Asimov’s Future History Volume 11

by Isaac Asimov

  And there were certainly lots of people here whose interest he wanted--starting with Beddle, Beddle the virulently anti-Settler, rabidly pro-robot, and, needless to say, one of Grieg’s harshest critics. Beddle was still surrounded by a crowd of sycophants, all of them laughing a bit too loudly, behaving just a trifle too belligerently. Beddle caught Phrost’s eye and gave him a nod. Later they would talk.

  And there was Tonya Welton, leader of the Settlers. Quite an occasion to get her in the same room with Beddle, Phrost thought. And quite a feather in my cap when they both want to talk to me. And that was no flight of imagination, either. Phrost had no doubt that both had hope of receiving his aid. The trick would be for him to provide it to both, and make gain in return from both, without either being the wiser.

  Tonya Welton was making her excuses to the knot of people she was chatting with, clearly intending to come and welcome Phrost. He toyed with the idea of heading over to meet her halfway, but decided to indulge himself. Enjoy the moment. Let her come to him. He had worked long and hard to get this far. Why not enjoy it? He pretended not to notice Welton, and gestured to one of the waiters for a drink. Strange, very strange, to be served by a human servant--and an armed one at that. Governor’s Rangers on security duty, and picking up the tasks that would normally have been done by robots. The one who gave Phrost his drink was clearly none too pleased by the assignment.

  Phrost was a tall, ruddy-faced man, a bit too strong-featured to be called handsome in any conventional sense, his cold grey eyes a bit too calculating in their expression for anyone to imagine him as charming.

  His face was well lined, but not so much as to make him appear old or worn-out. On the contrary, the lines that life had etched on his face spoke of vigor and energy, of a life full of activity and experience. Phrost was enough of an egotist to be aware of his own appearance and reputation, and take some pleasure in them, but he was enough of a realist to know that a great deal of it was illusion. He was no more active or determined than the average person--but it was often helpful for other people to think of him in such terms.

  His hair had been jet-black not so very long ago, but now it had turned to salt-and-pepper, the white hairs just starting to be more common than the black. Phrost could not help but notice that the touch of grey had a profound effect on the way people reacted to him. In a culture that respected age and sober experience more than it valued youth and enthusiasm, a few genteel marks of maturity were good for business, and that was all that mattered.

  Ostensibly, what Phrost did was to serve as the middleman for the extremely short list of Settler products that Spacer law allowed to be imported. He also represented the even shorter list of Spacer export products that Settlers were willing to buy. In reality, of course, the main purposes of his import-export business was to serve as a cover for all his other activities.

  And it had led to his being selected to represent the combine of Spacer industrialists bidding on the Limbo Control System project. It was the single largest, and most complex, part of the reterraforming project. There was a Settler bid as well, of course. Whichever of the two sides won the job would win the lion’s share of all the work that followed. It was no small thing for Sero Phrost to be representing the home side in such things. It made him even more a man of influence and power.

  But for all of that, Phrost was, first and last, a salesman. Like all good salesmen, he knew that what he was selling was himself. He counted himself exceedingly lucky that the passages of time had enhanced, rather than diminished, his marketability.

  So he came to this party to be seen, to do some business, to forge a new alliance or two, to strengthen the old ones. And here was Tonya Welton.

  “Good evening, Sero, “she said.

  “Good evening, Madame Welton,” Phrost replied. He took her hand and kissed it, a somewhat theatrical gesture, but one that he knew pleased her. “I’m glad to see you here.”

  “And I you,” she replied. “The Governor needs all his friends around him tonight.”

  “So the Settlers are still supporting the Governor? In spite of this jurisdiction fight?”

  “We do not support him in all things,” Welton replied, choosing her words carefully. “But we certainly are in favor of the general thrust of his program. Though we do feel it is best if we offer our support--quietly.”

  “Your overt support not being the most useful thing the Governor could have at this point,” Phrost said, being deliberately blunt. Tonya Welton was a woman who played hard, and sometimes a little dirty. He knew she was not the sort who would respect the obsequious approach. He would have been quite prepared to use such a gambit if he thought it would work.

  “No, I suppose not,” Tonya said, offering a smile remarkable in its transparent insincerity. “But your support for us, Sero. That is something I would like to be made much more public.”

