Foundation and Earth f-7

by Isaac Asimov

  “What went wrong, Bliss?” said Pelorat softly.

  “I had never encountered any such thing as those transducer-lobes and I lacked any time to work with them and learn about them. I merely struck out forcefully with my blocking maneuver and, apparently, it didn’t work correctly. It was not the entry of energy into the lobes that was blocked, but the exit of that energy. Energy is always pouring into those lobes at a reckless rate but, ordinarily, the brain safeguards itself by pouring out that energy just as quickly. Once I blocked the exit, however, energy piled up within the lobes at once and, in a tiny fraction of a second, the temperature had risen to the point where the brain protein inactivated explosively and it was dead. The lights went out and I removed my block immediately, but, of course, it was too late.”

  “I don’t see that you could have done anything other than that which you did, dear,” said Pelorat.

  “Of what comfort is that, considering that I have killed.”

  “Bander was on the point of killing us,” said Trevize.

  “That was cause for stopping it, not for killing it.”

  Trevize hesitated. He did not wish to show the impatience he felt for he was unwilling to offend or further upset Bliss, who was, after all, their only defense against a supremely hostile world.

  He said, “Bliss, it is time to look beyond Bander’s death. Because it is dead, all power on the estate is blanked out. This will be noticed, sooner or later, probably sooner, by other Solarians. They will be forced to investigate. I don’t think you will be able to hold off the perhaps combined attack of several. And, as you have admitted yourself, you won’t be able to supply for very long the limited power you are managing to supply now. It is important, therefore, that we get back to the surface, and to our ship, without delay.”

  “But, Golan,” said Pelorat, “how do we do that? We came for many kilometers along a winding path. I imagine it’s quite a maze down here and, for myself, I haven’t the faintest idea of where to go to reach the surface. I’ve always had a poor sense of direction.”

  Trevize, looking about, realized that Pelorat was correct. He said, “I imagine there are many openings to the surface, and we needn’t find the one we entered.”

  “But we don’t know where any of the openings are. How do we find them?”

  Trevize turned again to Bliss. “Can you detect anything, mentally, that will help us find our way out?”

  Bliss said, “The robots on this estate are all inactive. I can detect a thin whisper of subintelligent life straight up, but all that tells us is that the surface is straight up, which we know.”

  “Well, then,” said Trevize, “we’ll just have to look for some opening.”

  “Hit-and-miss,” said Pelorat, appalled. “We’ll never succeed.”

  “We might, Janov,” said Trevize. “If we search, there will be a chance, however small. The alternative is simply to stay here, and if we do that then we will never succeed. Come, a small chance is better than none.”

  “Wait,” said Bliss. “I do sense something.”

  “What?” said Trevize.

  “A mind.”

  “Intelligence?”

  “Yes, but limited, I think. What reaches me most clearly, though, is something else.”

  “What?” said Trevize, again fighting impatience.

  “Fright! Intolerable fright!” said Bliss, in a whisper.

  53.

  Trevize looked about ruefully. He knew where they had entered but he had no illusion on the score of being able to retrace the path by which they had come. He had, after all, paid little attention to the turnings and windings. Who would have thought they’d be in the position of having to retrace the route alone and without help, and with only a flickering, dim light to be guided by?

  He said, “Do you think you can activate the car, Bliss?”

  Bliss said, “I’m sure I could, Trevize, but that doesn’t mean I can run it.”

  Pelorat said, “I think that Bander ran it mentally. I didn’t see it touch anything when it was moving.”

  Bliss said gently, “Yes, it did it mentally, Pel, but how, mentally? You might as well say that it did it by using the controls. Certainly, but if I don’t know the details of using the controls, that doesn’t help, does it?”

  “You might try,” said Trevize.

  “If I try, I’ll have to put my whole mind to it, and if I do that, then I doubt that I’ll be able to keep the lights on. The car will do us no good in the dark even if I learn how to control it.”

  “Then we must wander about on foot, I suppose?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Trevize peered at the thick and gloomy darkness that lay beyond the dim light in their immediate neighborhood. He saw nothing, heard nothing.

  He said, “Bliss, do you still sense this frightened mind?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Can you tell where it is? Can you guide us to it?”

  “The mental sense is a straight line. It is not refracted sensibly by ordinary matter, so I can tell it is coming from that direction.”

  She pointed to a spot on the dusky wall, and said, “But we can’t walk through the wall to it. The best we can do is follow the corridors and try to find our way in whatever direction will keep the sensation growing stronger. In short, we will have to play the game of hot-and-cold.”

  “Then let’s start right now.”

  Pelorat hung back. “Wait, Golan; are we sure we want to find this thing, whatever it is? If it is frightened, it may be that we will have reason to be frightened, too.”

  Trevize shook his head impatiently. “We have no choice, Janov. It’s a mind, frightened or not, and it may be willing to—or may be made to—direct us to the surface.”

  “And do we just leave Bander lying here?” said Pelorat uneasily.

  Trevize took his elbow. “Come, Janov. We have no choice in that, either. Eventually some Solarian will reactivate the place, and a robot will find Bander and take care of it—I hope not before we are safely away.”

