by Isaac Asimov
Though out, Daneel and Giskard had been ignored. This, Gladia realized, was a kindness. Robots were no longer allowed within City limits, though there were millions in the countryside without. To have made a point of the presence of Daneel and Giskard would have meant raising the legal issue that involved. It was easier to pretend, tactfully, that they weren’t there.
Once the banquet began, they sat quietly at a table with D.G., not too far removed from the dais. At the dais, Gladia sat, eating sparingly and wondering if the food would give her dysentery.
D.G., perhaps not entirely pleased with his relegation to the post of keeper of the robots, kept staring restlessly in Gladia’s direction and, occasionally, she lifted one hand and smiled at him.
Giskard, equally watchful of Gladia, had an opportunity to say to Daneel very quietly, under cover of the relentless and unending background clash of cutlery and babble, “Friend Daneel, these are high officials that sit here in this room. It is possible that one or more may have information of use to us.”
“It is possible, friend Giskard. Can you, thanks to your abilities, guide me in this respect?”
“I cannot. The mental background yields me no specific emotional response of interest. Nor does the occasional flash among the nearest show me anything. Yet the climax of the crisis is, I am certain, approaching quickly, even as we sit here, idle.”
Daneel said gravely, “I will try to do as Partner Elijah would have done and force the pace.”
85
Daneel was not eating. He watched the assemblage with his calm eyes and located the one he was searching for. Quietly, he rose and moved toward another table, his eyes on a woman who was managing to eat briskly and yet maintain a cheerful conversation with the man on her left. She was a stocky woman, with short hair that showed definite traces of gray. Her face, if not youthful, was pleasant.
Daneel waited for a natural break in the conversation and when that did not come, he said with an effort, “Madam, may I interrupt?”
She looked up at him, startled and plainly displeased. “Yes,” she said rather briskly, “what is it?”
“Madam,” said Daneel, “I ask your pardon for this interruption, but may I have your permission to speak with you for a time?”
She stared at him, frowning for a moment, and then her expression softened. She said, “I should guess, from your excessive politeness, that you’re the robot, aren’t you?”
“I am one of Madam Gladia’s robots, madam.”
“Yes, but you’re the human one. You’re R. Daneel Olivaw.”
“That is my name, madam.”
The woman turned to the man on her left and said, “Please excuse me. I can’t very well refuse this—robot.”
Her neighbor smiled uncertainly and transferred his attention to the place before him.
The woman said to Daneel, “If you have a chair, why don’t you bring it here? I will be glad to speak to you.”
“Thank you, madam.”
When Daneel had returned and seated himself, she said, “You are really R. Daneel Olivaw, aren’t you?”
“That is my name, madam,” said Daneel, again.
“I mean the one who worked with Elijah Baley long ago. You’re not a new model of the same line? You’re not R. Daneel the Fourth or something like that?”
Daneel said, “Mere is little of me that has not been replaced in the past twenty decades—or even modernized and improved but my positronic brain is the same as it was when I worked with Partner Elijah on three different worlds—and once on a spaceship. It has not been altered.”
“Well!” She looked at—him admiringly. “You’re certainly a good job. If all robots were like you, I’d see no objection to them whatever.—What is it you want to talk to me about?”
“When you were introduced to Lady Gladia, madam, before we all took our seats, you were presented to her as the Undersecretary of Energy, Sophia Quintana.”
“You remember well. That is my name and my office.”
“Does the office refer to all of Earth or merely to the city?”
“I’m Global Undersecretary, I assure you.”
“Then you are knowledgeable in the field of energetics?”
Quintana smiled. She did not seem to object to being questioned. Perhaps she thought it amusing or perhaps she found herself attracted to Daneel’s air of deferential gravity or to the mere fact that a robot could question her so. In any case, she said with a smile, “I majored in energetics at the University of California and have a master’s degree in it. As to how knowledgeable I still am, I’m not certain. I’ve spent too many years as an administrator—something that saps one’s brains, I assure you.”
“But you would be well acquainted with the practical aspects of Earth’s present energy supply, would you not?”
“Yes. That I will admit to. Is there something you want to know about it?”
“There is something that piques my curiosity, madam.”
“Curiosity? In a robot?”
Daneel bowed his head. “If a robot is complex enough, he can be aware of something within himself that seeks information. This is analogous to what I have observed to be called ‘curiosity’ in human beings and I take the liberty of using the same word in connection with my own feelings.”
“Fair enough. What are you curious about, R. Daneel? May I call you that?”
“Yes, madam. I understand that Earth’s energy supply is drawn from solar power stations in geostationary orbit in Earth’s equatorial plane.”
“You understand correctly.”
“But are these power stations the sole energy supply of this planet?”
“No. They are the primary—but not the sole—energy supply. There is considerable use of energy from Earth’s internal heat, from winds, waves, tides, flowing water, and so on. We have quite a complex mix and each variety has its advantages. Solar energy is the mainstay, however.”
“You make no mention of nuclear energy, madam. Are there no uses for microfusion?”
Quintana raised her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re curious about, R. Daneel?”
“Yes, madam. What is the reason for the absence of nuclear power sources on Earth?”
