little to fear from supersmart robots if they think of themselves as fellow

  Erthumoi who just happen to be built differently. Thus the hope is that

  they will be as loyal to us as our grandchildren, and like our

  grandchildren, pose no threat even if they grow smarter than us." "Fascinating!" the Cephallonian cried. "But then, what happens when . . .

  Point after point, he spun out the logical chain. I was drawn into Phss'aah's intellectual enthusiasm. This was one of the reasons I entered the Diplomacy Guild, after all-in order to see old things in an entirely new light, through alien eyes, as if for the first time.

  In his comer, I sensed even Jirata paying attention, almost in spite of himself. I had never before seen a Crotonite willing to sit and listen for so long. Perhaps this cruel and desperate experiment of theirs might actually turn out useful?

  Then Jirata exploded with another set of disdainful curses, deriding one of Phss'aah's extrapolations. And I knew that, even if the experiment worked, it was going to be a long struggle.

  Meanwhile, I felt the tension of my upcoming encounter with Zardee.

  Even with hyperdrive it is next to impossible to run anything like an "empire," in the ancient sense of the word. Not across starlanes as vast as the galaxy. Left to their own devices, the scattered colony worlds-daughters of faraway Earth-would probably have all gone their own ways long ago ... each choosing its own path, conservative or bizarre, into a destiny all its own. Without oppositon, we tend to fraction our loyalties.

  But there was opposition of sorts, when we emerged into space. The other Five Races were already there. Strange, barely knowable creatures with technologies at first quite a bit ahead of ours. In playing a furious game of catch-up, the Erthuma worlds nearly all agreed to a pact: to form a loose confederation bound together by a civil service. Foremost of these is the Diplomacy Guild.

  And foremost among the rules agreed to by all signatories to the Essential Protocol is this: not to undertake any unilateral actions which might unite other starfaring cultures against the Erthumoi. In my lifetime, four crises have loomed which caused strife over this provision, in which some community of Earth descent was found to be engaged in dangerous or inciting activities. Once, a small trade alliance of Erthuma worlds almost provoked a Locrian queendom to the point of violence. Each time, the episode was soothed over by the guild, but on two of those occasions it took severe threats-arraying all the offending community's Erthuma neighbors in a united show of intimidation-before the reckless ones backed down.

  Now I feared this was about to happen again. And this time, the conditions for a quick and simple solution were not encouraging.

  Zardee's system lay nearby a cluster of stars very rich in material resources, heavy elements given off by a spate of supernovae a million or so years ago. Asteroids abundant in every desirable mineral were plentiful there.

  Now normally, this wouldn't matter much. The galaxy is not resource poor.

  We are not living in Earth's desperate twenty-first century, after all.

  But what if one of the Six Races embarked on a population binge? Still fresh among us Erthumoi is memory of such a calamity. Earth's frail ecosystem is still recovering from the stress laid upon it before we grew up and moved out.

  Of course, the galaxy is vast beyond all planetary measure. Still, it does not take much computer time to extrapolate what could happen if any of the

  six starfarers decided to have fun making babies fast. Take our own species

  as an example. At human breeding rates typical of prespacefaring Earth, and given the efficiency of hyperdrive to speed colonization, we would fill every Earthlike world in the galaxy within less than a million years. Only one of the catastrophic consequences of this uncontrolled expansion would be the effect on the various life-forms already in existence on those worlds.

  And then, of course, our descendants would run out of Earthlike planets. What then? Might they not chafe at the limitations on terraforrning---the agreement among the Six only to convert dead worlds, never worlds already bearing life?

  Consider the fundamental reason why there has never been a major war among the Six. It is their incompatibility, the fact that each others' worlds are unpleasant or deadly to the other five that maintains the peace. But what if overpopulation started us imagining we could get away with turning a high C02 world into an oxy-rich planet. How would the Locrians react to that?

