Theor Realo smashed toward the robot world at an acceleration that was half choking him.
Somewhere ahead was the dustspeck of an isolated world with artificial imitations of humanity struggling along in an experiment that had died. Struggling blindly toward a new goal of interstellar travel that was to be their death sentence.
He was heading toward that world, toward the same city in which he had been “studied” the first time. He remembered it well. Its name was the first words of their language he had learned.
New York!
On July 26, 1943, which was a Monday, I had one of the rare days off I could take during wartime. (It was, after all, my first wedding anniversary.) I was in New York that day, and I visited Campbell just as in the good old days. I discussed with him another story in the “Foundation” series, as well as another in the “positronic robot” series. From then on, I always saw Campbell on the rare days when I was in New York on a weekday, and of course we corresponded regularly.
I was definitely back at writing. Output was low, but during the remaining war years I wrote two positronic robot stories, “Catch That Rabbit” and “Paradoxical Escape,” which appeared in the February 1944 and August 1945 issues of Astounding, respectively. Both were eventually included in I, Robot. (The latter story appears in I,Robot under the title of “Escape.” The word “Paradoxical” had been added by Campbell in one of his few title changes, and I didn’t like it.)
I also wrote no less than four stories of the “Foundation” series during those same years. These were “The Big and the Little,” “The Wedge,” “Dead Hand,” and “The Mule.” All appeared in Astounding, of course, the first three in the August 1944, October 1944, and April 1945 issues, respectively.
“The Mule” set several records for me. It was the longest story I had ever written up to that time-fifty thousand words long. Yet even so, and despite the fact that I had to work on it in small scraps of time left over from job and marriage, I managed to complete it in three and a half months. It was submitted on May 21, 1945, and was accepted on the twenty-ninth. (Indeed, throughout the war I never got a single rejection, or even a delayed acceptance. Nor did I submit to anyone but Campbell.)
What’s more, at the beginning of 1944 Campbell raised his basic rate to one and a half cents a word and some months later to a cent and three quarters. For “The Mule” I received a check at the higher rate, for $875. It was by far the largest check I ever received for a single story. By the end of the war, in fact, I was making half as much money writing in my spare time as I was making at my N.A.E.S. job, even though I had been promoted and was receiving sixty dollars a week by the end of the war.
Then, too, “The Mule” was the first story I ever had published as a serial. It appeared in two parts in the November and December 1945 issues of Astounding.
Of the wartime “Foundation” stories, “The Big and the Little” and “The Wedge” are included in Foundation, while “Dead Hand” and “The Mule,” together, make up all of Foundation and Empire.
During the two years between mid-1943 and mid-1945, I wrote only one story that was neither one of the “Foundation” series nor one of the “Positronic robot” series, and that one was inspired directly by the N.A.E.S. This story was “Blind Alley,” which was written during September and early October of 1944. It was submitted to Campbell on October 10, and accepted on the twentieth.
Blind Alley
Only once in Galactic History was an intelligent race of non-Humans discovered-
I
From: Bureau for the Outer Provinces
To: Loodun Antyok, Chief Public Administrator, A-8
Subject: Civilian Supervisor of Cepheus 18, Administrative Position as,
References:
(a) Act of Council 2.515, of the year 971 of the Galactic Empire, entitled, “ Appointment of Officials of the Administrative Service, Methods for, Revision of.”
(b) Imperial Directive, Ja 2.374, dated 2.43/975 G.E.
1. By authorization of reference (a), you are hereby appointed to the subject position. The authority of said position as Civilian Supervisor of Cepheus 18 will extend over non-Human subjects of the Emperor living upon the planet under the terms of autonomy set forth in reference (b).
2. The duties of the subject position shall comprise the general supervision of all non-Human internal affairs, co-ordination of authorized government investigating and reporting committees, and the preparation of semiannual reports on all phases of non-Human affairs.
C. Morily, Chief,
BuOuProv, 12/977 G.E.
Loodun Antyok had listened carefully, and now he shook his round head mildly, “Friend, I’d like to help you, but you’ve grabbed the wrong dog by the ears. You’d better take this up with the Bureau.”
Tomor Zammo flung himself back into his chair, rubbed his beak of a nose fiercely, thought better of whatever he was going to say, and answered quietly, “Logical, but not practical. I can’t make a trip to Trantor now. You’re the Bureau’s representative on Cepheus 18. Are you entirely helpless?”
“Well, even as Civilian Supervisor, I’ve got to work within the limits of Bureau policy.”
“Good,” Zammo cried, “then, tell me what Bureau policy is. I head a scientific investigating committee, under direct Imperial authorization with, supposedly, the widest powers; yet at every angle in the road I am pulled up short by the civilian authorities with only the parrot shriek of ‘Bureau policy’ to justify themselves. What is Bureau policy? I haven’t received a decent definition yet.”
Antyok’s gaze was level and unruffled. He said, “As I see it-and this is not official, so you can’t hold me to it-Bureau policy consists in treating the non-Humans as decently as possible.”
“Then, what authority have they-”
“ Ssh! No use raising your voice. As a matter of fact, His Imperial Majesty is a humanitarian and a disciple of the philosophy of Aurelion. I can tell you quietly that it is pretty well-known that it is the Emperor himself who first suggested that this world be established. You can bet that Bureau policy will stick pretty close to Imperial notions. And you can bet that I can’t paddle my way against that sort of current.”
“Well, m’boy,” the physiologist’s fleshy eyelids quivered, “if you take that sort of attitude, you’re going to lose your job. No, I won’t have you kicked out. That’s not what I mean at all. Your job will just fade out from under you, because nothing is going to be accomplished here!”
“Really? Why?” Antyok was short, pink, and pudgy, and his plump-cheeked face usually found it difficult to put on display any expression other than one of bland and cheerful politeness-but it looked grave now.
“You haven’t been here long. I have.” Zammo scowled. “Mind if I smoke?” The cigar in his hand was gnarled and strong and was puffed to life carelessly.
He continued roughly, “There’s no place here for humanitarianism, administrator. You’re treating non-Humans as if they were Humans, and it won’t work. In fact, I don’t like the word ‘non-Human.’ They’re animals.”
“They’re intelligent, “ interjected Antyok, softly.
“Well, intelligent animals, then. I presume the two terms are not mutually exclusive. Alien intelligences mingling in the same space won’t work, anyway.”