The Early Asimov. Volume 3

June Billings collapsed into real tears.

Graham Dorn folded his arms and looked sternly at her.

MacDunlap rubbed his hands and took a kidney pill.

'It wasn't my fault, Gramie,' said June. 'You said in your books he fascinated all women, so I couldn't help it. Deep inside, I hated him all along. You believe me, don't you?'

'A likely story!' said Graham, sitting down next to her on the sofa. 'A likely story. But I forgive you, maybe.'

MacDunlap said tremulously, 'My boy, you have saved my stocks. Also, my wife, of course. And remember - you promised me one de Meister story each year.'

Graham gritted, 'Just one, and I'll henpeck him to death, and keep one unpublished story forever on hand, just in case. And you're publishing my novel, aren't you, Grew, old boy?'

'Glug,' said MacDunlap.

'Aren't you?'

'Yes, Graham. Of course, Graham. Definitely, Graham. Positively, Graham.'

Then leave us now. There are matters of importance I must discuss with my fiancee.'

MacDunlap smiled and tiptoed out the door.

Ah, love, love, he mused, as he took a liver pill and followed it up by a cough-syrup chaser.

***

 I might make two points about 'Author! Author!' It seems to me that I was rather easier about handling romance in this story than in any previous one. Perhaps this is a reflection of the fact that it was the first story I ever wrote as a married man.

 Secondly, there are the very dated references to rationing, the draft, and other social phenomena much on the mind of anyone living through Worjd War II. I had warned Bensen of the existence of these references and of the inability of getting them out of the story by revision since they were integral to the plot. Bensen, however, shrugged them off and in his short introduction to the story said to.the readers, 'And don't worry about the references to the OP A and Selective Service - consider them as part of the historical setting, just as you would a bodkin or a furbelow in a story of an earlier time.'

 And I second that statement here.

 Had I rested on the pink cloud of gratification that came with the sale of 'Author! Author!' for a few months, the death of Unknown might have disheartened me. It might have seemed to prove that I was not fated to reign ite my career after all, and perhaps - again - everything would have turned out differently.

 However, within three weeks of the sale I was at the typewriter again. The new story was 'Death Sentence' and it was science fiction. Writing was still slow work; seven weeks to do a 7,200-word story. On June 29, 1943, however, I sent it off to Campbell, and on July 8, it was accepted - one and a quarter cents per word again.

 This meant that when the news of Unknown's demise arrived, it was cushioned by the fact that I already had another story written and sold.

Death Sentence [3]

Brand Gorla smiled uncomfortably, 'These things exaggerate, you know.'

'No, no, no!' The little man's albino-pink eyes snapped. 'Dorlis was great when no human had ever entered the Vegan System. It was the capital of a Galactic Confederation greater than ours.'

'Well, then, let's say it was an ancient capital. I'll admit that and leave the rest to an archaeologist.'

'Archaeologists are no use. What I've discovered needs a specialist in its own field. And you're on the Board.'

Brand Gorla looked doubtful. He remembered Theo Realo in senior year - a little white misfit of a human who skulked somewhere in the background of his reminiscences. It had been a long time ago, but the albino had been queer. That was easy to remember. And he was still queer.

'I'll try to help,' Brand said, 'if you'll tell me what you want.'

Theor watched intently, 'I want you to place certain facts before the Board. Will you promise that?'

Brand hedged, 'Even if I help you along, Theor, I'll have to remind you that I'm junior member of the Psychological Board. I haven't much influence.'

'You must do your best. The facts will speak for themselves.' The albino's hands were trembling.

'Go ahead.' Brand resigned himself. The man was an old school fellow. You couldn't be too arbitrary about things.

Brand Gorla leaned back and relaxed. The light of Arcturus shone through the ceiling-high windows, diffused and mellowed by the polarizing glass. Even this diluted version of sunlight was too much for the pink eyes of the other, and he shaded his eyes as he spoke.

'I've lived on Dorlis twenty-five years, Brand,' he said, 'I've poked into places no one today knew existed, and I've found things. Dorlis was the scientific and cultural capital of a civilization greater than ours. Yes it was, and particularly in psychology.'

'Things in the past always seem greater.' Brand condescended a smile. 'There is a theorem to that effect which you'll find in any elementary text. Freshmen invariably call it the 'GOD Theorem.' Stands for "Good-Old-Days," you know. But go on.'

Theor frowned at the digression. He hid the beginning of a sneer, 'You can always dismiss an uncomfortable fact by pinning a dowdy label to it. But tell me this. What do you know of Psychological Engineering?'

Brand shrugged, 'No such thing. Anyway, not in the strict mathematical sense. All propaganda and advertising is a crude form of hit-and-miss Psych Engineering - and pretty effective sometimes. Maybe that's what you mean.'

'Not at all. I mean actual experimentation, with masses of people, under controlled conditions, and over a period of years.'

'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.'