by Isaac Asimov
The two walked silently through the door.
Chapter 3
ROBOTS-... AND THOUGH A FEW SEMI-AUTONOMOUS MECHANICAL SERVANTS HAVE BEEN USED BRIEFLY IN DIFFERENT ERAS OF GALACTIC HISTORY, NONE HAVE SUCCEEDED IN REACHING ANY LEVEL OF INDEPENDENT INTELLIGENCE. ALL WERE QUICKLY ABANDONED DUE TO SOCIAL PRESSURES AND HIGH COST. IT CAN ONLY BE CONCLUDED THAT, SUCH A TASK BEING SO DIFFICULT FOR MODERN TECHNOLOGICAL PROWESS, IT MUST HAVE BEEN ALL THE MORE IMPOSSIBLE GIVEN THE LIMITED ABILITIES OF PRE-HISTORIC MAN. STILL, THE LEGENDS PERSIST...
“THEN THEY ARE robots?” Pelorat asked their guide a little nervously as he and Trevize followed her through the door of their suite. “Like you and Daneel?”
“Not like me,” Dors replied a little testily. Rationally, she knew it was a legitimate question, but her human overlay registered it as an insult, and her disdain showed through in her voice. “Turringen and his followers are throwbacks, hangers-on to an argument that they have long since lost.”
“So not all robots follow Daneel, then?” Trevize asked causally, as he looked around the living area. The two men had started out quiet, but had gradually begun to question their guide as they approached their destination. Now that they had arrived, it seemed that their curiosity was overcoming their discomfort. Trevize began to move about the room, examining the furniture. Pelorat was still nervous, but he didn’t take his eyes from Dors.
“Not all,” she confirmed. “Most surviving robots are Giskardian, and all of us follow Daneel. But the Calvinians long ago refused to accept the primacy of the Zeroth Law. They were swept aside by history. Now only a few scattered groups remain. Turringen leads one of the larger factions.”
“You said ‘Turringen and his followers’,” Trevize said as he looked in one of the bedrooms. “Is Zorma one of his ‘followers’? Or does she represent another faction?”
Like most robots, Dors didn’t like to talk about Zorma and her faction’s ideas. Even though Zorma’s techniques would be necessary to save Daneel (or something of him, at least), their general approach was distasteful, to say the least. Thankfully, Daneel had told Dors some of the details of Trevize’s journey. Based on that, and a good understanding of the mind of a human male, she had a good idea what he was thinking, and was able to deflect Trevize’s question. “I suggest you reconsider, Councilman. She is indeed a robot, and I very much doubt she will take to you the way some of the women you’ve encountered have.” And Zorma was a robot. At least, in the only way that really mattered.
“So robots have no interest in companionship, then?” Trevize asked, and Dors could genuinely not decide whether he was honestly curious or just impudent. Probably both. This time she didn’t answer. Trevize didn’t seem to mind, as he began to explore the suite without further comment. Dors had known before he arrived that she was probably not going to like this man. But she didn’t have to.
Pelorat spoke up again, still somewhat nervously staring at Dors. “Um... pardon me, miss, but I was hoping I might be taken to see Bliss.” Why does he find me so intimidating? she wondered. Men had had that reaction to her numerous times in the past, but Dors had usually been trying to intimidate them at the time. Of course, his stare was discomforting to her as well, but she knew exactly why that was.
“I’m afraid not at this moment,” Dors replied, sympathetic. She found it very easy to like the older man, unlike Trevize. “Right now, the fewer guests in the infirmary, the better.” Dors also suspected that part of the reasoning behind her instructions was that Daneel did not want Trevize to have the chance to wander around unescorted. “I’m sure she’ll be returning soon.”
“I see,” Pelorat said, his disappointment obvious. He perked up slightly when Trevize’s head appeared from the doorway to the bathroom.
“Janov, there’s a shower in here! A real shower, with running water!” His head disappeared again around the corner and he closed the door.
“Oh, well, ah, that’s certainly a pleasant thing!” Pelorat replied half-heartedly. It was obvious to Dors that his concern for Bliss was of the lasting kind. Well, as long as any human affection can last. She forced the thought back.
