by Isaac Asimov
“Beautiful, Vasilia! I think you memorized that carefully on your flight here. However, there has been a change in the political situation on Aurora.”
“You mean my biological father is dead.”
Amadiro spread his arms with a little bow of his head. “As you say. He was largely responsible for our paralysis and he is gone, so I imagine there will now be change, though it may not necessarily be visible change.”
“You keep secrets from me, do you?”
“Would I do that?”
“Certainly. That false smile of yours gives you away every time.”
“Then I must learn to be grave with you.—Come, I have your report. Tell me what is not included in it.”
“All is included in it—almost. Each Spacer world states vehemently that it is disturbed by growing Settler arrogance. Each is firmly determined to resist the Settlers to the end, enthusiastically following the Auroran lead with vigor and death-defying gallantry.
“Follow our lead, yes. And if we don’t lead?”
“Then they’ll wait and try to mask their relief that we are not leading. Otherwise—Well, each one is engaged in technological advance and each one is reluctant to reveal what it is, exactly, that it is doing. Each is working independently and is not even unified within its own globe. There is not a single research team anywhere on any of the Spacer worlds that resembles our own Robotics Institute. Each world consists of individual researchers, each of whom diligently guards his own data from all the rest.”
Amadiro was almost complacent as he said, “I would not expect them to have advanced as far as we have.”
“Too bad they haven’t,” replied Vasilia, tartly. “With all the Spacer worlds a jumble of individuals, progress is too slow. The Settler worlds meet regularly at conventions, have their institutes—and though they lag well behind us, they will catch up.—Still, I’ve managed to uncover a few technological advances being worked on by the Spacer worlds and I have them all listed in my report. They are all working on the nuclear intensifier, for instance, but I don’t believe that such a device has passed beyond the laboratory demonstration level on a single world. Something that would be practical on shipboard is not yet here.”
“I hope you are right in that, Vasilia. The nuclear intensifier is a weapon our fleets could use, for it would finish the Settlers at once. However, I think, on the whole, it would be better if Aurora had the weapon ahead of our Spacer brothers.—But you said that all was included in your report—almost. I heard that ‘almost.’ What is not included, then?”
“Solaria!”
“Ah, the youngest and most peculiar of the Spacer worlds.”
“I got almost nothing directly out of them. They viewed me with absolute hostility as, I believe, they would have viewed any non-Solarian, whether Spacer or Settler. And when I say ‘viewed,’ I mean that in their sense. I remained nearly a year on the world, a considerably longer time than I spent on any other world, and in all those months I never saw a single Solarian face-to-face. In every case, I viewed him—or her—by hyperwave hologram. I could never deal with anything tangible—images only. The world was comfortable, incredibly luxurious, in fact, and for a nature lover, totally unspoiled, but how I missed seeing.”
“Well, viewing is a Solarian custom.—We all know that, Vasilia. Live and let live.”
“Humph,” said Vasilia. “Your tolerance may be misplaced. Are your robots in the nonrepeat mode?”
“Yes, they are. And I assure you we are not being eavesdropped upon.”
“I hope not, Kelden.—I am under the distinct impression that the Solarians are closer to developing a miniaturized nuclear intensifier than any other world—than we are. They may be close to making one that’s portable and that’s possessed of a power consumption small enough to make it practical for space vessels.”
Amadiro frowned deeply. “How do they manage that?”
“I cannot say. You don’t suppose they showed me blueprints, do you? My impressions are so inchoate I dared not put them in the report, but from small things I heard here or observed there—I think they are making important progress. This is something we should think about carefully.”
“We will.—Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”
“Yes—and also not in the report. Solaria has been working toward humanoid robots for many decades and I think they have achieved that goal. No other Spacer would—outside of ourselves, of course—has even attempted the matter. When I asked, on each world, what they were doing with respect to humanoid robots, the reaction was uniform. They found the very concept unpleasant and horrifying. I suspect they all noticed our failure and took it to heart.”
“But not Solaria? Why not?”
“For one thing, they have always lived in the most extremely robotized society in the Galaxy. They’re surrounded by robots—ten thousand per individual. The world is saturated with them. If you were to wander through it aimlessly, searching for humans, you would find nothing. So why should the few Solarians, living in such a world, be upset by the thought of a few more robots just because they’re humaniform? Then, too, that pseudo-human wretch that Fastolfe designed and built and that still exists.”
“Daneel,” said Amadiro.
“Yes, that one. He—it was on Solaria twenty decades ago and the Solarians treated it as human. They have never recovered from that. Even if they had no use for humaniforms, they were humiliated at having been deceived. It was an unforgettable demonstration that Aurora was far ahead of them in that one facet of robotics, at any rate. The Solarians take inordinate pride in being the most advanced roboticists in the Galaxy and, ever since, individual Solarians have been working on humaniforms—if for no other reason than to wipe out that disgrace. If they had had greater numbers or an institute that could coordinate their work, they would undoubtedly have come up with some long ago. As it is, I think they have them now.”
