Students of this period...
-Encyclopedia Galactica, 117th Edition, 1054 F. E.
The Commission court bailiff followed Hari and Linge Chen into the consultation chamber
behind the judge's bench. Hari sat in a narrow chair before the Chief Commissioner's small
desk and watched Chen warily. Chen did not sit, but waited for his Laventian servant to
help him out of his ceremonial robes. In a simple gray cassock, Chen reached up to the
ceiling with hands clenched, cracked his knuckles, and turned to Seldon.
“You have enemies, ” Chen said. “That is no surprise. What is surprising is that your
enemies have been my enemies, much of the time. Does that interest you?”
Hari pursed his lips but said nothing.
Chen looked away as if supremely bored. “This exile will not, of course, extend to you, ”
he continued. “You will not leave Trantor. I will forbid it if you try. ”
“I am too old and do not wish to leave, my lord, ” Hari said. “There is still work to do
here. ”
“So much dedication, ” Chen mused softly, rubbing one elbow with the palm of his opposite
hand. “Should you survive, and finish your work, I will be interested to learn of the
results. ”
“We'll all be dead, ” Hari said, “before the results are proved or disproved. ”
“Come, Dr. Seldon, ” Chen said. “Speak with me frankly, as one old manipulator to another.
I am told you have planned the results of this trial years in advance, through careful
political arrangement-and with considerable political skill. ”
“Not planned; foretold through mathematics, ” Hari said.
“Whatever. Now, we are at last done with each other, to our mutual relief. ”
“My lord, what about the Commission of General Security?” Hari asked. “They might object
to these results. ”
“There is no longer such an agency, ” Chen said. “The Emperor has withdrawn their charter.
Perhaps that was foretold as well, by your mathematics. ”
Hari folded his hands before him. “They don't even show in the lattice of results, my
lord, ” he said, and realized his tone might be considered arrogant. Too late.
Chen accepted these words in silence, then spoke in a chilling monotone. “You have studied
me, Professor Seldon, but you do not know me. If I have my way, you never will. ” The
Chief Commissioner curled his lip and stared up at the ceiling. "I despise your
mathematics. It is nothing more than dressed-up superstition, tricked-out religion, and it
smells of the same degeneration and decay you so enthusiastically
embrace and promote. You are of a kind with those who hunt for God-like robots in every
shadow. I let you go now because you are nothing to me, you no longer have any place in my
designs. "
The Chief Commissioner waved his hand to the bailiff. “You are remanded to civil authority
for release, ” he said, and left the room with a small swirl of his cassock.
The Lavrentian servant glanced briefly and curiously at Hari, and departed after his
master. Hari could have sworn the servant was trying to communicate a sense of relief.
“Professor Seldon, ” the bailiff said, with an age-old air of professional courtesy,
“follow me. ”
Kallusin had finished the removal of Plussix's head. He withdrew the cables which had
provided temporary power to the robot as the most recent memories were fixed in permanent
storage within the iridium-sponge backup, then he lifted the head from the plastic cradle,
away from the slightly smoking neck, and lowered it into the archival metal box.
He could hear the commotion among Plussix's wards as the troops moved through the
warehouse. Through the window overlooking the warehouse interior, Kallusin could see
Prothon's troops herding the young mentalics-thirty in all- toward personnel carriers at
street level. Whatever their persuasive skills, they did not seem able to escape.
He could do nothing for them now. He lifted the box, carried it to the end of the long
chamber, and stopped as he heard boots beyond the door.
To Kallusin's surprise, it was Prothon himself who entered, pushing the door open with a
slight kick. Kallusin stood in place as the general walked into the chamber. Prothon
surveyed the dilapidated equipment and the half dis-
mantled robot in the harness a few meters away.
The general was unarmed, and his troops hung back behind the door. For a moment, nothing
was said and neither moved.
“Are you human?” Prothon finally asked.
Kallusin did not reply.
“Robot, then. All my men down there are getting headaches-I'm just as glad you're not one
of the youngsters. ” Prothon nodded at the box carrying Plussix's head. “What's that-a
bomb?”