  He allowed Bliss to lead the way. The light was always strongest in her immediate neighborhood and she paused at each doorway, at each fork in the corridor, trying to sense the direction from which the fright came. Sometimes she would walk through a door, or move around a curve, then come back and try an alternate path, while Trevize watched helplessly.

  Each time Bliss came to a decision and moved firmly in a particular direction, the light came on ahead of her. Trevize noticed that it seemed a bit brighter now—either because his eyes were adapting to the dimness, or because Bliss was learning how to handle the transduction more efficiently. At one point, when she passed one of the metal rods that were inserted into the ground, she put her hand on it and the lights brightened noticeably. She nodded her head as though she were pleased with herself.

  Nothing looked in the least familiar; it seemed certain they were wandering through portions of the rambling underground mansion they had not passed through on the way in.

  Trevize kept looking for corridors that led upward sharply, and he varied that by studying the ceilings for any sign of a trapdoor. Nothing of the sort appeared, and the frightened mind remained their only chance of getting out.

  They walked through silence, except for the sound of their own steps; through darkness, except for the light in their immediate vicinity; through death, except for their own lives. Occasionally, they made out the shadowy bulk of a robot, sitting or standing in the dusk, with no motion. Once they saw a robot lying on its side, with legs and arms in queer frozen positions. It had been caught off-balance, Trevize thought, at the moment when power had been turned off, and it had fallen. Bander, either alive or dead, could not affect the force of gravity. Perhaps all over the vast Bander estate, robots were standing and lying inactive and it would be that that would quickly be noted at the borders.

  Or perhaps not, he thought suddenly. Solarians would know when one of their number would be dying of old age and physical decay.
The world would be alerted and ready. Bander, however, had died suddenly, without possible foreknowledge, in the prime of its existence. Who would know? Who would expect? Who would be watching for inactivation?

  But no (and Trevize thrust back optimism and consolation as dangerous lures into overconfidence). The Solarians would note the cessation of all activity on the Bander estate and take action at once. They all had too great an interest in the succession to estates to leave death to itself.

  Pelorat murmured unhappily, “Ventilation has stopped. A place like this, underground, must be ventilated, and Bander supplied the power. Now it has stopped.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Janov,” said Trevize. “We’ve got enough air down in this empty underground place to last us for years.”

  “It’s close just the same. It’s psychologically bad.”

  “Please, Janov, don’t get claustrophobic. —Bliss, are we any closer?”

  “Much, Trevize,” she replied. “The sensation is stronger and I am clearer as to its location.”

  She was stepping forward more surely, hesitating less at points of choice of direction.

  “There! There!” she said. “I can sense it intensely.”

  Trevize said dryly, “Even I can hear it now.”

  All three stopped and, automatically, held their breaths. They could hear a soft moaning, interspersed with gasping sobs.

  They walked into a large room and, as the lights went on, they saw that, unlike all those they had hitherto seen, it was rich and colorful in furnishings.

  In the center of the room was a robot, stooping slightly, its arms stretched out in what seemed an almost affectionate gesture and, of course, it was absolutely motionless.

  Behind the robot was a flutter of garments. A round frightened eye edged to one side of it, and there was still the sound of a brokenhearted sobbing.

  Trevize darted around the robot and, from the other side, a small figure shot out, shrieking. It stumbled, fell to the ground, and lay there, covering its eyes, kicking its legs in all directions, as though to ward off some threat from whatever angle it might approach, and shrieking, shrieking—

  Bliss said, quite unnecessarily, “It’s a child!”

  54.

  Trevize drew back, puzzled. What was a child doing here? Bander had been so proud of its absolute solitude, so insistent upon it.

  Pelorat, less apt to fall back on iron reasoning in the face of an obscure event, seized upon the solution at once, and said, “I suppose this is the successor.”

  “Bander’s child,” said Bliss, agreeing, “but too young, I think, to be a successor. The Solarians will have to find one elsewhere.”

  She was gazing at the child, not in a fixed glare, but in a soft, mesmerizing way, and slowly the noise the child was making lessened. It opened its eyes and looked at Bliss in return. Its outcry was reduced to an occasional soft whimper.

  Bliss made sounds of her own, now, soothing ones, broken words that made little sense in themselves but were meant only to reinforce the calming effect of her thoughts. It was as though she were mentally fingering the child’s unfamiliar mind and seeking to even out its disheveled emotions.

  Slowly, never taking its eyes off Bliss, the child got to its feet, stood there swaying a moment, then made a dash for the silent, frozen robot. It threw its arms about the sturdy robotic leg as though avid for the security of its touch.

  Trevize said, “I suppose that the robot is its—nursemaid—or caretaker. I suppose a Solarian can’t care for another Solarian, not even a parent for a child.”

  Pelorat said, “And I suppose the child is hermaphroditic.”

  “It would have to be,” said Trevize.

  Bliss, still entirely preoccupied with the child, was approaching it slowly, hands held half upward, palms toward herself, as though emphasizing that there was no intention of seizing the small creature. The child was now silent, watching the approach, and holding on the more tightly to the robot.