Pelorat nervously looked at Dors again. “Um... if you don’t mind my asking, miss, how old are you?”
Of course. The historian had spent his life studying what little was known of Earth, and he had discovered a wealth of information in Daneel. He must have been hoping that she would provide him with the same.
“I was constructed approximately six hundred years ago,” Dors replied. She was the youngest robot in the galaxy, and very likely the last that would ever be made. “I’m afraid my knowledge of Earth comes primarily from Daneel.” Primarily. Before the kind old man could become even more disappointed, though, she continued, gesturing to the computer terminal set into one wall. “However, Daneel anticipated your interests. You may find the information you can access from there rather appealing.”
Dors couldn’t help but smile as the old man brightened, his eyes locked on the computer terminal. “Your Daneel really does think of everything, doesn’t he?” she heard Trevize say from behind her as the door to the bathroom opened.
“Almost,” she replied simply over her shoulder. A quick glance at the edge of her vision told her that Trevize had removed his shirt, very likely to see how she would react to his (admittedly attractive by human standards) body. Dors standards were not human. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have duties elsewhere. If you need any assistance, please use the intercom and someone will be with you shortly.” She gestured to the button on the wall near the main door.
Pelorat smiled warmly. “Thank you for your help, young lady,” he said. Dors smiled at him again. She was likely the oldest woman Pelorat had ever met. Without a word to Trevize, Dors Venabili left the two men alone in their suite.
“Well, that was interesting,” Trevize said once the door had closed behind her.
Pelorat couldn’t help but chuckle as he shook his head. “I’ve known for a long time that you couldn’t resist a beautiful woman. But honestly, Golan, robots? You can’t be serious!”
Trevize smiled at his friend. “You, my friend, are in love with a piece of a living world with a single collective mind. And one a third your age, at that. Compared to that, what’s some harmless flirtation?”
Pelorat’s chuckles turned to laughter. He tried to speak over it. “You never know, Golan! Admittedly Dors is a mere six hundred, but this Zorma might just be three hundred times your age!” Trevize had to laugh with him. The situation was just too absurd for any other response. Pelorat had to sit down, he laughed so hard.
A minute later as their laughter died down Trevize spoke. “I know how much you’re probably dying to get at that computer terminal, Janov. I, on the other hand, am dying for a shower!” A wry smile appeared on Trevize’s face. “Oh, and while you’re on there, do me a favor, would you? Please write Mayor Branno a brief report about our trip, and thank her for exiling me from Terminus.”
Pelorat was left speechless for a moment at the thought. Before he could reply, Trevize bowed slightly, stepped quickly to his right, entered the washroom and closed the door. It would have to be some report!
Still smiling and laughing to himself at the idea, and his stress somewhat reduced, Pelorat began to explore the small suite. It was not luxurious, by any standards, but obviously designed to make its inhabitants as comfortable as possible in the limited space available. The door they had entered through was in the corner of the room, with the doors to the bedrooms occupying the opposite wall. The walls were a very pale shade of blue, with just enough color to it to make the walls less noticeable, and so make the room seem larger. Pelorat took a moment to look around one of the bedrooms, as he heard water from the shower begin to run. The beds seemed well padded, if small. There was even a tasteful abstract painting above each one. He wondered who had painted them. Could robots paint?
Pelorat hadn’t been lying to Trevize when they left Daneel. He was quite tire
d, and sleep was very tempting. But he wanted to be awake when Bliss returned. He knew she didn’t need him. How could part of Gaia truly need anyone? But he loved her, and he would support her, needed or not. Sleep would have to wait as long as his body would allow.
And there was that computer terminal! Pelorat looked around the living area once more, finding the computer terminal in the wall opposite the bathroom door. The only chairs in the suite were around a small but sturdy table, which seemed to be associated with the kitchen part of the room by virtue of being slightly off center in that direction. Pelorat took one of the chairs and sat down, activating the computer terminal. As he navigated the system, his jaw slowly dropped. According to the display, there were hundreds of thousands of records in this archive, going back to long before the oldest book Pelorat had ever seen!