Kallusin said, “No. ”
“No weapons, no means of defense-almost certainly a robot. ” Prothon regarded him
curiously. “In good condition, and very convincing. Very old, centuries?”
Kallusin did not even blink. There was nothing more he could do without harming Prothon or
the troops before him, and he could not harm humans.
“I order you to identify yourself, ” Prothon said, then, astonishingly, he added, “Owner
identity may be excluded, but personal type and origin and serial number may not. ”
“R. Kallusin Dass, S-13407-D-10237. ”
“Robot Kallusin Dass, Solaria, late model, ” Prothon said quietly. “Pleased to make your
acquaintance. I have instructions to take two robots into custody. One is R. Daneel or
Danee, surname and ID unknown. The other is R. Lodovik Trema, ID also unknown. You are
neither of these?”
Kallusin shook his head.
“What's in the box, R. Kallusin? Mandatory, excluding information that may be of harm to
your master or owner. ”
Prothon knew the old forms of interrogation. Kallusin could have eluded a question that
his programming could consider ambiguous or harmful to his owners-the human race. Plussix
had reassigned ownership of his robots to the broader category a century before,
foreseeing advantages to this workaround.
A restrained kind of Zeroth Law... Never necessary, until now.
Kallusin could not, on short notice, come up with any reason not to inform Prothon what
was in the box. Their mission was over, at any rate.
“A robotic head, ” Kallusin said. “Nonfunctional. ”
“Are you the only robot remaining? We have reason to believe others have left this
building already, before we arrived. ”
“I am the only one remaining. ”
“If I take you into custody, will you remain functional?”
“No, ” Kallusin said. That would harm the cause, and possibly therefore harm his owner-the
human race.
“If my men enter... you will not remain functional?”
“I will not, ” Kallusin said.
“A standoff, then. I have very little time, but I'm curious. What were you trying to do,
here?”
Prothon had neglected to use the form of address. Kallusin weighed the situation
carefully. He had no hope of escape, and there was no profit in discussing anything more
with General Prothon. But before he shut himself down, permanently, he was himself
curious-about Prothon's knowledge.
“I will answer your question if you will answer mine, ” Kallusin said.
“I'll try. ” Prothon seemed amused by this remarkable dialog.
“How do you know about robots?”
“Personally, suspicions, only suspicions, all these years of service to the Empire. Found
a dysfunctional robot on a distant planet once-destroyed during an invasion. Haven't seen
one since. ”
“How do you know the forms of address?”
"Linge Chen gave me instructions, told me to speak directly with any robots, also told me
there was no dan-
ger addressing the robots we would find here. "
“Thank you, ” Kallusin said. Suspicions, only suspicions, Daneel. “My answer is, I am here
to serve my owner. ” He reached into the box and pressed a hidden corner switch. The box
began to heat. He placed it on the floor. Within several seconds, Plussix's head would be
cooked, useless. Then Kallusin stood tall. He could not deactivate himself just yet. The
threat had to be immediate.
Prothon looked at the box, now glowing a dull red and crackling slightly against the tiles
on the floor. He made a small grimace and called for his troops to enter.
That was enough. The threat of capture and interrogation became very real. Kallusin would
become a danger to his owner.
He collapsed on the floor before anyone of the troops could reach him.
Prothon observed this with an air of profound respect. He had seen many human soldiers do
precisely the same thing. It was time-honored, and actually, more than he had expected
from a robot-but then, he had only known this one robot for a few minutes, and was in no
position to judge.
He left the chamber and ordered it to be searched by a party of the Commissioner's
engineers.
Klia could feel the troops a few hundred meters above and behind them, intent on the
search. Lodovik led them deeper beneath the warehouse district, until they came to a small
round hatch almost completely blocked by debris from an ancient flood. Klia took hold of
Brann's arm and stepped back as Lodovik cleared the debris. Brann smiled down on her,
barely visible in the dim light of the maintenance globes,
pulled her hand loose, and went to help Lodovik. With a sigh, Klia also pitched in, and in
less than a minute, they had the hatchway cleared.
