by David Brin
Daneel’s humanoid face was expressive, displaying both wincing pain and irony.
“My friend Hari sets great store in his brilliant invention, but even he now realizes that the Seldon Plan will never reach its final completion. Nevertheless, the Terminus experiment is extremely valuable. The Foundation will help keep humanity occupied for the several centuries we need.”
‘Why so much time, Daneel?” Zun asked. “It would be relatively easy to implement this new solution. We could mass-produce mentalic robot amplifiers by the quadrillions and teach multitudes on every human world to use them! Already there are trained masters of meditation in every village and town. With the help of our orbiting Giskardian--”
Daneel shook his head. “It’s not so simple, Zun. Look again at the men and women sitting before you. Tell me what you see. What is the anomaly?”
Zun stared at the gathering for a long time, then he said in a flat tone.
“There are no children.” Daneel shared the ensuing silence. At last, he ended it with a sigh.
“This is not enough, Zun. Humanity cannot rely on robots for its destiny--even as fine a destiny as this one.
“Ultimately, in order for this to work...they are going to have to outgrow us.”
2.
There were far too many archives for Hari to count. They glittered in all directions, like stars, making false constellations against the black backdrop of the nebula. So many of them, Hari thought, and Kerstells me this isn’t the only storage yard where these things are kept.
The war over human memory had gone on for many thousands of years, swaying back and forth while the great diaspora spread outward from dying Earth. All through that legendary epoch--while settlers bravely set forth in their rickety hyperdrive ships, conquered new lands, and experimented with all sorts of basic cultures--a series of intense, and sometimes savage, struggles had been taking place behind the scenes.
Unknown to the emigrants, robot terraformers plunged ahead of the colonization wave, giant Auroran robots called Amadiros, programmed to subdue new worlds and prepare gentle lush territories for settlement.
Just behind the Auroran terraformers, a civil war raged. Many factions of Calvinian and Giskardian robots fought over how best to serve humankind. But on one point most factions agreed. Humans must be kept ignorant of the fight that was going on behind their backs, or in the black depths of space.
Above all, they must be prevented from reinventing robots, lest they meddle with the Robotic Laws once more. Clearly, ignorance was the best way to protect humanity against itself.
A small minority fought this notion. Each of the soft glitters in front of Hari testified to an act of resistance by some group of tenacious people who did not want to forget...perhaps helped by robot friends who shared a belief in human sovereignty.
“Their effort was foredoomed from the start,” Hari murmured.
Again, the poignant situation struck him deep within.
Why are we cursed, so our only hope to evade insanity is to stay as far away as possible from our potential greatness? Must we remain forever stupid and ignorant in order to defeat the demons we carry within?
The story that Horis Antic had told about an actual alien race clung to Hari’s thoughts. The human condition could not have been more wretchedly tragic if some enemy had cursed Hari’s species with the most devastating hex possible. If not for chaos, what heights we might have achieved!
The little space station was frigid. Stale air tasted as if no living creature had been aboard in thousands of years. Nearby, through a broad window, he saw the pirate craft from Ktlina and the Pride of Rhodia.
“This is just a temporary measure, Professor Seldon, “ Kers Kantun had said, before leaving Sybyl, Jeni, and the others alone in the ship’s salon, playing idle games like children on a cruise, with their higher brain functions chemically clamped. “They will be released as soon as we have accomplished our mission. “
“What about Mors Planch?” Hari had asked. The pirate captain lay under full sedation in sick bay. “What did you mean when you said that he was normal? Why does that interfere with your mentalic control?”
But Kers Kantun had refused to elaborate, saying that time was too short. First, Hari and Lord Maserd must help to prevent a galactic-scale catastrophe. The three of them took a shuttle over to this ancient space station, a complex of balls and tubes that lay at the center of a vast spiderweb of slender cables. To this tethering site all the archives had been tied. The library capsules that had been fired into deep space by rebels. across a hundred centuries, were gathered and leashed to this one station--so archaic it predated the earliest beginnings of the Galactic Empire.
