Asimov’s Future History

Volume III

All stories copyright Isaac Asimov and the Estate of Isaac Asimov, unless otherwise noted below.

All other stories copyright by the respective authors listed below.

Emporer-By William F. Wu. First published as Isaac Asimov’s Robots in Time: Emporer, June, 1994

Invader-By William F. Wu. First published as Isaac Asimov’s Robots in Time: Invader, September, 1994

Light Verse-First published in The Saturday Evening Post, September, October, 1973

Too Bad!-First published in The Microverse, November, 1989

... That Thou Art Mindful of Him-First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, May 1974 and Final Stage: The Ultimate Science Fiction Anthology, 1974

Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie-By Robert Sheckley. First published in Foundation’s Friends: Stories in Honor of Isaac Asimov, September 1989

The Bicentennial Man-First published in Stellar #2, February, 1976

Mother Earth-First published in Astounding Science Fiction, May, 1949

The Caves of Steel-First published as a serial in Galaxy Science Fiction, October, November & December, 1953

This  ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man March, 2011

Layout and design by DeadMan

Cover art “Futuristic City” by tenchi24 of DeviantArt

Future History inlay “Summer days” by Talros of DeviantArt

Cover design by Dead^Man

Chronology of events in Isaac Asimov’s positronic robot and Foundation stories, compiled by Johnny Pez

Table of Contents

Copyright

2140 AD Emperor

2140 AD Invader

2150 AD Light Verse

2170 AD Too Bad!

2180 AD ... That Thou Art Mindful of Him

2200 AD Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie

2160 AD The Bicentennial Man

2425 AD Mother Earth

3421 AD The Caves of Steel

1: Conversation With A Commissioner

2: Round Trip on an Expressway

3: Incident at a Shoe Counter

4: Introduction to a Family

5: Analysis of a Murder

6: Whispers in a Bedroom

7: Excursion Into Spacetown

8: Debate Over A Robot

9: Elucidation by a Spacer

Sources of dates

Emperor

2140 A.D.

1

R. HUNTER SAT IN the office chair of Mojave Center Governor, the robot he had been assigned to reassemble. Hunter had to decide what appearance to use on his next mission. He wore his usual northern European physiognomy now, with short blond hair and blue eyes. A brawny six feet six inches tall, he had been designed with the ability to change his shape and appearance at will and might have to do so for the next trip back into the past, to China in 1290.

First, however, he would discuss the question with the humans on his team. His internal clock told him the time was 6:49 P.M. They were having dinner now and would join him here soon.

After four previous missions into the past, Jane Maynard, the roboticist, and Steve Chang, the general assistant, had a routine established now. Since their return last night from the outskirts of Moscow in 1941, they had each had a good night’s sleep. They had spent the day relaxing in Mojave Center, this new underground city in the Mojave Desert. Then Jane had called Hunter about an hour ago to say they were meeting for dinner before coming to see him.

While they rested, Hunter had hired a historian who specialized in China during the time of Kublai Khan to join the team. Marcia Lew had arrived from her home in Houston a short time ago. She had agreed to join Hunter here soon to meet the rest of the team.

Hunter had been especially designed and built to lead the search for Mojave Center Governor, the missing experimental gestalt robot who was supposed to be running Mojave Center. However, without warning, he had abandoned his responsibilities. MC Governor had divided into the six component gestalt humaniform robots out of which he was comprised and vanished.

Each gestalt robot had fled back in time to a different era. Hunter had led his team of humans on successful missions in pursuit of the first four component robots. Now they stood here in the office of MC Governor, merged and shut down, waiting for the last two in order to complete the Governor robot again.

“Hunter, city computer calling. The Governor Robot Oversight Committee is waiting for you on a conference call.”

“Excellent. Please connect me.”

The faces of the four Committee members appeared on Hunter’s internal video screen in split portrait shots. As usual, they did not waste any time with social amenities. They exchanged greetings briefly, then Hunter got right to his report.

“MC 4 has been joined to the first three components who were already in custody,” said Hunter.

“You’re as efficient as ever,” said Dr. Redfield, the tall blonde. She smiled approvingly. “You’ve progressed so quickly that I suppose it has been fairly easy for you.”

“As I have said before, this does not predict the difficulty of the next challenge. I still cannot guarantee that the remainder of my work will be completed at the same speed.”

“Where was MC 4?” Dr. Chin cocked her head to one side, looking at him with curiosity. “Nearby, this time?”

“In western Russia,” said Hunter. He had not informed them of the time travel device and hoped that the necessity of doing so would not arise. He was deliberately vague in his reports. So far, his rapid success had satisfied them.

“We have very little to criticize.” Professor Post stroked his black beard for a moment. “Nothing, in fact, that I can see. Where do you expect to go next?”

“I have a lead in East Asia,” said Hunter.

“Really?” Dr. Chin said. “This is quite a change in geography.”

“I have only preliminary information,” Hunter said cautiously.

“Your information has always been good,” said Dr. Khanna, speaking with his Hindi accent. “Your success could not have come about so quickly otherwise.”

“I feel I must repeat that I can make no guarantee of my progress to come,” said Hunter.

“Yes, yes,” said Dr. Khanna impatiently. “You say that every time we speak with you. I will ask you the same question I posed last time. Do you have any reason to believe that the next mission will be more difficult than the previous ones?”

“I can only rephrase my original point,” said Hunter. “I cannot predict the challenges that my team will face.”

“We note your caution,” said Dr. Chin. “And, as always, we wish you good luck.”

“I’m satisfied, Hunter,” said Dr. Redfield. “Maybe we should let you get on with your duties.”

“I agree,” said Hunter. “Do you have any more questions?”

No one did.

“Good luck,” said Professor Post.

“Thank you. Good-bye.” Hunter broke the connection. He could hear footsteps approaching the office door and recognized Steve’s and Jane’s patterns. “Come in,” he called out, before they knocked.

Jane came in first, grinning. “Hi, Hunter.” She shook her head, and her rich brown hair swayed. “Even after all the time we’ve spent together, you still surprise me sometimes. Was it our footsteps, our heartbeats, our voice patterns, or …” She shrugged. “I don’t know what else.”

“I recognized your footsteps,” said Hunter.

Steve came in behind Jane. “Evening, Hunter.”

“Good evening. How does your head wound feel?”

Steve grinned. “I wouldn’t call it a wound, exactly. I still have a bump on my head, but that painkiller I got last night from R. Cushing took care of the headache.”

“I contacted Cushing today, and he told me your medication will remain in effect for several days. At the end of that time, he expects you will be healed to a point where further medication is unnecessary. Do you feel well enough to join us for the mission to find MC 5?”

“Yes. I’ll be fine. But I want to discuss whether you need me or not. Before the last mission, I wanted out because I didn’t feel I was necessary.”

“Oh, not again,” said Jane. “We’re a team. We don’t have to talk you into going again, do we?”

“I’m not mad like I was last time,” said Steve. “But I don’t want to be taken for granted, either. Hunter, we know a nuclear explosion has eliminated Beijing, and you told us we’re going to the time of Kublai Khan. I followed the news for a while myself this afternoon. But do you need me or not?”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Hunter, as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. “My concern is how to blend in with the local people as much as possible. I hired a historian named Marcia Lew who —”

“Right here,” said a woman’s voice.

Jane and Steve moved out of the way and Marcia came into the office. A young woman of Chinese descent, she wore a fashionable and precisely tailored black business suit. Her shoulder-length black hair was simply parted in the middle. She offered her hand to Jane and Steve in turn, as they introduced themselves.

“I apologize if I interrupted,” said Marcia, in a precise and formal tone. “Hunter explained when we met earlier today that I’m the one who will need the most briefing, so he gave me a short introduction then about how Mojave Center Governor divided himself and how his components fled in time. I understand you two have already participated in four of these projects.”

“That’s right,” said Steve.

“Hunter also told me that we are actually traveling in time, a concept that I have difficulty accepting.

However, I have no choice but to believe all of you.” She folded her arms and looked at Hunter.

No one spoke for a moment. Hunter saw that Steve was staring at Marcia in surprise. However, Hunter was not sure of the reason.

“Hunter, go on with your point,” Jane said finally. “Explain why we need Steve. Then we can continue the rest of our briefing.”

“We are going to China in A.D. 1290,” said Hunter. “According to the historical data I took from the city library earlier today, we will be going to the city of Khanbaliq in a time of peace. Is this correct?” He glanced at Marcia.

“Yes.”

“Hold it,” said Steve. “Khan — what? Beijing is the city that just vanished under a mushroom cloud. Why aren’t we going there?”

“‘Beijing’ is the modem name for the same city,” Marcia said primly. “A very old city on the same location called Yenjing was burned to the ground by Genghis Khan as he conquered northern China prior to the time we will visit. This is why no existing buildings in Beijing predate that time. When Kublai Khan ordered his new capital to be built just north of the remains, it was called ‘Khanbaliq,’ meaning ‘city of the khan,’ in Mongolian. When the Mongols were overthrown by the Ming Dynasty in 1368 that title no longer applied. It was renamed ‘Beijing,’ which means ‘Northern Capital,’ as opposed to ‘Nanjing,’

which is ‘Southern Capital.’ In fact, the modern city of Xian was once called ‘Xijing,’ or ‘Western Capital’ and —”

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” said Steve. “It was just a simple question; I don’t need a lecture on the subject, all right?”

“And the characters for Tokyo mean ‘Eastern Capital,’ “she finished calmly.

“Thank you,” said Hunter, observing that Steve and Jane were glancing at each other. He could not read the exact meaning in their expressions. However, he understood that they were not happy with Marcia so far.

“You were discussing Steve’s importance to the mission,” Jane said.

“Steve, my concern is how to explain Jane’s presence. You and Marcia, being of Chinese descent, will blend into the population just as Jane has done in our trips to seventeenth-century Jamaica, Roman Germany, and twentieth-century Russia. I must decide whether to maintain a European appearance or to alter myself to another look.”

“So do you have a plan?” Jane asked.

“I will present a tentative one,” said Hunter. “I understand that the capital of Kublai Khan in this time was a very international city.”

“Correct,” said Marcia. “Many Persians, Turks, Mongols, and other tribal nationalities were well represented. This is also the time of Marco Polo’s presence in Khanbaliq, with his father and his uncle. In general, however, the international visitors will be from eastern and central Asia and possibly the Middle East. If you are thinking of European visitors, the Polo family may be the only ones.”

“I propose that I maintain my European appearance and travel with Jane as a married couple.”

“This would be acceptable,” said Marcia. “If three members of the Polo family made the trip, one more pair of Europeans could have, too.”

Hunter glanced at Steve for his reaction to the next part of this proposal. “I also suggest that Steve and Marcia present themselves as a similar couple, hosting us in what appears to be their country. The four of us would have a rationale for traveling together.”

Steve glared at Hunter but said nothing.

Marcia glanced at Steve haughtily. “I suppose this makes sense. We have to fit into their society as smoothly as we can. I can tolerate some masquerading.”

“Steve, do you agree this is logical?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“We should present ourselves as visitors from a southern province,” Marcia added. “This will explain any accent in our speech and unfamiliarity with details of Khanbaliq that never appeared in the history I have studied. We don’t want to present ourselves as native to the city and then reveal our ignorance at the wrong moment.”

“Which province do you suggest?” Hunter asked. “We should agree on one now.”

“I recommend Guangdong, which is the southernmost province. We won’t be likely to run into others from there who will expose us.”

Steve nodded.

“And you must have some career, in case people ask what you do.”

“Okay.” Steve shrugged. “Like what?”

“A peasant or ordinary working man isn’t likely to travel across the country in that time. I think you should be a scholar seeking a government appointment.”

“Me? A scholar?” He grinned, glancing at Jane self-consciously.

“The top bureaucratic appointments in this time went to foreigners because Kublai Khan did not trust the Chinese. Many of the Turks and Persians I mentioned were in high government posts. Also, many of the established scholars refused to serve the Mongol government, even at the provincial and local levels.

However, some young Chinese scholars managed to get into the lower ranks of the imperial offices.

You’re the right age.”

“This sounds reasonable to me,” said Hunter.

Steve sighed. “Okay.”

“Marcia, I have much more to explain to you,” said Hunter. “Time travel is the exciting part of the mission, but I must inform you of some background information. Have you been following the news today? Particularly, the explosion that destroyed Beijing? Millions of people died and China is in chaos, and has no government.”

“The nuclear explosion? Of course. It’s all over the news media right now. What does that have to do with a component robot in 1290?”

“The explosion was caused by MC 5. When the component robots reach the approximate time at which they fled back into the past, with a margin of error of several days, they explode with nuclear force.”

“They do? Why?” Marcia’s dark eyes widened with horror.

“Their atoms become unstable because of a problem they did not predict. They have miniaturized themselves to microscopic size with the same device that sent them back in time. This is what made them unstable.”

“Why did they do that?”

“Apparently, they wanted to remain microscopic forever so they would not be involved with humans.

They intended to avoid contact so they would not cause possible harm to people by changing the course of history.”

“Of course. The First Law of Robotics says that ‘A robot may not injure a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.’”

“That’s right,” said Jane.

“And I suppose if they were masquerading as humans, they would be in danger of being given instructions by humans that they would have to obey. As I recall, the Second Law of Robotics says, ‘A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.’”

“Show-off,” muttered Steve, rolling his eyes. “All right, give us the third one, too. Get it over with.”

Marcia arched one eyebrow at Steve and spoke in a monotone. “The Third Law of Robotics says, ‘A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.’ Now may we get on with this briefing, please?”

“The sooner the better,” said Steve.

“I’m almost finished with this part,” said Jane. “Marcia, the new problem is that the miniaturization turned out not to be permanent. The instability of that process has caused each component robot to return to full size at a different time in history.”

“I believe I understand. At that point, of course, their interaction with humans becomes virtually inevitable.” Marcia turned to Hunter. “Is this how you decide which period in history to visit?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “The site of the explosion in our own time reveals where to look. I made calculations from the records in the console of the time travel sphere that tell me when MC 5 was likely to return to his normal size. We must go back and try to apprehend him as soon as we can, before he influences anyone significantly. Returning him to our time with the time travel sphere will prevent him from exploding.”

“I see,” said Marcia.

“We’re almost done with this background stuff,” said Steve. “Then we can head for the Bohung Institute. Tell her about Wayne, Hunter.”

“Perhaps you can summarize that problem for us.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Steve turned away from Marcia. “I’m just the hired hand, remember? I don’t handle this theoretical stuff.”

2

STEVE COULD HARDLY believe that Hunter had hired someone as stuffy and pompous as Marcia. Though he felt bound by Hunter’s genuine need for him on this mission, Steve already disliked Marcia more than any team member since he had first met Chad Mora, the paleontologist who had joined them on their first mission, back to the Late Cretaceous in the time of dinosaurs. Having to pretend he was married to her was going to make this trip even worse.

“I’ll explain Wayne,” Jane said quickly. “Dr. Wayne Nystrom invented the Governor robots, and he is angry that the Oversight Committee is leaving him out. He wants to get at least one of the component robots under his power so he can try to find out what went wrong himself.”

“How does he intend to do that?” Marcia asked. “Is he trying to break in here or something?”

“No,” said Jane. “Before Hunter got here, Wayne found the time travel sphere and has arranged to use it himself. He can apparently move through time without returning here. But on one occasion, he came back here and found a robot we had left here to apprehend him.”

“What happened?” Marcia looked from Jane to Hunter. “You mean this robot didn’t catch him?”

“No,” said Jane. “We don’t know exactly what happened, but we instructed the robot, R. Ishihara, to hold Wayne. We explained these instructions on the grounds that Wayne’s actions in the past threaten harm to humans by changing history — the same concern we have over the component robots. That First Law imperative should have been sufficient to convince Ishihara to obey under the Second Law.”

“Then why didn’t it work?”

“I can only surmise,” said Jane. “My best estimation is that Wayne somehow created doubt in Ishihara’s mind that Wayne was causing a clear First Law imperative. That would eliminate the power of our Second Law instructions and allow Wayne to give him new ones.”

“Robots are so logical and direct,” said Marcia. “You really think this Wayne guy could talk Ishihara out of his direct orders?”

Jane shrugged. “He must have. After all, he’s a roboticist; he’s had plenty of experience with robot logic regarding the Three Laws.”

“Wayne should be easy to spot. Marco Polo’s family and Hunter and Jane may well be the only other Europeans in the capital.”

“His family?” Steve reluctantly turned to Marcia. “I’ve heard of Marco Polo, but … was his family there?”

“He traveled to China with his father, Niccolo, and his uncle Matteo,” said Marcia. “Marco will be, let’s see, thirty-six years old in 1290. In 1292, he and his family started their trip back home to Venice.”

“Hunter,” said Steve, “can we get on with it? We won’t find MC 5 by talking here.”

“Yes. You probably saw the Security vehicle waiting outside. I will drive us to the Bohung Institute. But I must ask all three of you if you have received the vaccinations I arranged for you. And have you completed your sleep courses in spoken Chinese, Mongol, and Italian of this time?”

Steve and Jane both nodded.

“Yes,” said Marcia. “I took the vaccinations a little while ago, and I arranged the sleep courses last night after I spoke to you from Houston. From your selection of Italian, I suppose you intend to meet the Polos?”

“I want to be ready for this eventuality,” said Hunter. “I noticed in Marco Polo’s book that he gives no indication that he ever learned Chinese.”

“That’s correct,” said Marcia. “He seems to have managed for his entire seventeen years in China speaking Persian and Mongol, though I believe he must have picked up a few phrases of Chinese along the way.”

“I would think so,” said Jane. “But if Steve and Marcia are masquerading as southern Chinese, why did you want them to know Italian?”

“I want them to be able to understand what they may hear if we meet the Polos,” said Hunter.

“Obviously, Jane and I would do the talking in Italian. Now, I believe we are ready to go the Bohung Institute.”

“Hunter, hold it,” Steve said in confusion. “You’re thinking of meeting Marco Polo? A guy who wrote a book? We could really change history if we influence him, couldn’t we?”

“We must handle any meeting with the Polos carefully, of course,” said Hunter. “Marcia, do you feel the danger of affecting Polo’s book would be prohibitive?”

“No,” Marcia said thoughtfully. “As long as we’re careful, as you say. Frankly, he said just before he died that he had not told half the wonders that he had seen. For instance, he never mentioned the Great Wall, even though he lived close to it in Khanbaliq for many years. He probably saw the western end when he arrived from Europe and again when he went home. He never wrote about tea, though it had been a common drink in China for centuries.”

“Good,” said Hunter. “If we meet the Polos, we will simply exercise extreme care not to be worthy of appearing in his book.”

“One more question, please,” said Marcia. “Maybe the rest of you know this, but I don’t. Why are we leaving at night, after a day’s activity? Shouldn’t we leave in the morning, when we’re fresh?”

“We must arrive in the evening, when dusk will mask our sudden, unexplainable arrival from any potential witnesses,” said Hunter. “We will therefore leave this evening, so that your schedules of sleeping and waking will match those of the society in which we will be a part.”

“Where will we land?” Steve asked. “Out in the middle of nowhere again, I suppose.”

“Yes — to avoid being seen by local humans,” said Hunter. “Since I am unfamiliar with the exact details of the city, we must arrive in the countryside. This will minimize the chance of appearing right in front of people; if we do land near peasants, I hope the near-darkness will also disguise us. Our first task will be to find a safe place to sleep. In the morning, we will begin our search for MC 5.”

Marcia nodded. “All right. I understand.”

As the team left the office, Steve walked out last, wondering how much of a burden Marcia was going to be. By the end of the first mission, he and Chad had earned a mutual grudging respect. On the other hand, Rita Chavez, the historian on the second mission, had caused more problems than she’d solved.

The other two, Gene Titus and Judy Taub, had been pleasant and reliable. However, tolerating Marcia’s personality was going to be a trial.

Hunter drove the team through the clean, peaceful streets of the underground city. They were brightly lit, full of shops and restaurants. Hunter drove among both robot and human pedestrians, as well as other vehicles. The robots and humans who lived in Mojave Center pursued their daily routines, unaware of anything unusual happening in their midst. Steve wondered what they would think if they knew a device that could send humans and robots through time existed right in their city. Hunter had insisted on keeping their time travel a secret, however, and Steve had agreed that was a good idea.

When Hunter had first started his assignment in pursuit of Mojave Center Governor, he had arranged to shut down the Bohung Institute. A city Security detail guarded the exterior, and another robot, R.

Daladier, had been assigned to replace Ishihara in Room F-12, where the sphere was located, in the unlikely event that Wayne Nystrom appeared there. When the team entered Room F-12, Steve saw that Hunter had already prepared their clothing and money for the trip.

“I had two sets of clothing made today,” said Hunter. “I was not certain if we would masquerade as people of some wealth or not, so I prepared one set to imply wealth and one to convey modest means.

Also, I have provided two outfits in each set, so we will have a change of clothes with us. Marcia, please check them for authenticity. I can assure you that no synthetics have been used, of course. You will each have a radio communicator in the form of a lapel pin, as before.”

“We should wear the better clothing,” said Marcia briskly, glancing at the two stacks.

Steve watched as Marcia walked over to the stack of neatly folded black and gray silk. She lifted a long black robe and held it out at arm’s length. The robe was shaped in a rough triangle, flared at the bottom with a neck that simply overlapped, like a bathrobe. From its size, Steve could see that this was for Hunter.

“This is fine,” said Marcia, folding it again.

“What about the neck?” Steve asked. “In all the old pictures I’ve seen — and the movies set in pre-industrial China — the gowns had these tight collars that stand straight up around the person’s neck.”

“They’re called Mandarin collars,” said Marcia, as she set Hunter’s gown aside and shook out a pail” of baggy trousers. “They came into style many centuries later.” She glanced over the trousers, turning them in her hands. “Your research has served us well.” She set those down and picked up an identical set of clothes in Steve’s size. “If these are in the same style, I don’t need to examine them.”

“They are identical except for size,” said Hunter. “Will wearing identical colors be acceptable? The social acceptability of this was not mentioned in the history I found. Also, embroidery was available but I felt we should appear to be moderately successful rather than very wealthy. So I chose clothing in solid colors.”

“I agree,” said Marcia. “Appearing modestly well-to-do is wise. It will fit the roles of merchant and aspiring scholar that we have chosen. Further, black is good, a sign of prosperity. Since the number of dyes was limited in the society we will visit, most people in a given economic level wore fairly similar clothes.”

“What about ours?” Jane pointed to the pile of gray clothes.

“They should be similar.” Marcia lifted a plain dark blue robe and then a matching pair of loose trousers.

“Yes, these are fine.”

“Similar?” Steve shook his head. “The cut is exactly the same, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “The styles were very loose. No form-fitting was involved.”

“These are fine,” said Marcia. “But I don’t see any coats. What time of year are we going to visit?”

“Late summer,” said Hunter. “It would be August according to our calendar, though of the course the Chinese are using their lunar calendar.”

“Khanbaliq is pretty far north. The nights could be chilly even in summer.”

“My data shows that fur coats would be commonly used in cold weather,” said Hunter. “This is a problem we faced on an earlier mission. We do not use real fur in our time and I dare not take artificial fur back with us. So if we need coats, we must buy them there.” Hunter pointed to a small pile of coins.

“I have gathered authentic coins from that time for us to use, as we have on earlier missions.”

Marcia picked up a coin and looked at it, nodding. “Paper currency was in use during this time. I should think it would be easy to imitate.”

“I did not attempt to locate any surviving bills to use as models. The likelihood of their surviving to our time was too low.”

“I’m going to change,” Steve said impatiently, picking up his clothes and heading for the adjacent room.

“You do not have your shoes,” said Hunter. “Or the under robe.”

“Huh?” Steve stopped and turned around again, looking at Marcia.

She picked up a pair of shoes from the counter. As she turned them over in her hands, all Steve could see was flimsy black cloth over flat, heelless soles. She held them out to him.

“Those are shoes? What are they made of?” Steve asked doubtfully, as he took them from her.

“The soles are woven hemp,” said Hunter. “The rest of each shoe is just cloth.”

“That is an authentic design,” said Marcia.

