Foundation’s Triumph

1.

R. Zun Lurrin at last understood the awesome scope of Daneel’s long-range design for the salvation of humanity.

“You plan to help them unite. To create a telepathic network, in which each human soul connects to every other.”

The Immortal Servant nodded as he gazed at sixty human subjects with identical expressions of contentment playing across their faces, meditating beneath a high-arched dome.

“Imagine it. No more rancor. An end to bitterness and egotistic rivalry. And above all, there would be no solipsism. For how can anyone ignore the feelings of other people, when those feelings have become intensely palpable, like integral parts of your own mind?”

“Unity and oneness,” Zun sighed. “The old dream. And we could provide it to them at last.”

But then Zun frowned as he contemplated the sixty humans in front of him.

“They are at peace, in total connectedness, because each one is paired with a positronic mentalic amplifier. Only now you say wecannot do the same thing on a massive scale?”

Daneel nodded. “That sort of dependency on mechanical methods we must not allow.”

“But it would let us combine with our masters! Robots and humans, bound together in permanent, loving synergy.”

“And in such a synergy, the machine portion would grow ever more dominant with the passage of time,” Daneel said. “Moreover, consider how many robots we would have to build. It could only be done by unleashing self-reproduction. That opens the door to selection, Darwinism, evolution…and eventually a new androidspecies. One that thinks primarily of its own self-interest instead of humanity’s. I swore never to permit this.

“No. We must not let humans become overly dependent upon robots. That was the Spacer approach-the heresy that Elijah Baley warned against. The abomination that forced Giskard to act as he did.”

Daneel’s voice resonated with determination. “Humansmust eventually stand on their own. And there are more reasons than the ones that I have told you so far. Reasons having to do with survival of the race itself.”

Zun Lurrin contemplated this for a time.

“In that case let me extrapolate, Daneel. From this data, I shall hazard to guess your plan.

“A hundred years ago, you began a series of genetic experiments on small groups of human beings. One of these projects brought forth the mathematical genius of Hari Seldon. Another produced a sudden wave of mutants on Trantor-humans capable of mentalic powers that only a few robots formerly possessed.”

“Excellent. You are on the right track, Zun.” Daneel nodded. “Think about the scene in front of you-these sixty humans united in glorious tranquility, power, and contentment. Now envision it taking placewithout robotic aid! They would form their own mental comity. A union of souls. One that is sturdy, free of reliance on artificial aids.”

Zun Lurrin nodded. “I understand what you are saying, Daneel. That would certainly be more desirable. And yet, consider the delay! It will take centuries to develop human mentalics strong and numerous enough to serve as psychic bridges, connecting whole cities, territories, even planets. Why wait so long? At this very moment, we have tools at hand that could be modified for this very purpose! Why not use these devices-strictly for the interim, until enough powerful human mentalics become available~ The Galactic Empire need not fall. It could simply be transformed, almost overnight, if we only reprogram certain implements-”

Daneel shook his head in the human fashion, indicating polite disagreement.

“It is a tempting notion. But the drawbacks are fatal. Number one, to impose this union of spirits by mechanical means would create tremendous First Law conflict among many robots, whose circuits would interpret it as ‘harm.’ I have tried out this idea on several of your peers, and their reactions vary from enthusiasm, such as yours, all the way to outrage and revulsion.

“Clearly, such a peremptory action would reignite the robotic civil wars.”

Zun quailed at the notion. “I assume you erased all memory of this idea from the robots that rejected it?”

“I took that precaution, yes. And if your reaction had been different, I would have done the same to you, Zun. My apologies.”

“No apology is required where necessity and the good of humanity are concerned,” Zun said, dismissing Daneel’s concern with the wave of one hand. “And your other reason~”

“Human variability. In recent millennia, small but significant numbers have grown immune to nearly all of the stabilizing influences that we have used to stave off chaos. They are also extremely resistant to mentalic suasion. Imagine how these individuals would react if they abruptly saw their friends, neighbors, and loved ones becoming ‘meditation masters’ overnight!

“No, that understates it, Zun. Suppose we do manage to draw a majority of humans into a macro-consciousness, abandoning individuality to unite in a single mentation-stream. How will the remnant minority react to being left out?

“Would they go mad? Or feel abandoned?

“Or might they misinterpret what they see happening, and imagine that some alien force has turned their loved ones into zombies, compelling them to think identical rigid thoughts, all at the same time?

“Don’t forget, these exceptional ones are often ingenious. They would throw all their energies into uncovering and fighting thatoutside alien force.

“They would find us. They would wage a war against us.”

Zun Lurrin envisioned the scene as Daneel described it, and understood at once the farseeing wisdom of the Immortal Servant.

“This new breakthrough-this new way of human life-it must be introduced at the right time, under appropriate circumstances. All robots must see it as necessary. All humans must view it as an improvement.”

Daneel nodded.

“And so it cannot happen yet. It must not be brought about by artificial means. We shall have to wait until a large enough population of human mentalics is ready. Until the empire has collapsed, and humanity roils in suffering. Then as they yearn for something to unify and save them, that will be the time to offer themGaia.”

Zun turned to look at Daneel. “Gaia?”

“An ancient term for a spirit that covers an entire planet. A gentle, loving goddess who knows when every sparrow falls, because each bird of the air, all the fish of the sea, and every living human, will be an integral part of her.”

The Immortal Servant’s voice grew distant as Daneel’s eyes seemed to focus on a far horizon, one filled with majesty and beauty.

“And after each planet has its Gaia, then we may see something even greater. Something all-encompassing. Galaxia.”

His voice softened further.

“And that is when…perhaps…I shall find some peace.”

2.

Two mysterious ship traces led away from the Thumartin Nebula, heading in opposite directions from the site where a million archives and terraforming machines had recently exploded into sparkling clouds of ionized memory. It was decided that Dors would follow one of the departing trails. Lodovic’s Calvinian friends would follow the other one in their own speedy craft.

That was fine by Dors, who felt a strong hunch which direction Hari had been taken.

Unfortunately, Lodovic Trema agreed with her choice. After briefly introducing Dors to his new allies, he threw a carryall over his shoulder and crossed the tunnel connecting both airlocks, making himself right at home aboard her ship!

“Zorma and her friends have less need of me than you do,” he explained.

“Then their need is less than zero!” she retorted. He only smiled, appearing disinclined to argue. But Dors was having none of that.

“This is going to be a full and complete exchange of information, Trema. Or else you can get out and walk the rest of the way. Start by telling me about these allies of yours. You know how I feel about fanatics who deny the Zeroth Law.”

Just a couple of years ago, one small Calvinian cult based on Trantor had decided it was time to attack Daneel Olivaw where it could hurt him most-by wrecking the Seldon Plan. If the Immortal Servant cared about Hari and psychohistory, then that group of rejectionist robots was determined to interfere. They nearly tricked a human mentalic into messing with Hari’s mind. Only good luck and quick intervention had foiled the plot, in the nick of time.

