Robots and Empire trs-4

by Isaac Asimov

  “No Auroran has ever encountered—or even conceived—of what they call a dangerous robot. They would take no chances of taking one on board one of their vessels.—I would suggest, Captain, that you retreat. Why not jump again, away from Earth? We are not close enough to any planetary mass to prevent that.”

  “Retreat? You mean run away? I can’t do that.”

  “Well, then, you have to give us up,” said Gladia with an air of resigned hopelessness.

  D.G. said forcefully, “I’m not giving you up—And I’m not running away. And I can’t fight.”

  “Then what’s left?” asked Gladia.

  “A fourth alternative,” said D.G. “Gladia, I must ask you to remain here with your robots till I return.”

  79

  D.G. considered the data. There had been enough time during the conversation for the location of the Auroran vessel to be pinpointed. It was a bit farther from the sun than his own ship was and that was good. To Jump toward the sun, at this distance from it, would have been risky indeed; to Jump sideways would be, so to speak, a piece of cake in comparison. There was the chance of accident through probability deviation, but there was always that.

  He had himself assured the crew that not a shot would be fired (which would do no good, in any case). Clearly, they had utter faith in Earth space protecting them as long as they didn’t profane its peace by offering violence. It was pure mysticism that D.G. would have scornfully derided had he not shared the conviction himself.

  He moved back into focus. It had been a fairly long wait, but there had been no signal from the other side. They had shown exemplary patience.

  “Captain Baley here,” he said. “I wish to speak to Commander Lisiform.”

  There was not much of a wait. “Commander Lisiform here. May I have your answer?”

  D.G. said, “We will deliver the woman and the two robots.”

  “Good! A wise decision.”

  “And we will deliver them as quickly as we can.”

  “Again a wise decision.”

  “Thank you.” D.G. gave the signal and his ship Jumped.

  There was no time, no need, to hold one’s breath. It was over as soon as it was begun—or, at least, the time lapse was insensible.

  The word came from the pilot. “New enemy ship position fixed, Captain.”

  “Good,” said D.G. “You know what to do.”

  The ship had come out of the Jump at high speed relative to the Auroran vessel and the course correction (not a great deal, it was to, be hoped) was being made. Then further acceleration.

  D.G. moved back into focus, “We are close, Commander, and on our way to deliver. You may fire if you choose, but our shields are up and before you can batter them down we will have reached you in order to make the delivery.”

  “Are you sending a lifeboat?” The commander moved out of focus.

  D.G. waited and the commander was back, his face contorted. “What is this? Your ship is on a collision course.”

  “It seems to be, yes,” said D.G. “That is the fastest way of making delivery.”

  “You will destroy your ship.”

  “And yours, too. Your ship is at least fifty times as expensive as mine, probably more. A poor exchange for Aurora.”

  “But you are engaging in combat in Earth space, Captain. Your customs do not allow that.”

  “Ah, you know our customs and you take advantage of them.—But I am not in combat. I have not fired an erg of energy and I won’t. I am merely following a trajectory. That trajectory happens to intersect your position, but since I am sure you will move before that intersection movement arrives, it is clear that I intend no violence.”

  “Stop. Let’s talk about this.”

  “I’m tired of talking, Commander. Shall we all say a fond farewell? If you don’t move, I will be giving up perhaps four decades with the third and fourth not so good, anyway. How many will you be giving up?” And D.G. moved out of focus and stayed out.

  A beam of radiation shot out from the Auroran ship tentative, as though to test whether the other’s shields were truly up. They were.

  Ship’s shields would hold against electromagnetic radiation and subatomic particles, including even neutrinos, and could withstand the kinetic energy of small masses—dust particles, even meteoric gravel. The shields could not withstand larger kinetic energies, such as that of an entire ship hurtling at it with supermeteoric speed.

  Even dangerous masses, if not guided—a meteoroid, for instance—could be handled. A vessel’s computers would automatically veer the ship out of the way of any oncoming meteoroid that was too large for the shield to handle. That, however, would not work against a ship that could veer as its target veered. And if the Settler ship was the smaller of the two, it was also the more maneuverable.

  There was only one way that the Auroran ship could avoid destruction—

  D.G. watched the other ship visibly enlarging in his viewing panel and wondered if Gladia, in her cabin, knew what was going on. She must be aware of the acceleration, despite the hydraulic suspension of her cabin ~ and the compensatory action of the pseudo-gravity field.

  And then the other ship simply winked out of view, having jumped away, and D.G., with considerable chagrin, realized he was holding his breath and that his heart was racing. Had he had no confidence in the protecting influence of Earth or in his own sure diagnosis of the situation?

  D.G. spoke into the transmitter in a voice that, with iron resolution, he forced into coolness. “Well done, men! Correct course and head for Earth.”

  16. THE CITY

  80

  Gladia said, “Are you serious, D.G.? You really intended to collide with the ship?”

  “Not at all,” said D.G. indifferently. “I wasn’t expecting to. I merely lunged at them, knowing they would retreat. Those Spacers weren’t going to risk their long, wonderful lives when they could easily preserve them.”

  “Those Spacers? What cowards they are.”

