PART V. EARTH
15. THE HOLY WORLD
72
Amadiro bit his lower lip and his eyes flicked in the direction of Mandamus, who seemed lost in thought.
Amadiro said defensively, “She insisted on it. She told me that only she could handle this Giskard, that only she could exert a sufficiently strong influence over him and prevent him from using these mental powers of his.”
“You never said anything of this to me, Dr. Amadiro.”
“I wasn’t sure what there was to tell, young man. I wasn’t sure she was correct.”
“Are you sure now?”
“Completely. She remembers nothing of what went on—”
“So that we know nothing of what went on.”
Amadiro nodded. “Exactly. And she remembers nothing of what she had told me earlier.”
“And she’s not acting?”
“I saw to it that she had an emergency electroencephalogram. There have been distinct changes from the earlier records.”
“Is there a chance she will recover her memory with time?”
Amadiro shook his head bitterly. “Who can tell? But I doubt it.”
Mandamus’ eyes still downcast and full of thought, said, “Does it matter, then? We can take her account of Giskard as true and we know that he has the power to affect minds. That knowledge is crucial and it is now ours.—In fact, it is well that our roboticist colleague has failed. If Vasilia had gained control of that robot, how long do you suppose it would have been before you, too, would have been under her control—and I, as well,—assuming she would think I was worth controlling?”
Amadiro nodded. “I suppose she might have had something like that in mind. Right now, though, it’s hard to tell what she has in mind. She seems, superficially at least, undamaged except for the specific loss of memory—she apparently remembers everything else—but who knows how this will affect her deeper thought processes and her skill as a roboticist? That Giskard could do this to someone as skilled as she makes him an incredibly dangerous phenomenon.
“Does it occur to you, Dr. Amadiro, that the Settlers may be right in their distrust of robots?”
“It almost does, Mandamus.”
Mandamus rubbed his hands together. “I assume from your depressed attitude that this whole business was not uncovered before they had time to leave Aurora.”
“You assume correctly. That Settler captain has the Solarian woman and both of her robots on his ship and is heading toward Earth.”
“And where does that leave us now?”
Slowly Amadiro said, “By no means defeated, it seems to me. If we complete our project, we have won—Giskard or no Giskard. And we can complete it. Whatever Giskard can do with and to emotions, he can’t read thoughts. He might be able to tell when a wash of emotion crosses a human mind, or even distinguish one emotion from another, or change one to another, or induce sleep or amnesia—dull edged things like that. He cannot be sharp, however, cannot make out actual words or ideas.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“So said Vasilia.”
“She may not have known what she was talking about. She did not, after all, manage to control the robot, as she said she was sure of doing. That’s not much of a testimonial to her accuracy of understanding.”
“Yet I believe her in this. To actually be able to read thoughts would demand so much complexity in the positronic pathway pattern that it is totally unlikely that a child could have inserted it into the robot over twenty decades ago. It is actually far beyond even the present-day state of the art, Mandamus. Surely you must agree.”
“I would certainly think it was. And they’re going to Earth?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Would this woman, brought up as she was, actually go to Earth?”
“She has no choice if Giskard controls her.”
“And why should Giskard want her to go to Earth? Can he know about our project? You seem to think he doesn’t.”
“It is possible he doesn’t. His motivation for going to Earth might be nothing more than to place himself and the Solarian woman beyond our reach.”
“I shouldn’t think he’d fear us if he could handle Vasilia.”
“A long-range weapon,” said Amadiro icily, “could bring him down. His own abilities must have a limited range. They can be based on nothing other than the electromagnetic field and he must be subject to the inverse square law. So we get out of range as the intensity of his powers weaken, but he will then find that he is not out of range of our weapons.”
Mandamus frowned and looked uneasy. “You seem to have an un-Spacer liking for violence, Dr. Amadiro. In a cast like this, though, I suppose force would be permissible.
“A case like this? A robot capable of harming human beings? I should think so. We’ll have to find a pretext for sending a good ship in pursuit. It wouldn’t be wise to explain the actual situation—”
“No,” said Mandamus emphatically. “Think of how many would wish to have personal control of such a robot.”
“Which we can’t allow. And which is another reason why I would look upon destruction of the robot as the safer and preferable course of action.”
“You may be right,” said Mandamus reluctantly, “but I don’t think it wise to count on this destruction only. I must go to Earth—now. The project must be hastened to its conclusion, even if we don’t dot every ‘I’ and cross every ‘T.’” Once it is done, then it is done. Even a mind-handling robot—under anybody’s control—will not be able to undo the deed. And if it does anything else, that, perhaps, will no longer matter.”
Amadiro said, “Don’t speak in the singular. I will go as well.”
“You? Earth is a horrible world. I must go, but why you?”
“Because I must go, too. I cannot stay here any longer and wonder. You have not waited for this through a long lifetime as I have, Mandamus. You do not have the accounts to settle that I have.”
73
Gladia was in space again and once again Aurora could be made out as a globe. D.G. was busy elsewhere and the entire ship had about it a vague but pervasive air of emergency, as though it were on a battle footing, as though it were being pursued or expected pursuit.
Gladia shook her head. She could think clearly; she felt well; but when her mind turned back to that time in the Institute, shortly after Amadiro had left her, a curiously pervasive unreality swept over her. There was a gap in time. One moment she had been sitting on the couch, feeling sleepy; the next there were four robots and a woman in the room who had not been there before.
She had fallen asleep, then, but there was no awareness, no memory, that she had done so. There was a gap of nonexistence.
Thinking back, she had recognized the woman after the fact. It was Vasilia Aliena—the daughter whom Gladia had replaced in the affections of Han Fastolfe. Gladia had never actually seen Vasilia, though she had viewed her on hyperwave several times. Gladia always thought of her as a distant and inimical other self. There was the vague similarity in appearance that others always commented on but that Gladia herself insisted she did not see—and there was the odd, antithetical connection with Fastolfe.
Once they were on the ship and she was alone with her robots, she asked the inevitable question. “What was Vasilia Aliena doing in the room and why was I permitted to sleep once she had arrived?”
Daneel said, “Madam Gladia, I will answer the question, since it is a matter friend Giskard would find difficult to discuss.”
“Why should he find it difficult, Daneel?”
“Madam Vasilia arrived in the hope that she might persuade Giskard to enter her service.”
“Away from me?” said Gladia in sharp indignation. She did not entirely like Giskard, but that made no difference. What was hers was hers. “And you allowed me to sleep while you two handled the matter by yourselves?”
“We felt, madam, that you needed your sleep badly. Then, too, Madam Vasilia ordered us to allow you to sleep. Finally, it was our opinion that Giskard would not, in any case, join her service. For all these reasons, we did not wake you.”
Gladia said indignantly, “I should hope that Giskard would not for a moment consider leaving me. It would be illegal both by Auroran law and, more important, by the Three Laws of Robotics. It would be a good deed to return to Aurora and have her arraigned before the Court of Claims.”
“That would not be advisable at the moment, my lady.”
“What was her excuse for wanting Giskard? Did she have one?”
“When she was a child, Giskard had been assigned to her.
“Legally?”
“No, madam. Dr. Fastolfe merely allowed her the use of it.
“Then she had no right to Giskard.”
“We pointed that out, madam. Apparently, it was a matter of sentimental attachment on the part of Madam Vasilia.”
Gladia sniffed. “Having survived the loss of Giskard since before I came to Aurora, she might well have continued as she was without going to illegal lengths to deprive me of my property,”—Then, restlessly, “I should have been awakened.”
Daneel said, “Madam Vasilia had four robots with her. Had you been awake and had there been harsh words between the two of you, there might have been some difficulty in having the robots work out the proper responses.”
“I’d have directed the proper response, I assure you, Daneel.”
“No doubt, madam. So might Madam Vasilia and she is one of the cleverest roboticists in the Galaxy.”
Gladia shifted her attention to Giskard. “And you have nothing to say?”
“Only that it was better as it was, my lady.”
Gladia looked thoughtfully into those faintly luminous robotic eyes, so different from Daneel’s all-but-human ones, and it did seem to her that the incident wasn’t very important after all. A small thing. And there were other things with which to be concerned. They were going to Earth.
Somehow she did not think of Vasilia again.
74
“I am concerned,” said Giskard in his whisper of confidentiality in which sound waves barely trembled the air. The Settler ship was receding smoothly from Aurora and, as yet, there was no pursuit. The activity onboard had settled into routine and, with almost all routines automated, there was quiet and Gladia slept naturally.
“I’m concerned for Lady Gladia, friend Daneel.”
Daneel understood the characteristics of Giskard’s positronic circuits well enough to need no long explanation. He said, “It was necessary, friend Giskard, to adjust Lady Gladia. Had she questioned longer, she might have elicited the fact of your mental activities and adjustment would then have been more dangerous. Enough harm has already been done because Lady Vasilia discovered the fact. We do not know to whom—and to how many—she may have imparted her knowledge.”
“Nevertheless,” said Giskard, “I did not wish to make this adjustment. Had Lady Gladia wished to forget, it would have been a simple, no-risk adjustment. She wanted, however, with vigor and anger, to know more of the matter. She regretted not having played a greater role in it. I was forced, therefore, to break binding forces of considerable intensity.”
Daneel said, “Even that was necessary, friend Giskard.”
“Yet the possibility of doing harm was by no means insignificant in such a case. If you think of a binding force as a thin, elastic cord—this is a poor analogy, but I can think of no other, for what I sense in a mind has no analog outside the mind—then the ordinary inhibitions I deal with are so thin and insubstantial that they vanish when I touch them. A strong binding force, on the other hand, snaps and recoils when broken and the recoil may then break other, totally unrelated binding forces or, by whipping and coiling about other such forces, strengthen them, enormously. In either case, unintended changes can be brought about in a human being’s emotions and attitudes and that would be almost certain to bring about harm.”
Daneel said, his voice a little louder, “Is it your impression you harmed Lady Gladia, friend Giskard?”
“I think not. I was extremely careful. I worked upon the matter during all the time you were talking to her. It was thoughtful of you to bear the brunt of the conversation and to run the risk of being caught between an inconvenient truth and an untruth. But despite all my care, friend Daneel, I took a risk and I am concerned that I was willing to take that risk. It came so close to violating the First Law that it required an extraordinary effort on my part to do it. I am sure that I would not have been able to do it—”
“Yes, friend Giskard?”
“Had you not expounded your notion of the Zeroth Law.”
“You accept it, then?”
“No, I cannot. Can you? Faced with the possibility of doing harm to an individual human being or of allowing harm to come to one, could you do the harm or allow the harm in the name of abstract humanity? Think!”
“I am not sure,” said Daneel, voice trembling into all but silence. Then, with an effort, “I might. The mere concept pushes at me—and at you. It helped you decide to take the risk in adjusting Lady Gladia’s mind.”
“Yes, it did,” agreed Giskard, “and the longer we think of the Zeroth Law, the more it might help push us. Could it do so, I wonder, in more than a marginal way, however? Might it not only help us take slightly larger risks than we might ordinarily?”
“Yet I am convinced of the validity of the Zeroth Law, friend Giskard.”
“So might I be if we could define what we mean by ‘humanity.’”
There was a pause and Daneel said, “Did you not accept the Zeroth Law, at last, when you stopped Madam Vasilia’s robots and erased from her mind the knowledge of your mental powers?”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel. Not really. I was tempted to accept it, but not really.”
“And yet your actions—”
“Were dictated by a combination of motives. You told me of your concept of the Zeroth Law and it seemed to have a certain validity about it, but not sufficient to cancel the First Law or even to cancel Madam Vasilia’s strong use of the Second Law in the orders she gave. Then, when you called my attention to the application of the Zeroth Law to psychohistory, I could feel the positronomotive force mount higher and yet it was not quite high enough to supersede the First Law or even the strong Second Law.”
“Still,” murmured Daneel, “you struck down Madam Vasilia, friend Giskard.”
“When she ordered the robots to dismantle you, friend Daneel, and showed a clear emotion of pleasure at the prospect, your need, added to what the concept of the Zeroth Law had already done, superseded the Second Law and rivaled the First Law. It was the combination of the Zeroth Law, psychohistory, my loyalty to Lady Gladia, and your need that dictated my action.”
“My need could scarcely have affected you, friend Giskard. I am only a robot and though my need could affect my own actions by the Third Law, they cannot affect yours. You destroyed the overseer on Solaria without hesitation; you should have watched my destruction without being moved to act.”
“Yes, friend Daneel, and ordinarily it might have been so. However, your mention of the Zeroth Law had reduced the First Law intensity to an abnormally low value. The necessity of saving you was sufficient to cancel out what remained of it and I acted as I did.”
“No, friend Giskard. The prospect of injury to a robot should not have affected you at all. It should in no way have contributed to the overcoming of the First Law, however weak the First Law may have become.”
“It is a strange thing, friend Daneel. I do not know how it came about. Perhaps it was because I have noted that you continue to think more and more like a human being, but—”
“Yes, friend Giskard?”
“At the moment when the robots advanced toward you and Lady Vasilia expressed her savage pleasure, my positronic pathway pattern re-formed in an anomalous fashion. For a moment, I thought of you as a human being and I reacted accordingly.”
“That was wrong.”
“I know that. And yet—and yet, if it were to happen again, I believe the same anomalous change would take place again.”
Daneel said, “It is strange, but hearing you put it so, I find myself feeling you did the proper thing. If the situation were reversed, I almost think that I, too, would—would do the same—that I would think of you as a—a human being.”
Daneel, hesitantly and slowly, put out his hand and Giskard looked at it uncertainly. Then, very slowly, he put out his own hand. The fingertips almost touched and then, little by little, each took the other’s hand and clasped it almost as though they were the friends they called each other.
75
Gladia looked about with veiled curiosity. She was in D.G.’s cabin for the first time. It was not noticeably more luxurious than the new cabin that had been designed for her. D.G.’s cabin had a more elaborate viewing panel, to be sure, and it had a complex console of lights and contacts which, she imagined, served to keep D.G. in touch with the rest of the ship even here.
She said, “I’ve seen little of you since leaving Aurora, D.G.”
“I’m flattered that you are aware of that,” answered D.G., grinning. “And to tell you the truth, Gladia, I have been aware of it as well. With an all-male crew, you do rather stand out.”
“That’s not a very flattering reason for missing me. With an all-human crew, I imagine Daneel and Giskard stand out, too. Have you missed them as much as you have missed me?”
D.G. looked about. “Actually, I miss them so little it is only now that I am aware that they aren’t with you. Where are they?”
“In my cabin. It seemed silly to drag them about with me inside the confines of the small world of this ship. They seemed willing to allow me to be on my own, which surprised me. No,” she corrected herself, “come to think of it, I had to order them rather sharply to stay behind before they would do so.”
“Isn’t that rather strange? Aurorans are never without their robots, I’ve been given to understand.”
“What of that? Once, long ago, when I first came to Aurora, I had to learn to suffer the actual presence of human beings, something my Solarian upbringing did not prepare me for. Learning to be without my robots, occasionally, when I am among Settlers will probably be a less difficult adjustment for me than that first one was.”
“Good. Very good. I must admit that I much prefer being with your without the glowing eyes of Giskard fixed on me—and better yet, without Daneel’s little smile.”
“He doesn’t smile.”
“To me, he seems to, a very insinuatingly lecherous tiny smile.”
“You’re mad. That’s totally foreign to Daneel.”
“You don’t watch him the way I do. His presence is very inhibiting. It forces me to behave myself.”
“Well, I should hope so.”
“You needn’t hope so quite that emphatically. But never mind.—Let me apologize for seeing so little of you since leaving Aurora.”
“That’s scarcely necessary—”
“Since you brought it up, I thought it was. However, let me explain, then. We’ve been on battle footing. We were certain, having left as we did, that Auroran vessels would be in pursuit.”
“I should think they’d be glad to be rid of a group of Settlers.”
“Of course, but you’re not a Settler and it might be you they would want. They were anxious enough to get you back from Baleyworld.”
“They got me back. I reported to them and that was it.”
“They wanted nothing more than your report?”
“No,” Gladia paused and, for a moment, frowned as though something was nibbling vaguely at her memory. Whatever it was, it passed and she said indifferently, “No.”
D.G. shrugged. “It doesn’t entirely make sense, but they made no attempt to stop us while you and I were on Aurora nor, after that, when we boarded the ship and it prepared to leave orbit. I won’t quarrel with that. It won’t be long now before we make the Jump—and after that there should be nothing to worry about.”
Gladia said, “Why do you have an all-male crew, by the way? Auroran ships always have mixed crews.”
“So do Settler ships. Ordinary ones. This is a Trader vessel.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Trading involves danger. It’s rather a rough-and-ready life. Women on board would create problems.”
“What nonsense! What problems do I create?”
“We won’t argue that. Besides it’s traditional. The men wouldn’t stand for it.”
“How do you know?” Gladia laughed. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No. But, on the other hand, there are no long lines of women clamoring for a berth on my ship.”
“I’m here. I’m enjoying it.”
“You’re getting special treatment—and but for your service on Solaria, there might well have been much trouble. In fact, there was trouble. Still, never mind.” He touched one of the contacts on the console and a countdown briefly appeared. “We’ll be jumping in just about two minutes. You’ve never been on Earth, have you, Gladia?”
“No, of course not.”
“Or seen the sun, not just a sun.”
“No—although I have seen it in historical dramas on hypervision, but I imagine what the show in the dramas is not really the sun.
“I’m sure it isn’t. If you don’t mind, we’ll dim the cabin lights.”
The lights dimmed to nearly nothing and Gladia was aware of the star field on the viewing panel, with the stars brighter and more thickly spread than in Aurora’s sky.
“Is that a telescopic view?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Slightly. Low-power—Fifteen seconds.” He counted backward. There was a shift in the star field and a bright star was now nearly centered. D.G. touched another contact and said, “We’re well outside the planetary plane. Good! A little risky. We should have been farther from the Auroran star before Jumping, but we were in a slight hurry. That’s the sun.”
“That bright star, you mean?”
“Yes.—What do you think of it?”
Gladia said, a little puzzled over what sort of response he expected, “It’s bright.”
He pushed another contact and the view dimmed perceptibly. “Yes—and it won’t do your eyes any good if you stare at it. But it’s not the brightness that counts. It’s just a star in appearance—but think of it. That was the original sun. That was the star whose light shone down on a planet that was the only planet on which human beings existed. It shone down on a planet on which human beings were slowly evolving. It shone down on a planet on which life formed billions of years ago, life that would develop into human beings. There are 300 billion stars in the Galaxy and 100 billion galaxies in the Universe and there is only one of all those stars that presided over the human birth and that is the star.”
Gladia was about to say: “Well, some star had to be the star,” but she thought better of it. “Very impressive,” she said rather weakly.
“It’s not merely impressive,” said D.G., his eyes shadowed in the dimness, “There’s not a Settler in the Galaxy who doesn’t consider that star his own. The radiation of the stars that shine down on our various home planets is borrowed radiation—rented radiation that we make use of. There—right there—is the real radiation that gave us life. It is that star and the planet that circles it—Earth—that holds us all together in a tight bond. If we shared nothing else, we would share that light on the screen and it would be enough.—You Spacers have forgotten it and that is why you fall apart from each other and that is why you will not, in the long run, survive.”
“There is room for us all, Captain,” said Gladia softly.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t do anything to force non survival on Spacers. I just believe that that is what will happen and it might not happen if Spacers would give up their irritating certainty of superiority, their robots, and their self-absorption in long life.”
“Is that how you see me, D.G.?” asked Gladia.
D.G. said, “You’ve had your moments. You’ve improved, though. I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you,” she replied with evident irony. “And though you may find it hard to believe, Settlers have their prideful arrogance, too. But you’ve also improved and I’ll give you that.”
D.G. laughed. “With all that I’m kindly giving you and you’re kindly giving me, this is liable to end as a lifelong enmity.”
“Scarcely,” said Gladia, laughing in her turn, and was a little surprised to find that his hand was resting on hers.—And a great deal surprised to find that she had not removed her hand.
76
Daneel said, “I am uneasy, friend Giskard, that Madam Gladia is not under our direct observation.”
“That is not needful on board this ship, friend Daneel. I detect no dangerous emotions and the captain is with her at the moment.—In addition, there would be advantages to her finding it comfortable to be without us, at least on occasion, while we are all on Earth. It is possible that you and I might have to take sudden action without wishing to have her presence and safety a complicating factor.”
“Then you manipulated her separation from us now?”
“Scarcely. Oddly enough, I found a strong tendency in her to imitate the Settler way of life in this respect. She has a subdued longing for independence, hampered chiefly by the feeling that she is violating Spacerhood in this. That is the best way in which I can describe it. The sensations and emotions are by no means easy to interpret, for I have never encountered it among Spacers before. So I merely loosened the Spacerhood inhibition by the merest touch.”
“Will she then no longer be willing to avail herself of our services, friend Giskard? That would disturb me.”
“It should not. If she should decide she wishes a life free of robots and will be happier so, it is what we will want for her, too. As it is, though, I am sure we will still be useful to her. This ship is a small and specialized habitat in which there is no great danger. She had a further feeling of security in the captain’s presence and that reduces her need for us. On Earth, she will still need us, though I trust not in quite so tight a fashion as on Aurora. As I have said, we may need greater flexibility of action once on Earth.”
“Can you yet guess, then, the nature of the crisis facing Earth? Do you know what it is we will have to do?”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel. I do not. It is you that have the gift of understanding. Is there something, perhaps, that you see?”
Daneel remained silent for a while. Then he said, “I have had thoughts.”
“What, then, are your thoughts?”
“You told me at the Robotics Institute, you remember, just before Lady Vasilia entered the room in which Madam Gladia lay sleeping, that Dr. Amadiro had had two intense flashes of anxiety. The first came at the mention of the nuclear intensifier, the second at the statement that Madam Gladia was going to Earth. It seems to me that the two must be connected. I feel that the crisis we are dealing with involves the use of a nuclear intensifier on Earth, that there is time to stop it, and that Dr. Amadiro fears that we will do just that if we go to Earth.”
“Your mind tells me you are not satisfied with that thought. Why not, friend Daneel?”
“A nuclear intensifier hastens the fusion processes that happen to be already in progress, by means of a stream of W particles. I asked myself, therefore, whether Dr. Amadiro plans to use one or more nuclear intensifiers to explode the microfusion reactors that supply Earth with energy. The nuclear explosions so induced would involve destruction through heat and mechanical force, through dust and radioactive products that would be thrown into the atmosphere. Even if this did not suffice to damage Earth mortally, the destruction of Earth’s energy supply would surely lead to the long-term collapse of Earth’s civilization.”
Giskard said somberly, “That is a horrifying thought and would seem to be an almost certain answer to the nature of the crisis we seek. Why are you not satisfied, then?”
“I have taken the liberty of using the ship’s computer to obtain information concerning the planet Earth. The computer is, as one might expect on a Settler ship, rich in such information. It seems that Earth is the one human world that does not use microfusion reactors as a large-scale source of energy. It uses direct solar energy almost entirely, with solar power stations all among the gestational orbit. There is nothing for a nuclear intensifier to do, except to destroy small devices—spaceships, occasional buildings. The damage might not be negligible, but it would not threaten Earth’s existence.”
“It may well be, friend Daneel, that Amadiro has some device that would destroy the solar power generators.”
“If so, why did he react to the mention of nuclear intensifiers? There is no way they can serve against solar power generators.”
Giskard nodded slowly. “That is a good point. And, to make another, if Dr. Amadiro was so horrified at the thought of our going to Earth, why did he make no effort to have us stopped while we were still on Aurora? Or if he only discovered our flight after we had left orbit, why did he not have an Auroran vessel intercept us before we made the Jump to Earth? Can it be that we are on a completely wrong track, that somewhere we have made a serious misstep that—”
An insistent chain of intermittent chiming sounded throughout the ship and Daneel said, “We have safely made the Jump, friend Giskard. I sensed it some minutes ago. But we have not yet reached Earth and the interception you have just mentioned has, I suspect, now come, so that we are not necessarily on the wrong track.”
77
D.G. was moved to a perverse admiration. When the Aurorans were really moved to action, their technological polish showed. No doubt they had sent one of their newest warships, from which one could at once deduce that whatever had moved them, was close to their heart.
And that ship had detected the presence of D.G.’s vessel within fifteen minutes of its appearance in normal space and from a sizable distance, at that.
The Auroran ship was using a limited-focus hyperwave setup. The speaker’s head could be seen clearly while it was at the focal spot. All else was a gray haze. If the Spacer moved his head a decimeter or so from the focal spot, that went into haze as well. Sound focus was limited as well. The net result was that one saw and heard only the fundamental minimum of the enemy ship (D.G. already thought of it as the “enemy” ship), so their privacy was guarded.
D.G.’s ship also possessed a limited-focus hyperwave, but, D.G. thought enviously, it lacked the polish and elegance of the Auroran version. Of course, his own ship was not the best the Settlers could do, but even so, the Spacers were well ahead technologically. The Settlers still had catching up to do.
The Auroran head in focus was clear and so real in appearance that it looked gruesomely disembodied, so that D.G. would not have been surprised if it had dripped blood. On second glance, however, it could be made out that the neck faded into grayness just after the neckpiece of an undoubtedly well-tailored uniform began to show.
The head identified itself, with punctilious courtesy, as Commander Lisiform of the Auroran ship Borealis. D.G. identified himself in his turn, thrusting his chin forward so as to make certain that his beard lent him an air of fierceness that could not help but be daunting to a beardless and (he thought) weak-chinned Spacer.
D.G. assumed the traditional air of informality that was as irritating to a Spacer officer, as the latter’s traditional arrogance was to a Settler. He said, “What is your reason for hailing me, Commander Lisiform?”
The Auroran commander had an exaggerated accent which, it was possible, he thought as formidable as D.G. considered his beard to be. D.G. felt himself to be under considerable strain as he tried to penetrate the accent and understand him.
“We believe,” said Lisiform, “that you have on your ship an Auroran citizen named Gladia Solaria. Is that correct, Captain Baley?”
“Madam Gladia is on board this ship, Commander.”
“Thank you, Captain. With her, so my information leads me to suppose, are two robots of Auroran manufacture, R. Daneel Olivaw and R. Giskard Reventlov. Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“In that case, I must inform you that R. Giskard Reventlov is, at present, a dangerous device. Shortly before your ship left Auroran space with him, the said robot, Giskard, badly hurt an Auroran citizen in defiance of the Three Laws. The robot must, therefore, be dismantled and repaired.”
“Are you suggesting, Commander, that we on this ship dismantle the robot?”
“No, sir, that would not do. Your people, lacking experience with robots, could not dismantle it properly and could not possibly repair it if they did.”
“We might, then, simply destroy it.”
“It is too valuable for that. Captain Baley, the robot is Aurora’s product and Aurora’s responsibility. We do not wish to be the cause of damage to the people on your ship and on the planet Earth if you land there. Consequently, we ask that it be delivered to us.”
D.G. said, “Commander, I appreciate your concern. However, the robot is the legal property of Lady Gladia, who is with us. It may be that she would not consent to be parted from her robot and, while I don’t want to teach you Auroran law, I believe that it would be illegal by that law to force such a parting. While my crew and I do not consider ourselves bound by Auroran law, we would not willingly be a party to helping you perform what your own government might consider to be an illegal act.”
There was a suggestion of impatience in the commander’s voice. “There is no question of illegality, Captain. A life endangering malfunction in a robot supersedes the ordinary rights of an owner. Nevertheless, if there is any question of that, my ship stands ready to accept Lady Gladia and her robot Daneel, along with Giskard, the robot in question. There will then be no separation of Gladia Solaria and her robotic property until she is brought back to Aurora. The law can then take its proper course.”
“It is possible, Commander, that Lady Gladia may not wish to leave my ship or to allow her property to do so.”
“She has no recourse, Captain. I am legally empowered by my government to demand her—and as an Auroran citizen, she must obey.”
“But I am not legally bound to deliver up anything on my ship at the demand of a foreign power. What if I choose to disregard your request?”
“In that case, Captain, I would have no choice but to consider it an unfriendly act. May I point out that we are within the sphere of the planetary system of which Earth is part. You had no hesitation in teaching me Auroran law. You will forgive me, then, if I point out that your people do not consider it proper to engage in hostilities within the space of this planetary system.”
“I am aware of that, Commander, and I wish no hostilities, nor do I intend an unfriendly act. However, I am bound for Earth under some urgency I lose time in this conversation and I would lose further time if I moved toward you—or waited for you to move toward me—so that we could carry through a physical transfer of Lady Gladia and her robots. I would prefer to continue onward toward Earth and formally accept all responsibility for the robot Giskard and his behavior until such a time as Lady Gladia and her robots return to Aurora.”
“May I make the suggestion, Captain, that you place the woman and two robots in a lifeboat and detach a member of your crew to pilot it to us? Once the woman and the two robots are delivered, we will ourselves escort the lifeboat to the immediate environs of Earth and we will compensate you adequately for your time and trouble. A Trader should not object to that.”
“I don’t, Commander, I don’t,” said D.G., smiling. “Still, the crewman detailed to pilot the lifeboat might be in great peril since he would be alone with this dangerous robot.”
“Captain, if the robot’s owner is firm in her control, your crewman will be in no greater danger on the lifeboat than he would be on your ship. We will compensate him for the risk.”
“But if the robot can, after all, be controlled by its owner, surely it is not so dangerous that it can’t be left with us.”
The Commander frowned. “Captain, I trust you are not trying to play games with me. You have my request and I would like to have it honored at once.”
“I presume I may consult with Lady Gladia.”
“If you do so immediately. Please explain to her exactly what is involved. If, meanwhile, you try to proceed toward Earth, I shall consider that an unfriendly act and take the appropriate action. Since, as you claim, your trip toward Earth is urgent, I advise you to proceed forthwith to consult with Gladia Solaria and come to the immediate decision to cooperate with us. You will then not be too long delayed.”
“I will do what I can,” said D.G., wooden-faced, as he moved out of focus.
78
“Well?” said D.G. gravely.
Gladia looked distressed. Automatically, she looked toward Daneel and Giskard, but they remained silent and motionless.
She said, “I don’t want to return to Aurora, D.G. They can’t possibly want to destroy Giskard; he is in perfect working order, I assure you. That’s only a subterfuge. They want me for some reason. I suppose there’s no way they can be stopped, though, is there?”
D.G. said, “That’s an Auroran warship—and a big one. This is only a Trading vessel. We’ve got energy shields and they can’t just destroy us at a blow, but they can wear us down eventually—quite soon, in fact—and then destroy us.”
“Is there any way you can strike at them?”
“With my weapons? I’m sorry, Gladia, but their shields can take anything I can throw at them for as long as I can possibly have energy to expend. Besides—”
“Yes?”
“Well, they’ve just about cornered me. Somehow I thought they would try to intercept me before I Jumped, but they knew my destination and they got here first and waited for me. We’re inside the Solar System—the planetary system of which Earth is part. We can’t fight here. Even if I wanted to, the crew wouldn’t obey me.”
“Why not?”
“Call it superstition. The Solar System is holy space to us—if you want to describe it in melodramatic terms. We can’t desecrate it by fighting.”
Giskard said suddenly, “May I contribute to the discussion, sir?”
D.G. frowned and looked toward Gladia.
Gladia said, “Please. Let him. These robots are highly intelligent. I know you find that hard to believe, but—”
“I’ll listen. I don’t have to be influenced.”
Giskard said, “Sir, I am certain that it is me that they want. I cannot allow myself to be the cause of harm to human beings. If you cannot defend yourself and are sure of destruction in a conflict with the other vessel, you have no choice but to give me up. I am sure that if you offer to let them have me, they will not seriously object if you wish to retain Lady Gladia and friend Daneel. It is the only solution.”
“No,” said Gladia forcefully. “You are mine and I won’t give you up. I’ll go with you—if the captain decides you must go—and I’ll see to it they don’t destroy you.”
“May I speak as well?” said Daneel.
D.G. spread his hands in mock-despair. “Please. Everyone speak.”
Daneel said, “If you decide you must give up Giskard, you must understand the consequences. I believe that Giskard thinks that if he is given up, those on the Auroran ship would do him no harm and that they will even release him. I do not believe this to be so. I believe the Aurorans are serious in thinking him to be dangerous and they may well have instructions to destroy the lifeboat as it approaches, killing whoever is on board.”
“For what reason would they do that?” asked D.G.
“No Auroran has ever encountered—or even conceived—of what they call a dangerous robot. They would take no chances of taking one on board one of their vessels.—I would suggest, Captain, that you retreat. Why not jump again, away from Earth? We are not close enough to any planetary mass to prevent that.”
“Retreat? You mean run away? I can’t do that.”
“Well, then, you have to give us up,” said Gladia with an air of resigned hopelessness.
D.G. said forcefully, “I’m not giving you up—And I’m not running away. And I can’t fight.”
“Then what’s left?” asked Gladia.
“A fourth alternative,” said D.G. “Gladia, I must ask you to remain here with your robots till I return.”
79
D.G. considered the data. There had been enough time during the conversation for the location of the Auroran vessel to be pinpointed. It was a bit farther from the sun than his own ship was and that was good. To Jump toward the sun, at this distance from it, would have been risky indeed; to Jump sideways would be, so to speak, a piece of cake in comparison. There was the chance of accident through probability deviation, but there was always that.
He had himself assured the crew that not a shot would be fired (which would do no good, in any case). Clearly, they had utter faith in Earth space protecting them as long as they didn’t profane its peace by offering violence. It was pure mysticism that D.G. would have scornfully derided had he not shared the conviction himself.
He moved back into focus. It had been a fairly long wait, but there had been no signal from the other side. They had shown exemplary patience.
“Captain Baley here,” he said. “I wish to speak to Commander Lisiform.”
There was not much of a wait. “Commander Lisiform here. May I have your answer?”
D.G. said, “We will deliver the woman and the two robots.”
“Good! A wise decision.”
“And we will deliver them as quickly as we can.”
“Again a wise decision.”
“Thank you.” D.G. gave the signal and his ship Jumped.
There was no time, no need, to hold one’s breath. It was over as soon as it was begun—or, at least, the time lapse was insensible.
The word came from the pilot. “New enemy ship position fixed, Captain.”
“Good,” said D.G. “You know what to do.”
The ship had come out of the Jump at high speed relative to the Auroran vessel and the course correction (not a great deal, it was to, be hoped) was being made. Then further acceleration.
D.G. moved back into focus, “We are close, Commander, and on our way to deliver. You may fire if you choose, but our shields are up and before you can batter them down we will have reached you in order to make the delivery.”
“Are you sending a lifeboat?” The commander moved out of focus.
D.G. waited and the commander was back, his face contorted. “What is this? Your ship is on a collision course.”
“It seems to be, yes,” said D.G. “That is the fastest way of making delivery.”
“You will destroy your ship.”
“And yours, too. Your ship is at least fifty times as expensive as mine, probably more. A poor exchange for Aurora.”
“But you are engaging in combat in Earth space, Captain. Your customs do not allow that.”
“Ah, you know our customs and you take advantage of them.—But I am not in combat. I have not fired an erg of energy and I won’t. I am merely following a trajectory. That trajectory happens to intersect your position, but since I am sure you will move before that intersection movement arrives, it is clear that I intend no violence.”
“Stop. Let’s talk about this.”
“I’m tired of talking, Commander. Shall we all say a fond farewell? If you don’t move, I will be giving up perhaps four decades with the third and fourth not so good, anyway. How many will you be giving up?” And D.G. moved out of focus and stayed out.
A beam of radiation shot out from the Auroran ship tentative, as though to test whether the other’s shields were truly up. They were.
Ship’s shields would hold against electromagnetic radiation and subatomic particles, including even neutrinos, and could withstand the kinetic energy of small masses—dust particles, even meteoric gravel. The shields could not withstand larger kinetic energies, such as that of an entire ship hurtling at it with supermeteoric speed.
Even dangerous masses, if not guided—a meteoroid, for instance—could be handled. A vessel’s computers would automatically veer the ship out of the way of any oncoming meteoroid that was too large for the shield to handle. That, however, would not work against a ship that could veer as its target veered. And if the Settler ship was the smaller of the two, it was also the more maneuverable.
There was only one way that the Auroran ship could avoid destruction—
D.G. watched the other ship visibly enlarging in his viewing panel and wondered if Gladia, in her cabin, knew what was going on. She must be aware of the acceleration, despite the hydraulic suspension of her cabin ~ and the compensatory action of the pseudo-gravity field.
And then the other ship simply winked out of view, having jumped away, and D.G., with considerable chagrin, realized he was holding his breath and that his heart was racing. Had he had no confidence in the protecting influence of Earth or in his own sure diagnosis of the situation?
D.G. spoke into the transmitter in a voice that, with iron resolution, he forced into coolness. “Well done, men! Correct course and head for Earth.”
72
Amadiro bit his lower lip and his eyes flicked in the direction of Mandamus, who seemed lost in thought.
Amadiro said defensively, “She insisted on it. She told me that only she could handle this Giskard, that only she could exert a sufficiently strong influence over him and prevent him from using these mental powers of his.”
“You never said anything of this to me, Dr. Amadiro.”
“I wasn’t sure what there was to tell, young man. I wasn’t sure she was correct.”
“Are you sure now?”
“Completely. She remembers nothing of what went on—”
“So that we know nothing of what went on.”
Amadiro nodded. “Exactly. And she remembers nothing of what she had told me earlier.”
“And she’s not acting?”
“I saw to it that she had an emergency electroencephalogram. There have been distinct changes from the earlier records.”
“Is there a chance she will recover her memory with time?”
Amadiro shook his head bitterly. “Who can tell? But I doubt it.”
Mandamus’ eyes still downcast and full of thought, said, “Does it matter, then? We can take her account of Giskard as true and we know that he has the power to affect minds. That knowledge is crucial and it is now ours.—In fact, it is well that our roboticist colleague has failed. If Vasilia had gained control of that robot, how long do you suppose it would have been before you, too, would have been under her control—and I, as well,—assuming she would think I was worth controlling?”
Amadiro nodded. “I suppose she might have had something like that in mind. Right now, though, it’s hard to tell what she has in mind. She seems, superficially at least, undamaged except for the specific loss of memory—she apparently remembers everything else—but who knows how this will affect her deeper thought processes and her skill as a roboticist? That Giskard could do this to someone as skilled as she makes him an incredibly dangerous phenomenon.
“Does it occur to you, Dr. Amadiro, that the Settlers may be right in their distrust of robots?”
“It almost does, Mandamus.”
Mandamus rubbed his hands together. “I assume from your depressed attitude that this whole business was not uncovered before they had time to leave Aurora.”
“You assume correctly. That Settler captain has the Solarian woman and both of her robots on his ship and is heading toward Earth.”
“And where does that leave us now?”
