by Isaac Asimov
Pandaral said heavily, “I don’t think that that woman’s speech was the best thing that could have happened to us.”
D.G., mostly dressed, shrugged his shoulders, “Who could have foretold it?”
“You might have. You must have looked up her background—if you had made up your mind to carry her off.”
“I did look up her background, Director. She spent over three decades on Solaria. It was Solaria that formed her and she lived there entirely with robots. She saw human beings only by holographic images, except for her husband and he didn’t visit her often. She had a difficult adjustment to make when she came to Aurora and even there she lived mostly with robots. At no time in twenty-three decades would she have faced as many as twenty people all together, let alone four thousand. I assumed she wouldn’t be able to speak more than a few words—if that. I had no way of knowing she was a rabble-rouser.”
“You might have stopped her, once you found out she was. You were sitting right next to her.”
“Did you want a riot? The people were enjoying her. You were there. You know they were. If I had forced her down, they would have mobbed the stage. After all, Director, you didn’t try to stop her.”
Pandaral cleared his throat. “I had that in mind, actually, but each time I looked back, I’d catch the eye of her robot the one who looks like a robot.”
“Giskard. Yes, but what of it? He wouldn’t harm you.”
“I know. Still, he made me nervous and it put me off somehow.”
“Well, never mind, Director,” said D.G. He was fully clothed now and he shoved the breakfast tray toward the other. “The coffee is still warm. Help yourself to the buns and jams if you want any.—It will pass. I don’t think the public will really overflow with love for the Spacers and spoil our policy. It might even serve a purpose. If the Spacers hear of it, it might strengthen the Fastolfe party. Fastolfe may be dead, but his party isn’t—not altogether—and we need to encourage their policy of moderation.”
“What I’m thinking of,” said Pandaral, “is the All-Settler Congress that’s coming up in five months. I’m going to have to listen to any number of sarcastic references to Baleyworld appeasement and to Baleyworlders being Spacer lovers. I tell you,” he added gloomily, “the smaller the world, the more war hawkish it is.”
“Then tell them that,” said D.G. “Be very statesmanlike in public, but when you get them to one side, look them right in the eye—unofficially—and say that there’s freedom of expression on Baleyworld and we intend to keep it that way. Tell them Baleyworld has the interests of Earth at heart, but that if any world wishes to prove its greater devotion to Earth by declaring war on the Spacers, Baleyworld will watch with interest but nothing more. That would shut them up.
“Oh, no,” said Pandaral with alarm. “A remark like that would leak out. It would create an impossible stink.”
D.G. said, “You’re right, which is a pity. But think it and don’t let those big mouthed small brains get to you.”
Pandaral sighed. “I suppose we’ll manage, but last night upset our plans to end on a high note. That’s what I really regret.
“What high note?”
Pandaral said, “When you left Aurora for Solaria, two Auroran warships went to Solaria as well. Did you know that?”
“No, but it was something I expected,” said D.G. indifferently. “It was for that reason I took the trouble of going to Solaria by way of an evasive path.”
“One of the Auroran ships landed on Solaria, thousands of kilometers away from you—so it didn’t seem to be making any effort to keep tabs on you—and the second remained in orbit.”
“Sensible. It’s what I would have done if I had had a second ship at my disposal.”
“The Auroran ship that landed was destroyed in a matter of hours. The ship in orbit reported the fact and was ordered to return.—A Trader monitoring station picked up the report and it was sent to us.”
“Was the report uncoded?”
“Of course not, but it was in one of the codes we’ve broken.”
D.G. nodded his head thoughtfully, then said, “Very interesting. I take it they didn’t have anyone who could speak Solarian.”
“Obviously,” said Pandaral weightily. “Unless someone can find where the Solarians went, this woman of yours is the only available Solarian in the Galaxy.”
“And they let me have her, didn’t they? Tough on the Aurorans.”