“However, under pressure from the First Law, I arranged for the inside of the shoes to have some arched shaping and padding for your feet,” Hunter added. “This is an improvement that I must hope does not influence anyone in the past, but I believe the likelihood of anyone noticing the inside of our shoes is very small.”

“Fine with me. I just want to get on with it.” Steve also accepted a plain white under robe from Marcia, and went to change in the adjoining room.

The robes and trousers felt more uncomfortable than the clothing Steve had worn on earlier missions.

The baggy trousers and flowing robe, even after he had tied the sash, felt weird. The shoes fit all right, at least. He rejoined the others with a self-conscious scowl.

Jane glanced at him and took her turn without saying anything. Marcia took no notice of him, instead looking closely at each coin. Hunter gave Steve a cloth bag containing the change of clothes for everyone.

Steve waited in silence. He hoped that this mission would end more easily than the others. Between Marcia’s arrogance and these bulky, uncomfortable clothes, he did not expect to enjoy this one very much.

When they had all changed clothes, Hunter opened the big sphere and helped them inside. He took a moment to set the console and then joined them. When he closed the sphere, they all slid together in the darkness, jumbled in the curved bottom.

A moment later, Steve tumbled to the ground among some green plants. The air felt cool but not uncomfortable. To his right, the sun was low over the horizon. Hunter, Jane, and Marcia had landed right next to him.

They were sitting up on fairly level ground in some sort of cultivated field. Steve did not recognize the tall green stalks around them, which blocked their visibility beyond a few meters. He pushed himself up to a sitting position.

“Is anyone hurt?” Hunter asked.

“I’m fine,” said Marcia.

“Me, too,” said Jane. “I’m okay.” said Steve, getting to his feet and pulling his robe straight. Now he could see over the stalks around him. “But we don’t have much daylight left. Where are we going from here, Hunter?”

Hunter stood up and pointed to the west. The glare of the sun nearly hid the sight of some high walls and towers in that direction. “That is Khanbaliq.”

“Let’s get going,” said Steve, hoisting the cloth bag. He pushed his way through some of the stalks.”

Anybody know what this stuff is?”

“Chinese sorghum,” said Marcia, glancing at it as she stood and adjusted her own robe. “It’s a common crop here, and closely related to the western variety.”

Now that Steve was standing, he could see people walking toward the city on a nearby road. “We’re lucky we landed in this field, Hunter. Otherwise, we would have landed in plain sight of those people.” A dry breeze blew dust along the ground.

“That’s true,” said Jane, brushing dust off her robe. “If they see us walking out of the sorghum field, I hope they don’t ask us what we were doing here.”

“Lodging for the night is a bigger worry,” said Hunter, pushing his way forward through the plants.

“Steve is right. We must walk.”

“Is it always so dusty?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” said Marcia. “The soil is called loess, comprised of deep layers of dust brought here by prevailing easterly winds from the west.”

Rolling his eyes impatiently, Steve gestured for Jane and Marcia to follow Hunter. As usual, Steve went last. Gradually, they picked their way through the stalks and reached the dirt road.

Poorly dressed, barefoot peasants were leaving the city. Some rode empty carts pulled by ponies or donkeys. Others led their work animals on ropes at a walk because their carts still contained some unsold produce.

Other people, better dressed, walked or rode on the way into the city. Many of them stared at Hunter and Jane in astonishment. The remainder plodded past without noticing them, perhaps too weary to look up.

Steve strode up next to Jane as the team began walking on the road toward Khanbaliq. “I can see that the people leaving town are farmers. But who are all these people going into the city with us?”

“I don’t know.” Jane turned to Marcia. “Is this a normal day, do you think? Or is something special happening?”

“In this time of peace and relative prosperity, I would say this is a normal day. I believe the people heading back into the city are merchants and maybe even scholars. They either have arrived from other cities the way we will claim to have done, or else they made day trips to nearby villages.”

“Commuters, you mean.” Steve grinned.

“Well — yes,” she said stiffly.

Steve laughed, not at his little joke but at the fact that Marcia didn’t even seem to recognize it as a joke.

Jane elbowed him, scowling. Steve shook his head, openly showing his amusement.

“Marcia, do you expect we will have any problem finding lodging?” Hunter asked. “If the city has many visitors, they may have filled the inns already.”

“I don’t expect a problem,” said Marcia.

Hunter turned to Jane. “Do you have any thoughts about where we should begin searching for MC 5?”

“Well, MC 5 specialized in the administration of Mojave Center. I think he will almost certainly be drawn to the heart of the government.”

“In this society, that is ultimately the Emperor himself,” said Marcia.

3

THE TEAM WALKED in silence as they slowly drew closer to the towering walls of Khanbaliq. The sun sank lower in the west beyond the massive walls. Steve was glad he did not have to listen to another lecture from Marcia.

As the team approached the city gate, Steve saw several guards impatiently waiting for sundown, when they could close the gate for the night. They wore full armor and sword belts, and each had a spear in one hand. As they leaned on their spears, they talked quietly to each other.

“Maybe the guards can direct us,” said Hunter.

“Possibly so,” said Marcia.

“I wouldn’t ask them,” Steve said quickly. “Guys in a job like that are trained to be suspicious of people from outside. At least, wait till we’re inside and then ask them.”

“Very well,” said Hunter. “However, I see that they are not questioning anyone. Everyone simply walks through.”

“They don’t have modem immigration problems at a city gate in this time,” said Marcia. “In times of war, they watch out for the enemy, of course, and sometimes in peace they are concerned with bandits. In this time, however, the country is really secure. The city wall is just a precaution against trouble in the future.”

No one on the team spoke as they walked through the gate. Steve avoided the eyes of the guards, who in any case were staring at Jane and Hunter. Once the team passed inside the gate without incident, Hunter stopped and turned to a short, stocky guard who had turned to watch Hunter walk past.

“We are travelers from a far land,” Hunter said in a formal tone. “Where can we find lodging in your city?”

The guard stiffened in surprise at being addressed. “Oh, uh …”

His partner, a slightly taller, slender man, stepped forward. “Many foreign visitors live near each other in one neighborhood. Is this where you would like to go?”

“We would,” said Hunter. “Where can we find this neighborhood?”

“It is near the palace,” said the guard, pointing. “Eight blocks east along this avenue, then turn to your right. I might suggest the Inn of the White Swan.” He grinned ingratiatingly. “You might tell them the guards at the west gate sent you.”

“Thank you.” Hunter turned, gesturing for his team to follow. He led the way up the avenue in silence until they were out of the hearing of the guards. “Marcia, is this information consistent with yours?”

“Yes. Many of the foreigners here live near the palace so they can attempt to get audiences with either the Emperor or important ministers.”

Steve looked up and down the streets as they walked. Despite the growing darkness people remained out everywhere. Merchants were lighting candles’ inside paper lanterns hanging from poles to light their shops.

“The shops are staying open, aren’t they?” Steve asked. “Is that normal?”

“In the summer, yes,” said Marcia. “People like being out in the evening when it’s cool, so the merchants try to attract their business then.”

“And all these streets are laid out on a right-angle grid,” said Jane. “It looks very modern. I guess I expected narrow, twisted streets going every which way.”

“Cities of that sort grew spontaneously,” said Marcia, in her formal tone. “Khanbaliq was a planned city, laid out from the beginning as Kublai Khan’s capital.”

“Was it the first?” Jane asked. “As an example of urban planning, I mean.”

“No. I don’t know which city in the world has that honor.” Marcia shook her head. “I know that in China, the Tang Dynasty capital of Changan was built during Europe’s Dark Ages on a right-angle grid.”

The team walked in silence for a while, looking at the sights. Other people continued to stare at Hunter in particular, whose height remained visible by his silhouette even as the shadows deepened. In the growing darkness, Jane’s facial features and brown hair were no longer obvious.

“It looks … well … normal,” said Steve, after a while. “We haven’t been to a place like this before.”

“That is true,” said Hunter. “The buccaneers dominated the docks of Port Royal. Moscow in 1941

faced a foreign invasion. Our other missions did not take us to cities at all. This city has a normal, functioning society at this time.”

“Most of Asia was — is, rather — at peace now,” said Marcia. “The Mongols ruled only part of the Indian subcontinent, and did not rule Japan or the jungles of southeast Asia, but khans ruled the rest of Asia.

Nominally, they all recognized Kublai Khan as their overlord.”

“Wow,” said Jane.

Steve clenched his teeth. He could hear another lecture from Marcia starting.

“Kublai Khan attempted two invasions of Japan, both of which failed,” Marcia added. “One fleet was destroyed by the divine wind the Japanese call the original ‘kamikaze.’ And Mongols did conquer and rule part of northern India.”

“They did?” Jane looked at her.

“The word ‘Mogul’ is a corruption of ‘Mongol,’ “said Marcia, “from India.”

“Hunter, we must be getting close to the area,” said Steve. He was hoping to stop Marcia by changing the subject. “We have only passed four blocks,” said Hunter. “That is not far enough.”

“Well, tell me, where are we going to stay? Another inn, I suppose? You want to look for the one the guard mentioned?”

“That would be acceptable,” said Hunter. “As you have said to me at certain times, we must improvise.”

“It looks safe,” said Jane. “In Port Royal, I always felt that any buccaneer could be a thief or a cutthroat.

Here I see lots of young women walking around casually by themselves.”

“It’s a prosperous, peaceful country,” said Marcia. “One that is ruled by an Emperor with absolute power. In fact, a historian once said that in Kublai Khan’s time, a young woman could travel alone from Palestine to Korea with a sack of gold and not be bothered by anyone.”

“Hard to believe,” Steve muttered. “That is, without robots around.”

“The death penalty was used freely,” said Marcia.

“We must all remember that,” said Hunter.

“But I wonder what MC 5 will try to do in a society that is fundamentally safe for humans,” said Steve.

“I would not characterize it as safe,” said Hunter, “not when the death penalty is utilized frequently.”

“I think that kind of concern might provide our answer,” said Jane. “That is, MC 5 may try to change government values and policy. I suppose that would mean influencing Kublai Khan himself. Marcia, what do you think?”

“Well, you’re the roboticist, of course,” Marcia said carefully. “I don’t know how this robot thinks. But in terms of the way this society operates, your idea makes sense. At the very least, someone who wants to influence policy would try to become involved with the circle of advisors around the Emperor, maybe by working for one of them.”

“How would MC 5 — or anyone else — go about accomplishing that?” Hunter asked.

“Through connections,” said Marcia. “Introductions are very important here.”

“We know he doesn’t know anyone here,” Steve said impatiently. “He’s going to show up naked, like the other component robots have. Long before he gets a job with the Emperor, he’ll have to find a pair of pants.”

Jane laughed. “That’s true, but the others all managed. MC 5 will too, I’m sure.”

Steve shrugged. “I think we’ll find him out on the street somewhere, not in the halls of government.” He looked up the street. “We must be getting close to this neighborhood by now, Hunter.”

“We will turn right at the next block,” said Hunter. “Marcia, how would MC 5 create the kind of network he needs in this society when he arrives here without contacts of any kind?”

“Well … what kind of education does he have?”

“Education?” Steve snickered. “What does that have to do with what a fleeing robot does?”

“Has he heard of Marco Polo?” Marcia asked pointedly. “If so, he might begin with him.”

“I do not know exactly what data the component robots have,” said Hunter. “However, I think MC 5

could very likely have at least a passing knowledge of Marco Polo. How would MC 5 make use of this information?”

Marcia glanced at Jane. “Is that a robotics question? Or a historical one?”

Jane shrugged, smiling. “Hard to say. You start.”

“Well, during this time, Marco Polo — as opposed to his father and uncle, who were advanced in years now — has been a traveling envoy of the Emperor, visiting various Chinese provinces and returning to report to Kublai Khan. Right now, he is back in Khanbaliq.”

“So he could be found,” said Jane.

“Yes. And he’s respected at court, a familiar name and face to many people. I think MC 5 could track him down without great difficulty.”

“Then so can we,” said Hunter. “We shall begin tomorrow.”

Hunter led them around a corner and up a smaller street. By this time, night had fallen completely, but the moon was nearly full. It shed a great deal of light out of the cloudless sky. Around them, hanging paper lanterns lit all the little shops lining the street.

“This isn’t a residential block, Hunter,” said Steve. “Maybe we should ask for directions again.”

“Steve should do it,” said Marcia. “Ask one of these merchants. But I don’t recommend that Inn of the White Swan. The guards probably get a kickback for mentioning it, and we’ll have to pay a higher rate to cover it.”

That was a principle Steve understood. Wearily moving the cloth bag to his opposite shoulder, Steve walked up to a shop that had no customers. A young man behind the wooden counter was wiping it off perfunctorily with a damp cloth. A woman sat on a stool, yawning, with a sleeping baby in one arm. Two older children were scrubbing out a large iron pot.

“Good evening,” Steve said politely. “We are travelers from outside the city. Can you tell me where we might find lodging for the night?”

The man’s face tightened with annoyance. “You don’t want anything to eat?”

Steve pulled a couple of small coins out and laid them on the counter. “We may be here for some time, friend. Tomorrow, we’ll be hungry allover again.”

The other man forced an affected smile. “Of course, of course.” He scooped up the coins without looking down at them. “I am Liu Guan, at your service. May I suggest the Prosperity Inn, two blocks south on your left?”

“Thank you.” Steve returned to the others and pointed down the street. They all started walking again.

“You had to bribe him,” Jane asked, “just to answer a question?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that label is a little harsh,” said Marcia. “Call it a tip.”

Steve said nothing, afraid he would start Marcia on another boring lecture. Instead, he walked faster, looking into the shadows ahead for the Prosperity Inn. The others did not speak, either. He hoped Jane and Hunter were also learning that inviting Marcia to talk was a bad idea.

Soon a large, single-story building came into view with a long, vertical sign running down the left side of the entrance. In the yellowish light from the lanterns hanging from the eaves, Steve could read, PROSPERITY INN. Similar light illuminated the shades on the windows.

“Which one of us should make the arrangements?” Hunter asked Marcia.

“Steve,” said Marcia. “You and Jane are masquerading as foreigners, and in this society — and as Steve’s wife — I would not take that kind of initiative while he’s here. But we’ll all go in together.”

“Okay,” said Steve. He led them inside.

Small flames burned in brass oil lamps resting on wooden tables, lighting the room. A portly man with gray hair hurried forward to greet them. He wore a light blue robe similar to Steve’s.

“Welcome, friends. Welcome.” He bowed at the waist.

Remembering Marcia’s briefing on the subject earlier, Steve imitated the man’s bow.

“You are together? Two families?” The innkeeper looked in surprise at Jane and Hunter but said nothing else.

“Yes,” said Steve. “My wife and I are hosting two guests from another country. I am a scholar seeking an appointment.”

“Ah!” The innkeeper nodded eagerly. “Perhaps you would like a private bungalow, then? We have several in the courtyard behind the main building for special guests. I can offer you a bungalow with two bedrooms.”

Steve glanced back at Hunter, who nodded.

“How much?”

“One silver per night.”

Steve had no idea if that was a fair price or not, but he suspected the innkeeper assumed he would bargain. Casually, he glanced back at Marcia, who shook her head slightly. She stroked her hair with two fingers and wiggled them a little.

“Too high,” Steve said firmly to the innkeeper. “Two.” He had no idea what this meant, but it was the best he could do without revealing his ignorance.

“Two — coppers?” The innkeeper folded his arms. “No. Six coppers.”

Now Steve knew where he stood. “Two coppers,” he said confidently.

“Hm, well, maybe five. This is an entire private bungalow, you know.”

“Two.”

The innkeeper hesitated, glancing at all of them. “Four coppers.”

“Two.”

“No. Four.”

Steve turned and walked back toward the door, grinning when he had his back to the innkeeper. “Come on.” Without looking behind him, Steve opened the door and walked back outside. The sound of footsteps told him that the rest of the team was following him without speaking. Then, as he expected, another set of footsteps ran after them.

“Fine, fine. Two coppers a night for my special guests,” the innkeeper called.

Steve stopped and looked back. The innkeeper smiled eagerly, gesturing for them to return. The team members waited for Steve’s reaction.

“Two coppers,” the innkeeper repeated.

“Fine,” Steve echoed. “We will stay.”

The innkeeper led them through the main building and out a rear door. It opened on a courtyard enclosed on all four sides by a high masonry wall. Several bungalows stood lined up in the courtyard; in the shadows, Steve could not see how many. Carrying a small brass oil lamp, the innkeeper led them to the first bungalow. He lit the hanging lamps over the door and then two more small brass lamps inside.

Steve glanced around inside. It was clean and nicely furnished. The tables and chairs were made of plain but highly polished wood, intricately carved in patterns with tight curls. The innkeeper led them to both bedrooms; the heavy bed frames were made of the same kind of wood, and quilted cotton comforters covered them. A small fireplace, which they would not need, warmed the bungalow in winter.

“It is adequate.” Steve tried to sound unenthusiastic, to maintain his bargaining position in the future.

Hunter paid the innkeeper without speaking.

The innkeeper walked backward out of the door, bowing to them repeatedly, and closed it behind him.

4

STEVE LET OUT a breath of relief and grinned at the others. “I’m glad my bargaining worked out. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You got my signal,” said Marcia. “Very good. When we know the proper price of goods and services, bargaining is easy enough.”

“We aren’t cheating him, are we?” Jane asked. “We’re only paying a small fraction of what he wanted.”

“No,” said Marcia. “He wouldn’t have accepted if he could get a better price from someone else. It’s late now and this bungalow would probably go empty tonight without us. Besides, the economy isn’t strong here right now.”

“Huh?” Steve was surprised. “I thought Kublai Khan was some kind of great benevolent dictator.”

“For his time, he was very enlightened,” said Marcia. “But the Mongol emperors were not good rulers economically. The first issue of paper money from Kublai Khan, made in 1260, was recalled three years ago in 1287, on a one-to-five basis — your money was only worth twenty percent of its face value.

Another depreciation of the same magnitude will happen again in less than twenty years —”

“So money is tight for ordinary people,” Steve interrupted quickly. “Okay, I get it.”

“I’m tired after that walk,” said Jane, just as fast. “I’m ready for bed, I think.” She glanced at Marcia warily. “How about you?”

“Well, yes, I am, too. It’s rather late by our schedule, isn’t it?”

I suggest you two take the larger bedroom,” said Hunter. “Steve can have the smaller one. I shall spend the night here in the front room.”

“Always on the lookout for the unforeseen danger.” Steve grinned. He took his change of clothes for the morning out of the bag, then handed the bag to Jane. “Well, I’m ready for a good night’s sleep, too.

Good night.”

Dr. Wayne Nystrom landed flat on his back at dusk on the edge of some plowed field. The ground and air temperature were warm; this felt like a summer evening, which was what he expected. Next to him, he could see R. Ishihara sitting up. They both wore the tunics, leggings, and boots that Ishihara had originally designed for their trip to Roman Germany in A.D. 9. Wayne also still wore a long fur cloak that he had acquired, though Ishihara had traded his cloak away on their most recent trip to the area around Moscow in December 1941.

Wayne pushed himself up into a sitting position and saw a group of ten or twelve people standing about ten meters away, staring at them in shock. They wore thin shirts and trousers, and carried hoes, rakes, and scythes over their shoulders. Their faces were shadowed by basketlike hats made of woven grass.

With a sudden chorus of frightened shouts, the entire group turned and ran.

Wayne glanced around in other directions. Only a few meters away, an unpaved road led to a city that was visible in the distance. Many people were on it, going both to and from the city. “What do we do now? They saw us appear like magic.”

“I do not know,” said Ishihara, as he stood up. “Have we arrived in the right location? If not, we can simply move in time again and hope that seeing us arrive will have no serious effect on them.”

“This looks like the right place,” said Wayne, getting to his feet. “At least, I’d say that group is a bunch of Chinese peasants. And the weather feels right.”

“I agree.”

“The measurements I took from the console on the time travel sphere indicated that I should set the controls for the outskirts of Beijing in 1290,” said Wayne. “If that city’s Beijing, then this is where we want to be.”

“The system has always worked correctly before,” said Ishihara. “Apparently it is still reliable.”

Wayne looked down the road. The peasants had stopped running. Now they were talking excitedly among themselves, while still watching Wayne and Ishihara suspiciously. “I don’t know what kind of explanation we can give them. Maybe we better start walking.”

“Set the belt unit for another time,” said Ishihara. “If we have to use it in hurry, it will be ready.”

“Yeah.” Wayne paused and set the unit for the same location three hours later, after dark. Most likely, no one would be out here then. He glanced back at the group of peasants and froze.

They were coming closer, slowly. The men who held long-handled farm implements advanced in the front, holding their tools forward as weapons. Other men and women, holding smaller tools, followed them. Some were shouting angrily.

“Be prepared to trigger the belt unit,” said Ishihara. “It is too late to run from them.”

“All right. But maybe we can communicate somehow. I don’t suppose you know any medieval Chinese, though, huh?”

“No, I do not.”

Wayne forced a smile and held up a hand in greeting. “Hello,” he called out. More softly, he added, “I’m hoping they can understand a friendly tone of voice.”

The peasants stopped, still speaking excitedly among themselves. They kept their tools high, however.

None of them looked away.

“I strongly recommend you trigger the belt unit,” said Ishihara.

“They keep saying something like ‘guei’ or ‘kuai’ — something like that,” said Wayne. “Any idea what it means?”

“No,” said Ishihara. “And I must remind you that the First Law will force me to take the belt unit away from you and trigger it myself if they come much closer to us.”

“Well, they stopped when I smiled at them just now and said hello. Maybe we can get through to them.

Show them that both your hands are empty. And smile.” Wayne felt more frightened than he sounded.

Ishihara held both his hands out, open, and smiled. “I think this word they keep saying means something negative, from their tone of voice. They fear we are a couple of gueis.”

“Whatever they are.”

“Yes.”

“The word must mean some kind of supernatural creature — you know, a demon or a fairy or something else that can appear magically.”

“It must mean an evil creature of some type,” said Ishihara. “They would not be as afraid or as hostile toward a good spirit. I surmise that our European appearance has also increased their fear to some degree. Certainly these ancient German tunics and cloak make us look barbaric.”

“Hey! Maybe we can use this. We’re good spirits. We have to tell them we’re good spirits.”

“This will be a difficult distinction to make without a language in common,” said Ishihara.

The peasants had begun approaching them slowly once again.

“No guei, no guei.” Wayne forced himself to smile even more broadly than before, though he was too scared to feel very friendly. He held his hands up, palms forward.

The peasants stopped again, still talking among themselves. The word “guei,” was repeated even more than before.

“They understand guei, at least,” said Wayne quietly, slipping one hand back to the belt unit, just in case. “I’m going to try something else.”

“Be extremely careful,” said Ishihara.

Wayne renewed his phony smile and stepped forward, holding one arm high above his head. He knew they would not understand his speech, but he hoped that they would respond to a friendly tone of voice and gestures of greeting. “Hello, whoever you are. Good evening. We are glad to see you.”

The peasants gazed at him. Their eyes were wide with surprise and puzzlement. One of the men in the front, who held a large hoe, shouted to Wayne suspiciously.

“Do what I did,” said Wayne. “I think it’s working.”

“Hello,” Ishihara called out. He also raised one arm in greeting. “Good evening.”

The peasants watched them without speaking. The man in front lowered his hoe slightly.

“We have to convince them we’re good spirits,” Wayne said quietly. “Then they’ll actually help us.”

“If we can prevent them from trying to kill us. I will be satisfied,” said Ishihara.

The peasants began talking to each other again.

“It’s working,” said Wayne. “At least, they aren’t as sure as they were a minute ago that we’re enemies.”

“We have made no aggressive moves,” said Ishihara. “That may have helped. However, I recommend again that we jump forward in time and start over,”

“Not yet,” said Wayne. “This is a populated area, so we might be seen again.”

“After dark, that is very unlikely.”

“We can use their help,” Wayne said eagerly, “We’ll need them. We won’t be able to speak to anyone else here, either. But we could really use some allies. If we can become friends with them, can you start learning their language?”

“Yes, if we have prolonged interaction with them,” said Ishihara. “But I cannot predict how quickly I will make progress.”

“I think I remember something from my elementary school days,” said Wayne. “Didn’t the Chinese used to bow to each other as a greeting?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, try it. Do what I do.” Wayne caught the eye of the man with the hoe and slowly bowed forward from the waist.