Slowly Amadiro said, “By no means defeated, it seems to me. If we complete our project, we have won—Giskard or no Giskard. And we can complete it. Whatever Giskard can do with and to emotions, he can’t read thoughts. He might be able to tell when a wash of emotion crosses a human mind, or even distinguish one emotion from another, or change one to another, or induce sleep or amnesia—dull edged things like that. He cannot be sharp, however, cannot make out actual words or ideas.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“So said Vasilia.”
“She may not have known what she was talking about. She did not, after all, manage to control the robot, as she said she was sure of doing. That’s not much of a testimonial to her accuracy of understanding.”
“Yet I believe her in this. To actually be able to read thoughts would demand so much complexity in the positronic pathway pattern that it is totally unlikely that a child could have inserted it into the robot over twenty decades ago. It is actually far beyond even the present-day state of the art, Mandamus. Surely you must agree.”
“I would certainly think it was. And they’re going to Earth?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Would this woman, brought up as she was, actually go to Earth?”
“She has no choice if Giskard controls her.”
“And why should Giskard want her to go to Earth? Can he know about our project? You seem to think he doesn’t.”
“It is possible he doesn’t. His motivation for going to Earth might be nothing more than to place himself and the Solarian woman beyond our reach.”
“I shouldn’t think he’d fear us if he could handle Vasilia.”
“A long-range weapon,” said Amadiro icily, “could bring him down. His own abilities must have a limited range. They can be based on nothing other than the electromagnetic field and he must be subject to the inverse square law. So we get out of range as the intensity of his powers weaken, but he will then find that he is not out of range of our weapons.”
Mandamus frowned and looked uneasy. “You seem to have an un-Spacer liking for violence, Dr. Amadiro. In a cast like this, though, I suppose force would be permissible.
“A case like this? A robot capable of harming human beings? I should think so. We’ll have to find a pretext for sending a good ship in pursuit. It wouldn’t be wise to explain the actual situation—”
“No,” said Mandamus emphatically. “Think of how many would wish to have personal control of such a robot.”
“Which we can’t allow. And which is another reason why I would look upon destruction of the robot as the safer and preferable course of action.”
“You may be right,” said Mandamus reluctantly, “but I don’t think it wise to count on this destruction only. I must go to Earth—now. The project must be hastened to its conclusion, even if we don’t dot every ‘I’ and cross every ‘T.’” Once it is done, then it is done. Even a mind-handling robot—under anybody’s control—will not be able to undo the deed. And if it does anything else, that, perhaps, will no longer matter.”
Amadiro said, “Don’t speak in the singular. I will go as well.”
“You? Earth is a horrible world. I must go, but why you?”
“Because I must go, too. I cannot stay here any longer and wonder. You have not waited for this through a long lifetime as I have, Mandamus. You do not have the accounts to settle that I have.”
73
Gladia was in space again and once again Aurora could be made out as a globe. D.G. was busy elsewhere and the entire ship had about it a vague but pervasive air of emergency, as though it were on a battle footing, as though it were being pursued or expected pursuit.
Gladia shook her head. She could think clearly; she felt well; but when her mind turned back to that time in the Institute, shortly after Amadiro had left her, a curiously pervasive unreality swept over her. There was a gap in time. One moment she had been sitting on the couch, feeling sleepy; the next there were four robots and a woman in the room who had not been there before.
She had fallen asleep, then, but there was no awareness, no memory, that she had done so. There was a gap of nonexistence.
Thinking back, she had recognized the woman after the fact. It was Vasilia Aliena—the daughter whom Gladia had replaced in the affections of Han Fastolfe. Gladia had never actually seen Vasilia, though she had viewed her on hyperwave several times. Gladia always thought of her as a distant and inimical other self. There was the vague similarity in appearance that others always commented on but that Gladia herself insisted she did not see—and there was the odd, antithetical connection with Fastolfe.
Once they were on the ship and she was alone with her robots, she asked the inevitable question. “What was Vasilia Aliena doing in the room and why was I permitted to sleep once she had arrived?”
Daneel said, “Madam Gladia, I will answer the question, since it is a matter friend Giskard would find difficult to discuss.”
“Why should he find it difficult, Daneel?”
“Madam Vasilia arrived in the hope that she might persuade Giskard to enter her service.”
“Away from me?” said Gladia in sharp indignation. She did not entirely like Giskard, but that made no difference. What was hers was hers. “And you allowed me to sleep while you two handled the matter by yourselves?”
“We felt, madam, that you needed your sleep badly. Then, too, Madam Vasilia ordered us to allow you to sleep. Finally, it was our opinion that Giskard would not, in any case, join her service. For all these reasons, we did not wake you.”
Gladia said indignantly, “I should hope that Giskard would not for a moment consider leaving me. It would be illegal both by Auroran law and, more important, by the Three Laws of Robotics. It would be a good deed to return to Aurora and have her arraigned before the Court of Claims.”
“That would not be advisable at the moment, my lady.”
“What was her excuse for wanting Giskard? Did she have one?”
“When she was a child, Giskard had been assigned to her.
“Legally?”
“No, madam. Dr. Fastolfe merely allowed her the use of it.
“Then she had no right to Giskard.”
“We pointed that out, madam. Apparently, it was a matter of sentimental attachment on the part of Madam Vasilia.”
Gladia sniffed. “Having survived the loss of Giskard since before I came to Aurora, she might well have continued as she was without going to illegal lengths to deprive me of my property,”—Then, restlessly, “I should have been awakened.”
Daneel said, “Madam Vasilia had four robots with her. Had you been awake and had there been harsh words between the two of you, there might have been some difficulty in having the robots work out the proper responses.”
“I’d have directed the proper response, I assure you, Daneel.”
“No doubt, madam. So might Madam Vasilia and she is one of the cleverest roboticists in the Galaxy.”
Gladia shifted her attention to Giskard. “And you have nothing to say?”
“Only that it was better as it was, my lady.”
Gladia looked thoughtfully into those faintly luminous robotic eyes, so different from Daneel’s all-but-human ones, and it did seem to her that the incident wasn’t very important after all. A small thing. And there were other things with which to be concerned. They were going to Earth.
Somehow she did not think of Vasilia again.
74
“I am concerned,” said Giskard in his whisper of confidentiality in which sound waves barely trembled the air. The Settler ship was receding smoothly from Aurora and, as yet, there was no pursuit. The activity onboard had settled into routine and, with almost all routines automated, there was quiet and Gladia slept naturally.
“I’m concerned for Lady Gladia, friend Daneel.”
Daneel understood the characteristics of Giskard’s positronic circuits well enough to need no long explanation. He said, “It was necessary, friend Giskard, to adjust Lady Gladia. Had she questioned longer, she might have elicited the fact of your mental activities and adjustment would then have been more dangerous. Enough harm has already been done because Lady Vasilia discovered the fact. We do not know to whom—and to how many—she may have imparted her knowledge.”
“Nevertheless,” said Giskard, “I did not wish to make this adjustment. Had Lady Gladia wished to forget, it would have been a simple, no-risk adjustment. She wanted, however, with vigor and anger, to know more of the matter. She regretted not having played a greater role in it. I was forced, therefore, to break binding forces of considerable intensity.”
Daneel said, “Even that was necessary, friend Giskard.”
“Yet the possibility of doing harm was by no means insignificant in such a case. If you think of a binding force as a thin, elastic cord—this is a poor analogy, but I can think of no other, for what I sense in a mind has no analog outside the mind—then the ordinary inhibitions I deal with are so thin and insubstantial that they vanish when I touch them. A strong binding force, on the other hand, snaps and recoils when broken and the recoil may then break other, totally unrelated binding forces or, by whipping and coiling about other such forces, strengthen them, enormously. In either case, unintended changes can be brought about in a human being’s emotions and attitudes and that would be almost certain to bring about harm.”
Daneel said, his voice a little louder, “Is it your impression you harmed Lady Gladia, friend Giskard?”
“I think not. I was extremely careful. I worked upon the matter during all the time you were talking to her. It was thoughtful of you to bear the brunt of the conversation and to run the risk of being caught between an inconvenient truth and an untruth. But despite all my care, friend Daneel, I took a risk and I am concerned that I was willing to take that risk. It came so close to violating the First Law that it required an extraordinary effort on my part to do it. I am sure that I would not have been able to do it—”
“Yes, friend Giskard?”
“Had you not expounded your notion of the Zeroth Law.”
“You accept it, then?”
“No, I cannot. Can you? Faced with the possibility of doing harm to an individual human being or of allowing harm to come to one, could you do the harm or allow the harm in the name of abstract humanity? Think!”
“I am not sure,” said Daneel, voice trembling into all but silence. Then, with an effort, “I might. The mere concept pushes at me—and at you. It helped you decide to take the risk in adjusting Lady Gladia’s mind.”
“Yes, it did,” agreed Giskard, “and the longer we think of the Zeroth Law, the more it might help push us. Could it do so, I wonder, in more than a marginal way, however? Might it not only help us take slightly larger risks than we might ordinarily?”
“Yet I am convinced of the validity of the Zeroth Law, friend Giskard.”
“So might I be if we could define what we mean by ‘humanity.’”
There was a pause and Daneel said, “Did you not accept the Zeroth Law, at last, when you stopped Madam Vasilia’s robots and erased from her mind the knowledge of your mental powers?”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel. Not really. I was tempted to accept it, but not really.”
“And yet your actions—”
“Were dictated by a combination of motives. You told me of your concept of the Zeroth Law and it seemed to have a certain validity about it, but not sufficient to cancel the First Law or even to cancel Madam Vasilia’s strong use of the Second Law in the orders she gave. Then, when you called my attention to the application of the Zeroth Law to psychohistory, I could feel the positronomotive force mount higher and yet it was not quite high enough to supersede the First Law or even the strong Second Law.”
“Still,” murmured Daneel, “you struck down Madam Vasilia, friend Giskard.”
“When she ordered the robots to dismantle you, friend Daneel, and showed a clear emotion of pleasure at the prospect, your need, added to what the concept of the Zeroth Law had already done, superseded the Second Law and rivaled the First Law. It was the combination of the Zeroth Law, psychohistory, my loyalty to Lady Gladia, and your need that dictated my action.”
“My need could scarcely have affected you, friend Giskard. I am only a robot and though my need could affect my own actions by the Third Law, they cannot affect yours. You destroyed the overseer on Solaria without hesitation; you should have watched my destruction without being moved to act.”
“Yes, friend Daneel, and ordinarily it might have been so. However, your mention of the Zeroth Law had reduced the First Law intensity to an abnormally low value. The necessity of saving you was sufficient to cancel out what remained of it and I acted as I did.”
“No, friend Giskard. The prospect of injury to a robot should not have affected you at all. It should in no way have contributed to the overcoming of the First Law, however weak the First Law may have become.”
“It is a strange thing, friend Daneel. I do not know how it came about. Perhaps it was because I have noted that you continue to think more and more like a human being, but—”
“Yes, friend Giskard?”
“At the moment when the robots advanced toward you and Lady Vasilia expressed her savage pleasure, my positronic pathway pattern re-formed in an anomalous fashion. For a moment, I thought of you as a human being and I reacted accordingly.”
“That was wrong.”
“I know that. And yet—and yet, if it were to happen again, I believe the same anomalous change would take place again.”
Daneel said, “It is strange, but hearing you put it so, I find myself feeling you did the proper thing. If the situation were reversed, I almost think that I, too, would—would do the same—that I would think of you as a—a human being.”
Daneel, hesitantly and slowly, put out his hand and Giskard looked at it uncertainly. Then, very slowly, he put out his own hand. The fingertips almost touched and then, little by little, each took the other’s hand and clasped it almost as though they were the friends they called each other.
75
Gladia looked about with veiled curiosity. She was in D.G.’s cabin for the first time. It was not noticeably more luxurious than the new cabin that had been designed for her. D.G.’s cabin had a more elaborate viewing panel, to be sure, and it had a complex console of lights and contacts which, she imagined, served to keep D.G. in touch with the rest of the ship even here.
She said, “I’ve seen little of you since leaving Aurora, D.G.”
“I’m flattered that you are aware of that,” answered D.G., grinning. “And to tell you the truth, Gladia, I have been aware of it as well. With an all-male crew, you do rather stand out.”
“That’s not a very flattering reason for missing me. With an all-human crew, I imagine Daneel and Giskard stand out, too. Have you missed them as much as you have missed me?”
D.G. looked about. “Actually, I miss them so little it is only now that I am aware that they aren’t with you. Where are they?”
“In my cabin. It seemed silly to drag them about with me inside the confines of the small world of this ship. They seemed willing to allow me to be on my own, which surprised me. No,” she corrected herself, “come to think of it, I had to order them rather sharply to stay behind before they would do so.”
“Isn’t that rather strange? Aurorans are never without their robots, I’ve been given to understand.”
“What of that? Once, long ago, when I first came to Aurora, I had to learn to suffer the actual presence of human beings, something my Solarian upbringing did not prepare me for. Learning to be without my robots, occasionally, when I am among Settlers will probably be a less difficult adjustment for me than that first one was.”
“Good. Very good. I must admit that I much prefer being with your without the glowing eyes of Giskard fixed on me—and better yet, without Daneel’s little smile.”
“He doesn’t smile.”
“To me, he seems to, a very insinuatingly lecherous tiny smile.”
“You’re mad. That’s totally foreign to Daneel.”
“You don’t watch him the way I do. His presence is very inhibiting. It forces me to behave myself.”
“Well, I should hope so.”
“You needn’t hope so quite that emphatically. But never mind.—Let me apologize for seeing so little of you since leaving Aurora.”
“That’s scarcely necessary—”
“Since you brought it up, I thought it was. However, let me explain, then. We’ve been on battle footing. We were certain, having left as we did, that Auroran vessels would be in pursuit.”
“I should think they’d be glad to be rid of a group of Settlers.”
“Of course, but you’re not a Settler and it might be you they would want. They were anxious enough to get you back from Baleyworld.”
“They got me back. I reported to them and that was it.”
“They wanted nothing more than your report?”
“No,” Gladia paused and, for a moment, frowned as though something was nibbling vaguely at her memory. Whatever it was, it passed and she said indifferently, “No.”
D.G. shrugged. “It doesn’t entirely make sense, but they made no attempt to stop us while you and I were on Aurora nor, after that, when we boarded the ship and it prepared to leave orbit. I won’t quarrel with that. It won’t be long now before we make the Jump—and after that there should be nothing to worry about.”
Gladia said, “Why do you have an all-male crew, by the way? Auroran ships always have mixed crews.”
“So do Settler ships. Ordinary ones. This is a Trader vessel.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Trading involves danger. It’s rather a rough-and-ready life. Women on board would create problems.”
“What nonsense! What problems do I create?”
“We won’t argue that. Besides it’s traditional. The men wouldn’t stand for it.”
“How do you know?” Gladia laughed. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No. But, on the other hand, there are no long lines of women clamoring for a berth on my ship.”
“I’m here. I’m enjoying it.”
“You’re getting special treatment—and but for your service on Solaria, there might well have been much trouble. In fact, there was trouble. Still, never mind.” He touched one of the contacts on the console and a countdown briefly appeared. “We’ll be jumping in just about two minutes. You’ve never been on Earth, have you, Gladia?”
“No, of course not.”
“Or seen the sun, not just a sun.”
“No—although I have seen it in historical dramas on hypervision, but I imagine what the show in the dramas is not really the sun.
“I’m sure it isn’t. If you don’t mind, we’ll dim the cabin lights.”
The lights dimmed to nearly nothing and Gladia was aware of the star field on the viewing panel, with the stars brighter and more thickly spread than in Aurora’s sky.
“Is that a telescopic view?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Slightly. Low-power—Fifteen seconds.” He counted backward. There was a shift in the star field and a bright star was now nearly centered. D.G. touched another contact and said, “We’re well outside the planetary plane. Good! A little risky. We should have been farther from the Auroran star before Jumping, but we were in a slight hurry. That’s the sun.”
“That bright star, you mean?”
“Yes.—What do you think of it?”
Gladia said, a little puzzled over what sort of response he expected, “It’s bright.”
He pushed another contact and the view dimmed perceptibly. “Yes—and it won’t do your eyes any good if you stare at it. But it’s not the brightness that counts. It’s just a star in appearance—but think of it. That was the original sun. That was the star whose light shone down on a planet that was the only planet on which human beings existed. It shone down on a planet on which human beings were slowly evolving. It shone down on a planet on which life formed billions of years ago, life that would develop into human beings. There are 300 billion stars in the Galaxy and 100 billion galaxies in the Universe and there is only one of all those stars that presided over the human birth and that is the star.”
Gladia was about to say: “Well, some star had to be the star,” but she thought better of it. “Very impressive,” she said rather weakly.
“It’s not merely impressive,” said D.G., his eyes shadowed in the dimness, “There’s not a Settler in the Galaxy who doesn’t consider that star his own. The radiation of the stars that shine down on our various home planets is borrowed radiation—rented radiation that we make use of. There—right there—is the real radiation that gave us life. It is that star and the planet that circles it—Earth—that holds us all together in a tight bond. If we shared nothing else, we would share that light on the screen and it would be enough.—You Spacers have forgotten it and that is why you fall apart from each other and that is why you will not, in the long run, survive.”
“There is room for us all, Captain,” said Gladia softly.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t do anything to force non survival on Spacers. I just believe that that is what will happen and it might not happen if Spacers would give up their irritating certainty of superiority, their robots, and their self-absorption in long life.”
“Is that how you see me, D.G.?” asked Gladia.
D.G. said, “You’ve had your moments. You’ve improved, though. I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you,” she replied with evident irony. “And though you may find it hard to believe, Settlers have their prideful arrogance, too. But you’ve also improved and I’ll give you that.”
D.G. laughed. “With all that I’m kindly giving you and you’re kindly giving me, this is liable to end as a lifelong enmity.”
“Scarcely,” said Gladia, laughing in her turn, and was a little surprised to find that his hand was resting on hers.—And a great deal surprised to find that she had not removed her hand.
76
Daneel said, “I am uneasy, friend Giskard, that Madam Gladia is not under our direct observation.”
“That is not needful on board this ship, friend Daneel. I detect no dangerous emotions and the captain is with her at the moment.—In addition, there would be advantages to her finding it comfortable to be without us, at least on occasion, while we are all on Earth. It is possible that you and I might have to take sudden action without wishing to have her presence and safety a complicating factor.”
“Then you manipulated her separation from us now?”
“Scarcely. Oddly enough, I found a strong tendency in her to imitate the Settler way of life in this respect. She has a subdued longing for independence, hampered chiefly by the feeling that she is violating Spacerhood in this. That is the best way in which I can describe it. The sensations and emotions are by no means easy to interpret, for I have never encountered it among Spacers before. So I merely loosened the Spacerhood inhibition by the merest touch.”
“Will she then no longer be willing to avail herself of our services, friend Giskard? That would disturb me.”
“It should not. If she should decide she wishes a life free of robots and will be happier so, it is what we will want for her, too. As it is, though, I am sure we will still be useful to her. This ship is a small and specialized habitat in which there is no great danger. She had a further feeling of security in the captain’s presence and that reduces her need for us. On Earth, she will still need us, though I trust not in quite so tight a fashion as on Aurora. As I have said, we may need greater flexibility of action once on Earth.”
“Can you yet guess, then, the nature of the crisis facing Earth? Do you know what it is we will have to do?”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel. I do not. It is you that have the gift of understanding. Is there something, perhaps, that you see?”
Daneel remained silent for a while. Then he said, “I have had thoughts.”
“What, then, are your thoughts?”
“You told me at the Robotics Institute, you remember, just before Lady Vasilia entered the room in which Madam Gladia lay sleeping, that Dr. Amadiro had had two intense flashes of anxiety. The first came at the mention of the nuclear intensifier, the second at the statement that Madam Gladia was going to Earth. It seems to me that the two must be connected. I feel that the crisis we are dealing with involves the use of a nuclear intensifier on Earth, that there is time to stop it, and that Dr. Amadiro fears that we will do just that if we go to Earth.”
“Your mind tells me you are not satisfied with that thought. Why not, friend Daneel?”
“A nuclear intensifier hastens the fusion processes that happen to be already in progress, by means of a stream of W particles. I asked myself, therefore, whether Dr. Amadiro plans to use one or more nuclear intensifiers to explode the microfusion reactors that supply Earth with energy. The nuclear explosions so induced would involve destruction through heat and mechanical force, through dust and radioactive products that would be thrown into the atmosphere. Even if this did not suffice to damage Earth mortally, the destruction of Earth’s energy supply would surely lead to the long-term collapse of Earth’s civilization.”
Giskard said somberly, “That is a horrifying thought and would seem to be an almost certain answer to the nature of the crisis we seek. Why are you not satisfied, then?”
“I have taken the liberty of using the ship’s computer to obtain information concerning the planet Earth. The computer is, as one might expect on a Settler ship, rich in such information. It seems that Earth is the one human world that does not use microfusion reactors as a large-scale source of energy. It uses direct solar energy almost entirely, with solar power stations all among the gestational orbit. There is nothing for a nuclear intensifier to do, except to destroy small devices—spaceships, occasional buildings. The damage might not be negligible, but it would not threaten Earth’s existence.”
“It may well be, friend Daneel, that Amadiro has some device that would destroy the solar power generators.”
“If so, why did he react to the mention of nuclear intensifiers? There is no way they can serve against solar power generators.”
Giskard nodded slowly. “That is a good point. And, to make another, if Dr. Amadiro was so horrified at the thought of our going to Earth, why did he make no effort to have us stopped while we were still on Aurora? Or if he only discovered our flight after we had left orbit, why did he not have an Auroran vessel intercept us before we made the Jump to Earth? Can it be that we are on a completely wrong track, that somewhere we have made a serious misstep that—”
An insistent chain of intermittent chiming sounded throughout the ship and Daneel said, “We have safely made the Jump, friend Giskard. I sensed it some minutes ago. But we have not yet reached Earth and the interception you have just mentioned has, I suspect, now come, so that we are not necessarily on the wrong track.”
77
D.G. was moved to a perverse admiration. When the Aurorans were really moved to action, their technological polish showed. No doubt they had sent one of their newest warships, from which one could at once deduce that whatever had moved them, was close to their heart.
And that ship had detected the presence of D.G.’s vessel within fifteen minutes of its appearance in normal space and from a sizable distance, at that.
The Auroran ship was using a limited-focus hyperwave setup. The speaker’s head could be seen clearly while it was at the focal spot. All else was a gray haze. If the Spacer moved his head a decimeter or so from the focal spot, that went into haze as well. Sound focus was limited as well. The net result was that one saw and heard only the fundamental minimum of the enemy ship (D.G. already thought of it as the “enemy” ship), so their privacy was guarded.
D.G.’s ship also possessed a limited-focus hyperwave, but, D.G. thought enviously, it lacked the polish and elegance of the Auroran version. Of course, his own ship was not the best the Settlers could do, but even so, the Spacers were well ahead technologically. The Settlers still had catching up to do.
The Auroran head in focus was clear and so real in appearance that it looked gruesomely disembodied, so that D.G. would not have been surprised if it had dripped blood. On second glance, however, it could be made out that the neck faded into grayness just after the neckpiece of an undoubtedly well-tailored uniform began to show.
The head identified itself, with punctilious courtesy, as Commander Lisiform of the Auroran ship Borealis. D.G. identified himself in his turn, thrusting his chin forward so as to make certain that his beard lent him an air of fierceness that could not help but be daunting to a beardless and (he thought) weak-chinned Spacer.
D.G. assumed the traditional air of informality that was as irritating to a Spacer officer, as the latter’s traditional arrogance was to a Settler. He said, “What is your reason for hailing me, Commander Lisiform?”
The Auroran commander had an exaggerated accent which, it was possible, he thought as formidable as D.G. considered his beard to be. D.G. felt himself to be under considerable strain as he tried to penetrate the accent and understand him.
“We believe,” said Lisiform, “that you have on your ship an Auroran citizen named Gladia Solaria. Is that correct, Captain Baley?”
“Madam Gladia is on board this ship, Commander.”
“Thank you, Captain. With her, so my information leads me to suppose, are two robots of Auroran manufacture, R. Daneel Olivaw and R. Giskard Reventlov. Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“In that case, I must inform you that R. Giskard Reventlov is, at present, a dangerous device. Shortly before your ship left Auroran space with him, the said robot, Giskard, badly hurt an Auroran citizen in defiance of the Three Laws. The robot must, therefore, be dismantled and repaired.”
“Are you suggesting, Commander, that we on this ship dismantle the robot?”
“No, sir, that would not do. Your people, lacking experience with robots, could not dismantle it properly and could not possibly repair it if they did.”
“We might, then, simply destroy it.”
“It is too valuable for that. Captain Baley, the robot is Aurora’s product and Aurora’s responsibility. We do not wish to be the cause of damage to the people on your ship and on the planet Earth if you land there. Consequently, we ask that it be delivered to us.”
D.G. said, “Commander, I appreciate your concern. However, the robot is the legal property of Lady Gladia, who is with us. It may be that she would not consent to be parted from her robot and, while I don’t want to teach you Auroran law, I believe that it would be illegal by that law to force such a parting. While my crew and I do not consider ourselves bound by Auroran law, we would not willingly be a party to helping you perform what your own government might consider to be an illegal act.”
There was a suggestion of impatience in the commander’s voice. “There is no question of illegality, Captain. A life endangering malfunction in a robot supersedes the ordinary rights of an owner. Nevertheless, if there is any question of that, my ship stands ready to accept Lady Gladia and her robot Daneel, along with Giskard, the robot in question. There will then be no separation of Gladia Solaria and her robotic property until she is brought back to Aurora. The law can then take its proper course.”
“It is possible, Commander, that Lady Gladia may not wish to leave my ship or to allow her property to do so.”
“She has no recourse, Captain. I am legally empowered by my government to demand her—and as an Auroran citizen, she must obey.”
“But I am not legally bound to deliver up anything on my ship at the demand of a foreign power. What if I choose to disregard your request?”
“In that case, Captain, I would have no choice but to consider it an unfriendly act. May I point out that we are within the sphere of the planetary system of which Earth is part. You had no hesitation in teaching me Auroran law. You will forgive me, then, if I point out that your people do not consider it proper to engage in hostilities within the space of this planetary system.”
“I am aware of that, Commander, and I wish no hostilities, nor do I intend an unfriendly act. However, I am bound for Earth under some urgency I lose time in this conversation and I would lose further time if I moved toward you—or waited for you to move toward me—so that we could carry through a physical transfer of Lady Gladia and her robots. I would prefer to continue onward toward Earth and formally accept all responsibility for the robot Giskard and his behavior until such a time as Lady Gladia and her robots return to Aurora.”
“May I make the suggestion, Captain, that you place the woman and two robots in a lifeboat and detach a member of your crew to pilot it to us? Once the woman and the two robots are delivered, we will ourselves escort the lifeboat to the immediate environs of Earth and we will compensate you adequately for your time and trouble. A Trader should not object to that.”
“I don’t, Commander, I don’t,” said D.G., smiling. “Still, the crewman detailed to pilot the lifeboat might be in great peril since he would be alone with this dangerous robot.”
“Captain, if the robot’s owner is firm in her control, your crewman will be in no greater danger on the lifeboat than he would be on your ship. We will compensate him for the risk.”
“But if the robot can, after all, be controlled by its owner, surely it is not so dangerous that it can’t be left with us.”
The Commander frowned. “Captain, I trust you are not trying to play games with me. You have my request and I would like to have it honored at once.”
“I presume I may consult with Lady Gladia.”
“If you do so immediately. Please explain to her exactly what is involved. If, meanwhile, you try to proceed toward Earth, I shall consider that an unfriendly act and take the appropriate action. Since, as you claim, your trip toward Earth is urgent, I advise you to proceed forthwith to consult with Gladia Solaria and come to the immediate decision to cooperate with us. You will then not be too long delayed.”
“I will do what I can,” said D.G., wooden-faced, as he moved out of focus.
78
“Well?” said D.G. gravely.
Gladia looked distressed. Automatically, she looked toward Daneel and Giskard, but they remained silent and motionless.
She said, “I don’t want to return to Aurora, D.G. They can’t possibly want to destroy Giskard; he is in perfect working order, I assure you. That’s only a subterfuge. They want me for some reason. I suppose there’s no way they can be stopped, though, is there?”
D.G. said, “That’s an Auroran warship—and a big one. This is only a Trading vessel. We’ve got energy shields and they can’t just destroy us at a blow, but they can wear us down eventually—quite soon, in fact—and then destroy us.”
“Is there any way you can strike at them?”
“With my weapons? I’m sorry, Gladia, but their shields can take anything I can throw at them for as long as I can possibly have energy to expend. Besides—”
“Yes?”
“Well, they’ve just about cornered me. Somehow I thought they would try to intercept me before I Jumped, but they knew my destination and they got here first and waited for me. We’re inside the Solar System—the planetary system of which Earth is part. We can’t fight here. Even if I wanted to, the crew wouldn’t obey me.”
“Why not?”
“Call it superstition. The Solar System is holy space to us—if you want to describe it in melodramatic terms. We can’t desecrate it by fighting.”
Giskard said suddenly, “May I contribute to the discussion, sir?”
D.G. frowned and looked toward Gladia.
Gladia said, “Please. Let him. These robots are highly intelligent. I know you find that hard to believe, but—”
“I’ll listen. I don’t have to be influenced.”
Giskard said, “Sir, I am certain that it is me that they want. I cannot allow myself to be the cause of harm to human beings. If you cannot defend yourself and are sure of destruction in a conflict with the other vessel, you have no choice but to give me up. I am sure that if you offer to let them have me, they will not seriously object if you wish to retain Lady Gladia and friend Daneel. It is the only solution.”
“No,” said Gladia forcefully. “You are mine and I won’t give you up. I’ll go with you—if the captain decides you must go—and I’ll see to it they don’t destroy you.”
“May I speak as well?” said Daneel.
D.G. spread his hands in mock-despair. “Please. Everyone speak.”
Daneel said, “If you decide you must give up Giskard, you must understand the consequences. I believe that Giskard thinks that if he is given up, those on the Auroran ship would do him no harm and that they will even release him. I do not believe this to be so. I believe the Aurorans are serious in thinking him to be dangerous and they may well have instructions to destroy the lifeboat as it approaches, killing whoever is on board.”
“For what reason would they do that?” asked D.G.
“No Auroran has ever encountered—or even conceived—of what they call a dangerous robot. They would take no chances of taking one on board one of their vessels.—I would suggest, Captain, that you retreat. Why not jump again, away from Earth? We are not close enough to any planetary mass to prevent that.”
“Retreat? You mean run away? I can’t do that.”
“Well, then, you have to give us up,” said Gladia with an air of resigned hopelessness.
D.G. said forcefully, “I’m not giving you up—And I’m not running away. And I can’t fight.”
“Then what’s left?” asked Gladia.
“A fourth alternative,” said D.G. “Gladia, I must ask you to remain here with your robots till I return.”
79
D.G. considered the data. There had been enough time during the conversation for the location of the Auroran vessel to be pinpointed. It was a bit farther from the sun than his own ship was and that was good. To Jump toward the sun, at this distance from it, would have been risky indeed; to Jump sideways would be, so to speak, a piece of cake in comparison. There was the chance of accident through probability deviation, but there was always that.
He had himself assured the crew that not a shot would be fired (which would do no good, in any case). Clearly, they had utter faith in Earth space protecting them as long as they didn’t profane its peace by offering violence. It was pure mysticism that D.G. would have scornfully derided had he not shared the conviction himself.
He moved back into focus. It had been a fairly long wait, but there had been no signal from the other side. They had shown exemplary patience.
“Captain Baley here,” he said. “I wish to speak to Commander Lisiform.”
There was not much of a wait. “Commander Lisiform here. May I have your answer?”
D.G. said, “We will deliver the woman and the two robots.”
“Good! A wise decision.”
“And we will deliver them as quickly as we can.”
“Again a wise decision.”
“Thank you.” D.G. gave the signal and his ship Jumped.
There was no time, no need, to hold one’s breath. It was over as soon as it was begun—or, at least, the time lapse was insensible.
The word came from the pilot. “New enemy ship position fixed, Captain.”
“Good,” said D.G. “You know what to do.”
The ship had come out of the Jump at high speed relative to the Auroran vessel and the course correction (not a great deal, it was to, be hoped) was being made. Then further acceleration.
D.G. moved back into focus, “We are close, Commander, and on our way to deliver. You may fire if you choose, but our shields are up and before you can batter them down we will have reached you in order to make the delivery.”
“Are you sending a lifeboat?” The commander moved out of focus.
D.G. waited and the commander was back, his face contorted. “What is this? Your ship is on a collision course.”
“It seems to be, yes,” said D.G. “That is the fastest way of making delivery.”
“You will destroy your ship.”
“And yours, too. Your ship is at least fifty times as expensive as mine, probably more. A poor exchange for Aurora.”
“But you are engaging in combat in Earth space, Captain. Your customs do not allow that.”
“Ah, you know our customs and you take advantage of them.—But I am not in combat. I have not fired an erg of energy and I won’t. I am merely following a trajectory. That trajectory happens to intersect your position, but since I am sure you will move before that intersection movement arrives, it is clear that I intend no violence.”
“Stop. Let’s talk about this.”
“I’m tired of talking, Commander. Shall we all say a fond farewell? If you don’t move, I will be giving up perhaps four decades with the third and fourth not so good, anyway. How many will you be giving up?” And D.G. moved out of focus and stayed out.
A beam of radiation shot out from the Auroran ship tentative, as though to test whether the other’s shields were truly up. They were.
Ship’s shields would hold against electromagnetic radiation and subatomic particles, including even neutrinos, and could withstand the kinetic energy of small masses—dust particles, even meteoric gravel. The shields could not withstand larger kinetic energies, such as that of an entire ship hurtling at it with supermeteoric speed.
Even dangerous masses, if not guided—a meteoroid, for instance—could be handled. A vessel’s computers would automatically veer the ship out of the way of any oncoming meteoroid that was too large for the shield to handle. That, however, would not work against a ship that could veer as its target veered. And if the Settler ship was the smaller of the two, it was also the more maneuverable.
There was only one way that the Auroran ship could avoid destruction—
D.G. watched the other ship visibly enlarging in his viewing panel and wondered if Gladia, in her cabin, knew what was going on. She must be aware of the acceleration, despite the hydraulic suspension of her cabin ~ and the compensatory action of the pseudo-gravity field.
And then the other ship simply winked out of view, having jumped away, and D.G., with considerable chagrin, realized he was holding his breath and that his heart was racing. Had he had no confidence in the protecting influence of Earth or in his own sure diagnosis of the situation?
D.G. spoke into the transmitter in a voice that, with iron resolution, he forced into coolness. “Well done, men! Correct course and head for Earth.”
16. THE CITY
80
Gladia said, “Are you serious, D.G.? You really intended to collide with the ship?”
“Not at all,” said D.G. indifferently. “I wasn’t expecting to. I merely lunged at them, knowing they would retreat. Those Spacers weren’t going to risk their long, wonderful lives when they could easily preserve them.”
“Those Spacers? What cowards they are.”
D.G. cleared his throat. “I keep forgetting you’re a Spacer, Gladia.”
“Yes—and I imagine you think that that is a compliment to me. What if they had been as foolish as you—if they had shown the childish madness you think of as bravery and stayed in place? What would you have done?”
D.G. muttered, “Hit them.”
“And then we would all have died.”
“The transaction would have been in our favor, Gladia. One crummy old Trader ship from a Settler world for a new and advanced warship, of the leading Spacer world.”
D.G. tipped his chair back against the wall and put his hands behind his neck (amazing how comfortable he felt, now that it was all over). “I once saw a historical hyperdrama, in which, toward the end of the war, airplanes loaded with explosives were deliberately flown into much more expensive seaships in order to sink them. Of course, the pilot of each airplane lost his life.”
“That was fiction,” said Gladia. “You don’t suppose civilized people do things like that in real life, do you?”
“Why not? If the cause is good enough.”
“What was it, then, you felt as you plunged toward a glorious death? Exaltation? You were hurtling all your crew toward the same death.”
“They knew about it. We could do nothing else. Earth was watching.”
“The people on Earth didn’t even know.”
“I mean it metaphorically. We were in Earth space. We could not act ignobly.”
“Oh, what nonsense! And you risked my life, too.”
D.G. looked down at his boots. “Would you like to hear something crazy? That was the only thing that bothered me.”
“That I would die?”
“Not quite. That I would lose you.—When that ship ordered me to give you up, I knew I wouldn’t—even if you asked me to. I would gladly ram them instead; they couldn’t have you. And then, as I watched their ship expand in the viewscreen, I thought, “If they don’t get out of here, I’ll lose her anyway, and that’s when my heart started to pound and I began to sweat. I knew they’d run, and still the thought—” He shook his head.
Gladia frowned. “I don’t understand you. You weren’t worrying about my dying, but you were worried about losing me? Don’t the two go together?”
“I know. I’m not saying it’s rational. I thought of you rushing at the overseer to save me when you knew it could murder you with a blow. I thought of you facing the crowd at Baleyworld and talking them down when you had never even seen a crowd before. I even thought of you going to Aurora when you were a young woman and learning a new way of life—and surviving.—And it seemed to me I didn’t mind dying, I just minded losing you. You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”
Gladia said thoughtfully, “Have you forgotten my age? I was just about as old as I am now when you were born. When I was your age, I used to dream of your remote Ancestor. What’s more, I’ve got an artificial hip joint. My left thumb—this one right here”—she wiggled it—”is strictly prosthetic. Some of my nerves have been rebuilt. My teeth are all implanted ceramic. And you talk as though any moment you’re going to confess a transcendent passion. For what?—For whom?—Think, D.G.!—Look at me and see me as I am!”
D.G. tilted his chair back on two legs and rubbed at his beard with an odd scraping sound. “All right. You’ve made me sound silly, but I’m going to keep right on. What I know about your age is that you’re going to survive me and look scarcely any older when you do, so you’re younger than I am, not older. Besides, I don’t care if you are older. What I would like is for you to stay with me wherever I go—for all my life, if possible.”
Gladia was about to speak, but D.G. intervened hastily, “Or, if it seems more convenient, for me to stay with you wherever you go—for all my life, if possible.—If it’s all right with you.”
Gladia said softly, “I’m a Spacer. You’re a Settler.”
“Who cares, Gladia? Do you?”
“I mean, there’s no question of children. I’ve had mine.”
“What difference does that make to me! There’s no danger of the name Baley dying out.”
“I have a task of my own. I intend to bring peace to the Galaxy.”
“I’ll help you.”
“And your trading? Will you give up your chance to be rich?”
“We’ll do some together. Just enough to keep my crew happy and to help me support you in your task as peacebringer.”
“Life will be dull for you, D.G.”
“Will it? It seems to me that since you joined me it’s been too exciting.”
“And you’ll probably insist on my giving up my robots.”
D.G. looked distressed. “Is that why you’ve been trying to talk me out of this? I wouldn’t mind your keeping the two of them—even Daneel and his small lecherous smile but if we’re going to live among Settlers—”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to try to find the courage to do it.”
