She never slackened her pace, and when she was close enough, the man stooped and lifted her high in the air. She threw her arms about his neck, sobbing, and still gasping, “Jemby!”
The others approached more soberly and Trevize said, slowly and distinctly (could this man understand Galactic?), “We ask pardon, sir. This child has lost her protector and is searching for it desperately. How it came to fasten on you is a puzzle to us, since it is seeking a robot; a mechanical—”
The man spoke for the first time. His voice was utilitarian rather than musical, and there was a faint air of archaism clinging to it, but he spoke Galactic with perfect ease.
“I greet you all in friendship,” he said—and he seemed unmistakably friendly, even though his face continued to remain fixed in its expression of gravity. “As for this child,” he went on, “she shows perhaps a greater perceptivity than you think, for I am a robot. My name is Daneel Olivaw.”
21
THE SEARCH ENDS
101.
Trevize found himself in a complete state of disbelief. He had recovered from the odd euphoria he had felt just before and after the landing on the moon—a euphoria, he now suspected, that had been imposed on him by this self-styled robot who now stood before him.
Trevize was still staring, and in his now perfectly sane and untouched mind, he remained lost in astonishment. He had talked in astonishment, made conversation in astonishment, scarcely understood what he said or heard as he searched for something in the appearance of this apparent man, in his behavior, in his manner of speaking, that bespoke the robot.
No wonder, thought Trevize, that Bliss had detected something that was neither human nor robot, but, that was, in Pelorat’s words, “something new.” Just as well, of course, for it had turned Trevize’s thoughts into another and more enlightening channel—but even that was now crowded into the back of his mind.
Bliss and Fallom had wandered off to explore the grounds. It had been Bliss’s suggestion, but it seemed to Trevize that it came after a lightning-quick glance had been exchanged between herself and Daneel. When Fallom refused and asked to stay with the being she persisted in calling Jemby, a grave word from Daneel and a lift of the finger was enough to cause her to trot off at once. Trevize and Pelorat remained.
“They are not Foundationers, sirs,” said the robot, as though that explained it all. “One is Gaia and one is a Spacer.”
Trevize remained silent while they were led to simply designed chairs under a tree. They seated themselves, at a gesture from the robot, and when he sat down, too, in a perfectly human movement, Trevize said, “Are you truly a robot?”
“Truly, sir,” said Daneel.
Pelorat’s face seemed to shine with joy. He said, “There are references to a robot named Daneel in the old legends. Are you named in his honor?”
“I am that robot,” said Daneel. “It is not a legend.”
“Oh no,” said Pelorat. “If you are that robot, you would have to be thousands of years old.”
“Twenty thousand,” said Daneel quietly.
Pelorat seemed abashed at that, and glanced at Trevize, who said, with a touch of anger, “If you are a robot, I order you to speak truthfully.”
“I do not need to be told to speak truthfully, sir. I
“The matter may decide itself with continued conversation,” said Trevize dryly. “For that matter, it is hard to believe that this is the interior of the moon. Neither the light”—he looked up as he said that, for the light was precisely that of soft, diffuse sunlight, though no sun was in the sky, and, for that matter, no sky was clearly visible—“nor the gravity seems credible. This world should have a surface gravity of less than 0.2g.”
“The normal surface gravity would be 0.16g actually, sir. It is built up, however, by the same forces that give you, on your ship, the sensation of normal gravity, even when you are in free fall, or under acceleration. Other energy needs, including the light, are also met gravitically, though we use solar energy where that is convenient. Our material needs are all supplied by the moon’s soil, except for the light elements—hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen—which the moon does not possess. We obtain those by capturing an occasional comet. One such capture a century is more than enough to supply our needs.”
“I take it Earth is useless as a source of supply.”
“Unfortunately, that is so, sir. Our positronic brains are as sensitive to radioactivity as human proteins are.”
“You use the plural, and this mansion before us seems, large, beautiful, and elaborate—at least as seen from the outside. There are then other beings on the moon. Humans? Robots?”
“Yes, sir. We have a complete ecology on the moon and a vast and complex hollow within which that ecology exists. The intelligent beings are all robots, however, more or less like myself. You will see none of them, however. As for this mansion, it is used by myself only and it is an establishment that is modeled exactly on one I used to live in twenty thousand years ago.”
“Which you remember in detail, do you?”
“Perfectly, sir. I was manufactured, and existed for a time—how brief a time it seems to me, now—on the Spacer world of Aurora.”
“The one with the—” Trevize paused.
“Yes, sir. The one with the dogs.”
“You know about that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you come to be here, then, if you lived at first on Aurora?”
“Sir, it was to prevent the creation of a radioactive Earth that I came here in the very beginnings of the settlement of the Galaxy. There was another robot with me, named Giskard, who could sense and adjust minds.”
“As Bliss can?”
“Yes, sir. We failed, in a way, and Giskard ceased to operate. Before the cessation, however, he made it possible for me to have his talent and left it to me to care for the Galaxy; for Earth, particularly.”
“Why Earth, particularly?”
“In part because of a man named Elijah Baley, an Earthman.”
Pelorat put in excitedly, “He is the culture-hero I mentioned some time ago, Golan.”
“A culture-hero, sir?”
“What Dr. Pelorat means,” said Trevize, “is that he is a person to whom much was attributed, and who may have been an amalgamation of many men in actual history, or who may be an invented person altogether.”
Daneel considered for a moment, and then said, quite calmly, “That is not so, sirs. Elijah Baley was a real man and he was one man. I do not know what your legends say of him, but in actual history, the Galaxy might never have been settled without him. In his honor, I did my best to salvage what I could of Earth after it began to turn radioactive. My fellow-robots were distributed over the Galaxy in an effort to influence a person here—a person there. At one time I maneuvered a beginning to the recycling of Earth’s soil. At another much later time, I maneuvered a beginning to the terraforming of a world circling the nearby star, now called Alpha. In neither case was I truly successful. I could never adjust human minds entirely as I wished, for there was always the chance that I might do harm to the various humans who were adjusted. I was bound, you see—and am bound to this day—by