Next to him, Ishihara did the same.

The man carrying the hoe bowed in return. Belatedly, so did several of his companions. All of them fell silent again.

“It’s like offering a handshake in our own time,” said Wayne. “We finally did something they understood.”

An elderly man stepped forward from the group. The man with the hoe joined him, lowering the hoe to the ground. The older man spoke to Wayne, calmly this time.

“Any idea what he said?” Wayne asked.

“No.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. But he’s asking a question, don’t you think?”

“From his tone and facial expression, yes.”

“I’m going to guess he’s asked who we are or where we came from,” said Wayne. He smiled again and pointed to the sky. “I hope that’s what he asked.”

The peasants began chattering excitedly among themselves again. The two men in the front bowed once more. Everyone in the group looked at Wayne and Ishihara in amazement.

“I have to keep this going somehow,” said Wayne. “Just follow me.” He walked forward, still smiling, and patted his stomach. “Can you help us, friends?” The only tools of communication he could think of were gestures, facial expressions, and tones of voice.

For the first time, some of the peasants smiled in surprise. Certainly, they recognized his gesture of hunger. The two men in the front conferred briefly. Then the older man spoke, waving for Wayne and Ishihara to come with them.

Wayne glanced at Ishihara, relieved. “Well, I got through to them a little. Let’s go.”

“I would expect the villagers to believe that good spirits who come to visit humans would speak the local human language,” said Ishihara. “The villagers may question this.”

“Well … if they do, we can’t understand them. And if we did, we still couldn’t explain.” With a helpless shrug, Wayne smiled again at their plight. “Since they don’t seem to want to hurt us, maybe we can get along.”

“I recommend that you keep your hand on your belt unit,” said Ishihara, as he joined Wayne in walking forward.

The peasants kept a slight distance from them as they took the road, walking away from the city. They still muttered among themselves and glanced at their new guests with a mixture of awe and fascination.

Wayne smiled and nodded at anyone he caught looking at him.

“So how do you feel about this so far?” Wayne asked Ishihara. “Joining them, I mean. They still seem to like us.”

“I am most concerned about your safety under the First Law. The danger has only decreased slightly.

Our inability to communicate effectively means that a misunderstanding could occur very easily.”

“I understand what you mean,” said Wayne. “I have every intention of being careful. But I reiterate my ongoing instructions to you: you must help me under the First Law to complete my mission of apprehending at least one component robot. My career and my life in general will be harmed if I can’t conduct my own investigation into how MC Governor malfunctioned.”

“Acknowledged.”

Wayne grinned. “I bet they think we’re speaking some sort of fairy language.”

“I assume so.”

Before long, the peasants left the main road for a narrow dirt path. Ahead, Wayne saw a cluster of tightly bunched, single-story buildings barely outlined by hanging lanterns over the doors. Small children were playing nearby.

The grounds around the village were raked clean, but the surrounding crops had been planted almost right up against the small wooden houses clustered in the center. Only the width of a footpath separated the village from the crops, and the buildings from each other.

The man carrying the hoe called out. The children looked up, and elderly women came out of the houses. All of them stared in wonder at the strangers.

Hunter spent an uneventful night in the front room of the bungalow, motionless but not shut down. At the earliest light of dawn, he heard sounds of activity in the city around the bungalow — people talking, carts and wagons creaking, horses and donkeys clopping, and babies crying. A few moments later, Steve came out of his room.

“I guess nobody sleeps late around here,” Steve muttered. “What a racket.”

“Marcia and Jane have not stirred yet,” said Hunter. “I expect they will soon.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll go look for the latrine.” Stretching, Steve left the bungalow.

A moment later, Hunter heard Jane and Marcia talking to each other. He waited patiently while all three humans rose, dressed, used the latrine, and washed at the water pump out in the courtyard. Then he joined them. The early morning sunlight angled across the courtyard. The sky was clear and bright, though the air was still cool at this hour.

“Good morning,” said Hunter. “You are all ready for breakfast?”

“I’m starved,” said Steve, tugging his robe here and there. “I just hope I can get used to wearing this thing.”

“I need a shower,” said Marcia. “But I don’t think they’ve been invented yet. We can arrange baths later in the day, though.”

“I’m ready to get breakfast,” said Jane. “And if this is the neighborhood where foreign visitors are common, then we can start looking for MC 5 at the same time.”

“Let’s go back to the same place where I asked for directions,” said Steve. “I kind of promised we’d come back there to eat.”

“All right.” Hunter turned and led his team out of the courtyard through a gate to one side of the main building. “This is a logical beginning.”

5

OUT ON THE STREET, Hunter found shops already open. The aroma of various foods cooking reached him.

People filled the street, walking among pony carts and pushcarts.

Steve fell into step next to Hunter. “This is a regular city, isn’t it? On an ordinary day. Where would MC

5 go around here to find clothes?”

“As always, I have only approximated the time when he will return to his full size,” said Hunter. “I believe yesterday was the earliest; he may not appear for another day or two. I suppose, like the other component robots, he will have to steal clothing when he first arrives, either from someone’s trash or maybe from a line of laundry hung up to dry in the sunlight.”

A line of people waited at the stall where Steve had asked for information the night before. Long wooden tables and benches had been placed out in front. Hunter could see a big pot of rice gruel simmering over an open fire burning in a brick hearth. Customers bought bowls of the gruel and small plates of pork and chicken strips and fresh vegetables to stir into it.

Hunter and Steve took places in line and bought three breakfasts. At the same time, Marcia and Jane sat down at one of the tables and reserved seats for them. While the humans ate, Hunter patiently observed their surroundings.

Most of the people Hunter could see were Chinese, either tending small shops, pushing vending carts, or walking briskly. They wore light, pajamalike loose jackets and trousers. A smaller number, dressed in embroidered silk gowns, were clearly more wealthy. A very few people he could see, however, were not Chinese at all, though they were wearing Chinese gowns.

“Marcia, of what origin are the two men walking toward us on the far side of the street?” Hunter asked.

“In our own time, I would guess they were from the Middle East.”

She looked up from her bowl. “That’s a good guess. In this era, I’d say they are Central Asian Turks.

Starting a couple of centuries ago, several waves of migrating Turks moved westward from Central Asia into the Middle East, which is one reason that many people of this appearance live there in our own time.

The Mongol conquest of the entire region has facilitated travel in all directions and, as I said, Kublai Khan has hired many foreigners to work in his government. In fact, these Turks probably arrived by the Old Silk Road, just as the Polo family~”

“That’s interesting,” Steve said quickly. “But what about them?” He pointed to two men of East Asian ancestry whose gowns were similar to their own, but whose hair was tightly drawn up into a knot on top of their heads. “Nobody else has that hairstyle.”

“They’re Koreans,” said Marcia. “Korea has long been a part of the Mongol empire by this year.”

“I think I see some Arabs,” said Jane. “They’re right across the street.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Marcia. “The Arabs conquered the Turks some centuries ago and introduced them to Islam. They had some reason to regret it; some of the Turks revolted and overthrew them all the way back to Palestine.”

“I’m glad no one’s fighting here,” said Jane. “I guess Kublai Khan pacified them all, huh?”

“For the time being.” Marcia nodded. “But in only a few hundred years —”

“Hunter,” Steve said earnestly, interrupting her again. “What are we going to do after breakfast? To find MC 5, I mean? What’s our plan of action?”

“This is a good place to begin,” said Hunter. “We will start today by becoming familiar with the neighborhood and simply looking for MC 5.”

“No reason to stop with that,” said Steve. “We can also ask around — maybe offer a small reward to people for giving us a lead on him.”

“Marcia, will that be acceptable in this society?” Hunter asked.

“Yes, it will.”

“Good,” said Steve. “And I guess, based on past experience, we have to keep an eye out for Wayne Nystrom and Ishihara, too. Maybe we should offer a reward for them.”

“I agree,” said Hunter.

“They haven’t stopped you before,” said Marcia.

“They have come close,” said Hunter. “We must remain alert for them.”

The night before, Wayne and Ishihara had shared a modest dinner of white rice and steamed fish in the village. They had slept on pallets in a bedroom in one of the small houses. Though modest, the room was clearly a place of honor; Wayne noticed that the elderly man and his slight, stooped, gray-haired wife vacated it for them and went out to sleep in the main room with seven other people who seemed, by their mutual resemblance, to represent two more generations of the same family. Unable to communicate, Wayne could not protest. In any case, he wanted to maintain the pose that he and Ishihara were good spirits, and he was sure the peasants assumed good spirits would expect hospitality of this sort.

Wayne had fallen asleep quickly, and had slept soundly. When he finally awoke to the sound of roosters crowing outside and people speaking in the main room of the house, he felt well rested but hungry again.

He found Ishihara sitting against the closed door of the room, watching him.

“Morning,” Wayne said quietly. “Did you observe anything interesting during the night?”

“No. However, I can announce some minimal progress in learning the local language.”

“Really? How?”

“During the night, I have repeatedly reviewed my memory of all our contact with the villagers to this point. At the time we first met them, the First Law required that I focus my attention entirely on the potential danger to you. After I was satisfied that you were safe, I began reviewing the gestures and conversation of the villagers; also, of course, I was able to observe more of their conversation and gestures during dinner last night. When they rose early this morning, I was able to hear some of their speech through the door of our room.”

“Wait a minute. I’m no linguist. What’s the point of studying their gestures?”

“It was the only way I could begin to pick up vocabulary. For instance, every time someone passed or received a bowl of rice, the word fan was used in conversation.”

“So you’re sure it means rice? What if it means, hungry, or more of the same?”

“You have identified the problem exactly,” said Ishihara. “Right now, I am making educated guesses.

However, I will begin speaking some of these words and see how our hosts respond. I gave you only one example.”

“What else?” Wayne got up and began getting dressed. “More vocabulary?”

“More than that. The basic sentence structure has some similarities to English. The simple declarative sentence goes, subject, verb, object, in that order. When they ask questions, the tone goes up at the end, the same as in English. But the vocabulary is tonal; the lilt you give to each word separates it from what in English would be homophones.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it. But you think you can learn it?”

“Gradually, I will develop some ability to speak with them, yes.”

Wayne finished dressing. “Well, I guess it’s time for breakfast. Let’s go out and try it. And let’s see if we can get some local clothes this time.”

“Yes, I agree we should do that.”

When they opened the door and entered the main room, Wayne saw that it was crowded with people.

Everyone who lived in the house turned to look at them, as did as many of their neighbors who could jam inside. Everyone fell silent.

The elderly woman spoke up, pointing to the big pot of rice gruel simmering over the fire.

“Fan,” said Ishihara, with a casual nod.

One of the younger women picked up a wooden bowl and ladled gruel into it. Another woman spoke quickly to several children, who got up and made room at the hearth. Wayne and Ishihara accepted their bowls and sat down.

Wayne ate in silence, but occasionally he met someone’s eyes and smiled slightly. Ishihara, however, attempted to make casual conversation. Wayne knew that Ishihara’s ability to learn the language far outstripped his, so he did not try to participate.

He watched with amusement, however, as Ishihara pointed to different people and objects around the room, apparently learning vocabulary. Their hosts were eager teachers, especially the children. Everyone smiled with approval at Ishihara’s successful efforts to communicate.

By the time Wayne had finished his second bowl of bland gruel, Ishihara was speaking and gesturing, frequently pointing upward. The villagers nodded with guileless wonder as they looked again at both their guests. Finally the conversation came to a pause.

“What did you say?” Wayne asked quietly.

Their hosts turned to him, fascinated by hearing him speak his strange language again.

“I have made some progress, I believe,” said Ishihara. “They are more convinced than ever that we have fallen from the sky as spirits. ‘Guei’ appears to mean an evil spirit, maybe an equivalent to a demon or devil. They do seem convinced that we are not guei. By the way, all the nouns seem to be collective, without a plural. You may need to pick up a few phrases.”

“You seem to be learning the language without much trouble,” said Wayne.

“The first stage is the most difficult,” said Ishihara. “As I hear more words and more varied sentence structures, my learning curve will rise sharply. Right now I am most effective when discussing physical objects, such as requesting more rice gruel. Concepts such as spirits and demons still make uncertain communication.”

The villagers watched them without speaking.

“I want to follow up the idea we had last time — of stopping Hunter and his team first,” said Wayne.

“Do you have a specific plan in mind for our current situation?”

“Maybe. Look, if we can interfere with Hunter’s team, then we’ll have a free hand to find MC 5. When we tried that before, you and I were acting alone. If our hosts, here, will help us in the belief that we’re, uh, good spirits, maybe we can really distract Hunter this time.”

“We must handle this very carefully,” said Ishihara. “I cannot allow any actions that might harm the people of this village or the human members of Hunter’s team.”

“All we have to do is slow down the bunch of them,” said Wayne. “Send them on a wild-goose chase or divide them so that Hunter spends his time trying to gather his team again instead of looking for MC 5.”

“By involving the villagers, we increase our chance of altering history in a significant way.”

“Well … you must admit, we’ve made numerous small changes already, and so has Hunter’s team.

Nothing seems to have changed, has it?”

“You and I have not been back to our own time to see if they have had an effect.”

“Our presence in Roman Germany had not altered the front between the Germans and Soviets in 1941.

Our collective activities in the time of the dinosaurs and in Jamaica in the 16005, before you joined me, had not made any visible alterations, either.”

“Granted, but I insist we must remain very careful. Do you have a plan?”

“Yeah, I think so. Can you tell them that we’re looking for Hunter and his team, and that Hunter is an evil spirit we must locate?”

“I believe I can convey that idea,” said Ishihara. “But I cannot identify Hunter’s human team as evil spirits. Doing so might endanger them too much.”

“Then tell them that Hunter, the evil spirit, has duped certain innocent humans into helping him, and they should not be hurt. Is that acceptable?”

“I will tell them that Hunter is a good spirit who is temporarily misguided.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ishihara turned to the elderly couple and switched to Chinese. He spoke to them for several minutes, sometimes shaking his head. Finally he turned to Wayne again. “I think I have conveyed my point.”

“Are they willing to help?”

“Most of the villagers have to work in the fields. However, some of them are going to the city market with produce to sell. They have no work animal, so they have to pull and push their cart on the road themselves. We can go with them and they will help.”

Wayne smiled, nodding approval to their hosts. “Thank you.”

Several of them nodded back, also smiling. They seemed to understand his meaning just tine.

Hunter walked through the streets with his team members after they had finished breakfast, with Jane beside him. Steve and Marcia actually led, to maintain the appearance of being the hosts, but Hunter quietly told them when and where to turn. His calculations indicated that MC 5 would probably return to full size somewhere within several particular blocks, rather than on the street, but the margin of error was too large to be certain. These blocks were similar to the ones near the inn — full of small shops and open-air eateries, with peddlers pushing carts up and down the street.

“Jane.” Hunter spoke in English. Since they were masquerading as foreigners anyway, being overheard here would not matter. “How do you think MC 5 might have behaved here if he has already returned to full size?”

“Well, these shops have all kinds of stuff, including clothes. He may find something to wear without too much trouble. After that, I don’t know. I know that his specialty in Mojave Center was administration of the city.”

“Do you think he might move toward the center of government administration here?”

“It would be a logical move for him,” said Jane. “But I don’t know exactly what that would mean in this society. He’d have to figure that out, too.”

“Marcia.” Hunter stopped walking. Steve and Marcia turned and joined Jane. “Do I understand that the center of government here is ultimately Kublai Khan himself?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” said Marcia. “He is surrounded by a huge Chinese bureaucracy, but he is the final authority. In fact —”

“Jane,” Hunter interrupted, turning to her. “Jane, would the imperatives of the Laws of Robotics impel MC 5 to seek out Kublai Khan?”

“That’s hard to say,” Jane said thoughtfully. “Well, let me think out loud for a moment. I was thinking that his own programming as a specialist in city administration would draw him in that direction. But of course, his underlying motive under the First Law would be to lessen the harm to humanity by improving the quality of government.”

“What else might he do?” Hunter asked.

“Well, he could get caught up in more mundane First Law activities, I suppose.”

“Huh? Like what?” Steve asked.

“Such as helping laborers avoid accidents. Or stopping fights he happens to see. Any sort of individual incident that might attract his attention.”

“Sounds to me like we should start spreading the word, like I suggested before,” said Steve. “Once we’ve offered a small reward to anyone who leads us to MC 5, we can just take casual strolls up and down the streets.”

“I agree,” said Hunter. “You and Marcia will pick the people to approach.”

Steve glanced at Marcia. “Let’s get started.”

“Excellent,” said Marcia. “I suggest we offer a graduated system of rewards. To most people on the street, a single copper is worth enough to get their attention. Suppose we offer one copper for someone who reports a sighting of MC 5, two for someone who can lead us to him, and three for someone who brings him to us. If they bring him soon —”

“Hold it, will you?” Steve demanded. “Why do you have to make it so complicated? We can just —”

“Make it up as we go along?” Marcia raised one eyebrow haughtily. “Maybe you’re offended that I’m developing your own precious idea.”

Startled, Steve fumbled for something to say.

“Please proceed,” said Hunter. “Both of you.”

6

THE VILLAGERS HAD already postponed their normal routine in order to visit the good spirits who had graced their village. Wayne urged Ishihara to explain that they wanted to dress as fellow villagers for their walk into Khanbaliq. The villagers seemed amused and honored by this request.

Two men agreed to work in the fields bare to the waist so their guests could wear their shirts and hats.

After some consultation, a couple of women reluctantly brought out some old, tattered pants that had been discarded even by the peasants. Ishihara assured them that these clothes were sufficient, and the two of them changed clothes in their room.

Wayne was willing to go barefoot like the peasants, but Ishihara refused to allow this under the First Law. Instead, Ishihara borrowed a knife and cut both pairs of boots he had prepared for Roman Germany down into a sort of makeshift shoes. Then they joined the small group of peasants making the journey into the city. The strongest and healthiest men and women of the village returned to work in the fields for the day.

Lao Li, the village elder in whose house they had stayed, led the others to Khanbaliq. Most of the other peasants who accompanied them were elderly, too, except for Lao Li’s twelve-year-old grandson, Xiao Li. Ishihara told Wayne that “Lao,” which meant “old,” and “Xiao,” meaning “little,” were common honorific nicknames.

Wayne walked in silence, of course, since no one but Ishihara could understand him. The robot talked with the villagers, often with everyone waving, gesturing, and sometimes laughing as they tried to communicate. Ishihara was learning the language as fast as he could.

As they finally drew near the walls of the city, Ishihara turned to Wayne. “I am making good progress now. One of the villagers has told me that in many of their old fairy tales, good spirits come to earth like this in human form to travel in secret among people.”

“That means we fit right in.”

“Yes. I am very relieved that we are not, in fact, introducing new ideas to this culture but simply demonstrating existing ones.”

“Well, that helps explain why they’ve been so cooperative, too.”

“Still, we must remain very alert to the possibility that we may truly interfere historically with these peasants in some significant way.”

“I don’t think we have much to worry about,” said Wayne. “They’re going to market like they do every day, aren’t they? We’re just tagging along.”

By mid-morning, Hunter had led his team up and down every street in the foreign quarter. They passed more Turks and Arabs in colorful, embroidered Chinese gowns, Koreans wearing their topknots and with slightly different embroidery on their gowns, and stocky Mongol soldiers wearing their armor, swords, and daggers. Chinese citizens owned and worked in most of the shops, however, and they were the people most likely to cooperate.

Steve and Marcia spoke briefly to people on every block, describing MC 5. They approached many who worked in shops, but they also spoke to peddlers pushing their carts and to children who were old enough to remember their description of MC 5. Hunter had heard Steve grudgingly agree to Marcia’s system of rewards. While they spoke to passersby, Hunter and Jane hung back slightly in their pose as foreign visitors.

They passed merchants of all sorts. The shops and stalls sold fabrics and sturdy, simple furniture on one street and fine porcelains and iron cookware on the next. The third block they visited held stall after stall of different crafts, including a family that was boiling big vats of plant fibers to make paper. On every street, small children ran and played and peddlers pushed carts of small trinkets.

When Hunter realized that the team had seen the entire foreign quarter, he stopped and turned to his companions.

“We have saturated the neighborhood with our offers of rewards,” said Hunter. “Since we have been walking for some time, I suggest that we find a place to sit so that you three can rest. We can consider what to do next.”

“There’s a place back up this block,” said Steve. “They’re selling tea under the shade of two big trees.”

“A tea garden,” said Marcia. “That’s what the sign over the front entrance said.”

Steve glared at her in annoyance. She always seemed to show him up, no matter what he said. For the sake of the team, he decided not to make a scene about it.

“Good idea,” said Jane. “I could use a rest.”

“I’m hot,” said Marcia. “But they don’t have cold drinks here, unless you’re out in the country and find a mountain stream or something.”

“That is fascinating,” Hunter said quickly. He found Marcia’s spontaneous lectures on local history interesting, but he realized that Steve, in particular, really disliked listening to them.

“Come on.” Steve started for the tea shop at a brisk walk and the others followed.

“Shall we just rest up and wait for someone to find MC 5?” Jane asked as she hurried along.

“That is one possibility,” said Hunter. “For the first time since our trip to the Late Cretaceous, we have staked out the location where our quarry should return to full size. With the reward we have offered, the number of people around, and the stable nature of life here, we have far more potential help than usual.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” said Jane. “I think I know what it is, too. You still can’t be sure if MC 5 has already returned to full size.”

“That is true,” said Hunter. “However, because of his European appearance in a society with very few Europeans, we are not likely to lose track of him completely with our offer of a reward circulating.”

Steve turned and waited for them to catch up. “I heard that. We could, you know … split up.” He grinned.

“That is unwise,” said Hunter. “You will remember that in the past —”

“It’s a joke, Hunter,” said Jane, grinning. “Every time we split up, we regret it. We both know that.”

“I see,” said Hunter. “Was this joke funny?”

“Skip it,” said Steve. “Look, it wasn’t totally a joke; I just didn’t think you’d go for it. But think about it.

Maybe splitting up won’t be as bad this time.”

“Why not?”

“Well, as you said, life is pretty stable here. Two of us could sit down in a prominent place and wait for someone to bring the good news that MC 5 has been found. The other two could keep up a more active search.”

As they reached the counter of the tea garden, Steve turned to order tea for them.

“Has everyone forgotten that we had a plan already?” Marcia asked impatiently. “We were going to look for the Polo family today, remember?”

“I had not forgotten,” said Hunter. “I merely raised the question of what to do next. Searching for the Polos is one option.”

“All right,” said Marcia. “I really didn’t think you’d forget.”

A young woman led them to a round wooden table under the trees, where they sat down on short, wooden benches.

“I kind of like the idea of meeting Marco Polo myself,” said Steve. “Just out of curiosity. But is he really important to what we’re doing?”

“We discussed this last night,” Marcia said testily. “MC 5 probably knows about him, too, and may also try to contact him. Is that important enough?”

“Yeah, all right,” Steve muttered, shrugging.

“When you have rested and finished your tea, I suggest we search for the Polo family,” said Hunter.

As Wayne followed the peasants into Khanbaliq, he realized that they knew exactly where to go. They worked their way through the crowded streets to a block of open-air markets filled with fresh produce.

An empty stall with wooden shelves and a couple of benches waited for them. Lao Li and his companions quickly moved their produce from their cart to the shelves in the stall.

“Is this place theirs?” Wayne asked Ishihara.

“They rent it. Lao Li complained to one of the others that their rent will be due next week.”

“So that means they’re in the same place every day.” Wayne looked up and down the street. “They must know their neighbors on this block, then.”

“I suppose so. Is this important?”

“Maybe.” Wayne paused to estimate the length of the city blocks. “We’ll want to start spreading the word for people to find Hunter and his team. From what I can make out, the part of the city where MC 5

will return to normal size is fairly close. I think that neighborhood is maybe another couple of blocks east of here.”

“That is where Hunter will be.”

“Obviously.” Wayne looked at Xiao Li, as the boy arranged some stalks of sorghum on a low shelf.

“But we don’t want Hunter to find out where we are. We’ll need some help. Can they spare the kid, here?”

“I will ask.” Ishihara switched to Chinese, talking with Lao Li.

