Nim thought feverishly. He still had one more payment due from that Olivaw guy. Keeping Olivaw informed all along had been easy. A violation of his contract with A2, but so what? A guy had to get by, right? It was just plain good luck that the president now wanted done what Olivaw had already paid for: deletion. No harm in collecting twice for the same job.
Or had seemed so. Nim chewed his lip. What did a bunch of digits matter, anyway?
Nim froze. Had the entire sim-restaurant, Garcon, street, Joan-gone in a flash? Usually they dissolved as functions died. A sim was complex and could not simply stop all the intricate interlayers, shutting down at once. But this interweave had been unprecedented, so maybe it was different.
“Done? Good!” The president crisply clapped him on the shoulder.
Nim felt tired, sad. Someday he would have to explain all this to Marq. Erasing so much work…
But Marq and Sybyl had disappeared into the crowds back at the coliseum. Wisely, they didn’t show up for work, or even go back to their apartments. They were on the run. And with them had gone the Junin renaissance, up in smoke as the Junin Sector burned and dissolved in discord and violence.
Even Nim felt a sadness at the smash up. The eager, passionate talk of a renaissance. They had looked to Joan and Voltaire for a kind of maturity in the eternal debate between Faith and Reason. But the Imperium suppressed passion, in the end. Too destabilizing.
Of course, the whole tiktok movement had to be squashed, too. He had sequestered Marq’s memory-complex about the debate of 8,000 years ago. Clearly “robots,” whatever they might be, would be too unsettling an issue to ever bring up in a rational society.
Nim sighed. He knew that he had merely edited away electrical circuits. Professionals always kept that firmly in mind.
Still, it was wrenching. To see it go. All trickled away, like grains of digital sand, down the obscure hourglass of simulated time.
Rendezvous
R. Daneel Olivaw allowed his face to express squint-eyed concern. The cramped room seemed barely able to contain his grim mood.
Still, Dors read this as a concession to her. She lived among humans and relied on their facial and body expressions, voluntary and unwilled alike. She had no idea where Olivaw spent most of his time. Perhaps there were enough robots to form a society? This idea she had never entertained. The instant she did, she wondered why she had never thought of it before. But now he spoke
“The simulations are quite dead?”
Dors kept her voice level, free of betraying emotion.
“So it seems.”
“What evidence?”
“Artifice Associates believes so.”
“The man I had hired there, named Nim, is not entirely certain.”
“He reports to you?”
“I need several inputs to any critical situation. I needed to discredit the tiktok freedom idea, the Junin renaissance-they are destabilizing. Acting through these simulations seemed a promising channel. I had not allowed for the fact that computerists of today are not as skilled as those of fifteen thousand years ago.”
Dors frowned. “This level of interference…is allowed?”
“Remember the Zeroth Law.”
She did not allow her distress to show in her face or voice. “I believe the simulations are erased.”
“Good. But we must be sure.”
“I have hired several sniffers to find traces of them in the Trantor Mesh. So far, nothing.”
“Does Hari know of your effort?”
“Of course not.”
Olivaw gazed at her steadily. “He must not. You and I must not merely keep him safe, to do his work. We must guide him.”
“Through deception.”
He had lapsed to the unnerving manner of not blinking or letting his eyes move. “It must be.”
“I do not like to mislead him.”
“On the contrary, you are correctly leading him. Through omissions.”
“I…encounter emotional difficulty…”
“Blocks. Very human-and I mean that as a compliment.”
“I would prefer to deal with positive threats to Hari. To guard him, not to deceive him.”
“Of course.” Still no smile or gesture. “But it must be this way. We live in the most ominous era of all Galactic history.”
“Hari is beginning to suspect so, too.”
“The rise of the New Renaissance on Sark is a further danger, one of many we face. But this excavation of ancient simulations is even worse. The Junin disorders are but an early signature of what could come. Such research could lead to the engineering of a new race of robots. This cannot be allowed, for it would interfere with our mission.”
“I understand. I tried to destroy the simulation ferrite blocks-”
“I know, it was all in your report. Do not blame yourself.”
“I would like to help more, but I am consumed by defending Hari.”
“I understand. If it is any consolation, the reemergence of simulations was inevitable.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“I told you of a simple theory of history, one we have operated under for over ten thousand years. A crude psychohistory. It predicted that the simulations I-well, we-suppressed eight thousand years ago would find an audience here.”
“Your theory is that good?”
“As Hari remarks, history repeats itself, but it does not stutter. I knew it was impossible to erase all copies of simulations, throughout the galaxy.” He steepled his hands and peered at them, as if contemplating a structure. “When social ferment develops a taste for such things, they once more appear upon the menu of history.”
“I am sorry I could not arrange their destruction.”
“There are forces at work here you cannot counter. Do not sorrow for turns of the weather. Await instead the long, slow coming of the climate.”
Olivaw reached out and touched her hand. She studied his face. Apparently for her ease he had returned to full facial expression, including consistent movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. Minor computations, but she appreciated the touch.
“I can devote myself solely to his safety, then? Forget the simulations?”
“Yes. They are my matter. I must find a way to defuse their impact. They are robust. I knew them, used them, long ago.”
“How can they be more stalwart than us?-than you?”
“They are simulated humans. I am a separate sort. So are you.”
“You were able to be First Minister-”
“I functioned as a kind of partial human. That is an insightful way of regarding ourselves. I recommend it to you.”
“Partial?”
He said gently, “There is much you do not do.”
“I pass as human. I can converse, work-”
“Friendships, family, the complex webbing that denotes humans’ ability to move from the individual to the collective, striking a balance-all these subtle crafts lie beyond us.”
“I don’t want to-”
“Precisely. You are subtly aimed at your target.”
“But you ruled. As First Minister-”
“I had reached my limit. So I left.”
“The Empire ran well under your-”
“It decayed further. As Hari expected, and our crude theory failed to predict.”
“And why did you tell Cleon to make him First Minister?” she blurted out.
“He must be in a position which will give him freedom of movement and power to make corrections in Imperial policies, as he comes to understand psychohistory better. He can be a temporary stopgap of great potency.”
“It may deflect him from psychohistory itself.”
“No. Hari will find a way to use that experience. One of his facets-which emerges strongly in his class of intellect-is his ability to learn from the seasoning of life.”
“Hari doesn’t want the First Ministership.”
“So?” He lifted an eyebrow, puzzled.
“Shouldn’t his own feelings matter?”