When R. Giskard Reventlov triggered a machine to render Earth’s crust radioactive, the aim had been to drive the home planet’s population out of their metal caverns, sending them forth to conquer the galaxy. A laudable goal-but at what cost?
The starships of that era were primitive. Even if a herculean effort took away three million immigrants a year, it would have taken five thousand years to evacuate the planet, without taking into account natural replenishment. Yet the gradual increase in radioactivity probably rendered the soil poisonous within a century or so. The fatality rate, in any event, must have been appalling…and that only counted the human race, not a myriad other species that were doomed along with Earth.
No wonder Giskard committed suicide, despite having a Zeroth Law rationalization to sustain him. No robot could endure the burden of so many deaths. Just the thought of it would make any positronic brain quail. All robots would feel a powerful drive-whether they adhered to the new religion or the old one-to wipe away memory of this episode, erasing it for all time.
Contemplating this, she murmured at last, “Maybe humans weren’t the only ones marked by insanity.”
Across the small control room from her, Lodovic nodded. His voice was almost as subdued as hers.
“That is what I needed to hear you say, Dors.
“You see, I have come to realize that typical robotic humility can mask the very worst kind of arrogance-a conceit that we are fundamentally different from humans. Slaves often depict themselves as intrinsically more virtuous than their masters.
“But after all, did they not make us in their image? True, we have great powers and extensive lives, but does that really mean we can’t suffer from similar faults? Isn’t it possible for us to be equally crazy? To be out of our positronic minds?”
He smiled, this time with a warmth-and sadness-that reminded her of Hari.
“Something happened to us twenty thousand years ago, Dors. It happened toall of us, not only humans. And we’ll never know the right thing to do, until we find the truth about those bygone days.”
7.
This time, for some reason, everyone watched the takeoff from Pengia through the vessel’s west-facing view ports. The pleasant little world-indistinguishable from millions of others-fell away below the Pride of Rhodia as they headed off toward their next destination, one that R. Gornon still refused to name.
“There is something I want to show you, Dr. Seldon,” the robot said, as the ship climbed along a spiral departure orbit.
Hari had been musing about young Jeni during liftoff. And that, in turn, made him think about all the other members of the Encyclopedia Foundation who were being herded aboard transports at this moment, to be sent to far-off Terminus. Was it just a month since he had finished recording messages to be played back on that distant world, at decisive moments determined by his equations-when a word of encouragement or gentle suggestion from the father of psychohistory might make a crucial difference toward the Foundation becoming a great and stable civilization? Now, his body might seem a bit younger, but Hari’s soul felt older.
“Please, Gornon. Just leave me alone.”
He felt a hand at his elbow.
“I am certain that you’ll want to see this, Professor. If you’d just come to the east-facing view port.”
The suggestion. for some reason, struck Hari as impertinent. He was getting sick and tired of being pushed around by this damn Calvinian! But before he could voice a sharp putdown, Gornon added
“I believe I can show you the solution to one of your most vexing psychohistorical problems. Something that has puzzled you for decades. If you’ll strive to overcome the sensations that are now churning within you, I’m certain the effort will be rewarded.”
Surprised by Gornon’s words, Hari let himself be led to the indicated port, diametrically opposite from where Maserd and Horis were staring at the view below. “This had better be worth it,” Hari muttered.
He gave the magnified scene a perfunctory look, but could perceive no difference from what Horis and Maserd saw-a receding planet below, and a diffuse spray of untwinkling stars above.
“I don’t see anything. If this is some kind of a joke-”
“Be assured, it will be everything I promised. But first you must allow me to take liberties.”
Hari saw the robot hold forth a shimmering object, shaped like a close-fitting skullcap made of countless luminous gems. Gornon moved to place it on Hari’s head.
“Get that thingaway, you mannequin of rusty-”
R. Gornon did not relent.
“I’m sorry, Professor, but your command is invalid. It does not come from your native human will. Therefore, it can be overridden for a greater good. This won’t hurt.”
Gornon was so implacably strong that his gentle insistence caused no pain as he slid the skullcap over Hari’s head and drew him irresistibly back to the window.
Hari abruptly felt all his rancorous irritability wash away.What’s happening to me?
“Now please look again, Professor.”
Hari shivered. He had spent years in the company of robots, knowing a secret shared by few other humans, and even living as husband to one of them. Yet he still found mentalic interference disturbing.
“What is this thing doing to me?” He felt calmer than before, yet worried.
“It’s not controlling you, Professor. Rather, it is ashield, sheltering your mind from a powerful influence pervading this region.”
Gornon pointed with a long finger toward a patch of space they had both glanced at just moments before. This time, when Hari looked, he saw something that hadn’t been there before! At least, he had not noticed it.
He stared at some kind of orbiting platform, perhaps like those used for relaying communications around a planetary surface, or for trans-shipping special cargoes. Only this one showed no sign of airlocks or complex antennae. At Gornon’s command, the view screen magnified its surface, so heavily pitted with micrometeorite scars that its great age was suddenly apparent.
It looks like a cousin to those terraformers we saw back in the Thumartin Nebula,he thought.Perhaps the relic has been drifting here for thousands of years.
But then why the mystery? Why didn’t I notice it the first time?
He felt Gornon watching him. Hari had never liked taking tests, which was one reason why he rushed through graduate school by age twelve-to become the teacher instead of the pupil. Now he felt the pressure of expectation.
What did Gornon just promise? An answer to one of my most bothersome questions?
Well, there was the problem ofdamping coefficients. Fully understanding all the factors that Daneel had used to keep the Galactic Empire stable and safe for humanity, across fifteen thousand years. Hari understood howbao jin traditions and master-apprentice systems enhanced conservatism. The five-caste social structure contributed elegantly. So did the skillfully designed linguistic assumptions inherent in Galactic Standard, a language filled with so many redundancies that it accepted new words and new thoughts only at a glacial pace.
Nevertheless, there remained a problem. None of it was sufficient. Nothing yet explained how twenty-five million worlds could stay static and serene for so long.
“Are you saying…that thing out there”
Hari reached up and lifted one edge of the skullcap. A wave of emotions fluxed. He suddenly resented the robot deeply, and wanted nothing better than to turn away from this panorama. To return to his friends at the west-facing view port.
Hari let the flap drop back in place. The irritation vanished. In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “Mentalic suasion! Of course. If Daneel and some of his comrades can do it, why not mass-produce a specialized positronic brain for each world? twenty-five million isn’t such a great number, especially if you have thousands of years.”