by Isaac Asimov
But before his muddled mind could even contemplate alternate solutions, Zun realized that Bliss had already left him, apparently somehow restoring his equilibrium, lost in the contact with Gaia. He also realized that somewhere during the process he had involuntarily closed his eyes. He opened them, and saw Bliss’s same look of concern now directed at him.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, offering her hand to him. He took it and stood, careful to use her support only for balance, and not to hold much of his weight. “Thank you, for trying to help me. We should have been more careful,” Bliss continued. She was obviously somewhat upset at the incident. “We didn’t realize you had the same abilities as Daneel. I didn’t sense any others like him when we first landed. If we’d known, I wouldn’t have opened up like that.”
“Daneel was purposefully trying to draw your attention,” Zun replied, quickly parsing the unusual use of pronouns. He had returned to normal functioning, but he was disappointed. It seemed that in his attempt to lesson Bliss’s concern, he’d merely added to it. Zun could not have predicted this from the information he possessed, but he suspected Daneel would have. The ancient robot had learned so much from his friendships with humans, like the legendary Elijah Bailey and, much later, Hari Seldon. He hoped that Daneel would live long enough to teach him more.
Daneel brought Zun’s mind back to the child on the examining table. Zun could see over Bliss’s shoulder that Fallom didn’t seem to have noticed anything was happening, still fascinated with Yan. And though Yan had almost certainly noticed, he gave no obvious indication of concern. Zun decided to keep talking, hoping to keep Bliss’s mind off the subject, but Bliss spoke before he could continue.
“When I was in your mind I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she said. “When I first sensed Daneel I knew he wasn’t quite human, but the surface differences weren’t that great. At a glance I might not have noticed any difference at all. Even deeper, inside you, there are differences, but your minds don’t seem at all mechanical. You feel... alive,” Bliss finished.
“All of us have had centuries to perfect our impersonation of human beings,” Zun replied. He wondered how Gaia was taking this new information about the existence of robots like himself. He would have to discuss it with Daneel later. For now, though, Zun was relieved that she seemed willing to be distracted.
He gestured to the robot behind Bliss. “Yan has been able to give each new robot he builds more and more accurate emulation of human emotions. It’s necessary to help us blend in, even more so now that Gaia and the Second Foundation can sense our internal states as easily as our actions. After long enough, we find it easier to keep our human reactions active even when they are not necessary.”
Bliss nodded, remembering his physical reaction to contact with Gaia. Normally the connection between Bliss and her world would not have been so strong at this distance. Gaia didn’t control its individual parts. It simply connected them, combined them into a greater whole, lending each the strength and knowledge and joy of the others. Bliss had need of that strength now. She loved Fallom as her own child, and the knowledge of Daneel’s plan for the child had devastated her. But her pain was Gaia’s, and Gaia’s strength was hers.
Bliss turned back to Fallom and Yan. “What will it be like for her?” she asked. “After?”
Zun hesitated imperceptibly, at least to a normal human. “It’s impossible to say,” Zun replied. There was an impulse in him to lie, to make her feel better. But he knew the lie would be discovered, and cause more harm than the truth. “The merging of a human and a positronic brain has never been attempted before.”
Zun knew that Gaia had decided not to interfere with Daneel’s intentions for the child. There was much yet that they did not know. If Gaia was to truly be the future of the galaxy, they needed to understand as much about history as possible, both their own and humanity’s. Only Daneel could provide them with that information. But that did not mean that Gaia trusted Daneel, not yet. Zun hoped that they would learn to, and that Bliss’s pain, and all of Gaia’s would be lessoned by the knowledge that on some level robots and humans were alike. After the procedure, what remained would be, if not Fallom, then at least not totally unlike her.
Fallom, meanwhile, seemed completely unconcerned about her own fate. She continued playing with Yan’s fourth hand, still trying to capture it as Yan moved it about in front of her. Yan face of metal and plastic couldn’t convey emotion nearly as well as Daneel’s or Zun’s, but Zun could still sense that he enjoyed playing with the child.
Zun saw with some surprise that Bliss was not focusing on Fallom any more. She was watching Yan as well. She was touching his mind, not deeply enough to distract the robot, but enough to learn about him. Any moment now she would see what Zun already knew was there: sorrow over missed opportunities. Regret that he had never played with a human child before. And that he never would again.
“He’s dying too, isn’t he?” she asked suddenly, knowing she was right.
Zun only nodded slowly, knowing no verbal response was necessary. Yan could hear every word they said, of course, but Zun knew it wouldn’t disturb him. Robots were incapable of self-pity. And it was, to use an ancient human phrase, old news. “Robots are not truly immortal,” he replied to Bliss after a few moments, without looking at her. “Our parts wear out, we’re damaged in some way, or, like Daneel and Yan, our brains simply can’t handle the increasing complexity required by age. When that happens, Yan fixes us.”
He left the completion of the thought unspoken, knowing she understood. Only Yan can fix us.
Gaia had memories of robots, Zun knew. Robots had helped found Gaia, fifteen thousand years ago. Daneel had been involved, guiding Gaia in some way that they now felt a need to understand, and guiding the entire galaxy along with them.