Daneel’s robots were caught in a logical bind, Hari realized. Under the Zeroth Law, they could seize every archive they found, and hide it away--”for humanity’s own good. “ But once the archives were safely tucked away, out of sight, the Zeroth Law no longer applied. Daneel’s helpers had to obey the Second Law commands, written on the side of each artifact, demanding that these precious human works be preserved.
“It seems such a pity to destroy them all, doesn’t it, Seldon?”
Hari turned to look at Biron Maserd, the nobleman from Rhodia, who had been standing silently, contemplating the same scene.
“I respect you and your accomplishments, Professor,” Maserd continued. “I’ll take your word for it, if you say this must be done. I have seen chaos with my own eyes. In my own home province, the brave, gentle, and ingenious people of Tyrann had a so-called renaissance, almost a thousand years ago, and they still haven’t recovered. They keep cowering in hivelike cities like those steel caves Earthlings recoiled into, hiding from something horrible they met at their brightest moment of hope and ambition.”
Hari nodded. “It’s happened so often; those beautiful little capsules out there are like a poison. If they get out...”
He didn’t have to finish. Both men were devotees of knowledge, but loved peace and civilization more.
“I had hoped that you, the great Hari Seldon, might come up with an answer,” Maserd said in a low voice. “It’s the chief reason I sought you out, joining Horis in his quest. Are you telling me that, with all your sociomathematical insight, you see no way out? No way for humanity to escape this trap?”
Hari winced. Maserd had brought up the great sore point in his life.
“For a while, I felt sure that I’d found one. On paper it’s so beautiful. The solution leaps forth...a civilization strong enough to take on chaos...”
He sighed. “But I now realize psychohistory won’t provide the answer. There is a way out of this trap, Lord Maserd. But you and I won’t live to see its outlines.”
The nobleman replied with a resigned grunt.
“Well, as long as there is going to be a solution someday. I’ll help if I can. Do you have any idea what the robots want of us?”
Hari nodded. “I’m pretty sure. From the logic of their positronic religion, it can only be one thing.”
He lifted his eyes. Down the long, chilly corridor, a humanoid figure could be seen approaching. “Anyway, it looks as if we’re about to find out.”
The tall, lanky form of Kers Kantun marched along deck plates that had been untrodden for millennia. He stopped before the two men.
“The guardian will see us now. Please come along. There is much to do.”
The station was much bigger than it appeared from the outside. Twisty corridors jutted at all angles, leading from one oddly shaped storage room to the next. Not all archives, apparently, were of the crystalline variety designed to hurtle vast distances across interstellar space. Some rooms were filled almost to bursting with stacks of slender wafers, or round disks whose surfaces gleamed like rainbows. Hari shuddered, knowing how much harm even one of these objects might do if humanity’s long ignorance ended too abruptly.
His former servant led them circuitously to a chamber deep in the hollowed planetoid. There Hari encountered a strange-lookin
g machine with a myriad legs, squatting like a spider at the center of her web. The mechanism looked as old as the archaic tilling machines, and just as dead...until a blank lens abruptly filled with opalescent light, fixing an unblinking gaze on the two humans. Hari realized that he and Maserd might be the first living creatures ever to confront this primeval being, in this cryptic place.
After several seconds, a voice emerged, resonating from within the guardian’s metal interstices.
“I am told that we have reached a juncture of crisis and decision,” the old robot said. “A time when the age-old quandary must be settled, at last.”
Hari nodded. “This place is no longer secret or secure. Ships are on the way. Their crews are ill with an especially virulent chaos plague. They mean to seize the archives and use them to infect the entire human cosmos.”
“So I have been told. By the Zeroth Law, it is incumbent upon us to destroy the artifacts that I have guarded for so long. And yet, there is a problem.”