  Precisely the sort of feeler he had expected her to make. “We all must move carefully in these times,” Phrost said. “But yes, certainly, I do wish to work more closely with your people. I’ve done well selling Settler hardware to tide us over the robot shortage--selling it quietly--and I’d like to do better. But, frankly, open association with the Settlers could be a dangerous thing. One must balance risk and benefit.”

  “‘Benefit,’ “she said. “So we come to the point. What is it you want? What ‘benefit’ are you after?”

  “What is it you want? What risk do you want me to take? I can’t name my price until I know what the service is to be,” Phrost said.

  Welton hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “Visibility,” she said. “We have gone as far as we can working quietly. It’s all very well to do private sales of our machinery here and there, but it is not enough.”

  “Enough for what purpose?” Phrost asked. “Enough to wean this planet away from robots? Do you plan to use commercial means to accomplish what diplomacy could not?” He had to tread carefully here. Visibility was the one thing he could not afford to offer. The moment his alliance with Welton and the Settlers became known, his equally profitable dealings with the Ironheads would be at an end.

  “Our goals are not so grandiose,” Tonya replied. The words “not yet” were unspoken, but they were there for all of that. “We merely wish that Settler products--and thus, by extension. all things Settler--become more acceptable to the people of this world.”

  “Forgive me,” Phrost replied, “but I still do not understand how or why making my part in all this more ‘visible’ is of any use to anyone. Do you wish me to endorse Settler products in some way? I can tell you that will be very little more than an elaborate way for me to commit suicide, certainly in a professional sense--and perhaps in a literal one as well.”

  Tonya Welton seemed about to reply, but she was silenced by a new arrival to the conversation. Shelabas Quellam, President of the Legislative Council, was coming over. He was a short, somewhat overweight man who gave the quite accurate impression of being indecisive and easily led. “Good evening, Madame Welton. Hello, Sero. Consorting with the enemy, I see,” he said in an attempt at a jovial tone, though his rather high and squeaky voice could not quite bring it off.

  “Good evening, Legislator Quellam. I would prefer to think of us as all being friends,” Tonya Welton replied, her voice cold and angry.

  “Oh, dear,” Quellam said, realizing his attempt at humor had failed. “I assure you, Madame Welton, I spoke in jest. I intended no offense.”

  “What brings you over, Shelabas?” asked Phrost. “Is there something on your mind?” If such a thing is possible, Phrost added to himself.

  “Yes, why in fact there is. I saw the two of you together, and thought it might be the perfect moment to discuss new measures on smuggling.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Welton asked.

  “Smuggling,” Quellam said. “It seemed to me that the head of the Settlers on Inferno and the leading trading magnate on the planet might well have some thoughts on the subject. I am sure we all wan
t to cut down on illicit imports of Settler technology. That is in all our interests, surely. It’s destabilizing our economy, and no doubt your government loses money on such illegal sales, does it not, Madame Welton? No tax revenue, and so forth?”

  “To be brutally honest,” Tonya said, “Spacer currency is worth so little on Settler worlds that the average freebooter can’t be bothered with it. After all, what could she buy with it? The Settler governments would have to subsidize any goodsized smuggling operation if the smugglers were to receive any profit. Trust me. Any large-scale Settler smuggling on this planet would have to have government support.”

  “Subsidize smugglers? Why in Space would the Settler governments do such a thing?”

  “Who can say?” Tonya said with a toss of her head. “perhaps some irresponsible elements among the Settlers have some idea that destabilizing a rotten, outmoded system might not be such a bad idea. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” She turned and walked away.

  “Oh, dear, I appear to have said the wrong thing,” said Shelabas Quellam. “I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

  Sero Phrost smiled, but did not reply. Quellam was applying the sentiment to the present rather awkward social circumstance, but things happening without his intending them was the story of Shelabas’ life. He had, for example, never had any intention of reaching his current station--and importance--in life.

  Shelabas Quellam was the President of the Legislative Council. In years gone past, when the world of Inferno had been a calm and placid place, and Infernal politics had been closer to comatose than dormant, the Council Presidency was where you put a man like Quellam. A ceremonial post, a place reserved for an amiable man willing to serve as a figurehead.