Zun could see that Bliss’s tears were threatening to return as she began to understand the awesome finality of what was occurring around her. Zun spoke once more.
“R. Yan Kansarv, the last of the great Auroran constructor robots. His skill knows only one limit: he can build no more like himself. Robots have served humanity selflessly for longer even than Gaia had existed. Now Gaia must succeed us. After two hundred centuries, our time, our service, is irrevocably drawing to a close.”
“You intend what?” Lodovik exclaimed to Daneel. He had to purposefully decouple his human reaction overlay from his movement systems to keep from hesitating in his stride. Lodovik found himself imagining several colorful curses he might have used had a human been in his place.
“Was some part of my explanation unclear, Lodovik?” Daneel replied, his demeanor unchanging. The two were walking together down a long, brightly lit hallway that reverberated with the echo of their voices. There were no openings in the walls to either side of them as they moved towards the heavy door that filled the end of the ancient corridor. Every room in this underground complex had required massive effort to excavate, and so only those rooms that were absolutely necessary were created. The existence of the passage itself was only explained by the fact that it was created long ago to connect what had once been two separate complexes, originally kilometers distant from each other. The two had slowly grown towards each other, until for reasons forgotten millennia ago, it had become more convenient to dig a tunnel for travel directly between the two instead of traversing the airless surface above. All the excavation had been done by robots, of course. But robot time or no, this passageway had cost a vast amount of resources.
Daneel and Lodovik had covered a little over half the length of the corridor as they continued to talk. Lodovik had been walking very slightly behind Daneel, as a human might do to show equally slight deference. The two had been conversing ever since leaving the landing area, after the humans had been escorted to their rooms. Turringen and Zorma had elected to remain in their ship, being as comfortable there as anywhere. Lodovik suspected that the two were not entirely confident in Daneel’s honesty with regards to their truce, but he knew they
were safe. At least for now.
But this!
Lodovik suddenly stopped, taking the arm of his taller companion and bringing him to a halt. The action was totally unnecessary; robots had other ways of expressing emphasis. But the habits of centuries died hard.
Daneel complied without any resistance, turning to face Lodovik. For most of his existence the younger robot had been one of Daneel’s greatest agents, and one of his most likely successors. But an accident had changed Lodovik, changed his perspective, made him unique in the universe. That change had put Lodovik in a position no robot had ever been in. Lodovik had left Daneel, betraying him and almost destroying all that Daneel had tried to accomplish.
Had any other robot done what Lodovik had, Daneel would have had it dismantled without any hesitation. But Lodovik truly was unique, and Daneel could not bring himself to destroy him. And now, for this one task, their purposes coincided once again. Daneel was utterly certain no new arguments would arise and change his path, but whatever Lodovik Trema had to say, Daneel would listen.
Lodovik wasted no time. “You want the child’s brain?” His understanding of Daneel’s intentions were quite clear, but for him the exclamation came naturally. Lodovik could have suppressed the response, but in this case he felt no need to hide his surprise and disturbance. This was inconceivable!
Daneel began to respond. “The Zeroth Law-”
“I know the Laws!” Lodovik exclaimed. “I operated under them for four thousand years!” Lodovik recognized the look of curiosity on Daneel’s face, though no human would have called him anything but blank, and realized that he had been yelling. Habits indeed. No other robot acted so human, not even Dors. But then, no other robot was like Lodovik.
He took a moment to calm the heightened combination of potentials that a human would have called anger. Lodovik decided a change of approach would be more effective. He continued, calm. “I killed two humans during that time, Daneel. Killed them both with my bare hands. Only the Zeroth Law allowed me to keep functioning, and only because I could clearly see that my destruction would cause immediate harm to all of humanity. Are you truly telling me you plan to kill this human child, when the benefit to humanity will be so vague?”
Daneel never ceased to be amazed by the humanity of Lodovik’s reactions. He had not expected such passion. “‘Fallom will not die, Lodovik. Not necessarily. Her mind may yet be continued, even if her body is not.” He had proceeded down this path in his own mind already, within a millisecond of becoming aware of Fallom’s existence. As expected, Lodovik had not provided him with any new arguments.
“And if her mind dies as well?” Lodovik demanded, maintaining his calm. “Hybridization has never been attempted on this scale, Daneel. Even if Zorma is willing to help, Fallom may not survive, in body or in mind. Are you really willing to sacrifice a human being to save yourself?”
“I am not capable of any such thing, Lodovik.” Daneel’s voice carried none of the insult a human’s might have. “This is not for me. Nothing I have ever done has been. Gaia needs my experience and guidance to have the best chance of surviving until their expansion. The loss of a human being is always regrettable, but occasionally necessary.”
How many of my actions justified by that word, he thought. Necessary. With sufficient effort, Daneel could recall every action he’d taken, every time he’d caused a human harm. He felt weary. But that was nothing new. He had felt that way for most of his existence.
Lodovik knew that this debate had already occurred in Daneel’s mind, and that he would not convince him this way. He had known since the conversation began. The shock, even horror, he felt was genuine. But the ancient robot was no fool, and his reasoning was unassailable, as usual. It was his premises that Lodovik took issue with. Premises that Daneel was as incapable of altering as Lodovik was of accepting them.
