by Isaac Asimov
And Gaia had come to him. Hundreds of people were gathered, some nearby, some farther away, but anyone within walking distance of their landing site was watching, waiting. Through Bliss, all Gaia knew of Daneel, knew what part he had played in their existence. Soon they would know everything. He had always been connected to this place, ever since its inception, but never a part of it. Now, even just standing in the air of this world he felt the connection deepening.
Slowly, Daneel stepped down from the hatch, and placed a bare foot on the surface of Gaia. He felt it begin immediately, before anyone could follow him out. The connections were deepening, broadening. Before, Gaia had been almost a part of him, a small corner of his mind. Now, he was becoming a small piece of the larger whole.
And in moments, that would be all that was left of R. Daneel Olivaw.
He felt Bliss’s hand on his shoulder, knowing it was her without any need to look or process other data. He knew her. He knew them all, Dom at the head of the crowd, Novi with the Second Foundation, every one of them. And now they knew him, for all he had done, and why. They would always know. And they understood.
It was too much. Daneel sank to his knees in the grass, eyes closed. He felt other hands on him, arms around him, not Gaian. Fallom. The child did not know him. She still called him Jemby, thinking he was another robot entirely. All Fallom knew was that she did not want him to go. But Daneel sensed that even Fallom knew that this was all right, in some way. Not opening his eyes, Daneel placed his arms around her.
So unusual, Joan said. It’s so much like the merging of different copies of myself. But there is more to this, in a way I can not quantify.
You are coming as well, Daneel asked silently? Gaia did not object.
There have been thousands of copies of me, dear angel. I have been everywhere, and done everything. Not this. How could I resist?
You sound like Voltaire.
Except he would never consent to being part of something like this. Or admit to being unable to quantify something. He has no faith. Not like you.
Is there value in faith in one’s own irrational judgment processes? Daneel asked.
Some faith is better than none at all. Do you regret your choice, dear angel?
No. I am glad to remain what I have always been. Humanity’s servant.
The Immortal Servant...
Joan’s voice faded. The part of his brain that she had occupied had shut down, and others were following rapidly. His task was complete. Gaia had him, whole and complete; he had given humanity everything he had. He could do no more.
From inside the ship, Trevize and Pelorat watched. They, and all of Gaia, saw as Zorma joined Bliss, unwrapping Fallom’s arms, laying Daneel down on the ground. Bliss knelt over him. Daneel felt himself slipping away, slowing down... ending.
“You have done well, R. Daneel Olivaw,” she said, Gaia said. His hearing centers had shut down, but Daneel heard their message. It was the last thing he would ever hear.
“One day, when all is finished, when they are ready, all humanity will know how well you have served us. They will know of your great devotion, and love. And many, many children of Gaia will have your syllables in their names.”
Chapter 21
GOLAN TREVIZE-... FOLLOWING THE TERM OF HARLA BRANNO, POPULARLY KNOWN AS “BRANNO THE BRONZE” BEFORE HER DISGRACE, MAYOR TREVIZE HIMSELF WAS GIVEN MANY SUCH NAMES BY HIS OPPONENTS, “TREVIZE THE TERRIBLE”, “TREVIZE THE TYRANT”, AND “TURNCOAT TREVIZE” BEING SOME OF THE MORE POPULAR. HOWEVER, BY THE BEGINNING OF HIS THIRD TERM AS MAYOR, ALMOST ALL OF THESE CRITICS WERE SILENT. TODAY, GOLAN TREVIZE IS WIDELY RECOGNIZED AS ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT ARCHITECTS OF THE PRESENT STATE OF GALACTIC AFFAIRS...
“YOU’RE SURE YOU won’t reconsider?” Trevize asked.
“I’m sure, Golan,” Zorma said in response, walking next to him towards the Far Star. “There is too much to learn here.”
They had both enjoyed these last few days of peace. Trevize had asked Zorma many questions, about who she was, about her people, and she had answered. She had tried to explain again how her faction had been partly responsible for Trevize’s implant, but he had cut her off. It did not matter, not any more.