She laughed, gently and so did D.G. He held out his arms to her and she placed her hands in his.
She said, “You’re mad. I’m mad. But everything has been so strange since the evening I looked up at the sky in Aurora and, tried to find Solaria’s sun that I suppose being mad is the only possible response to things.”
“What you’ve just said isn’t only mad,” said D.G., “it’s crazy, but that’s the way I want you to be.” He hesitated. “No, I’ll wait. I’ll shave my beard before I try to kiss you. That will lower the chances of infection.”
“No, don’t! I’m curious about how it might feel.”
And she promptly found out.
81
Commander Lisiform strode back and forth across the length of his cabin. He said, “There was no use losing the ship. No use at all.”
His political adviser sat quietly in his chair. His eyes did not bother to follow the agitated and rapid to-and-fro movement of the other. “Yes, of course,” he said.
“What have the barbarians to lose? They only live a few decades, in any case. Life means nothing to them.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Still, I’ve never seen or heard of a Settler ship doing that. It may be a new—fanatical tactic and we have no defense against it. What if they send drone ships against us, with shields up and full momentum but no human beings aboard?”
“We might robotify our ships entirely.”
“That wouldn’t help. We couldn’t afford to lose the ship. What we need is the shield knife they keep talking about. Something that will slice through a shield.”
“Then they’ll develop one, too, and we will have to devise a knife-proof shield, and so will they, and it will be a standoff again at a higher level.”
“We need something completely new, then.”
“Well,” said the adviser, “maybe something will turn up. Your mission wasn’t primarily the matter of the Solarian woman and her robots, was it? It would have been pleasant if we could have forced them out of the Settler ship, but that was secondary, wasn’t it?”
“The Council isn’t going to like it, just the same.”
“It’s my job to take care of that. The important fact is that Amadiro and Mandamus left the ship and are on their way to Earth in a good speedy ferry.”
“Well, yes.”
“And you not only distracted the Settler ship but delayed it as well. That means Amadiro and Mandamus not only left the ship unnoticed, but they will be on Earth before our barbarian captain will.”
“I suppose so. But what of that?”
“I wonder. If it were only Mandamus, I would dismiss the matter. He’s of no consequence. But Amadiro? To abandon the political wars back home at a difficult time and come to Earth? Something absolutely crucial must be going on here.”
“What?” The commander seemed annoyed that he should be so nearly—and so all-but-fatally—involved in something of which he understood nothing.
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Do you suppose it might be secret negotiations at the highest level for some sort of overall modification of the peace settlement Fastolfe had negotiated?”
The adviser smiled. “Peace settlement? If you think that, you don’t know our Dr. Amadiro. He wouldn’t travel to Earth in order to modify a clause or two in a peace settlement. What he’s after is a Galaxy without Settlers and if he comes to Earth—well, all I can say is that I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of the Settler barbarians at this time.”
82
“I trust, friend Giskard,” said Daneel, “that Madam Gladia is not uneasy at being without us. Can you tell at her distance?”
“I can detect her mind faintly but unmistakably, friend Daneel. She is with the captain and there is a distinct overlay of excitement and joy.”
“Excellent, friend Giskard.”
“Less excellent for myself, friend Daneel. I find myself in a state of some disorder. I have been under a great strain.”
“It distresses me to hear that, friend Giskard. May I ask the reason?”
“We have been here for some time while the captain negotiated with the Auroran ship.”
“Yes, but the Auroran ship is now gone, apparently, so that the captain seems to have negotiated to good effect.”
“He has done so in a manner of which you were apparently not aware. I was—to an extent. Though the captain was not here with us, I had little trouble sensing his mind. It exuded overwhelming tension and suspense and underneath that a gathering and strengthening sense of loss.”
“Loss, friend Giskard? Were you able to determine of what that loss might consist?”
“I cannot describe my method of analysis of such things, but the loss did not seem to be the type of loss I have, in the past associated with generalities or with inanimate objects. It had the touch—that is not the word, but there is no other that fits even vaguely—of the loss of a specific person.
“Lady Gladia.”
“Yes.”
“That would be natural, friend Giskard. He was faced with the possibility of having to give her up to the Auroran vessel.”
“It was too intense for that. Too wailing.”
“Too wailing?”
“It is the only word I can think of in this connection. There was a stressful mourning associated with the sense of loss. It was not as though Lady Gladia would move elsewhere and be unavailable for that reason. That might, after all, be corrected at some future time. It was as though Lady Gladia would cease existing—would die—and be forever unavailable.”
“He felt, then, that the Aurorans would kill her? Surely that is not possible.”
“Indeed, not possible. And that is not it. I felt a thread of a sense of personal responsibility associated with the deep, deep fear of loss. I searched other minds on board ship and, putting it all together, I came to the suspicion that the captain was deliberately charging his ship into the Auroran vessel.”
“That, too, is not possible, friend Giskard,” said Daneel in a low voice.
“I had to accept it. My first impulse was to alter the captain’s emotional makeup in such a way as to force him to change course, but I could not. His mind was so firmly set, so saturated with determination and—despite the suspense, tension, and dread of loss—so filled with confidence of success—”
“How could there be at once a dread of loss through death and a feeling of confidence of success?”
“Friend Daneel, I have given up marveling at the capacity of the human mind to maintain two opposing emotions simultaneously. I merely accept it. In this case, to have attempted to alter the captain’s mind to the point of turning the ship from its course would have killed him. I could not do that.”
“But if you did not, friend Giskard, scores of human beings on this ship, including Madam Gladia, and several hundreds more on the Auroran vessel would die.”
“They might not die if the captain were correct in his feeling of confidence in success. I could not bring about one certain death to prevent many merely probable ones. There is the difficulty, friend Daneel, in your Zeroth Law. The First Law deals with specific individuals and certainties. Your Zeroth Law deals with vague groups and probabilities.”
“The human beings on board these ships are not vague groups. They are many specific individuals taken together.”
“Yet when I must make a decision it is the specific individual I am about to influence directly whose fate must count with me. I cannot help that.”
“What was it you did do, then, friend Giskard—or were you completely helpless?”
“In my desperation, friend Daneel, I attempted to contact the commander of the Auroran vessel after a small Jump had brought him quite close to us. I could not. The distance was too great. And yet the attempt was not altogether a failure. I did detect something, the equivalent of a faint hum. I puzzled over it a short while before realizing I was receiving the overall sensation of the minds of all the human beings on board the Auroran vessel. I had to filter out that faint hum from the much more prominent sensations arising from our own vessel—a difficult task.”
Daneel said, “Nearly impossible, I should think, friend, Giskard.”
“As you say, nearly impossible, but I managed it with an enormous effort. However, try as I might, I could make out no individual minds.—When Madam Gladia faced the large numbers of human beings in her audience on Baleyworld, I sensed an anarchic confusion of a vast jumble of minds, but I managed to pick out individual minds here and there for a moment or two. That was not so on this occasion.”
Giskard paused, as though lost in his memory of the sensation.
Daneel said, “I imagine this must be analogous to the manner in which we see individual stars even among large groups of them, when the whole is comparatively close to us. In a distant galaxy, however, we cannot make out individual stars but can see only a faintly luminous fog.”
“That strikes me as a good analogy, friend Daneel.—And as I concentrated on the faint but distant hum, it seemed to me that I could detect a very dim wash of fear permeating it. I was not sure of this, but I felt I had to try to take advantage of it. I had never attempted to exert influence over anything so far away, over anything as inchoate as a mere hum—but I tried desperately to increase that fear by however small a trifle. I cannot say whether I succeeded.”
“The Auroran vessel fled. You must have succeeded.”
“Not necessarily. The vessel might have fled if I had done nothing.”
Daneel seemed lost in thought. “It might. If our captain were so confident that it would flee—”
Giskard said, “On the other hand, I cannot be sure that there was a rational basis to that confidence. It seemed to me that what I detected was intermixed with a feeling of awe and reverence for Earth. The confidence I sensed was rather similar to the kind I have detected in young children toward their protectors—parental or otherwise. I had the feeling that the captain believed he could not fail in the neighborhood of Earth because of the influence of Earth. I wouldn’t say the feeling was exactly irrational, but it felt nonrational, in any case.”
“You are undoubtedly right in this, friend Giskard. The captain has, in our hearing, spoken of Earth, on occasion, in a reverential manner. Since Earth cannot truly influence the success of an action through any mystical influence, it is quite possible to suppose that your influence was indeed successfully exerted. And moreover—”
Giskard, his eyes glowing dimly, said, “Of what are you thinking, friend Daneel?”
“I have been thinking of the supposition that the individual human being is concrete while humanity is abstract. When you detected that faint hum from the Auroran ship, you were not detecting an individual, but a portion of humanity. Could you not, if you were at a proper distance from Earth and if the background noise were sufficiently small, detect the hum of the mental activity of Earth’s human population, overall? And, extending that, can one not imagine that in the Galaxy generally there is the hum of the mental activity of all of humanity? How, then, is humanity an abstraction? It is something you can point to. Think of that in connection with the Zeroth Law and you will see that the extension of the Laws of Robotics is a justified one—justified by your own experience.”
There was a long pause and finally Giskard said, slowly as though it were being dragged out of him, “You may be right friend Daneel.—And yet, if we are landing on Earth now, with a Zeroth Law we may be able to use, we still don’t know how we might use it. It seems to us, so far, that the crisis that Earth faces involves the use of a nuclear intensifier, but as far as we know, there is nothing of significance on Earth on which a nuclear intensifier can do its work. What, then, will we do on Earth?”
“I do not as yet know,” said Daneel sadly.
83
Noise!
Gladia listened in astonishment. It didn’t hurt her ears. It wasn’t the sound of surface slashing on surface. It wasn’t a piercing shriek, or a clamor, or a banging, or—anything that could be expressed by an onomatopoetic word.
It was softer and less overwhelming, rising and falling, bearing within it an occasional irregularity—and always there.
D.G. watched her listening, cocking her head to this side and that, and said, “I call it the ‘Drone of the City,’ Gladia.
“Does it ever stop?”
“Never, really, but what can you expect? Haven’t you ever stood in a field and heard the wind rustling the leaves and insects stridulating and birds calling, and water running. That never stops.”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s the same. The sound here is the melting together of the rumble of machinery and the various noises people make, but the principle is precisely the same as the natural nonhuman noises of a field. You’re used to fields, so you don’t hear the noise there. You’re not used to this, so you hear it and probably find it annoying. Earthpeople don’t hear it except on the rare occasions when they come fresh in from the countryside—and then they are very glad indeed to greet it. Tomorrow you won’t hear it either.”
Gladia looked about thoughtfully from their position on a small balcony. “So many buildings!”
“That’s true enough. Structures in every direction stretching outward for miles. And up—and down, too. This is not just a city, in the fashion of Aurora or Baleyworld. It is a City—capital ‘C’—of the kind that exists only on Earth.”
“These are the Caves of Steel,” said Gladia. “I know. We’re underground, aren’t we?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I must tell you that it took me time to get used to this sort of thing the first time I visited Earth. Wherever you go in a City, it looks like a crowded city scene. Walkways and roadways and storefronts and mobs of people, with the soft and universal lights of fluorescents making everything seem bathed in soft shadowless sunshine—but it isn’t sunshine and, up above the surface, I don’t know if the sun is really shining at the moment, or is covered by clouds, or is absent altogether, leaving this part of the world plunged in night and darkness.”
“It makes the City enclosed. People breathe each other’s air.”
“We do anyway—on any world—anywhere.”
“Not like this.” She sniffed. “It smells.”
“Every world smells. Every City on Earth smells differently. You’ll get used to it.”
“Do I want to? Why don’t people suffocate?”
“Excellent ventilation.”
“What happens when it breaks down?”
“It never does.”
Gladia looked about again and said. “Every building seems loaded with balconies.”
“It’s a sign of status. Very few people have apartments facing out and if they do have one they want the advantage of it. Most Citypeople live inside windowless apartments.”
Gladia shuddered, “Horrible! What’s the name of this City, D.G.?”
“It’s New York. It’s the chief City, but not the largest. On this continent, Mexico City and Los Angeles are the largest and there are Cities larger than New York on other continents.”
“What makes New York the chief City, then?”
“The usual reason. The Global Government is located here. The United Nations.”
“Nations?” She pointed her finger triumphantly at D.G. “Earth was divided into several independent political units. Right?”
“Right. Dozens of them. But that was before hyperspatial. Travel prehyper times. The name remains, though. That’s what’s wonderful about Earth. It’s frozen history. Every other world is new and shallow. Only Earth is humanity in its essence.”
D.G. said it in a hushed whisper and then retreated back into the room. It was not a large one and its furnishings were skimpy.
Gladia said, disappointed, “Why isn’t there anyone about?”
D.G. laughed. “Don’t worry, dear. If it’s parades and attention you want, you’ll have them. It’s just that I asked them to leave us alone for a while. I want a little peace and rest and I imagine you do, too. As for my men, they have to berth the ship, clean it up, renew supplies, tend to their devotions—”
“Women?”
“No, that’s not what I mean, though I suppose women will play a role later. By devotions, I mean that Earth still has its religions and these comfort the men somehow. Here on Earth, anyway. It seems to have more meaning here.”
“Well,” said Gladia half-contemptuously. “Frozen history, as you say.—Do you suppose we can get out of the building and walk about a bit?”
“Take my advice, Gladia, and don’t jump into that sort of thing just now. You’ll get plenty of it when the ceremonies begin.”
“But that will be so formal. Could we skip the ceremonies?”
“No chance at all. Since you insisted on making yourself a heroine on Baleyworld, you’ll have to be one on Earth as well. Still, the ceremonies will be through eventually. When you recover from them, we will get a guide and we’ll really see the City.”
“Will we have any trouble taking my robots with us?” She gestured toward Daneel and Giskard at the other end of the room. “I don’t mind being without them when I’m with you on the ship, but if I’m going to be with crowds of strangers I’ll feel more secure having them with me.”
“There’ll be no problem with Daneel, certainly. He’s a hero in his own right. He was the Ancestor’s partner and he passes for human. Giskard, who is an obvious robot, should, in theory, not be allowed inside the City borders, but they’ve made an exception in his case and I hope they will continue to do so. It is too bad, in a way, that we must wait here and can’t step outside.”
“You say I should not be exposed to all that noise just yet,” said Gladia.
“No, no. I’m not referring to the public squares and roadways. I would just like to take you out into the corridors within this particular building. There are miles and miles of them literally—and they’re a small bit of City in themselves: shopping recesses, dining halls, amusement areas, Personals, elevators, transways, and so on. There’s more color and variety on one floor in one building in one City on Earth than in a whole Settler town or in a whole Spacer world.”
“I should think everyone would get lost.”
“Of course not. Everyone knows his own neighborhood here, as anywhere else. Even strangers need only follow the signs.”
“I suppose all the walking, that people are forced to do must be very good for them physically,” said Gladia dubiously.
“Socially, too. There are people in the corridors at all times and the convention is that you stop to exchange words with anyone you know and that you greet even those you don’t know. Nor is walking absolutely necessary. There are elevators everywhere for vertical travel. The main corridors are transways and move for horizontal travel. Outside the building, of course, there is a feeder line to the Expressway network. That’s something. You’ll get to ride it.”
“I’ve heard of them. They have strips that you walk across and that drag you along faster and faster—or slower and slower—as you move from one to another. I couldn’t do that. Don’t ask me to.”
“Of course you’ll be able to do it,” said D.G. genially. “I’ll help you. If necessary, I’ll carry you, but all it takes is a little practice. Among the Earthpeople, kindergarten children manage and so do old people with canes. I admit Settlers tend to be clumsy about it. I’m no miracle of grace myself, but I manage and so will you.”
Gladia heaved an enormous sigh. “Well, then, I’ll try if I have to. But I tell you what, D.G., dear. We must have a reasonably quiet room for the night. I want your ‘Drone of the City’ muted.”
“That can be arranged, I’m sure.”
“And I don’t want to have to eat in the Section kitchens.”
D.G. looked doubtful. “We can arrange to have food brought in, but really it would do you good to participate in the social life of Earth. I’ll be with you, after all.”
“Maybe after a while, D.G., but not just at first—and I want a Personal for myself.”
“Oh, no, that’s impossible. There’ll be a washbasin and a toilet bowl in any room they assign us because we have status, but if you intend to do any serious showering or bathing, you’ll have to follow the crowd. There’ll be a woman to introduce you to the procedure and you’ll be assigned a stall or whatever it is they have there. You won’t be embarrassed. Settler women have to be introduced to the use of Personals, every day of the year.—And you may end up enjoying it, Gladia. They tell me that the Women’s Personal is a place of much activity and fun. In the Men’s Personal, on the other hand, not a word is allowed spoken. Very dull.”
“It’s all horrible,” muttered Gladia. “How do you stand the lack of privacy?”
“On a crowded world, needs must,” said D.G. lightly. “What you’ve never had, you never miss.—Do you want any other aphorisms?”
“Not really,” said Gladia.
She looked dejected and D.G. put an arm about her shoulder. “Come, it won’t be as bad as you think. I promise you.”
84
It was not exactly a nightmare, but Gladia was thankful to her earlier experience on Baleyworld for having given her a preview of what was now a veritable ocean of humanity. The crowds were much larger here in New York than they had been on the Settler world, but on the other hand, she was more insulated from the herd here than she had been on the earlier occasion.
The government officials were clearly anxious to be seen with her. There was a wordless, polite struggle for a position near enough to her to be seen with her on hypervision. It isolated her, not only from the crowds on the other side of the police lines, but from D.G. and from her two robots. It also subjected her to a kind of polite jostling from people who seemed to have an eye only on the camera.
She listened to what seemed innumerable speeches, all mercifully brief, without really listening. She smiled periodically, both blandly and blindly, casting the vision of her implanted teeth in all directions indiscriminately.
Gladia went by ground-car through miles of passageways at a crawl, while an uncounted ant heap lined the walkways, cheering and waving as she passed. (She wondered if ever a Spacer had received such adulation from Earthpeople and was quite confident that her own case was entirely unprecedented.)
At one point, Gladia caught sight of a distant knot of people gathered round a hypervision screen and momentarily had an undoubted glimpse of herself upon it. They were listening, she knew, to a recording of her speech on Baleyworld. Gladia wondered how many times and in how many places and before how many people it was being played now, and how many times it had been played since she gave it, and how many times it would yet be played in the future, and whether anything at all had been heard of it on the Spacer worlds.
Might she, in fact, seem a traitor to the people of Aurora and would this reception be held to be proof of it?
She might—and it might—and she was beyond caring. She had her mission of peace and reconciliation and she would follow it wherever it led without complaint—even to the unbelievable orgy of mass bathing and shrilly unconscious exhibitionism in the Women’s Personal that morning. (Well, without much complaint.)
They came to one of the Expressways that D.G. had mentioned, and Gladia gazed in open horror at the endless snake of passenger cars that passed—and passed—and passed—each with its load of people who were on business that could not be postponed for the motorcade (or who simply didn’t want to be bothered) and who stared solemnly at the crowds and the procession for the few moments they remained in sight.
Then the ground-car plunged downward under the Expressway, through a short tunnel that in no way differed, from the passage above (the City was all tunnel), and up again on the other side.
And eventually the motorcade came to an end at a large public building that was mercifully more attractive than the endlessly repetitious blocks that represented the units of the City’s residential section.
Within the building, there was yet another reception, during which alcoholic drinks and various hors d’oeuvres were served. Gladia fastidiously touched neither. A thousand people milled about and an endless succession of them came up to speak to Gladia. The word had apparently gone out not to offer to shake hands, but some inevitably did, and, trying not to hesitate, Gladia would briefly place two fingers on the hand and then withdraw them.
Eventually, a number of women prepared to leave for the nearest Personal and one of them performed what was obviously a social ritual and tactfully asked Gladia if she would like to accompany them. Gladia didn’t, but there might be a long night ahead and might be more embarrassing to have to interrupt it later.
Within the Personal, there was the usual excited laughing and chattering and Gladia, bowing to the exigencies of the situation and fortified by her experience that morning, made use of the facilities in a small chamber with partitions on either side, but with none in front of her.
No one seemed to mind and Gladia tried to remind herself she must adjust to local customs. At least the place was well-ventilated and seemed spotlessly clean.
Though out, Daneel and Giskard had been ignored. This, Gladia realized, was a kindness. Robots were no longer allowed within City limits, though there were millions in the countryside without. To have made a point of the presence of Daneel and Giskard would have meant raising the legal issue that involved. It was easier to pretend, tactfully, that they weren’t there.
Once the banquet began, they sat quietly at a table with D.G., not too far removed from the dais. At the dais, Gladia sat, eating sparingly and wondering if the food would give her dysentery.
D.G., perhaps not entirely pleased with his relegation to the post of keeper of the robots, kept staring restlessly in Gladia’s direction and, occasionally, she lifted one hand and smiled at him.
Giskard, equally watchful of Gladia, had an opportunity to say to Daneel very quietly, under cover of the relentless and unending background clash of cutlery and babble, “Friend Daneel, these are high officials that sit here in this room. It is possible that one or more may have information of use to us.”
“It is possible, friend Giskard. Can you, thanks to your abilities, guide me in this respect?”
“I cannot. The mental background yields me no specific emotional response of interest. Nor does the occasional flash among the nearest show me anything. Yet the climax of the crisis is, I am certain, approaching quickly, even as we sit here, idle.”
Daneel said gravely, “I will try to do as Partner Elijah would have done and force the pace.”
85
Daneel was not eating. He watched the assemblage with his calm eyes and located the one he was searching for. Quietly, he rose and moved toward another table, his eyes on a woman who was managing to eat briskly and yet maintain a cheerful conversation with the man on her left. She was a stocky woman, with short hair that showed definite traces of gray. Her face, if not youthful, was pleasant.
Daneel waited for a natural break in the conversation and when that did not come, he said with an effort, “Madam, may I interrupt?”
She looked up at him, startled and plainly displeased. “Yes,” she said rather briskly, “what is it?”
“Madam,” said Daneel, “I ask your pardon for this interruption, but may I have your permission to speak with you for a time?”
She stared at him, frowning for a moment, and then her expression softened. She said, “I should guess, from your excessive politeness, that you’re the robot, aren’t you?”
“I am one of Madam Gladia’s robots, madam.”
“Yes, but you’re the human one. You’re R. Daneel Olivaw.”
“That is my name, madam.”
The woman turned to the man on her left and said, “Please excuse me. I can’t very well refuse this—robot.”
Her neighbor smiled uncertainly and transferred his attention to the place before him.
The woman said to Daneel, “If you have a chair, why don’t you bring it here? I will be glad to speak to you.”
“Thank you, madam.”
When Daneel had returned and seated himself, she said, “You are really R. Daneel Olivaw, aren’t you?”
“That is my name, madam,” said Daneel, again.
“I mean the one who worked with Elijah Baley long ago. You’re not a new model of the same line? You’re not R. Daneel the Fourth or something like that?”
Daneel said, “Mere is little of me that has not been replaced in the past twenty decades—or even modernized and improved but my positronic brain is the same as it was when I worked with Partner Elijah on three different worlds—and once on a spaceship. It has not been altered.”
“Well!” She looked at—him admiringly. “You’re certainly a good job. If all robots were like you, I’d see no objection to them whatever.—What is it you want to talk to me about?”
“When you were introduced to Lady Gladia, madam, before we all took our seats, you were presented to her as the Undersecretary of Energy, Sophia Quintana.”
“You remember well. That is my name and my office.”
“Does the office refer to all of Earth or merely to the city?”
“I’m Global Undersecretary, I assure you.”
“Then you are knowledgeable in the field of energetics?”
Quintana smiled. She did not seem to object to being questioned. Perhaps she thought it amusing or perhaps she found herself attracted to Daneel’s air of deferential gravity or to the mere fact that a robot could question her so. In any case, she said with a smile, “I majored in energetics at the University of California and have a master’s degree in it. As to how knowledgeable I still am, I’m not certain. I’ve spent too many years as an administrator—something that saps one’s brains, I assure you.”
“But you would be well acquainted with the practical aspects of Earth’s present energy supply, would you not?”
“Yes. That I will admit to. Is there something you want to know about it?”
“There is something that piques my curiosity, madam.”
“Curiosity? In a robot?”
Daneel bowed his head. “If a robot is complex enough, he can be aware of something within himself that seeks information. This is analogous to what I have observed to be called ‘curiosity’ in human beings and I take the liberty of using the same word in connection with my own feelings.”
“Fair enough. What are you curious about, R. Daneel? May I call you that?”
“Yes, madam. I understand that Earth’s energy supply is drawn from solar power stations in geostationary orbit in Earth’s equatorial plane.”
“You understand correctly.”
“But are these power stations the sole energy supply of this planet?”
“No. They are the primary—but not the sole—energy supply. There is considerable use of energy from Earth’s internal heat, from winds, waves, tides, flowing water, and so on. We have quite a complex mix and each variety has its advantages. Solar energy is the mainstay, however.”
“You make no mention of nuclear energy, madam. Are there no uses for microfusion?”
Quintana raised her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re curious about, R. Daneel?”
“Yes, madam. What is the reason for the absence of nuclear power sources on Earth?”
“They are not absent, R. Daneel. On a small scale, one comes across it. Our robots—we have many in the countryside, you know—are micro fusionized. Are you, by the way?”
Daneel said, “Yes, madam.”
“Then, too,” she went on, “there are microfusionized machines here and there, but the total is quite trifling.”
“Is it not true, Madam Quintana, that microfusion energy sources are sensitive to the action of nuclear intensifiers?”
“They certainly are. Yes, of course. The microfusion power source will blow up and I suppose that comes under the heading of being sensitive.”
“Then it isn’t possible for someone, using a nuclear intensifier, to seriously cripple some crucial portion of Earth’s energy supply?”
Quintana laughed. “No, of course not. In the first place, I don’t see anyone dragging a nuclear intensifier about from place to place. They weigh tons and I don’t think they can be maneuvered through and along the streets and corridors of a City. Certainly, it would be noticed if anyone tried. And then, even if a nuclear intensifier were brought into play, all it could do would be to destroy a few robots and a few machines before the thing would be discovered and stopped. There is no chance at all—zero—of our being hurt in that way. Is that the reassurance you wanted, R. Daneel?”
It was almost a dismissal.
Daneel said, “There are just one or two small points I would like clarified, Madam Quintana. Why is there no large microfusion source on Earth? The Spacer worlds all depend on microfusion and so do all the Settler worlds. Microfusion is portable, versatile, and cheap—and doesn’t require the enormous effort of maintenance, repair, and replacement that space structures do.”
“And, as you said, R. Daneel, they are sensitive to nuclear intensifiers.”
“And, as you said, Madam Quintana, nuclear intensifiers are too large and bulky to be of much use.”
Quintana smiled broadly and nodded. “You are very intelligent, R. Daneel,” she said. “It never occurred to me that I would ever sit at a table and carry on a discussion like this with a robot. Your Auroran roboticists are very clever too clever—for I fear to carry on this discussion. I’d have to worry about you taking my place in the government. You know, we do have a legend about a robot named Stephen Byerly taking a high post in the government.”
“That must be merely fiction, Madam Quintana,” said Daneel gravely. “There are no robots in governmental posts on any of the Spacer worlds. We are merely—robots.”
“I’m relieved to hear that and will therefore go on. The matter of differences in power sources has its roots in history. At the time that hyperspatial travel was developed, we had microfusion, so that people leaving Earth took microfusion power sources with them. It was necessary on spaceships and on planets, too, in the generations during which they were being adapted for human occupation. It takes many years to build an adequate complex of solar power stations—and rather than undertake such a task, the emigrants remained with microfusion. So it was with the Spacer’s in their time, and so it is now with the Settlers.
“On Earth, however, microfusion and solar power in space were developed at roughly the same time and both were used more and more. Finally, we could make our choice and use either microfusion or solar power or, of course, both. And we chose solar power.”
Daneel said, “That seems strange to me, Madam Quintana. Why not both?”
“Actually, that’s not a very difficult question to answer, R. Daneel. Earth, in prehyperspatial days, had had experience with a primitive form of nuclear energy, and it wasn’t a happy experience. When the time came to choose between solar power and microfusion, Earthpeople saw microfusion as a form of nuclear energy and turned away from it. Other worlds, which did not have our direct experience with the primitive form of nuclear energy, had no reason to turn away from microfusion.”
“May I ask what this primitive form of nuclear energy to which you refer might be, madam?”
“Uranium fission,” said Quintana. “It’s completely different from microfusion. Fission involves the splitting of massive nuclei, such as those of uranium. Microfusion involves the joining of light nuclei, such as those of hydrogen. They’re both forms of nuclear energy, however.”
“I presume that uranium would be the fuel for fission devices.”
“Yes—or other massive nuclei, such as those of thorium or plutonium.”
“But uranium and these others are exceedingly rare metals. Could they support a fission-using society?”
“Those elements are rare on other worlds. On Earth, they are not exactly common, but neither are they terribly rare. Uranium and thorium are widely spread in the crust in small quantities and are concentrated in a few places.”
“And are there any fission-power devices on Earth now, madam?”
“No,” said Quintana flatly. “Nowhere and in no fashion. Human beings would far sooner burn oil—or even wood—than fission uranium. The very word ‘uranium’ is taboo in polite society. You wouldn’t be asking me these questions or I giving you these answers if you were a human being and an Earthman.”
Daneel persisted. “But are you certain, madam? Is there no secret device that makes use of fission that, for the sake of national security—”
“No, robot,” said Quintana, frowning. “I tell you—no such device. None!”
Daneel rose. “I thank you, madam, and I ask your pardon for taking your time and for probing what would seem to be a sensitive subject. With your permission, I shall leave you now.”
Quintana waved a careless hand. “You’re welcome, R. Daneel.”
She turned again to her neighbor, secure in the knowledge that in the crowds of Earth, people never attempted to overhear a nearby conversation or, if they did, never admitted the fact. She said, “Would you imagine having a discussion on energetics with a robot?”
As for Daneel, he returned to his original place and said softly to Giskard, “Nothing, friend Giskard. Nothing helpful.”
Then he added sadly, “Perhaps I asked the wrong questions. Partner Elijah would have asked the right ones.”
80
Gladia said, “Are you serious, D.G.? You really intended to collide with the ship?”
“Not at all,” said D.G. indifferently. “I wasn’t expecting to. I merely lunged at them, knowing they would retreat. Those Spacers weren’t going to risk their long, wonderful lives when they could easily preserve them.”
“Those Spacers? What cowards they are.”
D.G. cleared his throat. “I keep forgetting you’re a Spacer, Gladia.”
“Yes—and I imagine you think that that is a compliment to me. What if they had been as foolish as you—if they had shown the childish madness you think of as bravery and stayed in place? What would you have done?”
D.G. muttered, “Hit them.”
“And then we would all have died.”
“The transaction would have been in our favor, Gladia. One crummy old Trader ship from a Settler world for a new and advanced warship, of the leading Spacer world.”
D.G. tipped his chair back against the wall and put his hands behind his neck (amazing how comfortable he felt, now that it was all over). “I once saw a historical hyperdrama, in which, toward the end of the war, airplanes loaded with explosives were deliberately flown into much more expensive seaships in order to sink them. Of course, the pilot of each airplane lost his life.”
“That was fiction,” said Gladia. “You don’t suppose civilized people do things like that in real life, do you?”
“Why not? If the cause is good enough.”
“What was it, then, you felt as you plunged toward a glorious death? Exaltation? You were hurtling all your crew toward the same death.”
“They knew about it. We could do nothing else. Earth was watching.”
“The people on Earth didn’t even know.”
“I mean it metaphorically. We were in Earth space. We could not act ignobly.”
“Oh, what nonsense! And you risked my life, too.”
D.G. looked down at his boots. “Would you like to hear something crazy? That was the only thing that bothered me.”
“That I would die?”
“Not quite. That I would lose you.—When that ship ordered me to give you up, I knew I wouldn’t—even if you asked me to. I would gladly ram them instead; they couldn’t have you. And then, as I watched their ship expand in the viewscreen, I thought, “If they don’t get out of here, I’ll lose her anyway, and that’s when my heart started to pound and I began to sweat. I knew they’d run, and still the thought—” He shook his head.
Gladia frowned. “I don’t understand you. You weren’t worrying about my dying, but you were worried about losing me? Don’t the two go together?”
“I know. I’m not saying it’s rational. I thought of you rushing at the overseer to save me when you knew it could murder you with a blow. I thought of you facing the crowd at Baleyworld and talking them down when you had never even seen a crowd before. I even thought of you going to Aurora when you were a young woman and learning a new way of life—and surviving.—And it seemed to me I didn’t mind dying, I just minded losing you. You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”
Gladia said thoughtfully, “Have you forgotten my age? I was just about as old as I am now when you were born. When I was your age, I used to dream of your remote Ancestor. What’s more, I’ve got an artificial hip joint. My left thumb—this one right here”—she wiggled it—”is strictly prosthetic. Some of my nerves have been rebuilt. My teeth are all implanted ceramic. And you talk as though any moment you’re going to confess a transcendent passion. For what?—For whom?—Think, D.G.!—Look at me and see me as I am!”
D.G. tilted his chair back on two legs and rubbed at his beard with an odd scraping sound. “All right. You’ve made me sound silly, but I’m going to keep right on. What I know about your age is that you’re going to survive me and look scarcely any older when you do, so you’re younger than I am, not older. Besides, I don’t care if you are older. What I would like is for you to stay with me wherever I go—for all my life, if possible.”
Gladia was about to speak, but D.G. intervened hastily, “Or, if it seems more convenient, for me to stay with you wherever you go—for all my life, if possible.—If it’s all right with you.”
Gladia said softly, “I’m a Spacer. You’re a Settler.”
“Who cares, Gladia? Do you?”
“I mean, there’s no question of children. I’ve had mine.”
“What difference does that make to me! There’s no danger of the name Baley dying out.”
“I have a task of my own. I intend to bring peace to the Galaxy.”
“I’ll help you.”
“And your trading? Will you give up your chance to be rich?”
“We’ll do some together. Just enough to keep my crew happy and to help me support you in your task as peacebringer.”
“Life will be dull for you, D.G.”
“Will it? It seems to me that since you joined me it’s been too exciting.”
“And you’ll probably insist on my giving up my robots.”
D.G. looked distressed. “Is that why you’ve been trying to talk me out of this? I wouldn’t mind your keeping the two of them—even Daneel and his small lecherous smile but if we’re going to live among Settlers—”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to try to find the courage to do it.”
She laughed, gently and so did D.G. He held out his arms to her and she placed her hands in his.
She said, “You’re mad. I’m mad. But everything has been so strange since the evening I looked up at the sky in Aurora and, tried to find Solaria’s sun that I suppose being mad is the only possible response to things.”
“What you’ve just said isn’t only mad,” said D.G., “it’s crazy, but that’s the way I want you to be.” He hesitated. “No, I’ll wait. I’ll shave my beard before I try to kiss you. That will lower the chances of infection.”
“No, don’t! I’m curious about how it might feel.”
And she promptly found out.
81
Commander Lisiform strode back and forth across the length of his cabin. He said, “There was no use losing the ship. No use at all.”
His political adviser sat quietly in his chair. His eyes did not bother to follow the agitated and rapid to-and-fro movement of the other. “Yes, of course,” he said.
“What have the barbarians to lose? They only live a few decades, in any case. Life means nothing to them.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Still, I’ve never seen or heard of a Settler ship doing that. It may be a new—fanatical tactic and we have no defense against it. What if they send drone ships against us, with shields up and full momentum but no human beings aboard?”
“We might robotify our ships entirely.”
“That wouldn’t help. We couldn’t afford to lose the ship. What we need is the shield knife they keep talking about. Something that will slice through a shield.”
“Then they’ll develop one, too, and we will have to devise a knife-proof shield, and so will they, and it will be a standoff again at a higher level.”
“We need something completely new, then.”
“Well,” said the adviser, “maybe something will turn up. Your mission wasn’t primarily the matter of the Solarian woman and her robots, was it? It would have been pleasant if we could have forced them out of the Settler ship, but that was secondary, wasn’t it?”
“The Council isn’t going to like it, just the same.”
“It’s my job to take care of that. The important fact is that Amadiro and Mandamus left the ship and are on their way to Earth in a good speedy ferry.”
“Well, yes.”
“And you not only distracted the Settler ship but delayed it as well. That means Amadiro and Mandamus not only left the ship unnoticed, but they will be on Earth before our barbarian captain will.”
“I suppose so. But what of that?”
“I wonder. If it were only Mandamus, I would dismiss the matter. He’s of no consequence. But Amadiro? To abandon the political wars back home at a difficult time and come to Earth? Something absolutely crucial must be going on here.”
“What?” The commander seemed annoyed that he should be so nearly—and so all-but-fatally—involved in something of which he understood nothing.
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Do you suppose it might be secret negotiations at the highest level for some sort of overall modification of the peace settlement Fastolfe had negotiated?”
The adviser smiled. “Peace settlement? If you think that, you don’t know our Dr. Amadiro. He wouldn’t travel to Earth in order to modify a clause or two in a peace settlement. What he’s after is a Galaxy without Settlers and if he comes to Earth—well, all I can say is that I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of the Settler barbarians at this time.”
82
“I trust, friend Giskard,” said Daneel, “that Madam Gladia is not uneasy at being without us. Can you tell at her distance?”
“I can detect her mind faintly but unmistakably, friend Daneel. She is with the captain and there is a distinct overlay of excitement and joy.”
“Excellent, friend Giskard.”
“Less excellent for myself, friend Daneel. I find myself in a state of some disorder. I have been under a great strain.”
“It distresses me to hear that, friend Giskard. May I ask the reason?”
“We have been here for some time while the captain negotiated with the Auroran ship.”
“Yes, but the Auroran ship is now gone, apparently, so that the captain seems to have negotiated to good effect.”
“He has done so in a manner of which you were apparently not aware. I was—to an extent. Though the captain was not here with us, I had little trouble sensing his mind. It exuded overwhelming tension and suspense and underneath that a gathering and strengthening sense of loss.”
“Loss, friend Giskard? Were you able to determine of what that loss might consist?”
“I cannot describe my method of analysis of such things, but the loss did not seem to be the type of loss I have, in the past associated with generalities or with inanimate objects. It had the touch—that is not the word, but there is no other that fits even vaguely—of the loss of a specific person.
“Lady Gladia.”
“Yes.”
“That would be natural, friend Giskard. He was faced with the possibility of having to give her up to the Auroran vessel.”
“It was too intense for that. Too wailing.”
“Too wailing?”
“It is the only word I can think of in this connection. There was a stressful mourning associated with the sense of loss. It was not as though Lady Gladia would move elsewhere and be unavailable for that reason. That might, after all, be corrected at some future time. It was as though Lady Gladia would cease existing—would die—and be forever unavailable.”