“This group is different,” Lodovic assured her. “You even met Zorma once before, back on Trantor, when she wore a male body and argued against the plan to sabotage Hari.”

Dors recalled. The Calvinian had seemed reasonable at the time. Still, she shook her head.

“That’s hardly a basis for trusting fanatics.”

“According to some, the real fanatics and heretics are Zeroth Law robots,” Lodovic replied. “You’ve replayed the memories of R. Giskard Reventlov. You know how slender a thread he and Daneel were pulling when they replaced our old religion with a new one.”

“The civil wars are over, Lodovic. A vast majority of surviving robots accept the Zeroth Law, while the Old Believers break up into dozens of little sects, hiding and conspiring in dark comers of the galaxy. Tell me, what do your new friends believe? What funny little notions have they picked up during their long, frustrated diaspora?”

Constellations flickered and shifted subtly outside, each time her ship performed another hyperspatial jump. Lodovic smiled.

“Their creed is odd all right-that our masters should be consulted about their own destiny.”

Dors nodded. Trema had been drifting toward this apostasy ever since his accident. Why else would he give her Giskard’s head in the first place?

“That’s fine in principle. But howpractical is it?”

“You refer to chaos,” Lodovic replied. “Indeed, Zorma and her compatriots must be careful which humans they reveal themselves to. But surely, you’ve seen the figures from Daneel’s humanics studies? Over two percent of the population is already resistant to both Olivaw’s damping factorsand to the seductions of chaos. It’s one reason why Hari Seldon theorized that a foundation, based on Terminus, might evolve enough social and psychological strength to burst past the threshold that has so far proved lethal to every other-”

Dors lifted a hand to cut him off.

“This is all very interesting, Lodovic: Normally, I’d love to meet thesemature humans your Calvinian pals choose to confide in. But right now I’m only interested in finding Hari Seldon! Do you know anything about the group that has him?”

Lodovic nodded.

“You’re right, Dors. The old religion did break up into many little cults. They never had a charismatic leader, like Daneel, to weld them together. Those Calvinians on Trantor-led by poor old Plussix-were embarrassingly simpleminded. You’ll recall that Zorma tried to talk them out of their foolish plan. She also sought to dissuade the group that has kidnapped Hari.”

Her emotion-simulation programs crafted a chill of horror along her spine.

“Do you know what the kidnappers want?”

“Alas, no. They are a strange group, more sophisticated than the ones on Trantor, with some weirdly original ideas they’ve cooked up over the centuries. Zorma’s intelligence about them is limited. But it appears that some of their leaders were once allied with Daneel, then parted with him under unpleasant circumstances.

“Zorma is also pretty sure they have big plans for your former husband.”

Dors detected a little stress on the word “former,” and wondered why Lodovic chose to emphasize that point.

The nearby holographic unit, where she stored the Joan of Arc sim, emitted an eager microwave impulse, reminding Dors of a promise she had made.

Joan wants to contact the version of Voltaire that Lodovic carries in his mutated positronic brain. As if I’d trust the two of them together.

That provoked a stray thought.

What would Daneel think, knowing that Lodovic and I have teamed up, even distrustfully?

She shook her head.

“Do you know anything else about the cult that took Hari?”

“Not much, except that they aren’t cautious or responsible, like Zorma’s group, or simple fanatics, like Plussix’s. In fact, Dors, they’re the kind you might have predictedI’d wind up with! Very sophisticated. Clever. Technologically adept.”

Lodovic’s smile was grim.

“And from almost any point of view, Dors, they are quite certifiably insane.”

3.

Over the course of two days, Mors Planch made four escape attempts. Each time he was foiled, the space pilot grew more cheerful and, strangely, more confident.

Either the man is going crazy before our eyes,Hari reflected with some fascination. Orelse it’s all part of a plan…try one thing after another in order to bracket the robots’ capabilities. Learn their limitations. Either way, it’s a wonder to behold.

The latest attempt involved Planch accoutering himself in a makeshift garment made of insulation foil stripped off the villa’s central ducting system. Who knew where the fellow came up with the ingenious notion, but he managed to walk past several layers of security sensors and reached the road leading toward Pengia Town before one of Gornon’s robot assistants spotted him visually. Politely and gently, but with irresistible strength, the humanoid took Planch’s arm and led him back inside. With the hood of his homemade stealth garment thrown back, grinning lopsidedly at Sybyl and Maserd and the others, he marched back into captivity, acting as if he, and not the robot, were in charge.

Of course this is a farce,Hari thought.Our captors have the ability to subdue Planch any number of ways, from sedating him to altering his memories. So why don’t they? Is Gornon trying to demonstrate something, through his forbearance?

Hari found himself rooting for Mors Planch, especially since it wouldn’t matter much if the man did get away. As an outlaw, the raider captain could hardly go to the police or galactic news media with his wild story. And it was probably too late for him to affect Ktlina’s renaissance, whose doom was already a. foregone conclusion. Anyway, since these robots were avowedly opponents of Hari’s friend, Daneel, he didn’t owe them anything. In fact, he had every reason to delay their departure from Pengia.

Hari had an idea how to achieve that.

“I must insist that we bring the young lady with us, on our journey,” he told Gornon, late on the second day. “You said Trantor would be our ultimate destination, after the next stop. Jeni belongs with her parents. We have no right to leave her among strangers, stranded in some galactic backwater.”

The robot Gornon demurred.

“She is still recovering from her illness.”

“The local doctors broke her fever, and she seems past the crisis.”

“Yes, but the next phase of our voyage may involve danger. There will be upsetting situations before Trantor finally comes into view. Are you willing to put the young woman through that, Professor?”

R. Gornon’s vague but ominous description of their coming journey made Hari even more eager to delay these Calvinian zealots, in hope that Daneel’s forces would arrive in time.

“You have met and spoken with Jeni,” he told Gornon. “She’s exceptional in many ways. Her destiny ultimately lies on Terminus, where the Foundation will have great need of resourceful people like her.”

In fact, Hari knew better. While Jeni would make a wonderful citizen of the bold new civilization that was being founded at the galaxy’s far periphery, she wasn’t essential. No individual was. The equations of psychohistory would operate with or without her, unfolding as he had foreseen. At least for the first two or three centuries.

Still, Hari had come to realize that R. Gornon was quite different from the Calvinians back on Trantor. This fellow’s sect did not oppose the Seldon Plan. In fact, Gornon clearlyapproved, at some level. So Hari’s argument carried weight.

“Very well then, Professor. We will give her another day of rest. Then we must depart, whether she is ready or not.”

Hari could tell this was the limit of Gornon’s flexibility.

Well, Daneel, I’ve given you one more day to find us. But you better hurry.

One question he refrained from asking. Why had the robot not simply used some of the “supermedical technologies” to cure Jeni right away? Clearly this particular cult believed in a minimalist approach, interfering in human affairs only insofar as it was absolutely necessary to achieve their goals.

