He had never enjoyed public displays. He was far more content to operate in the background
and let his thousands of cohorts act out public roles. He preferred, in any case, that his
robots assert themselves in small ways here and there over time, at key locations, to
effect changes that would in turn effect other changes, producing a cascade with (he
hoped) the desired results.
In the centuries of his work he had seen a few failures and many successes, but with
Lodovik he had hoped to insure his most important goal, the perfection of the Plan, Hari
Seldon's Psychohistory Project, and the settlement of a First Foundation world.
Seldon's psychohistory had already given Daneel the tools necessary to see the Empire's
future in bleak detail. Collapse, disintegration, wholesale destruction: chaos. There was
nothing he could do to prevent that collapse. Perhaps had he acted ten thousand years ago,
with then-impossible foresight, using the crude and piecemeal psychohistory then at his
disposal, he might have put off this catastrophe. But Daneel could not allow the Empire's
decline and fall to proceed without intervention, for too many humans would suffer and
die-over thirty-eight billion on Trantor alone-and the First Law dictated that no human
should be harmed or allowed to come to harm.
His duty for all of those twenty thousands of years had been to mitigate human failures
and redirect human energies for the greater human good.
To do that, he had mired himself in history, and some of the changes he had effected had
resulted in pain, harm, even death.
It was the Zeroth Law, first formulated by the remarkable robot Giskard Reventlov, that
allowed him to continue functioning under these circumstances.
The Zeroth Law was not a simple concept, though it could be stated simply enough: some
humans could be harmed, if by so doing one could prevent harm for the greater number.
The ends justify the means.
This dreadful implication had powered so much agony in human history, but it was no time
to engage in that ancient internal debate.
What could he learn from the loss of Lodovik Trema? Nothing, it seemed; the universe
sometimes decided things beyond the control of rational action. There was nothing so
frustrating and difficult to encompass, for a robot, as a universe indifferent to humans.
Daneel could move anonymously from Sector to Sector, along with the migrating unemployed
now pandemic on Trantor. He could maintain contact with his cohorts through a personal
communicator or his portable informer, as well as through illegal hookups to the planet's
many networks. Sometimes he dressed as a pitiful street beggar; he spent much of his time
in a cramped, dirty apartment in the Trans-Imperial Sector, barely seventy kilometers from
the Palace. Nobody wished to look at a figure so old, bent, filthy, and pitiful; in a way,
Daneel had become a symbol of the misery he hoped to overcome.
No humans remembered a fictional character who had so enjoyed going out in disguise among
the common people, the lower classes, a man of pure and impossibly discerning intellect, a
detective much like Daneel's old friend Elijah Bailey. With Daneel's frequent memory dumps
and adjustments, all that he remembered was a single name and an overall impression:
Sherlock.
Daneel was one of the many robots who had become disguised Sherlocks among the masses;
tens of thousands
throughout the Galaxy, trying not just to solve a mystery, but to prevent further and
greater crimes.
The leader of these dedicated servants, the first Eternal, brushed as much of the street's
filth from his rags as he could manage, and left the cramped and empty General Habitation
Project hovel in search of finer clothes.
“They've searched the entire apartment, ” Sonden Asgar moaned, rubbing his elbows and
looking smaller and more frail than she had ever seen him before. Klia's respect for her
father had not been high in the last few years, but she still felt a pang for his
misery-and an abiding sense of guilt that strengthened a sense of responsibility. “They
went through our records-imagine that! Private records! Some Imperial authority... ”
“Why your records, Father?” Klia asked. The apartment was a shambles. She could imagine
the investigators pulling up cabinets and throwing out the boxes and few dishes within,
tugging up the worn carpets... She was glad she hadn't been here, and for more than one
reason.
“Not my records!” Sonden shouted. “They were looking for you. School papers, bookfilms,
and they took our family album. With all your mother's pictures. Why? What have you done
now?”
Klia shook her head and upturned a stool to sit. “If they're looking for me, I can't stay,
” she said.