“At any rate, I was going to announce the destruction of the Auroran ship last night. In a matter-of-fact way—no gloating. Just the same, it would have excited every Settler in the Galaxy. I mean, we got away and the Aurorans didn’t.”
“We had a Solarian,” said D.G. dryly. “The Aurorans didn’t.”
“Very well. It would make you and the woman look good, too.—But it all came to nothing. After what the woman did, anything else would have come as anticlimax, even the news of the destruction of an Auroran warship.”
D.G. said, “To say nothing of the fact that once everyone has finished applauding kinship and love, it would go against the grain—for the next half hour anyway—to applaud the death of a couple of hundred of the Auroran kin.”
“I suppose so. So that’s an enormous psychological blow that we’ve lost.”
D.G. was frowning. “Forget that, Director. You can always work the propaganda at some other, more appropriate time. The important thing is what it all means.—An Auroran ship was blown up. That means they weren’t expecting a nuclear intensifier to be used. The other ship was ordered away and that may mean it wasn’t equipped with a defense against it—and maybe they don’t even have a defense. I should judge from this that the portable intensifier—or semiportable one, anyway—is a Solarian development specifically and not a Spacer development generally. That’s good news for us—if it’s true. For the moment, let’s not worry about propaganda brownie points but concentrate on squeezing every bit of information we can out of that intensifier. We want to be ahead of the Spacers in this—if possible.”
Pandaral munched away at a bun and said, “Maybe you’re right. But in that case, how do we fit in the other bit of news?”
D.G. said, “What other bit of news? Director, are you going to give me the information I need to make intelligent conversation or do you intend to toss them into the air one by one and make me jump for them?”
“Don’t get huffy, D.G. There’s no point in talking with you if I can’t be informal. Do you know what it’s like at a Directory meeting? Do you want my job? You can have it, you know.”
“No, thank you, I don’t want it. What I want is your bit of news.”
“We have a message from Aurora. An actual message. They actually deigned to communicate directly with us instead of sending it by way of Earth.”
“We might consider it an important message, then—to them. What do they want?”
“They want the Solarian woman back again.”
“Obviously, then, they know our ship got away from Solaria and has come to Baleyworld. They have their monitoring stations, too, and eavesdrop on our communications as we eavesdrop on theirs.”
“Absolutely,” said Pandaral with considerable irritation. “They break our codes as fast as we break theirs. My own feeling is we ought to come to an agreement that we both send messages in the clear. Neither of us would be worse off.”
“Did they say why they want the woman?”
“Of course not. Spacers don’t give reasons; they give orders.”
“Have they found out exactly what it was that the woman accomplished on Solaria? Since she’s the only person who speaks authentic Solarian, do they want her to clear the planet of its overseers?”
“I don’t see how they could have found out, D.G. We only announced her role last night. The message from Aurora was received well before that.—But it doesn’t matter why they want her. The question is: What do we do? If we don’t return her, we may have a crisis with Aurora that I don’t want. If we do return her,
it will look bad to the Baleyworlders and Old Man Bistervan will have a field day pointing out that we’re crawling to the Spacers.”
They stared at each other, then D.G. said slowly, “We’ll have to return her. After all, she’s a Spacer and an Auroran citizen. We can’t keep her against Aurora’s will or we’ll put at risk every Trader who ventures into Spacer territory on business. But I’ll take her back, Director, and you can put the blame on me. Say that the conditions of my taking her to Solaria were that I would return her to Aurora, which is true, actually, even if not a matter of written formality, and that I am a man of ethics and felt I had to keep my agreement.—And it may turn out to our advantage.”
“In what way?”
“I’ll have to work it out. But if it’s to be done, Director, my ship will have to be refitted at planetary expense. And my men will need healthy bonuses.—Come, Director, they’re giving up their leave.”
45
Considering that he had not intended to be in his ship again for at least three additional months, D.G. seemed in genial spirits.