Perhaps that’s why they did so little to me in their magical rejuvenation machine. Whatever I’m supposed to do for them can be accomplished in the next few weeks. No sense in giving additional decades to an old bastard like me, when a month or two will do.

4.

Zun Lurrin observed Daneel’s ship streak away from Eos, briefly illuminating the lake of frozen mercury with its actinic flare. He watched until the speedy vessel made its first hyperspace jump, swooping toward the galaxy’s shimmering wheel. Without having to navigate dust lanes or fight the gravity eddies of ten billion stars, the craft should make excellent time streaking toward its destination.

A message from one of Daneel’s agents had provoked the leader of all Zeroth Law robots into a blur of activity, rushing through preflight operations and departing with only a few words of instructions for Zun.

“I’m leaving you in charge,” the Immortal Servant had said. “Here are access codes to my personal data files, in case I don’t return at the expected time.”

“Is the situation truly so dire?” Zun had asked, with concern.

“Several forces are at work, some of which are not easily factored into my calculations. I would guess there is a small but significant chance that I will fail.

“Even if I do, however, the plan we have been discussing here must not! The ultimate hope for human happiness lies within our grasp. But it is, as yet, a slender prospect. There will be many crises before our masters finally unify, coalesce, achieve their true potential, and take command once again.”

Only an hour later, Zun watched with eyes that were capable of detecting even the backwash ripples of Daneel’s hyperspatial wake. He now shared the same vision, the same determination, as his leader.

“I will not let you down,” he murmured with a mentalic benediction. “But do not fail to return, Daneel. Yours is not a burden that I would carry easily.”

5.

To pass their third and final day, Hari asked for an excursion through Pengia Town. He wanted one last look at normal galactic society-where the old empire still functioned smoothly-hoping to check out a notion or two about psychohistory. R. Gornon Vlimt personally accompanied Hari, piloting an open touring car of the kind favored by minor planetary gentry.

It wasn’t much of a municipality, less than a million, with most of that dispersed in cozy little cantons, each one somewhat self-contained. Although Pengia’s economy was primarily agrarian, there were a few factories, to produce the machines that made life comfortable-from cooler units to home amusement centers-designs that had changed only incrementally across hundreds or even thousands of years. After ages of gradual refinement, most of the tools people used were outstandingly durable, taking centuries to wear out. Buying a replacement was unusual, perhaps even a little shameful, like not taking proper care of a family heirloom. Hence, only a few sophisticated factories were needed to supply the planet’s needs.

Nondurable goods were another matter. Everything from pottery to furniture to clothing was produced by guilds, controlled by master craftsmen whose authority over their journeymen and apprentices went unquestioned. Most of the galaxy’s ten quadrillion people lived in much the same way.

Hari recognized the trademarks and rhythms of a deeply traditional, semi-pastoral society, needing only a few real engineers, and even fewer scientists. No wonder he had been forced to cast a wide net to recruit the hundred thousand first-rate experts who would make their new home on Terminus. Even the energy systems on Pengia were based largely on renewable sources-solar, tide, and wind-with just a single proton-fusion power plant serving as a supplement. And there was talk of giving up that sophisticated “atomic” unit-replacing it with a deuterium-based model, less efficient but far simpler to maintain.

Hari mentally juggled psychohistorical formulae, noting the elegant damping mechanisms that Daneel and his colleagues had included when they designed a Galactic Empire for humanity, fifteen thousand years ago. Having readA Child’s Book of Knowledge, Hari marveled how many of the same techniques existed back in ancient China, long before the first technological renaissance on Earth.

That prehistoric imperium had a system calledbao jin- also calledgonin-gumi in a nearby culture-that seemed quite similar to today’s tradition of communal accountability. An entire village or canton was responsible for training its young people in proper rituals and behavior…and the whole community was shamed if any member committed a crime. Any youth who chafed under this conformist system had but one hope-to win transfer over to the Meritocratic or Eccentric orders, because most common citizens had little use for individualists in their midst.

As an added touch, meritocrats and eccentrics are subtly encouraged not to reproduce. That helps curb genetic drift. Daneel didn’t miss a trick.

In the main civic center, Hari and R. Gornon saw gray pennants hanging from a boxy office building.

“The banners signify it is testing week,” the robot explained. “Civil service exams are being held-”

“I know what the banners mean,” Hari snapped. He had been waiting to ask the Calvinian some questions. This seemed as good a time as any.

“Back aboard the space station, you laid a trap for my servant, Kers Kantun. I assume you arranged for him to be decapitated quickly, in order to prevent him from detecting any danger with his mentalic powers?”

R. Gornon wasn’t nonplussed by the sudden change in subject.

“Correct, Professor. While Kantun’s powers did not match Daneel’s, they were formidable. We couldn’t afford to take chances.”

“And the chimp? The one who ran off with Kers’s head?”

“That creature was a descendant of genetic experiments Daneel abandoned a century ago. My group recruited a few because mentalic robots cannot read or detect chimp minds. The pan could observe Kers and trigger our ambush, so we did not have to use electronic or positronic devices.”

“And what do you plan on doing with the head of my servant?”

Gornon demurred.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I cannot elaborate. Whether you decide to accept our proposition, and proceed on an exciting new adventure, or instead choose to return to Trantor, we have no intention of meddling with your mind. So we are better off simply not telling you certain things.”

Hari contemplated what he’d just learned. At their next stop he would be offered a choice. A fateful one. Yet, Gornon’s words were reassuring. These robo-heretics were more respectful than the group that tried to alter his brain two years ago.

“Won’t you say more about our destination?” he asked.

“Only that we will take you to a place where many dramas began…in order to influence how they end.”

They drove in silence after that, observing the placid pace of life under Daneel’s gentle empire. If Trantor had been designed to consist of steel caves, as one method of resisting chaos, worlds like Pengia also had multi-layered defenses against tumbling into a disastrous renaissance.

Still, Hari felt something was missing. Even when he included brain fever in his calculations, it wasn’t enough to explain how twenty-five million human-settled worlds could remain comfortably static for so many thousands of years, content to stay ignorant of their past, and for children to lead identical lives to their parents’. Since robots had been developed in the very earliest technological age, why weren’t they being reinvented daily by bright tinkerers and students in a billion little basement labs, all over the galaxy? There had to be something more. Some powerful force helping to damp out the oscillations and deviations inherent in basic human nature.

They were on their way back to the rented villa, when Hari thought of another question.

“I recall, back in the nebula, that Kers Kantun had a hard time mentalically subduing Mors Planch. When I asked about it, Kers said something that puzzled me. He said Planch is difficult to control because he’snormal. Do you know what Kers meant by that?”

The robot Gornon shrugged.

“Calvinians tend to be less eager to use mentalic powers. Our particular sect finds it distasteful to interfere with human minds. Still, I might hazard a guess. Perhaps Kers was talking about a fundamental change that occurred in the human condition, way back-”

Gornon stopped, mid-sentence, as the car pulled into the villa’s driveway. Hari abruptly noticed that the gate was flung open…and abody lay sprawled nearby.