Their host spoke with his grandson, whose eyes widened with excitement. Lao Li talked to him in a stern tone of voice. Wayne guessed that he was admonishing the boy to obey these good spirits. Then Ishihara turned to Wayne again.

“He will do whatever we ask. Of course, I cannot allow him to take any significant risks.”

“Well, I don’t have anything dangerous in mind. I just want him to spot Hunter’s team for us without revealing our involvement. Since Hunter can’t let him get hurt, either, he should do just fine.”

“I agree. What shall I tell him?”

“Ask him what sort of neighborhood lies a few blocks east of here.”

Ishihara translated and waited for the answer. “He said it’s where the foreign traders and diplomats live.

Also many of the foreigners who have taken jobs in the government here.”

“I see. Guys like Marco Polo, I guess.”

“Yes, that is my impression.”

Xiao Li looked back and forth between them, eager to please.

“Well, let’s give this a try. Say that we want him to take us over there because we think Hunter may be in that area. Repeat the description of Hunter and also Steve and Jane. Then describe MC 5 and tell the boy that he is even more important than Hunter. And explain that we have to hang back and keep these big hats over our faces so that Hunter won’t recognize us until we choose to be seen.”

Ishihara translated and Xiao Li waved for them to follow him. Wayne shifted his hat down lower over his face. Ishihara did the same,

The morning had grown hot. After a short walk, Wayne could see that they had reached the foreign quarter; he saw a number of people he guessed were Turks. In any case, they were not Chinese.

Xiao Li looked up at Ishihara and spoke.

“He suggests we sit down at a small corner stall near this spot to have some noodles or tea and wait,”

said Ishihara. “He will take a quick walk up and down this block for us. If he doesn’t see Hunter or MC

5, we’ll all walk to the next block and repeat the pattern.”

“Tell him that’s fine,” said Wayne.

When Xiao Li had eagerly hurried off, Wayne shrugged. “Well, since we don’t have any money, we can’t buy anything. But I’m ready to sit down.”

Ishihara pointed to a large tree growing near the street between two small shops. One sold glazed pottery, while the other held cotton and silk clothing. “That spot should be relatively cool. It is not in anyone’s way.”

“Yeah.” Wayne walked over to the tree and sat down, leaning his back against it. His legs and feet hurt, and he would have a long walk back to that village, too, unless they were lucky enough to find MC 5

today. That seemed unlikely, but so far, he was optimistic about their overall chances here. For the first time, he had a team of people helping him to compete with Hunter’s team.

Ishihara stood next to him under the tree, looking at the people on the street.

A child’s excited shouts got their attention. Wayne looked down the street and saw Xiao Li running toward them with a big grin, waving and yelling as he dodged around other pedestrians. Wayne started to stand, then decided to rest his legs just a moment longer.

The boy stopped in front of them, talking quickly. Ishihara listened, nodding. When Xiao Li finished, he grabbed Ishihara’s hand and started pulling him.

“I suggest we go,” said Ishihara. “He reports that friends of his have seen Hunter and his team on the next block. In fact, Hunter has widely offered rewards to anyone who can bring them in contact with MC 5.”

“Oh, yeah?” Wayne got to his feet. “Well, let’s take a look. We still have to stay out of sight, though.”

As they started to walk, Ishihara spoke briefly to Xiao Li. The boy nodded and let go of his hand. He led them at a brisk pace, however.

“What did you say?” Wayne asked.

“I told him that running would draw attention to us,” said Ishihara. “I reiterated the importance of Hunter’s not seeing us until we were ready.”

“Good.”

Wayne could tell when they were nearing Hunter because Xiao Li slowed down and moved to one side of the street, furtively glancing ahead to the opposite side. Wayne lowered his head slightly so the broad brim of his hat would cover more of his face. Ishihara did the same. The crowd of people and carts on the street gave them plenty of cover.

Finally Xiao Li moved behind the corner of a small noodle shop and pointed diagonally across the street to an area that was shaded with trees. Wayne and Ishihara slipped behind him. Xiao Li spoke eagerly to Ishihara.

“Hunter and his team are drinking tea at a table in the shade,” said Ishihara. “I can see Hunter, facing slightly away from us.”

“Yeah?” Wayne looked around the corner carefully. He spotted Hunter easily, because of his height and blond hair. Jane sat next to him, blowing on her teacup. Steve sat across from her, next to a woman Wayne did not recognize. She would be the team’s historian for this trip, of course.

“See them?” Ishihara asked.

“Yeah.” Wayne grinned and gave Xiao Li a quick pat on the shoulder. “Tell him that he will have good luck for doing such a fine job.”

Ishihara spoke to the boy, who smiled broadly.

“Now what shall we do?” Ishihara asked. “We do not have any funds with which to match Hunter’s reward.”

“That’s right,” said Wayne. “That reward means real trouble for us. Now Hunter has a lot of people — an uncountable number — working for him now.”

“Your plan of distracting him in some way could still work,” said Ishihara.

“That’s true, I guess,” said Wayne slowly.

“I believe so,” said Ishihara. “If Hunter is busy and therefore difficult to locate, then his efficiency will still be lowered, even with many people helping in his search. We might increase our chance of finding MC 5

first.”

“Let’s make sure the story on the street is true,” said Wayne. “Tell Xiao Li to approach Hunter and ask about this reward.”

Ishihara spoke to Xiao Li, who looked startled. Wayne could see that he was not eager to go near Hunter. The boy turned and studied Hunter for a moment before answering Ishihara.

“He is frightened,” said Ishihara. “He is afraid of the bad spirit.”

“Remind him that Hunter is not an evil spirit. He’s just a good one who is misguided — he should not be doing what he is doing. Give Xiao Li our absolute guarantee that he won’t be hurt. Then see if he will talk to Hunter and report back without revealing us.”

Xiao Li listened carefully to Ishihara and nodded. Then he took another cautious look at Hunter and slowly walked forward. In the shade across the street, Wayne saw Steve pouring tea again for everyone.

Once Xiao Li reached the tea garden, the traffic on the street blocked Wayne’s view of him. After only a moment, however, the boy came hurrying back with a big smile of relief. He dodged the people moving up and down the street and trotted up to Ishihara, reporting breathlessly.

Wayne drew back around the comer of the shop, out of Hunter’s sight. “What’s he saying?”

“He says it’s true,” said Ishihara. “Hunter has offered a stepped system of rewards based on how much help he gets. Even the top reward will not make anyone rich, but it is attractive enough to have started many people talking about it on the street. They are searching for both MC 5 and the Polo family.”

“Polo family. You mean Marco Polo?”

“Apparently he is here with his father and an uncle, as well,” said Ishihara.

“Oh. Well, I don’t know much about Marco Polo. Just that he came here in Kublai Khan’s time from Italy and went back home to write a book about it.”

“I know no more about this than you do,” said Ishihara.

“This is the chance we wanted, though,” Wayne said suddenly. “Will you tell him to report to Hunter that the Polos have left town? Today, so Hunter thinks he has a chance to catch them. I don’t think you should have an objection under the Laws. Hunter will protect his own team.”

“Yes, I can tell him to do this,” said Ishihara. “However, Hunter will ask which direction they took. Do you wish to develop your ruse further? We have an opportunity to distract him.”

“Well, sure. But I don’t know exactly what to say. Where is there to send him around here? Someplace convincing that will take him out of way.”

“I am not certain. As I told you, I have little knowledge of this society.”

“Yeah … me, too.” Wayne thought a moment. “What do we know about this time? Marco Polo, Kublai Khan, printing, gunpowder …” He looked up suddenly. “Say — what about the Great Wall of China?”

“What about it?”

“Uh, where is it?”

“Perhaps Xiao Li knows.” Ishihara turned to the boy and exchanged a few words. “He says it is north of Khanbaliq.”

“How far? We want Hunter to go on a long diversion, not just a quick side trip.”

Ishihara spoke to Xiao Li again.

“He has heard that the trip takes a couple of days on horseback. Since he has never been there, he does not know for sure how far the Great Wall is.”

“That’s far enough to get Hunter out of our way for a while. Let’s send Hunter there if we can.”

“I will tell Xiao Li,” said Ishihara.

7

HUNTER WAITED PATIENTLY while his companions rested in the shade. Since he regenerated his energy by converting sunlight through the microscopic solar cells on his skin, he had benefited from the walk in the direct sunlight. Certainly this climate, in the summer, was easier on him and his human team members than the Russian winter had been during their last mission.

The little boy who had asked him questions a few minutes earlier walked back, looking at Hunter shyly.

He stopped several meters away. Hunter waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.

“May I help you?” Hunter asked.

“I have information for you,” said the boy with a polite bow.

Steve looked up from his teacup. “What is it?”

“I have heard that the Polo family went north this morning to the Great Wall.”

“Yeah?” Steve grinned. “Hunter, that’s great. We know where to find them. And MC 5 probably hasn’t had time to reach them yet.”

“Are you certain of this?” Hunter asked.

“This is what I have been told,” the boy said carefully.

“Who told you?” Steve asked.

He hesitated. “Two men.”

“I see,” said Hunter. “What is your name?”

“Xiao Li.”

“Give him a tip,” said Steve.

“A tip is appropriate at this time? What if his information is inaccurate?”

“We’ll have to take some risk. Don’t give him the whole reward yet. If he’s right, we’ll pay him the rest.”

“Is this acceptable?” Hunter asked Xiao Li.

“Yes, sir.”

Hunter reached into his gown and gave Xiao Li a couple of small copper coins.

“Thank you.” With another bow, the boy turned away.

“Wait a minute,” said Steve. “You might be able to help us with more information.”

Xiao Li paused, looking at them all.

“You have more questions for him?” Hunter asked.

“Not yet,” said Steve. “But exactly what are we going to do? If we need to change our plans, he might know where we should go to find other people.”

“Agreed,” said Hunter.

“What is our plan now?” Marcia asked.

“I would like to hear all of your opinions,” said Hunter. “I am not certain what to do now.”

“This is a stroke of luck,” said Jane. She paused to sip her tea. “We could have spent hours trying to find the Polo family and they aren’t even here.”

“If MC 5 can’t find them, then why do we need them?” Marcia asked.

“Good question,” said Jane. “But at least we won’t waste time looking for them here in the city.”

“I think we should go after them,” said Steve. “They only left today — probably just a few hours ago.

Maybe MC 5 is even with them or following them, too. In order to get some kind of introduction through them to the government, he will have to establish some kind of friendship with them.”

“Well, Hunter?” Jane shrugged. “What if MC 5 is here in town, instead?”

“That is a point to consider,” said Hunter. “MC 5 is our quarry, not Marco Polo.”

“I hate to repeat the obvious,” Steve said with a grin. “Especially when I know you don’t like it. But this is a stable town and we have no enemies here. Why not split up? Maybe, to reduce your worries, we three should stay here and you can go north to look for the Polos.”

“I accepted such logic on earlier missions,” said Hunter. “In most cases, I came to regret it. This time, we will stay together.”

“Okay.” Steve shrugged. “So what’s it going to be? Are we staying here to look for MC 5?”

“I remain undecided,” said Hunter. “Marcia, how far is the Great Wall from here?”

“About sixty-five kilometers. The road goes north from Khanbaliq through some mountains to a major gate in the wall.”

“We would need horses to make the trip efficiently,” said Hunter. “On horseback, that is a two-day ride each way, I estimate.”

“That’s right,” said Steve. “At least, depending on how rugged the road is.”

Marcia eyed him skeptically. “Oh, you know all about horses, do you?”

“No,” Steve said stiffly. “But I have some experience with them. I’ve owned a couple in the past and used to ride them out in the desert. I can take care of them and I know how far they can travel in a day.”

“We rode horseback in Roman Germany,” said Jane. “As long as the horses are calm and well trained, we’ll be fine.”

Hunter was studying Marcia. “Have you ridden horseback before?”

“No,” said Marcia uncomfortably..

“Jane is right that safety is largely a matter of matching the horse to the rider,” said Hunter. “I will not allow us to go unless we can find one you can ride.”

“We wouldn’t have to make the whole trip to the Great Wall,” said Jane. “If we leave soon enough, we’ll catch up to them when they stop for the night.”

“That’s right,” said Steve. “We’ll take the rest of today to reach them, talk to them tonight or tomorrow morning, and then return tomorrow.”

“This is acceptable,” said Hunter. “Spending two days is not extravagant.”

“What about Wayne?” Jane asked, “What if MC 5 is still in town?”

“This is a reasonable point,” said Hunter. “We could be leaving Wayne and Ishihara two days to find MC 5 here without competition from us.”

“The most logical move is to separate, Hunter,” said Steve, “no matter how you figure it.”

“My interpretation of the First Law at this time does not accept that logic,” said Hunter. “My need to protect you overrides the distant possibility that we will find MC 5 by splitting up at this time.”

“If the chance of getting MC 5 was clear and immediate, you would allow us to split up?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” said Hunter. “The First Law imperative to catch him is stronger than unclear risks to you three.”

Steve sighed and finished his tea. “All right. So what are we going to do, then?”

“We must choose between two risks,” said Hunter. “If we stay here, we have no current lead to find MC 5. If we follow the lead we have, we may leave Wayne and Ishihara a free hand here to find him first.”

“Doing something is probably better than nothing,” said Marcia. “I suggest we follow the lead we have to find the Polos.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Steve said grudgingly, with an annoyed glance at Marcia. “For this reason, Hunter.

We’ve told everybody around here that we’re offering a reward. These people, as a group, have a better chance of grabbing MC 5 than Wayne and Ishihara.”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “We are leaving some help for ourselves behind.”

“Good!” Steve got up. “Let’s stop wasting time talking about it.” He turned to Xiao Li. “Where can we get some horses — four, to be exact?”

“Nowhere in this neighborhood,” said Xiao Li. “But I can take you to some stables several blocks from here near the north gate.”

“I do not want to take you away from your home neighborhood,” said Hunter. “Please give me directions. We will find the location.”

Within an hour, Steve rode out of the north gate of Khanbaliq on a small mare, leading the rest of the team. Following Xiao Li’s directions,’ they had found a number of commercial stables in business just inside the north gate. As before, the bargaining fell to Steve. Since no one would lease horses to be ridden out of the city, they’d had to buy them, and of course saddles and bridles, as well.

Hunter had enough money to do so, and the man who sold the horses also told them where to find inns along the way where they could spend the night. Steve had mounted each horse they’d considered buying, to make sure that it was well trained and calm enough for the less experienced riders.

When Hunter’s concern for everyone’s safety had been satisfied, Steve had found a shop that sold water skins and meat buns they could take with them. Another shop had sold them each long leather coats trimmed with fur for the cold nights in the mountains.

Immediately outside the north gate of the city, the road was deserted in the middle of the day. Steve could see that it wound up into the forested mountains ahead. He turned to look back over his shoulder.

Marcia sat stiffly upright on a seven-year-old gelding, holding the reins gingerly. Hunter rode next to her, giving her instructions. Jane kicked her mount and, came up next to Steve at a trot.

“I just thought of a problem I hadn’t considered before,” said Jane.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“The man who sold us the horses said we could find inns along the way to spend night, right?”

“Sure. What’s the matter with that?”

“Well, the idea was to catch up to the Polos when they stop for the night. But if this road has a lot of inns, we’ll have to look for them at every single one.”

“I guess we can do that.”

“I guess.” Jane shrugged. “I just hope we don’t find too many inns tonight.”

“We’ll have lunch in the saddle,” said Steve. “The Polos will probably stop by the side of the road to eat, like anyone ordinarily would. If we’re lucky, we might even get close enough this evening to see them up ahead. Then we’ll see where they stop.”

“I guess we can hope.”

Steve looked behind them again. Marcia remained tense but said nothing. He considered teasing her about her nervousness, but then decided that he preferred having her quiet. The last thing he wanted was to start her talking again.

The road grew more rugged less than an hour out of Khanbaliq. Tall trees shaded the road as it began to wind up the slope of the foothills. Two riders passed them on the way south, as did one large wagon full of firewood, but traffic was light.

On the road itself, the ground was dry and dusty. Many hooves, wheels, and feet had left their imprints, but to Steve’s eye, a few fresh tracks of horses and wheels overlaid the older ones. They had been left by the people who had most recently preceded them. He assumed that some of the tracks had been made by the Polos; he hoped that at least one set were MC 5’s. If the team was on the track of MC 5

already, this mission could be really short.

At intervals, Steve offered the buns and a quick drink of water to the others. In order to close the gap between themselves and the people ahead of them, they stayed in the saddle and kept moving.

The air grew cooler as they rode higher into the mountains. Late in the afternoon, Steve paused to put on the long coat he had bought; Marcia and Jane decided to wear theirs, too. The shade of either the trees or the mountains covered them most of the time at this hour.

Finally they rounded a bend and came to an inn. Steve dismounted and asked if any foreigners had stopped for the night; in exchange for a coin, the innkeeper told him that none had. The team rode on.

A much larger inn lay a short distance up the road from the first one. Steve decided that the two inns had been been positioned about a day’s ride from both Khanbaliq and the Great Wall. Night was falling quickly now, and the air at this altitude was chilly. He reined in and turned to Hunter.

“See the stable here? This inn has quite a few guests. And it’s getting cold pretty fast. I think we should spend the night here, whether the Polos are inside or not. If they found another inn up the road, we can start early tomorrow morning and try to catch them on the road.”

“I agree,” said Hunter.

“I’ll be glad to quit riding for the day,” said Jane, “Marcia, how are you?”

Marcia started to dismount, then paused with a grimace. “I think I need help getting down.”

Hunter dismounted quickly and reached up to lift her off. He gently set her on her feet. “Are you injured?”

“No. Just sore.”

A hostler came out of the stable and Steve arranged for him to take care of the horses. Then they went inside the inn. Entering last, Marcia walked stiffly but without help.

Inside the door, Steve found a large room with a fire roaring in a stone fireplace set into the opposite wall. People were seated around several tables near the fire, eating and drinking. To the left of the door, a slender man with gray hair looked up from the counter where he was carefully writing with a narrow brush.

Steve identified himself again as a scholar seeking an appointment. He requested two rooms for the team as two married couples. The innkeeper took them up to the second floor and showed them the rooms, which were across the hall from each other. They were small but clean and tidy.

Each room had two beds, a large pitcher of water, wash basins, and a chamber pot. Steve glanced at each of his companions; they all nodded. Hunter paid for the rooms.

Then Hunter remembered the group of people sitting near the fire. “Do you have any foreign guests tonight?”

“Foreign guests? No, sir. Not tonight.”

“Are all your guests right here?”

“No. A few have finished their dinners already and gone to their rooms.”

“I see. Are there other inns nearby?”

“One small inn lies south of here a short distance. The lodgings there are not nearly as comfortable as ours, however, and —”

“We saw it on the way. Are there others?”

“Not within half a day’s ride.”

“All right. We will be right down in a minute to have dinner for four.”

The innkeeper bowed and went back downstairs.

“I’ll just leave the bag of clothes up here,” said Steve. He tossed it onto one of the beds. “Let’s go get some hot food. I’m starved.”

8

AS THEY DESCENDED the stairs, Steve glanced over the other travelers seated at the tables. He had no idea what their clothing signified, except that all of the other patrons appeared fairly well-to-do. Certainly none of them were peasants.

Steve found an empty table in the comer. The other patrons had taken tables closer to the fire. In a moment, the innkeeper hurried out to bring them a pot of tea and teacups, pouring for all of them.

“Are all of these people Chinese?” Jane asked. “Or are some of them Mongols?”

“I don’t see any Turks in this group,” Steve said with a grin. “At least I can tell that much.”

“I would say by their clothing that they are all Chinese,” Marcia said quietly. “Here along the border, a lot of genetic mixing has taken place over the years, so you can’t really tell by personal appearance.”

Steve inclined his head toward a couple of men who wore swords in scabbards at their belts.

“Soldiers?”

“Yes,” said Marcia. “But they’re Chinese soldiers in the army of the Chinese empire, not Mongols.”

“What about the others?” Hunter asked. “How much can you tell from their appearance?”

“The three men in plain black silk robes are probably government scholars,” said Marcia. “Or the youngest one might still be a student. The men in the colorful silk robes with all the embroidery are most likely rich merchants.”

“I know we’ve talked about it before, but I feel so much safer in this society than I did on our other missions,” said Jane. “Even in a place like this. In Port Royal, an inn like this would have been full of buccaneers ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Here I feel that we can just eat dinner and go to sleep.”

“And those dinosaurs won’t show up to trample us, either.” Steve laughed.

“It fascinates me,” said Marcia. “After so many years studying this era —”

“You just can’t believe you’re really here,” Steve finished for her.

“Well, yes,” Marcia said stiffly, glaring at him. “something wrong with that?”

“Of course not,” said Jane. “It’s just that all the historians we’ve worked with said something like that at one time or another. But I know you mean it.”

“Take this inn for instance,” said Marcia, turning to Jane. “Many Chinese folktales are set at roadside inns just like this one.”

“Really?” Jane asked, sipping her tea.

“Some were fairy tales about ghosts, spirits, and monsters; others told of mysterious disappearances.”

Marcia smiled. “I guess these inns weren’t completely safe.”

“The people in those stories didn’t have positronic robots guarding them under the First Law,” said Steve.

Stiff and uncomfortable, Wayne sat in an old, worn saddle on a weary horse, with Ishihara riding behind him on their mount’s bare rump. Their peasant friends had somehow bought the horse for them and the saddle and bridle, as well. They were following Hunter’s team on the road north out of Khanbaliq. When Hunter’s team had first bought their horses, Xiao Li had hidden nearby and watched.

Ishihara had suggested that they let Hunter and his team leave Khanbaliq while they stayed behind to look for MC 5 in the city. However, Wayne had insisted that this kind of logic had ruined his plans before. As soon as Hunter found out that the Polos had not taken the road north, he would come right back. This time, Wayne wanted to sabotage Hunter’s team more thoroughly, but he did not know how yet.

The peasants had volunteered to come with them, wanting to earn the goodwill of the spirits they had befriended. Ishihara would not allow it, feeling that a trip of that length would be too disruptive to the village. Wayne wanted their help, but he understood that arguing with Ishihara over this particular interpretation of the First Law was a waste of time.

In the end, Wayne and Ishihara had hidden with Xiao Li to watch Hunter’s team ride out of the city.

After that, Wayne and Ishihara had waited for Hunter’s team to get a head start before following them.

They did not want to risk being seen. Ishihara tracked them, instead.

All day on the road, Wayne considered what to do once they caught up to Hunter that night. The best way to distract Hunter had to be to separate him from his human companions up here, far from Khanbaliq. Then both Hunter and his human team would spend their time and energy trying to reunite.

That would leave Wayne and Ishihara a clear opportunity to hurry back to Khanbaliq ahead of them and search for MC 5 without Hunter’s interference.

The sunlight in the mountains was fading quickly when they passed a small inn. Ishihara observed that the tracks left by Hunter’s team stopped outside but then continued. He and Wayne rode on and reached a much larger inn as night fell. Overhead, however, a high, bright moon offered light of its own.

Wayne reined in. In a small stable off to one side of the main building, he could see a man grooming a horse by lantern light. Flickering light leaked from cracks around shutters on the windows of the inn.

“Did they stop here?” Wayne asked quietly.

“Yes. With my vision altered to maximum light sensitivity, I can just recognize their horses’ tracks.”

“All right. Now we have to come up with a plan.”

“I suggest we move back down the road a short distance to talk. If Hunter turns up his aural sensitivity, he could conceivably overhear us.”

Without another word, Wayne turned their mount and slowly rode around a bend.

“This is far enough,” said Ishihara. “The wind is slight, but rustles the trees sufficiently to cover our voices from here.”

“Good.”

“Our own horse has slowed considerably,” Ishihara added. “I believe he needs a good night’s rest after this trip carrying both of us.”

“All right. That’s important. It means we can’t just jump on and ride him back to the city tonight.”

“No. I do not believe he can make it.”

“Well … we still have to distract Hunter somehow.”

“I must remind you that I cannot allow any plan that would harm or allow harm to the human members of Hunter’s team.”

“I know, I know,” Wayne said with exaggerated resignation. “Telling me that is hardly necessary.

Besides, I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“Another rider is coming up behind us,” Ishihara whispered. “I hear light hoofbeats. If we are planning a ruse of some kind, perhaps we do not want to be seen here.”