And considering that Gladia had larger and more luxurious quarters than she had before, she seemed rather depressed.
“Why all this?” she asked.
“Looking a gift horse in the mouth?” asked D.G.
“I’m just asking. Why?”
“For one thing, my lady, you’re a class-A heroine and when the ship was refurbished, this place was rather tarted up for you.”
“Tarted up?”
“Just an expression. Fancied up, if you prefer.”
“This space wasn’t just created. Who lost out?”
“Actually, it was the crew’s lounge, but they insisted, you know. You’re their darling, too. In fact, Niss—you remember Niss?”
“Certainly.”
“He wants you to take him on in place of Daneel. He says Daneel doesn’t enjoy the job and keeps apologizing to his victims. Niss says he will destroy anyone who gives you the least trouble, will take pleasure in it, and will never apologize.”
Gladia smiled. “Tell him I will keep his offer in mind and tell him I would enjoy shaking his hand if that can be arranged. I didn’t get a chance to do so before we landed on Baleyworld.”
“You’ll wear your gloves, I hope, when you shake hands.”
“Of course, but I wonder if that’s entirely necessary. I haven’t as much as sniffed since I left Aurora. The injections I’ve been getting have probably strengthened my immune system beautifully.” She looked about again. “You even have wall niches for Daneel, and Giskard. That’s quite thoughtful of you, D.G.”
“Madam,” said D.G., “we work hard to please and we’re delighted that you’re pleased.”
“Oddly enough”—Gladia sounded as though she were actually puzzled by what she was about to say—“I’m not entirely pleased. I’m not sure I want to leave your world.”
“No? Cold—snow—dreary—primitive—endlessly cheering crowds everywhere. What can possibly attract you here?”
Gladia reddened. “It’s not the cheering crowds.”
“I’ll pretend to believe you, madam.”
“It’s not. It’s something altogether different. I—I have never done anything. I’ve amused myself in various trivial ways, I’ve engaged in force-field coloring and robot exodesign. I’ve made love and been a wife and mother and—and—in none of these things have I ever been an individual of any account. If I had suddenly disappeared from existence, or if I had never been born, it wouldn’t have affected anyone or anything—except, perhaps, one, or two close personal friends. Now it’s different.”
“Yes?” There was the faintest touch of mockery in D.G.’s voice.
Gladia said, “Yes! I can influence people. I can choose a cause and make it my own. I have chosen a cause. I want to prevent war. I want the Universe populated by Spacer and Settler alike. I want each group to keep their own peculiarities, yet freely accept the others, too. I want to work so hard at this that after I am gone, history will have changed because of me and people will say things would not be as satisfactory as they are had it not been for her.”
She turned to D.G., her face glowing. “Do you know what a difference it makes, after two and one-third centuries of being nobody, to have a chance, of being somebody; to find that a life you thought of as empty turns out to contain something after all, something wonderful; to be happy long, long after you had given up any hope of being happy?”
“You don’t have to be on Baleyworld, my lady, to have all that.” Somehow D.G. seemed a little abashed.
“I wouldn’t have it on Aurora. I’m only a Solarian immigrant on Aurora. On a Settler world, I’m a Spacer, something unusual.”
“Yet on a number of occasions—and quite forcefully you have stated you wanted to return to Aurora.”
“Some time ago, yes—but I’m not saying it now, D.G. I don’t really want it now.”
“Which would influence us a great deal, except that Aurora wants you. They’ve told us so.”
Gladia was clearly astonished. “They want me?”
“An official message from Aurora’s Chairman of the Council tells us they do,” said D.G. lightly. “We would enjoy keeping you, but the Directors have decided that keeping you is not worth an interstellar crisis. I’m not sure I agree with them, but they outrank me.”
Gladia frowned. “Why should they want me? I’ve been on Aurora for over twenty decades and at no time have they ever seemed to want me.—Wait! Do you suppose they see me now as the only way of stopping the overseers on Solaria?”
