I, Robot - Isaac Asimov [92]
“You offered to hold him on.”
“Oh yes. He refused. —Well, take all in all, we’re two months behind. Hell, that’s nothing.”
Byerley stretched out his hand and let the fingers tap lightly on the desk, “Villafranca blamed the Machine, did he?”
“Well, he wasn’t going to blame himself, was he? Let’s face it; human nature is an old friend of ours. Besides, I remember something else now— Why the hell can’t I find documents when I want them? My filing system isn’t worth a damn— This Villafranca was a member of one of your Northern organizations. Mexico is too close to the North! That’s part of the trouble.”
“Which organization are you speaking of?”
“The Society of Humanity, they call it. He used to attend the annual conference in New York, Villafranca did. Bunch of crackpots, but harmless. —They don’t like the Machines; claim they’re destroying human initiative. So naturally Villafranca would blame the Machine. —Don’t understand that group myself. Does Capital City look as if the human race were running out of initiative?”
And Capital City stretched out in golden glory under a golden sun,—the newest and youngest creation of Homo metropolis.
The European Region
a—Area: 4,000,000 square miles
b—Population: 300,000,000
c—Capital: Geneva
The European Region was an anomaly in several ways. In area, it was far the smallest; not one fifth the size of the Tropic Region in area, and not one fifth the size of the Eastern Region in population. Geographically, it was only somewhat similar to pre-Atomic Europe, since it excluded what had once been European Russia and what had once been the British Isles, while it included the Mediterranean coasts of Africa and Asia, and, in a queer jump across the Atlantic, Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay as well.
Nor was it likely to improve its relative status vis-à-vis the other regions of Earth, except for what vigor the South American provinces lent it. Of all the Regions, it alone showed a positive population decline over the past half century. It alone had not seriously expanded its productive facilities, or offered anything radically new to human culture.
“Europe,” said Madame Szegeczowska in her soft French, “is essentially an economic appendage of the Northern Region. We know it, and it doesn’t matter.”
And as though in resigned acceptance of a lack of individuality, there was no map of Europe on the wall of the Madame Co-ordinator’s office.
“And yet,” pointed out Byerley, “you have a Machine of your own, and you are certainly under no economic pressure from across the ocean.”
“A Machine! Bah!” She shrugged her delicate shoulders, and allowed a thin smile to cross her little face as she tamped out a cigarette with long fingers. “Europe is a sleepy place. And such of our men as do not manage to emigrate to the Tropics are tired and sleepy along with it. You see for yourself that it is myself, a poor woman, to whom falls the task of being Vice-Co-ordinator. Well, fortunately, it is not a difficult job, and not much is expected of me.
“As for the Machine—What can it say but ‘Do this and it will be best for you.’ But what is best for us? Why, to be an economic appendage of the Northern Region.
“And is it so terrible? No wars! We live in peace—and it is pleasant after seven thousand years of war. We are old, monsieur. In our borders, we have the regions where Occidental civilization was cradled. We have Egypt and Mesopotamia; Crete and Syria; Asia Minor and Greece. —But old age is not necessarily an unhappy time. It can be a fruition—”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Byerley, affably. “At least the tempo of life is not as intense as in the other Regions. It is a pleasant atmosphere.”
“Is it not?—Tea is being brought, monsieur. If you