Wayne led their mount into the trees by the side of the road, ducking low under the branches. In the darkness, they did not have to move far to hide themselves. They waited silently. Their horse lowered his head to graze.

Several minutes passed before Wayne heard slow, plodding hoofbeats. Finally the combined silhouette of a small mount and a smaller rider came slowly up the road in the moonlight. Wayne tensed, waiting for the single rider to pass.

“Xiao Li,” Ishihara said loudly. “It is the boy Xiao Li.”

Xiao Li’s shadow jerked in surprise. However, Wayne understood that Ishihara was now worried. They had induced Xiao Li to take an unnecessary risk in following them. Wayne yanked on the reins to pull his horse away from what he was grazing on, and they returned to the road. In the moonlight, Wayne saw that Xiao Li was riding bareback on a donkey, using only a halter and reins.

Ishihara spoke to Xiao Li in Chinese. The boy relaxed, recognizing them. After a moment of conversation, Ishihara switched back to English.

“His relatives pooled their cash from the morning’s market sales,” said Ishihara. “They bought this donkey for him. All the peasants want to help us. They are absolutely trusting that we will take care of Xiao Li.”

“But you told them they couldn’t come with us,” said Wayne. “What happened? Are the others coming?”

“No. Apparently the villagers decided just to send Xiao Li. They told him to help us out with little errands or anything else he can do for us.”

“Well, we’ll have to take care of him, of course. And maybe we can think of a way for him to help, too.”

“I am alarmed by this. I am afraid that we have caused too much change regarding that village already.”

“I don’t see what we can do at the moment,” said Wayne. “We obviously can’t send the him away all alone. And we can’t just turn around and ride all night back to Khanbaliq tonight, either, on this poor horse of ours. Xiao Li will be safest staying with us.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“Look, I may have an idea,” said Wayne. “But I want to ask you some questions to find out if your interpretation of the First Law will make it objectionable.”

“Proceed.”

“All right. Will separating Hunter from his human team members harm them?”

“Not necessarily. Of course, that depends on the circumstances.”

“Not in and of itself.”

“No.”

“Will sending Hunter on a diversionary errand be objectionable, in and of itself?” Wayne asked

“Again, not necessarily.”

“Good. I thought so. Then I instruct you to think up a diversion that will separate Hunter from his team and still be acceptable to you.”

“I do not have a precise plan yet, but I can describe the condition our diversion must meet.”

“All right. What is it?”

“After we distract Hunter and send him away, I must be in a position to watch over his team, so that I can protect those humans, instead of Hunter.”

“Uh, what about me? And Xiao Li?”

“Ideally, you will not be in danger or very far away. But I must know that you are safe, too.”

“Okay. Let’s see what we can come up with. Suppose Xiao Li goes into the inn and tells another story to Hunter. It worked to get them all up here. Maybe we can split them up somehow that way.”

“Hunter has the ability to radio his team for help,” said Ishihara. “We will have to take that into consideration also. What should Xiao Li say?”

“As a roboticist, I think the best way to engage Hunter in action will be to repeat what I attempted before — kidnap one of the members of his team. As a robot, do you agree?”

“Yes,” said Ishihara. “The First Law requires him to take action, and if I am present to prevent harm to the victim, I can accept this.”

“All right. Then, to satisfy you under the First Law, I suggest that you conduct the kidnapping.”

“I must agree to the overall circumstances, as well. What will they be?”

“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll need Xiao Li to speak to Hunter inside the inn …. Tell you what — ask the man in the stable to go inside and see if some other guests will come outside. Maybe we can enlist their help.”

Hunter ate lightly at dinner, just enough to maintain his appearance as a human. Since his energy came from the sun, he did not require food. Even after his team finished dinner, they remained at the table, drinking hot tea.

Marcia had been lecturing them on areas of Mongol and Chinese history that were not immediately pertinent. No one else had spoken for some time. Hunter noticed that the hostler came in and requested that the guests at the other tables go outside with him; Hunter supposed that some minor problem with their horses had developed. Since the hostler had not addressed their table, Hunter gave no importance to the matter.

Steve sat with his arms folded, his cup of hot tea on the table in front of him.

“Most people think the Mongols overwhelmed their enemies by sheer numbers,” Marcia was saying.

“That’s not true at all. In fact, they were often outnumbered in their military campaigns. They won through speed and efficiency.”

“Nobody cares,” Steve muttered. “And it doesn’t make any difference to our mission.”

“Well, pardon me.” Marcia straightened in her chair. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I thought you might want to learn something for a change.”

Steve rolled his eyes and started to get up.

Hunter heard the front door open and saw Steve suddenly freeze in place. When Hunter turned, he recognized the boy from the market coming inside. The boy glanced around and then shyly walked toward them.

“That’s the same kid, isn’t it?” Steve asked quietly, sitting down again. “I mean, I’m not confusing him with someone else, am I?”

“That’s him,” said Marcia, folding her arms.

“Yes, it is,” said Hunter.

Xiao Li stopped in front of Hunter and bowed politely. He started to speak, but nervously fumbled for words. His face was flushed and he glanced uncomfortably around the table.

“May I help you?” Hunter asked. “I am surprised to see you here, so far from Khanbaliq.”

“My family followed you up here from the city,” Xiao Li said carefully. “They captured the man you wanted.”

“Really? Where are they now?” Jane asked. “Are they outside?”

“They are down the road,” said Xiao Li, turning to address her. “At first we told the man to come with us and he did. Then someone must have said something he did not like, because he tried to run away. My family has grabbed him, but he is much stronger than he looks. I rode up here on my donkey to find you.”

Hunter noticed that the boy’s speech was slow and very mannered, as though he was repeating something he had memorized. That would make sense if the villagers had sent him on ahead with this message. Further, his explanation fit the Laws of Robotics. Initially, if MC 5 had understood he was being ordered to cooperate and come with the villagers, he would have been required to obey. Later, he might have made an interpretation under the First Law from something he saw or heard that gave him the freedom to flee.

“Let’s go,” said Steve, getting up from the table. “We’ll ride down there, grab him, and be done with it.”

Xiao Li’s eyes widened. “I can’t wait for the hostler to prepare your horses. Your friend might escape.”

He looked at Hunter with large, hopeful eyes. “Please come right away on my donkey with me. Your friends can ride down after their mounts are saddled.”

“Good idea,” said Hunter, rising also.

“You sure?” Jane asked, as she and Marcia left the table to join him.

“Yeah, what about not splitting up?” Steve grinned as they walked out of the inn with Xiao Li.

“The situation has changed. We are no longer conducting a random search. Now the necessity of apprehending MC 5 while I can is critically important.”

“What about our horses?” Jane asked, as they stepped outside into the chilly darkness. “Are we just going to leave them up here?”

Hunter paused. “No. We will give them as gifts to the villagers. They will not return the horses to the city, I realize, but the horses will be back in the same vicinity.”

“You better go,” said Jane. “We’ll ride right down after you as soon as the horses are ready.”

“Do not bother,” said Hunter. “You will be safer here than riding down this rough mountain road in the moonlight. I will come back with MC 5 and the villagers.”

“Whatever.” Steve shrugged.

“Our mission appears to be nearly complete,” said Hunter. “I suggest that you move up to one of the rooms together and switch on your lapel pins. That way I can communicate with you freely without our being overheard by anyone else.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Steve. “Let’s get this finished and go home.” He turned and went back into the inn with Marcia and Jane.

9

“YOU’RE VERY BIG for my donkey,” said Xiao Li shyly, “but he can carry us both for a short distance.”

“We need not burden your donkey further,” said Hunter. “I can jog alongside him down the road.”

Xiao Li faced his donkey’s flank with both hands on the animal’s back. He jumped and vaulted forward, landing on the donkey’s back with his abdomen. Then he expertly swung one leg around the donkey’s rump and sat up, straddling his mount. He kicked it a couple of times and rode off at a trot.

Hunter fell into step alongside Xiao Li and his donkey, concerned that neither the boy nor his donkey could see the road well enough in the moonlight to ride safely at this pace. Since speed was a legitimate concern, Hunter did not suggest slowing down. Instead, he magnified his vision to maximum light receptivity and watched the uneven ground for anything that could trip the donkey.

Hunter and Xiao Li moved down a gently sloping section of road, around a bend, then down a steeper slope. With Hunter’s hearing set at a sensitivity in the range of sharp but normal human ability, the only sounds were the donkey’s hoofbeats, Hunter’s own footsteps, and a light breeze rustling the leaves on the trees as the road took another bend and leveled off.

“I like my donkey,” said Xiao Li suddenly. “He’s nice. I don’t think he’s too old. Sometimes I get to ride my uncle’s donkey in the village, but not very often. He has to carry tools and crops all the time.”

Beneath the boy’s unexpected chatter, Hunter heard a sudden crackling of twigs and snapping of branches near him from the side of the road. He turned to look and saw the dark shapes of adult humans leaping out at him. Before he could judge how to avoid them without harming them, they tackled him.

Rather than resist and risk hurting them under these unknown conditions, Hunter allowed himself to be knocked to the ground with a thump.

Hunter immediately understood that he had been trapped. Xiao Li’s chatter had been intended to cover the sound of the ambushers. Even as the humans who had tackled him grabbed his arms and legs, now shouting among themselves, he surmised that Xiao Li had been given very specific instructions about what to do and say, and that the boy had followed them precisely.

Hunter felt himself lifted off the ground. He discerned seven different voices around him and recognized them all. Each of these humans had been sitting at the tables in the inn near the fire just a short time ago.

Hunter did not know what this meant, but he called his team on his internal transmitter.

“Hunter here. Emergency.”

Steve said, “What’s wrong?”

“I have been attacked by seven men who were in the inn near us during dinner. They are carrying me into the trees near the road. I do not know what they want, but Xiao Li drew me into a trap. Please be very careful.”

“Can’t you get away,” Jane asked, “just by wrestling free of them?”

“Yes, but not without revealing my robotic strength,” said Hunter. “I prefer not to do that, since you three remain safe and I am unharmed.”

“What should we do?” Jane asked. “Or, rather, what are you going to do?”

“I am undecided,” said Hunter. “But I can hear Xiao Li riding away. If you see him, do not trust anything he says.”

“Got it,” said Steve. “Look, shouldn’t we ride down after you? You’d have to protect us and you’d have First Law permission to break free.”

“Do not come down here,” said Hunter. “I cannot estimate the level of danger to you yet.”

“We’ve survived worse,” Jane said. “Remember the fights on the pirate ships? Or the battle between the ancient Germans and the Roman soldiers?”

“Those were different circumstances,” said Hunter. “Right now, I have no reason to believe that your endangering yourselves will help find MC 5.”

“We still have to get you free,” said Steve. “That will definitely help the search, so it should satisfy your objection.”

“Please remain where you are,” said Hunter. “Entering danger will simply force me into greater First Law dilemmas. It will not help us.”

“All right,” said Jane. “Steve, he knows more about this than we do. But listen, Hunter. We’ll stay here where we can receive your messages freely. Keep us informed.”

“Agreed. For now, I must find out what my captors want with me.” He broke the connection.

In one of their rooms at the inn, Steve leaned against the door and looked at Marcia and Jane. No one spoke. The only light flickered from a candle flame inside a glass cylinder.

“I can’t believe this,” Marcia whispered. “What are we going to do now?”

Steve glanced at her, surprised by her anxious tone. A light sheen of sweat covered her face, despite the cool mountain air. She folded her arms across her middle as though her stomach hurt.

“What is it?” Steve asked. “Is dinner bothering you?”

“No.”

“You okay?” Jane asked her.

“Of course not! None of us are,” Marcia snapped. “What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

“Well — I just — can’t you see?” Marcia wailed.

“No,” said Steve.

“I think I understand,” said Jane. “It’s Hunter being out of range to help us. isn’t it?”

Marcia nodded tightly. “Of course it is.”

“But we’re fine,” said Steve.

“We aren’t used to living without robots around like you are, Steve,” said Jane. “Remember? You made a few comments on our first mission about that. I’ve learned to improvise on these missions myself — and to get along without Hunter right next to me. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah?” Steve shook his head, looking at Marcia. “She’s panicking because Hunter is down the road and doesn’t want to reveal his strength?”

Marcia shrugged, glaring at him.

“Well, look,” said Steve, “I think we should consider riding down there after Hunter, no matter what he said. We can help him get free.”,

“I don’t think we should,” said Jane. “His reasons for waiting were clear. At least, we should call and talk about it with him again.”

“We’ve taken more risk and initiative than that on our own before.”

“It’s not just us. I’m arguing about this as a roboticist. Hunter doesn’t choose the First Law; it governs his behavior whether he likes it or not, and he has given us his current concerns and interpretation already.”

“If we find him, the First Law will make him free himself to protect us, won’t it? Like I said to him?”

“Yes, probably. But there’s more to consider. During the last mission, Hunter finally allowed himself to take trips back to our own time in the middle of a mission in order to escape trouble. He’d never done that before. That was a real change in judgment for him.”

“What about it?”

“I’m worried that pushing him into a severe First Law dilemma might force him to take us back again.

Every time we vanish and reappear, we increase our chances of being seen and we lose some continuity in our plans. In the long run, we might be better off cooperating with Hunter for now.”

“Well … you’re the expert on this stuff,” Steve said reluctantly..

“You mean we aren’t doing anything?” Marcia looked back and forth between them in disbelief.

“We’re just going to sit and wait?”

“For now,” said Jane.

“Let’s get some sleep,” said Steve, straightening from leaning against the door. “We’ll need it tomorrow.

You two stay here; I’ll go across the hall. Just make sure that your lapel pins are turned on. We don’t want to miss Hunter calling again.”

“You and Marcia are supposed to be married,” said Jane.

“Nobody’s going to notice how we divide the rooms,” Marcia muttered irritably. “I’ll stay with you.”

Steve watched her for a moment, tempted to tease her about refusing to play-act her role by sleeping in the other room with him. Then he decided she was already upset enough. With a brief nod to Jane, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Across the hall, he entered his own room and found enough moonlight shining around the shutter on the window for him to see. Ignoring the unlit candle, he closed the door and undressed. The chilly mountain air also leaked into the room, but he could tolerate the temperature.

In the darkness, under the covers, he found himself tense and wide awake. He could hardly stand Marcia, but the uncertainty about Hunter bothered him, too, in a different way. Marcia felt vulnerable without a robot to protect her. Steve simply felt that he was wasting time, lying here doing nothing while Hunter remained a captive.

Hunter had stopped struggling in order to conserve his energy. He did not know how much strength he would need to free himself. Also, no matter what actions he took, he could not replenish his energy supply until the sun reappeared.

Someone had thrown a cloth bag over his head. It smelled strongly of hay, overwhelming his olfactory sense. Now only his hearing and sense of touch brought him information.

The same seven humans still stood around him, talking excitedly. At this point, only two were actually holding him, one on each arm. Of course, if he pulled free, the others would immediately jump on him again.

The voices around him had been talking for some time, arguing about what to do with him. Most of their chatter had been indecisive and unimportant. However, Hunter noticed that all of them repeatedly referred to him as a “spirit.”

Hunter searched his knowledge for the significance of this. At first he thought it might be a colloquial reference to him as a foreigner. He knew that many years later, in the nineteenth century, a Chinese nickname for Europeans and white Americans was “foreign devils.”

“We must decide what to do,” one man said clearly. He spoke with some authority. “Otherwise, we may argue here in the woods all night.”

“Our choices are three,” said another man. “One, tie him up in the forest and leave him. Two, remain here and keep watch over him all night. Three, offer him sacrifices of food and wine and give him our respect.”

No one laughed. Hunter realized that these were serious choices, not jokes. They really believed he was a spirit of some kind.

“We must chain him while we speak,” said someone else. “Away from the road.”

The two men holding Hunter’s arms pulled him forward. He followed, stepping carefully on the uneven ground to find his footing. His escorts were slower than he was, but they made some effort to guide him, he supposed to avoid tree branches and large rocks.

After a walk of no more than about ten meters, he was stopped and backed up against a tree trunk. He heard the clink of metal and then felt chains pulling him fast against the tree. While his captors muttered to themselves about the exact placement of the chains, he called his team again.

All three of them responded with drowsy voices, at first talking at the same time. No matter which rooms they were in, they all had their lapel pins turned on.

“I have a question for Marcia specifically,” said Hunter. “My captors refer to me among themselves as a spirit. However, I cannot reconcile some apparent contradictions. They cannot decide whether to leave me chained to a tree or to make sacrifices to me. The former seems hostile, the latter respectful. Is this choice normal?”

“I can’t tell yet,” said Marcia. She cleared her throat, yawned, and then spoke with more certainty.

“Um, this is related to their local folk religion. It evolves constantly and varies from one geographical location to another, sometimes even between neighboring provinces or villages.”

“Oh, wonderful,” muttered Steve. “So it’s impossible to know what they’re thinking at all.”

“Let her go on,” said Jane.

“It’s not totally impossible,” said Marcia. “Hunter, what robotic abilities did you exhibit to them? They must have some reason to believe you’re not human.”

“None.” Hunter quickly reviewed all his actions from the time he and the team had first arrived at the inn.

“I am certain that I have revealed no abilities to this particular group that are not human.”

“Well … that won’t help us, then. Maybe you resemble a spirit in some folk tale.”

“Hold it,” said Steve. “You mean, like if someone fit the role of Cinderella?”

“Or King Arthur or Paul Bunyan,” said Marcia. “Hunter, from what you’ve said, they may consider you a good spirit who is misguided or out of control.”

“In what respect?”

“Maybe they believe you have been sent here to do something specific that they don’t like.”

“Yes? What does this mean?”

“Well, this would explain that they want to stop you from fulfilling your instructions from the spirit world — whatever they think those are — but they still want to remain on your good side.”

“I understand,” said Hunter. “This is consistent with their behavior.”

“I have to ask you something, Hunter,” said Jane. “Is the Third Law likely to become an imperative soon? That is, are you in danger — or do you expect to be?”

“No,” said Hunter. “If the situation changes and the/Third Law forces me to escape, I must do it alone without endangering the team.”

“Can you reach the belt unit?” Jane asked. “If so, you could return to our time, then come back to this time in another location.”

Hunter shifted slightly, testing the chain that held him. “I cannot reach the belt unit without freeing myself.

The chain holding me has small links, but I do not know if I can break it or not.”

“Your captors haven’t taken the belt unit?” Jane asked. “Didn’t they wonder what it was?”

“They did not search me,” said Hunter.

“That’s further evidence that they hold you in some awe,” said Marcia.

“What’s our current plan?” Steve asked. “What do you want to do?”

“I repeat, do not come to rescue me. I ask that you three get a good night’s sleep so that we can be ready to face any unexpected situations tomorrow.”

“All right,” said Steve. “I haven’t slept too well so far, but you’re right.”

“Okay,” said Jane.

“Do you have a plan?” Marcia asked anxiously. “Do you know what we’ll do?”

Hunter surmised that she was scared because of his absence. “I am convinced that you are not in danger. Otherwise, I would have to make every effort to free myself. Please get a sound sleep.”

“All right,” Marcia said reluctantly. “It won’t be hard. I’m exhausted after all that riding.”

Jane lay back down on her bed in the darkness. She felt her advice in support of Hunter had been justified, but she also worried about him more than she had let on to the others. Marcia was scared because Hunter was not here to protect them, which Jane understood. Steve just wanted to get on with the mission. However, Jane could not stop worrying that Hunter would enter a contradiction between multiple First Law imperatives and be unable to function.

Within a few minutes, Marcia’s nervous, uneven breathing became smooth and rhythmic with sleep.

Apparently the day on horseback really had worn her out. Jane tried to relax, but she was simply too tense. She lay on her bed, wondering if she had made a mistake in arguing that the team take Hunter’s advice.

She had no way to measure the passing of time as she lay awake. However, she remained fitfully awake when a sharp knocking on the main door downstairs startled her. Wondering if Hunter had returned on his own, she listened as the knocking was repeated. Finally, she heard a single pair of footsteps walk across the floor to open the inn door.

More than a few people entered, judging by the number of footsteps. She could not distinguish exactly how many, however. As she heard some quiet voices, too muffled to understand, she realized that these were probably the people who had ambushed Hunter.

All of them remained downstairs. She could hear chairs scraping on the floor, probably as they sat down by the fire again. They probably wanted to warm up after their hike outside.

Since Jane was wide awake anyway, she decided to take a look. She rose and, as quietly as she could, dressed again. If possible, she wanted to overhear anything they might have to say.

10

OUT IN THE hall, Jane thought about waking up Steve. Then she decided not to bother him. She could wake him later if she learned something important. otherwise, he might as well get some sleep.

Jane took a deep breath and walked down the stairs. She knew that women had a more restricted role in this society than in her own, but without Marcia to advise her, she had no idea if she was doing something unusual now or not.

Downstairs, she recognized the men sitting near the fire. She counted seven, the same number of captors Hunter had reported. Three wore plain, black robes; two others had embroidered robes; a couple of them wore brown tunics and sword belts. As Hunter had said, they had all eaten dinner there earlier.

When a young man in a plain black robe saw her, his eyes widened and he whispered anxiously to his companions.

All of them turned to look at Jane. She forced a slight smile, and nodded to them as she approached.

The men by the fire watched her in silence.

Jane could not decide if they were staring because she was a foreign woman alone at this hour or if they simply had not wanted to be disturbed by a stranger.

“Now,” said one of the men.

Together, every one of them leaped up and sprang toward her. Before she could call out, one of the men in black robes had clamped a hand over her mouth. Others grabbed her arms and legs, lifting her bodily off the floor.

“Hey —” The innkeeper started, but at the sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath, he fell silent.

Jane twisted around to look at him. One of the men held a sword against the innkeeper’s throat. She flailed again, kicking, and realized that she could neither get free nor make enough noise to wake up Steve. With one hand, though, she managed to switch on her lapel pin. Hunter would hear whatever noises her communicator happened to transmit.

Jane’s captors marched her out of the inn, into the cold night air. They held her faceup, and over the silhouettes of their heads and shoulders she could see the moon and the tops of trees against the sky. She could tell that she was being carried down the slope, in the same direction Hunter had gone with Xiao Li.

Steve dozed fitfully. The long ride on horseback had tired him, but leaving Hunter chained to a tree for the night bothered him. He understood Hunter’s desire to be left alone for now, but that didn’t help him sleep any better. When footsteps pounded up the stairs, he woke quickly.

Suddenly Steve noticed static hissing from his lapel pin. Before he could listen more closely, whoever had just run up the stairs thumped on his door. Steve picked up his robes to hold in front of him and found his way to the door in the darkness.

“Who is it?”

“The innkeeper, sir.”

Steve opened the door a crack. “What’s wrong?”

“One of your companions, sir. The foreign woman with the brown hair.” The man held a burning candle on a small tray. The light of the flame flickered over his face, which was lined with fear.

“Jane? What about her?” Steve’s worry V vas followed by a surge of adrenaline. Something had really gone wrong.

“The other guests carried her out of here — by force! With a hand over her mouth and a sword at my throat, I could do nothing, I assure you —”

“I believe you,” said Steve, fumbling his robes on as quickly as he could. He stepped past the innkeeper to rap on Marcia’s door. Then he remembered that they were supposed to be married; the innkeeper would expect to see Marcia in his room. “Excuse me, will you?” He found a coin in his robes and gave it to the man.

“Thank you! I promise you, sir, I had no choice — this is a fine inn. Nothing like this usually —”

“Please excuse me, all right?” Steve demanded, taking the candle from him.

The innkeeper bowed quickly and hurried away.

“Marcia.”

“Hmm?” She sounded sleepy.

“Is Jane in there?” He tried the door and found it unlocked. Slowly, he opened it only a little. “You decent?”

“Come in. I’m under the covers. Uh-no, she isn’t here.”

By the light of the small candle, Steve saw Marcia move up on one elbow and draw hair away from her face. The room was essentially the same as his. Jane’s bed had been disturbed, but was empty. He did not see her clothes anywhere.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s been kidnapped, too. Get dressed and bring your coat. I’ll wait out in the hall.”

“What?”

“Hurry up.” Steve backed into the hall again and closed the door. He got his own coat out of his room and picked up the cloth bag, as well. The need to improvise meant that they might not be coming back.

