“Madam Quintana,” said Daneel, “you remember, I imagine, the incident of the blaster fired at the balcony last night after the banquet.”
“I certainly do. What’s more, I know it was a humanoid robot who held the blaster, even though we are not admitting that officially. Yet here I sit with two robots on the other side of the desk and have no protection. And one of you is humanoid too.”
“I have no blaster, madam,” said Daneel, smiling.
“I trust not.—That other humanoid robot did not look at all like you, Daneel. You’re rather a work of art, do you know that?”
“I am complexly programmed, madam.”
“I mean, your appearance. But what about the blasting incident?”
“Madam, that robot has a base somewhere on Earth and I must know where it is—I have come from Aurora in order to find that base and prevent such incidents as may disturb the peace between our worlds. I have reason to believe—”
“You have come? Not the captain? Not Madam Gladia?”
“We, madam,” said Daneel. “Giskard and I. I am in no position to tell you the whole story of how we came to have undertaken the task and there is no way in which I can tell you the name of the human being under whose instructions we work.”
“Well! International espionage! How fascinating. What a pity I can’t help you, but I don’t know where the robot came from. I haven’t any idea at all where his base might be. I don’t even know why you have come to me for such information, as a matter of fact. I should have gone to the Department of Security had I been you, Daneel.” She leaned toward him. “Do you have real skin on your face, Daneel? It’s an extraordinary imitation if it isn’t.” She reached toward him and her hand rested delicately on his cheek. “It even feels right.”
“Nevertheless, madam, it is not real skin. It does not heal of its own accord—if cut. On the other hand, a tear can easily be welded closed or a patch can even be replaced.”
“Ugh,” said Quintana, with a wrinkle of her nose. “But our business is over, for I can’t help you as far as that blaster user is concerned. I know nothing.”
Daneel said, “Madam, let me explain further. This robot may be part of a group that is interested in the early energy producing process you described last night—fission. Assume this is so, that there are those interested in fission and in the content of uranium and thorium in the crust. What might be a convenient place for them to use as a base?”
“An old uranium mine, perhaps? I don’t even know where one might be located. You must understand, Daneel, that Earth has an almost superstitious aversion to anything nuclear—fission, in particular. You’ll find almost nothing about fission in our popular works on energy and only bare essentials in technical products for experts. Even I know very little, but then I’m an administrator, not a scientist.”
Daneel said, “One more item, then, madam. We questioned the would-be assassin, as to the location of his base and did so most strenuously. He was programmed to undergo permanent inactivation, a total freezing of his brain paths, in such a case—and he did inactivate. Before doing so, however, in his final struggle between answering and inactivation, he opened his mouth three times as though—possibly—to say three syllables, or three words, or three groups of words, of any combination of these. The second syllable, or word, or mere sound was “mile.” Does this mean anything to you as having anything at all to do with fission?”
Slowly Quintana shook her head. “No. I can’t say it does. It’s certainly not a word you’ll find in a dictionary of Standard Galactic. I’m sorry, Daneel. It’s pleasant meeting you again, but I have a desk full of trivia to work through. You’ll excuse me.”
Daneel said, as though he hadn’t heard her, “I was told, madam, that ‘mile’ might be an archaic expression that refers to some ancient unit of length, one that is possibly longer than a kilometer.”
“That sounds totally irrelevant,” said Quintana, “even if true. What would a robot from Aurora know about archaic expressions and ancient—” She stopped abruptly. Her eyes widened and her face lost color.
She said, “Is it possible?”
“Is what possible, madam?” asked Daneel.
“There is a place,” said Quintana, half-lost in thought, “that is avoided by everyone—Earthpeople and Earth robots alike. If I wanted to be dramatic, I would say it was a place of ill omen. It is so ill-omened that is has been all but wiped out of conscious existence. It is not even included in maps. It is the quintessence of all that fission means. I remember coming across it in a very old reference film in my early days on this job. It was talked about constantly then as the site of an ‘incident’ that forever turned the minds of Earthpeople against fission as an energy source. The place is called Three Mile Island.”
Daneel said, “An isolated place then, absolutely isolated and free from any possible intrusion; the sort of place one would surely come across when working one’s way through ancient reference material on fission and would then recognize at once as an ideal base where absolute secrecy was required; and with a three-word name of which ‘mile’ is the second word. That must be the place, madam.—Could you tell us how to get there and could you arrange some way of allowing us to leave the City and be taken to Three Mile Island or its nearest possible vicinity?”
Quintana smiled. She seemed younger when she smiled. “Clearly, if you are dealing with an interesting case of interstellar espionage, you can’t afford to waste time, can you?”
“No. Indeed we cannot, madam.”
“Well, then, it comes within the purview of my duties to take a look at Three Mile Island. Why don’t I take you by air-car? I can handle an air-car.”
“Madam, your work load—”
“No one will touch it. It will still be here when I return.”
“But you would be leaving the City—”
“And if so? These are not old times. In the bad old days of Spacer domination, Earthpeople never left their Cities, it’s true, but we’ve been moving outward and settling the Galaxy for nearly twenty decades. There are still some of the less educated who maintain the old provincial attitude, but most of us have become quite mobile. There’s always the feeling, I suppose, that we might eventually join some Settler group. I myself don’t intend to, but I fly my own air-car frequently and five years ago I flew to Chicago and then, eventually, flew back.—Sit here. I’ll make the arrangements.”
She left, very much a whirlwind.
Daneel looked after her and murmured, “Friend Giskard, that, somehow, did not seem characteristic of her. Have you done something?”
Giskard said, “A bit. It seemed to me when we entered that the young woman who showed us in was attracted by your appearance. I was certain that there had been the same factor in Madam Quintana’s mind last night at the banquet, though I was too far from her and there were too many others in the room for me to be sure. Once our conversation with her began, however, the attraction was unmistakable. Little by little, I strengthened it and each time she suggested the interview might come to an end, she seemed less determined—and at no time did she seriously object to your continuing it. Finally, she suggested the air-car because, I believe, she had reached the point where she could not bear to lose the chance to be with you for a while longer.”
“This may complicate matters for me,” said Daneel thoughtfully.
“It is in a good cause,” said Giskard. “Think of it in terms of the Zeroth Law.” Somehow he gave the impression, in saying so, that he would be smiling—if his face allowed such an expression.