but instead spoke with her usual urbane civility. "Very well, sir. I will continue with my other duties while I await your return."
"Back in a minute," Kresh said, and stood up. He stretched, yawned, and ignored the stares of the Center's workers as he rubbed his tired face. Let them wonder what their governor was doing here. Alvar headed out the huge armored door of Room 103, down the corridor of the Terraforming Center, out the double doors that led to the outside, and into the morning.
It had been a long time since he had worked a job all night, worked all the clock around. He was close to exhausted, but not quite. There was something invigorating about seeing the morning after a hard night's work. Somehow Kresh always felt as if he had earned the loveliness of morning after working through the darkness.
The rains were gone now, and the world was fresh and bright, scrubbed clean. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with perfect white clouds that set off the deep azure of the heavens. The air smelled sweet, and good. Alvar Kresh looked toward the west, in the direction of the governor's Winter Residence. He remembered another morning like this, with everything fresh and bright, and all good things possible. A morning he had spent with Fredda, just after he had assumed the governorship. That had been a morning of good omen. Perhaps this would be as well.
And maybe it was time to move over to the Winter Residence. That would let him stay on the island. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea to keep a low profile just now. But that could wait until later. Right now there was something else he could do to keep himself isolated. He walked over to his aircar, sitting in the middle of a parking lot that was now half full of aircars. Oberon saw him through the cockpit viewport, and the door of the craft swung open as he approached. Kresh went aboard, and found Oberon just coming aft to meet him.
"Are we heading home, sir?" Oberon asked in his slow, ponderous voice.
"You are, but I'm not. Fly the aircar back and give my regards to my wife. Tell her I heard the recordings, and that she handled them exactly right. Tell her where I am, and that if she wishes, she can join me here-if she can do so undetected. I would value her advice. You must make it clear I wish to keep my whereabouts as private as possible for the time being. I need time to think, and work, without the world jiggling my elbow."
"What of the workers here, sir?" asked Oberon. "They know where you are."
"True enough, and sooner or later something is going to leak. With luck it will be later. Just see to it you aren't the one that does the leaking. Fly an evasive pattern so it looks like you're coming in to Hades from someplace besides here."
"Very good, sir. Unless there is something further, I will leave at once."
"Nothing else," said Kresh. "Go." He turned and stepped out of the hatch, and moved back toward the building to get clear for Oberon's takeoff. After a moment or two the aircar launched, moving smoothly and slowly up into the sky. Kresh was on his own-or at least he could pretend he was. He was, after all, the governor. He could call on any sort of transport or communication he liked, whenever he liked. But without the aircar there, he was just that little bit more cut off, that little bit more isolated.
He had a little time.
Now if only he had the trajectory and coordinates for the comet, maybe things would turn out all right after all.
Maybe.