Foundation and Chaos - Bear Greg - Страница 44

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Lodovik felt a different sort of tremor, a different sort of horror. He could imagine what would happen if Daneel succeeded-thousands of years of slow, safe suffocation, humanity cushioned and insulated and restrained by velvet-covered chains until it became nothing more than a huge, comfortable, unchallenged mass, an idiotic fungal growth tended by fastidious machines.

Dors, now Jenat Korsan, stood between the two male-forms, silent and calm, waiting. Patience is different in a robot…

Daneel made a small gesture with his right hand, and Lodovik and Dors departed to begin their new roles.

They came for Hari Seldon at Streeling University. They did not at first appear to be officers of the Commission of Public Safety; the two, woman and man, were dressed as students. They entered his office by appointment, on the pretext of obtaining an interview for a student periodical.

The woman, clearly in charge, pulled up the sleeve of her civilian jacket to show him the official Commission sigil of spaceship, sun, and judicial wand. She was small, with a strong build, pale features, broad shoulders, a heavy jaw. “We don’t need to make a fuss about this,” she said. Her colleague, a tall, wispy male with a concentrated expression and a condescending smile, nodded agreement.

“Of course not,” Hari said, and began to gather his papers and filmbooks into a case he had kept on hand for just such an occasion. He hoped to be able to do some work while the trial proceeded.

“Those won’t be necessary,” the woman said, and took them from him, setting them gently beside the desk. A few papers spilled over and he bent to straighten them. She held his shoulder and he looked up at her. She shook her head decisively. “No time, professor. Leave a message on your office monitor that you’ll be gone for two weeks. It shouldn’t take that long. If all turns out well, no one will be any the wiser, and you can get back to your work, no?”

He straightened, looked around the office with jaw clenched, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “One of my colleagues will be here in a few hours, and I don’t know where to reach him-”

“Sorry.” The woman lifted her eyebrows in sympathy, but with no further discussion, together, they led him through the door.

Hari did not know how he felt about the arrest at first. He was nervous, even frightened wouldn’t be too strong a word; but he was also confident. Still, nothing having to do with the near future could ever be certain; perhaps what he saw in the Prime Radiant was not his own world-line, but the world-line of another professor, another student of psychohistory, fifty or a hundred years from now. Perhaps all this would lead to his quiet execution, and his work and the assembled workers of the Project would all be scattered. Perhaps Daneel would reconvene them after Hari’s demise…

All very aggravating, to be sure. But growing old had taught Hari that death was simply another kind of delay, and that individuals only mattered for a certain small period of time. The body human could usually grow new individuals to replace those it most needed. Of course, it was presumptuous to think that he was one of those essential types who would be replaced…But that is what the figures indicated, one way or another.

Hari had never much minded being thought presumptuous. Either he would succeed, or someone very like him.

They entered an unmarked air cruiser outside the apartment-block main entrance. Without requesting clearance, the cruiser rose, crossed between two support towers, and zipped into a traffic lane out of Streeling, heading toward the Imperial Sector. He had taken this route many times before.

“Don’t be nervous,” the woman said.

“I’m not nervous,” Hari lied, glancing at her. “How many have you arrested recently?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said with a cheerful grin.

“We seldom get to take in people so famous,” the man said.

“How would you have heard of me?” Hari asked, genuinely curious.

“We’re not ignorant,” the man said with a sniff. “We keep track of high politics. Helps us in our work.”

The woman gave her partner a warning glance. He shrugged and stared straight ahead.

Hari turned his eyes forward as they entered a main traffic tunnel in the security barrier around the Imperial Sector. The air cruiser emerged from the tunnel, veered sharply left out of the main flow, then circled a dark blue smooth-walled cylindrical tower that rose almost to the ceil. The cruiser slowed, shivered, and docked on a mid-level platform. The platform withdrew with the cruiser into a brightly lighted hangar.

There was nothing more he could do until the trial, which he was sure would be soon. The rest, Hari thought, is psychohistory.

Lodovik stood in the middle of his assigned apartment, naked, the skin pulled back on the right side of his torso, and reached into his mechanical interior. The biological layers had sealed their edges instantly upon being torn open and did not leak any of their lubricating or nutrient fluids, but a false beading of blood lined the “wounds.” Had he willed it, Lodovik could have projected a convincing spray of this blood; but he was alone and would soon be whole again. None would be the wiser.

He understood the ways and pressures of expedience, pragmatism, realpolitik. He could not fathom why Daneel had trusted him, released him without a trial period of close observation. The first possibility was that Daneel had ordered Yan Kansarv to plant a tiny transmitter within Lodovik’s body while making repairs. He could detect none. His body did not seem to be radiating any energy beyond what might issue from a human-infrared, a few other traces, none of them encoded to carry information. And his body cavities seemed free of such devices.

He sealed himself up and considered the second possibility: that Daneel would keep him under observation whenever he left the apartment, either personally or with the aid of other robots-or even recruited humans. Daneel’s organization was large and varied. Anything could be expected.

There was a third possibility, less likely than the other two: that Daneel still trusted him…

And a fourth, almost too nebulous to be usefully expressed. I am fitting into some larger plan; Daneel knows my distortion remains and has found a way to use it.

Lodovik would never underestimate the wiles and intelligence of a thinking machine that had survived twenty thousand years. But an hour passed, then two hours, and he realized he had entered a precarious state of decision lock. No course of action seemed to lead to success.

He jerked free of the lock and powered up all his conserved systems. The flood of energy and strength-the sensation of his skin repairing itself, leaving no discernible scars-was refreshing. He had at least one major advantage over humans. He did not care in the least whether he lived or died, only that he could serve humans in the way that shone forth so clearly now.

Daneel had mentioned the opposing robots-the Calvinians. He had heard about them on a few occasions, centuries ago, from other robots-the robotic equivalent of nasty rumors. If they still existed (Daneel had not made it clear whether they did or not) then they might have established some small presence on Trantor. This would only be done if they felt they had some chance of defeating Daneel.

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