by Isaac Asimov
“How should I feel, having just lost my Master?” she asked.
“Perhaps you should stay away for a while. You’ve got some sorting out to do with respect to humans, something I can help you with better than they. Miss Ariel might just take you to the disassembly station. Right now, she might consider that a fair exchange for the little that was left of Jacob Winterson. I suspect that’s what she and Mandelbrot were putting in the ground as I left the city.”
“No, I’ve got to serve someone, even a pseudomaster. It might as well be Miss Ariel. She was there at my birth. I bear her imprint. I’ll serve her for now.”
The mammals were all sitting on the balcony when they got back.
“Master Derec, catch,” Adam called, still standing in the cargo robot. He threw the ball of wool up in a parabolic trajectory that ascended to a peak and then dropped, terminating precisely in Derec’s lap.
Before Derec could answer, Adam jumped out of the cargo robot, hurried into the lobby and up to the apartment, followed more slowly by Eve.
They walked through the apartment and came out on the balcony. Derec tossed the wool back to Adam.
“So that’s what you’ve been up to,” Derec said. “A commendable effort, wouldn’t you say, Ariel?”
“That’s from just one animal,” Adam said.
“It does show a great deal of initiative, Adam,” Ariel said.
From Ariel’s tone, Adam was not sure it was so commendable. It became less likely as Ariel continued.
“However, we decided early that we would not introduce any form of animal husbandry to this world. I’m afraid your woolgathering falls into that category.”
“But his initiative is quite commendable, isn’t it Ariel?” Derec said.
“Yes,” Ariel said. “Quite commendable.” But to Adam, it didn’t sound so.
“I was under the impression that animal wool was quite valuable,” Adam said, “and easily moved in the interplanetary marketplace.”
Despite having admitted that he was experiencing bad aftereffects from his animal husbandry — perhaps because of that — it was not easy for Adam to gracefully absorb a second rejection by Ariel.
“Perhaps in a second phase, Adam. But not in this first phase. That decision has already been made.
“And now, Eve, what brings you back?” Ariel asked.
“I wish to serve you, Miss Welsh,” Eve said.
“And the alien, Neuronius, what about him?”
“He is dead, as you know.”
“Yes, but there are other aliens you could serve.”
“Master Neuronius was special.”
“Yes, the only human on the planet! Isn’t that the way you put it?”
“Adam believes otherwise.”
“We’re not concerned here with Adam. What do you believe?”
“I am re-examining the data.”
“Good. You do that. In the meantime, why must I be burdened with you?”
“You were present at my birth.”
“Can’t you see I’m not up to this right now? Your shenanigans have killed Jacob. I want as little to do with you as possible.”
“I will endeavor to serve you well, Miss Welsh.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can go stand in that niche and never come out. That’s the best way you can serve me.”
Eve walked over and backed into the niche.
Thus did Ariel end Adam’s ranch initiative. The next day he asked her for Eve’s assistance, and by midmorning the two of them had pulled up the fences and tidied up the area.
Eve was back in service but not forgiven.
Chapter 30
A SORT OF SWAN SONG
FINALLY THE EXPERIMENTAL phase was over. The robot farmers had been fully programmed to convert Oyster World into one big farm. During that time, Ariel and company had got no response from the Ceremyons, negative or otherwise; and until now, when they were about to leave, they had not solicited a response for fear it might be negative.
The numbers of Ceremyons that moored each night atop the forest canopy had decreased, and Ariel suspected that Synapo and his Cerebrons were once more in nomadic mode.
That was a positive sign, but it might make their departure more difficult, for she wanted to take her leave in a last meeting with Synapo. It was he who had been her champion, and it was he who deserved her last thanks and a final expression of gratitude.
So after dinner on the day that Wolruf had turned in a final report on the satisfactory nature of the long-term terraforming operation, Ariel pushed back her chair from the table and glanced toward Adam SilverSide in his customary station by the door.