Pelorat hardly knew where to begin. He considered simply picking a text, but decided to be more systematic in his approach, and requested a full index ordered by publication date. A grin spread across his face as he saw the first result. A Child’s Book of Knowledge, Britannica Publishing Company, New Tokyo, Bayleyworld. Pelorat knew better than to disregard the text because of its name. He didn’t recognize the calendar system it was marked with, but Bayleyworld he knew. Child’s book or not, this text was from one of Earth’s first colonies after the Spacer rebellion! All thoughts of sleep left him, even worries of Bliss temporarily forgotten, as he excitedly opened the file, hoping it would be the first of many. This, Pelorat thought, his smile widening even further, might take a while.
Dors Venabili walked down the corridor, away from the humans’ suite. Her positronic brain was performing many tasks, some routine, most contemplating the way the events of the next few days would likely play out. But a noticeable portion of her processing power, larger than usual, was devoted to thoughts of the past. It took her only a moment of analysis to realize why that should be. Pelorat, the kindly old professor, had reminded her. Reminded her of him. The analysis caused more memories to rise to the surface of her mind.
The flight across Trantor-
She had been constructed more human than any other robot in history, for one purpose: nurture and protect a single man. She hadn’t expected him to love her, or to love him in return. But she had quickly learned that life is rarely what one expects. He had become a part of her, and she of him. Partners, as much as any two humans had ever been.
Their son-
They had adopted Raych and raised him as their own. She herself was barren, but it was no matter. It had taken time, but she had learned to love Raych, learned to be a mother. For all their conflicts, Raych’s wife, their children, all were her family. Their family.
The Imperial Palace-
Her own death had separated them. She had obtained a reputation for her fierceness in protecting her husband. She had been damaged, almost beyond repair, in defending him. It had taken decades for her to be fully repaired, and by then he was an old man. A kind old professor. Alone.
Raych had died in the interim, killed on a Chaos world. His wife and child had vanished. Only Wanda survived, having stayed behind on Trantor with her grandfather. But she had a life of her own, and work of her own. Only he was left, to face his unyielding burden. Alone.
Daneel had forbidden Dors to go to him. The return of the long-dead Tiger Woman, unaged after so many years, would have raised too many questions. So she had stayed away. She stayed away from her husband, from her granddaughter. From the life she had once had. From the love she had known. She stayed away until the very end.
That man had died peacefully in her arms five centuries ago. His death had devastated her, and though she live as long as Daneel she would never be rid of his imprint on her. Gradually, she had found that she could remember her husband without sadness. She could continue her own work. But she would never be the same.
The part of her that seemed human had always made things more complicated for her than for other robots. But robot she was. Dors forced the thoughts of her husband from her mind. Pelorat was not he. They weren’t even that much alike, really. And even if they had been, what of it? It was just a quirk of her emotional overlay. Dors continued to walk, her mind now ordered. The next day would determine everything.
Chapter 4
TRANTOR – … RECORDS DISAGREE ON THE EXACT FIGURE. SOME SAY THAT TRANTOR WAS HOME TO TENS OF BILLIONS. OTHERS SAY HUNDREDS OF BILLIONS, WHICH MODERN SCHOLARS CONSIDER FAR MORE LIKELY GIVEN THE STATUS OF THE WORLD AT ITS PEAK. REGARDLESS, ALL AGREE THAT TRANTOR AT THE HEIGHT OF THE EMPIRE WAS THE SINGLE GREATEST CONCENTRATION OF HUMANITY IN HISTORY …
… EVEN EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS AFTER THE SACK, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO MISTAKE THE FORMER IMPERIAL CAPITAL FOR ANY OTHER WORLD, EITHER FROM THE SURFACE OR FROM ORBIT. THE GREAT DOMES THAT ONCE COVERED NEARLY THE ENTIRE SURFACE OF THE PLANET ARE LONG SINCE DESTROYED, AND THE TWISTED METAL UNDERNEATH HAS RECEDED TO A POINT THAT SOME LARGE AREAS OF GROUND ARE VISIBLE FROM SPACE. BUT IT WILL BE CENTURIES MORE BEFORE TRANTOR’S WORLD-CITY RETREATS FULLY, IF IT EVER DOES. SOME THEORIZE …
GENDIBAL NO LONGER even noticed the massive metal remains circumscribing his horizon as he walked towards a small, lonely cottage in the distance. He had lived here his entire life, and the sight had become commonplace. Before the ultimate fall of the Empire, many of the inhabitants of Trantor had left. Most of those that remained had died when Gilmer and his rebels cut off the food supply from other worlds, and ultimately sacked the palace and anything else that interested them. The only place that had remained untouched was the University grounds, protected through the efforts of the Second Foundation. They had stayed while everyone else had left..