“He felt, then, that the Aurorans would kill her? Surely that is not possible.”
“Indeed, not possible. And that is not it. I felt a thread of a sense of personal responsibility associated with the deep, deep fear of loss. I searched other minds on board ship and, putting it all together, I came to the suspicion that the captain was deliberately charging his ship into the Auroran vessel.”
“That, too, is not possible, friend Giskard,” said Daneel in a low voice.
“I had to accept it. My first impulse was to alter the captain’s emotional makeup in such a way as to force him to change course, but I could not. His mind was so firmly set, so saturated with determination and—despite the suspense, tension, and dread of loss—so filled with confidence of success—”
“How could there be at once a dread of loss through death and a feeling of confidence of success?”
“Friend Daneel, I have given up marveling at the capacity of the human mind to maintain two opposing emotions simultaneously. I merely accept it. In this case, to have attempted to alter the captain’s mind to the point of turning the ship from its course would have killed him. I could not do that.”
“But if you did not, friend Giskard, scores of human beings on this ship, including Madam Gladia, and several hundreds more on the Auroran vessel would die.”
“They might not die if the captain were correct in his feeling of confidence in success. I could not bring about one certain death to prevent many merely probable ones. There is the difficulty, friend Daneel, in your Zeroth Law. The First Law deals with specific individuals and certainties. Your Zeroth Law deals with vague groups and probabilities.”
“The human beings on board these ships are not vague groups. They are many specific individuals taken together.”
“Yet when I must make a decision it is the specific individual I am about to influence directly whose fate must count with me. I cannot help that.”
“What was it you did do, then, friend Giskard—or were you completely helpless?”
“In my desperation, friend Daneel, I attempted to contact the commander of the Auroran vessel after a small Jump had brought him quite close to us. I could not. The distance was too great. And yet the attempt was not altogether a failure. I did detect something, the equivalent of a faint hum. I puzzled over it a short while before realizing I was receiving the overall sensation of the minds of all the human beings on board the Auroran vessel. I had to filter out that faint hum from the much more prominent sensations arising from our own vessel—a difficult task.”
Daneel said, “Nearly impossible, I should think, friend, Giskard.”
“As you say, nearly impossible, but I managed it with an enormous effort. However, try as I might, I could make out no individual minds.—When Madam Gladia faced the large numbers of human beings in her audience on Baleyworld, I sensed an anarchic confusion of a vast jumble of minds, but I managed to pick out individual minds here and there for a moment or two. That was not so on this occasion.”
Giskard paused, as though lost in his memory of the sensation.
Daneel said, “I imagine this must be analogous to the manner in which we see individual stars even among large groups of them, when the whole is comparatively close to us. In a distant galaxy, however, we cannot make out individual stars but can see only a faintly luminous fog.”
“That strikes me as a good analogy, friend Daneel.—And as I concentrated on the faint but distant hum, it seemed to me that I could detect a very dim wash of fear permeating it. I was not sure of this, but I felt I had to try to take advantage of it. I had never attempted to exert influence over anything so far away, over anything as inchoate as a mere hum—but I tried desperately to increase that fear by however small a trifle. I cannot say whether I succeeded.”
“The Auroran vessel fled. You must have succeeded.”
“Not necessarily. The vessel might have fled if I had done nothing.”
Daneel seemed lost in thought. “It might. If our captain were so confident that it would flee—”
Giskard said, “On the other hand, I cannot be sure that there was a rational basis to that confidence. It seemed to me that what I detected was intermixed with a feeling of awe and reverence for Earth. The confidence I sensed was rather similar to the kind I have detected in young children toward their protectors—parental or otherwise. I had the feeling that the captain believed he could not fail in the neighborhood of Earth because of the influence of Earth. I wouldn’t say the feeling was exactly irrational, but it felt nonrational, in any case.”
“You are undoubtedly right in this, friend Giskard. The captain has, in our hearing, spoken of Earth, on occasion, in a reverential manner. Since Earth cannot truly influence the success of an action through any mystical influence, it is quite possible to suppose that your influence was indeed successfully exerted. And moreover—”
Giskard, his eyes glowing dimly, said, “Of what are you thinking, friend Daneel?”
“I have been thinking of the supposition that the individual human being is concrete while humanity is abstract. When you detected that faint hum from the Auroran ship, you were not detecting an individual, but a portion of humanity. Could you not, if you were at a proper distance from Earth and if the background noise were sufficiently small, detect the hum of the mental activity of Earth’s human population, overall? And, extending that, can one not imagine that in the Galaxy generally there is the hum of the mental activity of all of humanity? How, then, is humanity an abstraction? It is something you can point to. Think of that in connection with the Zeroth Law and you will see that the extension of the Laws of Robotics is a justified one—justified by your own experience.”
There was a long pause and finally Giskard said, slowly as though it were being dragged out of him, “You may be right friend Daneel.—And yet, if we are landing on Earth now, with a Zeroth Law we may be able to use, we still don’t know how we might use it. It seems to us, so far, that the crisis that Earth faces involves the use of a nuclear intensifier, but as far as we know, there is nothing of significance on Earth on which a nuclear intensifier can do its work. What, then, will we do on Earth?”
“I do not as yet know,” said Daneel sadly.
83
Noise!
Gladia listened in astonishment. It didn’t hurt her ears. It wasn’t the sound of surface slashing on surface. It wasn’t a piercing shriek, or a clamor, or a banging, or—anything that could be expressed by an onomatopoetic word.
It was softer and less overwhelming, rising and falling, bearing within it an occasional irregularity—and always there.
D.G. watched her listening, cocking her head to this side and that, and said, “I call it the ‘Drone of the City,’ Gladia.
“Does it ever stop?”
“Never, really, but what can you expect? Haven’t you ever stood in a field and heard the wind rustling the leaves and insects stridulating and birds calling, and water running. That never stops.”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s the same. The sound here is the melting together of the rumble of machinery and the various noises people make, but the principle is precisely the same as the natural nonhuman noises of a field. You’re used to fields, so you don’t hear the noise there. You’re not used to this, so you hear it and probably find it annoying. Earthpeople don’t hear it except on the rare occasions when they come fresh in from the countryside—and then they are very glad indeed to greet it. Tomorrow you won’t hear it either.”
Gladia looked about thoughtfully from their position on a small balcony. “So many buildings!”
“That’s true enough. Structures in every direction stretching outward for miles. And up—and down, too. This is not just a city, in the fashion of Aurora or Baleyworld. It is a City—capital ‘C’—of the kind that exists only on Earth.”
“These are the Caves of Steel,” said Gladia. “I know. We’re underground, aren’t we?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I must tell you that it took me time to get used to this sort of thing the first time I visited Earth. Wherever you go in a City, it looks like a crowded city scene. Walkways and roadways and storefronts and mobs of people, with the soft and universal lights of fluorescents making everything seem bathed in soft shadowless sunshine—but it isn’t sunshine and, up above the surface, I don’t know if the sun is really shining at the moment, or is covered by clouds, or is absent altogether, leaving this part of the world plunged in night and darkness.”
“It makes the City enclosed. People breathe each other’s air.”
“We do anyway—on any world—anywhere.”
“Not like this.” She sniffed. “It smells.”
“Every world smells. Every City on Earth smells differently. You’ll get used to it.”
“Do I want to? Why don’t people suffocate?”
“Excellent ventilation.”
“What happens when it breaks down?”
“It never does.”
Gladia looked about again and said. “Every building seems loaded with balconies.”
“It’s a sign of status. Very few people have apartments facing out and if they do have one they want the advantage of it. Most Citypeople live inside windowless apartments.”
Gladia shuddered, “Horrible! What’s the name of this City, D.G.?”
“It’s New York. It’s the chief City, but not the largest. On this continent, Mexico City and Los Angeles are the largest and there are Cities larger than New York on other continents.”
“What makes New York the chief City, then?”
“The usual reason. The Global Government is located here. The United Nations.”
“Nations?” She pointed her finger triumphantly at D.G. “Earth was divided into several independent political units. Right?”
“Right. Dozens of them. But that was before hyperspatial. Travel prehyper times. The name remains, though. That’s what’s wonderful about Earth. It’s frozen history. Every other world is new and shallow. Only Earth is humanity in its essence.”
D.G. said it in a hushed whisper and then retreated back into the room. It was not a large one and its furnishings were skimpy.
Gladia said, disappointed, “Why isn’t there anyone about?”
D.G. laughed. “Don’t worry, dear. If it’s parades and attention you want, you’ll have them. It’s just that I asked them to leave us alone for a while. I want a little peace and rest and I imagine you do, too. As for my men, they have to berth the ship, clean it up, renew supplies, tend to their devotions—”
“Women?”
“No, that’s not what I mean, though I suppose women will play a role later. By devotions, I mean that Earth still has its religions and these comfort the men somehow. Here on Earth, anyway. It seems to have more meaning here.”
“Well,” said Gladia half-contemptuously. “Frozen history, as you say.—Do you suppose we can get out of the building and walk about a bit?”
“Take my advice, Gladia, and don’t jump into that sort of thing just now. You’ll get plenty of it when the ceremonies begin.”
“But that will be so formal. Could we skip the ceremonies?”
“No chance at all. Since you insisted on making yourself a heroine on Baleyworld, you’ll have to be one on Earth as well. Still, the ceremonies will be through eventually. When you recover from them, we will get a guide and we’ll really see the City.”
“Will we have any trouble taking my robots with us?” She gestured toward Daneel and Giskard at the other end of the room. “I don’t mind being without them when I’m with you on the ship, but if I’m going to be with crowds of strangers I’ll feel more secure having them with me.”
“There’ll be no problem with Daneel, certainly. He’s a hero in his own right. He was the Ancestor’s partner and he passes for human. Giskard, who is an obvious robot, should, in theory, not be allowed inside the City borders, but they’ve made an exception in his case and I hope they will continue to do so. It is too bad, in a way, that we must wait here and can’t step outside.”
“You say I should not be exposed to all that noise just yet,” said Gladia.
“No, no. I’m not referring to the public squares and roadways. I would just like to take you out into the corridors within this particular building. There are miles and miles of them literally—and they’re a small bit of City in themselves: shopping recesses, dining halls, amusement areas, Personals, elevators, transways, and so on. There’s more color and variety on one floor in one building in one City on Earth than in a whole Settler town or in a whole Spacer world.”
“I should think everyone would get lost.”
“Of course not. Everyone knows his own neighborhood here, as anywhere else. Even strangers need only follow the signs.”
“I suppose all the walking, that people are forced to do must be very good for them physically,” said Gladia dubiously.
“Socially, too. There are people in the corridors at all times and the convention is that you stop to exchange words with anyone you know and that you greet even those you don’t know. Nor is walking absolutely necessary. There are elevators everywhere for vertical travel. The main corridors are transways and move for horizontal travel. Outside the building, of course, there is a feeder line to the Expressway network. That’s something. You’ll get to ride it.”
“I’ve heard of them. They have strips that you walk across and that drag you along faster and faster—or slower and slower—as you move from one to another. I couldn’t do that. Don’t ask me to.”
“Of course you’ll be able to do it,” said D.G. genially. “I’ll help you. If necessary, I’ll carry you, but all it takes is a little practice. Among the Earthpeople, kindergarten children manage and so do old people with canes. I admit Settlers tend to be clumsy about it. I’m no miracle of grace myself, but I manage and so will you.”
Gladia heaved an enormous sigh. “Well, then, I’ll try if I have to. But I tell you what, D.G., dear. We must have a reasonably quiet room for the night. I want your ‘Drone of the City’ muted.”
“That can be arranged, I’m sure.”
“And I don’t want to have to eat in the Section kitchens.”
D.G. looked doubtful. “We can arrange to have food brought in, but really it would do you good to participate in the social life of Earth. I’ll be with you, after all.”
“Maybe after a while, D.G., but not just at first—and I want a Personal for myself.”
“Oh, no, that’s impossible. There’ll be a washbasin and a toilet bowl in any room they assign us because we have status, but if you intend to do any serious showering or bathing, you’ll have to follow the crowd. There’ll be a woman to introduce you to the procedure and you’ll be assigned a stall or whatever it is they have there. You won’t be embarrassed. Settler women have to be introduced to the use of Personals, every day of the year.—And you may end up enjoying it, Gladia. They tell me that the Women’s Personal is a place of much activity and fun. In the Men’s Personal, on the other hand, not a word is allowed spoken. Very dull.”
“It’s all horrible,” muttered Gladia. “How do you stand the lack of privacy?”
“On a crowded world, needs must,” said D.G. lightly. “What you’ve never had, you never miss.—Do you want any other aphorisms?”
“Not really,” said Gladia.
She looked dejected and D.G. put an arm about her shoulder. “Come, it won’t be as bad as you think. I promise you.”
84
It was not exactly a nightmare, but Gladia was thankful to her earlier experience on Baleyworld for having given her a preview of what was now a veritable ocean of humanity. The crowds were much larger here in New York than they had been on the Settler world, but on the other hand, she was more insulated from the herd here than she had been on the earlier occasion.
The government officials were clearly anxious to be seen with her. There was a wordless, polite struggle for a position near enough to her to be seen with her on hypervision. It isolated her, not only from the crowds on the other side of the police lines, but from D.G. and from her two robots. It also subjected her to a kind of polite jostling from people who seemed to have an eye only on the camera.
She listened to what seemed innumerable speeches, all mercifully brief, without really listening. She smiled periodically, both blandly and blindly, casting the vision of her implanted teeth in all directions indiscriminately.
Gladia went by ground-car through miles of passageways at a crawl, while an uncounted ant heap lined the walkways, cheering and waving as she passed. (She wondered if ever a Spacer had received such adulation from Earthpeople and was quite confident that her own case was entirely unprecedented.)
At one point, Gladia caught sight of a distant knot of people gathered round a hypervision screen and momentarily had an undoubted glimpse of herself upon it. They were listening, she knew, to a recording of her speech on Baleyworld. Gladia wondered how many times and in how many places and before how many people it was being played now, and how many times it had been played since she gave it, and how many times it would yet be played in the future, and whether anything at all had been heard of it on the Spacer worlds.
Might she, in fact, seem a traitor to the people of Aurora and would this reception be held to be proof of it?
She might—and it might—and she was beyond caring. She had her mission of peace and reconciliation and she would follow it wherever it led without complaint—even to the unbelievable orgy of mass bathing and shrilly unconscious exhibitionism in the Women’s Personal that morning. (Well, without much complaint.)
They came to one of the Expressways that D.G. had mentioned, and Gladia gazed in open horror at the endless snake of passenger cars that passed—and passed—and passed—each with its load of people who were on business that could not be postponed for the motorcade (or who simply didn’t want to be bothered) and who stared solemnly at the crowds and the procession for the few moments they remained in sight.
Then the ground-car plunged downward under the Expressway, through a short tunnel that in no way differed, from the passage above (the City was all tunnel), and up again on the other side.
And eventually the motorcade came to an end at a large public building that was mercifully more attractive than the endlessly repetitious blocks that represented the units of the City’s residential section.
Within the building, there was yet another reception, during which alcoholic drinks and various hors d’oeuvres were served. Gladia fastidiously touched neither. A thousand people milled about and an endless succession of them came up to speak to Gladia. The word had apparently gone out not to offer to shake hands, but some inevitably did, and, trying not to hesitate, Gladia would briefly place two fingers on the hand and then withdraw them.
Eventually, a number of women prepared to leave for the nearest Personal and one of them performed what was obviously a social ritual and tactfully asked Gladia if she would like to accompany them. Gladia didn’t, but there might be a long night ahead and might be more embarrassing to have to interrupt it later.
Within the Personal, there was the usual excited laughing and chattering and Gladia, bowing to the exigencies of the situation and fortified by her experience that morning, made use of the facilities in a small chamber with partitions on either side, but with none in front of her.
No one seemed to mind and Gladia tried to remind herself she must adjust to local customs. At least the place was well-ventilated and seemed spotlessly clean.
Though out, Daneel and Giskard had been ignored. This, Gladia realized, was a kindness. Robots were no longer allowed within City limits, though there were millions in the countryside without. To have made a point of the presence of Daneel and Giskard would have meant raising the legal issue that involved. It was easier to pretend, tactfully, that they weren’t there.
Once the banquet began, they sat quietly at a table with D.G., not too far removed from the dais. At the dais, Gladia sat, eating sparingly and wondering if the food would give her dysentery.
D.G., perhaps not entirely pleased with his relegation to the post of keeper of the robots, kept staring restlessly in Gladia’s direction and, occasionally, she lifted one hand and smiled at him.
Giskard, equally watchful of Gladia, had an opportunity to say to Daneel very quietly, under cover of the relentless and unending background clash of cutlery and babble, “Friend Daneel, these are high officials that sit here in this room. It is possible that one or more may have information of use to us.”
“It is possible, friend Giskard. Can you, thanks to your abilities, guide me in this respect?”
“I cannot. The mental background yields me no specific emotional response of interest. Nor does the occasional flash among the nearest show me anything. Yet the climax of the crisis is, I am certain, approaching quickly, even as we sit here, idle.”
Daneel said gravely, “I will try to do as Partner Elijah would have done and force the pace.”
85
Daneel was not eating. He watched the assemblage with his calm eyes and located the one he was searching for. Quietly, he rose and moved toward another table, his eyes on a woman who was managing to eat briskly and yet maintain a cheerful conversation with the man on her left. She was a stocky woman, with short hair that showed definite traces of gray. Her face, if not youthful, was pleasant.
Daneel waited for a natural break in the conversation and when that did not come, he said with an effort, “Madam, may I interrupt?”
She looked up at him, startled and plainly displeased. “Yes,” she said rather briskly, “what is it?”
“Madam,” said Daneel, “I ask your pardon for this interruption, but may I have your permission to speak with you for a time?”
She stared at him, frowning for a moment, and then her expression softened. She said, “I should guess, from your excessive politeness, that you’re the robot, aren’t you?”
“I am one of Madam Gladia’s robots, madam.”
“Yes, but you’re the human one. You’re R. Daneel Olivaw.”
“That is my name, madam.”
The woman turned to the man on her left and said, “Please excuse me. I can’t very well refuse this—robot.”
Her neighbor smiled uncertainly and transferred his attention to the place before him.
The woman said to Daneel, “If you have a chair, why don’t you bring it here? I will be glad to speak to you.”
“Thank you, madam.”
When Daneel had returned and seated himself, she said, “You are really R. Daneel Olivaw, aren’t you?”
“That is my name, madam,” said Daneel, again.
“I mean the one who worked with Elijah Baley long ago. You’re not a new model of the same line? You’re not R. Daneel the Fourth or something like that?”
Daneel said, “Mere is little of me that has not been replaced in the past twenty decades—or even modernized and improved but my positronic brain is the same as it was when I worked with Partner Elijah on three different worlds—and once on a spaceship. It has not been altered.”
“Well!” She looked at—him admiringly. “You’re certainly a good job. If all robots were like you, I’d see no objection to them whatever.—What is it you want to talk to me about?”
“When you were introduced to Lady Gladia, madam, before we all took our seats, you were presented to her as the Undersecretary of Energy, Sophia Quintana.”
“You remember well. That is my name and my office.”
“Does the office refer to all of Earth or merely to the city?”
“I’m Global Undersecretary, I assure you.”
“Then you are knowledgeable in the field of energetics?”
Quintana smiled. She did not seem to object to being questioned. Perhaps she thought it amusing or perhaps she found herself attracted to Daneel’s air of deferential gravity or to the mere fact that a robot could question her so. In any case, she said with a smile, “I majored in energetics at the University of California and have a master’s degree in it. As to how knowledgeable I still am, I’m not certain. I’ve spent too many years as an administrator—something that saps one’s brains, I assure you.”
“But you would be well acquainted with the practical aspects of Earth’s present energy supply, would you not?”
“Yes. That I will admit to. Is there something you want to know about it?”
“There is something that piques my curiosity, madam.”
“Curiosity? In a robot?”
Daneel bowed his head. “If a robot is complex enough, he can be aware of something within himself that seeks information. This is analogous to what I have observed to be called ‘curiosity’ in human beings and I take the liberty of using the same word in connection with my own feelings.”
“Fair enough. What are you curious about, R. Daneel? May I call you that?”
“Yes, madam. I understand that Earth’s energy supply is drawn from solar power stations in geostationary orbit in Earth’s equatorial plane.”
“You understand correctly.”
“But are these power stations the sole energy supply of this planet?”
“No. They are the primary—but not the sole—energy supply. There is considerable use of energy from Earth’s internal heat, from winds, waves, tides, flowing water, and so on. We have quite a complex mix and each variety has its advantages. Solar energy is the mainstay, however.”
“You make no mention of nuclear energy, madam. Are there no uses for microfusion?”
Quintana raised her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re curious about, R. Daneel?”
“Yes, madam. What is the reason for the absence of nuclear power sources on Earth?”
“They are not absent, R. Daneel. On a small scale, one comes across it. Our robots—we have many in the countryside, you know—are micro fusionized. Are you, by the way?”
Daneel said, “Yes, madam.”
“Then, too,” she went on, “there are microfusionized machines here and there, but the total is quite trifling.”
“Is it not true, Madam Quintana, that microfusion energy sources are sensitive to the action of nuclear intensifiers?”
“They certainly are. Yes, of course. The microfusion power source will blow up and I suppose that comes under the heading of being sensitive.”
“Then it isn’t possible for someone, using a nuclear intensifier, to seriously cripple some crucial portion of Earth’s energy supply?”
Quintana laughed. “No, of course not. In the first place, I don’t see anyone dragging a nuclear intensifier about from place to place. They weigh tons and I don’t think they can be maneuvered through and along the streets and corridors of a City. Certainly, it would be noticed if anyone tried. And then, even if a nuclear intensifier were brought into play, all it could do would be to destroy a few robots and a few machines before the thing would be discovered and stopped. There is no chance at all—zero—of our being hurt in that way. Is that the reassurance you wanted, R. Daneel?”
It was almost a dismissal.
Daneel said, “There are just one or two small points I would like clarified, Madam Quintana. Why is there no large microfusion source on Earth? The Spacer worlds all depend on microfusion and so do all the Settler worlds. Microfusion is portable, versatile, and cheap—and doesn’t require the enormous effort of maintenance, repair, and replacement that space structures do.”
“And, as you said, R. Daneel, they are sensitive to nuclear intensifiers.”
“And, as you said, Madam Quintana, nuclear intensifiers are too large and bulky to be of much use.”
Quintana smiled broadly and nodded. “You are very intelligent, R. Daneel,” she said. “It never occurred to me that I would ever sit at a table and carry on a discussion like this with a robot. Your Auroran roboticists are very clever too clever—for I fear to carry on this discussion. I’d have to worry about you taking my place in the government. You know, we do have a legend about a robot named Stephen Byerly taking a high post in the government.”
“That must be merely fiction, Madam Quintana,” said Daneel gravely. “There are no robots in governmental posts on any of the Spacer worlds. We are merely—robots.”
“I’m relieved to hear that and will therefore go on. The matter of differences in power sources has its roots in history. At the time that hyperspatial travel was developed, we had microfusion, so that people leaving Earth took microfusion power sources with them. It was necessary on spaceships and on planets, too, in the generations during which they were being adapted for human occupation. It takes many years to build an adequate complex of solar power stations—and rather than undertake such a task, the emigrants remained with microfusion. So it was with the Spacer’s in their time, and so it is now with the Settlers.
“On Earth, however, microfusion and solar power in space were developed at roughly the same time and both were used more and more. Finally, we could make our choice and use either microfusion or solar power or, of course, both. And we chose solar power.”
Daneel said, “That seems strange to me, Madam Quintana. Why not both?”
“Actually, that’s not a very difficult question to answer, R. Daneel. Earth, in prehyperspatial days, had had experience with a primitive form of nuclear energy, and it wasn’t a happy experience. When the time came to choose between solar power and microfusion, Earthpeople saw microfusion as a form of nuclear energy and turned away from it. Other worlds, which did not have our direct experience with the primitive form of nuclear energy, had no reason to turn away from microfusion.”
“May I ask what this primitive form of nuclear energy to which you refer might be, madam?”
“Uranium fission,” said Quintana. “It’s completely different from microfusion. Fission involves the splitting of massive nuclei, such as those of uranium. Microfusion involves the joining of light nuclei, such as those of hydrogen. They’re both forms of nuclear energy, however.”
“I presume that uranium would be the fuel for fission devices.”
“Yes—or other massive nuclei, such as those of thorium or plutonium.”
“But uranium and these others are exceedingly rare metals. Could they support a fission-using society?”
“Those elements are rare on other worlds. On Earth, they are not exactly common, but neither are they terribly rare. Uranium and thorium are widely spread in the crust in small quantities and are concentrated in a few places.”
“And are there any fission-power devices on Earth now, madam?”
“No,” said Quintana flatly. “Nowhere and in no fashion. Human beings would far sooner burn oil—or even wood—than fission uranium. The very word ‘uranium’ is taboo in polite society. You wouldn’t be asking me these questions or I giving you these answers if you were a human being and an Earthman.”
Daneel persisted. “But are you certain, madam? Is there no secret device that makes use of fission that, for the sake of national security—”
“No, robot,” said Quintana, frowning. “I tell you—no such device. None!”
Daneel rose. “I thank you, madam, and I ask your pardon for taking your time and for probing what would seem to be a sensitive subject. With your permission, I shall leave you now.”
Quintana waved a careless hand. “You’re welcome, R. Daneel.”
She turned again to her neighbor, secure in the knowledge that in the crowds of Earth, people never attempted to overhear a nearby conversation or, if they did, never admitted the fact. She said, “Would you imagine having a discussion on energetics with a robot?”
As for Daneel, he returned to his original place and said softly to Giskard, “Nothing, friend Giskard. Nothing helpful.”
Then he added sadly, “Perhaps I asked the wrong questions. Partner Elijah would have asked the right ones.”
17. THE ASSASSIN
86
Secretary-General Edgar Andrev, chief executive of Earth, was a rather tall and imposing man, clean-shaven in the Spacer style. He moved always in a measured fashion, as though on constant display, and he had a twinkling way about him as though he was always very pleased with himself. His voice was a bit too high-pitched for his body but it fell well short of being squeaky. Without seeming obdurate, he was not easily swayed.
And he wasn’t this time. “Impossible,” he said firmly to D.G. “She must make her appearance.”
“She’s had a hard day, Secretary-General,” said D.G. “She is not accustomed to crowds or to these surroundings. I am responsible to Baleyworld for her well-being and my personal honor is at stake.”
“I appreciate your position,” said Andrev, “but I represent, and I cannot deny Earthpeople their view of her. The corridors are filled, the hyperwave channels are ready, and I would not be able to hide her, even if I desperately wished to do so. After this—and how long can it last? Half an hour?—she can retire and she need not I make another appearance till her speech tomorrow night.”
“Her comfort must be cared for,” said D.G., tacitly abandoning his position. “She has to be kept at some distance from the crowd.”
“There will be a cordon of security guards that will give her ample breathing space. The front row of the crowd will be kept well back. They’re out there now. If we don’t announce that she will soon appear, there might well be disorder.
D.G. said, “It shouldn’t have been arranged. It isn’t safe. There are Earthpeople who aren’t fond of Spacers.”
The Secretary-General shrugged. “I wish you could tell me how I could possibly have kept it from being arranged. At the present moment she is a heroine and she cannot be withheld. Nor will anyone offer her anything but cheers for the moment. But if she doesn’t appear, that will change. Now, let us go.”
D.G. backed away discontentedly. He caught Gladia’s eye. She looked tired and more than a little unhappy.
He said, “You must, Gladia. There’s no way out.”
For a moment, she stared down at her hands as though wondering if they could do anything to protect her, then she straightened herself and lifted her chin—a small Spacer amid this horde of barbarians. “If I must, I must. Will you remain with me?”
“Unless they remove me physically.”
“And my robots?”
D.G. hesitated. “Gladia, how will two robots be able to help you in the midst of millions of human beings?”
“I know, D.G. And I also know that I will have to do without them eventually if I am to continue this mission of mine. But not just yet, please. For the moment, I will feel safer with them, whether that makes sense or not. If these Earth officials want me to acknowledge the crowd, to smile, to wave, to do whatever it is I am supposed to do, the presence of Daneel and Giskard will comfort me.—Look, D.G., giving in to them on a very big thing, even though I am so uneasy that I think nothing would be so nice as to run away. Let them give in to me on this very little thing.”
“I’ll try,” said D.G., in clear discouragement and, as he stepped toward Andrev, Giskard moved quietly with him.
A few minutes later, when Gladia, surrounded by a carefully picked contingent of officials, moved forward toward an open balcony, D.G. remained a little behind Gladia, flanked on his left by Giskard and on his right by Daneel.
The Secretary-General had said ruefully, “All right, all right. I don’t know how you managed to make me agree, but all right.” He rubbed his forehead, aware of a small vague ache in his right temple. For some reason he caught Giskard’s eye and turned away with a stifled shudder. “But you must keep them motionless, Captain, remember. And please keep the one that looks like a robot as unobtrusive as you can. He makes me uneasy and I don’t want people any more aware of him than they have to be.”
D.G. said, “They will be looking at Gladia, Secretary General. They will see no one else.”
“I hope so,” said Andrev waspishly. He paused to take a message capsule someone placed in his hand. He put it into his pocket, then walked on and didn’t think of it again till they had reached the balcony.
87
To Gladia, it seemed that each time she moved into another scene, it grew worse—more people, more noise, more confusing light, more invasion of every sense perception.
There was shouting. She could hear her own name being shouted out. With difficulty, she overcame her own tendency to retreat and become immobile. She lifted her arm and waved it and smiled and the shouting became louder, someone began to speak, his voice booming out over the loudspeaker system, his image on a large screen high above them so that it could be visible to all the crowd. Undoubtedly, it was also visible on innumerable screens in innumerable meeting halls in every Section of every City on the planet.
Gladia sighed with relief at having someone else in the spotlight. She tried to shrink within herself and let the sound of the speaker distract the attention of the crowd.
Secretary-General Andrev, seeking cover under the voice, even as Gladia did, was rather thankful that, in giving precedence to Gladia, it had not seemed necessary for him to speak on this occasion. He suddenly remembered the message he had pocketed.
He frowned in sudden disturbance over what it might be that warranted the interruption of so important a ceremony and then experienced a reverse feeling of intense irritation over the fact that it would probably prove to be utterly unimportant.
He pressed the ball of his right thumb hard, against the slight concavity, designed to accept the pressure and the capsule opened. He removed the thin piece of plastipaper, read the message it contained, and then watched it crumble and fragment. He brushed away the impalpable powder that remained and gestured imperiously to D.G.
It was scarcely necessary to whisper under the conditions of the vast and continuing noise in the square.
Andrev said, “You said you encountered an Auroran war vessel within the space of the Solar System.”
“Yes—and I imagine Earth’s sensors detected it.”
“Of course they did. You said there were no hostile actions on either side.”
“No weapon was used. They demanded Madam Gladia and her robots. I refused and they left. I explained all this.”
“How long did it all take?”
“Not very long. Several hours.”
“You mean that Aurora sent a warship just to argue back and forth with you for a couple of hours and then leave.”
D.G. shrugged. “Secretary General, I don’t know their motivations. I can only report what happened.”
The Secretary-General stared at him haughtily. “But you do not report all that happened. The information of the sensors has now been thoroughly analyzed by computer and it would seem that you attacked.”
“I did not fire a kilowatt of energy, sir.”
“Have you considered kinetic energy? You used the ship itself as a projectile.”
“So it may have seemed to them. They did not choose to withstand me and call, what might have been a bluff.”
“But was it a bluff?”
“It might have been.”
“It seems to me, Captain, that you were ready to destroy two ships inside the Solar System and perhaps create a war crisis. That was a terrible chance to take.”
“I did not think it would come to actual destruction and it didn’t.”
“But, the whole process delayed you and occupied your attention.”
“Yes, I suppose so, but why are you pointing this out?”
“Because our sensors did observe one thing you did not observe—or, at any rate, did not report.”
“What might that be, Secretary-General?”
“It caught the launching of an orbital module, which seems to have had two human beings on board and which descended toward Earth.”
The two were immersed in a world of their own. No other human being on the balcony was paying any attention to them. Only the two robots flanking D.G. were staring at them and listening.
It was at this point that the speaker ceased, his last words being, “Lady Gladia, born a Spacer on the world of Solaria, living as a Spacer on the world of Aurora, but becoming a Citizen of the Galaxy on the Settler world of Baleyworld.” He turned to her and gestured expansively, “Lady Gladia—”
The sound of the crowd became a long, happy rumble and the many-headed crowd became a forest of waving arms. Gladia felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and heard a voice in her ear that said, “Please. A few words, my lady.”
Gladia said weakly, “People of Earth.” The words boomed out and, uncannily, silence fell. Gladia said again, more, firmly, “People of Earth, I stand before you a human being as you are. A bit older, I admit, so that I lack your youth, your hopefulness, your capacity for enthusiasm. My misfortune is tempered at this moment, however, by the fact that in your presence I feel myself catching your fire, so that the cloak of age falls away—”
Applause swelled and someone on the balcony said to someone else, “She’s making them happy they’re shortlived. That Spacer woman has the impudence of a devil.”
Andrev was not paying attention. He said to D.G., “The whole episode with you may have been a device to get those men on Earth.”
D.G. said, “I had no way of knowing that. I could think of very little else but saving Lady Gladia and my ship. Where have they landed?”
“We don’t know. They have not landed in any of the City spaceports.”
D.G. said, “I guess they wouldn’t.”
“Not that it matters,” said the Secretary-General, “except, to give me passing annoyance. Over the past several years, there have been a number of landings of this sort, though none so carefully prepared. Nothing’s ever happened and we pay no attention. Earth, after all, is an open world. It is humanity’s home and any person from any world can come and go freely—even Spacers, if they wish.”
D.G. rubbed his beard with a rasping noise. “And yet their intentions might not be to do us any good whatever.”
(Gladia was saying, “I wish you all well on this world of human origin, on this well-packed special world, and in this marvel of a City—” and acknowledged the gathering applause with a smile and a wave as she stood there and allowed the enthusiasm to catch—and gather.)
Andrev raised his voice, to be heard over the clamor of the crowd. “Whatever their intentions, it can come to nothing. The peace that has descended on Earth since the Spacers withdrew and Settlement began is unbreakable within and without. For many decades now, the wilder spirits among ourselves have been leaving for the Settler worlds so that a spirit such as yours, Captain, which can dare risk the destruction of two vessels within the space of the Solar system is not to be found on Earth. There is no substantial level of crime on Earth any longer, no violence. The security guards assigned to control this crowd have no weapons because they have no need for any.”
And as he spoke, from the anonymity of the vast crowd a blaster pointed upward toward the balcony and was carefully aimed.
88
A number of things happened at nearly the same time.
Giskard’s head had turned to stare at the crowd, drawn by some sudden effect.
Daneel’s eyes followed, saw the aimed blaster, and, with faster-than-human reflexes, he lunged.
The sound of the blaster rang out.
The people on the balcony froze and then broke out into loud exclamations.
D.G. seized Gladia and snatched her to one side.
The noise from the crowd erupted into a full-throated and terrifying roar.
Daneel’s lunge had been directed at Giskard and he knocked the other robot down.
The shot from the blaster entered the room behind the balcony and gouged a hole out of a portion of the ceiling. A line drawn from the blaster to the hole might have passed through that portion of space occupied a second earlier by Giskard’s head.
Giskard muttered as he was forced down. “Not human. A robot.”
Daneel, releasing Giskard, surveyed the scene quickly. Ground level was some six meters beneath the balcony and the space below was empty. The security guards were struggling their way toward the region of upheaval within the crowd that marked the spot where the would-be assassin had stood.
Daneel vaulted over the balcony and dropped, his metal skeleton absorbing the shock easily, as a human being’s would not have.
He ran toward the crowd.
Daneel had no choice. He had never encountered anything like this before. The supreme need was to reach the robot with the blaster before it was destroyed and, with that in mind, Daneel found that, for the first time in his existence, he could not stand on the niceties of preserving individual human beings from harm. He had to shake them up somewhat.
He tossed them aside, in actual fact, as he plowed into the crowd, crying out in stentorian fashion, “Make way! Make way! The person with the blaster must be questioned!”
Security guards fell in behind him and they found the person at last, down and somewhat battered.
Even on an Earth that prided itself on being nonviolent, an eruption of rage against an obvious murderer left its mark. The assassin had been seized, kicked, and beaten. It was only the very density of the crowd that had saved the assassin from being torn apart. The multiple assailants, getting in each other’s way, succeeded in doing comparatively little.
The security guards pushed back the crowd with difficulty. On the ground near the prone robot was the blaster. Daneel ignored it.
Daneel was kneeling by the captured assassin. He said, “Can you talk?”
Bright eyes stared up at Daneel’s. “I can,” said the assassin in a voice that was low but quite normal otherwise.
“Are you of Auroran origin?”
The assassin did not answer.
Daneel said quickly, “I know you are. It was an unnecessary question. Where on this planet is your base?”
The assassin did not answer.
Daneel said, “Your base? Where is it? You must answer. I am ordering you to answer.”
The assassin said. “You cannot order me. You are R. Daneel Olivaw. I have been told of you and I need not obey you.”
Daneel looked up, touched the nearest guard, and said, “Sir, would you ask this person where his base is?”
The guard, startled, tried to speak but only a hoarse croak emerged. He swallowed in embarrassment, cleared his throat, and then barked out, “Where is your base?”
“I am forbidden to answer that question, sir,” said the assassin.
“You must,” said Daneel firmly. “A planetary official is asking it.—Sir, would you order him to answer it?”
The guard echoed, “I order you to answer it, prisoner.”
“I am forbidden to answer that question, sir.”
The guard reached downward to seize the assassin roughly by the shoulder, but Daneel said rapidly, “I would suggest that it would not be useful to offer force, sir.”
Daneel looked about. Much of the clamor of the crowd had died down. There seemed to be a tension in the air, as though a million people were waiting anxiously to see what Daneel would do.
Daneel said to the several guards who had now clustered about him and the prone assassin, “Would you clear the way for me, sirs? I must take the prisoner to Lady Gladia. It may be that she can force an answer.”
“What about medical attention for the prisoner?” asked one of the guards.
“That will not be necessary, sir,” said Daneel. He did not explain.
89
“That this should have happened,” said Andrev tightly, his lips trembling with passion. They were in the room off the balcony and he glanced up at the hole in the ceiling that remained as mute evidence of the violence that had taken place.
Gladia said, in a voice that she strove successfully to keep from shaking, “Nothing has happened. I am unharmed. There is that hole in the ceiling that you will have to repair and perhaps some additional repairs in the room above. That’s all.”
Even as she spoke, she could hear people upstairs moving objects away from the hole and presumably assessing damage.
“That is not all,” said Andrev. “It ruins our plans for your appearance tomorrow, for your major address to the planet.”