“Why, daughter? What could-”
“If I've done anything illegal, Father, it's not worth the attention of Imperial Specials.
It must be something else... ” She thought of the conversation with the man in dusty
green, and frowned.
Sonden Asgar stood in the middle of the main room, three
meters square, hardly a room at all-more of a closet-and shivered like a frightened
animal. “They were not kind, ” he . said. “They grabbed me and shook me hard... They acted
like thugs. I might as well have gotten mugged in Billibotton!” “What did they say?” Klia
asked softly. “They asked where you were, how you had done in school, how you made your
living. They asked whether you knew a Kindril Nashak. Who is that?”
“A man, ” she said, hiding her surprise. Kindril Nashak! He had been the kingpin in her
greatest success so far, a deal that had put four hundred New Credits in her accounts with
the Banker in Billibotton. But even that had been trivial-surely nothing worth their
attention. Imperial Special police were supposed to seek out the Lords of the Underground,
not clever girls with purely personal ambitions.
“A man!” her father said sharply. “Someone who's willing to take you off my hands, I hope!”
“I haven't been a burden to you for years, ” Klia said sourly. “I only dropped by to see
how you were doing. ” And to discover why any thought of you made my head itch.
“I told them you're never here!” Sonden cried. “I said we hadn't seen each other in
months. None of it makes sense! It will take days to clean this mess. The food! They
spilled the entire cookery!”
“I'll help you pick up, ” Klia said. “Shouldn't take more than an hour. ”
She certainly hoped not. Other faces were making her head itch now: Friends, colleagues,
anyone associated with Nashak. One thing she was sure of: She had suddenly become
important, and not because she was a clever member of the black market community.
An hour later, with the mess largely taken care of and Son-den at least beginning to
recover his calm, she kissed him on the top of the head and said good-bye, and she meant
it.
She could not look at her father without her scalp seeming
to burn. Nothing to do with the Guilt, she told herself. Something new.
Hereafter, any contact with him would be extremely dangerous.
Major Perl Namm of Special Investigations, Imperial Security, assigned to the Dahl Sector,
had been waiting for two hours in the private Palace office of Imperial Councilor Farad
Sinter. He adjusted his collar nervously. The desk of Farad Sinter was smooth and elegant,
crafted from Karon wood from the Imperial Gardens, a gift from Klayus I. The top of the
desk held only an inactive Imperial-class informer. A sun-and-spaceship plaque hovered to
one side of the desk. The office's high ceiling was supported by beams of Trantorian
basalt, with intricate floral patterns spun-carved by tuned blaster beams. The major
looked up at these beams, and when he looked down again, Farad Sinter stood behind the
desk, wearing an irritated frown.
“Yes?”
Major Namm, very blond and compact, was not used to private audiences at this social
level, and in the Palace, as well. “Second report on the search for Klia Asgar, daughter
of Son-den and Bethel Asgar. Survey of the father's apartment. ”
“What else did you learn?”
“Her early intelligence tests were normal, not exceptional. After the age of ten, however,
those tests showed extraordinary jumps-then, by the age of twelve, they revealed that she
was an idiot. ”
“Standard Imperial aptitude tests, I assume?”
“Yes, sir, adjusted for Dahlite... ah... needs. ”
Sinter walked across the room and poured himself a drink. He did not offer any to the
major, who wouldn't have known what to do with fine wine anyway. No doubt his tastes were
limited to the cruder forms of stimulk, or even the more direct stims favored in the
military and police services. “There are no records of childhood illness, I presume, ”
Sinter said.
“Two possible explanations for that, sir, ” the blond major said.
“Yes?”
“Hospitals in Dahl typically record only exceptional illnesses. And in those cases, if the
exceptions might reflect badly on the hospital, they report nothing at all. ”
“So perhaps she never had brain fever at all... as a child, when almost everyone of any
intelligence contracts brain fever. ”
“It's possible, sir, though unlikely. Only one out of a hundred normal children escape
brain fever. Only idiots escape completely, sir. She may have avoided it for that reason. ”
Sinter smiled. The officer was stepping outside his expertise; the number was actually
closer to one in thirty million normals, though many claimed they had never had it. And
that claim in itself was evocative, as if escaping conferred some added status.
