Which is the more evil lie? It’s very hard to tell. But unless we look them both squarely in the face, we’ll never beat them.
Thanks to the storytelling gifts and brains of some of the best science fiction writers today—the Big Names we all grew up with as well as the newer, gifted, award-winning writers who will take their places in the decades to come—Harry and I are indeed able to give the very book we’d hoped for ... and then some. Ferocious satires by Isaac Asimov, Robert Sheckley, William Tenn, Gregory Frost, Nicholas Emmett, Ratislav Durman and Frederik Pohl. Economic warfare—and peace-making—stories by Charles Stross, Jack C. Haldeman II, and Timothy Zahn. Mythic fantasies by Jack McDevitt and Marc Laidlaw. An alternate universe by Kim Stanley Robinson. Human stories by Nancy Collins, George Zebrowski, J. G. Ballard, James Morrow, and Joe Haldeman. An international collection as varied as you’ll find. Eighteen visions of what we are and what we might become, on our way through war (and our own human nature) ... toward a real Peace. A celebration of what makes us human—at our best. And a warning of the pitfalls that have always done their best to keep us from what we might, out of our best dreams, make of this world.
And no, it won’t be boring. Like human nature itself, the best science fiction never is.
—Bruce McAllister
Frustration
Isaac Asimov
Herman Gelb turned his head to watch the departing figure. Then he said, “Wasn’t that the Secretary—”
“Yes, that was the Secretary of Foreign Affairs. Old man Hargrove. Are you ready for lunch?”
“Of course. What was he doing here?”
Peter Jonsbeck didn’t answer immediately. He merely stood up, and beckoned Gelb to follow. They walked down the corridor and into a room that had the steamy smell of spicy food.
“Here you are,” said Jonsbeck. “The whole thing has been prepared by computer. Completely automated. Untouched by human hands. And my own programming. I promised you a treat, and here you are.”
It was good. Gelb could not deny it and didn’t want to. Over dessert, he said, “But what was Hargrove doing here?”
Jonsbeck smiled. “Consulting me on programming. What else am I good for?”
“But why? Or is it something you can’t talk about?”
“It’s something I suppose I shouldn’t talk about, but it’s a fairly open secret. There isn’t a computer man in the capital who doesn’t know what the poor frustrated simp is up to.”
“What is he up to then?”
“He’s fighting wars.”
Gelb’s eyes opened wide. “With whom?”
“With nobody, really. He fights them by computer analysis. He’s been doing it for—I don’t know how long.”
“But why?”
“He wants the world to be the way we are—noble, honest, decent, full of respect for human rights and so on.”
“So do I. So do we all. We have to keep up the pressure on the bad guys, that’s all.”
“And they’re keeping the pressure on us, too. They don’t think we’re perfect.”
“I suppose we’re not, but we’re better than they are. You know that.”
Jonsbeck shrugged. “A difference in point of view. It doesn’t matter. We’ve got a world to run, space to develop, computerization to extend. Computerization puts a premium on continued cooperation and there is slow improvement. We’ll get along.—It’s just that Hargrove doesn’t want to wait. He hankers for quick improvement—by force. You know, make the bums shape up. We’re strong enough to do it.”
“By force? By war, you mean. We don’t fight wars anymore.”
“That’s because it’s gotten too complicated. Too much danger. We’re all too powerful. You know what I mean. Except that Hargrove thinks he can find a way. You punch certain starting conditions into the computer and let it fight the war mathematically and yield the results.”
“How do you make equations for war?”
“Well, you try, old man. Men. Weapons. Surprise. Counterattack. Ships. Space stations. Computers. We mustn’t forget computers. There are a hundred factors and thousands of intensities and millions of combinations. Hargrove thinks it is possible to find some combination of starting conditions and courses of development that will result in clear victory for us and not too much damage to the world, and he labors under constant frustration.”
“But what if he gets what he wants?”
“Well, if he can find the combination—if the computer says, This is it,’ then I suppose he thinks he can argue our government into hitting out and fighting exactly the war the computer has worked out so that, barring random events that upset the indicated course, we’d have what we want.”
“There’d be casualties.”
“Yes, of course. But the computer will presumably compare the casualties and other damage—to the economy and ecology, for instance—with the benefits that would derive from our control of the world, and if it decides the benefits will outweigh the casualties, then it will give the go-ahead for a ‘just war.’ After all, it might seem that even the losing nations would benefit by being directed by us, with our stronger economy and stronger moral sense.”
Gelb stared his disbelief, and said, “I never knew we were sitting at the lip of a volcanic crater like that. What about the ‘random events’ you mentioned?”
“The computer program tries to allow for the unexpected, but you never can, of course. So I don’t think the go-ahead will come. It hasn’t so far, and unless old man Hargrove can present the government with a computer simulation of the war that is totally satisfactory, I don’t think there’s much chance he can force one.”
“And he comes to you, then, for what reason?”
“To improve the program, of course.”
“And you help him?”
“Yes, certainly. There are big fees involved, Herman.”
Gelb shook his head, “Peter! Are you going to try to arrange a war, just for money?”
“There won’t be a war. There’s no realistic combination of events that would make the computer decide on war. Computers place a greater value on human lives than human beings themselves do, and what will seem bearable to Secretary Hargrove, or even to you and me, will never be passed by a computer.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because I’m a programmer and I don’t know of any way of programming a computer in such a way as to give it what is most needed to start any war, any persecution, any deviltry, and to ignore any harm that may be done in the process. And because it lacks what is most needed, the computers will always give Hargrove, and all others who hanker for war, nothing but frustration.”
“What is it that a computer doesn’t have, then?”
“Why, Gelb. It totally lacks a sense of self-righteousness.”
Known But to God and Wilbur Hines
James Morrow
My keeper faces east, his gaze lifting above the tree-tops and traveling across the national boneyard clear to the glassy Potomac. His bayonet rises into the morning sky, as if to skewer the sun. In his mind he ticks off the seconds, one for each shell in a twenty-one gun salute.
Being dead offers certain advantages. True, my pickled flesh is locked away inside this cold marble box, but my senses float free, as if they were orbiting satellites beaming back snippets of the world. I see the city, dense with black citizens and white marble. I smell the Virginia air, the ripe grass, the river’s scum. I hear my keeper’s boots as he pivots south, the echo of his heels coming together: two clicks, always two clicks, like a telegrapher transmitting an eternal I.