“You don’t really know, do you? This is just suspicion based on scraps of data here and there.”
“Exactly right, but it’s a fairly strong suspicion and it merits further investigation.—And a third point. I could swear they were working on telepathic communication. There was some equipment that I was incautiously allowed to see. And once when I had one of their roboticists on view the hyperwave screen showed a blackboard with a positronic pattern matrix that was like nothing I ever remember seeing, yet it seemed to me that pattern might fit a telepathic program.”
“I suspect, Vasilia, that this item is woven of even airier gossamer than the bit about the humanoid robots.”
A look of mild embarrassment crossed Vasilia’s face. “I must admit you’re probably right there.”
“In fact, Vasilia, it sounds like mere fantasy. If the pattern matrix you saw was like nothing you remember ever having seen before, how could you think it would fit anything?”
Vasilia hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been wondering about that myself. Yet when I saw the pattern, the word ‘telepathy’ occurred to me at once.”
“Even though telepathy is impossible, even in theory.”
“It is thought to be impossible, even in theory. That is not quite the same thing.”
“No one has ever been able to make any progress toward it.”
“Yes, but why should I have looked at that pattern and thought ‘telepathy’?”
“Ah well, Vasilia, there may be a personal psychoquirk there that is useless to try to analyze. I’d forget it.”
“Anything else?”
“One more thing—and the most puzzling of all. I gathered the impression, Kelden, from one little indication or another, that the Solarians are planning to leave their planet.
“I don’t know. Their population, small as it is, is declining further. Perhaps they want to make a new start elsewhere before they die out altogether.”
“What kind of new start? Where would they go?”
Vasilia shook her head. “I have told you all I know.”
/> Amadiro said slowly, “Well, then, I will take all this into account. Four things: nuclear intensifier, humanoid robots, telepathic robots, and abandoning the planet. Frankly, I have no faith in any of the four, but I’ll persuade the Council to authorize talks with the Solarian regent.—And now, Vasilia, I believe you could use a rest, so why not take a few weeks off and grow accustomed to the Auroran sun and fine weather before getting back to work?”
“That is kind of you, Kelden,” said Vasilia—remaining firmly seated, “but there remain two items I must bring up.”
Involuntarily, Amadiro’s eyes sought the time strip. “This won’t take up very much time, will it, Vasilia?”
“However much time it takes, Kelden, is what it will take up.”
“What is it you want then?”
“To begin with, who is this young know-it-all who seems to think he is running, the Institute, this what’s-his-name, Mandamus?”
“You’ve met him, have you?” said Amadiro, his smile masking a certain uneasiness. “You see, things do change on Aurora.”
“Certainly not for the better in this case,” said Vasilia grimly. “Who is he?”
“He is exactly what you have described—a know-it-all. He is a brilliant young man, bright enough in robotics, but, just as knowledgeable in general physics, in chemistry, in planetology—”
“And how old is this monster of erudition?”
“Not quite five decades.”
“And what will this child be when he grows up?”
“Wise as well as brilliant, perhaps.”
“Don’t pretend to mistake my meaning, Kelden. Are you thinking of grooming him as the next head of the Institute?”
“I intend to live for a good many decades yet.”
“That is no answer.”
“It is the only answer I have.”
Vasilia shifted in her seat restlessly and her robot, standing behind her, sent his eyes from side to side as though preparing to ward off an attack—pushed into that mode of behavior, perhaps, by Vasilia’s uneasiness.
Vasilia said, “Kelden, I am to be the next head. That is settled. You have told me so.”
“I have, but in actual fact, Vasilia, once I die, the Board of Directors will make the choice. Even if I leave behind me a directive as to who the next head will be, the Board can reverse me. That much is clear in the terms of incorporation that founded the Institute.”
“You just write your directive, Kelden, and I will take care of the Board of Directors.”
And Amadiro, the space between his eyebrows furrowing said, “This is not something I will discuss any further at this moment. What is the other item you want to bring up? Please make it brief.”
She stared at him in silent anger for a moment, then said, seeming to bite off the word, “Giskard!”
“The robot?”
“Of course the robot. Do you know any other Giskard that I am likely to be talking about?”
“Well, what of him?”
“He is mine.”
Amadiro looked surprised. “He is—or was—the legal property of Fastolfe.”
“Giskard was mine when I was a child.”
“Fastolfe lent him to you and eventually took him back. There was no formal transfer of ownership, was there?”
“Morally, he was mine. But in any case, Fastolfe owns him no longer. He is dead.”
“He made a will, too. And if I remember correctly, by that will, two robots—Giskard and Daneel—are now the property of the Solarian woman.”
“But I don’t want them to be. I am Fastolfe’s daughter.”
“Oi?”
Vasilia flushed. “I have a claim to Giskard. Why should a stranger—an alien—have him?”
“For one thing, because Fastolfe willed it so. And she’s an Auroran citizen.”
“Who says so? To every Auroran she is ‘the Solarian woman.’”