“Adam,” she said, “see if you can raise the Ceremyon, Synapo, on your radio.”
“That will not be possible, Miss Ariel.”
“Why not?”
“He has already tethered if he is anywhere in this time zone or a later one.”
She had forgotten that. She would catch him in the morning, then.
At ten AM the next morning, Adam reached Synapo by radio. He was two days away. The meeting was arranged for ten AM on the third day hence.
The previous meeting site was now covered by the terminal facilities, but Ariel, Derec, and Wolruf, and Adam as well, drove to the new terminal on the morning of the third day, and left the lorry inside the dome in the west parking area adjacent to Main Street.
Derec had insisted on bringing Adam, arguing that Adam provided their team with a proficiency in the language of the Ceremyons that balanced the Ceremyons’ proficiency in Galactic Standard. Ariel was not enthusiastic about Adam’s participation, arguing that they were no longer negotiating so there was no need for a balancing act. She finally agreed, but for another reason: if there was some confusion about the meeting site, Adam would be able to communicate with the Ceremyons.
They walked through a hall that connected the new inner and outer facilities and, at its end, opened onto the plain. Ariel stepped outside, registered a small pang as she passed by Jacob’s grave, and went to stand in the deep grass, well away from the terminal so as to be readily visible. It was 9:45 AM.
Two black Ceremyons swooped down promptly at 10:00 AM, braking with those black engulfing wings at the last moment in typical fashion.
Ariel was standing with Derec on her right and Wolruf on her left. Adam SilverSide should have been standing behind Derec instead of to his right, but Ariel had no control over that, and Derec apparently didn’t care. But that forced her to share the center of the line with Derec.
The aliens seemed not to notice. Synapo came to stand in front of Ariel.
“Sarco and I are pleased to meet with you again, small leader.”
It was Sarco then who was standing in front of Derec.
A faint but pungent puff of ammonia tingled the tip end of her nose. She controlled the sneeze only with great effort.
“Wolruf, Derec, and I are equally pleased to meet again with the leaders of the Cerebrons and the Myostrians,” she said, “and pleased, also, to report that our program modifications are complete and being satisfactorily implemented. Our new plants are sharing The Plain of Serenity with an equal stand of indigenous grass to minimize the ecological disturbance as our farms spread across the plain.”
“I am pleased to report that Sarco can find no significant disruption in our weather,” Synapo replied, “nothing that can be attributed to your activities.”
“That is good news indeed,” Ariel said.
Diplomatically, there was no way to avoid the bad news; it had to be dealt with before they could leave the planet feeling comfortable in their relations with the Ceremyons. She continued without pause:
“Now I must express our sorrow that an unavoidable incident took the life of one of your people and of one of ours.”
“That was Neuronius, my errant friend and erstwhile assistant. I fear he brought it on himself, and though I regret his behavior and now his loss, I regret more that he had to take one of your people with hi
m. We had thought it was the changeable one you call SilverSide. He and Neuronius had had an earlier meeting, which did not end too agreeably. But it was SilverSide who arranged this meeting, so it obviously cannot have been him.”
“Yes, I am Adam SilverSide.”
Adam’s voice startled Ariel. She now regretted intensely that she had brought him along. She never intended for Adam to be an active participant in the meeting. Yet, there he was, standing beside Derec as though he carried as much weight as Wolruf.
Before Ariel could say anything, Adam continued.
“Jacob Winterson was the one who was killed, Miss Ariel’s personal robot and the one whom I had taken as my imprint at one time. I see now that Neuronius must have mistaken him for me. That was not clear until this moment.”
“We regret that one of us took your trusted servant from you, Miss Ariel Welsh,” Synapo said, “but we must rejoice that he did not take Adam SilverSide as well. Neuronius was sick but refused all offers of help, something we could do little to correct.”
At that moment Ariel would have welcomed them taking Adam SilverSide as well.