“They are not absent, R. Daneel. On a small scale, one comes across it. Our robots—we have many in the countryside, you know—are micro fusionized. Are you, by the way?”
Daneel said, “Yes, madam.”
“Then, too,” she went on, “there are microfusionized machines here and there, but the total is quite trifling.”
“Is it not true, Madam Quintana, that microfusion energy sources are sensitive to the action of nuclear intensifiers?”
“They certainly are. Yes, of course. The microfusion power source will blow up and I suppose that comes under the heading of being sensitive.”
“Then it isn’t possible for someone, using a nuclear intensifier, to seriously cripple some crucial portion of Earth’s energy supply?”
Quintana laughed. “No, of course not. In the first place, I don’t see anyone dragging a nuclear intensifier about from place to place. They weigh tons and I don’t think they can be maneuvered through and along the streets and corridors of a City. Certainly, it would be noticed if anyone tried. And then, even if a nuclear intensifier were brought into play, all it could do would be to destroy a few robots and a few machines before the thing would be discovered and stopped. There is no chance at all—zero—of our being hurt in that way. Is that the reassurance you wanted, R. Daneel?”
It was almost a dismissal.
Daneel said, “There are just one or two small points I would like clarified, Madam Quintana. Why is there no large microfusion source on Earth? The Spacer worlds all depend on microfusion and so do all the Settler worlds. Microfusion is portable, versatile, and cheap—and doesn’t require the enormous effort of maintenance, repair, and replacement that space structures do.”
“And, as you said, R. Daneel, they are sensitive to nuclear intensifiers.”
“And, as you said, Madam Quintana, nuclear intensifiers are too large and bulky to be of much use.”
Quintana smiled broadly and nodded. “You are very intelligent, R. Daneel,” she said. “It never occurred to me that I would ever sit at a table and carry on a discussion like this with a robot. Your Auroran roboticists are very clever too clever—for I fear to carry on this discussion. I’d have to worry about you taking my place in the government. You know, we do have a legend about a robot named Stephen Byerly taking a high post in the government.”
“That must be merely fiction, Madam Quintana,” said Daneel gravely. “There are no robots in governmental posts on any of the Spacer worlds. We are merely—robots.”
“I’m relieved to hear that and will therefore go on. The matter of differences in power sources has its roots in history. At the time that hyperspatial travel was developed, we had microfusion, so that people leaving Earth took microfusion power sources with them. It was necessary on spaceships and on planets, too, in the generations during which they were being adapted for human occupation. It takes many years to build an adequate complex of solar power stations—and rather than undertake such a task, the emigrants remained with microfusion. So it was with the Spacer’s in their time, and so it is now with the Settlers.
“On Earth, however, microfusion and solar power in space were developed at roughly the same time and both were used more and more. Finally, we could make our choice and use either microfusion or solar power or, of course, both. And we chose solar power.”
Daneel said, “That seems strange to me, Madam Quintana. Why not both?”
“Actually, that’s not a very difficult question to answer, R. Daneel. Earth, in prehyperspatial days, had had experience with a primitive form of nuclear energy, and it wasn’t a happy experience. When the time came to choose between solar power and microfusion, Earthpeople saw microfusion as a form of nuclear energy and turned away from it. Other worlds, which did not have our direct experience with the primitive form of nuclear energy, had no reason to turn away from microfusion.”
“May I ask what this primitive form of nuclear energy to which you refer might be, madam?”
“Uranium fission,” said Quintana. “It’s completely different from microfusion. Fission involves the splitting of massive nuclei, such as those of uranium. Microfusion involves the joining of light nuclei, such as those of hydrogen. They’re both forms of nuclear energy, however.”
“I presume that uranium would be the fuel for fission devices.”
“Yes—or other massive nuclei, such as those of thorium or plutonium.”
“But uranium and these others are exceedingly rare metals. Could they support a fission-using society?”
“Those elements are rare on other worlds. On Earth, they are not exactly common, but neither are they terribly rare. Uranium and thorium are widely spread in the crust in small quantities and are concentrated in a few places.”
“And are there any fission-power devices on Earth now, madam?”
“No,” said Quintana flatly. “Nowhere and in no fashion. Human beings would far sooner burn oil—or even wood—than fission uranium. The very word ‘uranium’ is taboo in polite society. You wouldn’t be asking me these questions or I giving you these answers if you were a human being and an Earthman.”
Daneel persisted. “But are you certain, madam? Is there no secret device that makes use of fission that, for the sake of national security—”
“No, robot,” said Quintana, frowning. “I tell you—no such device. None!”
Daneel rose. “I thank you, madam, and I ask your pardon for taking your time and for probing what would seem to be a sensitive subject. With your permission, I shall leave you now.”
Quintana waved a careless hand. “You’re welcome, R. Daneel.”
She turned again to her neighbor, secure in the knowledge that in the crowds of Earth, people never attempted to overhear a nearby conversation or, if they did, never admitted the fact. She said, “Would you imagine having a discussion on energetics with a robot?”
As for Daneel, he returned to his original place and said softly to Giskard, “Nothing, friend Giskard. Nothing helpful.”