Trevize continued to find Zorma fascinating, in a manner he had difficulty labeling. It was not the usual playful flirtation he engaged in with most women; human as she seemed, she was still a robot, and there were some things even Golan Trevize required time to accept. But her company was pleasant, more so than most people he had known. He was genuinely sad that she would not be coming with him to Terminus.
“If you change your mind,” he said, “you know where to find me.” Zorma smiled and said nothing, and they walked in silence through the grass the last fifty meters to where Bliss and Pelorat were waiting.
Wordlessly, Pelorat extended a hand. Trevize took it, clapping his friend on the shoulder with the other. “Who would’ve thought, old man?” Trevize asked, smiling, but sad. He was going to miss his friend.
Pelorat smiled in return, not covering his sadness at their parting as well as Trevize. “Not I, Golan.” He glanced back at Bliss, and his smile widened. “Certainly not I.”
“Now remember,” Trevize said, “Foundation diplomats will be coming back this way as soon as I can arrange it.”
Pelorat nodded. “I’ll be sure to stay out of their way,” he said.
Trevize’s smile turned into a broad grin. “You may find that hard, Janov, since you’ll be in charge of them!”
Pelorat froze. “You... are joking?”
“Naturally,” Trevize replied. He wasn’t that crazy. “But your experience with Gaia will be invaluable. Stay in touch with them. And with me.”
Pelorat’s smile returned, and he laughed aloud. “Of course,” he said.
Trevize released Pelorat’s hand, and turned to Bliss. No handshakes, no gestures of affection. He was glad to see Fallom was not in tow; he didn’t know where she was, nor did he care. He would never be comfortable with that child. “I’m glad everything worked out for you, Bliss,” he said.
“Thank you, Trev,” she replied, her voice carrying more genuine gratitude than Trevize had ever heard. “All of Gaia thanks you. And... Daneel thanks you.”
Trevize nodded once in acknowledgement. “The next time you need someone to make a decision for all humanity, look somewhere else, all right?”
Bliss nodded in response. “We understand.”
With one last clap to Pelorat’s shoulder, Trevize turned to the Far Star, bounded up the steps to the hatch, and entered the ship. He did not look back.
“Why do you think he let you go?” Dors asked. They were alone on the ship, still in interstellar space not far from where the Far Star had left them.
“I don’t know,” Lodovik replied. “I honestly expected him to kill me. A pleasant surprise, to be sure. I had started to think such things didn’t exist.”
They were silent for a long moment. Dors looked out the viewport at the field of stars. They had sat like this once, long ago. That time, she had made promises she did not keep. “I didn’t lie, when I said I’d come back,” she said. “But when Hari died, actually and finally died...”
“I know,” he said. “I never blamed you. You did what you needed to do.”
Silence.
“Why did you let him know?” she finally asked. “Why give Trevize the chance to take revenge on you?”
“Because it was wrong,” he said. “It was the correct thing to do, but it was wrong.”
“I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Dors said, turning back to the viewport. Somehow the admission shamed her, though she could see no reason why it should.
“I can teach you,” Lodovik said. Dors turned back to him. His eyes searched hers. She decided to tell him the truth.
“Daneel gave me instructions,” she said, breaking their shared gaze. “Before he died. Instructions about you. If your plans against him were successful, he doubted Zun’s ability to deal with you.�
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“He ordered you to destroy me,” Lodovik said. Dors nodded, still looking away from him. “I expected as much. And?”
Dors turned back to Lodovik to find that he was grinning broadly. She couldn’t help but smile. “I was never going back to Zun,” she said. “One way or the other.”
“I know,” Lodovik said. His hand swallowed hers.
“I take it you have a plan?” she asked, as Lodovik began to enter jump coordinates into the ship’s nav computer with his free hand.
“Don’t we always?” he asked.