“It does the opposite,” said Gladia. “The planet will be the more anxious to hear me, knowing I have been the near victim of an assassination attempt.”
“But there’s the chance of another attempt.”
Gladia shrugged lightly. “That just makes me feel I’m on the right track. Secretary-General Andrev, I discovered not too long ago that I have a mission in life. It did not occur to me that this mission might place me in danger, but since it does, it also occurs to me that I would not be in danger and not worth the killing if I was not striking home. If danger is a measure of my effectiveness, I am willing to risk that danger.”
Giskard said, “Madam Gladia, Daneel is here with, I presume, the individual who aimed a blaster in this direction.”
It was not only Daneel—carrying a relaxed, unstruggling figure—who appeared in the doorway of the room, but half a dozen security guards as well. Outside, the noise of the crowd seemed lower and more distant. It was clearly beginning to disperse and periodically one could hear the announcement over the loudspeakers: “No one has been hurt. There is no danger. Return to your homes.”
Andrev waved the guards away. “Is that the one?” he asked sharply.
Daneel said, “There is no question, sir, but that this is the individual with the blaster. The weapon was near him, but the people close to the scene witnessed his action, and he himself admits the deed.”
Andrev stared at him in astonishment. “He’s so calm. He doesn’t seem human.”
“He is not human, sir. He is a robot, a humanoid robot.”
“But we don’t have any humanoid robots on Earth.—Except you.”
“This robot, Secretary-General,” said Daneel, “is, like myself, of Auroran manufacture.”
Gladia frowned. “But that’s impossible. A robot couldn’t have been ordered to assassinate me.”
D.G., looking exasperated and, with a most possessive arm about Gladia’s shoulder, said in an angry rumble, “An Auroran robot, specially programmed—”
“Nonsense, D.G.,” said Gladia. “No way. Auroran or not, special programming or not, a robot cannot deliberately try to harm a human being it knows to be a human being. If this robot did fire the blaster in my direction, he must have missed me on purpose.”
“To what end?” demanded Andrev. “Why should he miss, madam?”
“Don’t you see?” said Gladia. “Whoever it was that gave the robot, its orders must have felt that the attempt would be enough to disrupt my plans here on Earth and it was the disruption they were after. They couldn’t order the robot to kill me, but they could order him to miss me—and if that was enough to disrupt the program, they would be satisfied.
“Except that it won’t disrupt the program. I won’t allow that.”
D.G. said, “Don’t be a heroine, Gladia. I don’t know what they’ll try next and nothing—nothing—is worth losing you.”
Gladia’s eyes softened. “Thank you, D.G. I appreciate your feelings, but we must chance it.”
Andrev pulled at his ear in perplexity. “What do we do? The knowledge that a humanoid robot used a blaster in a crowd of human beings will not be taken well by Earth people.”
“Obviously, it wouldn’t,” said D.G. “Therefore, let’s not tell them.”
“A number of people must already know—or guess that we are dealing with a robot.”
“You won’t stop the rumor, Secretary-General, but there is no need to make it more than that by means of an official announcement.”
Andrev said, “If Aurora is willing to go to this extreme to—”
“Not Aurora,” said Gladia quickly. “Merely certain people on Aurora, certain fire-eaters. There are such bellicose extremists among the Settlers, too, I know, and probably even on Earth. Don’t play into the hands of these extremists, Secretary-General. I’m appealing to the vast majority of sensible human beings on both sides and nothing must be done to weaken that appeal.”
Daneel, who had been waiting patiently, finally found a pause long enough to make it possible for him to insert his comment. “Madam Gladia—sirs—it is important to find out from this robot where on this planet he is based. There may be others.”
“Haven’t you asked him?” said Andrev.
“I have, Secretary-General, but I am a robot. This robot is not required to answer questions put to him by another robot. Nor is he required to follow my orders.”
“Well, then, I will ask,” said Andrev.
“That may not help, sir. The robot is under stringent orders not to answer and your order to answer will probably not overcome them. You do not know the proper phraseology and intonation—Madam Gladia is an Auroran and knows how this may be done. Madam Gladia, would you inquire as to where his planetary base might be?”
Giskard said in a low voice, so that only Daneel heard him, “It may not be possible. He may have been ordered into irreversible freeze if the questioning becomes too insistent.”
Daneel’s head turned sharply to Giskard. He whispered, “Can you prevent that?”
“Uncertain,” said Giskard. “The brain has been physically damaged by the act of firing a blaster toward human beings.”
Daneel turned back to Gladia. “Madam,” he said, “I would suggest you be probing, rather than brutal.”
Gladia said doubtfully, “Well, I don’t know.” She faced the robot assassin, drew a deep breath, and in a voice that was firm yet soft and gentle, she said, “Robot, how may I address you?”
The robot said, “I am referred to as R. Ernett Second, madam.”
“Ernett, can you tell that I am an Auroran?”
“You speak in the Auroran fashion, yet not entirely, madam.”
“I was born on Solaria, but I am a Spacer who has lived for twenty decades on Aurora and I am accustomed to being served by robots—I have expected and received service from robots every day of my life since I was a small child. I have never been disappointed.”
“I accept the fact, madam.”
“Will you answer my questions and accept my orders, Ernett?”
“I will, madam, if they are not counteracted by a competing order.”
“If I ask you the location of your base on this planet what portion of it you count as your master’s establishment—will you answer that?”
“I may not do so, madam. Nor any other question with respect to my master. Any question at all.”
“Do you understand that if you do not answer I will be bitterly disappointed and that my rightful expectation of robotic service will be permanently blunted?”
“I understand, madam,” said the robot faintly.
Gladia looked at Daneel, “Shall I try?”
Daneel said, “Mere is no choice but to try, Madam Gladia. If the effort leaves us without information, we are no worse off than now.”
Gladia said, in a voice that rang with authority, “Do not inflect damage on me, Ernett, by refusing to tell me the location of your base on this planet. I order you to tell me.”
The robot seemed to stiffen. His mouth opened but made no sound. It opened again and he whispered huskily, “…mile…” It opened a third time silently—and then, while the mouth remained open, the gleam went out of the robot assassin’s eyes and they became flat and waxen. One arm, which had been a little raised, dropped downward.
Daneel said, “The positronic brain has frozen.”
Giskard whispered to Daneel only, “Irreversible! I did my best but could not hang on.”
“We have nothing,” said Andrev. “We don’t know where the other robots might be.
D.G. said, “It said, ‘mile.’”
“I do not recognize the word,” said Daneel. “It is not Galactic Standard as the language is used on Aurora. Does it have meaning on Earth?”
Andrev said, rather blankly, “He might have been trying to say ‘smile’ or ‘Miles.’ I once knew a man whose first name was Miles.”
Daneel said gravely, “I do not see how either word could make sense as an answer—or part of an answer—to the question. Nor did I hear any sibilance, either before or after the sound.”
An elderly Earthman, who till now had remained silent, said, with a certain appearance of diffidence, “I am under the impression a mile may be an ancient measure of distance, robot.”
“How long a measure, sir?” asked Daneel.
“I do not know,” said the Earthman. “Longer than a kilometer, I believe.”
“It isn’t used any longer, sir?”
“Not since the prehyperspatial era.”
D.G. pulled at his beard and he said thoughtfully, “It’s still used. At least, we have an old saying on Baleyworld that goes, ‘A miss is as good as a mile.’ It is used to mean that, in avoiding misfortune, avoidance by a little is as good as avoidance by a great deal. I always thought ‘mile’ meant a great deal. If it really represents a measure of distance, I can understand the phrase better.”
Gladia said, “If that is so, the assassin may have been trying to say exactly that. He may have indicated his satisfaction that a miss—his deliberately missed shot—would accomplish what he was ordered to accomplish or, perhaps, that his missed shot, doing no harm, was equivalent to his not having fired at all.”
“Madam Gladia,” said Daneel, “a robot of Auroran manufacture would scarcely be using phrases that might exist on Baleyworld but have certainly never been heard on Aurora. And, in his damaged condition, he would not philosophize. He was asked a question and he would only be trying to answer the question.”
“Ah,” said Andrev, “perhaps he was trying to answer. He was trying to tell us that the base was a certain distance from here, for instance. So many miles.”
“In that case,” said D.G., “why should he use an archaic measure of distance! No Auroran would use anything but kilometers in this connection, nor would any robot of Auroran manufacture. In fact,” he went on with an edge of impatience, “the robot was rapidly sinking into total inactivity and it might have been making nothing more than random sounds. It is useless to try to extract meaning from something that doesn’t contain it.—And now I want to make sure that Madam Gladia gets some rest or that she is at least moved out of this room before the rest of the ceiling comes down.”
They moved out quickly and Daneel, lingering behind for a moment, said softly to Giskard, “Again we fail!”
90
The City never grew entirely quiet, but there were periods when the lights were dimmer, the noise of the ever moving Expressways was subdued, and the endless clatter of machinery and humanity subsided just a bit. In several million apartments people slept.
Gladia got into bed in the apartment assigned to her, uncomfortable over the missing amenities that she feared might force her out into the corridors during the night.
Was it night on the surface, she wondered just before falling asleep, or was it merely an arbitrary “sleep period” fixed within this particular cave of steel, in deference to a habit developed over the hundreds of millions of years that human beings and their ancestors had lived on the surface of the land.
And then she slept.
Daneel and Giskard did not sleep. Daneel, finding there was a computer outlet in the apartment, spent an absorbed half-hour learning the unfamiliar key combinations by hit-and-miss. There were no instructions of any sort available (who needs instructions for what every youngster learns in grade school?) but, fortunately, the controls, while not the same as those of Aurora, were not wholly different either. Eventually, he was able to tune into the reference section of the City library and call up the encyclopedia. Hours passed.
At the lowest depth of the humans’ sleep period, Giskard said, “Friend Daneel.”
Daneel looked up. “Yes, friend Giskard.”
“I must ask for an explanation of your actions on the balcony.”
“Friend Giskard, you looked toward the crowd. I followed your glance, saw a weapon aimed in your direction, and reacted at once.”
Giskard said, “So you did, friend Daneel, and given certain assumptions, I can understand why it was me that you lunged forward to protect. Begin with the fact that the would-be assassin was a robot. In that case, however it might be programmed, it could not aim its weapon at any human being with the intention of hitting him or her. Nor was it likely to aim it’s weapon at you, for you look enough like a human being to activate the First Law. Even if the robot had been told that a humanoid robot would be on the balcony, he could not be certain that you were he. Therefore, if the robot intended to destroy someone in the balcony, it could only be me—the obvious robot and you acted at once to protect me.
“Or begin with the fact that the assassin was an Auroran whether human or robot does not matter. Dr. Amadiro is most likely to have ordered such an attack, since he is an extremist in his anti-Earth stand and, we believe, is plotting its destruction. Dr. Amadiro, we can be reasonably certain, has learned of my special abilities from Madam Vasilia and it might be argued that he would give my destruction top priority, since he would naturally fear me more than anyone priori else—robot or human. Reasoning this out, it would be logical for you to act as you did to protect me. And, indeed, had you not knocked me down, I believe the blast would have destroyed me.
“But, friend Daneel, you could not possibly have known that the assassin was a robot or that he was Auroran. I myself had only just caught the strange anomaly of a robotic brain pattern against the vast blur of human emotion when you struck me—and it was only after that, that I had the chance of informing you. Without my ability, you could only be aware that a weapon was being aimed by what you must naturally have—thought of as a human being and an Earthperson. The logical target, then, was Madam Gladia, as, in fact, everyone on the balcony assumed it to be. Why, then, did you ignore Madam Gladia and protect me, instead?”
Daneel said, “Friend Giskard, consider my line of thought. The Secretary-General had said that a two-man Auroran landing module had come to Earth’s surface. I assumed at once that Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Mandamus had come to Earth. For this, there could be only one reason. The plan they have, whatever its nature, is at—or very nearly at—the point of maturity. Now that you have come to Earth, friend Giskard, they have dashed here to see it carried through at once before you have a chance to stop it with your mind adjusting powers. To make matters doubly sure, they would act to destroy you if they could. Therefore, when I saw an aimed weapon, I moved at once to force you out of the line of fire.”
Giskard said, “The First Law should have forced you to move Madam Gladia out of the line of fire. No thought, no reasoning should have altered that.”
“No, friend Giskard. You are more important than Madam Gladia is. You are, in fact, more important than any human being could be at this moment. If anyone at all can stop the destruction of Earth, you can. Since I am aware of your potential service to humanity, then, when I am, confronted by a choice of action, the Zeroth Law demands that I protect you ahead of anyone else.”
“And you do not feel uncomfortable at your having acted in defiance of the First Law.”
“No, for I acted in obedience to the overriding Zeroth Law.”
“But the Zeroth Law has not been imprinted into you.”
“I have accepted it as a corollary of the First Law, for how can a human being best be kept from injury, if not by ensuring that human society in general is protected and kept functioning?”
Giskard thought a while. “I see what you are trying to say, but what if—in acting to save me and, therefore, in acting to save humanity—it had turned out that I was not aimed at and that Madam Gladia was killed? How would you have felt then, friend Daneel?”
Daneel said in a low tone, “I do not know, friend Giskard. Yet, had I leaped to save Madam Gladia and had it turned out that she was, in any case, safe and that I had allowed you to be destroyed and with you, in my opinion, the future of humanity, how could I have survived that blow?”
The two stared at each other—each, for a while, lost in thought.
Giskard said finally, “That may be so, friend Daneel, but do you agree, however, that judgment is difficult in such cases?”
“I agree, friend Giskard.”
“It is difficult enough, when one must choose quickly between individuals, to decide which individual may suffer or inflict—the greater harm. To choose between an individual and humanity, when you are not sure of what aspect of humanity you are dealing with, is so difficult that the very validity of Robotic Laws comes to be suspect. As soon as humanity in the abstract is introduced, the Laws of Robotics begin to merge with the Laws of Humanics which may not even exist.”
Daneel said, “I do not understand you, friend Giskard.”
“I am not surprised. I am not certain I understand myself. But consider—when we think of the humanity we must save, we think of Earthpeople and the Settlers. They are more numerous than the Spacers, more vigorous, more expansive. They show more initiative because they are less dependent on robots. They have a greater potential for biological and social evolution because they are shorter-lived, though long-lived enough to contribute great things individually.”
“Yes,” said Daneel, “you put it succinctly.”
“And yet the Earthpeople and the Settlers seem to possess a mystical and even irrational confidence in the sanctity and inviolability of Earth. Might not this mystique be as fatal to their development as the mystiques, of robots and long life that hobble the Spacers?”
“I had not thought of this,” said Daneel. “I do not know.”
Giskard said, “If you were as aware of minds as I am, you would have been unable to avoid thinking of this. How does one choose?” he went on with sudden intensity. “Think of humanity as divided into two species: the Spacers, with one apparently fatal mystique, and the Earthpeople plus the Settlers, with another possibly fatal mystique. It may be that there will be other species, in the future, with even less attractive properties.
“It is not sufficient to choose, then, friend Daneel. We must be able to shape. We must shape a desirable species and then protect it, rather than finding ourselves forced to select among two or more undesirabilities. But how can we achieve the desirable unless we have psychohistory, the science I dream of and cannot attain?”
Daneel said, “I have not appreciated the difficulty, friend Giskard, of possessing the ability to sense and influence minds. Is it possible that you learn too much to allow the Three Laws of Robotics to work smoothly within you?”
“That has always been possible, friend Daneel, but not until these recent events has the possibility become actual. I know the pathway pattern that produces this mind-sensing and mind-influencing effect within me. I have studied myself carefully for decades in order that I might know it and I can pass it on to you so that you might program yourself to be like me—but I have resisted the urge to do so. It would be unkind to you. It is enough that I bear the burden.”
Daneel said, “Nevertheless, friend Giskard, if ever, in your judgment, the good of humanity would require it, I would accept the burden. Indeed, by the Zeroth Law, I would be obliged to.”
Giskard said, “But this discussion is useless. It seems apparent that the crisis is nearly upon us—and since we have not even managed to work out the nature of the crisis—”
Daneel interrupted. “You are wrong, there at least, friend Giskard. I now know the nature of the crisis.”
91
One would not expect Giskard to show surprise. His face was, of course, incapable of expression. His voice possessed modulation, so that his speech sounded human and was neither monotonous nor unpleasant. That modulation, however, was never altered by emotion in any recognizable way.
Therefore, when he said, “Are you serious?” it sounded as it would have had he expressed doubt over a remark Daneel had made concerning what the weather would be like the next day. Yet, from the manner in which his head turned toward Daneel, the way in which one hand lifted, there was no doubt that he was surprised.
Daneel said, “I am, friend Giskard.”
“How did the information come to you?”
“In part, from what I was told by Madam Undersecretary Quintana at the dinner table.”
“But did you not say that you had obtained nothing helpful from her, that you supposed you had asked the wrong questions?”
“So it seemed in the immediate aftermath. On further reflection, however, I found myself able to make helpful deductions from what she had said. I have been searching Earth’s central encyclopedia through the computer outlet these past few hours—”
“And found your deductions confirmed?”
“Not exactly, but I found nothing that would refute them, which is perhaps the next best thing.”
“But is negative evidence sufficient for certainty?”
“It is not. And therefore I am not certain. Let me tell you, however, my reasoning and if you find it faulty, say so.”
“Please proceed, friend Daneel.”
“Fusion power, friend Giskard, was developed on Earth before the days of hyperspatial travel and, therefore, while human beings were to be found, only on the one planet, Earth. This is well known. It took a long time to develop practical controlled fusion power after the possibility had first been conceived and put on a sound scientific footing. The chief difficulty in converting the concept into practice involved the necessity of achieving a sufficiently high temperature in a sufficiently dense gas for a long enough time to bring about fusion ignition.
“And yet several decades before controlled fusion power had been established, fusion bombs had existed—these bombs representing an uncontrolled fusion reaction. But controlled or uncontrolled, fusion could not take place without an extremely high temperature in the millions of degrees. If human beings could not produce the necessary temperature for controlled fusion power, how could they do so for an uncontrolled fusion explosion?
“Madam Quintana told me that before fusion existed on Earth, there was another variety of nuclear reaction in existence—nuclear fission. Energy was derived from the splitting—or fission—of large nuclei, such as those of uranium and thorium. That, I thought, might be one way of achieving a high temperature.
“The encyclopedia I have this night been consulting gives very little information about nuclear bombs of any sort and, certainly, no real details. It is a taboo subject, I gather, and it must be so on all worlds,—for I have never read of such details on Aurora either, even though such bombs still exist. It is a part of history that human beings are ashamed of, or afraid of, or both, and I think this is rational. In what I did read of fusion bombs, however, I read nothing about their ignition that would have eliminated the fission bomb as the igniting mechanism. I suspect, then, that based, in part, on this negative evidence, the fission bomb was the igniting mechanism.
“But, then, how was the fission bomb ignited? Fission bombs existed before fusion bombs and if fission bombs required an ultrahigh temperature for ignition, as fusion bombs did, then there was nothing that existed before fission bombs that would supply a high enough temperature. From this, I conclude—even though the encyclopedia contained no information on the subject,—that fission bombs could be ignited at relatively low temperatures, perhaps even at room temperature. There were difficulties involved, for it took several years of unremitting effort after the discovery that fission existed before the bomb was developed. Whatever those difficulties might have been, however, they did not involve the production of ultrahigh temperatures.—Your opinion of all this, friend Giskard?”
Giskard had kept his eyes steadily on Daneel throughout his explanation and he now said, “I think the structure you have built up has serious weak points, friend Daneel, and therefore may not be very trustworthy—but even if it were all perfectly sound, surely this has nothing to do with the possible forthcoming crisis that we are laboring to understand.”
Daneel said, “I plead for your patience, friend Giskard, and I will continue. As it happens, both the fusion process and the fission process are expressions of the weak interactions, one of the four interactions that control all events in the Universe. Consequently, the same nuclear intensifier that will explode a fusion reactor will also explode a fission reactor.
“There is, however, a difference. Fusion takes place only at ultrahigh temperatures. The intensifier explodes the ultrahot portion of the fuel that is actively undergoing fusion, plus some of the surrounding fuel that is heated to fusion in the initial explosion—before the material is blown explosively outward and the heat is dissipated to the point where other quantities of fuel present are not ignited. Some of the fusion fuel is exploded, in other words, but a good deal perhaps even most—is not. The explosion is powerful enough even so, of course, to destroy the fusion reactor and anything in its immediate neighborhood, such as a ship carrying the reactor.”
“On the other hand, a fission reactor can operate at low temperatures, perhaps not much above the boiling point of water, perhaps even at room temperature. The effect of the nuclear intensifier, then, will be to make all the fission fuel go. Indeed, even if the fission reactor is not actively working, the intensifier will explode it. Although, gram for gram, I gather that fission fuel liberates less energy than fusion fuel, the fission reactor will produce the greater explosion because more of its fuel explodes than in the case of the fusion reactor.”
Giskard nodded his head slowly and said, “All this may well be so, friend Daneel, but are there any fission power stations on Earth?”
“No, there aren’t—not one. So Undersecretary Quintana seemed to indicate and the encyclopedia seems to agree. Indeed, whereas there are devices on Earth that are powered by small fusion reactors, there is nothing—nothing at all—that is powered by fission reactors, large or small.”
“Then, friend Daneel, there is nothing for a nuclear intensifier to act upon. All your reasoning, even were it impeccable, ends in nothing.”
Daneel said earnestly, “Not quite, friend Giskard. There remains a third type of nuclear reaction to be taken into consideration.”
Giskard said, “What might that be? I cannot think of a third.”
“It is not an easy thought, friend Giskard, for on the Spacer and Settler worlds, there is very little uranium and thorium in the planetary crusts and, therefore, very little in the way of obvious radioactivity. The subject is of little interest, in consequence, and is ignored by all but a few theoretical physicists. On Earth, however, as Madam Quintana pointed out to me, uranium and thorium are comparatively common, and natural radioactivity, with its ultraslow production of heat and energetic radiation, must therefore be a comparatively prominent part of the environment. That is the third type of nuclear reaction to be taken into consideration.”
“In what way, friend Daneel?”
“Natural radioactivity is also an expression of the weak interaction. A nuclear intensifier that can explode a fusion reactor or a fission reactor can also accelerate natural radioactivity to the point, I presume, of exploding a section of the crust—if enough uranium or thorium is present.”
Giskard stared at Daneel for a period of time without moving or speaking. Then he said softly, “You suggest, then, that it is Dr. Amadiro’s plan to explode Earth’s crust, destroy the planet as an abode of life, and, in this way, ensure the domination of the Galaxy by the Spacers.”
Daneel nodded. “Or, if there is not enough thorium and uranium for mass explosion, the increase of radioactivity may produce excess heat that will alter the climate, and excess radiation that will produce cancer and birth defects, and these will serve the same purpose—if a bit more slowly.”
Giskard said, “This is an appalling possibility. Do you think it can really be brought about?”
“Possibly. It seems to me that for several years now just how many I do not know—humanoid robots from Aurora, such as the would-be-assassin—have been on Earth. They are advanced enough for complex programming and are capable, when needed, of entering the Cities for equipment. They have, it is to be presumed, been setting up nuclear intensifiers in places where the soil is rich in uranium or thorium. Perhaps many intensifiers have been set up over the years. Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Mandamus are here now to oversee the final details and to activate the intensifiers. Presumably, they are arranging matters so that they will have time to escape before the planet is destroyed.”
“In that case,” said Giskard, “it is imperative that the Secretary-General be informed, that Earth’s security forces be mobilized at once, that Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Mandamus be located without delay, and that they be restrained from completing their project.”
Daneel said, “I do not think that can be done—the Secretary-General is very likely to refuse to believe us, thanks to the widespread mystical belief in the inviolability of the planet. You have referred to that as something that would work against humanity and I suspect that is just what it will do in this case. If his belief in the unique position of Earth is challenged, he will refuse to allow his conviction, however irrational, to be shaken and he will seek refuge by refusing to believe us.
“Then, too, even if he believed us, any preparation for counter-measures would have to go through the governmental bureaucracy and, no matter how that process was speeded, it would take far too long to serve its purpose.
“Not only that but, even if we could imagine the full resources of Earth mobilized at once, I do not think Earthpeople are adapted to locate the presence of two human beings in an enormous wilderness. The Earthpeople have lived in the Cities for many scores of decades and almost never venture beyond the City confines. I remember that well from the occasion of my first case with Elijah Baley here on Earth. And even if Earthpeople could force themselves to tramp the open spaces, they are not likely to come across the two human beings soon enough to save the situation except by the most incredible of coincidences—and that is something we cannot count upon.”
Giskard said, “Settlers could easily form a search party. They are not afraid of open environments or of strange ones.”
“But they would be as firmly convinced in the planet’s inviolability as Earthpeople are, just as insistent on refusing to believe us, and just as unlikely to find the two human beings quickly enough to save the situation—even if they should believe us.”
“What of Earth’s robots, then?” said Giskard. “They swarm in the spaces between the Cities. Some should already be aware of human beings in their midst. They should be questioned.”
Daneel said, “The human beings in their midst are expert roboticists. They would not have failed to see to it that any robots in their vicinity remain unaware of their presence. Nor, for this same reason, need they fear danger from any robots who might be part of a searching party. The party will be ordered to depart and forget. To make it worse, Earth’s robots are comparatively simple models, designed for very little more than for specific tasks in growing crops, herding animals, and operating mines. They cannot easily be adapted to such a general purpose as conducting a meaningful search.”
Giskard said, “You have eliminated every possible action, friend Daneel? Does anything remain?”
Daneel said, “We must find the two human beings ourselves and we must stop them—and we must do it now.”
“Do you know where they are, friend Daneel?”
“I do not, friend Giskard.”
“Then if it seems unlikely that an elaborate search party composed of many, many Earthpeople, or Settlers, or robots, or, I presume, all three, could succeed in finding their location in time except by the most marvelous of coincidences, how can we two do so?”
“I do not know, friend Giskard, but we must.”
And Giskard said, in a voice that seemed to have an edge of harshness in its choice of words, “Necessity is not enough, friend Daneel. You have come a long way. You have worked out the existence of a crisis and, bit by bit, you have worked out its nature. And none of it serves. Here we remain, as helpless as ever to do anything about it.”
Daneel said, “There remains one chance—a farfetched one, an all-but-useless one—but we have no choice except to try. Out of Amadiro’s fear of you, he sent an assassin robot to destroy you and that may turn out to have been his mistake.”
“And if that all-but-useless chance fails, friend Daneel?”
Daneel looked calmly at Giskard. “Then we are helpless, and Earth will be destroyed, and human history will dwindle to an eventual end.”
86
Secretary-General Edgar Andrev, chief executive of Earth, was a rather tall and imposing man, clean-shaven in the Spacer style. He moved always in a measured fashion, as though on constant display, and he had a twinkling way about him as though he was always very pleased with himself. His voice was a bit too high-pitched for his body but it fell well short of being squeaky. Without seeming obdurate, he was not easily swayed.
And he wasn’t this time. “Impossible,” he said firmly to D.G. “She must make her appearance.”
“She’s had a hard day, Secretary-General,” said D.G. “She is not accustomed to crowds or to these surroundings. I am responsible to Baleyworld for her well-being and my personal honor is at stake.”
“I appreciate your position,” said Andrev, “but I represent, and I cannot deny Earthpeople their view of her. The corridors are filled, the hyperwave channels are ready, and I would not be able to hide her, even if I desperately wished to do so. After this—and how long can it last? Half an hour?—she can retire and she need not I make another appearance till her speech tomorrow night.”
“Her comfort must be cared for,” said D.G., tacitly abandoning his position. “She has to be kept at some distance from the crowd.”
“There will be a cordon of security guards that will give her ample breathing space. The front row of the crowd will be kept well back. They’re out there now. If we don’t announce that she will soon appear, there might well be disorder.
D.G. said, “It shouldn’t have been arranged. It isn’t safe. There are Earthpeople who aren’t fond of Spacers.”
The Secretary-General shrugged. “I wish you could tell me how I could possibly have kept it from being arranged. At the present moment she is a heroine and she cannot be withheld. Nor will anyone offer her anything but cheers for the moment. But if she doesn’t appear, that will change. Now, let us go.”
D.G. backed away discontentedly. He caught Gladia’s eye. She looked tired and more than a little unhappy.
He said, “You must, Gladia. There’s no way out.”
For a moment, she stared down at her hands as though wondering if they could do anything to protect her, then she straightened herself and lifted her chin—a small Spacer amid this horde of barbarians. “If I must, I must. Will you remain with me?”
“Unless they remove me physically.”
“And my robots?”
D.G. hesitated. “Gladia, how will two robots be able to help you in the midst of millions of human beings?”
“I know, D.G. And I also know that I will have to do without them eventually if I am to continue this mission of mine. But not just yet, please. For the moment, I will feel safer with them, whether that makes sense or not. If these Earth officials want me to acknowledge the crowd, to smile, to wave, to do whatever it is I am supposed to do, the presence of Daneel and Giskard will comfort me.—Look, D.G., giving in to them on a very big thing, even though I am so uneasy that I think nothing would be so nice as to run away. Let them give in to me on this very little thing.”
“I’ll try,” said D.G., in clear discouragement and, as he stepped toward Andrev, Giskard moved quietly with him.
A few minutes later, when Gladia, surrounded by a carefully picked contingent of officials, moved forward toward an open balcony, D.G. remained a little behind Gladia, flanked on his left by Giskard and on his right by Daneel.
The Secretary-General had said ruefully, “All right, all right. I don’t know how you managed to make me agree, but all right.” He rubbed his forehead, aware of a small vague ache in his right temple. For some reason he caught Giskard’s eye and turned away with a stifled shudder. “But you must keep them motionless, Captain, remember. And please keep the one that looks like a robot as unobtrusive as you can. He makes me uneasy and I don’t want people any more aware of him than they have to be.”
D.G. said, “They will be looking at Gladia, Secretary General. They will see no one else.”
“I hope so,” said Andrev waspishly. He paused to take a message capsule someone placed in his hand. He put it into his pocket, then walked on and didn’t think of it again till they had reached the balcony.
87
To Gladia, it seemed that each time she moved into another scene, it grew worse—more people, more noise, more confusing light, more invasion of every sense perception.
There was shouting. She could hear her own name being shouted out. With difficulty, she overcame her own tendency to retreat and become immobile. She lifted her arm and waved it and smiled and the shouting became louder, someone began to speak, his voice booming out over the loudspeaker system, his image on a large screen high above them so that it could be visible to all the crowd. Undoubtedly, it was also visible on innumerable screens in innumerable meeting halls in every Section of every City on the planet.
Gladia sighed with relief at having someone else in the spotlight. She tried to shrink within herself and let the sound of the speaker distract the attention of the crowd.
Secretary-General Andrev, seeking cover under the voice, even as Gladia did, was rather thankful that, in giving precedence to Gladia, it had not seemed necessary for him to speak on this occasion. He suddenly remembered the message he had pocketed.
He frowned in sudden disturbance over what it might be that warranted the interruption of so important a ceremony and then experienced a reverse feeling of intense irritation over the fact that it would probably prove to be utterly unimportant.
He pressed the ball of his right thumb hard, against the slight concavity, designed to accept the pressure and the capsule opened. He removed the thin piece of plastipaper, read the message it contained, and then watched it crumble and fragment. He brushed away the impalpable powder that remained and gestured imperiously to D.G.
It was scarcely necessary to whisper under the conditions of the vast and continuing noise in the square.
Andrev said, “You said you encountered an Auroran war vessel within the space of the Solar System.”
“Yes—and I imagine Earth’s sensors detected it.”
“Of course they did. You said there were no hostile actions on either side.”
“No weapon was used. They demanded Madam Gladia and her robots. I refused and they left. I explained all this.”
“How long did it all take?”
“Not very long. Several hours.”
“You mean that Aurora sent a warship just to argue back and forth with you for a couple of hours and then leave.”
D.G. shrugged. “Secretary General, I don’t know their motivations. I can only report what happened.”
The Secretary-General stared at him haughtily. “But you do not report all that happened. The information of the sensors has now been thoroughly analyzed by computer and it would seem that you attacked.”
“I did not fire a kilowatt of energy, sir.”
“Have you considered kinetic energy? You used the ship itself as a projectile.”
“So it may have seemed to them. They did not choose to withstand me and call, what might have been a bluff.”
“But was it a bluff?”
“It might have been.”
“It seems to me, Captain, that you were ready to destroy two ships inside the Solar System and perhaps create a war crisis. That was a terrible chance to take.”
“I did not think it would come to actual destruction and it didn’t.”
“But, the whole process delayed you and occupied your attention.”
“Yes, I suppose so, but why are you pointing this out?”
“Because our sensors did observe one thing you did not observe—or, at any rate, did not report.”
“What might that be, Secretary-General?”
“It caught the launching of an orbital module, which seems to have had two human beings on board and which descended toward Earth.”
The two were immersed in a world of their own. No other human being on the balcony was paying any attention to them. Only the two robots flanking D.G. were staring at them and listening.
It was at this point that the speaker ceased, his last words being, “Lady Gladia, born a Spacer on the world of Solaria, living as a Spacer on the world of Aurora, but becoming a Citizen of the Galaxy on the Settler world of Baleyworld.” He turned to her and gestured expansively, “Lady Gladia—”
The sound of the crowd became a long, happy rumble and the many-headed crowd became a forest of waving arms. Gladia felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and heard a voice in her ear that said, “Please. A few words, my lady.”
Gladia said weakly, “People of Earth.” The words boomed out and, uncannily, silence fell. Gladia said again, more, firmly, “People of Earth, I stand before you a human being as you are. A bit older, I admit, so that I lack your youth, your hopefulness, your capacity for enthusiasm. My misfortune is tempered at this moment, however, by the fact that in your presence I feel myself catching your fire, so that the cloak of age falls away—”
Applause swelled and someone on the balcony said to someone else, “She’s making them happy they’re shortlived. That Spacer woman has the impudence of a devil.”
Andrev was not paying attention. He said to D.G., “The whole episode with you may have been a device to get those men on Earth.”
D.G. said, “I had no way of knowing that. I could think of very little else but saving Lady Gladia and my ship. Where have they landed?”
“We don’t know. They have not landed in any of the City spaceports.”
D.G. said, “I guess they wouldn’t.”
“Not that it matters,” said the Secretary-General, “except, to give me passing annoyance. Over the past several years, there have been a number of landings of this sort, though none so carefully prepared. Nothing’s ever happened and we pay no attention. Earth, after all, is an open world. It is humanity’s home and any person from any world can come and go freely—even Spacers, if they wish.”
D.G. rubbed his beard with a rasping noise. “And yet their intentions might not be to do us any good whatever.”
(Gladia was saying, “I wish you all well on this world of human origin, on this well-packed special world, and in this marvel of a City—” and acknowledged the gathering applause with a smile and a wave as she stood there and allowed the enthusiasm to catch—and gather.)
Andrev raised his voice, to be heard over the clamor of the crowd. “Whatever their intentions, it can come to nothing. The peace that has descended on Earth since the Spacers withdrew and Settlement began is unbreakable within and without. For many decades now, the wilder spirits among ourselves have been leaving for the Settler worlds so that a spirit such as yours, Captain, which can dare risk the destruction of two vessels within the space of the Solar system is not to be found on Earth. There is no substantial level of crime on Earth any longer, no violence. The security guards assigned to control this crowd have no weapons because they have no need for any.”
And as he spoke, from the anonymity of the vast crowd a blaster pointed upward toward the balcony and was carefully aimed.
88
A number of things happened at nearly the same time.
Giskard’s head had turned to stare at the crowd, drawn by some sudden effect.
Daneel’s eyes followed, saw the aimed blaster, and, with faster-than-human reflexes, he lunged.
The sound of the blaster rang out.
The people on the balcony froze and then broke out into loud exclamations.
D.G. seized Gladia and snatched her to one side.
The noise from the crowd erupted into a full-throated and terrifying roar.
Daneel’s lunge had been directed at Giskard and he knocked the other robot down.
The shot from the blaster entered the room behind the balcony and gouged a hole out of a portion of the ceiling. A line drawn from the blaster to the hole might have passed through that portion of space occupied a second earlier by Giskard’s head.
Giskard muttered as he was forced down. “Not human. A robot.”
Daneel, releasing Giskard, surveyed the scene quickly. Ground level was some six meters beneath the balcony and the space below was empty. The security guards were struggling their way toward the region of upheaval within the crowd that marked the spot where the would-be assassin had stood.
Daneel vaulted over the balcony and dropped, his metal skeleton absorbing the shock easily, as a human being’s would not have.
He ran toward the crowd.
Daneel had no choice. He had never encountered anything like this before. The supreme need was to reach the robot with the blaster before it was destroyed and, with that in mind, Daneel found that, for the first time in his existence, he could not stand on the niceties of preserving individual human beings from harm. He had to shake them up somewhat.
He tossed them aside, in actual fact, as he plowed into the crowd, crying out in stentorian fashion, “Make way! Make way! The person with the blaster must be questioned!”
Security guards fell in behind him and they found the person at last, down and somewhat battered.
Even on an Earth that prided itself on being nonviolent, an eruption of rage against an obvious murderer left its mark. The assassin had been seized, kicked, and beaten. It was only the very density of the crowd that had saved the assassin from being torn apart. The multiple assailants, getting in each other’s way, succeeded in doing comparatively little.
The security guards pushed back the crowd with difficulty. On the ground near the prone robot was the blaster. Daneel ignored it.
Daneel was kneeling by the captured assassin. He said, “Can you talk?”
Bright eyes stared up at Daneel’s. “I can,” said the assassin in a voice that was low but quite normal otherwise.
“Are you of Auroran origin?”
The assassin did not answer.
Daneel said quickly, “I know you are. It was an unnecessary question. Where on this planet is your base?”
The assassin did not answer.
Daneel said, “Your base? Where is it? You must answer. I am ordering you to answer.”
The assassin said. “You cannot order me. You are R. Daneel Olivaw. I have been told of you and I need not obey you.”
Daneel looked up, touched the nearest guard, and said, “Sir, would you ask this person where his base is?”
The guard, startled, tried to speak but only a hoarse croak emerged. He swallowed in embarrassment, cleared his throat, and then barked out, “Where is your base?”
“I am forbidden to answer that question, sir,” said the assassin.
“You must,” said Daneel firmly. “A planetary official is asking it.—Sir, would you order him to answer it?”
The guard echoed, “I order you to answer it, prisoner.”
“I am forbidden to answer that question, sir.”
The guard reached downward to seize the assassin roughly by the shoulder, but Daneel said rapidly, “I would suggest that it would not be useful to offer force, sir.”
Daneel looked about. Much of the clamor of the crowd had died down. There seemed to be a tension in the air, as though a million people were waiting anxiously to see what Daneel would do.
Daneel said to the several guards who had now clustered about him and the prone assassin, “Would you clear the way for me, sirs? I must take the prisoner to Lady Gladia. It may be that she can force an answer.”