“We must all put those bad things behind us,” she said. “We have other responsibilities and must now leave your fair planet to resume other, less-rewarding efforts. Our robots have all been reprogrammed, their future mission is clear, and I’m sure you will find them pleasant cohabitants. It has been a sincere pleasure to know both of you, Leader Synapo and Leader Sarco.”
“Let me participate to this extent,” Sarco said, “that I assure you on your departure that all Myocerons will endeavor to do what is best for those you leave behind — both the Myocerons and your robots.”
“Speaking of those we leave behind,” Ariel said, “one last thought: you will find that we have left both the farm and city operations under the supervision of a robot we call Wheeler, who now has the form of a small Ceremyon, the only robot on the planet with that form. His Robotic Laws recognize Ceremyons with the same weight accorded humans. Thus, he and the other robots will carry out any orders you may choose to give them.”
“Who knows what the future may hold?” Synapo responded. “Your vision at least allows us to handle that future in our own way, and for that we are grateful. And now I echo my colleague’s sentiments, Miss Ariel Welsh,” Synapo said, “and we say goodbye. May good fortune attend all your future endeavors.”
The two aliens took to their wings and seemed, thereby, to sail gracefully out of Ariel’s life, but not without leaving her severely disturbed: by the good feelings as they departed; by the knowledge that the wild one had contributed, no matter how unknowingly, to Jacob’s death; by the pain of having to remember Jacob so publicly; and now that it was all over and the letdown began to settle in, by the realization that she had been neglecting Derec for a long time.
She turned to him then, pulled his head down, and gave him a kiss and a hug. When he responded with equal ardor, she felt the mantle of leadership slip from her shoulders, and the relief from that burden was so great, she felt that she would never again grouse over its lack, nor begrudge Derec the privileges of the office whenever he chose to assume them.
She had been neglecting someone else, too. She released Derec with her left arm and reached over to get a handful of Wolruf’s fur, pulling her into a three-way embrace with Derec.
“We have pulled it off,” she said. “You guys are something else.”
Looking around Derec’s shoulder, she winked at Adam SilverSide. He would know that was meant to include him in the embrace. It was her painless way of thanking him — without his knowing it and feeling smug and superior — for his last ditch effort at The Cliff of Time. It was he who had first jeopardized and then saved the whole show and strengthened the bond between Synapo and her in the process.
They were a strange pair: Adam and Eve SilverSide. Whence did they come? If they didn’t profess to obey the Laws of Robotics, she would have been inclined to term them alien robots. What did the future hold for them — and for that matter, what did the future hold for the rest of them, having to deal, as they must, with Adam and Eve?
Intruder
3605 A.D.
Chapter 1
ROBOT CITY DREAMS
DEREC KNEW HE was dreaming. The street he now ambled down wasn’t real. There had never been a street anywhere in Robot City like this distorted thoroughfare. Still, too much was familiar about it, and that really scared him.
The Compass Tower, now too far in the distance, had changed, too. There seemed to be lumps allover its surfaces, but that was impossible. In a city where buildings could appear and disappear overnight, the Compass Tower was the only permanent, unchangeable structure.
It was possible this strange street was newly created, but he doubted that. It was a dream-street, plain and simple, and this had to be a dream. Anyway, where were the robots? Nobody could travel this far along a Robot City street without encountering at least a utility robot scurrying along, on its way to some regular task; or a courier robot, its claws clutching tools; or a witness robot, checking the movements of the humans. During a stroll like this, Derec should have encountered a robot every few steps.
No, it was absolutely certain this was a dream. What he was doing was sleeping in his ship somewhere in space between the blackbody planet and Robot City. He had just come off duty after dealing with the Silversides for hours, a task that would tire a saint.