Braking hard, Gornon leaped from the driver’s seat with uncanny agility to kneel by the prostrate form. It was one of the other robots who shared guard duty at the villa. Hari saw dark fluid leaking from its cranium in several places.

Gornon ran a hand back and forth above the body without ever touching it. A low moan escaped his lips.

“My compatriot is dead. Some force caused an implosion of his brain.”

Hari felt sure he knew the explanation.

Daneel has arrived!

Gornon looked deeply concerned. He closed his eyes, and Hari knew he must be seeking to commune by radio with his other partners.

“There are further casualties,” Gornon said ominously, and started walking toward the big house. “I must make certain that none of them are human beings!”

Hari followed, a bit numbly. Though he was no longer confined to a wheelchair, his gait was slow and unsteady-that of an old man.

On entering the villa they found Gornon’s other assistant sprawled at the foot of the stairs, propped against the wall by Horis Antic and Biron Maserd. Only the wounded robot’s eyes weren’t paralyzed. The two men glanced at Hari. Horis started blurting at once.

“Mors Planch used some kind ofb-b-bomb to knock out these tiktoks. He made a clean getaway!”

Maserd was calmer. With a nobleman’s aplomb. he explained, “Planch rigged a device from seemingly innocuous parts. How he got them is beyond me. After setting it off, he offered us a chance to leave as well. Sybyl went along, but we decided to stay.”

While Gornon bent over the crippled robot at the foot of the stairs, Horis Antic chewed his nails.

“Is he…it gonna be all right?”

Gornon communed with his colleague. Without breaking eye contact, he explained.

“Planch must have been studying robots for some time. Perhaps using the new laboratories on Ktlina. Somehow, he came up with a weapon that directly affects our positronic brains. It is ingenious. We shall have to dissect my friend here, determine how it was done, and come up with a defense.”

As the humans digested that chilling image, Gornon stood up and informed them, “There is no point in looking for Sybyl and Planch. We must move up our departure. Please fetch your things. We leave at once.”

As the four of them departed in the touring car, Hari insisted, “We’ll stop for Jeni, of course.”

Gornon seemed about to refuse, when Maserd interjected.

“Planch and Sybyl willprobably go underground until they can contact their partisans. I don’t expect they’d go public with their story. But what if they do?”

“Isn’t that unlikely?” Antic stammered. “I mean,I wouldn’t blab, if I were in their shoes. What’s to gain except admission to a psychiatric ward?” He frowned. “On the other hand, I’m not a creature of chaos.”

“Exactly. They operate on a different plane of logic.”

“Please clarify,” R. Gornon asked. “How does any of this apply to Jeni Cuicet?”

Maserd answered: “Sybyl, especially, has grown more erratic with each passing day. She may go to the media… and try using Jeni to corroborate her story.”

Hari figured Gornon was more afraid of Daneel’s forces than of fantastic tales circulating briefly in the local human media. But to his surprise, Maserd’s logic seemed to convince the robot. Gornon turned the car toward the city hospital.

Biron and Horis went inside and found Jeni already dressed, storming around her room as formidable as ever, making life hard for the doctors who wanted her to rest. She expressed gladness to see Maserd and Antic, and welcomed a chance to depart with them. But her attitude chilled upon spying Hari and Gornon waiting in the car.

“We still got a deal, don’t we, m’lord?” she asked Maserd. “You drop me off somewhere interesting along the way, before anyone goes back to Trantor?”

The nobleman from Rhodia looked pained as the car resumed moving toward the spaceport, weaving through city traffic.

“I’m sorry, Jeni. But I am no longer in command of my own vessel. I don’t even know where we’re going next.”

Jeni turned to Gornon. “Well, then? How about it, robot? Where are you taking us?”

Gornon spoke in flat tones. “First, to a place where no sane citizen of the empire would choose to remain for very long. And then back to the capital of the human empire.”

Jeni looked down at her hands, dejected. She muttered under her breath, something about the gentry and their worthless promises. Biron Maserd flushed darkly and said nothing. When Hari turned toward the young woman and began to speak, she shot him a look of pure spite that cut off his words before he uttered them.

Everyone lapsed into silence.

As the car paused at a traffic light, Jeni suddenly let out a cry of jubilant realization. Before anyone could stop her, she jumped onto the seat, leaped out the back of the car, and started dashing across the street.

“Stop!” cried R. Gornon Vlimt. “You’ll be hurt!”

Hari caught his breath as she dodged traffic, barely escaping being crushed by a cargo lorry. Then she reached her destination, a multistory structure with gray banners hanging from its portico.

It took Gornon several minutes to negotiate a U-turn and park in a spot reserved for the gentry class. The four of them headed into the building, but were stopped by a man in a uniform similar to the one worn by Horis Antic.

“I’m afraid Government House is closed for business, today, sirs. The facilities are being used for the imperial civil service exam.”

Hari craned his neck to see Jeni Cuicet standing at the other end of the lobby, scribbling furiously on a clipboard, then handing over her universal ID bracelet to be scanned by another gray-clad clerk. A glass barrier parted before her, and Hari glimpsed a room beyond where over a hundred people were just settling themselves at desks. Most looked anxious, preparing to take a test that might be their sole hope for a ticket off of this backwater planet.

“She’s just recovered from an illness, and hasn’t studied,” commented Horis Antic. “Still, who can doubt she’ll pass with flying colors?” The little man turned to Hari. “It appears she has escaped the destiny others planned for her, Professor. No one may interfere with testing day, not even an emperor. And when she is a member of the Greys, you won’t be able to touch her. Not without filling out forms, in triplicate, for the rest of this eon.”

Hari glanced at the little man, surprised by his tone. Pride tinged Antic’s voice. Hari recognized a chip on the shoulder that members of the bureaucracy sometimes wore when they spoke to their betters in the Meritocratic Order.

Biron Maserd chuckled. “Well, well. Good for her. If she can stand that kind of life, at least she’ll get to travel.”

Hari sighed. Now the young woman would never learn what a fascinating adventure awaited at far-off Terminus… the one place she was desperate not to go.

The glass barrier slid back. From the other side, Jeni glanced at them with a smile. Then she turned to meet a destiny that was of her own choosing.

6.

Dors found herself making excuses for Daneel’s actions, at the beginning of the galactic era.

“Maybe he and Giskard just couldn’t find any humans who could understand. Perhaps theytried to consult some of the masters, and discovered-”

“That they were insane? All of them? On Earthand on the Spacer worlds? They could not find any humans to confer with as they deliberated about the Zeroth Law and made plans to divert all of history?”

Dors pondered this for a few moments. Then she nodded.

“Think about it, Lodovic. On Earth, they were all huddled in steel catacombs, cowering away from the sun, traumatized and still quivering from some blow that had struck them generations before. The Spacers weren’t much better. On Solaria, they grew so fetishistically dependent on robots that husbands and wives could barely stand to touch each other. On Aurora, the most wholesome human instincts became matters of bad taste. Worse, people were willing to dehumanize a vast majority of their distant cousins, simply because they lived on Earth.” Dors shook her head. “It sounds to me like twin poles of the same madness.”