He would call Hunter as soon as he had spoken to the innkeeper again.

Marcia joined him, fully dressed but much more groggy than he was. She had obviously been sleeping soundly. He hoped this meant she wouldn’t lecture him all night.

“Did Jane leave anything in the room?”

“No.”

“She must have gotten dressed for some reason. Come on.” Steve led her downstairs, where the innkeeper was anxiously warming his hands by the fire.

“Where are we going?” Marcia asked, her voice still rough with sleep.

“I’ll tell you outside.” Steve turned to the innkeeper. “Can you tell me anything else about what happened?”

“Not very much, sir. The other guests came back in rather late and sat down by the fire to warm themselves. Then your friend came downstairs —”

“On her own?”

“Yes, sir. She just walked down here, and they got all excited and grabbed her. They ran outside with her. As I was saying, I had a sword to my throat, or else —”

“Yes, I understand that.” Steve thought for a moment. Freeing Hunter was now a necessity. If Hunter couldn’t break the chain holding him with his own strength, then Steve would have to help. He pointed to the poker leaning against the side of the fireplace. “I want to borrow that.”

“Eh? What’s that, sir?”

Steve walked over and picked up the poker. “I’ll need this. Do you mind?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but of course I will be needing it, too.”

“Yeah, all right.” Steve pulled out a couple more coins and tossed them to the innkeeper. “I’ll bring it back when I’m finished with it.”

“Thank you.” The innkeeper bowed again.

“Let’s go,” Steve said to Marcia. They hurried outside into the cold mountain air and walked a short distance from the front of the inn.

“Are we going to get the horses?” Marcia asked.

“Uh, no. Too noisy. I’m not sure exactly what happened to Jane, but we have to stay out of everyone’s sight if we can, until we find out. We’ll have to find Hunter on foot.” Steve turned on his lapel pin.

“Hunter, Steve here.”

“Yes, Steve.”

“Jane’s been kidnapped. From what the innkeeper said, I guess it’s the same bunch of people who jumped you.”

“I suspected something of the sort had happened to one of you —”

“What? Why didn’t you call and wake us up?” Steve was startled. “You’ve just been sitting there, even under the First Law?”

“I have been puzzling over how to respond. For only the last few minutes, I have been receiving static and the sounds of footsteps and breathing from someone’s lapel pin, but nothing more clear than that. I did not call because I fear, even now, that her captors are listening to our voices coming out of the air and will be even more fearful than before. Once you called me, however, the damage was done. I must have your help to free myself.”

“Where are you?” Steve asked. “Are you alone, for that matter?”

“I have been left alone, chained to a tree,” said Hunter. “I have no way to convey my exact location.”

“You can’t free yourself?”

“No. I have ascertained that I cannot break the chain on my own. Until I heard the unexplained static, I had intended to wait until after dawn to try again. At that time, my energy would be replenished, and I could awaken you three without disturbing your rest.”

“We’ll come get you,” said Steve. “I have a fireplace poker; maybe we can use it to pry open a link of your chain. How can I find you?”

“Follow the road back down the slope. When I hear you nearby, I will call to you.”

“Okay. But I’ll leave my lapel pin on.” He turned to Marcia. “Come on.”

“It’s freezing out here,” Marcia muttered.

“Well, it’ll help keep us both wide awake.”

Ishihara and Wayne had hidden themselves near the road about halfway between the place where Hunter was chained and the inn. Xiao Li stood with them, holding the reins of his donkey and also the horse Wayne and Ishihara had ridden from Khanbaliq. They had to stay far enough from Hunter so that he could not hear their voices.

Earlier, after Xiao Li had asked the other guests in the inn to come out and speak to them, Wayne and Ishihara had given them the same story that Xiao Li and his fellow villagers had accepted, that Hunter was a misguided spirit. Some of the guests had been skeptical about this, but the more superstitious men among them had convinced the others to consider it. Finally, Wayne had assured them all that Hunter was absolutely prevented by supernatural law from harming humans, but that he had to be restrained.

“We have to figure out what to do next,” said Wayne. “We have Hunter. He’ll probably radio his team to come get him, but maybe we can interfere with that, too —”

“I have an emergency,” Ishihara said abruptly. “I have been monitoring Hunter’s radio band to intercept his communication with his team members.”

“Yeah? What of it?”

“Steve has just reported to Hunter that Jane has been kidnapped from the inn by the same guests we convinced to take Hunter. They obviously saw them together and acted on their own.”

“But that’s good,” said Wayne enthusiastically. “It’ll keep the whole team busy. Why didn’t they grab the other two, while they were at it?”

“It was apparently a spontaneous move. However, I now feel that I am responsible for potential harm to Jane. Under the First Law, I must rescue her.”

“Well … wait a minute,” said Wayne. “Let’s think this through.”

“I cannot wait.” Ishihara turned and began working his way out of the trees to the road. “A further consideration is that her captors will have overheard the voices of Steve and Hunter through her lapel pin, which seems to have remained turned on. This could endanger her even more.”

“We can still talk about it,” said Wayne. “This isn’t necessarily bad. At least, let’s consider the whole situation before we act.”

“The First Law will not allow me to wait,” said Ishihara, over his shoulder.

“Well …” Wayne plunged after him, crashing through the underbrush. “Then wait for me.”

“Please hurry,” said Ishihara. “The only transmission now is background static and the sound of humans breathing and walking. However, this tells me that they are coming down the road toward us from the inn.”

Wayne pushed his way through tree branches after Ishihara, panicked by the danger of losing his only ally. Certainly, Ishihara could rescue Jane, and Wayne did not object to that. However, as a roboticist, she might very well argue First Law interpretations with Ishihara that would convince him to stop cooperating with Wayne..

Behind him, he could hear the sound of Xiao Li following, bringing the horse and the donkey.

“Shut off your hearing,” said Wayne urgently to Ishihara, as he finally managed to come up next to him on the road.

“I dare not. My First Law imperative to rescue Jane requires all my efforts.” Ishihara strode quickly up the road in the moonlight.

“I don’t want Jane to trick you. She may argue that you should help Hunter instead of me.”

“If her arguments are valid, I will respond. If they are not, of course I will not be influenced.”

“Well … all right. But remember, Jane’s arguments about cooperating with me do not involve Jane’s personal welfare in this particular situation.”

“I accept your instruction.”

Wayne said nothing else as he hurried up the slope. He knew that while every robot had to obey the First Law, each one had some leeway to make independent interpretations. All Wayne could do now was try to influence him.

Since Jane’s captors did not speak as they carried her through the cold night air, she did not learn anything about what they had in mind. They were still taking her in the same direction Hunter had gone, so she was not really too scared. Before they had gone very far, however, the men carrying her suddenly stopped. Jane heard the voices of Hunter and Steve coming over her lapel pin, muffled slightly under a fold in her rumpled robe. Suddenly very frightened, she forced herself to cough and clear her throat, in the hope of covering the sound.

“What’s that?” One of the men asked fearfully.

“What’s what?” Another asked.

“Voices.”

“I hear them, too,” said a man near Jane’s left shoulder. “Voices from the air. No — from her!” He released his grip suddenly and she began to fall.

“Let her down! Let her down!”

Jane felt herself lowered; at least they had the decency to set her on her feet. When she found her footing, she looked up and saw all the men slowly backing away from her in the moonlight. Then another pointed past her, down the road.

“Look! Someone’s coming! Who are they?” He spoke in a hushed, worried voice.

“Maybe it’s the big spirit,” yelled a third, “coming back for her!”

With a roar of frightened shouts, every man who had carried Jane to this spot suddenly turned and ran back up the road. Puzzled, she glanced down the road to see if Hunter had somehow gotten free.

Instead, two other figures were running up the slope toward her.

At first she had no idea who they were. Then, even in the moonlight and shadows, she recognized Wayne and Ishihara. Xiao Li, mounted on his donkey and holding the reins of a horse, waited without moving behind them.

She had to choose between dealing with them, following the others back up the slope, or running into the forest. She did not really want to face Wayne and Ishihara without Hunter. However, she knew that their company would certainly be safer than that of her recent captors.

After all, no matter what argument Wayne had used to bring Ishihara under his control, the First Law would still require the robot to protect her from actual harm. If she could convince Ishihara to drop Wayne, then she would have accomplished something important, too. So she waited for them to come running up to her, checking to make sure that her lapel pin was still on.

She did not want to speak directly to Hunter now, while Ishihara could hear her. If Hunter could hear them through the lapel pin, he might find a way to help. In that case, he would want the element of surprise.

“Now shut off your hearing,” Wayne ordered Ishihara, as they drew near. “And don’t read her lips, either.”

“I already told you I cannot do that,” said Ishihara. He stopped in front of Jane.

“That was when she was a captive,” said Wayne. “Now she’s okay.”

“Jane, are you harmed?” Ishihara asked.

“No,” Jane said sternly. “I’m not. But I don’t owe any thanks to you for that.”

“I had nothing to do with your being kidnapped,” said Ishihara, his voice conveying just a hint of urgency. “Neither did Dr. Nystrom. I have not violated the First Law.”

“No?” Jane put her hands on her hips, assuming the tone of schoolteacher challenging a naughty child.

“What are you doing cooperating with him at all? Hunter told you that his missions are driven by a First Law imperative.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Wayne insisted. “I told you that Hunter’s argument is full of holes.”

“Ishihara, take custody of Wayne on behalf of Hunter’s First Law duties,” said Jane. ‘Then, still hoping that Hunter was listening, she tried to help give their location. “Since we’re only a short distance down the slope from the inn, the rest of my team is not far.”

“I cannot. The imperatives under the First Law are not clear to me on either side. I wish to convince you, however, that your kidnapping was never part of our plan. The guests at the inn acted on their own.”

“Well, I sort of guessed that,” said Jane. “But you must have told them something that set it up.”

“That is true,” said Ishihara. “I am relieved that you are well.”

Xiao Li, who was still leading a horse, joined them on his donkey, but did not speak..

“Look,” said Wayne. “We have to talk, but not here. Ishihara, take her lapel pin and shut it off.”

“No!” Jane ordered, stepping back. “Stop. This will harm me.”

“I will not allow harm to come to you,” said Ishihara. He reached out and took her lapel pin.

Jane did not bother trying to wrestle with the robot. “What do you want with me, Wayne?”

“Ishihara, we have to get away from here before her team comes after her. Bring her.”

“Hey! You can’t do that.” Jane backpedaled again, but she knew she could not outrun Ishihara any more than she could wrestle with him. Her only chance was to argue. “Ishihara, this constitutes harm. I need sleep and I need to rejoin my team. You must see that.”

“I cannot harm you.” Ishihara gently took hold of her arm. “Further talk in private will not harm you.”

“Say,” said Wayne suddenly, “Steve is marching around here somewhere looking for Hunter. He probably has their historian with him. Can you grab them, too?”

“No,” said Ishihara. “I could not keep control of three humans without risking harm to them.”

“Well, all right, then,” said Wayne, glancing up and down the road anxiously. “Let’s get off the road and into the brush. Fast.”

11

STEVE LED MARCIA down the side of the road, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Since they had kept their lapel pins on, he and Marcia had overheard the reaction of Jane’s captors to his last conversation with Hunter. A moment later, they’d also listened to Jane’s exchange with Wayne and Ishihara, up to the moment her lapel pin had been suddenly switched off.

“Jane’s in serious trouble now, isn’t she?” Marcia asked quietly.

“Well, at least she’s safe with a robot,” said Steve. “Hey, look up ahead.”

Steve saw the growing shadow of a large group of people down the road. They were running up the slope toward Steve and Marcia. Quickly, he grabbed Marcia’s arm and pulled her into the trees, then crouched with her in the underbrush.

“Quiet,” he whispered.

She nodded.

The group of frightened men, breathing hard from the exertion of running up the mountain road, pounded past without seeing them. In another moment, they had rounded the next bend back toward the inn.

Steve stood up, pulling Marcia with him, and returned to the road.

“Well, I think Jane’s in trouble,” Marcia whispered. “We have to rescue her, don’t we?”

“We have to get Hunter first.”

“Do we have time? What are these other two going to do with her?”

“Ishihara can’t violate the First Law any more than Hunter can, so Jane won’t be harmed. But he must be following Wayne’s instructions, which means that he won’t let us just take her away, either.”

“How can you be surer’

“Because Jane wants me to get Hunter, too.”

“Oh, come on. She didn’t say that.”

“She couldn’t say it plainly without giving away the message to Wayne and Ishihara.”

“So what makes you think you heard it?”

“She knew her lapel pin was on, until one of them took it. If she had wanted us to come running, she could have yelled for us. Since she didn’t, she was telling me she was okay for now.”

“But how do you know that?”

Steve sighed. “Because I’ve worked with her long enough now to know how she thinks.”

Marcia finally fell silent again.

As they walked, Steve tried to figure out what Wayne would want to do now. He had no way of knowing exactly where Steve and Marcia were, though of course Ishihara would have picked up his recent conversation with Hunter. So they knew Steve and Marcia were out here looking around.

Wayne might be hustling Jane farther down the mountain road, going south, or taking her out into the forest itself. Then again, he could have ordered Ishihara to grab Steve and Marcia, too, though Steve doubted that a single robot could hold all three humans captive at once. Most likely, Wayne and Ishihara were running away with Jane while they had the chance.

In any case, as Steve and Marcia hiked down the road, they saw no sign of them.

“Steve,” Hunter called from the trees. “This way. Follow my voice.”

Steve turned carefully toward the sound, picking out the direction. Hunter called out repeatedly so that they could find him. Steve glanced back to see that Marcia followed him through the branches and underbrush, then pushed forward.

After a few minutes of hiking on rough, uneven ground, they reached Hunter. Hardly enough moonlight to see anything reached them here. Steve looked up high at the silhouette of Hunter’s head.

“Aren’t you even taller than usual?”

“Yes. I made myself as tall and thin as I can, to loosen the chains. However, I was still not able to get free. I can move my arms somewhat, though. Do you have any more information now about Jane?”

“Not really,” said Steve. “Except that she didn’t scream for immediate help.”

“Ishihara will protect her, of course. You have the poker you told me about?”

“Yeah. But I don’t suppose I’m strong enough to do much with it.”

“Give it to me. I have enough freedom of my arms now to use it.”

Steve felt for Hunter’s hand and placed the poker in it. “You want me to do anything?”

“Yes. I have felt the individual links of the chain I can reach already. In my other hand, I am holding the weakest one. These are not, after all, mass produced. As I hold the handle of the poker, please fit the point of it into the middle of this other link.”

“Okay. Let’s see …. Got it.”

“Please stand back. I will use the curve of the tree trunk as a fulcrum and attempt to pry the link open.”

Steve backed away, moving Marcia with him. If the end of the poker slipped out of the link by accident, the point could swing around and club them both. Steve could barely see Hunter’s movements, but after a long moment, he heard the chain fall, clinking, to the ground.

“Finished,” said Hunter. “I will return to my previous appearance.”

“Now what are we going to do?” Marcia asked.

“I shall attempt to locate Jane,” said Hunter. “I believe that Wayne and Ishihara arranged to have me trapped in order to break up our team and waste our time and energy. However, I am certain that they expected me to remain isolated much longer. They will not expect you to have released me so soon.”

“The trouble is, now that they have Jane, we’re still split up,” said Steve.

“How are you going to find her?” Marcia asked. “Her lapel pin is turned off.”

“I am turning up my hearing to maximum,” said Hunter. “As we walk on the road, I believe I should be able to hear Xiao Li’s donkey. If they are moving through the underbrush, the donkey will make more noise than the humans. If the boy rides him on the road, I may hear his hoofbeats.”

“Let’s get back out on the road,” said Steve.

Jane said nothing as Ishihara led her slowly through the dark forest by a gentle but firm grip on her arm while Wayne walked beside them. She heard Xiao Li following them, walking the horse and donkey now that they were moving among the trees once more. Ishihara walked slowly, changing direction to avoid trees, boulders, and dense clumps of underbrush. When they finally stopped, she had no way of judging how far from the road they had gone, but she doubted it was very far. She waited to see what Wayne and Ishihara would do next.

“Have you heard any communication between Hunter and Steve?” Wayne asked Ishihara.

“No. I am surprised. I would expect Hunter to send a constant signal, so that he could be found. Or else I would expect ongoing conversation between them. I do not understand what they are doing.”

Jane saw Wayne turn to her in the faint moonlight.

“We haven’t really had a chance to talk, have we?” Wayne asked, in a casual tone.

“No. That’s true.” She could barely see his silhouette in the moonlight that filtered through the leaves overhead. “What do we have to say to each other? Anything?”

“May I speak to you as one roboticist to another?”

“What choice do I have?” Jane demanded. She could afford to take a hostile tone with Ishihara here to protect her.

“I just want to explain something to you.”

“Well, I’m waiting.”

“I only want to participate in the review and investigation of the Governor Robots.” He waited for her response.

“Go on.” She tried not to react outwardly.

“I can’t allow total strangers to take over my work and pass judgment on it without me. These robots are my creation. You understand that.”

“Yes,” she said stiffly.

“The problem is not science and engineering, but politics. I have no bargaining power unless I hold at least one of the component robots in my possession.”

Jane said nothing.

“What’s objectionable about this?” Wayne demanded. “Don’t you think I have a point?”

“It sounds reasonable enough on the surface. How do I know that’s the whole story?”

“You don’t trust me?” He sounded genuinely hurt.

“You’ve kidnapped me. What do you expect?”

“Wait a minute. Have you forgotten that trip we all made to Russia in 1941?”

“Of course not.”

“I saved both that other woman on your team and Steve from being shot by a Nazi guard — when I had a clear chance to get MC 4 instead.” His tone turned bitter. “Or didn’t any of you notice?”

“Of course we did.” Jane felt a little embarrassed. “Everyone noticed — and I thank you for all of us.

And I know I won’t be harmed with Ishihara here. But why don’t you consider just coming back and discussing the situation professionally?”

“No!”

“I think the Oversight Committee will be responsible. They should be allowed to do their job.”

“This is logical,” said Ishihara.

“Hold it right there,” Wayne said angrily. “I can’t afford to gamble my entire career on the committee’s integrity. I told you, I need independent bargaining power. And a chance to examine MC 5 myself, without interference.”

“Listen to him, Ishihara,” said Jane. “You can see he isn’t being reasonable. You can’t possibly have a valid First Law reason to keep me here.”

“Remember what I told you,” Wayne ordered sternly. “My First Law argument to you concerns the unnecessary harm Hunter’s team is doing to me. That’s the argument you accepted when you first agreed to help me on these missions.”

“That is true,” said Ishihara.

“What’s true?” Jane demanded.

“I cannot shift my Second Law loyalty to you,” said Ishihara. “I have accepted the possibility that Wayne is being harmed by the actions of Hunter and his team. He requires my aid as a result of this.”

“All right, look,” said Wayne. “Since I can’t convince her I’m right, she’ll have to come with us for a while. We have to get away from here, so Hunter won’t be right behind us every minute. Let’s go find MC 5.”

“You mean return to Khanbaliq?” Ishihara asked. “Our horse is exhausted. The animal cannot make the return trip tonight, nor can the donkey. You and Xiao Li and Jane will need rest as well.”

“We don’t have to go all the way back tonight,” said Wayne. “But I want to get started. Then we’ll find a place to sleep for the night.”

“It’s too cold out here to get much sleep,” Jane said sourly. “We don’t have any protection from the elements. That’s not very good protection from harm, Ishihara.”

“We’ll manage,” Wayne said quickly. “Ishihara, you take charge of our route. Include evasive action to avoid Hunter. Jane and I will not be harmed by a night in this weather.”

“My options are limited,” said Ishihara. “Fleeing through the forested mountains in the dark is highly dangerous to you and Jane.”

“Do what you can,” Wayne said sternly.

Steve brought up the rear as Hunter led the way through the trees back to the road. Marcia walked with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering from the cold. Out on the road, Hunter waited for them.

“I want to change frequencies now that we know Ishihara is listening,” said Hunter. “He has always listened in when we’re in the same time period together.” He altered the settings on their lapel pins. “I hope we will not separate again, but we must be prepared.”

“He’ll just scan the frequencies again, won’t he?” Steve asked.

“I assume so. However, we will not use the lapel pins often, so he may simply stop scanning because it wastes his energy. If he happens to scan the radio band when we are communicating through these, he’ll locate the new frequency, but perhaps not immediately. Any delay we can create in being overheard will help us.”

“Okay.” Steve shrugged. “You know more about what a robot does than I do.”

Suddenly Hunter straightened, turning to look down the road, to the south.

“What —” Marcia started.

Steve put a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. He heard nothing and could not tell if Hunter heard something or was receiving a radio transmission. Either way, Hunter certainly did not need any distractions. Marcia shoved his hand away but said nothing else. “I hear two sets of hoofbeats cantering down the road, back toward Khanbaliq,” said Hunter.

“Two sets,” Steve repeated. “Shouldn’t there be at least three? Wayne and Ishihara must have ridden up here on horseback, plus Xiao Li’s donkey.”

“And Jane is riding double with someone,” Marcia added. “I see.”

“I hear two animals,” said Hunter. “One much smaller than the other, matching the gait of Xiao Li’s donkey, but the hoofbeats are heavier than before. That one is certain; two people are riding the donkey.”

“What about the other one?” Steve asked.

“By the gait and the weight, it is a horse,” said Hunter. “I cannot be sure if it is carrying two riders without having heard its hoofbeats earlier. It could simply be an usually large, heavy horse.”

“You think two people are riding the horse, too?” Steve shrugged. “I guess it’s possible.”

“Wayne and Ishihara could have found a mount as easily as we did,” said Hunter. “Perhaps financial limitations confined them to one horse.”

“Those mounts are worn out from a long day’s ride already,” said Steve. “If they’re both carrying two riders, they won’t go far tonight, especially at a canter. They may not go far at all.”

“I have considered that,” said Hunter. “I suggest that I begin jogging after them from here to maintain aural contact. You two can return to the inn for our horses and bring them. I know they are tired, too, but they will be able to carry us at least as far as the two mounts we are pursuing.”

“That makes sense to me,” said Marcia.

“I have a counterproposal,” said Steve. “Suppose we all return to the inn for a good night’s sleep. We know Ishihara can’t allow any harm to come to Jane. Then tomorrow we can go on to the Great Wall to find the Polo family.”

“I can’t believe this,” Marcia wailed. “You’re just going to forget about her?”

“Of course not!” Steve snapped. “But Jane is just as safe with Ishihara as she would be with Hunter.”

“That may not be precisely true,” said Hunter. “Ishihara’s judgment is in some doubt, since he is obviously following Wayne’s instructions.”

“You sure?” Steve asked. “As far as immediate harm to Jane goes, he can’t let her get hurt. Just how much leeway do you robots have in your interpretations?”

12

STEVE DOUBTED HE could change Hunter’s mind about a First Law interpretation, but he wanted to try. He trusted Ishihara to keep Jane safe. The team could save a lot of time.

“Well, Hunter?”

“I cannot go on without Jane,” said Hunter. “I agree that Ishihara would protect her from clear and immediate harm, but his judgment is in doubt regarding more complex situations. Further, I still remain responsible for Jane as part of my team. Also, if we can apprehend Wayne or even just Ishihara, we can eliminate further interference from them. That will make the rest of this mission and all of the next one much easier for us. I must pursue them and free Jane.”

“Then we should split up,” said Steve. “I don’t know how many times I’ve suggested it already, but this time I’m really serious. You go after Jane, and Marcia and I can return to the inn for some sleep.

Tomorrow we’ll go north for the Polos. When you have Jane, come after us.”

“As you know, I consider dividing the team to be a mistake.”

“You let Jane and me sail back to Jamaica on a pirate ship without you. This is a much safer environment. Our real trouble seems to have been instigated by Wayne, not the local situation. Even the people who grabbed you and Jane would never have acted without Wayne.”

Hunter turned to observe Marcia. “You are very cold and tired, are you not?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Marcia. “And what he says makes some sense. Besides, you could probably help Jane a lot faster alone than you could with me along.”

“And we’ll blend into the crowd,” Steve added. “Without you and Jane, we look like locals.”

