by Robots
And the Spacer worlds, calm and secure, would then have expanded further, Fastolfe had always complained that the Spacers were too long-lived and too comfortable on their robotic cushions to be pioneers, but Amadiro would have proved him wrong.
Yet Fastolfe had won out. At the moment of certain defeat, he had somehow, unbelievably, incredibly, reached into empty space, so to speak, and found victory in- his grasp-plucked from nowhere.
It was that Earthman, of course, Elijah Baley
But Amadiro's otherwise uncomfortable memory always balked at the Earthman and turned away. He could not picture that face, hear that voice, remember that deed. The name was enough. Twenty centuries had not sufficed to dim the hatred he felt in the slightest-or to soften the pain he felt by an iota.
And with Fastolfe in charge of policy, the miserable Earthmen had fled their corrupting planet and established themselves on world after world. The whirlwind of Earth's progress dazed the Spacer worlds and forced them into frozen paralysis.
How many times had Amadiro addressed the Council and pointed out that the Galaxy was slipping from Spacer fingers, that Aurora was watching blankly while world after world was being occupied by submen, that each year apathy was taking firmer hold of the Spacer spirit?
"Rouse yourself," he had called out. "Rouse yourself. See their numbers grow. See the Settler worlds multiply. What is it you wait for? To have them at your throats?"
And always Fastolfe would answer in that soothing lullaby of a voice of his and the Aurorans and the other Spacers (always following Aurora's lead, when Aurora chose not to lead) would settle back and return to their slumber.
The obvious did not seem to touch them. The facts, the figures, the indisputable worsening of affairs from decade to decade left them unmoved. How was it possible to shout the truth at them so steadily, to have every prediction he made come to pass, and yet to have to watch a steady majority following Fastolfe like sheep?
How was it possible that Fastolfe himself could watch everything he said prove to be sheer folly and yet never swerve from his policies? It was not even that he stubbornly insisted on being wrong, it was that he simply never seemed to notice he was wrong.
If Amadiro were the kind of man who doted on fantasy, he would surely imagine that some kind of spell, some kind Of apathetic enchantment, had fallen upon the Spacer worlds. He would imagine that somewhere someone possessed the magic power of lulling otherwise active brains and blinding to the truth otherwise sharp eyes.
To add the final exquisite agony, people pitied Fastolfe for having died in frustration. In frustration, they said, because the Spacers would not seize new worlds of their own.
It was Fastolfe's own policies that kept them from doing so! What right had he to feel frustration over that? What would he do if he had, like Amadiro, always seen and spoken the truth and been unable to force the Spacers enough Spacers-to listen to him.
How many times had he thought that it would be better for the Galaxy to be empty than under the domination of the submen? H he had some magic power to, destroy the Earth-Elijah Baley's world-with a nod of his head, how eagerly he would.
Yet to find refuge in such fantasy could only be a sign of his total despair. It was the other side of his recurrent, futile wish Ito give up and welcome death-if his robots would allow it.
And then the time came when the power to destroy Earth was given him-even forced upon him against his will. That time was some three-fourths of a decade before, when he had first met Levular Mandamus.
Memory! Three-fourths of a decade before
Amadiro looked up and noted that Maloon Cicis had entered the office. He had undoubtedly signaled and he had the right to enter if the signal were not acknowledged.
Amadiro sighed and put down his small computer. Cicis had been his right-hand man ever since the Institute had been established. He was getting old in his service. Nothing drastically noticeable, just a general air of mild decay. His nose seemed to be a bit more asymmetrical than it once had been.
He rubbed his own somewhat bulbous nose and wondered how badly the flavor of decay was enveloping him. He had once been 1.95 meters tall, a good height even by Spacer standards. Surely he stood as straight now as he always had and yet when he had actually measured his height recently, he could not manage to make it more than 1.93 meters. Was he beginning to stoop, to shrivel, to settle?
He put away these dour thoughts that were themselves a surer sign of aging than mere measurements and said, "What is it, Maloon?"
Cicis had a new personal robot dogging his steps very modernistic and with glossy trim. That was a sign of aging, too. If one can't keep one's body young, one can always buy a new young robot. Amadiro was determined never to rouse smiles among the truly young by falling prey to that particular delusion- especially since Fastolfe, who was eight decades older than Amadiro, had never done so.
Cicis said, "It's this Mandamus fellow again, Chief."
"Mandamus?"
"The one who keeps wanting to see you."
Amadiro thought a while. "You mean the idiot who's a descendant of the Solarian woman?"
"Yes, Chief."
"Well, I don't want to see him. Haven't you made that clear to him yet, Maloon?"
"Abundantly clear. He asks that I hand you a note and he says you will then see him."