Amadiro brought his fist down on the arm of his chair in a sudden spilling over of fury. “Vasilia, what is it you wish of me? I have no liking for the Solarian woman. I have, in fact, a profound dislike of her and, if there were a way, I would”—he looked briefly at the robots, as though unwilling to unsettle them—“get her off the planet. But I can’t upset the will. Even if there were a legal way to do so—and there isn’t—it wouldn’t be wise to do it. Fastolfe is dead.”
“Precisely the reason Giskard should be mine now.”
Amadiro ignored her. “And the coalition he headed is falling apart. It was held together in the last few decades only by his personal charisma. Now what I would like to do is to pick up fragments of that coalition and add it to my own following. In that way, I may put a group together that would be strong enough to dominate the Council and win control in the coming elections.”
“With you becoming the next Chairman?”
“Why not? Aurora could do worse, for it would give me a chance to reverse our longtime policy of built-in disaster before it is too late. The trouble is that I don’t have Fastolfe’s personal popularity. I don’t have his gift of exuding saintliness as a cover for stupidity. Consequently, if I seem to be triumphing in an unfair and petty way over a dead man, it will not look good. No one must say that having been defeated by Fastolfe while he was alive, I overturned his will out of trivial spite after he was dead. I won’t have anything as ridiculous as that standing in the way of the great life-and death decisions Aurora must make. Do you understand me? You’ll have to do without Giskard!”
Vasilia arose, body stiff, eyes narrow. “We’ll see about that.”
“We have already seen. This meeting is over and if you have any ambitions to be the head of the Institute, I don’t ever want to see you threatening me about anything. So if you’re going to make a threat now, of any kind at all, I advise you to reconsider.”
“I make no threats,” said Vasilia, every ounce of body language contradicting her words—and she left with a sweep, beckoning her robot, unnecessarily, to follow.
56
The emergency—or rather, the series of emergencies began some months later when Maloon Cicis entered Amadiro’s office for the usual morning conference.
Ordinarily, Amadiro looked forward to that. Cicis was always a restful interlude in the course of the busy day. He was the one senior member of the Institute who had no ambitions and who was not calculating against the day of Amadiro’s death or retirement. Cicis was, in fact, the perfect subordinate. He was happy to be of service and delighted to be in Amadiro’s confidence.
For this reason, Amadiro had been disturbed, in the last year or so, at the flavor of decay, the slight concavity of the chest, the touch of stiffness in the walk of his perfect subordinate. Could Cicis be getting old? Surely he was only a few decades older than Amadiro.
It struck Amadiro most unpleasantly that perhaps along with the gradual degeneration of so many facets of Spacer life, the life expectancy was falling. He meant to look up the statistics, but kept forgetting to do so—or was unconsciously afraid of doing so.
On this occasion, though, the appearance of age in Cicis was drowned in violent emotion. His face was red (pointing up the graying of his bronze hair) and he appeared virtually exploding with astonishment.
Amadiro did not have to inquire as to the news. Cicis delivered it as though it was something he could not contain.
When he finished exploding, Amadiro said, stupefied, “All radio-wave emissions ceased? All?”
“All, Chief. They must all be dead—or gone. No inhabited world can avoid emitting some electromagnetic radiation at our level of—”
Amadiro waved him silent. One of Vasilia’s points—the fourth, as he recalled—had been that the Solarians were preparing to leave their world. It had been a nonsensical suggestion; all four had been more or less nonsensical. He had said he would keep it in mind and, of course, he hadn’t. Now, apparently, that had proved to be a mistake.
What had made it seem nonsensical when Vasilia had advanced the notion still made it seem
nonsensical. He asked the question now that he had asked then, even though he expected no answer. (What answer could there be?) “Where in Space could they go, Maloon?”
“There’s no word on that, Chief.”
“Well, then, when did they go?”
“There’s no word on that, either. We got the news this morning. The trouble is the radiational intensity is so low on Solaria anyway. It’s very sparsely inhabited and its robots are well-shielded. The intensity is an order of magnitude lower than that of any other Spacer world; two orders lower than ours—”
“So one day someone noticed that what was very small had actually declined to zero, but no one actually caught it as it was declining. Who noticed it?”
“A Nexonian ship Chief.”
“How?”
“The ship was being forced into orbit about Solaria’s sun in order to carry through emergency repairs. They hyperwaved for permission and got no answer. They had no choice but to disregard that, continue into orbit, and carry through their repairs. They were not interfered with in any way in that time. It was not till after they had left that, in checking through their records, they found that not only had they gotten no answer, but that they had gotten no radiational signal of any kind. There’s no way of telling exactly when radiation had ceased. The last recorded receipt of any message from Solaria was over two months ago.”
“And the other three points she made?” Amadiro muttered.
“Pardon me, Chief?”
“Nothing. Nothing,” said Amadiro, but he frowned heavily and was lost in thought.
13. THE TELEPATHIC ROBOT
57
Mandamus was not aware of developments on Solaria when he returned some months later from an extended third trip to Earth.