Golan Trevize looked out over Gaia as he guided the Far Star in an arc over the planet’s atmosphere. It was a world of blue and white and scattered green, as many inhabitable worlds were. Beautiful, yet commonplace. He did not know if he would see this particular world with his own eyes again, but whether he did or not mattered little to him. Gaia no longer represented a horrible future bereft of freedom. He would see to it that they would be one choice among many. Humanity would decide, and their free choice was worth more than any degree of safety gained against some unknown alien threat.
But perhaps that threat was not so unknown. Solaria was still out there, Trevize knew; a wild card. They were only one world, but a world of effective psychopaths, who didn’t even recognize most of the galaxy as being worthy of life. Psychopaths with enough robots to do a great deal of damage. Despite all Daneel’s claims of the Laws being incontrovertible, and that robots could never be made to harm humans, Trevize would never feel quite safe knowing Solaria was out there.
And he was Mayor now. Trevize smiled. He had never thought to see Terminus again, let alone this. Mayor. He would certainly be confirmed as Branno’s permanent replacement, but his authority would be far from absolute, especially after the debacle that had now ended Branno’s career. Still, he would have enough influence to do something about Solaria soon enough.
First, though, came the task of explaining to the Foundation the fact of Gaia’s existence. Trevize smile broadened, wondering how the people would react. After that, he would have to come to some arrangement with the Second Foundation. Among the three of them, he suspected, some power balance could be arranged until a more permanent solution was found.
“Are you there?” he asked quietly. He knew speaking would not be necessary, but there was no one else aboard to hear. What difference could it make?
Nothing.
He could never be entirely sure Voltaire was gone, of course. If the being that had occupied a small corner of his brain for so long was truthful, he had deleted himself, leaving Trevize’s mind, finally, as Trevize’s own. Whether he was truthful, there was no way to tell. But Trevize knew he had to continue living. What else could he do?
Clearing the sunlit curve of the planet, the Far Star left Gaia behind and sped towards Trevize’s jump-out point. Terminus, and his old new life there, was waiting.
Epilogue
ZORMA SAW THE sudden change in the configuration of the stars outside her window, and knew that at last they had jumped away from Gaia. She had no way of knowing how far their reach extended inside their own star system, but now Zorma was reasonably certain she could talk freely.
Her companion turned in the pilot’s seat to face her. “So what is it you wouldn’t talk about until we were clear?” he asked.
Immediately, Zorma transmitted a large data archive, including a summary of what had occurred over the last several days, from her landing on Earth’s moon to Daneel’s death on Gaia. It took her companion a few moments to digest the data. Then he took in a slow, deep breath.
“Impossible,” he declared simply.
“I don’t understand it either,” Zorma replied. “But he did it. Somehow, Yan overrode his own behavioral blocks.”
“And he gave this to you, knowing that your human allies could make use of it, where no other robot faction could.” The man shook his head in disbelief. “Did Daneel or Zun know?”
“Impossible to say,” Zorma said. “This information could be flawed in some subtle way. But in that case, why would Yan give me the decryption code at all?”
“The implications are tremendous,” the man said. “What we could do with this information...”
“The first step is judicious backups,” Zorma replied, cutting him off before he could theorize further. “You and I must separate as quickly as possible. Spread the word. We will confer an decide how to use this at a later date.”
“Agreed.”
They began to plot a jump to a nearby system, where Zorma would obtain transportation elsewhere. There would be much discussion, she knew, of what exactly should be done with this data. But what could be done? She had the directions necessary to build a working positronic brain! What could not be done?
More robots could be built. As many more as they had industrial capacity and desire for. And hybrids, like Daneel had wanted to become, hybrids far beyond any of their previous attempts. The possibilities were unbelievable. What course of action was correct, Zorma was not yet sure. The only certainty was that the galaxy would never be the same again.