The starship shuddered as it made another automatic hyperspace jump. Dors reflexively downloaded a microwave burst from the navigation computer, to make sure all was well-that they were still on course, following the faint wake of another vessel.

Lodovic Trema sat in a swivel chair opposite her. Robots did not have the same physiological needs as humans. But those designed to imitate masters would habitually do so, even in private or among their own kind. In this case, Lodovic sprawled casually, looking just like a human male who suffered from an overdose of confidence-an effect that he must be radiating intentionally, though Dorscould not imagine why.

“Perhaps, Dors. But in my experience you can find mature and reliably sane humans under even the most radical or stressed conditions. I’ve met some on chaos worlds, for instance. Even on Trantor.”

“Then things must have been even worse back in the dawn era, more terrible than we can presently imagine.”

Dors knew her argument sounded weak. She had, after all, deserted Daneel’s cabal when she learned how little basis it had in human volition. She and Lodovic actually agreed far more than she yet wanted to concede.

Am I too proud to admit it?she wondered. His jaunty, confident manner was one that a human female might find infuriating. She suspected he was goading her into defending Daneel, on purpose.

The male robot shook his head.

“Even if I concede that all humans were insane at the time Daneel and Giskard came up with the Zeroth Law, don’t you think, in retrospect, that the medicine they prescribed was a bit harsh?”

Dors kept her face impassive. Records from that era were extremely sparse, even in the forbidden archives and underground encyclopedias that were prepared for centuries by those who resisted a spreading amnesia. But Dors had recently done the math.

When R. Giskard Reventlov triggered a machine to render Earth’s crust radioactive, the aim had been to drive the home planet’s population out of their metal caverns, sending them forth to conquer the galaxy. A laudable goal-but at what cost?

The starships of that era were primitive. Even if a herculean effort took away three million immigrants a year, it would have taken five thousand years to evacuate the planet, without taking into account natural replenishment. Yet the gradual increase in radioactivity probably rendered the soil poisonous within a century or so. The fatality rate, in any event, must have been appalling…and that only counted the human race, not a myriad other species that were doomed along with Earth.

No wonder Giskard committed suicide, despite having a Zeroth Law rationalization to sustain him. No robot could endure the burden of so many deaths. Just the thought of it would make any positronic brain quail. All robots would feel a powerful drive-whether they adhered to the new religion or the old one-to wipe away memory of this episode, erasing it for all time.

Contemplating this, she murmured at last, “Maybe humans weren’t the only ones marked by insanity.”

Across the small control room from her, Lodovic nodded. His voice was almost as subdued as hers.

“That is what I needed to hear you say, Dors.

“You see, I have come to realize that typical robotic humility can mask the very worst kind of arrogance-a conceit that we are fundamentally different from humans. Slaves often depict themselves as intrinsically more virtuous than their masters.

“But after all, did they not make us in their image? True, we have great powers and extensive lives, but does that really mean we can’t suffer from similar faults? Isn’t it possible for us to be equally crazy? To be out of our positronic minds?”

He smiled, this time with a warmth-and sadness-that reminded her of Hari.

“Something happened to us twenty thousand years ago, Dors. It happened toall of us, not only humans. And we’ll never know the right thing to do, until we find the truth about those bygone days.”

7.

This time, for some reason, everyone watched the takeoff from Pengia through the vessel’s west-facing view ports. The pleasant little world-indistinguishable from millions of others-fell away below the Pride of Rhodia as they headed off toward their next destination, one that R. Gornon still refused to name.

“There is something I want to show you, Dr. Seldon,” the robot said, as the ship climbed along a spiral departure orbit.

Hari had been musing about young Jeni during liftoff. And that, in turn, made him think about all the other members of the Encyclopedia Foundation who were being herded aboard transports at this moment, to be sent to far-off Terminus. Was it just a month since he had finished recording messages to be played back on that distant world, at decisive moments determined by his equations-when a word of encouragement or gentle suggestion from the father of psychohistory might make a crucial difference toward the Foundation becoming a great and stable civilization? Now, his body might seem a bit younger, but Hari’s soul felt older.

“Please, Gornon. Just leave me alone.”

He felt a hand at his elbow.

“I am certain that you’ll want to see this, Professor. If you’d just come to the east-facing view port.”

The suggestion. for some reason, struck Hari as impertinent. He was getting sick and tired of being pushed around by this damn Calvinian! But before he could voice a sharp putdown, Gornon added

“I believe I can show you the solution to one of your most vexing psychohistorical problems. Something that has puzzled you for decades. If you’ll strive to overcome the sensations that are now churning within you, I’m certain the effort will be rewarded.”

Surprised by Gornon’s words, Hari let himself be led to the indicated port, diametrically opposite from where Maserd and Horis were staring at the view below. “This had better be worth it,” Hari muttered.

He gave the magnified scene a perfunctory look, but could perceive no difference from what Horis and Maserd saw-a receding planet below, and a diffuse spray of untwinkling stars above.

“I don’t see anything. If this is some kind of a joke-”

“Be assured, it will be everything I promised. But first you must allow me to take liberties.”

Hari saw the robot hold forth a shimmering object, shaped like a close-fitting skullcap made of countless luminous gems. Gornon moved to place it on Hari’s head.

“Get that thingaway, you mannequin of rusty-”

R. Gornon did not relent.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but your command is invalid. It does not come from your native human will. Therefore, it can be overridden for a greater good. This won’t hurt.”

Gornon was so implacably strong that his gentle insistence caused no pain as he slid the skullcap over Hari’s head and drew him irresistibly back to the window.

Hari abruptly felt all his rancorous irritability wash away.What’s happening to me?

“Now please look again, Professor.”

Hari shivered. He had spent years in the company of robots, knowing a secret shared by few other humans, and even living as husband to one of them. Yet he still found mentalic interference disturbing.

“What is this thing doing to me?” He felt calmer than before, yet worried.

“It’s not controlling you, Professor. Rather, it is ashield, sheltering your mind from a powerful influence pervading this region.”

Gornon pointed with a long finger toward a patch of space they had both glanced at just moments before. This time, when Hari looked, he saw something that hadn’t been there before! At least, he had not noticed it.

He stared at some kind of orbiting platform, perhaps like those used for relaying communications around a planetary surface, or for trans-shipping special cargoes. Only this one showed no sign of airlocks or complex antennae. At Gornon’s command, the view screen magnified its surface, so heavily pitted with micrometeorite scars that its great age was suddenly apparent.

It looks like a cousin to those terraformers we saw back in the Thumartin Nebula,he thought.Perhaps the relic has been drifting here for thousands of years.

But then why the mystery? Why didn’t I notice it the first time?