“The same people who kidnapped Jane and me have almost certainly returned to the inn. I cannot have them carry you two away. I suggest you take rooms at the other inn we saw.”

“No need.” Steve grinned. “Now that we know they think you’re a spirit, we can manage them, I think.

Anyhow, they’ve probably gone to bed. We’ll be careful about going back inside. If we don’t see them, we’ll go upstairs.”

“This is also a great danger,” said Hunter. “At the very least, you should take a room at the other inn.”

“Maybe not,” said Marcia. “I think they focused on you and Jane in part because of your European appearance. And they were running pretty fast when they passed us on the road a while ago. Maybe they’ve had enough.”

“We’re wasting time,” said Steve. “Every minute we debate, Jane is being taken farther south. But I also want to return to the same inn because of the innkeeper. He made a point to come and tell me that Jane had been taken.”

“You feel safer with him?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah, you could put it that way,” said Steve.

“I will return to the inn with you,” said Hunter. “If it is quiet, and you can return to your rooms unseen, then I will allow us to separate. Clearly, you both need to stay warm and get some sleep.”

Steve hiked back up the road with Hunter and Marcia, relieved that Hunter had given in. The mountain air had grown very sharp, and by the time they returned to the inn, he was even more ready than before for a warm bed. Hunter stepped up to the front door, preparing to open it.

“I should do it,” Steve said quietly. “If those guests are awake, they may react to seeing you.”

Hunter moved back to make room for Steve.

Steve found the front door of the inn barred. That was certainly normal for this hour. He rapped on it sharply.

“Who’s there?” The innkeeper’s voice was cautious and fearful, but clearly wide awake.

“Three of your guests,” Steve called. “We are well. Please open.”

He heard the bar slide to one side. The innkeeper opened the door a crack and glanced at them all before opening it wide and stepping back. He bowed to them repeatedly, expecting them to come right inside.

“Are your other guests awake?” Steve stayed where he was, with Hunter and Marcia behind him.

“Eh?” He gestured for them to enter.

“Your other guests, who took our woman friend. They came running back here, didn’t they?”

“Oh, yes. They were all very excited about something when they first came back. Now they have all gone to sleep up in their rooms.”

“We would prefer not to be seen by them.”

“Of course. Please come in. Your friend is not with you?” He glanced past Steve.

“No. But we are not blaming you. In the morning, we will remain in our rooms until you tell us they have left. Is this agreeable?”

“Of course.”

Steve turned to Hunter. “I really think we’ll be okay. In the morning, we’ll stay in our rooms until he tells us the others have hit the road. They won’t bother us.”

” All right. But I am concerned that you will take unnecessary risks.”

“There shouldn’t be any risks,” said Steve. “We’ll just let the others get a head start on us in the morning. Then during the day we’ll make sure we don’t catch up.”

“Is it okay?” Marcia asked. “I’d like to do this. I’m really cold.”

“It is fine,” said Hunter. “I will go prepare my horse. I will take Jane’s, too.”

“Good night,” said Steve. He stepped aside for Marcia to enter first, as Hunter left for the stable.

“Night,” Marcia muttered, yawning as she turned and went inside.

Steve followed her. Behind them, the innkeeper barred the door again.

Several minutes later, Hunter forced his weary horse into a canter; the reins of Jane’s mount were tied to his saddle. He was not comfortable with the further splitting of his team, but he could also see that Marcia badly needed rest. Even Steve, though he was more accustomed to physical activity than Marcia, would quickly become too tired to act efficiently unless he slept for the remainder of the night.

In the absence of a more pressing emergency, Hunter had to let them sleep in the relative comfort and safety of the inn. He accepted that Steve and Marcia would be reasonably secure at the inn as long as the other guests did not see them. He also trusted Steve to act wisely.

At the same time, he felt he he’d failed to take proper care of his team. Wayne had already succeeded in interrupting their search for MC 5. Now Hunter had to prevent him from taking full advantage of the situation.

As Hunter rode down the moonlit mountain road, he slowed the horses to a walk to preserve their energy. With his vision on maximum light receptivity, he identified the fresh tracks that matched the sounds he had heard earlier. The most recent donkey tracks leading south were much deeper than the same ones Xiao Li’s animal had made riding north; the horse tracks with them were deep enough to have been made by the horse whose heavy hoofbeats he had heard.

Hunter had to plan his approach to his quarry. He chose not to radio Ishihara with any sort of threat or argument, since Wayne clearly had become more persuasive in making his case to Ishihara. Any such transmission would merely reveal to Ishihara that he was chasing them and give Ishihara some fix on the.

distance between them. Hunter’s best chance to rescue Jane and apprehend Wayne would be to sneak up on them.

Hunter did not know if Ishihara’s hearing ability was fully equal to his own. Since Hunter had been designed specifically to search for MC Governor, he had been given some abilities greater than most robots, but he had never specifically compared his hearing to Ishihara’s. However, he was certain that Ishihara’s aural sense was greater than any human’s. That lessened his chance of making an unheard approach.

Obviously, Hunter’s pursuit would become obvious if he simply cantered up behind them, since even Wayne would hear that. Hunter could, however, draw closer slowly. When he heard the first faint sounds of hoofbeats up ahead, he could pace them at a distance until he formed a specific plan.

If Ishihara’s hearing equaled his own, however, then Ishihara might hear Hunter’s horses at the same time. The question of stealth might in fact turn on uncontrollable variables, such as the direction of the wind or the echo pattern off the surrounding slopes. He would have to remain aware of those as he continued on his way.

Now that he had identified the tracks, however, he did not have to study each hoofprint carefully. He could see the trail plainly enough. Instead, he turned his attention to the condition of his mount. The tired animal kept slowing down, and had to be prodded forward.

After more than a mile, the tracks of his quarry still followed the road. Hunter had expected more effort at evasion, but postulated that Ishihara, under the First Law, could not take the risk of allowing the humans to flee through the mountains in the darkness. Another possibility was that Wayne had simply decided to forget about evasion. He might be taking his companions as far as they could go straight down the road before their mounts wore out.

Hunter still expected that the two mounts ahead of him would tire more quickly than his own. All of them had traveled a long way earlier in the day, but the mounts ahead of him were, by his calculation, carrying two riders each; one was merely a donkey, whose short legs had to take many more strides to keep up with the horse. Maybe they were gambling that Hunter’s substantial weight would tire his horse first, instead.

He considered that possibility unlikely, but the burden on his horse was real. To minimize it, he moved to Jane’s mount in order to rest his own. Wayne did not have that option.

In the lobby the innkeeper gave Steve a small brass oil lamp before sleepily returning to bed. Leading Marcia upstairs, Steve was relieved to find the corridor quiet. He turned to Marcia to say good night.

She stopped at the door to her room, looking at him uncertainly in the shifting light.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked quietly. “Everybody else here is asleep. We’ll be okay.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But …”

“What?” He could see that her arrogance had vanished. “What is it?”

“I was thinking about your other missions. Were they like this?”

“Like this? What do you mean?”

“Well, how dangerous were they? When you talk about buccaneers and dinosaurs and everything else, were you really in serious danger?”

“Yes. We were.”

“I don’t think the risk became real to me until Hunter was kidnapped.”

Steve nodded. “I know. All of you who live in cities in our own time have robots around you constantly.”

“Yes. I never even thought about it before because I was so used to it.”

“I think we’re in less danger now than usual. Hunter is between us and Wayne and Ishihara.” He gestured toward the rooms around them, “We should keep quiet and just go to sleep, so we don’t wake up the kidnappers.”

Marcia nodded and opened the door to her room. “Of course. Sorry.”

“Make sure you bar the door behind you,” he added. “Light your candle with this.” He carefully handed her the brass lamp and waited while she took it into her room. A moment later, she brought it back out, silhouetted by the candle flame flickering behind her on a small table.

“Good night.” She yawned again and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

Steve waited in the hall until he heard her slide the bar into place. Then he went into his own room and did the same. In a few minutes, he was sound asleep.

As the hours passed, Hunter could feel Jane’s mount tiring. Both horses walked more slowly. He changed mounts again, but his horse now had to be kicked more often to keep up the pace. The moon was about to set. His magnified vision revealed that the tracks ahead of him remained on the road.

However, his hearing no longer detected the sound of hoofbeats ahead.

This puzzled him. Considering the amount of weight the mounts ahead of him had to carry, he had expected that he would either have drawn close enough to hear them by now, or else he would have seen the tracks leave the road for the forested hills. Since Hunter had already concluded that Ishihara would not take that risk at night, he was not surprised to see the tracks continue on the road, but he had apparently missed something.

Hunter reined in and dismounted. He kneeled to examine the tracks. Even his magnified vision needed help now that the moonlight had faded.

Carefully, he studied the depth of the tracks and then compared them to those of his own horses. He also saw that the hoofprints his own mount made now, shuffling wearily on the road, were much shallower than the ones just a few feet back, when Hunter had still been in the saddle. Suddenly he realized that the horse and donkey in front of him were no longer carrying the amount of weight they had been when he had begun tracking them. From the saddle, in the waning light, the difference in the appearance of the hoofprints had been too slight for him to see, but it was clear now.

Somehow, those he was following had dismounted and left the road without leaving footprints. Hunter had been fooled, most likely by Ishihara lifting Wayne and Jane directly from their mounts into the trees.

He had also miscalculated Ishihara’s interpretation of the danger that the forested hills would offer to his human companions at night.

That triggered his own First Law concern. If Ishihara’s judgment was questionable, then Hunter could not conclude that the humans with him were safe, as he had believed to this point. He hoped they were hiding in one spot, maybe for the humans to rest. That would be less dangerous than hiking through the mountains.

Hunter concluded that Xiao Li was probably riding the horse now and leading the donkey. His weight was slight enough not to alter these hoofprints significantly. Certainly the tired animals would not have continued down the road all night on their own. At least one rider had to be urging them forward.

Now Hunter had to decide how to investigate all these surmises. He had two essential problems: the near-exhaustion of both his horses and the deepening darkness. Both problems could be improved by waiting several hours.

Once his horses had rested, even for a short time, they would move a little faster. Daylight would allow him to follow tracks even in the forest. Now that Wayne, Ishihara, and Jane were on foot, he would have the advantage.

Hunter hobbled his horses and sat down by the side of the road to conserve his energy and wait for dawn.

13

JANE WAITED IN the forest with Wayne and Ishihara. Neither of them insisted on holding her every moment. All three of them knew that she could not outrun Ishihara, so she did not bother trying.

A short time earlier, at Wayne’s suggestion, Ishihara had lifted Wayne and Jane from their mounts to sturdy branches of trees near the road. Then he had followed them. Once they had all jumped to the ground on the far side of the trees, in the darkness away from the road, they waited for Wayne to decide what to do next.

Meanwhile, Xiao Li had ridden on down the road with their mounts. Ishihara had allowed this because he knew that Hunter would not harm the boy. Since Xiao Li had followed them up here on his own, Ishihara felt he would be safe on this road a little longer.

“We can’t fool Hunter for long,” Wayne said. His voice was strained and anxious.

“What do you suggest?” Ishihara asked.

“Well … I don’t know. But our mounts were about to fall over from fatigue. We had to do something.

And if Hunter grabs me, my hopes are finished.”

“You really don’t have that much to worry about,” said Jane. “I still think the Oversight Committee will handle their review of your robots responsibly.”

“Don’t bother; I’ve heard it before.” Wayne looked at Ishihara. “You have any ideas?”

“I have one.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“We can use the time travel unit to move all the way forward to Khanbaliq, arriving tomorrow morning.

Since we know Hunter is behind us, and has no lead on MC 5, Hunter cannot gain on us during the period we are skipping.”

“Say … that’s right.” Wayne nodded. “Before, I was always worried that Hunter would take the component robot during the interval we were jumping. This time we know where he is. And we’ll have the advantage.”

“What about Xiao Li?” Jane asked suddenly.

“What about him?” Wayne shrugged. “He’ll be all right. This is his time.”

“Ishihara, he’s just a child. And he’s only riding around the mountains in the middle of the night because of you two. How can you just abandon him?”

“I expect Hunter to catch him and protect him. With that likelihood established, my first duty is to you two, as humans from our time.”

“But you don’t know he’s safe,” said Jane, wishing she had thought of this argument earlier.

“Hunter is tracking him,” said Ishihara.

“We’ll go back to the outskirts of Khanbaliq,” Wayne said firmly. “We’ll arrive tomorrow morning, back out by the village. Since they’ve already seen us appear like magic, we can do it again.”

“They’ll ask about Xiao Li,” said Jane. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That he’ll be fine,” said Wayne. “Besides, we didn’t bring him with us; he came on his own. He can find his way home if he has to.”

“That’s very callous,” said Jane.

“Let’s go now,” said Wayne, ignoring her.

“All right,” said Ishihara.

Steve slept late the next morning. Even when he woke up, he lay in bed listening to the sounds elsewhere in the inn. He heard doors opening and closing on his corridor; downstairs, footsteps clunked and a chair scraped on the floor, accompanied by muffled conversation.

None of the voices sounded excited. He had not heard Marcia’s door open. Quietly, in no hurry, he got up and dressed.

As the morning passed, Steve finally heard the other guests go outside one by one. Soon the clopping of horses’ hooves reached him as the other patrons rode away. Then a lone set of footsteps walked up the stairs and down the hall.

“Sir?” The innkeeper rapped quietly. “The other guests have taken their leave now.”

Steve opened the door. “Thank you. I’ll get my wife. We will have two breakfasts.”

“Of course.” With a quick bow, he hurried away.

Marcia opened her door, already dressed. “I’ve been listening. Everything’s okay, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Steve. “You okay?”

“Basically. I’m sore from all that riding yesterday.” She winced as she walked out into the hall.

“I’m afraid we have more of the same today. But before we go downstairs, I want to call Hunter.”

“All right.”

“Hunter, Steve and Marcia here. How are you?”

“I am well but have had no success. How are you two? And where are you?” Hunter’s voice was faint and almost drowned out by a great deal of static.

“We just got up at the inn. The other guests have left, so we’re okay. Where are you?”

“I am down the road but on my way back toward you,” said Hunter. “I waited for dawn to rest my horse and to have more light.”

“You’re coming back?” Marcia asked. “That’s great, but what happened to Jane?”

“Ishihara fooled me in the darkness. I followed the tracks of Xiao Li and the animals long after the others had left the road for the forest.”

“What did they do?”

“They moved to the trees directly from their mounts. It is a move familiar to me from our missions to the Late Cretaceous and to Roman Germany, but in the darkness I failed to spot the location.”

“Where’s Xiao Li now?” Marcia asked. “Did you catch up to him?”

“No. I backtracked at sunrise.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Steve asked.

“I believe so,” said Hunter. “My first duty is to Jane, in any case; it must take precedence over my First Law concern over a local human.”

“Are you sure?” Marcia asked.

“Yes.”

“So what happened?” Steve asked.

“Not much,” said Hunter. “I had to examine the tracks closely in order to see where they suddenly became shallower, indicating less weight. Eventually, I was able to find the area where the others had moved into the trees.”

“Why aren’t you still following them?” Steve was puzzled. “You wouldn’t just give up.”

“A short distance from the road, all the tracks and marks in the trees and brush vanish.”

“That’s impossible,” said Marcia. Then her tone changed. “Uh, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Hunter. “After carefully reviewing my observations, I can only conclude that Wayne took Jane and Ishihara to another time.”

“Oh, no,” Steve muttered.

“They left?” Marcia stared at Steve in horror. “Now what do we do?”

“Ishihara still has to protect Jane,” Steve reminded her calmly, “no matter where they went.”

“But where are they?”

“Theoretically, they could be anywhere in history and geography,” said Hunter.

“What do you think they would do?” Steve asked. He was more worried than he wanted to reveal to Marcia.

“Wayne still wants to capture MC 5,” said Hunter. “They have probably gone right back to Khanbaliq.”

“You said you’re coming back toward us,” said Steve. “Why don’t you go back to Khanbaliq after them? We’ll go on to the Great Wall to find the Polos. After we learn if they can help us with MC 5, we’ll rejoin you in a day or two.”

“I dare not. Because of losing Jane, I am again suffering from a feeling of failure. I must reunite with you two as soon as I can.”

“Well, we’re still going to have breakfast, but … how far are you?” Steve asked. “If we sit here and wait, we’ll lose a lot of time.”

“I estimate that I am roughly half a day’s ride behind you at this moment.”

“You’ll catch up some while we’re eating. Then I think we should go on north. We’re safe enough.

You’ll catch up to us tonight.”

“Probably,” said Hunter. “Now that the sun is replenishing my energy, I can jog alongside the horses I have with me. That will relieve them of the burden of my weight. However, they are still very tired.”

“We’ll be okay,” said Steve.

“I can accept this if you can assure me you will call at the first sign of danger so we can discuss it,” said Hunter. “And avoid all risks you can see.”

“Of course,” said Steve.

“Hunter out.”

Steve and Marcia went downstairs. The innkeeper hurried out with their breakfast of rice gruel with meat and vegetables in it, and a pot of hot tea. He retired as Steve and Marcia started eating hungrily.

When Steve had finally satisfied himself, he leaned back with a grin and sipped a little more tea. “That sure is familiar. It’s the same breakfast I’ve had in Chinese restaurants in our own time.”

“That’s true,” said Marcia. “I recognize it, too. In fact, much of the Chinese cooking in our own time is, at least in style, many centuries old. Even new ingredients, such as corn from the New World, have been available since the Age of Exploration. An excavation on the Old Silk Road in the late twentieth century revealed mummified dumplings virtually identical to what we eat now ….”

Steve grinned as she prattled on with another of her lectures. After seeing her genuinely scared and vulnerable last night, this lecture did not annoy him the way the earlier ones had. Now it just struck him as funny. While she talked, Steve ordered some meat-filled buns they could take with them on the road.

When Marcia finished her lecture, even the tea was gone. Steve got the duffel bag out of his room and paid the innkeeper. Then he and Marcia walked out to the stable and had the hostler saddle their horses, which had already been fed. Steve paid him, too, and mounted up.

Marcia grimaced as she swung into the saddle. “I don’t think I’ve ever used these muscles before. Not in this combination. It’s not like riding a bike or a motorcycle at all.”

“No.” Steve grinned. “That’s true.” He kicked his mount and turned up the road.

Marcia steered her horse after him. “Well, it’s a nice, clear, cool morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. And we have a leisurely ride ahead. We don’t dare catch up to the travelers ahead of us, and we want Hunter to catch up to us if he can.”

“Good,” said Marcia, with a wry grin. “Slow and easy sounds just fine to me.”

Jane, Wayne, and Ishihara landed in early morning right outside a small peasant village. Several chickens and a couple of children darted away in surprise. Beyond the buildings of the village, Jane could see adults walking from the village into the fields with their farm tools.

As they got to their feet, Jane looked around in all directions. They were out of the mountains. Then she recognized the walls and towers of Khanbaliq a short distance away. In fact, she could see that they were fairly near the spot where Hunter had first brought his team from their own time.

She yawned and wondered if she would be able to sleep soon. Wayne also needed rest. She waited to see what her captors would do next.

An elderly man walked out of the house in the front of the village with an expression of concern on his face. He spoke sharply to the children, then stopped abruptly when he saw Wayne and Ishihara. The man bowed deeply to both of them.

Wayne and Ishihara responded in kind. Then Wayne leaned close to Ishihara and whispered something too low for Jane to hear. In turn, Ishihara spoke quietly to the elderly man, who nodded as he listened.

“Come on in,” Wayne said to her in a casual tone. “We’ll get some rest.”

Their host took them inside to a small room. It had two sleeping pallets of straw, covered with some sort of rough cloth. The single window was shuttered.

“Thank you, Lao Li,” Ishihara said to the villager, who bowed and left them alone.

“You and I both need a good night’s sleep.” Wayne looked pointedly at Jane. “Ishihara will remain with us both for safety and to make sure you stay with us.”

“I’m too tired to run off,” said Jane. She sat down on one of the pallets. “I guess this will do.” Then she looked up at Ishihara. “Just make sure you stay here. I don’t want to be left alone with him or in this village without you.”

“No harm will come to either of you,” said Ishihara.

Steve and Marcia rode slowly along the winding mountain road. Each time they crested a rise, he looked ahead for the travelers who had kidnapped Hunter and Jane the night before. Usually, they were too far ahead to see, but twice, when the terrain allowed him a particularly long view of the road ahead, he glimpsed the knot of riders moving north in the distance.

Several times during the day, Steve called Hunter just to make contact with him as he followed them.

Frequently, Steve stopped to allow Marcia some time to dismount and walk around; that was all they could do about her stiff muscles. They ate the food he had brought from the inn and kept on riding.

Late in the day, they rode in the shadow of a mountain as they came around a curve. Below them, in a narrow pass between two steep mountainsides, sunlight angled across a huge gate in a massive gray wall.

The wall had a rock base and high brick sides with crenellations across the top. A small town had grown up just inside the gate. Startled, Steve reined in to take a look.

Steve had seen pictures of the Great Wall of china, always long shots in which the wall snaked over the top of a ridge. Those distant shots had no reference by which a viewer could judge the’size of the construction. Now, seeing the wall in front of him at a distance he could judge for himself, Steve simply stared at it.

“Chuyungguan,” said Marcia. “That’s the name of this gate. I was able to visit it once in our time. The version standing now was restored in the twentieth century, but it looked the same as this one to me.”

Steve could see that this gate was in an important place. The arched gate ran under a watchtower, and high on each mountain to the east and west, another tower stood guard over the land. The narrow pass would be easy to defend, blocked by the Great Wall.

“How big is this thing?” Steve asked quietly. “How high are those towers?”

“The towers are about twelve meters high. They’re about twelve meters square at the base and angle inward as they go up to about nine meters square at the top.”

“‘About’?”

“They didn’t use the metric system back then. They had a measurement system of their own. I’m rounding off the fractions.”

Steve nodded, still gazing at it. “How high is the wall itself between the towers?”

“It varies. No shorter than about six meters and no higher than just over seven meters.”

“That thing is thick, too, isn’t it?”

“Just over seven and a half meters.”

“Is it solid rock? Or brick?”

“Neither. They raised the inner and outer faces of stone and brick first, then filled the space between them with earth or clay. They pounded it down and then paved a brick road over the top of the wall.”

“So they can march troops along the top.”

“Yes. Or ride four horses side by side.” She pointed to the three towers in turn. “They were placed within two bow shots of each other and they extend forward from the outer surface of the wall. The idea was that archers in the towers could reach attackers all along the front of the wall.”

“I’m impressed.”

“So were the Mongols.” Marcia smiled. “Genghis Khan failed in a couple of assaults on this gate. He finally took it when another Mongol army under a subordinate broke through another gate that was less well defended and came up behind the Chinese defenders here.”

“I guess no one needs it now, right? Kublai Khan rules on both sides of the wall.”

“That’s right. This gate has a small garrison, but in this time, it’s more of a checkpoint for travelers than anything.”

“Shall we ride on down? I guess the Polos will be down there somewhere.”

“Sure.”

14

STEVE ENJOYED THE view as they rode down the slope into the narrow pass. As they descended, the wall loomed larger and higher than ever, a magnificent edifice that seemed to be part of the mountain ridge on which it had been built. As they drew closer they could see that the individual stones in the wall were very large. When Steve remembered the wall had been built entirely by human and animal labor, with no modem machinery or robots at all, it seemed even more impressive. Dusk had arrived by the time they reached the town just before the gate.

On the watchtower over the gate, and along the top of the wall, soldiers were silhouetted against the sky, all of them looking away to the north.

Steve could see that the gate was standing open. Four uniformed soldiers stood guard inside the gateway, leaning casually on their spears and looking attentively at something beyond his sight on the far side of the gate. At the sound of hoofbeats as Steve and Marcia drew near, the guards glanced idly back over their shoulders, then resumed looking through the gateway.

“What are they looking at?” Steve asked. He could hear the shouts of men and the thunder of many hooves in the distance. “Sounds like a lot of riders. Whatever it is, the sentries don’t seem to be alarmed by it.”

“I have no idea.”

“Let’s go see.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Marcia shook her head vigorously. “No.”

“Come on, why not? You’ve been here before, but I haven’t. I want to see the wall up close. Do you think we can go up in one of the towers?”

