“No. It is the Council, actually.”
“Are you the spokesman for the Council?”
“Not officially, but, I have been asked to inform you of this—unofficially.”
“And if I see this Settler, what then? What does he want to see me about?”
“That is what we don’t know, madam. We count on you to tell us. You are to see him, find out what he wants, and report to us.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“As I said, the Council. The Settler will be here at your establishment this evening.”
“You seem to assume that I have no choice but to take on this position as informer.”
Mandamus rose to his feet, clearly done with his mission. “You will not be an informer. You owe nothing to this Settler. You are merely reporting to your government, as a loyal Auroran citizen should be willing—even eager to do. You would not want the Council to suppose that your Solarian birth in any way dilutes your Auroran patriotism.”
“Sir, I have been an Auroran over four times as long as you’ve been alive.”
“Undoubtedly, but you were born and raised on Solaria. You are that unusual anomaly, a foreign-born Auroran, and it is difficult to forget it. This is especially true since the Settler wishes to see you, rather than anyone else on Aurora, precisely because you are Solarian-born.”
“How do you know that?”
“It is a fair presumption. He identifies you as ‘the Solarian woman.’ We are curious as to why that should mean anything to him—now that Solaria no longer exists.”
“Ask him.”
“We prefer to ask you—after you ask him. I must ask permission to leave now and, I thank you for your hospitality.”
Gladia nodded stiffly. “I grant you your permission to leave with better will than I granted you my hospitality.”
Mandamus stepped toward the hallway that led to the main entrance, followed closely by his robots.
He paused just before leaving the room, turned, and said, “I had almost forgotten—”
“Yes?”
“The Settler who wishes to see you has a surname that, by a peculiar coincidence, is Baley.”
3. THE CRISIS
10
Daneel and Giskard, with robotic courtesy, saw Mandamus and his robots off the grounds of the establishment. Then, since they were outside, they toured the grounds, made certain that the lesser robots were in their places, and took note of the weather (cloudy and a bit cooler than seasonal).
Daneel said, “Dr. Mandamus admitted openly that the Settler worlds are now stronger than the Spacer worlds. I would not have expected him to do that.”
Giskard said, “Nor I. I was certain that the Settlers would increase in strength as compared with the Spacers because Elijah Baley had predicted it many decades ago, but I could see no way of determining when the fact would become obvious to the Auroran Council. It seemed to me that social inertia would keep the Council firmly convinced of Spacer superiority long after that had vanished, but I could not calculate for how long they would continue to delude themselves.”
“I am astonished that Partner Elijah foresaw this so long ago.”
“Human beings have ways of thinking about human beings that we have not.” Had Giskard been human, the remark might have been made with regret or envy, but since he was a robot it was merely factual.
He went on. “I have tried to gain the knowledge, if not the way of thinking, by reading human history in great detail. Surely somewhere in the long tale of human events, there must be buried the Laws of Humanics that are equivalent to our Three Laws of Robotics.”
Daneel said, “Madam Gladia once told me that this hope was an impossible one.”
“So that may be, friend Daneel, for though it seems to me such Laws of Humanics must exist, I cannot find them. Every generalization I try to make, however broad and simple, has its numerous exceptions. Yet if such Laws existed and if I could find them, I could understand human beings better and be more confident that I am obeying the Three Laws in better fashion.”
“Since Partner Elijah understood human beings, he must have had some knowledge of the Laws of Humanics.”
“Presumably. But this he knew through something that human beings call intuition, a word I don’t understand, signifying a concept I know nothing of. Presumably it lies beyond reason and I have only reason at my command.”
11
That and memory!
Memory that did not work after the human fashion, of course. It lacked the imperfect recall, the fuzziness, the additions and subtractions dictated by wishful thinking and self-interest, to say nothing of the lingerings and lacunae and backtracking that can turn memory into hours-long daydreaming.
It was robotic memory ticking off the events exactly as they had happened, but in vastly hastened fashion. The seconds reeled off in nanoseconds, so that days of events could be relived with such rapid precision as to introduce no perceptible gap in a conversation.
As Giskard had done innumerable times before, he relived that visit to Earth, always seeking for understanding of Elijah Baley’s casual ability to foresee the future, always failing to find it.
Earth!
Fastolfe had come to Earth in an Auroran warship, with a full complement of fellow passengers, both human and robot. Once in orbit, however, it was only Fastolfe who took the module in for a landing. Injections had stimulated his immune mechanism and he wore the necessary gloves, coveralls, contact lenses, and nose plugs. He felt quite safe as a result, but no other Auroran was willing to go along as part of a delegation.
This Fastolfe shrugged off, since it seemed to him (as he later explained to Giskard) that he would be more welcome if he came alone. A delegation would disagreeably remind Earth of the bad old days (to them) of Spacetown, when Spacers had a permanent base on Earth and directly dominated the world.
With him, Fastolfe brought Giskard, however. To have arrived without any robots would have been unthinkable, even for Fastolfe. To have arrived with more than one would have put a strain on the increasingly antirobot Earthmen he hoped to see and with whom he intended to negotiate.
To begin with, of course, he would meet with Baley, who would be his liaison with Earth and its people. That was the rational excuse for the meeting. The real excuse was simply that Fastolfe wanted very much to see Baley again; he certainly owed him enough.
(That Giskard wanted to see Baley and that he very slightly tightened the emotion and impulse in Fastolfe’s brain to bring that about, Fastolfe had no way of knowing—or even imagining.)
Baley was waiting for them at the time of landing and with him was a small group of Earth officials, so that there was a tedious passage of time during which politeness and protocol had its innings. It was some hours before Baley and Fastolfe could get away by themselves and it might not have happened that soon but for Giskard’s quiet and unfelt interference—with just a touch at the minds of the more important of those officials who were distinctly bored. (It was always safe to confine one’s self to accentuating an emotion that already existed. It could almost never bring harm.)
Baley and Fastolfe sat in the smallness of a private dining room that was ordinarily available only to high government officials. Food items could be punched out on a computerized menu and were then brought in by computerized carriers.
Fastolfe smiled. “Very advanced,” he said, “but these carriers are merely specialized robots. I’m surprised Earth uses them. They are not of Spacer manufacture, surely.”
“No, they’re not,” said Baley solemnly. “Home-grown, so to speak. This is only for use at the top and it’s my first chance, ever, to experience it. I’m not likely to do so again.”
“You may be elected to high office someday and then experience this sort of thing daily.”