Amadiro said slowly, "I don't think so, Maloon. What does the note say?"
"I don't understand it, Chief. It isn't Galactic."
"In that case, why should I understand it any more than you do?"
"I don't know, but he asked me to give it to you. If you care to look at it, Chief, and say the word, I will go back and get rid of him one more time."
"Well, then, let me see it," said Amadiro, shaking his head. He glanced at it with distaste.
It read: "Ceterum censeo, delenda est Carthago."
Amadiro read the message, glared up at Maloon, then turned his eyes back to the message. Finally, he said, "You must have looked at this, since you know it isn't Galactic. Did you ask him what it meant?"
"Yes, I did, Chief. He said it was Latin, but that left me no wiser. He said you would understand. He is a very determined man and said he would sit there all day waiting till you read this."
"What does he look like?"
"Thin. Serious. Probably humorless. Tall, but not quite as tall as you. Intense, deep-set eyes, thin lips."
"How old is he?"
"From the texture of his skin, I should say four decades or so. He is very young."
"In that case, we must make allowances for youth. Send him in."
Cicis looked surprised. "You will see him?"
"I have just said so, haven't I? Send him in."
The young man entered the room in what was almost a march step. He stood there stiffly in front of the desk and said, "I thank you, sir, for agreeing to see me. May I have your permission to have my robots join me?"
Amadiro raised his eyebrow's. "I would be pleased to see them. Would you permit me to keep mine with me?" -
It had been many years since he had heard anyone mouth the old robot formula. It was one of those good old customs that sank into abeyance as the notion of formal politeness decayed and as it came to be taken more and more for granted that one's personal robots were part of one's self.
"Yes, sir," said Mandamus and two robots entered. They did not do so, Amadiro noted, till permission had been given. They were new robots, clearly efficient, and showed all the signs of good workmanship.
"Your own design, Mr. Mandamus?" There was always some extra value in robots that were designed by their owners.
"Indeed, sir."
"Then you are a roboticist?"
"Yes, sir. I have my degree from the University of Eons."
"Working under-"
Mandamus said smoothly, "Not under Dr. Fastolfe, sir. Under Dr. Maskellnik."
"Ah, but you are not a member of the Institute."
"I have applied for entrance, sir."
&
nbsp; "I see." Amadiro adjusted the papers on his desk and then said quickly, without looking up, "Where did you learn Latin?"
"I do not know Latin well enough to speak it or read it but I know enough about it to know that quotation and where to find it."
"That in itself is remarkable. How does that come about?"
"I cannot devote every moment of my time to robotics, so I have my side interests. One of them is planetology, with particular reference to Earth. That led me to Earth's history and culture."
"That is not a popular study among Spacers."
"No, sir, and that is too bad. One should always know one's enemies-as you do, sir."
"As I do?"
"Yes, sir. I believe you are acquainted with many aspects of Earth and are more learned in that respect than I am, for you have studied the subject longer."
"How do you know that?"
"I have tried to learn as much about you as I can, sir."
"Because I am another one of your enemies?"
"No, sir, but because I want to make you an ally."
"Make me an ally? You plan to make use of me, then? Does it strike you that you are being a little impertinent?"
"No, sir, for I am sure you, will want to be an ally of mine."
Amadiro stared at him. "Nevertheless, it strikes me that you are being rather more than a little impertinent. -Tell me, do you understand this quotation you have found for me."
"Yes, sir."
"Then translate it into Standard Galactic."
"It says, 'In my opinion, Carthage must be destroyed.'"
"And what does that mean, in your opinion?"
"The speaker was Marcus Porcius Cato, a senator of the Roman Republic, a political unit of ancient Earth. It had defeated its chief rival, Carthage, but had not destroyed it. Cato held that Rome could not be secure until Carthage was entirely destroyed-and eventually, sir, it was."
"But what is Carthage to us, young man?"
"There are such things as analogies."
"Which means?"
"That the Spacer worlds, too, have a chief rival that, in my opinion, must be destroyed."
"Name the enemy."
"The planet Earth, sir."
Amadiro, drummed his fingers very softly upon the desk before him. "And you want me to be your ally in such a project. You assume I will be happy and eager to be one. -Tell me, Dr. Mandamus, when have I ever said in any of my numerous speeches and writings on the subject that Earth must be destroyed?"
Mandamus's thin lips tightened and his nostrils flared. "I am not here," he said, "in an attempt to trap you into something that can be used against you. I have not been sent here by Dr. Fastolfe, or any of his party. Nor am I of his party. Nor do I attempt to say what is in your mind. I tell you only what is in my mind. In my opinion, Earth must be destroyed."