But they were not alone here. After all the devastation, Trantor did not remain empty for long. Most of the newcomers were scavengers, looking for forgotten treasure, data archives, anything that could be sold on any market. Battles between different factions had done yet more damage to the city, and after a few years most had left, abandoning Trantor as worthless and uninhabitable. Most, but not all.
Some came looking for a new life. In a galaxy of ten quadrillion people, there would always be such, the outcast, the dispossessed. They became farmers, starting in the old palace gardens and working their way outward, removing the city’s remains as they went. They lived their lives outdoors in the light of the sun, no longer calling their world Trantor, simply “home”. In their dialect, it became “Hame”, and so they were named.
Scavengers still came, as did new settlers from time to time. But now most of those coming to Trantor were traders. They bought scrap metal and the occasional historical trinket the Hamish had freed from the ruins, and in turn sold the products of heavy industry that could never have been found on Trantor otherwise. Without this trade, the Second Foundation could not have existed. Gendibal had always appreciated the irony that the existence of the great Seldon Plan itself might one day be threatened by a lack of spare parts.
Of course, psychohistory had predicted the development of the Hamish society, and the trade that made their presence there possible. Eventually, if left alone, the equations predicted that the Hamish would finally free Trantor from its metal prison in 2300 years, plus or minus fifty. It was a fascinating symbiosis, and one Gendibal had often reflected upon. He enjoyed knowing the future of the world he called his home.
But today there was no time for contemplation. He had a mission, and its aim lay within the cottage he had now reached. Gendibal didn’t announce his presence before entering. He knew exactly who was in the small house. He paused momentarily to send a brief, prearranged signal to his fellows. I am here. Then he opened the door and stepped inside.
Novi was standing nervously in the middle of the room, eyes on the floor, as if she was afraid to look at him. Gendibal closed the door behind him. She said nothing, simply fidgeted for a moment in her simple homespun dress, and waited. She had seen him coming from the window, no doubt, and wondered why he was coming. When he had left her, he had told her that he would com
e to see her on a particular day. That day was still three days in the future. Gendibal’s suspicions had not allowed him to wait any longer.
When he had first voiced those suspicions to the Table after order had been restored, some had almost scoffed at him. They knew of this woman and where she came from. Even Shandess seemed to have doubts. But Speaker Delarmi, to everyone’s surprise, had supported his plan fully, and the others had agreed to it shortly after. Gendibal certainly didn’t think the others had actually changed their minds. But no matter their true opinions about what he would find, they needed new information, and all agreed that Novi could provide that, one way or another.
Gendibal let the silence hang. After a moment more, Novi finally spoke. “Master?” she said nervously in her usual, submissive tone. “Y — you have come early, Master. Is Master displeased with Novi?”
Even now, Gendibal almost smiled; he really had missed her these last few days, after their long journey together. Gendibal had taken her with him on that mission as a sort of warning system, against whatever force they had been searching for. If she had been manipulated the same as he, then it would almost certainly have left more traces than in his own mind. The Second Foundation might even learn enough to reconstruct what had really happened.
That was one possibility. But there was another.
“No, Novi, I am not displeased with you,” he replied, his Hamish dialect without flaw. “I simply need your help.”
Novi brightened, finally looking at Gendibal directly. “Oh, anything for Master!” Gendibal had eventually come to wish Novi would use his name, but she had always refused.
He remained focused. “All I need you to do is close your eyes, Novi. Just close your eyes and relax.”