  D.G. cleared his throat. “I keep forgetting you’re a Spacer, Gladia.”

  “Yes—and I imagine you think that that is a compliment to me. What if they had been as foolish as you—if they had shown the childish madness you think of as bravery and stayed in place? What would you have done?”

  D.G. muttered, “Hit them.”

  “And then we would all have died.”

  “The transaction would have been in our favor, Gladia. One crummy old Trader ship from a Settler world for a new and advanced warship, of the leading Spacer world.”

  D.G. tipped his chair back against the wall and put his hands behind his neck (amazing how comfortable he felt, now that it was all over). “I once saw a historical hyperdrama, in which, toward the end of the war, airplanes loaded with explosives were deliberately flown into much more expensive seaships in order to sink them. Of course, the pilot of each airplane lost his life.”

  “That was fiction,” said Gladia. “You don’t suppose civilized people do things like that in real life, do you?”

  “Why not? If the cause is good enough.”

  “What was it, then, you felt as you plunged toward a glorious death? Exaltation? You were hurtling all your crew toward the same death.”

  “They knew about it. We could do nothing else. Earth was watching.”

  “The people on Earth didn’t even know.”

  “I mean it metaphorically. We were in Earth space. We could not act ignobly.”

  “Oh, what nonsense! And you risked my life, too.”

  D.G. looked down at his boots. “Would you like to hear something crazy? That was the only thing that bothered me.”

  “That I would die?”

  “Not quite. That I would lose you.—When that ship ordered me to give you up, I knew I wouldn’t—even if you asked me to. I would gladly ram them instead; they couldn’t have you. And then, as I watched their ship expand in the viewscreen, I thought, “If they don’t get out of here, I’ll lose her anyway, and that’s when my hea
rt started to pound and I began to sweat. I knew they’d run, and still the thought—” He shook his head.

  Gladia frowned. “I don’t understand you. You weren’t worrying about my dying, but you were worried about losing me? Don’t the two go together?”

  “I know. I’m not saying it’s rational. I thought of you rushing at the overseer to save me when you knew it could murder you with a blow. I thought of you facing the crowd at Baleyworld and talking them down when you had never even seen a crowd before. I even thought of you going to Aurora when you were a young woman and learning a new way of life—and surviving.—And it seemed to me I didn’t mind dying, I just minded losing you. You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Gladia said thoughtfully, “Have you forgotten my age? I was just about as old as I am now when you were born. When I was your age, I used to dream of your remote Ancestor. What’s more, I’ve got an artificial hip joint. My left thumb—this one right here”—she wiggled it—”is strictly prosthetic. Some of my nerves have been rebuilt. My teeth are all implanted ceramic. And you talk as though any moment you’re going to confess a transcendent passion. For what?—For whom?—Think, D.G.!—Look at me and see me as I am!”

  D.G. tilted his chair back on two legs and rubbed at his beard with an odd scraping sound. “All right. You’ve made me sound silly, but I’m going to keep right on. What I know about your age is that you’re going to survive me and look scarcely any older when you do, so you’re younger than I am, not older. Besides, I don’t care if you are older. What I would like is for you to stay with me wherever I go—for all my life, if possible.”

  Gladia was about to speak, but D.G. intervened hastily, “Or, if it seems more convenient, for me to stay with you wherever you go—for all my life, if possible.—If it’s all right with you.”

  Gladia said softly, “I’m a Spacer. You’re a Settler.”

  “Who cares, Gladia? Do you?”

  “I mean, there’s no question of children. I’ve had mine.”

  “What difference does that make to me! There’s no danger of the name Baley dying out.”

  “I have a task of my own. I intend to bring peace to the Galaxy.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “And your trading? Will you give up your chance to be rich?”

  “We’ll do some together. Just enough to keep my crew happy and to help me support you in your task as peacebringer.”

  “Life will be dull for you, D.G.”

  “Will it? It seems to me that since you joined me it’s been too exciting.”

  “And you’ll probably insist on my giving up my robots.”

  D.G. looked distressed. “Is that why you’ve been trying to talk me out of this? I wouldn’t mind your keeping the two of them—even Daneel and his small lecherous smile but if we’re going to live among Settlers—”

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to try to find the courage to do it.”

  She laughed, gently and so did D.G. He held out his arms to her and she placed her hands in his.

  She said, “You’re mad. I’m mad. But everything has been so strange since the evening I looked up at the sky in Aurora and, tried to find Solaria’s sun that I suppose being mad is the only possible response to things.”

  “What you’ve just said isn’t only mad,” said D.G., “it’s crazy, but that’s the way I want you to be.” He hesitated. “No, I’ll wait. I’ll shave my beard before I try to kiss you. That will lower the chances of infection.”

  “No, don’t! I’m curious about how it might feel.”

  And she promptly found out.

  81

  Commander Lisiform strode back and forth across the length of his cabin. He said, “There was no use losing the ship. No use at all.”

  His political adviser sat quietly in his chair. His eyes did not bother to follow the agitated and rapid to-and-fro movement of the other. “Yes, of course,” he said.