"And how do you propose to destroy Earth? Do you suggest that we drop nuclear bombs on it until the blasts and radiation and dust clouds destroy the planet? Because, if so, how do you propose to keep avenging Settler ships from doing the same to Aurora and to as many of the other Spacer worlds as they can reach? Earth might have been blasted with impunity as recently as fifteen decades ago. It can't be now."
Mandamus looked revolted. "I have nothing like that in mind, Dr. Amadiro. I would not unnecessarily destroy human beings, even if they are Earthpeople. There is a way, however, in which Earth can be destroyed without necessarily killing its people wholesale-and there will be no retaliation. "
"You are a dreamer," said Amadiro, "or perhaps not quite sane."
"Let me explain."
"No, young man. I have little time and because your quotation, which I understood perfectly well, piqued my curiosity, I have already allowed myself to spend too much of it on you.
Mandamus stood up. "I understand, Dr. Amadiro, and I beg your pardon for taking up more of your time than you could afford. Think of what I have said, however, and if you should become curious, why not call upon me when you have more time to devote to me than you now have. Do not wait too long, however, for if I must, I will turn in other directions, for destroy Earth I will. I am frank with you, you see."
The young man attempted a smile that stretched his thin cheeks without producing much of an effect on his face otherwise. He said, "Good-bye-and thank you again," turned, and left.
Amadiro looked after him for a while thoughtfully, then touched a contact on the side of his desk.
"Maloon," he said when Cicis entered, "I want that young man watched around the clock and I want to know everyone he speaks to everyone. I want them, all identified and I want them all questioned. Those whom I indicate are to be brought to me. -But, Maloon, everything must be done quietly and with an attitude of sweet and friendly persuasion. I am not yet master here, as you know."
But he would be eventually. Fastolfe was thirty-six decades old and clearly failing and Amadiro was eight decades younger.
Amadiro received his reports for nine days.
Mandamus talked to his robots, occasionally to colleagues at the university, and even more occasionally to individuals at the establishments neighboring his. His conversations were utterly trivial and, long before the nine days had passed, Amadiro had decided he could not outwait the young man. Mandamus was only at the beginning of a long life and might have thirty decades ahead of him; Amadiro had only eight to ten at the very most.
And Amadiro, thinking of what the young man had said, felt, with increasing restlessness, that he could not take the chance that a way of destroying Earth might exist and, that he might be ignoring it. Could he allow the destruction to take place after his death, so that he would not witness it? Or, almost as bad, have it take place during his lifetime, but with someone else's mind in command, someone else's fingers on the contact?
No, he had to see it, witness it, and do it, else why had he endured his long frustration? Mandamus might be a fool or a madman, but, in that case, Amadiro had to know for certain that he was a fool or a madman.
Having reached that point in his thinking, Amadiro called Mandamus to his office.
Amadiro realized that in so doing, he was humiliating himself, but the humiliation was the price he had to pay to make certain that there wasn't the slightest chance of Earth being destroyed without him. It was a price he was willing to pay
He steeled himself even for the possibility that Mandamus would enter his presence, smirking and contemptuously triumphant. He would have to endure that, too. After the endurance, of course, if the young man's suggestion proved foolish, he would see him punished to the full extent that a civilized society would permit, but otherwise
He was pleased, then, when Mandamus entered his office with an attitude of reasonable humility and thanked him, in all apparent sincerity, for a second interview. It seemed to Amadiro he would have to be gracious in his turn.
"Dr. Mandamus," he said, "in sending you away without listening to your plan, I was guilty of discourtesy. Tell me, then, what you have in mind and I will listen until it is quite clear to me-as I suspect it will be-that your plan is, perhaps, more the result of enthusiasm than of cold reason. At that time, I will dismiss you again, but without contempt on my part, and I hope that you will, respond without anger on your part."
Mandamus said, "I could not be angry at having been accorded a fair and patient hearing, Dr. Amadiro, but what if what I say makes sense to you and offers hope?"
"In that case," said Amadiro slowly, "it would be conceivable that we two could work together."
"That would be wonderful, sir. Together we could accomplish more than we could separately. But would there be something more tangible than the privilege of working together? Would there be a reward?"
Amadiro, looked displeased. "I would be grateful, of course, but all I am is a Councilman and the head of the Robotics Institute. There would be a limit to what I could do for you."
"I understand that, Dr. Amadiro. But within those limits could I not have something on account? Now?" He looked a
t Amadiro steadily.
Amadiro frowned at finding himself gazing into a pair of keen and unblinkingly determined eyes. No humility there!
Amadiro said coldly, "What do you have in mind?"
"Nothing you can't give me, Dr. Amadiro. Make me a member of the Institute."
"If you qualify----"
"No fear. I qualify."
"We can't leave that decision to the candidate. We have to-"