At one time, just after his father had injected chemfets into his bloodstream, he had regularly dreamed of Robot City, but it turned out that his harrowing nightmares had all been induced by a monitor that his father had implanted in his brain. The monitor had been trying to establish contact so he could be aware of the nature of the chemfets, which were tiny circuit boards that grew in much the same manner as the city itself had. Replicating in his bloodstream and programmed by his father, they were a tiny robot city in his body, one that gave him psycho-electronic control over the city’s core computer and therefore all its robots. After he had known this and the chemfets’ replication process had stabilized, he had had no more nightmares of a distorted Robot City.
Until now.
Since he was so aware he was dreaming, perhaps this was what Ariel had explained to him as a “lucid dream.” In the lucid dream state, she said, the dreamer could control the events of the dream. He wanted to control this dream, but at the moment he couldn’t think of anything particular to do.
He looked around him. The immediate streetscape seemed composed of bits and pieces from several stages of the city’s development, a weird composite of what Derec had observed during his several stays there.
But where were the robots?
If this was a lucid dream, maybe the reason he hadn’t seen any yet was that he hadn’t guided any into the scene. Maybe they were waiting inside the buildings to be summoned. Maybe he should do so, before he panicked. But which one could he bring onstage? How about Lucius, the robot who had created the city’s one authentic artistic masterpiece, the breathtaking tetragonal, pyramidal building-sculpture entitled “Circuit Breaker”? He’d be a good choice since, as the victim of a bizarre roboticide, he no longer existed. It certainly would be pleasant to see old Lucius again, his body so unrobotically stooped, if only to chat with him about art. There hadn’t been much art in his life lately, especially if you didn’t count the rather breathtaking spectacle of a thousand blackbodies spread across the sky. That was pretty, but it wasn’t art.
He wondered why his thoughts were rambling so. Had the Silversides disturbed his mind’s equilibrium that much? Forget them. Forget them now. Get a normal robot into the dream. One of the most unforgettable robots he had known. Avernus, say. Let’s see his stern visage again, his jet-black metallic skin, his interchangeable hands. He concentrated on Avernus, but the robot didn’t appear. How about Euler and his glowing photocell eyes? Nope, no deal. Let’s try for Wohler, then, before he went nonfunctional trying to save Ariel on the outer wall of the Compass Tower. Golde
n and impressive, Wohler would be a wonderful choice. But no Wohler responded to his summons. He would have to talk to Ariel about this. As a lucid dream, it was shaping up as one hell of a failure.
Ariel, in her compartment aboard the ship, was also dreaming. Hers was not, however, a lucid dream. Deeper than that, it was a clearcut nightmare.
Jacob Winterson, the humaniform robot who had been her servant, existed again. Jacob had been destroyed by Neuronius, one of the flying aliens called blackbodies. He had blown up and mangled most of Jacob (and himself in the bargain). The few charred pieces that remained were now buried in some unmarked area of the agricultural community she had initiated as a political compromise with the blackbodies. The compromise had worked. They had been about to destroy their planet’s new robot city entirely because it was a threat to their weather systems; however, an agricultural community was acceptable to all sides.
She missed Jacob. Very much. In that comfortable, detached way a human could love a robot, she had loved him. Not that it could ever have been real love. She was too much in love with Derec to be unfaithful to him except in dreams. On the other hand, she could not deny that she had not sometimes been romantically attracted toward the handsome and imperturbable humaniform robot.
In the dream, Jacob sat in front of a computer terminal, his humanlike fingers flying over the keyboard, pressing keys as if he wanted to push them all the way through, making the screen shake with the ferocity of his entries.
She asked him what he was doing. He said he was searching for the formula that would transform a humaniform robot into a human being. There was no such formula, she told him. When he turned toward her, his eyes seemed filled with a frightening human anger. He protested that there were at least a hundred Earth and Spacer legends in which creatures changed into human beings. Statues, puppets, fish, trees, all became human in such myths. He was certain, he said with an un-Jacobian shrillness, that there had to be a formula by which he, too, could be transmogrified.