  Bliss said, “There, child—warm, child—soft, warm, comfortable, safe, child—safe—safe.”

  She stopped and, without looking round, said in a low voice, “Pel, speak to it in its language. Tell it we’re robots come to take care of it because the power failed.”

  “Robots!” said Pelorat, shocked.

  “We must be presented as robots. It’s not afraid of robots. And it’s never seen a human being, maybe can’t even conceive of them.”

  Pelorat said, “I don’t know if I can think of the right expression. I don’t know the archaic word for ‘robot.’ ”

  “Say ‘robot,’ then, Pel. If that doesn’t work, say ‘iron thing.’ Say whatever you can.”

  Slowly, word by word, Pelorat spoke archaically. The child looked at him, frowning intensely, as though trying to understand.

  Trevize said, “You might as well ask it how to get out, while you’re at it.”

  Bliss said, “No. Not yet. Confidence first, then information.”

  The child, looking now at Pelorat, slowly released its hold on the robot and spoke in a high-pitched musical voice.

  Pelorat said anxiously, “It’s speaking too quickly for me.”

  Bliss said, “Ask it to repeat more slowly. I’m doing my best to calm it and remove its fears.”

  Pelorat, listening again to the child, said, “I think it’s asking what made Jemby stop. Jemby must be the robot.”

  “Check and make sure, Pel.”

  Pelorat spoke, then listened, and said, “Yes, Jemby is the robot. The child calls itself Fallom.”

  “Good!” Bliss smiled at the child, a luminous, happy smile, pointed to it, and said, “Fallom. Good Fallom. Brave Fallom.” She placed a hand on her chest and said, “Bliss.”

  The child smiled. It looked very attractive when it smiled. “Bliss,” it said, hissing the “s” a bit imperfectly.

  Trevize said, “Bliss, if you can activate the robot, Jemby, it might be able to tell us what we want to know. Pelorat can speak to it as easily as to the child.”

  “No,” said Bliss. “That would be wrong. The robot’s first duty is to protect the child. If it is activated and instantly becomes aware of us, aware of strange human beings, it may as instantly attack us. No strange human beings belong here. If I am then forced to inactivate it, it can give us no information, and the child, faced with a second inactivation of the only parent it knows— Well, I just won’t do it.”

  “But we were told,” said Pelorat mildly, “that robots can’t harm human beings.”

  “So we were,” said Bliss, “but we were not told what kind of robots these Solarians have designed. And even if this robot were designed to do no harm, it would have to make a choice between its child, or the nearest thing to a child it can have, and three objects whom it might not even recognize as human beings, merely as illegal intruders. Naturally, it would choose the child and attack us.”

  She turned to the child again. “Fallom,” she said, “Bliss.” She pointed, “Pel—Trev.”

  “Pel. Trev,” said the child obediently.

  She came closer to the child, her hands reaching toward it slowly. It watched her, then took a step backward.

  “Calm, Fallom,” said Bliss. “Good, Fallom. Touch, Fallom. Nice, Fallom.”

  It took a step toward her, and Bliss sighed. “Good, Fallom.”

  She touched Fallom’s bare arm, for it wore, as its parent had, only a long robe, open in front, and with a loincloth beneath. The touch was gentle. She removed her arm, waited, and made contact again, stroking softly.

  The child’s eyes half-closed under the strong, calming effect of Bliss’s mind.

  Bliss’s hands moved up slowly, softly, scarcely touching, to the child’s shoulders, its neck, its ears, then under its long brown hair to a point just above and behind its ears.

  Her hands dropped away then, and she said, “The transducer-lobes are still small. The cranial bone hasn’t developed yet. There’s just a tough layer of skin there, which will eventually
expand outward and be fenced in with bone after the lobes have fully grown. —Which means it can’t, at the present time, control the estate or even activate its own personal robot. —Ask it how old it is, Pel.”

  Pelorat said, after an exchange, “It’s fourteen years old, if I understand it rightly.”

  Trevize said, “It looks more like eleven.”

  Bliss said, “The length of the years used on this world may not correspond closely to Standard Galactic Years. Besides, Spacers are supposed to have extended lifetimes and, if the Solarians are like the other Spacers in this, they may also have extended developmental periods. We can’t go by years, after all.”

  Trevize said, with an impatient click of his tongue, “Enough anthropology. We must get to the surface and since we are dealing with a child, we may be wasting our time uselessly. It may not know the route to the surface. It may not ever have been on the surface.”

  Bliss said, “Pel!”

  Pelorat knew what she meant and there followed the longest conversation he had yet had with Fallom.

  Finally, he said, “The child knows what the sun is. It says it’s seen it. I think it’s seen trees. It didn’t act as though it were sure what the word meant—or at least what the word I used meant—”

  “Yes, Janov,” said Trevize, “but do get to the point.”

  “I told Fallom that if it could get us out to the surface, that might make it possible for us to activate the robot. Actually, I said we would activate the robot. Do you suppose we might?”