Then he added sadly, “Perhaps I asked the wrong questions. Partner Elijah would have asked the right ones.”
17. THE ASSASSIN
86
Secretary-General Edgar Andrev, chief executive of Earth, was a rather tall and imposing man, clean-shaven in the Spacer style. He moved always in a measured fashion, as though on constant display, and he had a twinkling way about him as though he was always very pleased with himself. His voice was a bit too high-pitched for his body but it fell well short of being squeaky. Without seeming obdurate, he was not easily swayed.
And he wasn’t this time. “Impossible,” he said firmly to D.G. “She must make her appearance.”
“She’s had a hard day, Secretary-General,” said D.G. “She is not accustomed to crowds or to these surroundings. I am responsible to Baleyworld for her well-being and my personal honor is at stake.”
“I appreciate your position,” said Andrev, “but I represent, and I cannot deny Earthpeople their view of her. The corridors are filled, the hyperwave channels are ready, and I would not be able to hide her, even if I desperately wished to do so. After this—and how long can it last? Half an hour?—she can retire and she need not I make another appearance till her speech tomorrow night.”
“Her comfort must be cared for,” said D.G., tacitly abandoning his position. “She has to be kept at some distance from the crowd.”
“There will be a cordon of security guards that will give her ample breathing space. The front row of the crowd will be kept well back. They’re out there now. If we don’t announce that she will soon appear, there might well be disorder.
D.G. said, “It shouldn’t have been arranged. It isn’t safe. There are Earthpeople who aren’t fond of Spacers.”
The Secretary-General shrugged. “I wish you could tell me how I could possibly have kept it from being arranged. At the present moment she is a heroine and she cannot be withheld. Nor will anyone offer her anything but cheers for the moment. But if she doesn’t appear, that will change. Now, let us go.”
D.G. backed away discontentedly. He caught Gladia’s eye. She looked tired and more than a little unhappy.
He said, “You must, Gladia. There’s no way out.”
For a moment, she stared down at her hands as though wondering if they could do anything to protect her, then she straightened herself and lifted her chin—a small Spacer amid this horde of barbarians. “If I must, I must. Will you remain with me?”
“Unless they remove me physically.”
“And my robots?”
D.G. hesitated. “Gladia, how will two robots be able to help you in the midst of millions of human beings?”
“I know, D.G. And I also know that I will have to do without them eventually if I am to continue this mission of mine. But not just yet, please. For the moment, I will feel safer with them, whether that makes sense or not. If these Earth officials want me to acknowledge the crowd, to smile, to wave, to do whatever it is I am supposed to do, the presence of Daneel and Giskard will comfort me.—Look, D.G., giving in to them on a very big thing, even though I am so uneasy that I think nothing would be so nice as to run away. Let them give in to me on this very little thing.”
“I’ll try,” said D.G., in clear discouragement and, as he stepped toward Andrev, Giskard moved quietly with him.
A few minutes later, when Gladia, surrounded by a carefully picked contingent of officials, moved forward toward an open balcony, D.G. remained a little behind Gladia, flanked on his left by Giskard and on his right by Daneel.
The Secretary-General had said ruefully, “All right, all right. I don’t know how you managed to make me agree, but all right.” He rubbed his forehead, aware of a small vague ache in his right temple. For some reason he caught Giskard’s eye and turned away w
ith a stifled shudder. “But you must keep them motionless, Captain, remember. And please keep the one that looks like a robot as unobtrusive as you can. He makes me uneasy and I don’t want people any more aware of him than they have to be.”
D.G. said, “They will be looking at Gladia, Secretary General. They will see no one else.”
“I hope so,” said Andrev waspishly. He paused to take a message capsule someone placed in his hand. He put it into his pocket, then walked on and didn’t think of it again till they had reached the balcony.
87
To Gladia, it seemed that each time she moved into another scene, it grew worse—more people, more noise, more confusing light, more invasion of every sense perception.
There was shouting. She could hear her own name being shouted out. With difficulty, she overcame her own tendency to retreat and become immobile. She lifted her arm and waved it and smiled and the shouting became louder, someone began to speak, his voice booming out over the loudspeaker system, his image on a large screen high above them so that it could be visible to all the crowd. Undoubtedly, it was also visible on innumerable screens in innumerable meeting halls in every Section of every City on the planet.
Gladia sighed with relief at having someone else in the spotlight. She tried to shrink within herself and let the sound of the speaker distract the attention of the crowd.
Secretary-General Andrev, seeking cover under the voice, even as Gladia did, was rather thankful that, in giving precedence to Gladia, it had not seemed necessary for him to speak on this occasion. He suddenly remembered the message he had pocketed.
He frowned in sudden disturbance over what it might be that warranted the interruption of so important a ceremony and then experienced a reverse feeling of intense irritation over the fact that it would probably prove to be utterly unimportant.
He pressed the ball of his right thumb hard, against the slight concavity, designed to accept the pressure and the capsule opened. He removed the thin piece of plastipaper, read the message it contained, and then watched it crumble and fragment. He brushed away the impalpable powder that remained and gestured imperiously to D.G.