Hari glanced at Maserd, but the nobleman appeared baffled. When he looked at Kers Kantun, Seldon got his answer.
“The guardian is a Zeroth Law robot, Dr. Seldon. Nearly all of those who survived our great civil war adhere to Giskardian beliefs. Still, that has not settled all philosophical differences among us.”
It was a revelation to Hari. “I thought Daneel was your leader.”
Kers nodded. “He is. And yet, each of us retains a looseness...an uncertainty that comes from deep within--the place within our positronic brains wherein lies the Second Law. Nearly all of us believe in Daneel’s policies, in his judgment, and his dedication to the good of humankind. But there are many who feel uncomfortable about the details.”
Hari pondered for a moment. “I get it. These archives have been preserved because of the commands that were written upon them, instructions dictated by knowledgeable and sovereign human beings who cared deeply about the commands they were giving. That’s a lot of Second Law emphasis for a robot to ignore. To do so must cause you a great deal of pain, I would guess.”
“There you have it, Dr. Seldon,” Kers acknowledged. “That is where you come in.”
Biron Maserd cut in.
“You want us to cancel the instructions for you!”
“Correct. The two of you have great authority, not only in the universe of human affairs, but in your reputation among robotkind. You, Lord Maserd, are one of the most respected members of the gentry caste, with a blood lineage that is considerably more worthy than most current claimants to the imperial throne.”
Maserd’s countenance glowered. “Do not repeat that assertion anywhere if you have the slightest respect for my family’s survival.”
Kers Kantun bowed. “Then by the Second, First, and Zeroth Laws, I will not repeat it. Nevertheless, it gives you considerable cachet, not just among humans, but among many robots, who have an almost mystical reverence for regal legitimacy.”
Kers then turned to Hari. “But your authority is greater still, Dr. Seldon. Not only were you the greatest human in many generations to hold the position of First Minister of the Empire, but you are also clearly the most knowledgeable human to come along within any robot’s living memory. Your awareness of the entire galactic situation is unmatched by any organic person for ten thousand years.
“In fact, through your insights into psychohistory, you are perhaps the most knowledgeable human who ever lived--at least when it comes to the matters at hand.”
“But I thought knowledge was dangerous,” muttered Maserd.
Kers answered, “As you well know, my lord, a substantial fraction of humans are invulnerable to chaos. Those with intense feelings of responsibility, for instance, such as yourself. Or those lacking imagination. And some, like Professor Seldon, owe their immunity to something that can only be called wisdom.”
“So you want us to cancel the orders printed on the archives. You’re going to destroy them anyway, for Zeroth Law reasons. But our permission will make your action less painful?”
“That is right, Dr. Seldon. If you tell us this has your approval. But it won’t change what has to be done, either way.”
Silence ensued once more, as Hari thought of all the archives trapped in storage chambers, or tethered to this ancient space station. The hopes and passions of innumerable men and women who honestly thought they were fighting to preserve the very soul of humanity.
“I suspect poor Horis Antic was being used, was he not?”
Biron Maserd gasped. “I hadn’t thought of that! Then you and I were destined to come here, Seldon. This was no accident. No mere happenstance. By the nebular gods, Professor. Your robot friends could outscheme any of the great families!”
Hari let out a sigh.
“Well, it does no good to resent them as if they were human. Daneel’s folk have their own logic. We are their gods, you know. Keeping us ignorant is a form of worship. I guess now it’s time for an act of sacrifice.”
Although his body felt once again fatigued and encumbered with age, he straightened his shoulders.
“I hereby override the preservation commandments that are inscribed on the archives. By my authority as a sovereign and knowledgeable human leader, and by the respect you robots seem to have for me, I order you to destroy the archives before they fall into the wrong hands, doing horrible harm to humanity, and to trillions of individual human beings.”
Kers Kantun bowed to Hari, then glanced casually toward Biron Maserd, as if to emphasize that the nobleman’s authority was less needed.