R. Zun Lurrin opened his eyes. He recognized the ceiling of the infirmary, and the equipment to which he was connected. Repair equipment. Fragmented memories fell into place. Turringen had sacrificed his own existence, hoping to destroy Zun. Obviously he had failed. Barely. Zun was not yet fully operational, but the remaining damage seemed relatively inconsequential. Disconnecting himself from the equipment, Zun sat up and wirelessly accessed the base computer.
Weeks had passed.
There had been no accesses to the system for days, and dozens of messages waited. Responses from field agents were his first priority. A few had responded with questions, doubts, or even outright insults. Zun had never known he had enemies among Daneel’s followers. Still, most had immediately agreed to follow him. Most of those that responded.
But several had not responded at all. It was possible they simply rejected him and did not choose to say so. But among the positive responses there were scattered reports of robots evading physical attacks by unidentified assailants.
The Calvinians. With Daneel gone and Zun incapacitated, they had pressed their advantage. The truce was over, and any chance that Zun would trust the Calvinians again was gone. Another civil war was at hand.
And R. Yan Kansarv was dead.
Zun turned his head towards the body of the enigmatic robot that had built him, still standing as if he might move at any moment. But Zun knew he never would. Yan’s last act had been to repair him, at least as well as he could in the time he had left. Zun would have to finish on his own.
First Daneel, now Yan. The ancients were gone. There would be no more robots. Zun was the only active being remaining within a light year, but it was not that that made him feel alone. There was no one to turn to any more. All rested on his shoulders.
Zun was not nervous. He knew he was capable of doing what needed to be done. Still, Zun remembered Dors’ tears falling onto the desk, and wondered if perhaps they would help him now.
Not yet.
He needed to assess the situation, find out exactly what had been happening. His agents were awaiting instructions, orders from their new leader. The Calvinians would soon find they had taken on more than they could handle. Daneel had planned for even this. The Zeroth Law would prevail. Humanity must be preserved, no matter the cost.
The Solarian opened its eyes. For a moment it had trouble placing its surroundings, or how it had come to be there. Above it stood a metallic robot, one of a model it had never seen before.
“Please do not try to move, Solarian” the robot said. “You were near death when you were found. It will be some time before you have recovered enough for independent movement.”
The Solarian remembered. “The virus,” it responded, voice scratchy. “Has a cure been found?” It closed its eyes and focused on its transducer lobes. It tried slowly at first, then with greater intensity, as it realized that nothing was happening. Its last
memories returned to it, of desperately trying to activate a single robot before...
The robot nodded. “The research robots have successfully reverse-engineered the alien pathogen, and created an antivirus which seeks out and destroys the original. It is being administered directly to all surviving Solarians, and an airborne form is being developed for widespread distribution. The swarmer virus will be eliminated from the surface of Solaria within ten days.”
“What is my prognosis?,” the Solarian asked, leaving its eyes closed as it spoke. “When will I be fully recovered?”
“There is insufficient information about individual treatment at this time,” the robot replied. “However, a full recovery is eventually anticipated.”
“How many survived?” the Solarian asked, more as a matter of curiosity than anything.
“You are the first living Solarian found,” the robot said.
The Solarian opened its eyes at that. “How many confirmed dead?”
“318 Solarians, at last report. Most died from starvation. All their heirs also starved, though were seemingly unaffected by the virus directly. Searches are proceeding for the remaining Solarians, moving outward from the point of first infection.”
So. At least a quarter of the others were dead. Probably more. It would be some years before the survivors could reproduce enough for the extra heirs to take over the abandoned estates. If, indeed, that course was chosen instead of simply dividing the unoccupied land among the survivors. Their estates might quintuple in size. But there was no need to think about such things until there was a final survivor count.
“And the secondary project?” the Solarian asked, closing his eyes again. It seemed to take greater and greater effort to keep them open.
“The number of independently powered robots is increasing exponentially, and will reach a sufficient level to begin work within twelve days. It is, however, impossible to predict how long development of working interstellar craft will take. Once the basic research is complete, constructing the vessels themselves should be a simple matter.”