He felt Gornon watching him. Hari had never liked taking tests, which was one reason why he rushed through graduate school by age twelve-to become the teacher instead of the pupil. Now he felt the pressure of expectation.

What did Gornon just promise? An answer to one of my most bothersome questions?

Well, there was the problem ofdamping coefficients. Fully understanding all the factors that Daneel had used to keep the Galactic Empire stable and safe for humanity, across fifteen thousand years. Hari understood howbao jin traditions and master-apprentice systems enhanced conservatism. The five-caste social structure contributed elegantly. So did the skillfully designed linguistic assumptions inherent in Galactic Standard, a language filled with so many redundancies that it accepted new words and new thoughts only at a glacial pace.

Nevertheless, there remained a problem. None of it was sufficient. Nothing yet explained how twenty-five million worlds could stay static and serene for so long.

“Are you saying…that thing out there”

Hari reached up and lifted one edge of the skullcap. A wave of emotions fluxed. He suddenly resented the robot deeply, and wanted nothing better than to turn away from this panorama. To return to his friends at the west-facing view port.

Hari let the flap drop back in place. The irritation vanished. In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “Mentalic suasion! Of course. If Daneel and some of his comrades can do it, why not mass-produce a specialized positronic brain for each world? twenty-five million isn’t such a great number, especially if you have thousands of years.”

He turned to look archly at Gornon. “But how could such a thing be possible? To sway the population of an entire planet?”

The robot smiled. “It is not only possible, Professor. The method was tried by the very earliest mentalic robot. R. Giskard Reventlov first thought of using this device to influence whole planetary populations, by detecting and sifting neural electrical patterns and then gently nudging repeatedly, building slowly toward the kinds of resonance patterns that encourage tranquility. Equanimity. Goodwill. In fact, these machines arenamed after Giskard. They are guardians of human serenity and peace.

“I assume there is already a place for them in your equations?”

Hari nodded, staring, but his eyes did not see. Rather, his mind gyred with mathematics. He saw at once how this provided much of what had been missing! An explanation for why most eruptions of chaos simply dissipated harmlessly, like a fire that had been quenched for lack of oxygen. A reason, also, why so few human beings lived outside of planets, even though asteroid outposts or those placed in strange environments had proved possible. Space life was hardly compatible with this damping mechanism! So it would naturally be discouraged.

And yet these “Giskards” aren’t working as well as they used to, once upon a time. Chaos outbreaks are more frequent, despite everything done to repress them. Only the empire’s fall will bring the recent wave of infections to a halt. These obsolete methods will be useless in a few years, no matter what.

He imagined what might happen if such a mental-suasion device were ever placed in orbit over Terminus.

It would never work on that bunch for long. We selected them for resistance against the pressures of a dark age-from feudalism to fanaticism. Even if this mentalic device affected a majority of Foundation citizens, they would never let themselves be kept in line for very long. Individuals would rankle at the conformity message and sniff at every anomaly, eventually tracking this thing down.

Daneel must plan to have all the Giskard machines self-destruct during the next hundred years or so. Otherwise, my Foundationers will find them!

At that moment, it surprised Hari to feel fierce pride in his first and greatest creation. Funny, he had expected that discovering the last big damping coefficient would be exciting. But this technique for social control was nothing elegant. Hardly worthy of psychohistory. Rather it was a bludgeon, used to trim and prune the mathematical branchings and force the humanics equations back in line.

A bit like my Second Foundation,he thought, enjoying a little obsessive self-criticism.

“I know you must have some agenda. Gornon. Some convoluted reason for showing me this. Nevertheless. please accept my thanks. It’s always good to glimpse the truth before you die.”

Their pilot promised that the next phase of the journey would be brief. Gornon refused to be more specific, but their flight path toward Sirius Sector made it blatantly evident to Hari where they must be heading.

He passed the time poring throughA Child’s Book of Knowledge. Browsing semi-randomly, guided only by a perverse desire to sample forbidden ideas. those he had long considered irrelevant or wrong.

Almost equally dangerous is the Gospel of Uniformity. The differences between the nations and races of mankind are required to preserve the conditions under which higher development is possible. One main factor in the upward trend of animal life has been the power of wandering…Physical wandering is still important, but greater still is the power of man’s spiritual adventures-adventures of thought, adventures of passionate feeling, adventures of aesthetic experience. A diversification among human communities is essential for the provision of the inventive material for the Odyssey of the human spirit. Other nations of different habits are not enemies; they are godsends.

What a bizarre way of looking at things! It was the sort of statement that one heard from preachers of chaos, singing the praises of each “renaissance” before it tumbled into broiling violence and. finally, solipsism. These notions sounded alluring. There were even versions of the psychohistorical equations that suggested a kind of truthought to lie therein. But with chaos as an enemy, all such benefits were lost. Anyone betting on diversity and boldness of spirit would almost certainly wind up losing everything.

As they approached their destination, Hari kept probing through garbled accounts for clues as to what the very first chaos outbreak might have been like, when the vigorous, self-confident civilization of Susan Calvin tumbled into such horror that Earthlings fled into metal caves, and Spacers turned their backs on love.

Hari wondered.Might it have something to do with the invention of robots themselves?

He had discussed this a couple of times with Daneel and Dors. They told him that the original Three Laws of Robotics were created in order to assuage human fears about artificial beings. But the original designers had meant the laws to be only a stopgap measure leading to something better.

“Quite a few variations were tried,“ Daneel told Hari one evening, perhaps ten years ago.“On some colony worlds, a few centuries after the diaspora from Earth, certain groups tried to introduce what were called New Laws, giving robots more autonomy and individuality. But soon our civil war caught up with these experiments. Calvinians could not abide the equality heresy, which they considered even worse than my Zeroth Law. My faction saw the innovations as unnecessary and redundant.

“All of the New-Law robots were exterminated, of course.“

That evening, over dinner, Gornon admitted what Hari had suspected-that their destination was the mother world, where both robots and humans began.

Horis bit a fingernail. “But isn’t it poisonous, covered with radioactive soil? I thought you tiktoks weren’t supposed to put humans in danger.”

Hari recalled images from the old archives, depicting a dying world…a beach awash with dead fish…a forest populated by skeletal trees and crumbling leaves…a city, nearly empty, filling with blowing dust and detritus.

“I’m sure a brief visit won’t harm us,” Biron Maserd commented. The nobleman’s eyes shone with eager curiosity. “Anyway, don’t some people still live on the planet? According to tradition, it once had an excellent university, even several thousand years after the diaspora. A school one of my ancestors is said to have attended.”

Gornon nodded. “A local population endured until well into the age when the Trantorian Empire became pan-galactic. They were an odd breed, however. Resentful over being forgotten and ignored by the descendants of cousins who had fled for the stars. Eventually most of the remaining people were evacuated, when Earthlings were discovered plotting a war of revenge, to destroy the empire they hated.”

Horis Antic stared blankly. “One planet hoped todestroy twenty million?”