  The same logic applies to the other Five, each capable of its own population burst. Only their irascible temperaments and short life spans keep the Crotonites from overbreeding, for instance. And the Locrians, the first of the Six upon the spacelanes, admitted to one Naxian in rare candor that the urge to spew forth myriad eggs is still powerful within them, constrained only by powerful social and religious pressures.

  The problem is this: What seems at first to be a stable situation is anything but stable. If the Locrians seem ancient from the Erthuma perspective, by the clock of the stars they are nearly as recent as we. Three hundred thousand years is a mere eye blink. The coincidence of all Six appearing virtually at the same time is one that has Erthuma and

  Cephallonian and Naxian scholars completely puzzled.

  Yes, we are all at peace now. But computer simulations show utter calamity if any race looks about to take off on a population binge. And despite the Erthumoi monopoly on self-aware machines, all of the Six do have computers.

  As my ship docked with the resplendent yacht of the King of Prongee, I

  looked off in the direction of the Gorch Cluster, with its rainbow of bright, metal-rich stars and its promise of riches beyond what anyone alive might need.

  But not beyond what any one man might want.

  Captain Smeet signaled the locks would be open in a few minutes. I took advantage of the interval to use a viewer and check in on my guests.

  Within his tank, Phss'aah was getting another rubdown from his personal robot. Meanwhile, the Cephallonian continued an apparent monologue.

  ". . . that some mystics of several races explained the sudden and simultaneous appearance of starfarers in the galaxy. After all, is it not puzzling that creatures such as we water dwellers, or the Sarnians, took to the stars, when so many skilled, mechanically-minded races, such as the -Lenglils and Forms, never even thought of it, and rejected spaceflight when it was offered them?"

  From his comer of the room, Jirata flapped his wing nubs as if dismissing an unpleasant thought. "It is obscene that any but those who fly should have achieved the heights. This news just received-that there may have been forerunners of great power--perhaps it means you Cephallonians and the others were created as jokes, left behind to plague we true fliers when we achieved our rightful place . . . "

  I felt pleased. By Crotonite standards, Jirata was being positively outgoing and friendly. Like a good Cephallonian diplomat, Phss'aah seemed ' not to notice the insults and chose to answer the portions that seemed relevant to the thread of logic.

  "Indeed, it is possible that the sudden appearance of the Six, all at roughly the same time, means that we all--or most of us-received some boost from this forerunner race. Consider this possibility then: that the forerunners dispersed upon the starlanes an outwardness gene, without which aU planet-bound races would be doomed to an inward mentality. Of course this gene would only take effect here and there. In the case of my own race, it took hold against all odds, in a species which by all rights should never have even considered flight, let alone metal technology . . .

  Jirata let out a bark of agreement. I sensed a signal from Captain Smeet and shut off the viewer reluctantly. There were times when, irritating as he was, Phss'aah was utterly fascinating to listen to. Now, though, I had business to discuss, and no lesser matter than the survival of the Erthumoi.

  "My industrial robots are mining devices, pure and simple. They pose no threat to anyone. Not anyone!"

  I watched the activity on the surface of the ninth planet. Although it was an airless body, crater strewn and wracked by ancient lava seams, it seemed at first that I was looking down on the veldt of some prairie world, covered from horizon to horizon with roaming herds of ungulates.

  These ruminants were not living creatures, though they moved as if they were. I even saw "mothers," who paused in their grazing to "nurse" their "offspring."

  Of course what they were grazing upon was the dusty, metal-rich surface soil of the planet. Across their broad backs, solar collectors powered the conversion of those raw materials into refined parts. Within each of these browsing "cows" there grew a tiny duplicate of itself, which the artificial beasts then gave birth to, and which they then fed still more refined materials straight through to adulthood.

  There was nothing particularly unusual about this scene. Back before we Erthurnoi achieved starflight it was machines such as these which changed our destiny, from paupers on a half-ruined world, short of resources, to beings wealthy enough to demand a place among the Six.