“That thought had occurred to me, my lady.”
“I won’t do it. I held off that one overseer by a hair and I may never be able to repeat what I did then. I know I won’t.—Besides, why need they land on the planet? They can destroy the overseers from a distance, now that they know what they are.”
“Actually,” said D.G., “the message demanding your return was sent out long before they could possibly have known of your conflict with the overseer. They must want you for something else.”
“Oh—” She looked taken aback. Then, catching fire again, “I don’t care what else. I don’t want to return. I have my work out here and I mean to continue it.”
D.G. rose. “I am glad to hear you say so, Madam Gladia. I was hoping you would feel like that. I promise you I will do my best to take you with me when we leave Aurora. Right now, though, I must go to Aurora and you must go with me.
46
Gladia watched Baleyworld, as it receded, with emotions quite different from those with which she had watched it approach. It was precisely the cold, gray, miserable world now that it had seemed at the start, but there was a warmth and life to the people. They were real, solid.
Solaria, Aurora, the other Spacer worlds that she had visited or had viewed on hypervision, all seemed filled with people who were insubstantial—gaseous.
That was the word. Gaseous.
No matter how few the human beings who lived upon a Spacer world, they spread out to fill the planet in the same way that molecules of gas spread out to fill a container. It was as if Spacers repelled each other.
And they did, she thought gloomily. Spacers had always repelled her. She had been brought up to such repulsion on Solaria, but even on Aurora, when she was experimenting madly with sex just at first, the least enjoyable aspect of it was the closeness it made necessary.
Except—except with Elijah.—But he was not a Spacer.
Baleyworld was not like that. Probably all the Settler worlds were not. Settlers clung together, leaving large tracts desolate about them as the price of the clinging—empty, that is, until population increase filled it. A Settler world was a world of people clusters, of pebbles and boulders, not gas.
Why was this? Robots, perhaps! They lessened the dependence of people upon people. They filled the interstices between. They were the insulation that diminished the natural attraction people had for each other, so that the whole system fell apart int
o isolates.
It had to be. Nowhere were there more robots than on Solaria and the insulating effect there had been so enormous that the separate gas molecules that were human beings became so totally inert that they almost never interrelated at all. (Where had the Solarians gone, she wondered again, and how were they living?)
And long life had something to do with it, too. How could one make an emotional attachment that wouldn’t turn slowly sour as the multidecades passed—or, if one died, how could another bear the loss for multidecades? One learned, then, not to make emotional attachments but to stand off, to insulate one’s self.
On the other hand, human beings, if short-lived, could not so easily outlive fascination with life. As the generations passed by rapidly, the ball of fascination bounced from hand to hand without ever touching the ground.
How recently she had told D.G. that there was no more to do or know, that she had experienced and thought everything, that she had to live on in utter boredom.—And she hadn’t known or even dreamed, as she spoke, of crowds of people, one upon another; of speaking to many as they melted into a continuous sea of heads; of hearing their response, not in words but in wordless sounds; of melting together with them, feeling their feelings, becoming one large organism.
It was not merely that she had never experienced such a thing before, it was that she had never dreamed anything like that might be experienced. How much more did she know nothing of despite her long life? What more existed for the experiencing that she was incapable of fantasying?
Daneel said gently, “Madam Gladia, I believe the captain is signaling for entrance.”
Gladia started. “Let him enter, then.”
D.G. entered, eyebrows raised. “I am relieved. I thought perhaps you were not at home.”
Gladia smiled. “In a way, I wasn’t. I was lost in thought. It happens to me sometimes.”
“You are fortunate,” said D.G. “My thoughts are never large enough to be lost in. Are you reconciled to visiting Aurora, madam?”
“No, I’m not. And among the thoughts in which I was lost was one to the effect that I still do not have any idea why you must go to Aurora. It can’t be only to return me. Any space worthy cargo tug could have done the job.”