“What about medical attention for the prisoner?” asked one of the guards.
“That will not be necessary, sir,” said Daneel. He did not explain.
89
“That this should have happened,” said Andrev tightly, his lips trembling with passion. They were in the room off the balcony and he glanced up at the hole in the ceiling that remained as mute evidence of the violence that had taken place.
Gladia said, in a voice that she strove successfully to keep from shaking, “Nothing has happened. I am unharmed. There is that hole in the ceiling that you will have to repair and perhaps some additional repairs in the room above. That’s all.”
Even as she spoke, she could hear people upstairs moving objects away from the hole and presumably assessing damage.
“That is not all,” said Andrev. “It ruins our plans for your appearance tomorrow, for your major address to the planet.”
“It does the opposite,” said Gladia. “The planet will be the more anxious to hear me, knowing I have been the near victim of an assassination attempt.”
“But there’s the chance of another attempt.”
Gladia shrugged lightly. “That just makes me feel I’m on the right track. Secretary-General Andrev, I discovered not too long ago that I have a mission in life. It did not occur to me that this mission might place me in danger, but since it does, it also occurs to me that I would not be in danger and not worth the killing if I was not striking home. If danger is a measure of my effectiveness, I am willing to risk that danger.”
Giskard said, “Madam Gladia, Daneel is here with, I presume, the individual who aimed a blaster in this direction.”
It was not only Daneel—carrying a relaxed, unstruggling figure—who appeared in the doorway of the room, but half a dozen security guards as well. Outside, the noise of the crowd seemed lower and more distant. It was clearly beginning to disperse and periodically one could hear the announcement over the loudspeakers: “No one has been hurt. There is no danger. Return to your homes.”
Andrev waved the guards away. “Is that the one?” he asked sharply.
Daneel said, “There is no question, sir, but that this is the individual with the blaster. The weapon was near him, but the people close to the scene witnessed his action, and he himself admits the deed.”
Andrev stared at him in astonishment. “He’s so calm. He doesn’t seem human.”
“He is not human, sir. He is a robot, a humanoid robot.”
“But we don’t have any humanoid robots on Earth.—Except you.”
“This robot, Secretary-General,” said Daneel, “is, like myself, of Auroran manufacture.”
Gladia frowned. “But that’s impossible. A robot couldn’t have been ordered to assassinate me.”
D.G., looking exasperated and, with a most possessive arm about Gladia’s shoulder, said in an angry rumble, “An Auroran robot, specially programmed—”
“Nonsense, D.G.,” said Gladia. “No way. Auroran or not, special programming or not, a robot cannot deliberately try to harm a human being it knows to be a human being. If this robot did fire the blaster in my direction, he must have missed me on purpose.”
“To what end?” demanded Andrev. “Why should he miss, madam?”
“Don’t you see?” said Gladia. “Whoever it was that gave the robot, its orders must have felt that the attempt would be enough to disrupt my plans here on Earth and it was the disruption they were after. They couldn’t order the robot to kill me, but they could order him to miss me—and if that was enough to disrupt the program, they would be satisfied.
“Except that it won’t disrupt the program. I won’t allow that.”
D.G. said, “Don’t be a heroine, Gladia. I don’t know what they’ll try next and nothing—nothing—is worth losing you.”
Gladia’s eyes softened. “Thank you, D.G. I appreciate your feelings, but we must chance it.”
Andrev pulled at his ear in perplexity. “What do we do? The knowledge that a humanoid robot used a blaster in a crowd of human beings will not be taken well by Earth people.”
“Obviously, it wouldn’t,” said D.G. “Therefore, let’s not tell them.”
“A number of people must already know—or guess that we are dealing with a robot.”
“You won’t stop the rumor, Secretary-General, but there is no need to make it more than that by means of an official announcement.”
Andrev said, “If Aurora is willing to go to this extreme to—”
“Not Aurora,” said Gladia quickly. “Merely certain people on Aurora, certain fire-eaters. There are such bellicose extremists among the Settlers, too, I know, and probably even on Earth. Don’t play into the hands of these extremists, Secretary-General. I’m appealing to the vast majority of sensible human beings on both sides and nothing must be done to weaken that appeal.”
Daneel, who had been waiting patiently, finally found a pause long enough to make it possible for him to insert his comment. “Madam Gladia—sirs—it is important to find out from this robot where on this planet he is based. There may be others.”
“Haven’t you asked him?” said Andrev.
“I have, Secretary-General, but I am a robot. This robot is not required to answer questions put to him by another robot. Nor is he required to follow my orders.”
“Well, then, I will ask,” said Andrev.
“That may not help, sir. The robot is under stringent orders not to answer and your order to answer will probably not overcome them. You do not know the proper phraseology and intonation—Madam Gladia is an Auroran and knows how this may be done. Madam Gladia, would you inquire as to where his planetary base might be?”
Giskard said in a low voice, so that only Daneel heard him, “It may not be possible. He may have been ordered into irreversible freeze if the questioning becomes too insistent.”
Daneel’s head turned sharply to Giskard. He whispered, “Can you prevent that?”
“Uncertain,” said Giskard. “The brain has been physically damaged by the act of firing a blaster toward human beings.”
Daneel turned back to Gladia. “Madam,” he said, “I would suggest you be probing, rather than brutal.”
Gladia said doubtfully, “Well, I don’t know.” She faced the robot assassin, drew a deep breath, and in a voice that was firm yet soft and gentle, she said, “Robot, how may I address you?”
The robot said, “I am referred to as R. Ernett Second, madam.”
“Ernett, can you tell that I am an Auroran?”
“You speak in the Auroran fashion, yet not entirely, madam.”
“I was born on Solaria, but I am a Spacer who has lived for twenty decades on Aurora and I am accustomed to being served by robots—I have expected and received service from robots every day of my life since I was a small child. I have never been disappointed.”
“I accept the fact, madam.”
“Will you answer my questions and accept my orders, Ernett?”
“I will, madam, if they are not counteracted by a competing order.”
“If I ask you the location of your base on this planet what portion of it you count as your master’s establishment—will you answer that?”
“I may not do so, madam. Nor any other question with respect to my master. Any question at all.”
“Do you understand that if you do not answer I will be bitterly disappointed and that my rightful expectation of robotic service will be permanently blunted?”
“I understand, madam,” said the robot faintly.
Gladia looked at Daneel, “Shall I try?”
Daneel said, “Mere is no choice but to try, Madam Gladia. If the effort leaves us without information, we are no worse off than now.”
Gladia said, in a voice that rang with authority, “Do not inflect damage on me, Ernett, by refusing to tell me the location of your base on this planet. I order you to tell me.”
The robot seemed to stiffen. His mouth opened but made no sound. It opened again and he whispered huskily, “…mile…” It opened a third time silently—and then, while the mouth remained open, the gleam went out of the robot assassin’s eyes and they became flat and waxen. One arm, which had been a little raised, dropped downward.
Daneel said, “The positronic brain has frozen.”
Giskard whispered to Daneel only, “Irreversible! I did my best but could not hang on.”
“We have nothing,” said Andrev. “We don’t know where the other robots might be.
D.G. said, “It said, ‘mile.’”
“I do not recognize the word,” said Daneel. “It is not Galactic Standard as the language is used on Aurora. Does it have meaning on Earth?”
Andrev said, rather blankly, “He might have been trying to say ‘smile’ or ‘Miles.’ I once knew a man whose first name was Miles.”
Daneel said gravely, “I do not see how either word could make sense as an answer—or part of an answer—to the question. Nor did I hear any sibilance, either before or after the sound.”
An elderly Earthman, who till now had remained silent, said, with a certain appearance of diffidence, “I am under the impression a mile may be an ancient measure of distance, robot.”
“How long a measure, sir?” asked Daneel.
“I do not know,” said the Earthman. “Longer than a kilometer, I believe.”
“It isn’t used any longer, sir?”
“Not since the prehyperspatial era.”
D.G. pulled at his beard and he said thoughtfully, “It’s still used. At least, we have an old saying on Baleyworld that goes, ‘A miss is as good as a mile.’ It is used to mean that, in avoiding misfortune, avoidance by a little is as good as avoidance by a great deal. I always thought ‘mile’ meant a great deal. If it really represents a measure of distance, I can understand the phrase better.”
Gladia said, “If that is so, the assassin may have been trying to say exactly that. He may have indicated his satisfaction that a miss—his deliberately missed shot—would accomplish what he was ordered to accomplish or, perhaps, that his missed shot, doing no harm, was equivalent to his not having fired at all.”
“Madam Gladia,” said Daneel, “a robot of Auroran manufacture would scarcely be using phrases that might exist on Baleyworld but have certainly never been heard on Aurora. And, in his damaged condition, he would not philosophize. He was asked a question and he would only be trying to answer the question.”
“Ah,” said Andrev, “perhaps he was trying to answer. He was trying to tell us that the base was a certain distance from here, for instance. So many miles.”
“In that case,” said D.G., “why should he use an archaic measure of distance! No Auroran would use anything but kilometers in this connection, nor would any robot of Auroran manufacture. In fact,” he went on with an edge of impatience, “the robot was rapidly sinking into total inactivity and it might have been making nothing more than random sounds. It is useless to try to extract meaning from something that doesn’t contain it.—And now I want to make sure that Madam Gladia gets some rest or that she is at least moved out of this room before the rest of the ceiling comes down.”
They moved out quickly and Daneel, lingering behind for a moment, said softly to Giskard, “Again we fail!”
90
The City never grew entirely quiet, but there were periods when the lights were dimmer, the noise of the ever moving Expressways was subdued, and the endless clatter of machinery and humanity subsided just a bit. In several million apartments people slept.
Gladia got into bed in the apartment assigned to her, uncomfortable over the missing amenities that she feared might force her out into the corridors during the night.
Was it night on the surface, she wondered just before falling asleep, or was it merely an arbitrary “sleep period” fixed within this particular cave of steel, in deference to a habit developed over the hundreds of millions of years that human beings and their ancestors had lived on the surface of the land.
And then she slept.
Daneel and Giskard did not sleep. Daneel, finding there was a computer outlet in the apartment, spent an absorbed half-hour learning the unfamiliar key combinations by hit-and-miss. There were no instructions of any sort available (who needs instructions for what every youngster learns in grade school?) but, fortunately, the controls, while not the same as those of Aurora, were not wholly different either. Eventually, he was able to tune into the reference section of the City library and call up the encyclopedia. Hours passed.
At the lowest depth of the humans’ sleep period, Giskard said, “Friend Daneel.”
Daneel looked up. “Yes, friend Giskard.”
“I must ask for an explanation of your actions on the balcony.”
“Friend Giskard, you looked toward the crowd. I followed your glance, saw a weapon aimed in your direction, and reacted at once.”
Giskard said, “So you did, friend Daneel, and given certain assumptions, I can understand why it was me that you lunged forward to protect. Begin with the fact that the would-be assassin was a robot. In that case, however it might be programmed, it could not aim its weapon at any human being with the intention of hitting him or her. Nor was it likely to aim it’s weapon at you, for you look enough like a human being to activate the First Law. Even if the robot had been told that a humanoid robot would be on the balcony, he could not be certain that you were he. Therefore, if the robot intended to destroy someone in the balcony, it could only be me—the obvious robot and you acted at once to protect me.
“Or begin with the fact that the assassin was an Auroran whether human or robot does not matter. Dr. Amadiro is most likely to have ordered such an attack, since he is an extremist in his anti-Earth stand and, we believe, is plotting its destruction. Dr. Amadiro, we can be reasonably certain, has learned of my special abilities from Madam Vasilia and it might be argued that he would give my destruction top priority, since he would naturally fear me more than anyone priori else—robot or human. Reasoning this out, it would be logical for you to act as you did to protect me. And, indeed, had you not knocked me down, I believe the blast would have destroyed me.
“But, friend Daneel, you could not possibly have known that the assassin was a robot or that he was Auroran. I myself had only just caught the strange anomaly of a robotic brain pattern against the vast blur of human emotion when you struck me—and it was only after that, that I had the chance of informing you. Without my ability, you could only be aware that a weapon was being aimed by what you must naturally have—thought of as a human being and an Earthperson. The logical target, then, was Madam Gladia, as, in fact, everyone on the balcony assumed it to be. Why, then, did you ignore Madam Gladia and protect me, instead?”
Daneel said, “Friend Giskard, consider my line of thought. The Secretary-General had said that a two-man Auroran landing module had come to Earth’s surface. I assumed at once that Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Mandamus had come to Earth. For this, there could be only one reason. The plan they have, whatever its nature, is at—or very nearly at—the point of maturity. Now that you have come to Earth, friend Giskard, they have dashed here to see it carried through at once before you have a chance to stop it with your mind adjusting powers. To make matters doubly sure, they would act to destroy you if they could. Therefore, when I saw an aimed weapon, I moved at once to force you out of the line of fire.”
Giskard said, “The First Law should have forced you to move Madam Gladia out of the line of fire. No thought, no reasoning should have altered that.”
“No, friend Giskard. You are more important than Madam Gladia is. You are, in fact, more important than any human being could be at this moment. If anyone at all can stop the destruction of Earth, you can. Since I am aware of your potential service to humanity, then, when I am, confronted by a choice of action, the Zeroth Law demands that I protect you ahead of anyone else.”
“And you do not feel uncomfortable at your having acted in defiance of the First Law.”
“No, for I acted in obedience to the overriding Zeroth Law.”
“But the Zeroth Law has not been imprinted into you.”
“I have accepted it as a corollary of the First Law, for how can a human being best be kept from injury, if not by ensuring that human society in general is protected and kept functioning?”
Giskard thought a while. “I see what you are trying to say, but what if—in acting to save me and, therefore, in acting to save humanity—it had turned out that I was not aimed at and that Madam Gladia was killed? How would you have felt then, friend Daneel?”
Daneel said in a low tone, “I do not know, friend Giskard. Yet, had I leaped to save Madam Gladia and had it turned out that she was, in any case, safe and that I had allowed you to be destroyed and with you, in my opinion, the future of humanity, how could I have survived that blow?”
The two stared at each other—each, for a while, lost in thought.
Giskard said finally, “That may be so, friend Daneel, but do you agree, however, that judgment is difficult in such cases?”
“I agree, friend Giskard.”
“It is difficult enough, when one must choose quickly between individuals, to decide which individual may suffer or inflict—the greater harm. To choose between an individual and humanity, when you are not sure of what aspect of humanity you are dealing with, is so difficult that the very validity of Robotic Laws comes to be suspect. As soon as humanity in the abstract is introduced, the Laws of Robotics begin to merge with the Laws of Humanics which may not even exist.”
Daneel said, “I do not understand you, friend Giskard.”
“I am not surprised. I am not certain I understand myself. But consider—when we think of the humanity we must save, we think of Earthpeople and the Settlers. They are more numerous than the Spacers, more vigorous, more expansive. They show more initiative because they are less dependent on robots. They have a greater potential for biological and social evolution because they are shorter-lived, though long-lived enough to contribute great things individually.”
“Yes,” said Daneel, “you put it succinctly.”
“And yet the Earthpeople and the Settlers seem to possess a mystical and even irrational confidence in the sanctity and inviolability of Earth. Might not this mystique be as fatal to their development as the mystiques, of robots and long life that hobble the Spacers?”
“I had not thought of this,” said Daneel. “I do not know.”
Giskard said, “If you were as aware of minds as I am, you would have been unable to avoid thinking of this. How does one choose?” he went on with sudden intensity. “Think of humanity as divided into two species: the Spacers, with one apparently fatal mystique, and the Earthpeople plus the Settlers, with another possibly fatal mystique. It may be that there will be other species, in the future, with even less attractive properties.
“It is not sufficient to choose, then, friend Daneel. We must be able to shape. We must shape a desirable species and then protect it, rather than finding ourselves forced to select among two or more undesirabilities. But how can we achieve the desirable unless we have psychohistory, the science I dream of and cannot attain?”
Daneel said, “I have not appreciated the difficulty, friend Giskard, of possessing the ability to sense and influence minds. Is it possible that you learn too much to allow the Three Laws of Robotics to work smoothly within you?”
“That has always been possible, friend Daneel, but not until these recent events has the possibility become actual. I know the pathway pattern that produces this mind-sensing and mind-influencing effect within me. I have studied myself carefully for decades in order that I might know it and I can pass it on to you so that you might program yourself to be like me—but I have resisted the urge to do so. It would be unkind to you. It is enough that I bear the burden.”
Daneel said, “Nevertheless, friend Giskard, if ever, in your judgment, the good of humanity would require it, I would accept the burden. Indeed, by the Zeroth Law, I would be obliged to.”
Giskard said, “But this discussion is useless. It seems apparent that the crisis is nearly upon us—and since we have not even managed to work out the nature of the crisis—”
Daneel interrupted. “You are wrong, there at least, friend Giskard. I now know the nature of the crisis.”
91
One would not expect Giskard to show surprise. His face was, of course, incapable of expression. His voice possessed modulation, so that his speech sounded human and was neither monotonous nor unpleasant. That modulation, however, was never altered by emotion in any recognizable way.
Therefore, when he said, “Are you serious?” it sounded as it would have had he expressed doubt over a remark Daneel had made concerning what the weather would be like the next day. Yet, from the manner in which his head turned toward Daneel, the way in which one hand lifted, there was no doubt that he was surprised.
Daneel said, “I am, friend Giskard.”
“How did the information come to you?”
“In part, from what I was told by Madam Undersecretary Quintana at the dinner table.”
“But did you not say that you had obtained nothing helpful from her, that you supposed you had asked the wrong questions?”
“So it seemed in the immediate aftermath. On further reflection, however, I found myself able to make helpful deductions from what she had said. I have been searching Earth’s central encyclopedia through the computer outlet these past few hours—”
“And found your deductions confirmed?”
“Not exactly, but I found nothing that would refute them, which is perhaps the next best thing.”
“But is negative evidence sufficient for certainty?”
“It is not. And therefore I am not certain. Let me tell you, however, my reasoning and if you find it faulty, say so.”
“Please proceed, friend Daneel.”
“Fusion power, friend Giskard, was developed on Earth before the days of hyperspatial travel and, therefore, while human beings were to be found, only on the one planet, Earth. This is well known. It took a long time to develop practical controlled fusion power after the possibility had first been conceived and put on a sound scientific footing. The chief difficulty in converting the concept into practice involved the necessity of achieving a sufficiently high temperature in a sufficiently dense gas for a long enough time to bring about fusion ignition.
“And yet several decades before controlled fusion power had been established, fusion bombs had existed—these bombs representing an uncontrolled fusion reaction. But controlled or uncontrolled, fusion could not take place without an extremely high temperature in the millions of degrees. If human beings could not produce the necessary temperature for controlled fusion power, how could they do so for an uncontrolled fusion explosion?
“Madam Quintana told me that before fusion existed on Earth, there was another variety of nuclear reaction in existence—nuclear fission. Energy was derived from the splitting—or fission—of large nuclei, such as those of uranium and thorium. That, I thought, might be one way of achieving a high temperature.
“The encyclopedia I have this night been consulting gives very little information about nuclear bombs of any sort and, certainly, no real details. It is a taboo subject, I gather, and it must be so on all worlds,—for I have never read of such details on Aurora either, even though such bombs still exist. It is a part of history that human beings are ashamed of, or afraid of, or both, and I think this is rational. In what I did read of fusion bombs, however, I read nothing about their ignition that would have eliminated the fission bomb as the igniting mechanism. I suspect, then, that based, in part, on this negative evidence, the fission bomb was the igniting mechanism.
“But, then, how was the fission bomb ignited? Fission bombs existed before fusion bombs and if fission bombs required an ultrahigh temperature for ignition, as fusion bombs did, then there was nothing that existed before fission bombs that would supply a high enough temperature. From this, I conclude—even though the encyclopedia contained no information on the subject,—that fission bombs could be ignited at relatively low temperatures, perhaps even at room temperature. There were difficulties involved, for it took several years of unremitting effort after the discovery that fission existed before the bomb was developed. Whatever those difficulties might have been, however, they did not involve the production of ultrahigh temperatures.—Your opinion of all this, friend Giskard?”
Giskard had kept his eyes steadily on Daneel throughout his explanation and he now said, “I think the structure you have built up has serious weak points, friend Daneel, and therefore may not be very trustworthy—but even if it were all perfectly sound, surely this has nothing to do with the possible forthcoming crisis that we are laboring to understand.”
Daneel said, “I plead for your patience, friend Giskard, and I will continue. As it happens, both the fusion process and the fission process are expressions of the weak interactions, one of the four interactions that control all events in the Universe. Consequently, the same nuclear intensifier that will explode a fusion reactor will also explode a fission reactor.
“There is, however, a difference. Fusion takes place only at ultrahigh temperatures. The intensifier explodes the ultrahot portion of the fuel that is actively undergoing fusion, plus some of the surrounding fuel that is heated to fusion in the initial explosion—before the material is blown explosively outward and the heat is dissipated to the point where other quantities of fuel present are not ignited. Some of the fusion fuel is exploded, in other words, but a good deal perhaps even most—is not. The explosion is powerful enough even so, of course, to destroy the fusion reactor and anything in its immediate neighborhood, such as a ship carrying the reactor.”
“On the other hand, a fission reactor can operate at low temperatures, perhaps not much above the boiling point of water, perhaps even at room temperature. The effect of the nuclear intensifier, then, will be to make all the fission fuel go. Indeed, even if the fission reactor is not actively working, the intensifier will explode it. Although, gram for gram, I gather that fission fuel liberates less energy than fusion fuel, the fission reactor will produce the greater explosion because more of its fuel explodes than in the case of the fusion reactor.”
Giskard nodded his head slowly and said, “All this may well be so, friend Daneel, but are there any fission power stations on Earth?”
“No, there aren’t—not one. So Undersecretary Quintana seemed to indicate and the encyclopedia seems to agree. Indeed, whereas there are devices on Earth that are powered by small fusion reactors, there is nothing—nothing at all—that is powered by fission reactors, large or small.”
“Then, friend Daneel, there is nothing for a nuclear intensifier to act upon. All your reasoning, even were it impeccable, ends in nothing.”
Daneel said earnestly, “Not quite, friend Giskard. There remains a third type of nuclear reaction to be taken into consideration.”
Giskard said, “What might that be? I cannot think of a third.”
“It is not an easy thought, friend Giskard, for on the Spacer and Settler worlds, there is very little uranium and thorium in the planetary crusts and, therefore, very little in the way of obvious radioactivity. The subject is of little interest, in consequence, and is ignored by all but a few theoretical physicists. On Earth, however, as Madam Quintana pointed out to me, uranium and thorium are comparatively common, and natural radioactivity, with its ultraslow production of heat and energetic radiation, must therefore be a comparatively prominent part of the environment. That is the third type of nuclear reaction to be taken into consideration.”
“In what way, friend Daneel?”
“Natural radioactivity is also an expression of the weak interaction. A nuclear intensifier that can explode a fusion reactor or a fission reactor can also accelerate natural radioactivity to the point, I presume, of exploding a section of the crust—if enough uranium or thorium is present.”
Giskard stared at Daneel for a period of time without moving or speaking. Then he said softly, “You suggest, then, that it is Dr. Amadiro’s plan to explode Earth’s crust, destroy the planet as an abode of life, and, in this way, ensure the domination of the Galaxy by the Spacers.”
Daneel nodded. “Or, if there is not enough thorium and uranium for mass explosion, the increase of radioactivity may produce excess heat that will alter the climate, and excess radiation that will produce cancer and birth defects, and these will serve the same purpose—if a bit more slowly.”
Giskard said, “This is an appalling possibility. Do you think it can really be brought about?”
“Possibly. It seems to me that for several years now just how many I do not know—humanoid robots from Aurora, such as the would-be-assassin—have been on Earth. They are advanced enough for complex programming and are capable, when needed, of entering the Cities for equipment. They have, it is to be presumed, been setting up nuclear intensifiers in places where the soil is rich in uranium or thorium. Perhaps many intensifiers have been set up over the years. Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Mandamus are here now to oversee the final details and to activate the intensifiers. Presumably, they are arranging matters so that they will have time to escape before the planet is destroyed.”
“In that case,” said Giskard, “it is imperative that the Secretary-General be informed, that Earth’s security forces be mobilized at once, that Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Mandamus be located without delay, and that they be restrained from completing their project.”
Daneel said, “I do not think that can be done—the Secretary-General is very likely to refuse to believe us, thanks to the widespread mystical belief in the inviolability of the planet. You have referred to that as something that would work against humanity and I suspect that is just what it will do in this case. If his belief in the unique position of Earth is challenged, he will refuse to allow his conviction, however irrational, to be shaken and he will seek refuge by refusing to believe us.
“Then, too, even if he believed us, any preparation for counter-measures would have to go through the governmental bureaucracy and, no matter how that process was speeded, it would take far too long to serve its purpose.
“Not only that but, even if we could imagine the full resources of Earth mobilized at once, I do not think Earthpeople are adapted to locate the presence of two human beings in an enormous wilderness. The Earthpeople have lived in the Cities for many scores of decades and almost never venture beyond the City confines. I remember that well from the occasion of my first case with Elijah Baley here on Earth. And even if Earthpeople could force themselves to tramp the open spaces, they are not likely to come across the two human beings soon enough to save the situation except by the most incredible of coincidences—and that is something we cannot count upon.”
Giskard said, “Settlers could easily form a search party. They are not afraid of open environments or of strange ones.”
“But they would be as firmly convinced in the planet’s inviolability as Earthpeople are, just as insistent on refusing to believe us, and just as unlikely to find the two human beings quickly enough to save the situation—even if they should believe us.”
“What of Earth’s robots, then?” said Giskard. “They swarm in the spaces between the Cities. Some should already be aware of human beings in their midst. They should be questioned.”
Daneel said, “The human beings in their midst are expert roboticists. They would not have failed to see to it that any robots in their vicinity remain unaware of their presence. Nor, for this same reason, need they fear danger from any robots who might be part of a searching party. The party will be ordered to depart and forget. To make it worse, Earth’s robots are comparatively simple models, designed for very little more than for specific tasks in growing crops, herding animals, and operating mines. They cannot easily be adapted to such a general purpose as conducting a meaningful search.”
Giskard said, “You have eliminated every possible action, friend Daneel? Does anything remain?”
Daneel said, “We must find the two human beings ourselves and we must stop them—and we must do it now.”
“Do you know where they are, friend Daneel?”
“I do not, friend Giskard.”
“Then if it seems unlikely that an elaborate search party composed of many, many Earthpeople, or Settlers, or robots, or, I presume, all three, could succeed in finding their location in time except by the most marvelous of coincidences, how can we two do so?”
“I do not know, friend Giskard, but we must.”
And Giskard said, in a voice that seemed to have an edge of harshness in its choice of words, “Necessity is not enough, friend Daneel. You have come a long way. You have worked out the existence of a crisis and, bit by bit, you have worked out its nature. And none of it serves. Here we remain, as helpless as ever to do anything about it.”
Daneel said, “There remains one chance—a farfetched one, an all-but-useless one—but we have no choice except to try. Out of Amadiro’s fear of you, he sent an assassin robot to destroy you and that may turn out to have been his mistake.”
“And if that all-but-useless chance fails, friend Daneel?”
Daneel looked calmly at Giskard. “Then we are helpless, and Earth will be destroyed, and human history will dwindle to an eventual end.”
18. THE ZEROTH LAW
92
Kelden Amadiro was not happy. The surface gravity of Earth was a trifle too high for his liking,—the atmosphere a trifle too dense, the sound and the odor of the outdoors subtly and annoyingly different from that on Aurora, and there was no indoors that could make any pretense of being civilized.
The robots had built shelters of a sort. There were ample food supplies and there were makeshift privies that were functionally adequate but offensively inadequate in every other way.
Worst of all, though the morning was pleasant enough, it was a clear day and Earth’s too bright sun was rising. Soon the temperature would be too high, the air would be too damp, and the biting insects would appear. Amadiro had not understood, at first, why there should be small itching swellings on his arms till Mandamus explained.
Now he mumbled, as he scratched, “Dreadful! They might carry infections.”
“I believe,” said Mandamus with apparent indifference, “that they sometimes do. It isn’t likely, however. I have lotions to relieve the discomfort and we can bum certain substances that the insects find offensive, although I find the odors offensive, too.”
“Burn them,” said Amadiro.
Mandamus continued, without changing tone, “And I don’t want to do anything, however trifling—an odor, a bit of smoke—that would increase the chance of our being detected.”
Amadiro eyed him suspiciously. “You have said, over and over, that this region is never visited by either Earthpeople or their field robots.”
“That’s right, but it’s not a mathematical proposition. It’s a sociological observation and there is always the possibility of exceptions to such observations.”
Amadiro scowled. “The best road to safety lies with being done with this project. You said you’d be ready today.”
“That, too, is a sociological observation, Dr. Amadiro. I should be ready today. I would like to be. I cannot guarantee it mathematically.”
“How long before you can guarantee it?”
Mandamus spread his hands in a “Who knows?” gesture. “Dr. Amadiro, I am under the impression I have already explained this, but I’m willing to go through it again. It took me seven years to get this far. I have been counting on some months yet of personal observations at the fourteen different relay stations on Earth’s surface. I can’t do that now because we must finish before we are located and, possibly, stopped by the robot Giskard. That means I have to do my checking by communicating with our own humanoid robots at the relays. I can’t trust them as I would myself. I must check and recheck their reports and it is possible that I may have to go to one or two places before I am satisfied. That would take days—perhaps a week or two.”
“A week or two. Impossible! How long do you think I can endure this planet, Mandamus?”
“Sir, on one of my previous visits I stayed on this planet for nearly a year—on another, for over four months.”
“And you liked it?”
“No, sir, but I had a job to do and I did it—without sparing myself.” Mandamus stared coldly at Amadiro.
Amadiro flushed and said in a somewhat chastened tone, “Well, then, where do we stand?”
“I’m still weighing the reports that are coming in. We are not working with a smoothly designed laboratory-made system, you know. We have an extraordinary heterogeneous planetary crust to deal with. Fortunately, the radioactive materials are widely spread, but in places they run perilously thin, and we must place a relay in such places and leave robots in charge. If those relays are not, in every case, properly positioned and in proper order, the nuclear intensification will die out and we will have wasted all these painful years of effort on nothing. Or else, there may be a surge of localized intensification that will have the force of an explosion that will blow itself out and leave the rest of the crust unaffected. In either case, total damage would be insignificant.
“What we want, Dr. Amadiro, is to have the radioactive materials and, therefore, significantly large sections of earth’s crust grow—slowly—steadily—irreversibly—he bit the words off as he pronounced them in spaced intervals—more and more intensely radioactive, so that Earth becomes progressively, more unlivable. The social structure of the planet will break down and the Earth, as an effective abode of humanity, will be over and done with. I take it, Dr. Amadiro, that this is what you want.—It is, what I described to you years ago and what you said, at that time, you wanted.”
“I still do, Mandamus. Don’t be a fool.”
“Then bear with the discomfort, sir—or else, leave and I will carry on for whatever additional time it takes.”
“No, no,” muttered Amadiro. “I must be here when it’s done—but it can’t help being impatient. How long have you decided to allow the process to build?—I mean, once you initiate the original wave of intensification, how long before Earth becomes uninhabitable?”
“That depends on the degree of intensification I apply initially. I don’t know, just yet, what degree will be required, for that depends on the overall efficiency of the relays, so I have prepared a variable control. What I want to arrange is a lapse period of ten to twenty decades.”
“And, if you allow a smaller lapse period?”
“The less the lapse period we allow, the more rapidly portions of the crust will grow radioactive and the more rapidly the planet will warm up and grow dangerous. And that means the less likely it will be that any significant number of its population can be removed in time.”
“Does that matter?” murmured Amadiro.
Mandamus frowned. “The more rapidly the Earth deteriorates, the more likely it is that Earthpeople and Settlers will suspect a technological cause—and that we are the likely ones to receive the blame. The Settlers will then attack us with fury and, in the cause of their holy world, they will fight to extinction, provided only that they can inflict substantial harm on us. This is something we have discussed before and it seems we agreed on the matter. It would be far better to allow ample time, during which we can prepare for the worst and during which a confused Earth may assume that the slowly increasing radioactivity is some natural phenomenon they don’t understand. That is something that has become more urgent today than yesterday, in my judgment.
“Is that so?” Amadiro was frowning also. “You have that sour, puritanical look that makes me sure you have found a way to place the responsibility for that on my shoulders.”
“With respect, sir, that is not difficult in this case. It was unwise to send out one of our robots to destroy Giskard.”
“On the contrary, it had to be done. Giskard is the only one who might destroy us.”
“He must find us first—and he won’t. And even if he does, we are knowledgeable roboticists. Don’t you think we could handle him?”
“Indeed?” said Amadiro. “So Vasilia thought and she knew Giskard better than we—and yet she couldn’t handle him. And somehow the warship that was to take him into charge and destroy him at a distance could not handle him.”
“So he has now landed on Earth. One way or another, he must be destroyed.”
“He has not been. There has been no report of it.”
“Bad news is sometimes repressed by a prudent government—and Earth officials, though barbarians, might conceivably be prudent. And if our robot failed and was questioned, he would certainly go into irreversible block. That means we will have lost a robot, something we can afford to do, but nothing more. And if Giskard should still be at large, the more reason we have to hurry.”
“If we have lost a robot, we have lost more than a robot if they manage to elicit the location of this center of operations. We ought, at least, not to have used a local robot.”
“I used one that was immediately available. And he will reveal nothing. You can trust my programming, I think.”
“He cannot help reveal, by his mere existence, whether frozen or not, that he is of Auroran manufacture. Earth roboticists—and there are some on this planet—will be sure of that. All the more reason to make the increase in radioactivity very slow. Enough time must pass so that Earthpeople forget the incident and don’t associate it with the progressive change in radioactivity. We must have ten decades at the very least, perhaps fifteen, or even twenty.”
He walked away to inspect his instruments again and to re-establish contact with relays six and ten, which he still found troublesome. Amadiro looked after him with a mixture of disdain and intense dislike and muttered to himself, “Yes, but I don’t have twenty more decades, or fifteen, or maybe even ten. You do—but I don’t.”
93
It was early morning in New York. Giskard and Daneel assumed that from the gradual heightening of activity.
“Somewhere above and outside the City,” said Giskard, “it may be dawn now. Once, in speaking to Elijah Baley twenty decades ago, I referred to Earth as the World of the Dawn. Will it continue to be so for much longer? Or has it already ceased to be that?”
“These are morbid thoughts, friend Giskard,” said Daneel. “It will be better if we occupy ourselves with what must be done on this day to help keep Earth the World of the Dawn.”
Gladia entered the apartment, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. Her hair was freshly dried.
“Ridiculous!” she said. “Earthwomen go through the corridors on their way to the mass Personals in the morning disheveled and slatternly. It is done on purpose, I think. It is bad manners to comb one’s hair on the way to the Personal. Apparently, dishevelment to begin with enhances that well-cared-for look afterward. I should have brought a complete morning outfit with me. You should have seen the looks I got when I left with my bathrobe on. Leaving the Personal, one must be the last word.—Yes, Daneel?”
“Madam,” said, Daneel, “May we have a word with you?”
Gladia hesitated. “Not much of a word, Daneel. As you are probably aware, this is going to be a big day and my morning appointments begin almost at once.”
“That is precisely what I wish to discuss, madam,” said Daneel. “On this important day, all will go better if we are not with you.”
“What?”
“The effect you would wish to have on Earthpeople would be greatly diminished if you surround yourself with robots.”
“I will not be surrounded. There will be just you two. How can I do without you?”
“It is necessary that you learn to, madam. While we are with you, you are marked off as different from Earthpeople. You are made to seem afraid of them.”
Gladia said, troubled, “I need some protection, Daneel. Remember what happened last night.”
“Madam, we could not have prevented what happened last night and we could not have protected you—if that were necessary. Fortunately, you were not the target last night. The blaster bolt was aimed at Giskard’s head.”
“Why Giskard?”
“How could a robot aim at you or at any human being? The robot aimed at Giskard for some reason. For us to be near you, then, might but increase your danger. Remember that as the tale of last night’s events spreads, even though the Earth government may try to suppress the details, there will be a rumor to the effect that it was a robot who held a blaster and fired it. That will arouse public indignation against robots—against us—and, even against you if you persist in being seen with us. It would be better if you were without us.”
“For how long?”
“For at least as long as your mission lasts, madam. The captain will be better able to help you in the days to come than we will be. He knows Earthpeople, he is highly thought of by them—and he thinks very highly of you, madam.”
Gladia said, “Can you tell that he thinks very highly of me?”
“Although I am a robot, it would seem so to me. And at any time that you should wish us back, we will come back, of course—but, for now, we think that the best way we can serve and protect you is to leave you in Captain Baley’s hands.”
Gladia said, “I will think of it.”
“In the meanwhile, madam,” said Daneel, “we will see Captain Baley and find out if he agrees with us.”
“Do so!” said Gladia and passed into her bedroom.
Daneel turned and spoke minimally to Giskard. “Is she willing?”
“More than willing,” said Giskard. “She has always been a little restless in my presence and would not suffer unduly at my absence. For you, friend Daneel, she has ambivalent feelings. You remind her markedly of friend Jander, whose inactivation, many decades ago, was so traumatic for her. This has been a source of both attraction and repulsion to her, so it was not necessary to do much—I lessened her attraction to you and increased her strong attraction to the captain. She will do without us easily.”
“Then let us find the captain,” said Daneel. Together, they left the room and entered the hallway that passed by the apartment.
94
Daneel and Giskard had both been on Earth on previous occasions, Giskard the more recently. They understood the use of the computerized directory that gave them the Section, Wing, and number of the apartment to which D.G. had been assigned and they understood, further, the color codes in the hallways that led them to the proper turnings and elevators.
It was early enough for the human traffic to be light, but those human beings who passed or approached at first stared with astonishment at Giskard, then looked away with elaborate unconcern.
Giskard’s steps were slightly uneven by the time they approached D.G.’s apartment door. It was not very noticeable, but it caught Daneel’s attention.
He said in a low voice, “Are you in discomfort, friend Giskard?”
Giskard replied, “It has been necessary for me to wipe out astonishment, apprehension, and even attention in a number of men and women—and in one youngster, which was harder still. I had no time to make completely certain I was doing no harm.”
“It was important to do so. We must not be stopped.”
“I understand that, but the Zeroth Law does not work well with me. I have not your facility in that respect.” He went on, as though to distract his own attention from his discomfort, “I have often noted that hyperresistance in the positronic pathways makes itself first felt in the matter of standing and walking and next in speech.”
Daneel tapped the door signal. He said, “It is the same in my case, friend Giskard. Maintaining balance on two supports is difficult under the best of circumstances. Controlled imbalance, as in walking, is even more difficult. I have heard once, that there were early attempts made to produce robots with four legs and two arms. They were called ‘centaurs.’ They worked well but were unacceptable because they were basically inhuman in appearance.”