“Major, are you at all curious about the Sectors you do not patrol?”
“No, sir. Why should I be?”
“Do you know the tallest structure on Trantor, above sea level, I mean?”
“No, sir. ”
“The most populated Sector?”
“No, sir. ”
“The largest planet in the known Galaxy?”
“No. ” The major frowned as if he were being mocked.
“Most people are ignorant of these things. They don't care to know; tell them and they
forget. The larger vision is lost in the day-to-day minutiae, which they know well enough
to get along. What about the basic principles of hyperdrive travel?”
“Sky, no... Pardon me. No sir. ”
“I'm ignorant of that myself. No curiosity at all about such things. ” He smiled
pleasantly. “Have you ever wondered why Trantor seems so run-down nowadays?”
“Sometimes, sir. It is a nuisance. ”
“Have you thought to complain to your neighborhood council?”
“Not my place. There's so much to complain about, where to begin?”
“Of course. Yet you're known as a competent and perhaps even an exceptional officer. ”
“Thank you, sir. ”
Sinter looked down at the polished copperstone floor. “Are you curious why I am so
interested in this woman, this girl?”
“No, sir. ” But the major thought it worth a small, conspiratorial wink.
Sinter's eyes widened. “You believe I'm interested in her sexually?”
The major straightened abruptly. “No sir, not my place to think anything of the sort. ”
“I would be frightened even to be in her presence for long, Major Namm. ”
“Yes, sir. ”
“She never had brain fever. ”
“We don't know that, sir. No records. ”
Sinter dismissed that with a shake of his head. “I know that she never had brain fever, or
any other childhood disease. And not because she was an idiot. She was more than merely
immune, Major. ”
“Yes, sir. ”
“And her powers can be extraordinary. And do you know how I know that? Because of Vara
Liso. She first detected this girl in a Dahlite market a week ago. A prime candidate, she
thought. I should send Vara Liso with you on your rounds now, just to refine the hunt. ”
The major said nothing, merely stood at parade rest, eyes
fixed on the opposite wall. His Adam's apple bobbed. Sinter could read the man well enough
without seeing into his mind; the major did not much believe all this, and knew little or
nothing of Vara Liso.
“Can you find her for me, without Vara Liso's aid?” “With sufficient numbers of officers,
we can find her in two or three days. My small crew, by itself, would probably take two or
three weeks. Dahl is not in a cooperative mood right now, sir. ”
“No, I suppose not. Well, find her, but do not attempt to arrest her or attract her
attention in any way. You would fail, as her kind has made so many others fail... ” “Yes,
sir. ”
“Tell me what she does, whom she sees. When I give you the order, you will shoot her with
a large-bore kinetic-energy gun, from a distance, in the head. Understood?” “Yes, sir. ”
“As you have so faithfully done before. ” “Yes, sir. ”
“Then you will bring her body to me. Not to the criminalists, but to me, my private
chambers. Enough, Major. ” “Sir. ” Major Namm departed.
Sinter did not much trust the competence of any police, in any Sector. They could be
bribed easily enough, yet Sinter's extended police patrols had not yet managed to bring
down one robot; all of their targeted individuals had been humans, after all. The robots
had deceived them very cleverly.
But Klia Asgar... a young girl, in form at least. How did a robot manage to appear to
grow? There were so many mysteries Sinter looked forward to solving.
Brain fever's effect on curiosity, and on civilization in general, was not the most
interesting of those mysteries, not at all. No mystery at all. Sinter strongly suspected
that robots had created the disease, perhaps millennia before, after their banishment from
the worlds of humans-their goal to subtly
reduce intellectual capacity, creating an Empire that so seldom rebelled against the
Center...
His mind whirled at the implications. So many suspicions, so many theories!
With a small, intent smile, Sinter lost himself in speculation for several minutes, then
went to the desktop informer to look up the name of the largest world in the Galaxy.