  “What have the barbarians to lose? They only live a few decades, in any case. Life means nothing to them.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Still, I’ve never seen or heard of a Settler ship doing that. It may be a new—fanatical tactic and we have no defense against it. What if they send drone ships against us, with shields up and full momentum but no human beings aboard?”

  “We might robotify our ships entirely.”

  “That wouldn’t help. We couldn’t afford to lose the ship. What we need is the shield knife they keep talking about. Something that will slice through a shield.”

  “Then they’ll develop one, too, and we will have to devise a knife-proof shield, and so will they, and it will be a standoff again at a higher level.”

  “We need something completely new, then.”

  “Well,” said the adviser, “maybe something will turn up. Your mission wasn’t primarily the matter of the Solarian woman and her robots, was it? It would have been pleasant if we could have forced them out of the Settler ship, but that was secondary, wasn’t it?”

  “The Council isn’t going to like it, just the same.”

  “It’s my job to take care of that. The important fact is that Amadiro and Mandamus left the ship and are on their way to Earth in a good speedy ferry.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And you not only distracted the Settler ship but delayed it as well. That means Amadiro and Mandamus not only left the ship unnoticed, but they will be on Earth before our barbarian captain will.”

  “I suppose so. But what of that?”

  “I wonder. If it were only Mandamus, I would dismiss the matter. He’s of no consequence. But Amadiro? To abandon the political wars back home at a difficult time and come to Earth? Something absolutely crucial must be going on here.”

  “What?” The commander seemed annoyed that he should be so nearly—and so all-but-fatally—involved in something of which he understood nothing.

  “I haven’t any idea.”

  “Do you suppose it might be secret negotiations at the highest level for some sort of overall modification of the peace settlement Fastolfe had negotiated?”

  The adviser smiled. “Peace settlement? If you think that, you don’t know our Dr. Amadiro. He wouldn’t travel to Earth in order to modify a clause or two in a peace settlement. What he’s after is a Galaxy without Settlers and if he comes to Earth—well, all I can say is that I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of the Settler barbarians at this time.”

  82

  “I trust, friend Giskard,” said Daneel, “that Madam Gladia is not uneasy at being without us. Can you tell at her distance?”

  “I can detect her mind faintly but unmistakably, friend Daneel. She is with the captain and there is a distinct overlay of excitement and joy.”

  “Excellent, friend Giskard.”

  “Less excellent for myself, friend Daneel. I find myself in a state of some disorder. I have been under a great strain.”

  “It distresses me to hear that, friend Giskard. May I ask the reason?”

  “We have been here for some time while the captain negotiated with the Auroran ship.”

  “Yes, but the Auroran ship is now gone, apparently, so that the captain seems to have negotiated to good effect.”

  “He has done so in a manner of which you were apparently not aware. I was—to an extent. Though the captain was not here with us, I had little trouble sensing his mind. It exuded overwhelming tension and suspense and underneath that a gathering and strengthening sense of loss.”

  “Loss, friend Giskard? Were you able to determine of what that loss might consist?”

  “I cannot describe my method of analysis of such things, but the loss did not seem to be the type of loss I have, in the past associated with generalities or with inanimate objects. It had the touch—that is not the word, but there is no other that fits even vaguely—of the loss of a specific person.

  “Lady Gladia.”

  “Yes.”

  “That would be natural, friend Giskard. He was faced with t
he possibility of having to give her up to the Auroran vessel.”

  “It was too intense for that. Too wailing.”

  “Too wailing?”

  “It is the only word I can think of in this connection. There was a stressful mourning associated with the sense of loss. It was not as though Lady Gladia would move elsewhere and be unavailable for that reason. That might, after all, be corrected at some future time. It was as though Lady Gladia would cease existing—would die—and be forever unavailable.”

  “He felt, then, that the Aurorans would kill her? Surely that is not possible.”

  “Indeed, not possible. And that is not it. I felt a thread of a sense of personal responsibility associated with the deep, deep fear of loss. I searched other minds on board ship and, putting it all together, I came to the suspicion that the captain was deliberately charging his ship into the Auroran vessel.”

  “That, too, is not possible, friend Giskard,” said Daneel in a low voice.

  “I had to accept it. My first impulse was to alter the captain’s emotional makeup in such a way as to force him to change course, but I could not. His mind was so firmly set, so saturated with determination and—despite the suspense, tension, and dread of loss—so filled with confidence of success—”

  “How could there be at once a dread of loss through death and a feeling of confidence of success?”

  “Friend Daneel, I have given up marveling at the capacity of the human mind to maintain two opposing emotions simultaneously. I merely accept it. In this case, to have attempted to alter the captain’s mind to the point of turning the ship from its course would have killed him. I could not do that.”

  “But if you did not, friend Giskard, scores of human beings on this ship, including Madam Gladia, and several hundreds more on the Auroran vessel would die.”

  “They might not die if the captain were correct in his feeling of confidence in success. I could not bring about one certain death to prevent many merely probable ones. There is the difficulty, friend Daneel, in your Zeroth Law. The First Law deals with specific individuals and certainties. Your Zeroth Law deals with vague groups and probabilities.”