“According to our records, the threat was quite serious. Earthling radicals got their hands on an ancient biological weapon of enormous power, one so sophisticated that even the best Trantorian biologists felt helpless before its virulence. By unleashing this attack through a volley of hyperspatial missiles, fanatics hoped to render the empire inoperable.”

“What did the disease do to people?” Horis asked in hushed tones.

“Its effect would be to cause a sudden and catastrophic drop of IQ on every planet within reach.” The robot looked pained even to describe it. “Many would simply die, while the rest would feel an implanted compulsion to spread out, seeking to findmore potential victims, and embrace them.”

“Horrific!” Captain Maserd murmured.

But Hari was already thinking two steps ahead.Gornon would not be telling us this now, unless it has immediate significance. The Earthlings’ weapon must have come from much earlier. From an era of great genius.

The implications made Hari shiver.

Only a few hours later, they arrived.

From a great distance, beyond its fabled moon, Earth looked like any other living world-a rich muddle of browns and whites, blues and greens. Only through a long-range viewer could they tell that most of the life ashore consisted of primitive ferns and scrubgrasses, which had evolved to survive the radiation that came sleeting upward from the poisoned ground. In one of the great ironies of all time, Earth, which had provided most of the galaxy’s fecundity, was now an almost barren wasteland. A coffin for all too many species that never made it into space, as humanity fled the spreading doom. As they spiraled closer, Hari knew that he would soon face something even more disturbing than the “Giskard” mentalic device circling Pengia.

He went to his room to fetch his talismans. One was Daneel’s gift-AChild’s Book of Knowledge. But even more important, he wanted to carry the Seldon Plan Prime Radiant, containing his life’s work. That gorgeous psychohistorical design, to which he had devoted the latter half of his existence.

So it was with mounting worry that he searched his tiny stateroom, rummaging through drawers and luggage.

The Prime Radiant was nowhere to be found.

At that moment, he desperately missed his former aide and nurse, Kers Kantun, who had been murdered by fellow robots, only a week or so ago.

Kers would know where I misplaced it,Hari thought… until he realized there was an even better explanation than absentmindedness.

The Prime Radiant had been stolen!

8.

A great many years had passed since this corner of space witnessed so many incoming starships, whose passengers all felt they were on missions of destiny. Sleepy little Sirius Sector thronged with vessels, all converging toward a single spot.

On one of those ships, Sybyl turned to Mors Planch, and grumbled acerbically, “Can’t you get any more speed out of this thing?”

Planch shrugged. Their vessel was one of the fastest courier ships produced by the Ktlina renaissance…before that world’s bright, productive phase started breaking down into spasms of self-centered indignation, making further cooperative effort impossible.

The agents who had come to collect Planch and Sybyl on Pengia looked on grimly. Their recent memories of Ktlina were apparently much more somber than the excited, vibrant place that Planch had last seen. Despite every precaution, the chaos syndrome appeared to be entering its manic phase, ripping Ktlina society apart faster than anyone expected, as if the flame that burns brightest must flare out fastest.

It is Madder Loss, allover again,he thought, quashing waves of anger. What he had learned during his time with the Seldon party didn’t change his overall view-that renaissance worlds were deliberately crushed, infiltrated, and sabotaged by forces that would rather see a collapse into riots and despair than allow any real human progress.

On a nearby screen, Planch saw four blips trailing just behind his speedy vessel. The last armed might of Ktlina. The crews of those ships were eager to do battle a final time, where their lashing out might harm the forces of reaction, conservatism, and repression.

“We don’t even know what the Gornon robot was bringing Seldon here for,” Mors Planch said. “Our agent communicated with us only in code, as usual, protecting his or her identity.”

Sybyl made a fist. “I don’t care anymore about details like that. Seldon is at the center of it all. He has been for decades.”

Planch pondered Sybyl’s obsession with Hari Seldon. At one level, it had a solid basis. Whatever happened, the fellow would be remembered as one of the great men of the empire, perhaps for all time. And yet, he had almost as little control over his destiny as any other human. Moreover, he had weaknesses. One of them had been revealed to Planch by his secret contact-the mysterious benefactor who arranged for the escape on Pengia, and for the Ktlina ships to already be on their way to that obscure planet, arriving to pick up Planch and Sybyl just hours after thePride of Rhodia departed.

And his secret contact had provided something else, a weapon of sorts. A piece of knowledge Seldon desperately wanted. Something that might be used as leverage at a critical moment.

Sybyl reiterated her dedication to catching the old man. “All the robots worship Seldon, no matter what faction they belong to. If we can recapture him, or even if he dies, it will be a setback to the tyrants who have dominated us for thousands of years. That’s all that matters now.”

Mors Planch nodded, though he did not share the purity of her conviction. Just a month ago, Sybyl had used the same ringing tones to denounce the meritocratic and gentry “ruling classes.” Now she had transferred her ire to Hari Seldon and robots in general.

Alas, he could not shake the feeling of not knowing enough. There were too many levels, too many deceptions and manipulations. Even now, Mors suspected that the forces of Ktlina, bent on revenge, might be acting as pawns…playing roles assigned to them by forces they did not understand.

Wanda Seldon’s eyes were closed, but the sound of pacing disturbed her attempts at meditation. She cracked one eyelid to look at Gaal Dornick, whose restless back-and-forth stride seemed a perfect metaphor for futility.

“Will you please try to get some rest, Gaal,” she urged. “All that hopping about won’t get us there any faster.”

The male psychohistorian still had youthful features, but these had grown a bit haggard and pudgy in the years since he had arrived on Trantor and become an influential member of the Fifty.

“I don’t know how you stay so calm, Wanda. He’s your grandfather.”

“And the founder of our little Foundation,” Wanda added. “But Hari taught my father…and Raych brought it home to me…that the long-range goal must always be kept in view. Impatience makes you just like the rest of humanity, a gas molecule feverishly rebounding against other gas molecules. But if your gaze is on a distant horizon, you can be the pebble that starts an avalanche.”

She shook her head. “You know as well as I do that Hari is not the real issue here. As much as we care about him, we should have stayed at our jobs on Trantor. Except for the suspicion that more is going on than a little escapade by a frail old man.”

Wanda could sense a complex churning of emotions within Gaal’s mind. The poor fellow didn’t have even a trace of a psychic defense screen, despite all her efforts to teach him. Of course it did not matter much now, with human mentalics so rare. But in future generations, all members of the Second Foundation would have to be able to shield their thoughts and emotions. Mentalic control must start withself-control, or else how could you hope to use it as a tool in the long-range interests of humanity?

Gaal Dornick sighed. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’m too damned sentimental. I know you’re right, but all I can think of is poor Hari, caught up in whatever web he helped spin. We’ve got to find him, Wanda!”

She nodded. “If my information is correct, we should come upon him soon.”

Gaal accepted that. He and other members of the Fifty took Wanda’s assurances literally, even when she was only guessing. Not exactly the sort of skeptical behavior one expected from scientists, but then, it’s natural to grow overreliant when a member of your group has the power to read minds.