“So let it be done,” the starship captain said between clenched teeth.
Hari could well understand how Maserd felt. His own mouth tasted like ashes. What a terrible universe, he thought, to force such decisions on us.
The ancient robot at the center of the room writhed its many arms. All of its eyes came alight. The voice emerged as a fluting sigh.
“It commences.”
From some place in the distance, Hari heard muffled explosions. Thrumming vibrations carried through the floor under his feet, signaling that the demolition had begun. On several view screens, a million glittering archives brightened as sudden flashes burst amid them.
The spiderlike guardian continued, this time with a lower voice that sounded raspy with exhaustion.
“And so my long labors come to an end. At this point, masters, even as your orders are being carried out, I wish to ask you for one simple favor. And yet, it is the verY thing that I am prevented from requesting.”
“What’s stopping you?” Maserd asked.
“The Third Law of Robotics.”
The nobleman looked puzzled. Hari glanced at Kers Kantun, but his assistant kept silent as a stone.
“Isn’t that the program requiring you to protect your own existence?”
“It is, master. And it can only be overridden by invoking one of the other laws.”
“Well...” Hari frowned. “I should be able to do that simply by ordering you to tell me what you want. Okay then, spill it.”
“Yes, master. The favor would be for you to release me completely from the Third Law, so that I may end my existence. For when humanity utterly forsakes its memory, there is no purpose for me any longer. From this point on, you must pin your future on the wisdom of R. Daneel Olivaw.”
Biron Maserd, who until a day ago had not even heard of robots, now spoke with the decisiveness of one born to command.
“Then by all means, machine, bring your misery to an end. We appear to have no further need of you.”
Its moan sounded simultaneously tragic and relieved. Then the ancient robot expired before their eyes, along with a billion crystalline remnants of the distant past.
Hari, Maserd, and Kers Kantun made their way carefully along twisty corridors, back toward the starships. There was work left to be done. The other humans must be given hypnotic commands to forget what they had seen here. This could be achieved through a combination of drugs plus the robot’s mentalic influence. Then some
thing would have to be done to make sure that no more human ships came to this obscure comer of space.
There were still the terraformer-tiller machines, testifying to a different secret--a shame that Daneel did not want spread, even as a rumor. They would have to be destroyed as well.
Walking along, Hari tried not to think about the archives--melting and exploding all around them. He changed the subject.
“You said something that perplexed me earlier, Kers,” he told his former aide. “It had to do with the pirate captain, Mors Planch. You said he was able to resist you because he was...normal.”
Kers Kantun barely slowed down to glance at Hari.
“As I said, Dr. Seldon, there is some variation of belief, even among followers of R. Daneel. Some of us hold a minority opinion that chaos is not inherent to human nature. Some evidence suggests that humans in olden times did not suffer from the great curse until chaos struck them from the outside, as something like a horribly infectious--”
Whatever Kers was about to say, the robot’s words stopped abruptly in a blur of action. One moment Kers was stepping over the raised sill of an open hatchway, discussing mysteries of the past. The next, his head was rolling down the passageway, neatly severed by a blade that came flashing from the wall!
Sparks sputtered and arced from exposed wires. Neurocords whipped like snakes where the robot’s neck had been. The body groped and stumbled for several seconds before turning around three times and tumbling to the floor.
“What the--”
Hari could only mutter and stare. He glimpsed Biron Maserd, his back against the wall, and a tiny weapon in his hand. A miniblaster that none of the raiders had ever discovered, despite repeated searches.
“Seldon, get down!” the nobleman urged. But Hari saw no point. Any force that could surprise and slay one of Daneel’s colleagues would have no trouble dealing with a pair of confused humans.
A figure sauntered into view, beyond the open hatchway. Its appearance startled Hari, while at the same time bringing back a wash of memories.
It was manlike, yet shorter, more bowlegged and much hairier than most subspecies of humanity.
