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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction November 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
TURNING POINT
By Alfred Coppel
Illustrated by Philip Parsons
_The man is rare who will give his life for what is merely the lesser of two evils. Merrick's decision was even tougher: to save human beings at the expense of humanity, or vice versa?_
* * * * *
_This, then, was the Creche, Anno Domini 2500. A great, mile-squareblind cube topping a ragged mountain; bare escarpments falling away toa turbulent sea. For five centuries the Creche had stood so, and theAndroids had come forth in an unending stream to labor for Man, theMaster...._
--_Quintus Bland, The Romance of Genus Homo._
Director Han Merrick paced the floor nervously. His thin, almostascetic face was pale and drawn.
"We can't allow it, Virginia," he said, "Prying of this sort can onlyprecipitate a pogrom or worse. Erikson is a bigot of the worst kind.The danger--" He broke off helplessly.
His wife shook her head slowly. "It cannot be prevented, Han. Someonewas bound to start asking questions sooner or later. History shouldhave taught us that. And five hundred years of secrecy was more thananyone had a right to expect. Nothing lasts forever."
_The trouble is_, Merrick told himself, _simply that I am the wrongman for this job. I should never have taken it. There's a wrongness inwhat we are doing here that colors my every reaction and makes meincapable of acting on my own. Always the doubts and secretquestioning. If the social structure of our world weren't moribund, Iwouldn't be here at all...._
"History, Virginia," he said, "can't explain what there is noprecedent for. The Creche is unique in human experience."
"The Creche may be, Han, but Sweyn Erikson is not. Consider hisbackground and tell me if there hasn't been an Erikson in every eraof recorded history. He is merely another obstacle in the path ofprogress that must be overcome. The job is yours, Han."
"A pleasant prospect," Merrick replied bleakly. "I am an organizer,not a psychotechnician. How am I supposed to protect the Creche fromthe likes of Erikson? What insanity bore this fruit, Virginia? TheProphet, the number one Fanatic, coming here as an _investigator_ inthe name of the Council of Ten! I realize the Council turns pale atthe thought of the vote the Fanatics control, but surely _something_could have been done! Have those idiots forgotten what we do here? Isthat possible?"
Virginia Merrick shook her head. "The stone got too hot for them tohandle, so they've thrown it to you."
"But Erikson, himself! The very man who organized the Human SupremacyParty and the Antirobot League! If he sets foot within the Creche itwill mean an end to everything!"
The woman lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "We can't keep him outand you know it. There's an army of Fanatics gathering out there inthe hills this very minute. Armed with cortical-stimulant projectors,Han. That isn't a pleasant way to die--"
Merrick studied his wife carefully. There was fear under her ironcontrol. She was thinking of the shattering pain of death under theprojectors. Nothing else, really. The Creche didn't matter to her. TheCreche didn't really matter to any of the staff. Three hundred yearsago it would have been different. The custodians of the Creche wouldhave gladly died to preserve their trust in those times....
What irony, Merrick thought, that it should come like this. He knewwhat the projectors did to men. He also knew what they did to robots.
"If they dare to use their weapons on us it will wipe out everyvestige of control work done here since the beginning," he saidsoftly.
"They have no way of knowing that."
"Nor would they believe it if we told them."
"And that brings us right back to where we started. You can't keepErikson out, and the Council of Ten has left us on our own. They don'tdare oppose the Fanatics. But there's an old political maxim you woulddo well to consider very carefully since it's our only hope, Han,"Virginia Merrick said, "'If you can't beat someone--join him.'"
* * * * *
She dragged deeply on her cigarette, blue smoke curling from hergold-tinted lips. "This has been coming on for ten years. I tried towarn you then, but you wouldn't listen. Remember?"
How like a woman, Merrick thought bitterly, to be saying I told youso.
"What would you have me do, Virginia?" he asked, "Help the bigotpeddle his robot-hate? That can't be the way. Don't you feel anythingat all when the reports of pogroms come in?"
Virginia Merrick shrugged. "Better they than we, Han."
"Has it occurred to you that our whole culture might collapse ifErikson has his way?"
"Antirobotism is natural to human beings. Compromise is the onlyanswer. Precautions have to be taken--"
"_Precautions_!" exploded Merrick. "What sort of precautions can betaken against pure idiocy?"
"The founding board of Psychotechnicians--"
"No help from that source. You know that I've always felt the wholepremise was questionable. On the grounds of common fairness, ifnothing else."
"Really, Han," Virginia snapped, "It was the only thing to do and youknow it. The Creche is the only safeguard the race has."
"Now you sound like the Prophet. In reverse."
"We needn't argue the point."
"No, I suppose not," the Director muttered.
"Then what are you going to do when he gets here?" She ground out hercigarette anxiously. "The procession is in the ravine now. You hadbetter decide quickly."
"I don't know, Virginia. I just don't know." Merrick sank down behindhis desk, hands toying with the telescreen controls. "I was neverintended to make this sort of decisions. I feel helpless. Look here--"
The image of the ravine glowed across the screen in brilliant relief.The densely timbered slopes were spotted with tiny purposeful figuresin the grey robes that all Fanatics affected. Here and there themorning sun caught a glint of metal as the Fanatics labored to set uptheir projectors. Along the floor of the ravine that was the only landapproach to the Creche moved the twisting, writhing snake of theprocession. The enraptured Fanatics were chanting their hate-songs asthey came. In the first rank walked the leonine Erikson, his long hairwhipping in the moisture-laden wind from the sea.
With a muttered curse, Merrick flipped a toggle and the scene dimmed.The face of a secretary appeared superimposed on it. It was theexpressionless face of an android, a fine example of the Creche'sproduction line. "Get Graves up here," he ordered, "You may find himat Hypno-Central or in Semantic Evaluation."
"Very good, sir," intoned the android, fading from the screen.
Merrick looked at his wife. "Maybe Graves and I can think ofsomething."
"Don't plan anything rash, Han."
Merrick shrugged and turned back to watch the steady approach of theprocession of grey-frocked zealots in the ravine.
Graves appeared as the doorway dilated. He looked fearful and pale."You wanted to see me, Han?"
"Come in, Jon. Sit down."
"Have you seen the projectors those crackpots have set up in thehills?" Graves demanded.
"I have, Jon. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"My God, Han! Do you have any idea of what it must feel like to diefrom cortical stimulation?" Graves' voice was tense and strained."Can't we get out of here by 'copter?"
"No. The 'copters are both in Francisco p
icking up supplies. I orderedthem out yesterday. Besides, that wouldn't settle anything. There arealmost a thousand androids in the Creche as of this morning. Whatabout them?"
Graves made a gesture of impatience. "It's the humans I'm thinkingabout."
Merrick forced down the bitter taste of disgust that welled into histhroat and forced himself to go on. "We have to take some sort ofaction to protect the Creche, Jon. I've held off until the lastmoment, thinking the Council would never allow a Fanatic toinvestigate the Creche, but the Ten are more afraid of the HSP rubberstamp vote than they are of letting a thousand androids beslaughtered.