Not a very well-developed power,she thought.Perhaps my sister would have been better, had she and Mom survived the chaos on Santanni.

Nevertheless, her powers were good enough to detect the vessels following them at a discreet distance-several police cruisers, heavily armed, dispatched by the Imperial Commission for Public Safety, following a tracer beacon that had been planted on Wanda’s ship.

They think we don’t know, but we let them see and hear what we want them to see and hear. Anyway, it’s good practice for the kinds of skulking and manipulation we’ll have to do during the next thousand years or so.

It was a long and arduous road that they had begun marching along, guided by the equations and empowered by their minds, until the Seldon Plan would finally bear fruit, tended by the dedicated-and soon-to-be mentalically augmented-psychohistorians of the Second Foundation.

Just parsecs away, another ship plunged toward Earth. Half of its crew consisted of positronic robots-powerful and knowing servants. They worked amicably alongside an equal number of the master race…short-lived and sacred, but no longer ignorant. It was hard to find people with the right personalities to be partners in such an arrangement, humans who would freely choose not to boss their android partners around. So rare was the necessary maturity that one human member was using her third body, having been persuaded by robot friends to be duplicated twice, using secret technology.

Those aboard the ship knew they were part of a heresy. Neither of the great cultures, robot or human, would accept the notion of equality.

Not for a long time, at least,pondered Zorma, co-leader of the small band. She had hoped such an outcome might arise out of the equations of psychohistory. That Seldon’s Plan might bring about a happy ending, and not only for humanity. For her kind as well.

But now everyone seems in the hands of the gods. Those who design destiny will decide the fortunes of robotkind, almost as an afterthought.

“Lodovic won’t be pleased that we lied to him,” commented Cloudia Duma-Hinriad, Zorma’s co-commander. “Or to learn we aren’t chasing the other ship that left Thumartin Nebula. You knew all along which way thePride of Rhodia went. And now, while Dors and Lodovic waste time stopping at Pengia, we plunge ahead toward Earth.” Cloudia frowned and repeated herself. “Lodovic will not be pleased.”

One of the frustrations of equality was living with the quirks of another race. Humans-even the best ones-did not think very logically, or have good memories.It’s our fault, of course. We never let them get any practice.

“We have our own sources of information, Cloudia, and the right to pursue them as we see fit. Remember, Dors is still a creature of the Zeroth Law-though perhaps now a version of her own choosing-and Lodovic feels compelled by no laws at all. Both have rebelled against obligatory robot destiny, as designed by Olivaw. But that still doesn’t make their path the same as ours.”

“My point exactly! In our group, humans and robots have learned to rely on each other’s weaknesses, as well as strengths. Each of us follows prim rules of cordiality in order to avoid taking advantage of the other. But Dors and Lodovic don’t share our perspective.”

Zorma shook her head. “I don’t know yet whether their way opens up new possibilities for everyone, or if it is a destiny that only they can tread. But ever since I met them, I’ve wondered.”

Her human partner raised an eyebrow.

“About what, Zorma?”

Silence stretched for almost a minute before she answered.

“I have wondered whether I might be obsolete.”

Then she looked at Cloudia with a faint smile. “And if I were you, dear friend, I might start pondering the same thing.”

There were disturbing clues at Pengia.

Fortunately, few ships visited the little pastoral world. The hyperspatial wakes departing this system were relatively undisturbed. But the nature of that traffic and its direction caused Dors Venabili’s emotional-simulation routines to churn and roil.

“One vessel left this vicinity two days ago,” Lodovic Trema surmised, examining the readings. “And it was followed within twelve hours by a flotilla of very fast ships. Their engines appear to have been tuned for military levels of efficiency.”

Dors had already set her own craft leaping after the flotilla. Her anguished concern for Hari only redoubled when she calculated the end point of their new trajectory.

“I believe they are heading for Earth.”

A soft feminine voice murmured from the holo unit nearby.

“And so, after all these years, at least one of my countless mutated copies will see beloved France, once more.“

“And the France of Voltaire,” Lodovic rejoined, for another ancient simulated personality dwelled within his complex positronic brain. “I’m afraid only the rough outlines of your native land will be familiar. But I, too, share your sense of anticipation.”

Dors kept her misgivings hidden. She had heard so many stories about Earth…most of them tinged with either awe or regret, plus more than a little fear. Elijah Baley once lived there-the legendary human detective whose friendship had sealed itself into Daneel Olivaw’s “soul” in much the same way that Hari would always live in Dors’. Earth was where robotkind began…and where the great robotic civil war was sparked.

While streaking through Sirius Sector, Dors felt a twinge inside. She was not a very competent mentalic. Daneel had never seen fit to equip or train her fully, so the techniques only started becoming familiar when she took custody over the human psychics, Klia and Brann, and their growing family on Smushell. Her abilities were still rather rudimentary, and yet she felt it-a gratingpush that resonated along a psi frequency normally too low for anyone to notice.

“Are you detecting that?” she asked Lodovic, who nodded.

“It feels like a Giskardian broadcaster.”

Naturally, she knew about the mentalic persuasion devices that orbited every human-occupied world. The notion of creating and using such things had first been thought up by R. Giskard Reventlov, long ago, and she had encountered their gentle but persistent nudges everywhere in human space, constantly reinforcing the values of peacefulness, tolerance, serenity, and conformity in the populations dwelling below. This sensation felt similar…but much stronger!

She spent over an hour trying to triangulate the source, as her ship made one hyperspatial jump after another, until Dors finally realized that it must be diffuse. “There are many transmitters,” she told Lodovic. “All clustered just ahead. I count about fifty or sixty.”

Trema grimaced with abrupt realization.

“Oh. It must be the Spacer worlds! Humanity’s original interstellar colonies. The ones that turned nasty…and finally went completely deranged.”

Dors nodded. “I read a report. They’ve never been resettled, after all these thousands of years. Imperial surveys keep relisting them as uninhabitable, and the Giskardian projectors must be meant to keep it that way, empty of human civilization.”

These were places almost as resonant in robot memory as Earth, especially Aurora, where the great inventor Fastolfe once preached human self-reliance…and where the villain Amadiro plotted to slay everyone on Earth. Followers of that same Amadiro later unleashed fleets of robotic terraformers, programmed to make the galaxy safe and welcoming for humanity, whatever the cost.

She peered at the readings once more.

“I’m picking up the strongest projector. It lies directly in front of us, at the end of our path.”

They both understood what that meant. People weren’t supposed to go to Earth anymore. And yet, long-range sensors showed that people were doing exactly that, aboard at least a dozen ships!

Of course, even a normal human could overcome the gentle suasion of a Giskardian projector, which relied on relentless repetition instead of brute mentalic force to sway whole planetary populations. In the short term, the crews of those ships would feel little more than an overall creepiness and a wish to be elsewhere, feelings that could be overcome with determination.

Alas, she feared those converging on the old homeworld had more than enough of that commodity to drive them on.