Klia could not hear or otherwise sense anybody in the tunnel behind them, but she felt
deeply uneasy nonetheless. The flood debris, the years of corrosion on the hatchway, the
difficulty they had prying it open-it would not get any easier from this point on.
They were heading into the depths of the ancient hydraulic system for Trantor's earliest
cities. Beyond the hatchway, they could see even less-globes were spaced at thirty meter
intervals, and seemed even dimmer. That they stayed illuminated at all was evidence of the
skill of the early engineers and architects on Trantor, who realized that this deep
infrastructure must be far more reliable, and persistent, than even the cities that would
rise, be demolished, and rise again, far above.
“We go for about three kilometers this way, ” Lodovik said, “then we start to climb again.
There may be pedways, escalators, elevators-and there may not. Kallusin hasn't explored
these ways in decades. ”
Klia said nothing, simply remained at Brann's side as the robot led them deeper, until she
could sense no humans whatsoever. She had never been this far from crowds. She wondered
what it would be like, to have an entire planet to oneself, with no responsibilities, no
guilt, no talents and no need for talents...
Lodovik's footfalls ahead took them into murky darkness, and soon they were up to their
ankles in stagnant water. From somewhere to their left came the sound of huge pumps,
thumping into action, then cutting off with distant swallowing roars. Trantor's heartbeat.
Brann looked down at her and helped her climb over a pile of eroded plastic parts, like
blockage in an ancient artery.
“I can see fairly well now, ” Lodovik said, "though I sus-
pect you cannot. Please just stay close behind me. We're much better off down here,
following this route, than we would be up there. "
Klia suddenly felt something loud in her head, but very distant, like the report from a
shell. She listened for it again as she walked beside Brann, and it came once more, more
muddied, but she was ready for it, and she could almost taste its odd signature.
Vara Liso. Thousands of meters above and in front of them. Perhaps in the Palace.
“That woman, ” Klia said to Brann.
“Yeah, ” Brann said. “What's she doing?”
“Feels like she's exploding, ” Klia said.
“Please stay close behind me, ” Lodovik insisted. There was a lift shaft ahead, according
to Kallusin-and soon he would have a chance to try his codes to gain entrance to the
foundations of the Imperial Courts Building.
Major Namm held the neural whip in an unsteady hand. Sweat streaked his face. He stumbled
slightly as he tried to turn away from the diminutive woman in her special emerald green
gown. Vara Liso wore a quizzical expression, eyes turned up, as if she did not really need
to look at the major to control him.
She seemed to be inspecting the ceiling over his head.
The major whimpered, and the whip fell from his hand.
She was so tired. She walked around the major. She would need something sweet to drink
very soon, and something to eat, but first she had to go through the door and see Farad
Sinter, make her final report to the man she had hoped someday to marry. Foolish dreams,
absurd hopes.
Vara Liso entered the anteroom of Sinter's new office
and saw the new furnishings, the banks of special Imperial-grade informers that would have
hooked him directly to the orbiting receivers and processors. This would have been his
command center. Sinter. She smiled crookedly. Heating without melting, dry at the center,
a pile of sand, no man, no success, no fault, she had thrown the wands in the ancient game
of Bioka, always resorted to when she was at her wit's end, and the wands said no fault,
correction in order, all is not right at the Sinter.
Beyond the immense bronze doors she could hear shouting and even wailing. She leaned her
shoulder against the door. Nothing. Then she turned her full attention to the major, bade
him come forward and give his code to the door. He got off his knees, face contorted and
dripping sweat. He punched in the code and applied his palm.
The door swung open, and the major fell back. Vara Liso entered the office.
Farad stood there in full ceremonial outfit, conferring with two advisors and an advocate;
no matter, his Commission was at an end. He saw her and frowned. “I need to get things in
order-Vara, please leave. ”
Vara spotted a tray full of delicate sweets on the expansive desk, beside the most
powerful informer/processor she had ever beheld, perhaps able to distill information from
ten thousand systems. It was not functioning now. Access to the Empire denied. Power gone.
She lifted a handful of the sweets and chewed on them.