Truthfully, on some level Lodovik wasn’t completely sure he wanted Daneel to spare the child. His friend was dying, and until this very hour he’d believed nothing could delay that. Now there was hope, as strange as it was. And besides Lodovik’s personal concerns, Daneel could continue to be of great help to humanity if the deterioration of his brain could be circumvented.
Lodovik removed his hand from Daneel’s arm and spoke again. “For you, ‘necessary’ may be sufficient,” he said, “but you know it is not for the others. I believe Zorma will be willing to assist, especially if she thinks Fallom’s consciousness can be preserved in the process.” Lodovik and Zorma had formed a strange friendship since his accident. “She may consider it a step towards reconciliation between you and her hybrids. But Turringen’s reaction could be dangerous. I suggest that he not be told about the child.”
Daneel nodded. Seeing that Lodovik’s discomfort had settled somewhat, he turned to continue their walk down the corridor. “I found Turringen’s presence somewhat surprising,” he said to the other robot, now again following him. “I would have expected him to destroy you on sight. You must have been very convincing.”
“You underestimate the intensity of their reaction to your plans,” Lodovik responded. “The Calvinians’ consider this the greatest insult to the Laws that you have ever devised.”
Daneel was amused. “Sometimes I wonder if the Calvinians do not picture me as spending thousands of years doing nothing but finding ways to violate their ‘religion’. Perhaps while carrying a pitchfork.”
Lodovik made a note to find out the meaning of that reference at a later time. “It is no joke, Daneel,” he insisted. “This threatens to reignite the wars. Even with your superior forces, that is something you must still wish to avoid.” The civil war between robot factions had caused untold destruction. If the fight were to resume, Daneel would almost certainly win. But there was no way he could predict the damage his enemies could cause in the process.
Daneel was unfazed. “I have proof that even Turringen will be unable to refute, from a source he will not be able to ignore.”
“You think the Calvinians will be convinced by Trevize?” Lodovik asked skeptically. Not that it would matter if they were.
“They must be. You know he was not chosen by accident,” Daneel replied. “My agents have spent the last century searching through trillions of lives. They found Golan Trevize. We have detailed records of his life since childhood, and there can be no doubt. When faced with a dilemma and incomplete information to draw on, he invariably makes the correct decision. Invariably. I do not understand the mechanism by which this is possible, but the odds of Trevize simply being lucky are mathematically insignificant. He alone, with no interference, selected Gaia over any other possible future for humanity. Even the strictest Calvinian must accept this, just as Gaia has. The evidence is incontrovertible, and a human being with the abilities he possesses is imminently qualified to make that decision.”
Lodovik understood all this. He had analyzed Daneel’s plans more times than Daneel could possibly know, and used that understanding to formulate his own plans. Trevize had been chosen by Daneel to convince both Gaia and the other factions of the rightness of Daneel’s path. But they would reject him. In the end, even Daneel would. I’m sorry, Daneel, but for once you have miscalculated.
“Trevize’s intuition made him choose Gaia,” Lodovik continued without pausing. “It even brought him here, to a world we thought we had eliminated all record of. You say you have statistical proof of his infallibility to this point throughout his life. Yet from what you tell me, his most recent realization is, while not inaccurate, less than complete. Are you not afraid that the others will reject him on those grounds?”
Daneel smiled slightly for the first time in the conversation. He knew full well how difficult it could be to convince some of his old opponents. “There is that possibility,” he said to Lodovik. “I can not compute any useful probabilities on that matter. In the end, their cooperation would help greatly, but it is not necessary. I still grieve that our kind is divided so, but if they do not accept Trevize, then Gaia must pro
ceed without them. Their interference will not be of any significance.”
Lodovik didn’t respond to that. Once again, further argument would serve no purpose. “Do you intend to present your evidence soon?” Lodovik asked.
“Once the humans have had a chance to rest,” Daneel replied. “Gaia also has many questions that still require answers. Perhaps the presence of you and your new allies will help allay any concerns they might have about my truthfulness.”
Lodovik said nothing. Everything was proceeding as he had anticipated. All that was needed now was patience, and patience was something no robot lacked.
They had reached the end of the tunnel, and Daneel spoke as he manipulated the control panel. “I find speaking of all this to you unexpectedly calming, Lodovik,” he said, his expression unchanging. “I am pleased to find that your altered state has not changed that. Even in our... disagreements, I found that I missed your presence.” He turned to walk through the door, giving Lodovik a small sideways glance. “Perhaps I was correct not to kill you after all.”
Lodovik winced inwardly. He wished that he could find a way to keep his friend from being hurt. But he knew that there was no alternative. Daneel had closed all other doors. Lodovik had done many things, some he wished he could have avoided, but none he would change if he could. But the damage he believed the next day would do to Daneel, even his worst enemies could have sympathized with. Lodovik gave no sign of this disturbance as he replied wryly, “I think it far more likely, Daneel, that it was simply another symptom of the decay of your positronic brain.”
