“Oh, by all means,” murmured Amadiro.
“And it turns out, quite clearly—I will show you all the necessary data at any time you wish—that uranium and thorium collect in Earth’s crust and upper mantle in concentrations of up to a thousand times as high as in any other habitable world. Moreover, they collect unevenly, so that scattered over the Earth are occasional pockets where uranium and thorium are even more concentrated.”
“And, I take it, dangerously high in radioactivity?”
“No, Dr. Amadiro. Uranium and thorium are very weakly radioactive and even where they are relatively concentrated, they are not very concentrated in an absolute sense.—All this, I repeat, is because of the presence of a large moon.”
“I assume, then, that the radioactivity, even if not intense enough to be dangerous to life, does suffice to increase the mutation rate. Is that it, Dr. Mandamus?”
“That is it. There would be more rapid extinctions now and then, but also more rapid development of new species—resulting in an enormous variety and profusion of life-forms. And, eventually, on Earth alone, this would have reached the point of developing an intelligent species and a civilization.”
Amadiro nodded. The young man was not a crank. He might be wrong, but he was not a crank. And he might be right, too—
Amadiro was not a planetologist, so he would have to check books on the subject to see whether Mandamus had perhaps discovered only the already-known, as so many enthusiasts did. There was, however, a more important point he had to check at once.
He said in a soft voice, “You’ve spoken of the possible destruction of Earth. Is there some connection between that and Earth’s unique properties?”
“One can take advantage of unique properties in a unique manner,” said Mandamus just as softly.
“In this particular case—in what way?”
“Before discussing the method, Dr. Amadiro, I must explain that, in one respect, the question as to whether destruction is physically possible depends on you.”
“On me?”
“Yes,” said Mandamus firmly. “On you. Why, otherwise, should I come to you with this long story if not to persuade you that I know what I’m talking about, so that you would be willing to cooperate with me in a manner that will be essential to my success?”
Amadiro drew a long breath. “And if I refused, would anyone else serve your purpose?”
“It might be possible for me to turn to others if you refuse. Do you refuse?”
“Perhaps not, but I am wondering how essential I am to you.”
“The answer is, not quite as essential as I am to you. You must cooperate with me.”
“Must?”
“I would like you to—if you prefer it phrased in that fashion. But if you wish Aurora and the Spacers to triumph, now and forever, over Earth and the Settlers, then you must cooperate with me, whether you like the phrase or not.”
Amadiro said, “Tell me what it is, exactly, that I must do.”
“Begin by telling me if it is not true that the Institute has, in the past, designed and constructed humanoid robots.”
“Yes, we did. Fifty of them all together. That was between fifteen and twenty decades ago.”
“That long ago? And what happened to them?”
“They failed,” said Amadiro indifferently.
Mandamus sat back in his chair with a horrified expression on his face. “They were destroyed?”
Amadiro’s eyebrows shot upward. “Destroyed? No one destroys expensive robots. They are in storage. The power units are removed and a special long-lived microfusion battery is in each to keep the positronic paths minimally alive.”
“Then they can be brought back to full action?”
“I am sure they can.”
Mandamus’s right hand beat out a tightly controlled rhythm against the arm of the chair. He said grimly, “Then we can win!”
12. THE PLAN AND THE DAUGHTER
52
It had been a long time since Amadiro had thought of the humanoid robots. It was a painful thought and he had, with some difficulty, trained himself to keep his mind away from that topic. And now Mandamus had unexpectedly brought it up.
The humanoid robot had been Fastolfe’s great trump card in those long-gone days when Amadiro had been within a millimeter of taking the game, trump card and all. Fastolfe had designed and built two humanoid robots (of which one still existed) and no one else could build any. The entire membership of the Robotics Institute, working together, could not build them.
All that Amadiro had salvaged out of his great defeat had been that trump card. Fastolfe had been forced to make public the nature of the humanoid design.
That meant humanoid robots could be built and were built and—behold—they were not wanted. The Aurorans would not have them in their society.
Amadiro’s mouth twisted in the remnant of remembered chagrin. The tale of the Solarian woman had somehow come to be known—the fact that she had had the use of Jander, one of Fastolfe’s two humanoid robots, and that the use had been sexual. Aurorans had no objection to such a situation in theory. When they stopped to think of it, however, Auroran women simply did not enjoy the thought of having to compete with robot women. Nor did Auroran men wish to compete with robot men.
The Institute had labored mightily to explain that the humanoid robots were not intended for Aurora itself, but were meant to serve as the initial wave of pioneers who would seed and adjust new habitable planets for Aurorans to occupy later, after they had been terraformed.
That, too, was rejected, as suspicion and objection fed on itself. Someone had called the humanoids “the entering wedge.” The expression spread and the Institute was forced to give up.
Stubbornly, Amadiro had insisted on mothballing those which existed for possible future use—a use that had never yet materialized.
Why had there been this objection to the humanoids?
Amadiro felt a faint return of the irritation that had all but poisoned his life those n any decades ago. Fastolfe himself, though reluctant, had agreed to back the project and, to do him justice, had done so, though without quite the eloquence he devoted to those matters to which his heart was truly given.—But it had not helped.
And yet—and yet—if Mandamus now really had some project in mind that would work and would require the robots.
Amadiro had no great fondness for mystical cries of: “It was better so. It was meant to be.” Yet it was only with an effort that he kept himself from thinking this, as the elevator took them down to a spot well below ground level the only place in Aurora that might be similar, in a tiny way, to Earth’s fabled Caves of Steel.
Mandamus stepped out of the elevator at Amadiro’s gesture and found himself in a dim corridor. It was chilly and there was a soft ventilating wind. He shivered slightly. Amadiro joined him. But a single robot followed each.
“Few people come here,” Amadiro said matter-of-factly.
“How far underground are we?” asked Mandamus.
“About fifteen meters. There are a number of levels. It is on this one that the humanoid robots are stored.”
Amadiro stopped a moment, as though in thought, then turned firmly to the left. “This way!”
“No directing signs?”
“As I said, few people come here. Those who do know where they should go to find what they need.”
As he said that, they came to a door that looked solid and formidable in the dim light. On either side stood a robot. They were not humanoid.
Mandamus regarded them critically and said, “These are simple models.”
“Very simple. You wouldn’t expect us to waste anything elaborate on the task of guarding a door.” Amadiro raised his voice, but kept it impassive. “I am Kelden Amadiro.”