Giskard said, “You have an appointment, madam, with one Levular Mandamus.”
“I have? When did that happen?”
“An hour ago. He photophoned and I took the liberty—”
“You took the liberty? Who is he?”
“He is a member of the Robotics Institute, madam.”
“He’s an underling of Kelden Amadiro, then.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Understand, Giskard, that I am not in the least interested in seeing this Mandamus or anyone with any connection with that poisonous toad Amadiro. So if you’ve taken the liberty of making an appointment with him in my name, take the further liberty right now of phoning him again and canceling.”
“If you will confirm it as an order, madam, and make that order as strong and as definite as you can, I will try to obey. I may not be able to. In my judgment, you see, you will be doing yourself harm if you cancel the appointment and I must not allow you to come to harm through any action of mine.”
“Your judgment might just possibly be wrong, Giskard. Who is this man that my failure to see him will do me harm? His being a member of the Robotics Institute scarcely makes him important to me.”
Gladia was perfectly aware of the fact that she was venting spleen at Giskard without much justification. She had been upset by the news of Solaria’s abandonment and embarrassed by the ignorance that led her to look for Solaria in a sky that did not contain it.
Of course, it had been Daneel whose knowledge had made her own lack so obvious and yet she had not railed at him—but, then, Daneel looked human and so Gladia automatically treated him as though he were. Appearance was everything. Giskard looked like a robot, so one could easily assume he had no feelings to hurt.
And, to be sure, Giskard did not react at all to Gladia’s peevishness. (Neither would Daneel have reacted—if it came to that.) He said, “I have described Dr. Mandamus as a member of the Robotics Institute, but he is perhaps more than that. In the last few years, he has been right-hand man to Dr. Amadiro. This makes him important and he is not likely to be ignored. Dr. Mandamus would not be a good man to offend, madam.”
“Would he not, Giskard? I care nothing for Mandamus and a great deal less than nothing for Amadiro. I presume you remember that Amadiro once, when he and I and the world were young, did his best to prove that Dr. Fastolfe was a murderer and that it was only by a near-miracle that his machinations were aborted.”
“I remember it very well, madam.”
“That’s a relief. I was afraid that in twenty decades you had forgotten. In those twenty decades, I have had nothing to do with Amadiro or with anyone connected with him and I intend to continue that policy I don’t care what harm I may do myself or what the consequences might be. I will not see this Dr. whoever-he-is and, in the future, do not make appointments in my name without consulting me or, at the very least, without explaining that such appointments are subject to my approval.”
“Yes, madam,” said Giskard, “but may I point out—”
“No, you may not,” Gladia said and turned away from him.
There was silence while she moved away three steps and then Giskard’s calm voice said, “Madam, I must ask you to trust me.”
Gladia stopped. Why did he use that expression?
She heard again that long-ago voice, “I do not ask you to like him. I ask you to trust him.”
Her lips tightened and she, frowned. Reluctantly, not wanting to, she turned back.
“Welt,” she said ungraciously, “what is it you want to say, Giskard?”
“Just that as long as Dr. Fastolfe was alive, madam, his policies predominated on Aurora and throughout the Spacer worlds. As a result, the people of Earth have been allowed to migrate freely to various suitable planets in the Galaxy and what we now call the Settler-worlds have flourished. Dr. Fastolfe is dead now, however, and his successors lack his prestige. Dr. Amadiro has kept his own anti-Earth views alive and it is very possible that they may now triumph and that a vigorous policy against Earth and the Settler worlds may be undertaken.”
“If so, Giskard, what can I do about it?”
“You can see Dr. Mandamus and you can find out what it is that makes him so anxious to see you, madam. I assure you that he was most insistent on making the appointment as early as possible. He asked to see you at 08:00.”
“Giskard, I never see anyone before noon.”
“I explained that, madam. I took his anxiety to see you at breakfast, despite my explanation, to be a measure of his desperation. I felt it important to find out why he should be so desperate.”
“And if I don’t see him, then it is your opinion, is it, that it will harm me personally? I don’t ask whether it will harm Earth, or the Settlers, or this, or that. Will it harm me?”
“Madam, it may harm the ability of Earth and the Settlers to continue the settlement of the Galaxy. That dream originated in the mind of Plainclothesman Elijah Baley more than twenty decades ago. The harm to Earth will thus become a desecration of his memory. Am I wrong in thinking that any harm that comes to his memory would be felt by you as though it were harm to yourself personally?”
Gladia was staggered. Twice within the hour now, Elijah Baley had come into the conversation. He was long gone now—a short-lived Earthman who had died over sixteen decades before—yet the mere mention of his name could still shake her.
She said, “How can things suddenly be that serious?”
“It is not sudden, madam. For twenty decades, the people of Earth and the people of the Spacer worlds have been following parallel courses and have been kept from converging into conflict by the wise policies of Dr. Fastolfe. There has, however, always been a strong opposition movement that Dr. Fastolfe has had to withstand at all times. Now that Dr. Fastolfe is dead, the opposition is much more powerful. The abandonment of Solaria has greatly increased the power of what had been the opposition and may soon be the dominant political force.”
“Why?”
“It is a clear indication, madam, that Spacer strength is declining and many Aurorans must feel that strong action must be taken—now or never.”
“And you think that my seeing this man is important in preventing all this?”
“That is so, madam.”
Gladia was silent for a moment and remembered again, though rebelliously, that she had once promised Elijah that she would trust Giskard. She said, “Well, I don’t want to and I don’t think my seeing this man will do anyone any good—but, very well, I will see him.”
3
Gladia was asleep and the house was dark—by human standards. It was alive, however, with motion and action, for there was much for the robots to do—and they could do it by infrared.
The establishment had to be put into order after the inevitable disordering effects of a day’s activity. Supplies had to be brought in, rubbish had to be disposed of, objects had to be cleaned or polished or stored, appliances had to be checked, and, always, there was guard duty.
There were no locks on any doors; there did not have to be. There was no violent crime of any sort on Aurora, either against human beings or against property. There could not be anything of the sort, since every establishment—and every human being were, at all times, guarded by robots. This was well known and taken for granted.
The price for such calm was that the robot guards had to remain in place. They were never used—but only because they were always there.
Giskard and Daneel, whose abilities were both more intense and more general than those of the other establishment robots, did not have specific duties, unless one counted as a specific duty that of being responsible for the proper performance of all the other robots.