  An ancient mathematician named John Von Neumann had predicted the eventuality of robots able to make copies of themselves. When such creatures were let loose on the Earth's moon, within a few years they had multiplied into the millions. Then, half of them had been reprogrammed to make consumer goods instead-and suddenly our wealth was to what it had been, as twentieth century man's had been to the Neanderthal's. There was no comparison.

  But in every new thing there are always dangers. We found this out when some of the machines rejItsed their new programming and even began evading the harvesters.

  "I see no hound machines," I told King Zardee. "You have no mutant-detecting dog-bots patrolling the herds, searching for mutants?"

  He shrugged. "A useless, needless expense. We are in a part of the galaxy low in cosmic rays. Our design is well shielded. I have shown you the statistics. Our new replicants demonstrate a breakthrough in both efficiency and stability. " 1 shook my head, unimpressed. Figures were one thing. Galactic survival was another matter entirely. .

  "Please show me how the mechanisms are fitted with their enabling and remote shutdown keys, Your Majesty. I don't see any robo-cowboys at work. How and when are the calves converted into adults? Are they called in to a central poin .

  "It happens right out on the range," Zardee said proudly. "I see no reason to force every calf to go to a factory in order to get its keys. We have programed each cow to manufacture its calf's keys on the spot."

  Madness! I balled my hands into fists in order to keep my diplomat's reserve. The idiot!

  With deliberate calmness I faced him. "Your Majesty, that makes the keys completely meaningless. Their entire purpose is to make sure that no Von Neumann replicant device ever reaches maturity without coming to an Erthumarun facility for inspection. It is our ultimate guarantee that the machines remain under our control and that their numbers do not explode." Zardee laughed. "I've heard it before, this fear of fairy tales. My dear beautiful young woman, surely you don't take seriously those Frankenstein stories in the pulp flimsies about replicants running away and devouring planets? Entire solar systems?" He guffawed.

  I shrugged. "It does not matter how likely or unlikely such scenarios are. What matters is how the prospect appears to the other Five. For twelve centuries we have downplayed this potential outcome of artificial intelligence and automation for the simple reason that our best alienists believe the others will find the possibility appalling. It is the reason replicant restrictions are written into the protocols, Your Majesty."

  I gestured down below at the massed herds. "What you have done here is utterly irresponsible . . .I stopped, because Zardee was smiling.

  "You fear a chimera, dear diplomat. For I have already proven to my satisfaction that you have nothing to worry about in regards alien opinion."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that I have already shown these devices to representatives of many

  Locrian, Samian, and Naxian communities, several of whom have already taken

  delivery of breeding stock. "

  My mouth opened and closed. "But ... but what if they equipped the machines

  with space-transport ability? You . . . "

  Zardee blinked. "What are you talking about? Of course the models I

  provided are space adapted. Their purpose is to be asteroid mining devices, after all. It's a wonderful breakthrough! Not only can they reproduce rapidly and efficiently, but they can transport themselves wherever the customer sets up his beacon . . . "

  I did not stay to listen to the rest. Filled with anger and despair, I turned away and left him to stammer into silence behind me. I had calls to make, without any delay.

  Maxwell took the news well, all considered.

  "I have already traced three of the contracts," he told me by hyperwave. "We've managed to get the Naxians to agree to a delay, long enough for us to lean -6h Zardee and alter the replicants' key system. The Naxians did not understand why we were so concerned, though they could tell we were

  worried. Clearly they haven't thought out the implications yet, and we're

  naturally reluctant to clue them in.

  "The other contracts are going to be much harder. Two went to small Locrian queendoms. One to a Samian solidity, and one to a Cephallonian superpod.

  I'm putting prime operatives onto each, but I'm afraid it's likely the replicants will go through at least five generations before we accomplish anything. By then it will probably be too late."

  "You mean by then they will have mutated and some will have escaped customer control?" I asked.

