Vulcan's Hammer Read Free Page B

T-class gray. No special badges. No royal gear. If I didn’t know, she thought, I wouldn’t guess. He’s so unassuming.
    “This is Managing Director Dill,” she said. “The Coordinating Director of the Unity system.” Her voice broke with tension. “Managing Director Dill is responsible only to Vulcan 3. No human being except Director Dill is permitted to approach the computer banks.”
    Director Dill nodded pleasantly to Mrs. Parker and to the class. “What are you children studying?” he asked in a friendly voice, the rich voice of a competent leader of the T-class.
    The children shuffled shyly. “We’re learning about the Lisbon Laws,” a boy said.
    “That’s nice,” Director Dill affirmed heartily, his alert eyes twinkling. He nodded to his staff and they moved back toward the door. “You children be good students and do what your teacher tells you.”
    “It was so nice of you,” Mrs. Parker managed to say. “To drop by, so they could see you for a moment. Such an honor.” She followed the group to the door, her heart fluttering. “They’ll always remember this moment; they’ll treasure it.”
    “Mr. Dill,” a girl’s voice came. “Can I ask you something?”
    The room became abruptly silent. Mrs. Parker was chilled.
The voice.
The girl again. Who was it? Which one? She strained to see, her heart thumping in terror. Good lord, was that little devil going to say something in front of Director Dill?
    “Certainly,” Dill said, halting briefly at the door. “What do you want to ask?” He glanced at his wrist watch, smiling rather fixedly.
    “Director Dill is in a hurry,” Mrs. Parker managed to say. “He has so much to do, so many tasks. I think we had better let him go, don’t you?”
    But the firm little child’s voice continued, as inflexible as steel. “Director Dill, don’t you feel ashamed of yourself when you let a machine tell you what to do?”
    Director Dill’s fixed smile remained. Slowly, he turned away from the door, back toward the class. His bright, mature eyes roved about the room, seeking to pinpoint the questioner. “Who asked that?” he inquired pleasantly.
    Silence.
    Director Dill moved about the room, walking slowly, his hands in his pockets. He rubbed his chin, plucking at it absently. No one moved or spoke; Mrs. Parker and the Unity staff stood frozen in horror.
    It’s the end of my job, Mrs. Parker thought. Maybe they’ll make me sign a request for therapy—maybe I’ll have to undergo voluntary rehabilitation. No, she thought frantically. Please.
    However, Director Dill was unshaken. He stopped in front of the blackboard. Experimentally, he raised his hand and moved it in a figure. White lines traced themselves on the dark surface. He made a few thoughtful motions and the date 1992 traced itself.
    “The end of the war,” he said.
    He traced 1993 for the hushed class.
    “The Lisbon Laws, which you’re learning about. The year the combined nations of the world decided to throw in their lot together. To subordinate themselves in a realistic manner—not in the idealistic fashion of the UN days—to a common supranational authority, for the good of all mankind.”
    Director Dill moved away from the blackboard, gazing thoughtfully down at the floor. “The war had just ended; most of the planet was in ruins. Something drastic had to be done, because another war would destroy mankind. Something, some ultimate principle of organization, was needed. International control. Law, which no men or nations could break. Guardians were needed.
    “But who would watch the Guardians? How could we be sure this supranational body would be free of the hate and bias, the animal passions that had set man against man throughout the centuries? Wouldn’t this body, like all other man-made bodies, fall heir to the same vices, the same failings of interest over reason, emotion over logic?
    “There was one answer. For years we had been using computers, giant constructs put