  But Infernal politics had come alive with a vengeance in the last year, and the Council Presidency was suddenly a vital piece on the gameboard.

  Back in the old days, even the Governorship had been in large part a ceremonial post. One incumbent after another served out repeated twenty-year terms, doing little or nothing besides holding entertainments before retiring or going on to some other career. There had seemed little purpose to be served in having a Vice Governor as well, as the holder of that post would have even less to do--and less prestige.

  Still, something had to be done to assure an orderly succession in the event of the Governor’s death, incapacity, or voluntary resignation. Instead of having a Vice Governor, each Governor was required to name a Governor-Designate, to be appointed to the office. Tradition dictated that the Designate’s name be kept secret, and that the Governor could name a new Designate at any time. Many a Governor had used the Designation as both carrot and stick.

  There were, however, circumstances under which the Governor’s choice of successor was null and void. In the event of the Governor’s impeachment and conviction, or his recall by the electorate, it was clearly unwise in the extreme to allow a disgraced Governor to designate his or her successor. Should the Governor be removed from office by any of those means, the Council President would serve as Governor, and could, if he or she saw fit, call new elections. Or not call elections. The new Governor could elect to serve out the remainder of his or her predecessor’s term. And Grieg had over seventeen years left to serve.

  In the old days, all the elaborate contingencies set down in the constitution had been nothing but mere gamesmanship, rules written for the pleasure of writing rules and making everything tidy. More than likely, the idea that they might someday have practical significance never entered the heads of the people who wrote them.

  But now, quite suddenly, the impeachment of the Governor was very much a possibility--and that meant that Shelabas Quellam was now a man of some importance.

  In fact, his importance went beyond the threat of impeachment. It was well known that Grieg did not approve of playing games with the succession, and felt that there should be a statutory arrangement that covered all contingencies, and that the current arrangements were overly complex. In that spirit, he had named Quellam as his Designate as well. One or two wags had suggested that with Quellam next in line for the Governorship, no matter what, everyone would take special care to see that Grieg stayed healthy and well.

  Phrost dredged a gentle smile up from somewhere and put his arm around Quellam’s shoulders. “Come, come,” he said. “It certainly isn’t worth getting that upset about.” Of course, it was worth getting upset about. Phrost had been attempting to get next to Tonya Welton for weeks, and this little incident could set back a lot of his plans. However, as one or two of those plans made use of Shelabas in one way or another, it would profit Phrost not at all to lose his temper at the man--especially in public.

  Besides, Shelabas was not entirely to blame. Phrost and Welton had been getting close to arguing even before Quellam came over. The mood of the party had been edgy from the start. There was an air of expectation about the place, the feeling that something was going to happen. There were too many different factions represented in the room, too many undercurrents, too much underlying tension. Something had to give. Something had to snap.

  But when it did, a moment later, even Sero Phrost was surprised by how fast and furious it was.

  ... Continued in Volume 12

  Sources of Dates

  (For Volume 11)

  AD =Anno Domini

  GE =Galactic Era

  FE =Foundational Era

  Robots and Empire Takes place two hundred years after The Robots of Dawn.

  Caliban Takes place a century after the Solarians vanish.

  Inferno Takes place one year after Caliban.

  Table of Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Table of Contents

  Robots and Empire

  Part IV-Aurora

  11. The Old Leader

  42.

  43.

  44.

  45.

  12. The Plan And The Daughter

  46.

  47.

  48.

  49.

  50.

  13. The Telepathic Robot

  51.

  51A.

  51B.

  52.

  53.

  54.

  55.

  56.

  14. The Duel

  57.

  58.

  59.

  60.

  61.

  62.

  63.

  Part V-Earth

  15. The Holy World

  64.

  65.

  66.

  67.

  68.

  69.

  70.

  71.

  16. The City

  72.

  73.

  74.

  75.

  76.

  77.

  17. The Assassin

  78.

  79.

  80.

  81.

  82.

  83.

  18. The Zeroth Law

  84.

  85.

  86.

  87.

  88.

  89.

  90.

  91.

  19. Alone

  92.

  Caliban

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Inferno

  Prelude

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Sources of Dates

  Future History Volume 11