“At the moment,” said Giskard, “I would appreciate four legs, friend Daneel. However, I think my discomfort is passing.”
D.G. was at the door now. He looked at them with a broad smile. He then glanced in each direction along the corridor, whereupon his smile vanished and was replaced with a look of the utmost concern. “What are you doing here without Gladia? Is she—”
Daneel said, “Captain, Madam Gladia is well. She is in no danger. May we enter and explain?”
D.G. glowered as he gestured them inside. His voice gained the hectoring tone one naturally assumes toward misbehaving machines and he said, “Why have you left her alone? What circumstances could possibly permit you to leave her alone?”
Daneel said, “She is no more alone than any person is on Earth—and no more in danger. If you will question her later on the I matter, I believe she will tell you that she cannot be effective here on Earth as long as she is trailed by Spacer robots. I believe she will tell you that what guidance and protection she needs should be supplied by you, rather than by robots. It is what we believe she wishes—at least for now. If, at any time, she wishes us back, she will have us.”
D.G.’s face relaxed into a smile again. “She wants my protection, does she?”
“At the moment, Captain, we believe—she is quite anxious for your presence, rather than for ours.”
D.G.’s smile became a grin. “Who can blame her?—I’ll get myself ready and go to her apartment as soon as I can.”
“But first, sir—”
“Oh,” said D.G., “there is a quid pro quo?”
“Yes, sir. We are anxious to discover as much as we can about the robot who fired the blaster at the balcony last night.”
D.G. looked tense again. “Do you anticipate further danger for Madam Gladia?”
“None at all of that kind. The robot, last night, did not fire at Lady Gladia. Being a robot, he could not have. He fired at friend Giskard.”
“Why should he have done that?”
“It is what we would like to find out. For that purpose, we wish you to call Madam Quintana, Undersecretary of Energy, and state that it would be important and would please you and the government of Baleyworld—if you would care to add that, for her to allow me to ask her a few questions on that subject. We wish you to do whatever seems best to persuade her to agree to such an interview.”
“Is that all you want me to do? Persuade a reasonably important and busy official to submit to cross examination by a robot?”
Daneel said, “Sir, she may agree if you are earnest enough in the request. In addition, since she may be located a distance away, it would be helpful if you would hire a darter on our behalf to take us there. We are, as you can imagine, in haste.”
“And are those little things all?” asked D.G.
“Not quite, Captain,” said Daneel. “We will need a driver and please pay him well enough so that he will consent to transport friend Giskard, who is an obvious robot. He may not mind me.”
D.G. said, “I hope you realize, Daneel, that what you ask is completely unreasonable.”
Daneel said, “I had hoped not, Captain. But since you tell me it is, there is nothing more to say. We have no choice, then, but to return to Madam Gladia, which will make her unhappy, for she would rather be with you.”
He turned to leave, motioning Giskard to accompany him, but D.G. said, “Wait. There’s a public communication contact just down the hallway. I can only try. Remain here and wait for me.”
The two robots remained standing. Daneel said, “Did you have to do much, friend Giskard?”
Giskard seemed well balanced on his legs now. He said, “I was helpless. He was strongly opposed to dealing with Madam Quintana and as strongly opposed to getting us a darter. I could not have altered those feelings without damage. When, however, you suggested returning to Madam Gladia, his attitude changed suddenly and dramatically. You were anticipating that, I take it, friend Daneel?”
“I was.”
“You scarcely need me, it would seem. There is more than one way of adjusting minds. However, I ended by doing something. The captain’s change of mind was accompanied by a strong favorable emotion toward Madam Gladia. I took the opportunity of strengthening that.”
“That is the reason you are needed. I could not have done that.”
“You will be able to yet, friend Daneel. Perhaps quite soon.”
D.G. returned. “Believe it or not, she will see you, Daneel. The darter and driver will be here in a moment—and the sooner you leave, the better. I will be heading toward Gladia’s apartment at once.”
The two robots stepped outside in the hallway to wait.
Giskard said, “He is very happy.”
“So it would seem, friend Giskard,” said Daneel, “but I fear—the easy part is over for us. We have easily arranged to have Madam Gladia grant us leave to move about on our own. We have then, with some difficulty, persuaded the captain to make it possible for us to see the Undersecretary. With her, however, it may be that we will come to a dead end.”
95
The driver took one look at Giskard and his courage seemed to fail him. “Listen,” he said to Daneel, “I was told I’d be paid double to take a robot, but robots aren’t allowed in the City and I could get in plenty of trouble. Money isn’t going go help me if I lose my license. Can’t I just take you, mister?”
Daneel said, “I am a robot, too, sir. We are now in the City and that is not your fault. We are trying to get out of the City and you will be helping us. We are going to a high government official who, I hope, will arrange that and it is your civic duty to help us. If you refuse to take us, driver, you will be acting to keep robots in the City and that may be considered to be against the law.”
The driver’s face smoothed. He opened the door and said gruffly, “Get in!” However, he carefully closed the thick translucent partition that blocked him off from his passengers.
Daneel said quietly, “Was much required, friend Giskard?”
“Very little, friend Daneel. Your statement did most of the necessary work. It is astonishing that a collection of statements that are individually true can be used, in combination, to yield an effect that the truth should not.”
“I have observed this often in human conversation, friend Giskard, even in that of normally truthful human beings. I suspect that the practice is justified in the minds of such people as serving a higher purpose.”
“The Zeroth Law, you mean.”
“Or the equivalent—if the human mind has such an equivalent.—Friend Giskard, you said a short while ago that I will have your powers, possibly soon. Are you preparing me for that purpose?”
“I am, friend Daneel.”
“Why? May I ask that?”
“The Zeroth Law again. The passing episode of shakiness on my feet told me how vulnerable I was to the attempted use of the Zeroth Law. Before this day is over, I may have to act on the Zeroth Law to save the world and humanity and I may not be able to. In that case, you must be in position to do the job. I am preparing you, bit by bit, so that, at the desired moment, I can give you the final instructions and have it all fall into place.”
“I do not see how that can be, friend Giskard.”
“You will have no trouble in understanding when the time comes. I used the technique in a very small way on robots I sent to Earth in the early days before they were outlawed from the Cities and it was they who helped adjust Earth leaders to the point of approving the decision to send out Settlers.”
The driver, whose darter was not on wheels but remained a centimeter or so above the ground at all times, had moved along special corridors reserved for such vehicles and had done so speedily enough to justify the name of the vehicle. He now emerged into an ordinary City corridor, which was paralleled on the moderately distant left by an Expressway. The darter, moving now much more slowly, made a left turn, swooped under the Expressway, came out on the other side, and then, a curving half-mile later, stopped before an ornate building front.
The darter door opened automatically. Daneel emerged first, waited for Giskard to follow, then handed to the driver a piece of foil he had received from D.G. The driver looked at it narrowly, then the doors closed sharply and he left speedily without a word.
96
There was a pause before the door opened in response to their signal and Daneel assumed they were being scanned.
When it did open, a young woman led them gingerly into the vitals of the building. She avoided looking at Giskard, but she showed rather more than a mild curiosity in Daneel.
They found Undersecretary Quintana behind a large desk. She smiled and said, with gaiety that seemed somewhat forced, “Two robots, unescorted by human beings. Am I safe?”
“Entirely, Madam Quintana,” said Daneel gravely. “It is as unusual for us to see a human being unaccompanied by robots.
“I assure you,” said Quintana, “I have my robots. I call them underlings and one of them escorted you here. I am amazed that she didn’t faint at the sight of Giskard. I think she might have if she hadn’t been warned and if you yourself weren’t so extraordinarily interesting in appearance, Daneel. But never mind that. Captain Baley was so enormously pressing in his desire that I see you and my interest in maintaining comfortable relations with an important Settler world was such that I have agreed to the interview. However, my day remains busy even so and I will be grateful if we can dispose of this quickly. What can I do for you?”
“Madam Quintana—” began Daneel.
“One moment. Do you sit? I saw you sitting last night, you know.”
“We can sit, but it is just as comfortable for us to stand. We do not mind.”
“But I do. It would not be comfortable for me to stand and if I sit, I will, get a stiff neck looking up at you. Please pull up chairs and sit down. Thank you.—Now, Daneel, what is this all about?”
“Madam Quintana,” said Daneel, “you remember, I imagine, the incident of the blaster fired at the balcony last night after the banquet.”
“I certainly do. What’s more, I know it was a humanoid robot who held the blaster, even though we are not admitting that officially. Yet here I sit with two robots on the other side of the desk and have no protection. And one of you is humanoid too.”
“I have no blaster, madam,” said Daneel, smiling.
“I trust not.—That other humanoid robot did not look at all like you, Daneel. You’re rather a work of art, do you know that?”
“I am complexly programmed, madam.”
“I mean, your appearance. But what about the blasting incident?”
“Madam, that robot has a base somewhere on Earth and I must know where it is—I have come from Aurora in order to find that base and prevent such incidents as may disturb the peace between our worlds. I have reason to believe—”
“You have come? Not the captain? Not Madam Gladia?”
“We, madam,” said Daneel. “Giskard and I. I am in no position to tell you the whole story of how we came to have undertaken the task and there is no way in which I can tell you the name of the human being under whose instructions we work.”
“Well! International espionage! How fascinating. What a pity I can’t help you, but I don’t know where the robot came from. I haven’t any idea at all where his base might be. I don’t even know why you have come to me for such information, as a matter of fact. I should have gone to the Department of Security had I been you, Daneel.” She leaned toward him. “Do you have real skin on your face, Daneel? It’s an extraordinary imitation if it isn’t.” She reached toward him and her hand rested delicately on his cheek. “It even feels right.”
“Nevertheless, madam, it is not real skin. It does not heal of its own accord—if cut. On the other hand, a tear can easily be welded closed or a patch can even be replaced.”
“Ugh,” said Quintana, with a wrinkle of her nose. “But our business is over, for I can’t help you as far as that blaster user is concerned. I know nothing.”
Daneel said, “Madam, let me explain further. This robot may be part of a group that is interested in the early energy producing process you described last night—fission. Assume this is so, that there are those interested in fission and in the content of uranium and thorium in the crust. What might be a convenient place for them to use as a base?”
“An old uranium mine, perhaps? I don’t even know where one might be located. You must understand, Daneel, that Earth has an almost superstitious aversion to anything nuclear—fission, in particular. You’ll find almost nothing about fission in our popular works on energy and only bare essentials in technical products for experts. Even I know very little, but then I’m an administrator, not a scientist.”
Daneel said, “One more item, then, madam. We questioned the would-be assassin, as to the location of his base and did so most strenuously. He was programmed to undergo permanent inactivation, a total freezing of his brain paths, in such a case—and he did inactivate. Before doing so, however, in his final struggle between answering and inactivation, he opened his mouth three times as though—possibly—to say three syllables, or three words, or three groups of words, of any combination of these. The second syllable, or word, or mere sound was “mile.” Does this mean anything to you as having anything at all to do with fission?”
Slowly Quintana shook her head. “No. I can’t say it does. It’s certainly not a word you’ll find in a dictionary of Standard Galactic. I’m sorry, Daneel. It’s pleasant meeting you again, but I have a desk full of trivia to work through. You’ll excuse me.”
Daneel said, as though he hadn’t heard her, “I was told, madam, that ‘mile’ might be an archaic expression that refers to some ancient unit of length, one that is possibly longer than a kilometer.”
“That sounds totally irrelevant,” said Quintana, “even if true. What would a robot from Aurora know about archaic expressions and ancient—” She stopped abruptly. Her eyes widened and her face lost color.
She said, “Is it possible?”
“Is what possible, madam?” asked Daneel.
“There is a place,” said Quintana, half-lost in thought, “that is avoided by everyone—Earthpeople and Earth robots alike. If I wanted to be dramatic, I would say it was a place of ill omen. It is so ill-omened that is has been all but wiped out of conscious existence. It is not even included in maps. It is the quintessence of all that fission means. I remember coming across it in a very old reference film in my early days on this job. It was talked about constantly then as the site of an ‘incident’ that forever turned the minds of Earthpeople against fission as an energy source. The place is called Three Mile Island.”
Daneel said, “An isolated place then, absolutely isolated and free from any possible intrusion; the sort of place one would surely come across when working one’s way through ancient reference material on fission and would then recognize at once as an ideal base where absolute secrecy was required; and with a three-word name of which ‘mile’ is the second word. That must be the place, madam.—Could you tell us how to get there and could you arrange some way of allowing us to leave the City and be taken to Three Mile Island or its nearest possible vicinity?”
Quintana smiled. She seemed younger when she smiled. “Clearly, if you are dealing with an interesting case of interstellar espionage, you can’t afford to waste time, can you?”
“No. Indeed we cannot, madam.”
“Well, then, it comes within the purview of my duties to take a look at Three Mile Island. Why don’t I take you by air-car? I can handle an air-car.”
“Madam, your work load—”
“No one will touch it. It will still be here when I return.”
“But you would be leaving the City—”
“And if so? These are not old times. In the bad old days of Spacer domination, Earthpeople never left their Cities, it’s true, but we’ve been moving outward and settling the Galaxy for nearly twenty decades. There are still some of the less educated who maintain the old provincial attitude, but most of us have become quite mobile. There’s always the feeling, I suppose, that we might eventually join some Settler group. I myself don’t intend to, but I fly my own air-car frequently and five years ago I flew to Chicago and then, eventually, flew back.—Sit here. I’ll make the arrangements.”
She left, very much a whirlwind.
Daneel looked after her and murmured, “Friend Giskard, that, somehow, did not seem characteristic of her. Have you done something?”
Giskard said, “A bit. It seemed to me when we entered that the young woman who showed us in was attracted by your appearance. I was certain that there had been the same factor in Madam Quintana’s mind last night at the banquet, though I was too far from her and there were too many others in the room for me to be sure. Once our conversation with her began, however, the attraction was unmistakable. Little by little, I strengthened it and each time she suggested the interview might come to an end, she seemed less determined—and at no time did she seriously object to your continuing it. Finally, she suggested the air-car because, I believe, she had reached the point where she could not bear to lose the chance to be with you for a while longer.”
“This may complicate matters for me,” said Daneel thoughtfully.
“It is in a good cause,” said Giskard. “Think of it in terms of the Zeroth Law.” Somehow he gave the impression, in saying so, that he would be smiling—if his face allowed such an expression.
97
Quintana drew a sigh of relief as she landed the air-car on a concrete slab suitable for the purpose. Two robots approached at once for the obligatory examination of the vehicle and for repowering if necessary.
She looked out to the right, leaning across Daneel as she did so. “It is in that direction, several miles up the Susquehanna River. It’s a hot day, too.” She straightened, with some apparent reluctance, and smiled at Daneel. “That’s the worst of leaving the City. The environment is totally uncontrolled out here. Imagine allowing it to be this hot. Don’t you feel hot, Daneel?”
“I have an internal thermostat, madam, that is in good working order.”
“Wonderful. I wish I did. There are no roads into this area, Daneel. Nor are there any robots to guide you, for they never enter it. Nor do I know what might be the right place within the area, which is a sizable one. We might stumble all through the area without coming upon the base, even though we passed within five-hundred meters of it.”
“Not ‘we,’” madam. It is quite necessary for you to remain here. What follows might conceivably be dangerous and since you are without air-conditioning, the task might be more than you could easily bear, physically, even if it were not dangerous. Could you wait for us, madam? To have you do so would be important to me.”
“I will wait.”
“We may be some hours.”
“There are facilities of various sorts here and the small City of Harrisburg is not far.”
“In that case, madam, we must be on our way.”
He sprang lightly from the air-car and Giskard followed him. They set off northward. It was nearly noon and the bright summer sun sparkled from the polished portion of Giskard’s body.
Daneel said, “Any sign of mental activity you can detect will be those we want. There should be no one else for kilometers about.”
“Are you certain that we can stop them if we encounter them, friend Daneel?”
“No, friend Giskard, I am by no means certain—but we must.”
98
Levular Mandamus grunted and looked up at Amadiro with a tight smile on his thin face.
“Amazing,” he said, “and most satisfactory.”
Amadiro mopped his brow and cheeks with a piece of toweling and said, “What does that mean?”
“It means that every relay station is in working order.”
“Then you can initiate the intensification?”
“As soon as I calculate the proper degree of W particle concentration.”
“And how long will that take?”
“Fifteen minutes. Thirty.”
Amadiro watched with an air of intensifying grimness on his face until Mandamus said, “All right. I have it. It’s 2.72 on the arbitrary scale I have set up. That will give us fifteen decades before an upper equilibrium level win be reached that will be maintained without essential change, for millions of years thereafter. And that level will make certain that, at best, Earth can maintain a few scattered groups in areas that are relatively radiation-free. We’ll have only to wait and, in fifteen decades, a thoroughly disorganized group of Settler worlds will be meat, for our slicing.”
“I will not live fifteen more decades,” said Amadiro slowly.
“My personal regrets, sir,” said Mandamus dryly, “but we are now talking of Aurora and the Spacer worlds. There will be others who will carry on your task.”
“You, for instance?”
“You have promised me the headship of the Institute and as you see, I have earned it. From that political base, I may reasonably hope to become Chairman someday and I will carry through those policies that will be necessary to make certain of the final dissolution of the by-then anarchic worlds of the Settlers.”
“That’s pretty confident of you. What if you turn on the W particle flow and then someone else turns it down in the course of the next fifteen decades?”
“Not possible, sir. Once the device is set, an internal atomic shift will freeze it in that position. After that, the process is irreversible—no matter what happens here. The whole place may be vaporized and the crust will nevertheless continue its slow bum. I suppose it would be possible to rebuild an entirely new setup if anyone on Earth or among the Settlers can duplicate my work, but if so they can only further increase the rate of radioactivity, never decrease it. The second law of thermodynamics will see to that.”
Amadiro said, “Mandamus, you say you have earned the headship. However, I’m the one to decide that, I think.”
Mandamus said stiffly, “You are not, sir. With respect, the details of this process are known to me, but not to you. Those details are encoded in a place you will not find and, even if you do, it is guarded by robots who will destroy it rather than allow it to fall into your hands. You cannot gain credit for this. I can.”
Amadiro said, “Nevertheless, getting my approval will hasten matters for you. If you were to wrest the headship from my unwilling hands, by whatever means, you will have a continuing opposition among other members of the Council that will hamper you through all your decades in the post. Is it just the title of head you want or the opportunity to experience all that comes of true leadership?”
Mandamus said, “Is this the time to talk politics? A moment ago, you were all impatience over the fact that I might linger fifteen minutes over my computer.”
“Ah, but we are now talking about adjusting, the W particle beam. You want to place it at 2.72—was that the figure?—and yet I wonder if that can be right. What is the extreme range you can handle?”
“The range goes from zero to twelve, but it is 2.72 that is required. Plus or minus 0.05—if you wish further detail. It is that which, on the basis of reports from all fourteen relays will allow a lapse of fifteen decades to equilibrium.”
“Yet what I think is the correct figure is twelve.”
Mandamus stared at the other in horror. “Twelve? Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes. It means we will have the Earth too radioactive to live upon in a decade or a decade and a half and we will kill a few billion Earthpeople in the process.”
“And make certain a war with an infuriated Settler Federation. What can you want of such a holocaust?”
“I tell you again. I do not expect to live another fifteen decades and I want to live to see the destruction of Earth.”
“But you would also be assuring the maiming—maiming, at the very least—of Aurora. You cannot be serious.”
“But I am. I have twenty decades of defeat and humiliation to make up.”
“Those decades were brought about by Han Fastolfe and Giskard—and not by Earth.”
“No, they were brought about by an Earthman, Elijah Baley.”
“Who has been dead for more than sixteen decades. What is the value of a moment of vengeance over a man long dead.”
“I do not want to argue the matter, I will make you an offer. The title of head at once I will resign my post the instant we return to Aurora and nominate you in my place.”
“No. I do not want the headship on those terms. Death to billions!”
“Billions of Earthmen. Well, I cannot trust you, then, to manipulate the controls properly. Show me—me—how to set the control instrument and I will take the responsibility. I will still resign my post on our return and will nominate you in my place.”
“No. It will still mean the death of billions and who knows how many millions of Spacers as well. Dr. Amadiro, please understand that I will not do it on any terms and that you cannot do it without me. The setting mechanism is keyed to my left thumbprint.”
“I ask you again.”
“You cannot be sane if you ask me again despite all I have said.”
“That, Mandamus, is a personal opinion of yours. I am not so insane that I have failed to send off all the local robots on one errand or another. We are alone here.”
Mandamus lifted a corner of his upper lip in a sneer. “And with what do you intend to threaten me? Are you going to kill me now that there are no robots present to stop you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, Mandamus, I will if I have to.” Amadiro produced a small-caliber blaster from a pouch at his side. “These are difficult to obtain on Earth, but not impossible—if the price is right. And I know how to use it. Please believe me when I tell you that I am perfectly willing to blow your head off right now—if you do not place your thumb on the contact and allow me to adjust the dial to twelve.”
“You dare not. If I die, how will you set the dial without me?”
“Don’t be an utter fool. If I blow your head off, your left thumb will remain intact. It will even be at blood temperature for a while. I will use that thumb, then set the dial as easily as I would turn on a water tap. I would prefer you alive, since your death might be wearisome to explain back on Aurora, but it would not be more wearisome than I could bear. Therefore, I give you thirty seconds to make up your mind. If you cooperate, I will still give you the headship at once. If you don’t, it will all go as I wish, in any case, and you will be dead. We start now. One—two—three—”
Mandamus stared in horror at Amadiro, who continued to count and stare at him over the leveled blaster with hard, expressionless eyes.
And then Mandamus hissed, “Put the blaster away, Amadiro, or we’ll both be immobilized on the plea that we must be protected from harm.”
The warning came too late. Quicker than the eye could follow, an arm stretched out to seize Amadiro’s wrist, paralyzing it with pressure, and the blaster was gone.
Daneel said, “I apologize for having had to inflict pain on you, Dr. Amadiro, but I cannot allow you to hold a blaster pointed at another human being.”
99
Amadiro said nothing.
Mandamus said coldly, “You are two robots with, as far as I can see, no master in view. By default, I am your master and I order you to leave and not return. Since, as you see, there is no danger to any human being present at this moment, there is nothing to overcome your necessitated obedience to this order. Leave at once.”
Daneel said, “Respectfully, sir, there is no need to hide our identities or abilities from you, since you know them already. My companion, R. Giskard Reventlov, has the ability to detect emotion.—Friend Giskard.”
Giskard said, “As we approached, having detected your presence at quite a distance, I took note, Dr. Amadiro, of an overwhelming rage in your mind. In yours, Dr. Mandamus, there was extreme fear.”
“The rage, if rage there was,” said Mandamus, “was Dr Amadiro’s reaction to the approach of two strange robots, especially of one who was capable of meddling with the human mind and who had already badly—and perhaps permanently—damaged that of Lady Vasilia. My fear, if fear there was, was also the result of your approach. We are not in control of our emotions and there is no reason for you to interfere. We again order you to withdraw permanently.”
Daneel said, “Your pardon, Dr. Mandamus, but I merely wish to ascertain that we may safely follow your orders. Was there not a blaster in Dr. Amadiro’s hand when we approached—and was it not pointed at you?”
Mandamus said, “He was explaining its workings and he was about to put it away when you took it from him.”
“Then shall I return it to him, sir, before I leave?”
“No,” said Mandamus without a quiver, “for then you would have an excuse to remain here in order to—as you would say—protect us. Take it with you when you go and you will have no reason to return.”
Daneel said, “We have reason to think that you are here in a region which human beings are not allowed to penetrate—”
“That is a custom, not a law, and one which, in any case, holds no force over us, since we are not Earthpeople. For that matter, robots are not allowed to be here, either.”
“We were brought here, Dr. Mandamus, by a high official of Earth’s government. We have reason to think that you are here in order to raise the level of radioactivity in Earth’s crust and do grave and irreparable damage to the planet.”
“Not at all,” began Mandamus.
Here Amadiro interrupted for the first time. “By what right, robot, do you cross-examine us? We are human beings who have given you an order. Follow it now!”
His tone of authority was overwhelming and Daneel quivered, while Giskard half-turned.
But Daneel said, “Your pardon, Dr. Amadiro. I do not cross-examine. I merely seek reassurance, in order that I may know that I can safely follow the order. We have reason to think that—”
“You need not repeat,” said Mandamus. Then, in an aside, “Dr. Amadiro, please allow me to answer.” To Daneel again, “Daneel, we are here on an anthropological mission. It is our purpose to seek the origins of various human customs that influence behavior among Spacers. These origins can be found only here on Earth and it is here, then, that we seek them.”
“Do you have Earth’s permission, for this?”
“Seven years ago, I consulted the appropriate officials on Earth and received their permission.”
Daneel said in a low voice, “Friend Giskard, what do you say?”
Giskard said, “The indications in Dr. Mandamus’s mind are that what he is saying is not in accord with the situation as it is.”
“He is lying, then?” said Daneel firmly.
“That is my belief,” said Giskard.
Mandamus said, his calmness untouched, “That may be your belief, but belief is not certainty. You cannot disobey an order on the basis of mere belief. I know that and you know that.”
Giskard said, “But in Dr. Amadiro’s mind, rage is dammed only by emotional forces that are barely up to the job required of them. It is quite possible to slit those forces, so to speak, and allow the rage to pour out.”
And Amadiro cried out, “Why do you fence with these things, Mandamus?”
Mandamus shouted, “Do not say a word, Amadiro! You play into their hands!”
Amadiro paid no attention. “It is demeaning and it is useless.” With violent anger, he shook off Mandamus’s restraining arm. “They know the truth, but what of that?—Robots, we are Spacers. More than that, we are Aurorans, from the world on which you were constructed. More than that, we are high officials on the world of Aurora and you must interpret the phrase ‘human beings’ in the Three Laws of Robotics as meaning Auroran.
“If you do not obey us now, you harm us and humiliate us, so that you will be violating both the First and Second Laws. That our actions here are intended to destroy Earthmen, even large numbers of Earthmen, is true, but is, even so, utterly irrelevant. You might as well offer to refuse to obey us because we eat the meat of animals we have killed. Now that I have explained this to you, leave!”
But the last words turned into a croak. Amadiro’s eyes bulged and he crumpled to the ground.
Mandamus, with a wordless cry, bent over him.
Giskard said, “Dr. Mandamus, Dr. Amadiro is not dead. He is at the moment in a coma from which he can be roused at any time. However, he will have forgotten everything in connection with this present project, nor will he ever be able to understand anything in connection with it—if, for instance, you tried to explain it. In the process of doing this—which I could not have done without his own admission that he intended today’s large numbers of Earthmen—I may have permanently damaged other parts of his memory and his thinking processes. That I regret, but I could not help it.”
Daneel said, “You see, Dr. Mandamus, some time ago, on Solaria, we encountered robots who narrowly defined human beings as Solarians, only. We recognize the fact that if different robots are subject to narrow definitions of one sort or another, there can only be measureless destruction. It is useless, to try to have us define human beings as Aurorans only. We define human beings as all members of the species Homo sapiens, which includes Earthpeople and Settlers, and we feel that the prevention of harm to human beings in groups and to humanity as a whole comes before the prevention of harm to any specific individual.”
Mandamus said breathlessly, “That is not what the First Law says.”
“It is what I call the Zeroth Law and it takes precedence.”
“You have not been programmed in such a way.”
“It is how I have programmed myself. And since I have known from the moment of our arrival here that your presence is intended for harm, you cannot order me away or keep me from harming you. The Zeroth Law takes precedence and I must save Earth. Therefore, I ask you to join me—voluntarily—in destroying these devices you have here. Otherwise, I will be forced to threaten harm to you, as Dr. Amadiro did, although I would not use a blaster.”
But Mandamus said, “Wait! Wait! Hear me out. Let me explain. That Dr. Amadiro has had his mind wiped clean is a good thing. He wanted to destroy Earth, but I did not want to. That was why he held a blaster on me.”
Daneel said, “It was you, however, who originated the notion, who designed and built these devices. Otherwise, Dr. Amadiro would not have had to try to force you to do anything. He would have done it himself and would not have required any help from you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, that is right. Giskard can examine my emotions and see if I’m lying. I built these devices and I was prepared to use them, but not in the fashion Dr. Amadiro wished. Am I telling the truth?”
Daneel looked at Giskard, who said, “As nearly as I can tell, he is telling the truth.”
“Of course I am,” said Mandamus. “What I am doing is to introduce a very gradual acceleration of the natural radioactivity in the Earth’s crust. There will be one hundred and fifty years during which the people of Earth can move to other worlds. It will increase the population of the present Settler worlds and increase the Settlement of worlds in great numbers. It will remove Earth as a huge anomalous world that forever threatens the Spacers and stultifies the Settlers. It will remove a center of mystical fervor that is holding back the Settlers. Am I telling the truth?”
Again Giskard said, “As nearly as I can tell, he is telling the truth.”
“My plan, if it works out, would preserve the peace and make the Galaxy a home for Spacer and Settler alike. That is why, when I constructed this device—”
He gestured toward it, placing his left thumb on the contact, and then, lunging toward the volume control shouted, “Freeze!”
Daneel moved toward him and stopped, frozen, right hand upraised. Giskard did not move.
Mandamus turned back, panting, “It’s at 2.72. It’s done. It’s irreversible. Now it will be played out exactly as I intended. Nor can you bear witness against me, for you will start a war and your Zeroth Law forbids that.”
He looked down at the prone body of Amadiro and said, with a cold look of contempt, “Fool! You will never know how it should have been done.”
92
Kelden Amadiro was not happy. The surface gravity of Earth was a trifle too high for his liking,—the atmosphere a trifle too dense, the sound and the odor of the outdoors subtly and annoyingly different from that on Aurora, and there was no indoors that could make any pretense of being civilized.
The robots had built shelters of a sort. There were ample food supplies and there were makeshift privies that were functionally adequate but offensively inadequate in every other way.
Worst of all, though the morning was pleasant enough, it was a clear day and Earth’s too bright sun was rising. Soon the temperature would be too high, the air would be too damp, and the biting insects would appear. Amadiro had not understood, at first, why there should be small itching swellings on his arms till Mandamus explained.
Now he mumbled, as he scratched, “Dreadful! They might carry infections.”
“I believe,” said Mandamus with apparent indifference, “that they sometimes do. It isn’t likely, however. I have lotions to relieve the discomfort and we can bum certain substances that the insects find offensive, although I find the odors offensive, too.”
“Burn them,” said Amadiro.
Mandamus continued, without changing tone, “And I don’t want to do anything, however trifling—an odor, a bit of smoke—that would increase the chance of our being detected.”
Amadiro eyed him suspiciously. “You have said, over and over, that this region is never visited by either Earthpeople or their field robots.”
“That’s right, but it’s not a mathematical proposition. It’s a sociological observation and there is always the possibility of exceptions to such observations.”
Amadiro scowled. “The best road to safety lies with being done with this project. You said you’d be ready today.”
“That, too, is a sociological observation, Dr. Amadiro. I should be ready today. I would like to be. I cannot guarantee it mathematically.”
“How long before you can guarantee it?”
Mandamus spread his hands in a “Who knows?” gesture. “Dr. Amadiro, I am under the impression I have already explained this, but I’m willing to go through it again. It took me seven years to get this far. I have been counting on some months yet of personal observations at the fourteen different relay stations on Earth’s surface. I can’t do that now because we must finish before we are located and, possibly, stopped by the robot Giskard. That means I have to do my checking by communicating with our own humanoid robots at the relays. I can’t trust them as I would myself. I must check and recheck their reports and it is possible that I may have to go to one or two places before I am satisfied. That would take days—perhaps a week or two.”
“A week or two. Impossible! How long do you think I can endure this planet, Mandamus?”
“Sir, on one of my previous visits I stayed on this planet for nearly a year—on another, for over four months.”
“And you liked it?”
“No, sir, but I had a job to do and I did it—without sparing myself.” Mandamus stared coldly at Amadiro.
Amadiro flushed and said in a somewhat chastened tone, “Well, then, where do we stand?”
“I’m still weighing the reports that are coming in. We are not working with a smoothly designed laboratory-made system, you know. We have an extraordinary heterogeneous planetary crust to deal with. Fortunately, the radioactive materials are widely spread, but in places they run perilously thin, and we must place a relay in such places and leave robots in charge. If those relays are not, in every case, properly positioned and in proper order, the nuclear intensification will die out and we will have wasted all these painful years of effort on nothing. Or else, there may be a surge of localized intensification that will have the force of an explosion that will blow itself out and leave the rest of the crust unaffected. In either case, total damage would be insignificant.
“What we want, Dr. Amadiro, is to have the radioactive materials and, therefore, significantly large sections of earth’s crust grow—slowly—steadily—irreversibly—he bit the words off as he pronounced them in spaced intervals—more and more intensely radioactive, so that Earth becomes progressively, more unlivable. The social structure of the planet will break down and the Earth, as an effective abode of humanity, will be over and done with. I take it, Dr. Amadiro, that this is what you want.—It is, what I described to you years ago and what you said, at that time, you wanted.”
“I still do, Mandamus. Don’t be a fool.”
“Then bear with the discomfort, sir—or else, leave and I will carry on for whatever additional time it takes.”
“No, no,” muttered Amadiro. “I must be here when it’s done—but it can’t help being impatient. How long have you decided to allow the process to build?—I mean, once you initiate the original wave of intensification, how long before Earth becomes uninhabitable?”
“That depends on the degree of intensification I apply initially. I don’t know, just yet, what degree will be required, for that depends on the overall efficiency of the relays, so I have prepared a variable control. What I want to arrange is a lapse period of ten to twenty decades.”
“And, if you allow a smaller lapse period?”
“The less the lapse period we allow, the more rapidly portions of the crust will grow radioactive and the more rapidly the planet will warm up and grow dangerous. And that means the less likely it will be that any significant number of its population can be removed in time.”
“Does that matter?” murmured Amadiro.
Mandamus frowned. “The more rapidly the Earth deteriorates, the more likely it is that Earthpeople and Settlers will suspect a technological cause—and that we are the likely ones to receive the blame. The Settlers will then attack us with fury and, in the cause of their holy world, they will fight to extinction, provided only that they can inflict substantial harm on us. This is something we have discussed before and it seems we agreed on the matter. It would be far better to allow ample time, during which we can prepare for the worst and during which a confused Earth may assume that the slowly increasing radioactivity is some natural phenomenon they don’t understand. That is something that has become more urgent today than yesterday, in my judgment.
“Is that so?” Amadiro was frowning also. “You have that sour, puritanical look that makes me sure you have found a way to place the responsibility for that on my shoulders.”
“With respect, sir, that is not difficult in this case. It was unwise to send out one of our robots to destroy Giskard.”
“On the contrary, it had to be done. Giskard is the only one who might destroy us.”
“He must find us first—and he won’t. And even if he does, we are knowledgeable roboticists. Don’t you think we could handle him?”
“Indeed?” said Amadiro. “So Vasilia thought and she knew Giskard better than we—and yet she couldn’t handle him. And somehow the warship that was to take him into charge and destroy him at a distance could not handle him.”
“So he has now landed on Earth. One way or another, he must be destroyed.”
“He has not been. There has been no report of it.”
“Bad news is sometimes repressed by a prudent government—and Earth officials, though barbarians, might conceivably be prudent. And if our robot failed and was questioned, he would certainly go into irreversible block. That means we will have lost a robot, something we can afford to do, but nothing more. And if Giskard should still be at large, the more reason we have to hurry.”
“If we have lost a robot, we have lost more than a robot if they manage to elicit the location of this center of operations. We ought, at least, not to have used a local robot.”
“I used one that was immediately available. And he will reveal nothing. You can trust my programming, I think.”
“He cannot help reveal, by his mere existence, whether frozen or not, that he is of Auroran manufacture. Earth roboticists—and there are some on this planet—will be sure of that. All the more reason to make the increase in radioactivity very slow. Enough time must pass so that Earthpeople forget the incident and don’t associate it with the progressive change in radioactivity. We must have ten decades at the very least, perhaps fifteen, or even twenty.”
He walked away to inspect his instruments again and to re-establish contact with relays six and ten, which he still found troublesome. Amadiro looked after him with a mixture of disdain and intense dislike and muttered to himself, “Yes, but I don’t have twenty more decades, or fifteen, or maybe even ten. You do—but I don’t.”
93
It was early morning in New York. Giskard and Daneel assumed that from the gradual heightening of activity.
“Somewhere above and outside the City,” said Giskard, “it may be dawn now. Once, in speaking to Elijah Baley twenty decades ago, I referred to Earth as the World of the Dawn. Will it continue to be so for much longer? Or has it already ceased to be that?”
“These are morbid thoughts, friend Giskard,” said Daneel. “It will be better if we occupy ourselves with what must be done on this day to help keep Earth the World of the Dawn.”
Gladia entered the apartment, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. Her hair was freshly dried.
“Ridiculous!” she said. “Earthwomen go through the corridors on their way to the mass Personals in the morning disheveled and slatternly. It is done on purpose, I think. It is bad manners to comb one’s hair on the way to the Personal. Apparently, dishevelment to begin with enhances that well-cared-for look afterward. I should have brought a complete morning outfit with me. You should have seen the looks I got when I left with my bathrobe on. Leaving the Personal, one must be the last word.—Yes, Daneel?”
“Madam,” said, Daneel, “May we have a word with you?”
Gladia hesitated. “Not much of a word, Daneel. As you are probably aware, this is going to be a big day and my morning appointments begin almost at once.”
“That is precisely what I wish to discuss, madam,” said Daneel. “On this important day, all will go better if we are not with you.”
“What?”
“The effect you would wish to have on Earthpeople would be greatly diminished if you surround yourself with robots.”
“I will not be surrounded. There will be just you two. How can I do without you?”
“It is necessary that you learn to, madam. While we are with you, you are marked off as different from Earthpeople. You are made to seem afraid of them.”
Gladia said, troubled, “I need some protection, Daneel. Remember what happened last night.”
“Madam, we could not have prevented what happened last night and we could not have protected you—if that were necessary. Fortunately, you were not the target last night. The blaster bolt was aimed at Giskard’s head.”
“Why Giskard?”
“How could a robot aim at you or at any human being? The robot aimed at Giskard for some reason. For us to be near you, then, might but increase your danger. Remember that as the tale of last night’s events spreads, even though the Earth government may try to suppress the details, there will be a rumor to the effect that it was a robot who held a blaster and fired it. That will arouse public indignation against robots—against us—and, even against you if you persist in being seen with us. It would be better if you were without us.”
“For how long?”
“For at least as long as your mission lasts, madam. The captain will be better able to help you in the days to come than we will be. He knows Earthpeople, he is highly thought of by them—and he thinks very highly of you, madam.”
Gladia said, “Can you tell that he thinks very highly of me?”
