Risk Asessment

Risk Asessment

By Ben Bova

“What’s thirty tons of antiprotons equal to in energy potential?” Flagg asked.

Instantly, Alphe One calculated, “Approximately one million megatons of energy.”

“And if that much energy explodes?”

Alphe One was incapable of showing emotion, of course. But it hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. The silence was awesome. Then the robot’s head swivelled slowly toward Delia, levelling its dark glassy optical sensors at her.

“An explosion of that magnitude could perturb the orbit of the Moon.”

“It could cause a moonquake that would destroy Clavius, at the very least,” Flagg said. “Smash Selene and even Copernicus, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed,” said Alpha One. The single word stung Delia like a whip.

“Now do you see why she’s got to be stopped?”

“Indeed,” the robot repeated.

Delia shook her head, as if to clear away the pain. “But there won’t be any explosion,” she insisted. “I know what I’m doing. All the calculations show -”

“The risk is not allowable,” Alpha One said firmly. “You must stop your experiment.”

“I will not!” Delia snapped.

Risk Assessment. Photo by Elena

It took Alpha One less than three milliseconds to check this new data once again, and then compare it against the safety regulations that ruled every decision-making tree, and still again check it against the consequences of Delia’s project if it should be successful. Yet although it weighed the probabilities and made its decision that swiftly, it did not speak.

Alpha One had learned one thing in its years of dealing with humans: the less they are told, the less they have to argue about.

And the tow humans already had plenty to argue over.

Running a hand through the flowing waves of his golden hair, Flagg grumbled, “You’re not fit to be a triumvir.”

“Running a hand through the flowing waves of his golden hair, Flagg grumbled, “You’re not fit to be a triumvir.”

“I was elected just the same as you were,” Delia replied tartly.

“Your father bought votes. Everybody knows it.” Delia’s own temper surged. Leaning across the triagular table to within inches of Flagg’s nose, she said, “Then everybody’s wrong! Daddy wouldn’t spend a penny on a vote.”

“No,” he snarled, “he spent all his money on this crazy starship, and you’re spending still more on an experiment that could kill everybody on the Moon!”