Amadiro nodded. “I suppose she might have had something like that in mind. Right now, though, it’s hard to tell what she has in mind. She seems, superficially at least, undamaged except for the specific loss of memory—she apparently remembers everything else—but who knows how this will affect her deeper thought processes and her skill as a roboticist? That Giskard could do this to someone as skilled as she makes him an incredibly dangerous phenomenon.
“Does it occur to you, Dr. Amadiro, that the Settlers may be right in their distrust of robots?”
“It almost does, Mandamus.”
Mandamus rubbed his hands together. “I assume from your depressed attitude that this whole business was not uncovered before they had time to leave Aurora.”
“You assume correctly. That Settler captain has the Solarian woman and both of her robots on his ship and is heading toward Earth.”
“And where does that leave us now?”
Slowly Amadiro said, “By no means defeated, it seems to me. If we complete our project, we have won—Giskard or no Giskard. And we can complete it. Whatever Giskard can do with and to emotions, he can’t read thoughts. He might be able to tell when a wash of emotion crosses a human mind, or even distinguish one emotion from another, or change one to another, or induce sleep or amnesia—dull edged things like that. He cannot be sharp, however, cannot make out actual words or ideas.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“So said Vasilia.”
“She may not have known what she was talking about. She did not, after all, manage to control the robot, as she said she was sure of doing. That’s not much of a testimonial to her accuracy of understanding.”
“Yet I believe her in this. To actually be able to read thoughts would demand so much complexity in the positronic pathway pattern that it is totally unlikely that a child could have inserted it into the robot over twenty decades ago. It is actually far beyond even the present-day state of the art, Mandamus. Surely you must agree.”
“I would certainly think it was. And they’re going to Earth?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Would this woman, brought up as she was, actually go to Earth?”
“She has no choice if Giskard controls her.”
“And why should Giskard want her to go to Earth? Can he know about our project? You seem to think he doesn’t.”
“It is possible he doesn’t. His motivation for going to Earth might be nothing more than to place himself and the Solarian woman beyond our reach.”
“I shouldn’t think he’d fear us if he could handle Vasilia.”
“A long-range weapon,” said Amadiro icily, “could bring him down. His own abilities must have a limited range. They can be based on nothing other than the electromagnetic field and he must be subject to the inverse square law. So we get out of range as the intensity of his powers weaken, but he will then find that he is not out of range of our weapons.”
Mandamus frowned and looked uneasy. “You seem to have an un-Spacer liking for violence, Dr. Amadiro. In a cast like this, though, I suppose force would be permissible.
“A case like this? A robot capable of harming human beings? I should think so. We’ll have to find a pretext for sending a good ship in pursuit. It wouldn’t be wise to explain the actual situation—”
“No,” said Mandamus emphatically. “Think of how many would wish to have personal control of such a robot.”
“Which we can’t allow. And which is another reason why I would look upon destruction of the robot as the safer and preferable course of action.”
“You may be right,” said Mandamus reluctantly, “but I don’t think it wise to count on this destruction only. I must go to Earth—now. The project must be hastened to its conclusion, even if we don’t dot every ‘I’ and cross every ‘T.’” Once it is done, then it is done. Even a mind-handling robot—under anybody’s control—will not be able to undo the deed. And if it does anything else, that, perhaps, will no longer matter.”
Amadiro said, “Don’t speak in the singular. I will go as well.”
“You? Earth is a horrible world. I must go, but why you?”
“Because I must go, too. I cannot stay here any longer and wonder. You have not waited for this through a long lifetime as I have, Mandamus. You do not have the accounts to settle that I have.”
73
Gladia was in space again and once again Aurora could be made out as a globe. D.G. was busy elsewhere and the entire ship had about it a vague but pervasive air of emergency, as though it were on a battle footing, as though it were being pursued or expected pursuit.
Gladia shook her head. She could think clearly; she felt well; but when her mind turned back to that time in the Institute, shortly after Amadiro had left her, a curiously pervasive unreality swept over her. There was a gap in time. One moment she had been sitting on the couch, feeling sleepy; the next there were four robots and a woman in the room who had not been there before.
She had fallen asleep, then, but there was no awareness, no memory, that she had done so. There was a gap of nonexistence.
Thinking back, she had recognized the woman after the fact. It was Vasilia Aliena—the daughter whom Gladia had replaced in the affections of Han Fastolfe. Gladia had never actually seen Vasilia, though she had viewed her on hyperwave several times. Gladia always thought of her as a distant and inimical other self. There was the vague similarity in appearance that others always commented on but that Gladia herself insisted she did not see—and there was the odd, antithetical connection with Fastolfe.
Once they were on the ship and she was alone with her robots, she asked the inevitable question. “What was Vasilia Aliena doing in the room and why was I permitted to sleep once she had arrived?”
Daneel said, “Madam Gladia, I will answer the question, since it is a matter friend Giskard would find difficult to discuss.”
“Why should he find it difficult, Daneel?”
“Madam Vasilia arrived in the hope that she might persuade Giskard to enter her service.”
“Away from me?” said Gladia in sharp indignation. She did not entirely like Giskard, but that made no difference. What was hers was hers. “And you allowed me to sleep while you two handled the matter by yourselves?”
“We felt, madam, that you needed your sleep badly. Then, too, Madam Vasilia ordered us to allow you to sleep. Finally, it was our opinion that Giskard would not, in any case, join her service. For all these reasons, we did not wake you.”
Gladia said indignantly, “I should hope that Giskard would not for a moment consider leaving me. It would be illegal both by Auroran law and, more important, by the Three Laws of Robotics. It would be a good deed to return to Aurora and have her arraigned before the Court of Claims.”
“That would not be advisable at the moment, my lady.”
“What was her excuse for wanting Giskard? Did she have one?”
“When she was a child, Giskard had been assigned to her.
“Legally?”
“No, madam. Dr. Fastolfe merely allowed her the use of it.
“Then she had no right to Giskard.”
“We pointed that out, madam. Apparently, it was a matter of sentimental attachment on the part of Madam Vasilia.”
Gladia sniffed. “Having survived the loss of Giskard since before I came to Aurora, she might well have continued as she was without going to illegal lengths to deprive me of my property,”—Then, restlessly, “I should have been awakened.”