  "No, according to Zardee's data, it should take longer than that. But by then I'm afraid our projections show each of the customers will be getting a handsome profit from his investment. Soon the replicants; will become essential to them and impossible for us to regain control over.

  "So what do you want me to do?"

  Maxwell sighed. "You stay by Zardee. I'll have a signed alliance of all his

  Erthuma neighbors for you by

  tomorrow to get him deposed if he doesn't cooperate. The problem is, the cat's already out of the bag."

  1, too, had studied ancient Earth expressions during one of my lives. "Well, I shall close the barn door, anyway."

  Maxwell did not bother with a salutation. He signed off more weary looking than I had ever seen him. And our labors were only just beginning.

  The Cephallonian and the Crotonite weren't exactly making love when I returned to the guest suite. (What an image!) Still, they had not murdered each other either.

  Jirata had become animated enough to attend to the intemal-environments controller in his comer of the chamber. He had dismantled the wall panel and was experimenting-creating a partition, then a bed pallet, then an excretarium. Immersed in mechanical arts, his batlike face almost took on a look of serenity as he customized the machinery, converting the insensitively mass-produced into something individualized, with character and uniqueness.

  It was a rare epiphany, watching him so, and coming in an instant to realize that even so venal and disgusting a race as his could cause me to wonder at the purity of their ideals.

  Oh, no doubt I was oversimplifying. Perhaps it was the replicant crisis that had me primed to feel this way. Ironically, though they were the premier mechanics among the Six, the Crotonites' technical and scientific level was not particularly high. And they would be among the last ever to understand what a Von Neumann machine was about. From their point of view, autonomy and self-replication were for Crotonites, and in anyone else or anything else they were obscenities.

  I wondered if this experiment, which had caused a noble and high-caste creature of his community to be cast down so, in a desperate attempt to learn new ways, would ever meet any degree of success. What would be the analogy for a person like me--4o be surgically grafted crude gills instead of lungs and dwell forever underwater, less mobile than a Cephallonian? Would 1, could I ever volunteer for so drastic an exile, even if my home world depended on it?

  Yes, I conceded, watching Jirata work. There was no-

  bility here, of a sort. And at least the Crotonites had not unleashed upon the galaxy a thing that could threaten all Six spacefarers . . . and the

  million other intelligent lifeforms without ships.

  Phss'aah awakened from a snooze at the pool's surface and descended to face me. But it was his robot that spoke.

  "Patty, my master hopes your business in this system has been successfully concluded. -

  "Alas, no," I replied. "Crises develop lives of their own. Soon, however,

  I expect to get permission to confide this matter to him. When that happens, I hope to benefit from his deep thought and insight."

  Phss'aah acknowledged the compliment with a bare nod. Then he spoke for himself.

  "You must not despair, my young Erthuma colleague. Look, after all, to your other accomplishments. I have decided, for instance, to go ahead and purchase a sample order of three thousand of these delightful machines for my own community. And if they work out there, perhaps others in the Cephallonian supreme pod will buy. Is this not a coup to make you happy?" For a moment I could not answer. What could I say to Phss'aah? That soon robots such as these might be so cheap that they could be had for a song? That soon a flood of wealth would sweep the galaxy, so great that no creature of any starfaring race would ever again want for material goods?

  Or should I tell him that the seeds contained in these cornucopia were doomed to mutate, to change, to seek a path of their own . . . a path down

  which no foreseeing could follow?

  "That's nice," I finally said. "I'm glad you like our machines.

  "You can have as many as you need. As many as you want. -

  MYRYX

  AARON WAS IN ONE OF THE MOBU.E FMIX STATIONS on Sestes, hying to defeat a quick-mutating fungus that had sprung up overnight and wiped out nearly ten thousand acres of mixed crops. After several hours of computerized search and imulated experiment, he came up with-a self-destructing virus that stopped the fungus without any other side effects, or none he could detect in the short term.