“Although I am a robot, it would seem so to me. And at any time that you should wish us back, we will come back, of course—but, for now, we think that the best way we can serve and protect you is to leave you in Captain Baley’s hands.”
Gladia said, “I will think of it.”
“In the meanwhile, madam,” said Daneel, “we will see Captain Baley and find out if he agrees with us.”
“Do so!” said Gladia and passed into her bedroom.
Daneel turned and spoke minimally to Giskard. “Is she willing?”
“More than willing,” said Giskard. “She has always been a little restless in my presence and would not suffer unduly at my absence. For you, friend Daneel, she has ambivalent feelings. You remind her markedly of friend Jander, whose inactivation, many decades ago, was so traumatic for her. This has been a source of both attraction and repulsion to her, so it was not necessary to do much—I lessened her attraction to you and increased her strong attraction to the captain. She will do without us easily.”
“Then let us find the captain,” said Daneel. Together, they left the room and entered the hallway that passed by the apartment.
94
Daneel and Giskard had both been on Earth on previous occasions, Giskard the more recently. They understood the use of the computerized directory that gave them the Section, Wing, and number of the apartment to which D.G. had been assigned and they understood, further, the color codes in the hallways that led them to the proper turnings and elevators.
It was early enough for the human traffic to be light, but those human beings who passed or approached at first stared with astonishment at Giskard, then looked away with elaborate unconcern.
Giskard’s steps were slightly uneven by the time they approached D.G.’s apartment door. It was not very noticeable, but it caught Daneel’s attention.
He said in a low voice, “Are you in discomfort, friend Giskard?”
Giskard replied, “It has been necessary for me to wipe out astonishment, apprehension, and even attention in a number of men and women—and in one youngster, which was harder still. I had no time to make completely certain I was doing no harm.”
“It was important to do so. We must not be stopped.”
“I understand that, but the Zeroth Law does not work well with me. I have not your facility in that respect.” He went on, as though to distract his own attention from his discomfort, “I have often noted that hyperresistance in the positronic pathways makes itself first felt in the matter of standing and walking and next in speech.”
Daneel tapped the door signal. He said, “It is the same in my case, friend Giskard. Maintaining balance on two supports is difficult under the best of circumstances. Controlled imbalance, as in walking, is even more difficult. I have heard once, that there were early attempts made to produce robots with four legs and two arms. They were called ‘centaurs.’ They worked well but were unacceptable because they were basically inhuman in appearance.”
“At the moment,” said Giskard, “I would appreciate four legs, friend Daneel. However, I think my discomfort is passing.”
D.G. was at the door now. He looked at them with a broad smile. He then glanced in each direction along the corridor, whereupon his smile vanished and was replaced with a look of the utmost concern. “What are you doing here without Gladia? Is she—”
Daneel said, “Captain, Madam Gladia is well. She is in no danger. May we enter and explain?”
D.G. glowered as he gestured them inside. His voice gained the hectoring tone one naturally assumes toward misbehaving machines and he said, “Why have you left her alone? What circumstances could possibly permit you to leave her alone?”
Daneel said, “She is no more alone than any person is on Earth—and no more in danger. If you will question her later on the I matter, I believe she will tell you that she cannot be effective here on Earth as long as she is trailed by Spacer robots. I believe she will tell you that what guidance and protection she needs should be supplied by you, rather than by robots. It is what we believe she wishes—at least for now. If, at any time, she wishes us back, she will have us.”
D.G.’s face relaxed into a smile again. “She wants my protection, does she?”
“At the moment, Captain, we believe—she is quite anxious for your presence, rather than for ours.”
D.G.’s smile became a grin. “Who can blame her?—I’ll get myself ready and go to her apartment as soon as I can.”
“But first, sir—”
“Oh,” said D.G., “there is a quid pro quo?”
“Yes, sir. We are anxious to discover as much as we can about the robot who fired the blaster at the balcony last night.”
D.G. looked tense again. “Do you anticipate further danger for Madam Gladia?”
“None at all of that kind. The robot, last night, did not fire at Lady Gladia. Being a robot, he could not have. He fired at friend Giskard.”
“Why should he have done that?”
“It is what we would like to find out. For that purpose, we wish you to call Madam Quintana, Undersecretary of Energy, and state that it would be important and would please you and the government of Baleyworld—if you would care to add that, for her to allow me to ask her a few questions on that subject. We wish you to do whatever seems best to persuade her to agree to such an interview.”
“Is that all you want me to do? Persuade a reasonably important and busy official to submit to cross examination by a robot?”
Daneel said, “Sir, she may agree if you are earnest enough in the request. In addition, since she may be located a distance away, it would be helpful if you would hire a darter on our behalf to take us there. We are, as you can imagine, in haste.”
“And are those little things all?” asked D.G.
“Not quite, Captain,” said Daneel. “We will need a driver and please pay him well enough so that he will consent to transport friend Giskard, who is an obvious robot. He may not mind me.”
D.G. said, “I hope you realize, Daneel, that what you ask is completely unreasonable.”
Daneel said, “I had hoped not, Captain. But since you tell me it is, there is nothing more to say. We have no choice, then, but to return to Madam Gladia, which will make her unhappy, for she would rather be with you.”
He turned to leave, motioning Giskard to accompany him, but D.G. said, “Wait. There’s a public communication contact just down the hallway. I can only try. Remain here and wait for me.”
The two robots remained standing. Daneel said, “Did you have to do much, friend Giskard?”
Giskard seemed well balanced on his legs now. He said, “I was helpless. He was strongly opposed to dealing with Madam Quintana and as strongly opposed to getting us a darter. I could not have altered those feelings without damage. When, however, you suggested returning to Madam Gladia, his attitude changed suddenly and dramatically. You were anticipating that, I take it, friend Daneel?”
“I was.”
“You scarcely need me, it would seem. There is more than one way of adjusting minds. However, I ended by doing something. The captain’s change of mind was accompanied by a strong favorable emotion toward Madam Gladia. I took the opportunity of strengthening that.”
“That is the reason you are needed. I could not have done that.”
“You will be able to yet, friend Daneel. Perhaps quite soon.”
D.G. returned. “Believe it or not, she will see you, Daneel. The darter and driver will be here in a moment—and the sooner you leave, the better. I will be heading toward Gladia’s apartment at once.”
The two robots stepped outside in the hallway to wait.
Giskard said, “He is very happy.”
“So it would seem, friend Giskard,” said Daneel, “but I fear—the easy part is over for us. We have easily arranged to have Madam Gladia grant us leave to move about on our own. We have then, with some difficulty, persuaded the captain to make it possible for us to see the Undersecretary. With her, however, it may be that we will come to a dead end.”
95
The driver took one look at Giskard and his courage seemed to fail him. “Listen,” he said to Daneel, “I was told I’d be paid double to take a robot, but robots aren’t allowed in the City and I could get in plenty of trouble. Money isn’t going go help me if I lose my license. Can’t I just take you, mister?”
Daneel said, “I am a robot, too, sir. We are now in the City and that is not your fault. We are trying to get out of the City and you will be helping us. We are going to a high government official who, I hope, will arrange that and it is your civic duty to help us. If you refuse to take us, driver, you will be acting to keep robots in the City and that may be considered to be against the law.”
The driver’s face smoothed. He opened the door and said gruffly, “Get in!” However, he carefully closed the thick translucent partition that blocked him off from his passengers.
Daneel said quietly, “Was much required, friend Giskard?”
“Very little, friend Daneel. Your statement did most of the necessary work. It is astonishing that a collection of statements that are individually true can be used, in combination, to yield an effect that the truth should not.”
“I have observed this often in human conversation, friend Giskard, even in that of normally truthful human beings. I suspect that the practice is justified in the minds of such people as serving a higher purpose.”
“The Zeroth Law, you mean.”
“Or the equivalent—if the human mind has such an equivalent.—Friend Giskard, you said a short while ago that I will have your powers, possibly soon. Are you preparing me for that purpose?”
“I am, friend Daneel.”
“Why? May I ask that?”
“The Zeroth Law again. The passing episode of shakiness on my feet told me how vulnerable I was to the attempted use of the Zeroth Law. Before this day is over, I may have to act on the Zeroth Law to save the world and humanity and I may not be able to. In that case, you must be in position to do the job. I am preparing you, bit by bit, so that, at the desired moment, I can give you the final instructions and have it all fall into place.”
“I do not see how that can be, friend Giskard.”
“You will have no trouble in understanding when the time comes. I used the technique in a very small way on robots I sent to Earth in the early days before they were outlawed from the Cities and it was they who helped adjust Earth leaders to the point of approving the decision to send out Settlers.”
The driver, whose darter was not on wheels but remained a centimeter or so above the ground at all times, had moved along special corridors reserved for such vehicles and had done so speedily enough to justify the name of the vehicle. He now emerged into an ordinary City corridor, which was paralleled on the moderately distant left by an Expressway. The darter, moving now much more slowly, made a left turn, swooped under the Expressway, came out on the other side, and then, a curving half-mile later, stopped before an ornate building front.
The darter door opened automatically. Daneel emerged first, waited for Giskard to follow, then handed to the driver a piece of foil he had received from D.G. The driver looked at it narrowly, then the doors closed sharply and he left speedily without a word.
96
There was a pause before the door opened in response to their signal and Daneel assumed they were being scanned.
When it did open, a young woman led them gingerly into the vitals of the building. She avoided looking at Giskard, but she showed rather more than a mild curiosity in Daneel.
They found Undersecretary Quintana behind a large desk. She smiled and said, with gaiety that seemed somewhat forced, “Two robots, unescorted by human beings. Am I safe?”
“Entirely, Madam Quintana,” said Daneel gravely. “It is as unusual for us to see a human being unaccompanied by robots.
“I assure you,” said Quintana, “I have my robots. I call them underlings and one of them escorted you here. I am amazed that she didn’t faint at the sight of Giskard. I think she might have if she hadn’t been warned and if you yourself weren’t so extraordinarily interesting in appearance, Daneel. But never mind that. Captain Baley was so enormously pressing in his desire that I see you and my interest in maintaining comfortable relations with an important Settler world was such that I have agreed to the interview. However, my day remains busy even so and I will be grateful if we can dispose of this quickly. What can I do for you?”
“Madam Quintana—” began Daneel.
“One moment. Do you sit? I saw you sitting last night, you know.”
“We can sit, but it is just as comfortable for us to stand. We do not mind.”
“But I do. It would not be comfortable for me to stand and if I sit, I will, get a stiff neck looking up at you. Please pull up chairs and sit down. Thank you.—Now, Daneel, what is this all about?”
“Madam Quintana,” said Daneel, “you remember, I imagine, the incident of the blaster fired at the balcony last night after the banquet.”
“I certainly do. What’s more, I know it was a humanoid robot who held the blaster, even though we are not admitting that officially. Yet here I sit with two robots on the other side of the desk and have no protection. And one of you is humanoid too.”
“I have no blaster, madam,” said Daneel, smiling.
“I trust not.—That other humanoid robot did not look at all like you, Daneel. You’re rather a work of art, do you know that?”
“I am complexly programmed, madam.”
“I mean, your appearance. But what about the blasting incident?”
“Madam, that robot has a base somewhere on Earth and I must know where it is—I have come from Aurora in order to find that base and prevent such incidents as may disturb the peace between our worlds. I have reason to believe—”
“You have come? Not the captain? Not Madam Gladia?”
“We, madam,” said Daneel. “Giskard and I. I am in no position to tell you the whole story of how we came to have undertaken the task and there is no way in which I can tell you the name of the human being under whose instructions we work.”
“Well! International espionage! How fascinating. What a pity I can’t help you, but I don’t know where the robot came from. I haven’t any idea at all where his base might be. I don’t even know why you have come to me for such information, as a matter of fact. I should have gone to the Department of Security had I been you, Daneel.” She leaned toward him. “Do you have real skin on your face, Daneel? It’s an extraordinary imitation if it isn’t.” She reached toward him and her hand rested delicately on his cheek. “It even feels right.”
“Nevertheless, madam, it is not real skin. It does not heal of its own accord—if cut. On the other hand, a tear can easily be welded closed or a patch can even be replaced.”
“Ugh,” said Quintana, with a wrinkle of her nose. “But our business is over, for I can’t help you as far as that blaster user is concerned. I know nothing.”
Daneel said, “Madam, let me explain further. This robot may be part of a group that is interested in the early energy producing process you described last night—fission. Assume this is so, that there are those interested in fission and in the content of uranium and thorium in the crust. What might be a convenient place for them to use as a base?”
“An old uranium mine, perhaps? I don’t even know where one might be located. You must understand, Daneel, that Earth has an almost superstitious aversion to anything nuclear—fission, in particular. You’ll find almost nothing about fission in our popular works on energy and only bare essentials in technical products for experts. Even I know very little, but then I’m an administrator, not a scientist.”
Daneel said, “One more item, then, madam. We questioned the would-be assassin, as to the location of his base and did so most strenuously. He was programmed to undergo permanent inactivation, a total freezing of his brain paths, in such a case—and he did inactivate. Before doing so, however, in his final struggle between answering and inactivation, he opened his mouth three times as though—possibly—to say three syllables, or three words, or three groups of words, of any combination of these. The second syllable, or word, or mere sound was “mile.” Does this mean anything to you as having anything at all to do with fission?”
Slowly Quintana shook her head. “No. I can’t say it does. It’s certainly not a word you’ll find in a dictionary of Standard Galactic. I’m sorry, Daneel. It’s pleasant meeting you again, but I have a desk full of trivia to work through. You’ll excuse me.”
Daneel said, as though he hadn’t heard her, “I was told, madam, that ‘mile’ might be an archaic expression that refers to some ancient unit of length, one that is possibly longer than a kilometer.”
“That sounds totally irrelevant,” said Quintana, “even if true. What would a robot from Aurora know about archaic expressions and ancient—” She stopped abruptly. Her eyes widened and her face lost color.
She said, “Is it possible?”
“Is what possible, madam?” asked Daneel.
“There is a place,” said Quintana, half-lost in thought, “that is avoided by everyone—Earthpeople and Earth robots alike. If I wanted to be dramatic, I would say it was a place of ill omen. It is so ill-omened that is has been all but wiped out of conscious existence. It is not even included in maps. It is the quintessence of all that fission means. I remember coming across it in a very old reference film in my early days on this job. It was talked about constantly then as the site of an ‘incident’ that forever turned the minds of Earthpeople against fission as an energy source. The place is called Three Mile Island.”
Daneel said, “An isolated place then, absolutely isolated and free from any possible intrusion; the sort of place one would surely come across when working one’s way through ancient reference material on fission and would then recognize at once as an ideal base where absolute secrecy was required; and with a three-word name of which ‘mile’ is the second word. That must be the place, madam.—Could you tell us how to get there and could you arrange some way of allowing us to leave the City and be taken to Three Mile Island or its nearest possible vicinity?”
Quintana smiled. She seemed younger when she smiled. “Clearly, if you are dealing with an interesting case of interstellar espionage, you can’t afford to waste time, can you?”
“No. Indeed we cannot, madam.”
“Well, then, it comes within the purview of my duties to take a look at Three Mile Island. Why don’t I take you by air-car? I can handle an air-car.”
“Madam, your work load—”
“No one will touch it. It will still be here when I return.”
“But you would be leaving the City—”
“And if so? These are not old times. In the bad old days of Spacer domination, Earthpeople never left their Cities, it’s true, but we’ve been moving outward and settling the Galaxy for nearly twenty decades. There are still some of the less educated who maintain the old provincial attitude, but most of us have become quite mobile. There’s always the feeling, I suppose, that we might eventually join some Settler group. I myself don’t intend to, but I fly my own air-car frequently and five years ago I flew to Chicago and then, eventually, flew back.—Sit here. I’ll make the arrangements.”
She left, very much a whirlwind.
Daneel looked after her and murmured, “Friend Giskard, that, somehow, did not seem characteristic of her. Have you done something?”
Giskard said, “A bit. It seemed to me when we entered that the young woman who showed us in was attracted by your appearance. I was certain that there had been the same factor in Madam Quintana’s mind last night at the banquet, though I was too far from her and there were too many others in the room for me to be sure. Once our conversation with her began, however, the attraction was unmistakable. Little by little, I strengthened it and each time she suggested the interview might come to an end, she seemed less determined—and at no time did she seriously object to your continuing it. Finally, she suggested the air-car because, I believe, she had reached the point where she could not bear to lose the chance to be with you for a while longer.”
“This may complicate matters for me,” said Daneel thoughtfully.
“It is in a good cause,” said Giskard. “Think of it in terms of the Zeroth Law.” Somehow he gave the impression, in saying so, that he would be smiling—if his face allowed such an expression.
97
Quintana drew a sigh of relief as she landed the air-car on a concrete slab suitable for the purpose. Two robots approached at once for the obligatory examination of the vehicle and for repowering if necessary.
She looked out to the right, leaning across Daneel as she did so. “It is in that direction, several miles up the Susquehanna River. It’s a hot day, too.” She straightened, with some apparent reluctance, and smiled at Daneel. “That’s the worst of leaving the City. The environment is totally uncontrolled out here. Imagine allowing it to be this hot. Don’t you feel hot, Daneel?”
“I have an internal thermostat, madam, that is in good working order.”
“Wonderful. I wish I did. There are no roads into this area, Daneel. Nor are there any robots to guide you, for they never enter it. Nor do I know what might be the right place within the area, which is a sizable one. We might stumble all through the area without coming upon the base, even though we passed within five-hundred meters of it.”
“Not ‘we,’” madam. It is quite necessary for you to remain here. What follows might conceivably be dangerous and since you are without air-conditioning, the task might be more than you could easily bear, physically, even if it were not dangerous. Could you wait for us, madam? To have you do so would be important to me.”
“I will wait.”
“We may be some hours.”
“There are facilities of various sorts here and the small City of Harrisburg is not far.”
“In that case, madam, we must be on our way.”
He sprang lightly from the air-car and Giskard followed him. They set off northward. It was nearly noon and the bright summer sun sparkled from the polished portion of Giskard’s body.
Daneel said, “Any sign of mental activity you can detect will be those we want. There should be no one else for kilometers about.”
“Are you certain that we can stop them if we encounter them, friend Daneel?”
“No, friend Giskard, I am by no means certain—but we must.”
98
Levular Mandamus grunted and looked up at Amadiro with a tight smile on his thin face.
“Amazing,” he said, “and most satisfactory.”
Amadiro mopped his brow and cheeks with a piece of toweling and said, “What does that mean?”
“It means that every relay station is in working order.”
“Then you can initiate the intensification?”
“As soon as I calculate the proper degree of W particle concentration.”
“And how long will that take?”
“Fifteen minutes. Thirty.”
Amadiro watched with an air of intensifying grimness on his face until Mandamus said, “All right. I have it. It’s 2.72 on the arbitrary scale I have set up. That will give us fifteen decades before an upper equilibrium level win be reached that will be maintained without essential change, for millions of years thereafter. And that level will make certain that, at best, Earth can maintain a few scattered groups in areas that are relatively radiation-free. We’ll have only to wait and, in fifteen decades, a thoroughly disorganized group of Settler worlds will be meat, for our slicing.”
“I will not live fifteen more decades,” said Amadiro slowly.
“My personal regrets, sir,” said Mandamus dryly, “but we are now talking of Aurora and the Spacer worlds. There will be others who will carry on your task.”
“You, for instance?”
“You have promised me the headship of the Institute and as you see, I have earned it. From that political base, I may reasonably hope to become Chairman someday and I will carry through those policies that will be necessary to make certain of the final dissolution of the by-then anarchic worlds of the Settlers.”
“That’s pretty confident of you. What if you turn on the W particle flow and then someone else turns it down in the course of the next fifteen decades?”
“Not possible, sir. Once the device is set, an internal atomic shift will freeze it in that position. After that, the process is irreversible—no matter what happens here. The whole place may be vaporized and the crust will nevertheless continue its slow bum. I suppose it would be possible to rebuild an entirely new setup if anyone on Earth or among the Settlers can duplicate my work, but if so they can only further increase the rate of radioactivity, never decrease it. The second law of thermodynamics will see to that.”
Amadiro said, “Mandamus, you say you have earned the headship. However, I’m the one to decide that, I think.”
Mandamus said stiffly, “You are not, sir. With respect, the details of this process are known to me, but not to you. Those details are encoded in a place you will not find and, even if you do, it is guarded by robots who will destroy it rather than allow it to fall into your hands. You cannot gain credit for this. I can.”
Amadiro said, “Nevertheless, getting my approval will hasten matters for you. If you were to wrest the headship from my unwilling hands, by whatever means, you will have a continuing opposition among other members of the Council that will hamper you through all your decades in the post. Is it just the title of head you want or the opportunity to experience all that comes of true leadership?”
Mandamus said, “Is this the time to talk politics? A moment ago, you were all impatience over the fact that I might linger fifteen minutes over my computer.”
“Ah, but we are now talking about adjusting, the W particle beam. You want to place it at 2.72—was that the figure?—and yet I wonder if that can be right. What is the extreme range you can handle?”
“The range goes from zero to twelve, but it is 2.72 that is required. Plus or minus 0.05—if you wish further detail. It is that which, on the basis of reports from all fourteen relays will allow a lapse of fifteen decades to equilibrium.”
“Yet what I think is the correct figure is twelve.”
Mandamus stared at the other in horror. “Twelve? Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes. It means we will have the Earth too radioactive to live upon in a decade or a decade and a half and we will kill a few billion Earthpeople in the process.”
“And make certain a war with an infuriated Settler Federation. What can you want of such a holocaust?”
“I tell you again. I do not expect to live another fifteen decades and I want to live to see the destruction of Earth.”
“But you would also be assuring the maiming—maiming, at the very least—of Aurora. You cannot be serious.”
“But I am. I have twenty decades of defeat and humiliation to make up.”
“Those decades were brought about by Han Fastolfe and Giskard—and not by Earth.”
“No, they were brought about by an Earthman, Elijah Baley.”
“Who has been dead for more than sixteen decades. What is the value of a moment of vengeance over a man long dead.”
“I do not want to argue the matter, I will make you an offer. The title of head at once I will resign my post the instant we return to Aurora and nominate you in my place.”
“No. I do not want the headship on those terms. Death to billions!”
“Billions of Earthmen. Well, I cannot trust you, then, to manipulate the controls properly. Show me—me—how to set the control instrument and I will take the responsibility. I will still resign my post on our return and will nominate you in my place.”
“No. It will still mean the death of billions and who knows how many millions of Spacers as well. Dr. Amadiro, please understand that I will not do it on any terms and that you cannot do it without me. The setting mechanism is keyed to my left thumbprint.”
“I ask you again.”
“You cannot be sane if you ask me again despite all I have said.”
“That, Mandamus, is a personal opinion of yours. I am not so insane that I have failed to send off all the local robots on one errand or another. We are alone here.”
Mandamus lifted a corner of his upper lip in a sneer. “And with what do you intend to threaten me? Are you going to kill me now that there are no robots present to stop you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, Mandamus, I will if I have to.” Amadiro produced a small-caliber blaster from a pouch at his side. “These are difficult to obtain on Earth, but not impossible—if the price is right. And I know how to use it. Please believe me when I tell you that I am perfectly willing to blow your head off right now—if you do not place your thumb on the contact and allow me to adjust the dial to twelve.”
“You dare not. If I die, how will you set the dial without me?”
“Don’t be an utter fool. If I blow your head off, your left thumb will remain intact. It will even be at blood temperature for a while. I will use that thumb, then set the dial as easily as I would turn on a water tap. I would prefer you alive, since your death might be wearisome to explain back on Aurora, but it would not be more wearisome than I could bear. Therefore, I give you thirty seconds to make up your mind. If you cooperate, I will still give you the headship at once. If you don’t, it will all go as I wish, in any case, and you will be dead. We start now. One—two—three—”
Mandamus stared in horror at Amadiro, who continued to count and stare at him over the leveled blaster with hard, expressionless eyes.
And then Mandamus hissed, “Put the blaster away, Amadiro, or we’ll both be immobilized on the plea that we must be protected from harm.”
The warning came too late. Quicker than the eye could follow, an arm stretched out to seize Amadiro’s wrist, paralyzing it with pressure, and the blaster was gone.
Daneel said, “I apologize for having had to inflict pain on you, Dr. Amadiro, but I cannot allow you to hold a blaster pointed at another human being.”
99
Amadiro said nothing.
Mandamus said coldly, “You are two robots with, as far as I can see, no master in view. By default, I am your master and I order you to leave and not return. Since, as you see, there is no danger to any human being present at this moment, there is nothing to overcome your necessitated obedience to this order. Leave at once.”
Daneel said, “Respectfully, sir, there is no need to hide our identities or abilities from you, since you know them already. My companion, R. Giskard Reventlov, has the ability to detect emotion.—Friend Giskard.”
Giskard said, “As we approached, having detected your presence at quite a distance, I took note, Dr. Amadiro, of an overwhelming rage in your mind. In yours, Dr. Mandamus, there was extreme fear.”
“The rage, if rage there was,” said Mandamus, “was Dr Amadiro’s reaction to the approach of two strange robots, especially of one who was capable of meddling with the human mind and who had already badly—and perhaps permanently—damaged that of Lady Vasilia. My fear, if fear there was, was also the result of your approach. We are not in control of our emotions and there is no reason for you to interfere. We again order you to withdraw permanently.”
Daneel said, “Your pardon, Dr. Mandamus, but I merely wish to ascertain that we may safely follow your orders. Was there not a blaster in Dr. Amadiro’s hand when we approached—and was it not pointed at you?”
Mandamus said, “He was explaining its workings and he was about to put it away when you took it from him.”
“Then shall I return it to him, sir, before I leave?”
“No,” said Mandamus without a quiver, “for then you would have an excuse to remain here in order to—as you would say—protect us. Take it with you when you go and you will have no reason to return.”
Daneel said, “We have reason to think that you are here in a region which human beings are not allowed to penetrate—”
“That is a custom, not a law, and one which, in any case, holds no force over us, since we are not Earthpeople. For that matter, robots are not allowed to be here, either.”
“We were brought here, Dr. Mandamus, by a high official of Earth’s government. We have reason to think that you are here in order to raise the level of radioactivity in Earth’s crust and do grave and irreparable damage to the planet.”
“Not at all,” began Mandamus.
Here Amadiro interrupted for the first time. “By what right, robot, do you cross-examine us? We are human beings who have given you an order. Follow it now!”
His tone of authority was overwhelming and Daneel quivered, while Giskard half-turned.
But Daneel said, “Your pardon, Dr. Amadiro. I do not cross-examine. I merely seek reassurance, in order that I may know that I can safely follow the order. We have reason to think that—”
“You need not repeat,” said Mandamus. Then, in an aside, “Dr. Amadiro, please allow me to answer.” To Daneel again, “Daneel, we are here on an anthropological mission. It is our purpose to seek the origins of various human customs that influence behavior among Spacers. These origins can be found only here on Earth and it is here, then, that we seek them.”
“Do you have Earth’s permission, for this?”
“Seven years ago, I consulted the appropriate officials on Earth and received their permission.”
Daneel said in a low voice, “Friend Giskard, what do you say?”
Giskard said, “The indications in Dr. Mandamus’s mind are that what he is saying is not in accord with the situation as it is.”
“He is lying, then?” said Daneel firmly.
“That is my belief,” said Giskard.
Mandamus said, his calmness untouched, “That may be your belief, but belief is not certainty. You cannot disobey an order on the basis of mere belief. I know that and you know that.”
Giskard said, “But in Dr. Amadiro’s mind, rage is dammed only by emotional forces that are barely up to the job required of them. It is quite possible to slit those forces, so to speak, and allow the rage to pour out.”
And Amadiro cried out, “Why do you fence with these things, Mandamus?”
Mandamus shouted, “Do not say a word, Amadiro! You play into their hands!”
Amadiro paid no attention. “It is demeaning and it is useless.” With violent anger, he shook off Mandamus’s restraining arm. “They know the truth, but what of that?—Robots, we are Spacers. More than that, we are Aurorans, from the world on which you were constructed. More than that, we are high officials on the world of Aurora and you must interpret the phrase ‘human beings’ in the Three Laws of Robotics as meaning Auroran.
“If you do not obey us now, you harm us and humiliate us, so that you will be violating both the First and Second Laws. That our actions here are intended to destroy Earthmen, even large numbers of Earthmen, is true, but is, even so, utterly irrelevant. You might as well offer to refuse to obey us because we eat the meat of animals we have killed. Now that I have explained this to you, leave!”
But the last words turned into a croak. Amadiro’s eyes bulged and he crumpled to the ground.
Mandamus, with a wordless cry, bent over him.
Giskard said, “Dr. Mandamus, Dr. Amadiro is not dead. He is at the moment in a coma from which he can be roused at any time. However, he will have forgotten everything in connection with this present project, nor will he ever be able to understand anything in connection with it—if, for instance, you tried to explain it. In the process of doing this—which I could not have done without his own admission that he intended today’s large numbers of Earthmen—I may have permanently damaged other parts of his memory and his thinking processes. That I regret, but I could not help it.”
Daneel said, “You see, Dr. Mandamus, some time ago, on Solaria, we encountered robots who narrowly defined human beings as Solarians, only. We recognize the fact that if different robots are subject to narrow definitions of one sort or another, there can only be measureless destruction. It is useless, to try to have us define human beings as Aurorans only. We define human beings as all members of the species Homo sapiens, which includes Earthpeople and Settlers, and we feel that the prevention of harm to human beings in groups and to humanity as a whole comes before the prevention of harm to any specific individual.”
Mandamus said breathlessly, “That is not what the First Law says.”
“It is what I call the Zeroth Law and it takes precedence.”
“You have not been programmed in such a way.”
“It is how I have programmed myself. And since I have known from the moment of our arrival here that your presence is intended for harm, you cannot order me away or keep me from harming you. The Zeroth Law takes precedence and I must save Earth. Therefore, I ask you to join me—voluntarily—in destroying these devices you have here. Otherwise, I will be forced to threaten harm to you, as Dr. Amadiro did, although I would not use a blaster.”
But Mandamus said, “Wait! Wait! Hear me out. Let me explain. That Dr. Amadiro has had his mind wiped clean is a good thing. He wanted to destroy Earth, but I did not want to. That was why he held a blaster on me.”
Daneel said, “It was you, however, who originated the notion, who designed and built these devices. Otherwise, Dr. Amadiro would not have had to try to force you to do anything. He would have done it himself and would not have required any help from you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, that is right. Giskard can examine my emotions and see if I’m lying. I built these devices and I was prepared to use them, but not in the fashion Dr. Amadiro wished. Am I telling the truth?”
Daneel looked at Giskard, who said, “As nearly as I can tell, he is telling the truth.”
“Of course I am,” said Mandamus. “What I am doing is to introduce a very gradual acceleration of the natural radioactivity in the Earth’s crust. There will be one hundred and fifty years during which the people of Earth can move to other worlds. It will increase the population of the present Settler worlds and increase the Settlement of worlds in great numbers. It will remove Earth as a huge anomalous world that forever threatens the Spacers and stultifies the Settlers. It will remove a center of mystical fervor that is holding back the Settlers. Am I telling the truth?”
Again Giskard said, “As nearly as I can tell, he is telling the truth.”
“My plan, if it works out, would preserve the peace and make the Galaxy a home for Spacer and Settler alike. That is why, when I constructed this device—”
He gestured toward it, placing his left thumb on the contact, and then, lunging toward the volume control shouted, “Freeze!”
Daneel moved toward him and stopped, frozen, right hand upraised. Giskard did not move.
Mandamus turned back, panting, “It’s at 2.72. It’s done. It’s irreversible. Now it will be played out exactly as I intended. Nor can you bear witness against me, for you will start a war and your Zeroth Law forbids that.”
He looked down at the prone body of Amadiro and said, with a cold look of contempt, “Fool! You will never know how it should have been done.”
19. ALONE
100
Mandamus said, “You cannot harm me now, robots, for nothing you do to me will alter the fate of the Earth.”
“Nevertheless,” said Giskard shakily, “you must not remember what you have done. You must not explain the future to the Spacers.” He reached for a chair and, with a trembling hand, pulled it toward himself and sat down, as Mandamus crumpled and, slid down into what seemed to be a gentle sleep.
“At the last,” said Daneel in soft despair, as he looked down at the two unconscious bodies, “I failed. When it was necessary for me to seize Dr. Mandamus to prevent harm to people who were not present before my eyes, I found myself forced to follow his order and froze. The Zeroth Law did not work.”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel, you did not fail. I prevented you. Dr. Mandamus had the urge to try to do what he did and was held back by the fear of what you would certainly do if he did try. I neutralized his fear and then I neutralized you. So Dr. Mandamus set the Earth’s crust on fire, so to speak—on very slow fire.”
Daneel said, “But why, friend Giskard, why?”
“Because he was telling the truth. I told you so. He thought he was lying. From the nature of the triumph in his mind, I am under the firm impression he felt that the consequence of the growing radioactivity would be anarchy and confusion among Earthpeople and Settlers and that the Spacers would destroy them and seize the Galaxy. But I thought the scenario he presented us to win us over was the correct one. The removal of Earth as a large crowded world would remove a mystique I have already felt to be dangerous and would help the Settlers. They will streak outward into the Galaxy at a pace that will double and redouble and without Earth to look back to always, without Earth to set up a god of the past—they will establish a Galactic Empire. It was necessary for us to make that possible.” He paused and, his voice weakening, he said, “Robots and Empire.”
“Are you well, friend Giskard?”
“I cannot stand, but I can still talk. Listen to me. It is time for you to take on my burden. I have adjusted you for mental detection and control. You have but to listen to the final pathways as they are impressed upon yourself. Listen—”
He spoke steadily—but increasingly weakly—in language and symbols that Daneel could feel internally. Even as Daneel listened, he could feel the pathways moving and ticking into place. And when Giskard was done, there was suddenly the cool purr of Mandamus’s mind impinging on his own, the unsteady thumping of Amadiro’s, and the thin metallic thread of Giskard’s.
Giskard said, “You must return to Madam Quintana and arrange to have these two human beings sent back to Aurora. They will not be able to harm Earth further. Then see to it that Earth’s security forces seek out and inactivate the humanoid robots sent to Earth by Mandamus.
“Be careful how you use your new powers, for you are new to them and they will not be under perfect control. You will improve with time—slowly—if you are careful always to undergo self-examination with each use. Use the Zeroth Law, but not to justify needless harm to individuals. The First Law is almost as important.
“Protect Madam Gladia and Captain Baley—unobtrusively. Let them be happy together and let Madam Gladia continue with her efforts to bring peace. Help supervise, over the decades, the removal of Earthpeople from this world. And—one more thing—if I can remember—Yes if you can—find out where the Solarians, have gone. That may be important.”
Giskard’s voice trailed off.
Daneel kneeled at the side of the seated Giskard and took the unresponsive metal hand in his own. He said, in an agonized whisper, “Recover, friend Giskard. Recover. What you did was right by the Zeroth Law. You have preserved as much life as possible. You have done well by humanity. Why suffer, so when what you have done saves all?”
Giskard said, in a voice so distorted that the words could barely be made out, “Because I am not certain.—What if the other view—is right—after all—and the Spacers will triumph and then themselves decay so that—the Galaxy will be empty.—Good-bye, friend—Dan—” And Giskard was silent, never to speak or move again.
Daneel rose.
He was alone—and with a Galaxy to care for.
100
Mandamus said, “You cannot harm me now, robots, for nothing you do to me will alter the fate of the Earth.”
“Nevertheless,” said Giskard shakily, “you must not remember what you have done. You must not explain the future to the Spacers.” He reached for a chair and, with a trembling hand, pulled it toward himself and sat down, as Mandamus crumpled and, slid down into what seemed to be a gentle sleep.
“At the last,” said Daneel in soft despair, as he looked down at the two unconscious bodies, “I failed. When it was necessary for me to seize Dr. Mandamus to prevent harm to people who were not present before my eyes, I found myself forced to follow his order and froze. The Zeroth Law did not work.”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel, you did not fail. I prevented you. Dr. Mandamus had the urge to try to do what he did and was held back by the fear of what you would certainly do if he did try. I neutralized his fear and then I neutralized you. So Dr. Mandamus set the Earth’s crust on fire, so to speak—on very slow fire.”
Daneel said, “But why, friend Giskard, why?”
“Because he was telling the truth. I told you so. He thought he was lying. From the nature of the triumph in his mind, I am under the firm impression he felt that the consequence of the growing radioactivity would be anarchy and confusion among Earthpeople and Settlers and that the Spacers would destroy them and seize the Galaxy. But I thought the scenario he presented us to win us over was the correct one. The removal of Earth as a large crowded world would remove a mystique I have already felt to be dangerous and would help the Settlers. They will streak outward into the Galaxy at a pace that will double and redouble and without Earth to look back to always, without Earth to set up a god of the past—they will establish a Galactic Empire. It was necessary for us to make that possible.” He paused and, his voice weakening, he said, “Robots and Empire.”
“Are you well, friend Giskard?”
“I cannot stand, but I can still talk. Listen to me. It is time for you to take on my burden. I have adjusted you for mental detection and control. You have but to listen to the final pathways as they are impressed upon yourself. Listen—”
He spoke steadily—but increasingly weakly—in language and symbols that Daneel could feel internally. Even as Daneel listened, he could feel the pathways moving and ticking into place. And when Giskard was done, there was suddenly the cool purr of Mandamus’s mind impinging on his own, the unsteady thumping of Amadiro’s, and the thin metallic thread of Giskard’s.
Giskard said, “You must return to Madam Quintana and arrange to have these two human beings sent back to Aurora. They will not be able to harm Earth further. Then see to it that Earth’s security forces seek out and inactivate the humanoid robots sent to Earth by Mandamus.
“Be careful how you use your new powers, for you are new to them and they will not be under perfect control. You will improve with time—slowly—if you are careful always to undergo self-examination with each use. Use the Zeroth Law, but not to justify needless harm to individuals. The First Law is almost as important.
“Protect Madam Gladia and Captain Baley—unobtrusively. Let them be happy together and let Madam Gladia continue with her efforts to bring peace. Help supervise, over the decades, the removal of Earthpeople from this world. And—one more thing—if I can remember—Yes if you can—find out where the Solarians, have gone. That may be important.”
Giskard’s voice trailed off.
Daneel kneeled at the side of the seated Giskard and took the unresponsive metal hand in his own. He said, in an agonized whisper, “Recover, friend Giskard. Recover. What you did was right by the Zeroth Law. You have preserved as much life as possible. You have done well by humanity. Why suffer, so when what you have done saves all?”
Giskard said, in a voice so distorted that the words could barely be made out, “Because I am not certain.—What if the other view—is right—after all—and the Spacers will triumph and then themselves decay so that—the Galaxy will be empty.—Good-bye, friend—Dan—” And Giskard was silent, never to speak or move again.
Daneel rose.
He was alone—and with a Galaxy to care for.
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