“No!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Look, it’s a tourist attraction only in our time,” Marcia said anxiously. “I wouldn’t ask these soldiers just to show us around.”

“Why not?”

“To use a modern phrase, this is a functioning military installation, even if it’s not as important now as it used to be.” Marcia lapsed into her lecturing tone again. “And we aren’t Mongols; they see the Chinese as a conquered people. Asking to go up in the tower could raise the suspicion that we might attempt sabotage or espionage in some form.”

“Even an ordinary couple like us?”

“As soon as we ask to tour the watchtower, we won’t be ordinary anymore. We’ll look very odd. Like I said, this is not a place for tourists in this time.”

“Well … I see.”

“Good.”

“But we can still go find out what they’re looking at. I mean, the gate’s standing wide open.”

“I don’t think we should.”

“Well, look, we have to ask someone about the Polos anyway. They should know. Come on.” Steve kicked his mount and rode up to the gate.

“Well, be careful.” Shaking her head, Marcia followed him reluctantly.

“Should we speak Mongol to them?”

“No. Judging by their armor and their weapons, they’re Chinese.”

“They are?”

“Even under the khan, the Mongol armies and the Chinese armies are distinct.”

“Why don’t they have just the Mongol army now, if the khan is worried about the Chinese rebelling?”

“The Mongol army alone isn’t big enough to garrison the whole Chinese empire. The khan needs the Chinese army for that. The Chinese army is controlled by generals put in place by the khan, as Emperor of China.”

“Oh. Well, okay. I get the idea.” Steve felt that if he was polite and careful, he could at least see what had caught the attention of the sentries. Besides, if the Polos had passed through the gate, the sentries were the ones to ask.

As he reined in at the gate, the sentries turned to look up at him. All four were stocky, muscular young men. They seemed more resigned than wary.

“What is your business here?” One sentry, marginally taller than the others, straightened up.

“I have heard that the Polo family took this road in the last day or so,” said Steve. “Marco Polo and his father and uncle. I seek them.”

The other three guards also drew themselves up, suddenly interested. The Polo name obviously carried some importance. However, all four sentries looked at each other and shook their heads.

“They have not come this way recently,” said the first sentry politely. “We know their name, because they are favored by the Emperor. We have seen them on this road in past years, but not recently.”

Steve was startled, but he nodded courteously. He suddenly realized that Xiao Li’s story had been a falsehood from beginning to end. As soon as he could report to Hunter without local witnesses, he would.

Behind him, Marcia sighed audibly.

Steve pointed through the open gateway. Several large groups of men were riding in the distance, across patches of rugged, steeply sloped steppe surrounded by forest. “Who are they? What are they doing?”

The sentry frowned. “A local Mongol battalion has camped just outside the wall. They are practicing maneuvers, no more. After all, we are many miles from the borders of the Emperor’s empire here.”

“Really?” Apparently more comfortable now, Marcia rode up closer to Steve and looked out, too.

Steve could see hundreds of riders moving together in one group, their banners flying on upright lances.

In the distance behind them, a separate group was wheeling about, riding through a sharp turn. A third group of riders stood on a far hill, unmoving.

“That looks like fun,” said Steve.

“Don’t you dare,” Marcia whispered loudly.

“Calm down.” He grinned. “I’m not going out there. But I used to ride out in the Mojave Desert. My favorite horse was a half-quarter horse, half-Arabian mare.”

“These are Mongol horses.”

“I know. Arabians have more delicate features and more high-strung temperaments. But both are small, hardy desert breeds.”

“You still have your horse?” She looked at him with a new curiosity.

“No. I don’t have any of them now. But I miss that one the most.” He nodded to the sentries and reined his mount around. “Come on.”

Steve rode a short distance away from the sentries and all the small buildings in the little settlement.

Marcia followed him. When he was out of the hearing of everyone else, he leaned close to Marcia.

“We’ll pretend we’re talking to each other, since people can see us. I’m calling Hunter.”

“All right.”

“Hunter, Steve here.”

For once, Hunter did not answer.

“Hunter, you there?”

Marcia’s eyes widened as she looked at Steve.

“Hunter?”

Only static hissed quietly from the lapel pin.

“Maybe my transmitter’s broken,” said Steve. “Try calling him on yours.”

Marcia switched on her pin. “Hunter? Marcia calling. Steve and I have reached the Great Wall.”

She, too, received only static and shut it off. “What do you think happened?”

Steve turned to look back the way they had come. “Maybe nothing. He was about a half day’s ride behind us, and we’ve come through some very rugged country, much rougher than the ground we covered yesterday. The mountains block radio signals. He’s probably still coming.”

“Then why could we communicate last night?”

“It depends on the configuration of the mountains and passes. The signal can bounce, too. It’s impossible to predict exactly where it will go.”

“Then you think he’s still coming?”

“Yeah.”

“So what are we going to do?”

Steve looked at the sky. The sun had gone behind the mountains, and the sky was reddening with sunset. The air had abruptly chilled even in the brief time since they had arrived at the gate.

Marcia waited, looking back up the road as though she hoped to see Hunter.

“Well, I guess we wasted a lot of time coming here,” said Steve.

“You think the Polos turned off the road somewhere along the way?”

“No,” said Steve. “If you remember, we haven’t passed any forks today.”

“I saw some paths. Hunting trails, most likely. These mountains provide game for the emperors.”

“I don’t think the Polos came this way at all. Xiao Li must have pulled a fast one from the very start. I should have figured that out last night, but so much was going on, I never thought it all through.”

“None of us did, with Jane and Hunter being carried off,” said Marcia. “But, as I asked you a moment ago, what are we going to do?”

“I guess we can take a room — two if you prefer — for the night. Hunter should arrive sometime later.

Tomorrow, we can go back to Khanbaliq.”

“Oh, no. Some of the same people must be here in one of the inns. — the people who kidnapped Hunter and Jane.”

“Well … that’s true.” Steve looked around. The little town had three inns with stables, some small houses, and seven taverns. “This is a strange place.”

“Yes, it’s just a road stop, really. Travelers would account for the number of inns, of course. But only the garrison of guards on the Great Wall could support that many taverns in a settlement this size.”

“Do they live in the houses?”

“No. They’re garrisoned in the towers along the wall. The houses must be owned by some well-to-do tavern owners or innkeepers who can live separately from their businesses.” She shrugged. “Hard to tell, really.”

“Look, that group of travelers stayed together all day. At least, every time I saw them, they were still together. If they’ve taken rooms in the same inn, then we have two others where we can stay.”

“But they might have split up. Besides, how are we going to know where they are?”

“Come on.”

Steve reined his horse back around and rode to the nearest inn, where he stopped with Marcia outside the stable. Most of the horses were out of sight, but the hostler was grooming one. Steve had been hoping to recognize the horses belonging to the other group, but he had not taken any special notice of them yesterday.

“I’m going to look inside the inn,” said Steve. “Stay on your horse, all right?”

“All right.”

Steve dismounted and quietly walked up onto the front porch of the small wooden building. He opened the door and leaned inside, looking around. It was much like the inn in which they had stayed the night before, with a large room full of tables in front of a big fireplace. The furniture was more finely finished, carved and deeply polished, suggesting greater prosperity. Long, vertical landscape paintings hung on the walls.

“Welcome, friend.” A big, burly innkeeper hurried forward, smiling.

Past him, Steve recognized a couple of merchants from the group he wanted to avoid.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered quickly. He pulled out of the doorway and closed the door quickly behind him.

From what he could tell, no one except the innkeeper had seen him.

“What happened?” Marcia asked.

“They’re in there,” said Steve, as he swung into the saddle. “That’s good, because now we know where they are. I don’t think anyone saw me.”

“Then we can stay at another inn.”

“I’ll do the same thing again, in case that group had to split up to get rooms.”

They rode to another inn. Again, Marcia waited outside. Steve looked inside this one and did not recognize any of the visitors who had sat down to dinner. He stepped inside, still looking around cautiously.

This time a slender, white-haired man approached him and bowed. “Good evening, stranger. Are you in need of lodging?”

“I may be,” said Steve. “I, uh, had an argument yesterday with other travelers along this road. I would like to avoid them if I can.”

“I see. Well, I have some soldiers here on their way south to Khanbaliq.”

“The ones I’m talking about are going north. some merchants and students, as well as soldiers.”

“I have no group like that.”

Steve grinned with relief. “Good. Uh, I have a companion. We’ll take two rooms. And two dinners.”

“Very well. I ask six coppers for each room.”

“Fine. I’ll take our horses to the stable.”

“Of course.”

As Steve hurried out, he realized that he had forgotten to bargain. It was too late now; he had revealed to the innkeeper that he had reason to avoid the other inns, which had ruined his bargaining position. He decided not to worry about it. In this case, a safe place to wait for Hunter was more important than exactly how much they spent.

The hostler was a tall, gaunt man with graying hair who walked stiffly with age. With a weary, uninterested nod, he took the reins from Steve and Marcia. Steve untied the cloth bag with their changes of clothes from the back of the saddle. As they started toward the inn, hoofbeats came through the gate and they turned to look.

A group of Mongol riders rode through the gate. Grinning, they arrogantly ignored the Chinese sentries who glared sullenly at them, and split up. Small knots of riders trotted toward different taverns and inns.

Four young riders, dressed in furs with breastplates, backplates, and pointed steel caps, came toward Steve and Marcia.

“I guess the battalion was dismissed,” said Steve.

“Let’s get inside,” said Marcia. “I’m scared.”

“All right.”

They turned away.

“Ho! You there!” One of the soldiers called out in accented Chinese.

“Ignore him,” Marcia whispered. “Let’s just get inside.”

“I better not,” said Steve. “We don’t want to make them mad.” He turned and looked up at the riders.

“Good evening,” he said in Mongol.

The lead rider raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You speak our language?”

“Yes, friend. And I see you have fine horses. We saw you ride a few minutes ago, beyond the wall.’

Steve figured a compliment would always be wise.

“The best in Mongolia.” The rider grinned, seeming to mock his own boasting. “You know horses?”

“A little,” Steve said modestly. He was certain that boasting himself would be a mistake. “I had a very fine one of a different desert breed once. She was the kind ridden by the Arabs.”

“Ah! My uncle rode against the Arabs in the west. He fought in Persia.”

“Then he must have seen the same breed.”

“He must have.” The Mongol shrugged. “Is this inn crowded? We seek Chinese wine. I prefer it to our koumiss.”

“Uh, no, it’s not crowded.”

“Good.” He swung out of the saddle, and his companions did likewise. Without even looking at the hostler, he gestured for the old man to take their horses. He turned to Steve. “You will come and drink with us as my guest.”

“Well, I have ordered dinner for my friend and me,” said Steve uncertainly.

“Do what he says,” Marcia muttered quickly in English. “Keep him happy. But they know a decent woman won’t drink with them, so I’m going up to my room. Bring me something to eat when you can, okay?” She took the cloth bag from him.

“All right,” said Steve. He didn’t know what else to do. “But what’s koumiss?”

“Fermented mare’s milk.” Marcia hurried into the inn ahead of them.

Steve grimaced at the idea of that, then turned to the Mongol leader, speaking in Mongol again. “Thank you. I will be honored to join you.”

The Mongol clapped him on the shoulder. “Wine and food for all of us,” he called to the innkeeper in his accented Chinese. “Your best.”

The innkeeper bowed deeply and rushed away.

The Mongol leader led the group to the table closest to the fireplace and gestured for them all to sit down.

15

STEVE SAT DOWN with the Mongols, smiling at each one with a nod of greeting. When he got the chance, he would ask the innkeeper to take Marcia’s dinner up to her. Right now, he felt it was wise not to remind the Mongols that she was up there.

“What is your name?” The Mongol pointed to himself. “I am Timur.”

“Steve.”

“Ss — teve. The sound is unusual to me. But of course, my Chinese is not so good.”

The other Mongols introduced themselves in turn, but Steve could not understand the unfamiliar names he heard. He decided not to ask that they repeat them. Instead, he simply nodded again courteously.

“So, you must be a rider,” said Timur.

“Not like you are. I saw you from the gate, riding on maneuvers. I could never ride that well.”

“I am curious about you, Steve. I never met a Chinese man who had bothered to learn our language before. Tell us more about this other breed of horse.”

“Uh, well, the Arabians were bred to the southern deserts, at low altitude, near the sea.” Steve was no expert on the history of Arabians, so he dropped that approach. “My best horse had a sharp, delicate nose and a small body. She was very hardy. I remember, she never even seemed to notice if the wind was blowing up a sandstorm or if it was raining. All weather was the same to her.”

“A sandstorm?” Timur asked. “You rode her in the desert, then?”

“Well, yes.”

“This must have been the same time when you learned our language, eh?”

“Yes, it was.” Steve hesitated, glad to see the innkeeper come hurrying out with a piece of candle and wine and wine cups. A younger man followed him with bowls of noodles and strips of meat. Steve did not want to be drawn into questions about how he had learned to speak Mongol. As soon as the innkeeper had lit the candle and poured wine for them all, Steve lifted a cup. “I toast my new friends.”

“Ah!” Timur grinned and held up his own. His friends joined in and they all drank.

Before Timur could ask more questions about Steve’s experience among Mongols in the desert, Steve turned to one of the other Mongols. “Tell me about your experiences in the battalion. Have you fought anyone recently?”

“No, I have not had the chance.” The man shook his head as he started eating.

“We are too young, all of us,” said Timur. “We missed the great wars of conquest by the khakhan, which were finished before we came of age.”

“But we are ready,” said another, “and eager for the chance. We must prove ourselves every day and hope that our battalion will be sent to a distant land someday,”

“It would be very exciting,” Steve said carefully, as he began eating his own dinner. He tried to think of another question that would keep the conversation away from his own life. “You’re off duty tonight?

Why isn’t the whole battalion coming to drink? Only a few of you came through the gate.”

Timur laughed. “No, no, you don’t understand. Those of us who came through the gate all have sentry duty tonight, to begin when the torches are doused and the camp sleeps. We have some free time before then.”

“I see.”

The Mongols ate and drank eagerly, without speaking further. Steve decided he could take the time to eat his own dinner. Timur’s curiosity about him seemed satisfied.

Everyone finished eating without more comment. Steve hoped he could take some food up to Marcia soon, but that would have to wait until the Mongols had left. However, Timur leaned back with another cup of wine and looked up at Steve.

“Which tribe did you ride with?” Timur asked.

Steve froze. He thought he remembered Marcia mentioning something about Mongol tribes, but he could not recall what she had said. Maybe he was mistaken about that.

“What’s wrong?” Timur studied his face.

“I, uh, rode with friends. That’s all.”

“Friends? But you must have lived on the grasslands, didn’t you? If you rode out in the desert at times.”

“I was a loner.”

Timur shrugged. “About these Arabian horses. Can they carry a man day and night, across deserts and mountains? When we are on the march, we push our horses to the point of dropping, but they carry us where they must.”

Steve almost asked him how he would know, since he had never been to war, but he knew better. It would only anger them. “I am sure you have the finest horses in the world. Everyone knows that.”

Timur nodded, and drained his wine cup. “We must return to the camp to begin sentry duty.” He glanced at his companions. “And no mention of how much Chinese wine we have drunk, eh?” He grinned at Steve. “The punishment for falling asleep on watch is death.”

Steve wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing. When the Mongols rose from their chairs, he did, too. Timur tossed some coins to the innkeeper.

“Farewell on your travels, Steve. Show us one of those horses one day if you can — or maybe we’ll ride to Arabia and see them for ourselves!” He laughed and led his companions out of the inn.

“Farewell,” Steve called after them.

When they had gone, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. He only realized now how tense he had been throughout the dinner, concentrating on his company to avoid offending them. Now just beginning to relax, he turned to the innkeeper, who was clearing the table.

“Bring out dinner for my friend,” Steve said in Chinese, picking up the candle from the table. “I’ll go up and ask her to come down.”

“Very well. I showed her to the first two rooms on the left.” The innkeeper hustled away with an armload of dirty dishes and cups.

Steve grinned slightly as he climbed the stairs to the second floor by the flickering light of the small candle he carried. He was sure Marcia would be amused by the story of his dinner with the Mongols.

Since he had managed to avoid angering them, and had somehow survived the question of how he could speak Mongol, it would make a funny anecdote.

He rapped lightly on the door of one of the two rooms they had taken.

“Marcia? Steve. The Mongols have left. You can come downstairs for dinner now.”

When he received no answer, he knocked on the door of the other room. “Marcia? You awake?” After a pause, he tried the door, expecting it to be barred. Instead, it was open. The room was empty.

He moved back to the other room and tried the door. Also unbarred, it swung open easily. The cloth bag Steve had carried on his horse with their changes of clothes lay on the bed. Marcia was not here, either.

Worried, he looked down to the far end of the corridor. To his right, another staircase led down. He walked down the hall for a better look. Down the stairs, he could see one doorway that led down the corridor on the ground floor and another that led outside. Maybe she had just gone out to the latrine and had taken the back stairs to avoid passing the Mongols.

Steve decided he would wait for a minute to see if she returned. It was time to try calling Hunter again, anyway. He walked back to the room and switched on his lapel pin. Before he could speak, however, he heard the hoofbeats of several horses coming through it.

Alarmed, he listened carefully. The hoofbeats were cantering, too many for him to hear how many horses were present. The sound was clear, with minimal static, meaning that Marcia’s lapel pin was still nearby. No one spoke. However, he knew what it meant; like Jane when she had been kidnapped, Marcia had managed to turn on her lapel pin so it could transmit whatever sounds occurred around her.

Some people had kidnapped Marcia, apparently by using the back stairs and the rear entrance.

Hunter would also be listening to it, wherever he was. However, with Marcia’s lapel pin switched on, Steve could not call Hunter without being heard by the people who had taken Marcia. Steve could only assume they were the same group he had seen at the other inn, who had kidnapped Hunter and Jane. He had mistakenly believed that when he had stuck his head in the door and seen a couple of them that they had not seen him.

Exactly why they had taken Marcia remained a mystery, but it did not matter right now. He grabbed the cloth bag and hurried back downstairs. At the sound of his feet pounding on the steps, the innkeeper rushed around the corner to find him.

“Something wrong?” The innkeeper asked.

“My friend is gone. Who came in the back door while I was having dinner? Did you see them?”

“No. I heard some people come in, but I have other guests here. I thought they had gone out to the latrine and come back. I did not look to see who they were.”

“Yeah, all right. Hold her dinner. And our rooms. I expect to be back.” Steve strode out the front door into the chilly mountain air again.

A single paper lantern swung in the breeze over the stable. Under it, the tall, gaunt hostler sat on a wooden chest, bundled in fur robes. He took a swig of something from a narrow earthenware bottle.

“Saddle my horse, please,” Steve said.

At the sound of his voice, the hostler jerked in surprise. His eyes widened fearfully as he recognized Steve in the moonlight. He said nothing.

“Come on. I’m in a hurry.” Steve reached into his leather pouch for a couple of small coins and started to toss them to the old man. Then he saw that the hostler had made no move to catch them.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked. “I need my horse.”

The man just stared at him, quivering.

“What is it?”

The old man tightened the fur robes around him.

“Look — did you see some people leave by the back door a little while ago with my friend?”

The man still just looked at him. Over his head, the paper lantern swayed gently. Finally, as Steve glared at him, he nodded slightly.

Steve remembered turning over the reins of their horses to him when they had arrived. At the time, the hostler had acted as though doing his job was just a tiresome chore. He had shown no interest in Steve or Marcia personally at all.

“Tell me what happened,” Steve demanded angrily, stepping forward. “I want to know where my friend went.”

The terrified old man shook his head, dropping the earthenware bottle slowly to the ground with a thud.

“Did someone speak to you? Tell me what happened!” Steve shouted.

The hostler was scared beyond the ability to speak. Shadows shifted across his face as the lantern swung back and forth. He stared at Steve, motionless.

Steve fought to control his anger. He took a deep breath and stepped back. Shouting would not get him anywhere. He could saddle his own horse, of course, but now he had to know what had scared the hostler.

“Why are you scared of me? I won’t hurt you.” Steve took several more coins out of his pouch. Holding them in this open palm, he slowly walked toward the man and dropped the coins on his lap. Then he backed away again. “Did someone tell you I would hurt you?”

The old man looked down at the money, then up at Steve again. Slowly, he moved one hand to cover the coins. Then he eyed Steve again.

“I won’t hurt you,” Steve said gently. “I just want to find my friend.”

The old hostler studied his face for a moment, then looked around in the darkness nearby. He swallowed and picked up the coins in one hand. Then he fumbled around for his earthenware bottle.

Steve stepped forward and picked it up. He brushed off some bits of dirt and broken straw and handed it to the old man. Then he moved away again.

The hostler took a long drink. He lowered the bottle, wincing, and let out a long breath. He looked up at Steve again, less frightened than before.

“What happened to my friend?” Steve asked.

“You act like an ordinary man.”

“Yeah, I guess. Why wouldn’t I?”

“They told me you deal with evil spirits,” he muttered, looking away.

“What? Who told you?”

“Some men from another inn,” he said quietly. “They said you and your woman deal with evil spirits.”

“Look, it’s not true. We don’t deal with evil spirits. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“They seemed so sure. And some of them are educated young men.”

“It’s not their fault.” Steve struggled to hide his impatience. “Another man has fooled them. But I have to help my friend. Tell me what happened.”

“They paid me to show them the back door and to saddle her horse while they were inside. Then they carried out your friend. When they left, they said they would come back for you.”

“Will you help me?”

The hostler hesitated. He seemed embarrassed by the story he had just told. “What do you want?”

“Saddle my horse and tell me which way they went.”

The hostler nodded and slowly got to his feet. “I’ll help you. They took your friend through the gate.” He walked toward the horses.

“What?” Steve followed him. “Don’t the guards close the gate at night?”

“Yes. They bribed the sentries to open it for them. I saw them in the light of the torches.” The hostler went inside the stable.

Steve waited for him outside and looked toward the gate in the Great Wall. Torches burned over the gate, but no guards were posted down on the road now. He could see firelight flickering in the windows of the watchtower over the gate; obviously, that was where the night watch spent their hours on duty.

A moment later, the hostler led his horse out with a halter and tied it loosely to a pole.

“Can the sentries normally be bribed that way?”

“Yes, the Chinese guards can be. But not the Mongols, if you see any.” The hostler went back inside the stable and came out with Steve’s saddle.

“How much does it take?”

The hostler threw on the saddle and adjusted its position. “What you gave me would do it, but each man who comes down from the watchtower must have the same.” He drew the girth up under the horse and cinched it.

“How many are there?”

“Only two men are on watch. Sometimes only one wants to come down. Maybe the other is asleep, or just doesn’t want to bother.” The old man slipped off the halter and put on the bridle. When he had fastened it, he handed the reins to Steve.

“I expect to be back tonight with my friend,” said Steve. “We’ll want you to take care of our horses again.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.

The old man nodded.

Steve looked up into the sky. The moon was high and threw enough light to see the ground. Still, he had no idea what kind of terrain he was about to cross.

He nudged his mount forward and reached up to unhook the lantern that hung over the stable. “I’ll bring this back if I can.” Then, holding the lantern in one hand, he rode toward the gate in the Great Wall.

16

MARCIA RODE THROUGH the darkness more frightened than she had ever been. Her wrists had been lashed together, then tied to the front of her saddle. One of her kidnappers held the reins of her horse.

Her captors did not have a lantern. They kept to the road as it wound across open areas of steppe, away from the forest. Moonlight lit the way north.

During the first terrifying moments when her kidnappers had come into her room, she had been gagged almost immediately. As she tried to resist them, she had been able to switch on her lapel pin before her hands had been tied. Then her captors had carried her out of the room and down some back stairs in near silence.

The old hostler had been waiting with her horse. In the light of the small lantern at the stable, she had finally counted five kidnappers, one of whom had taken the reins of her mount and tied them to his own saddle. They had paused to dicker with the sentries at the gate in the Great Wall, but the sentries had ignored the gag tied over her mouth.

These sentries were not the same men Steve had spoken to earlier. Obviously, the watch had changed since then. These sentries were more interested in the bribe they received for opening the gate after dark than in interfering with other people’s business.

No one spoke. Marcia rode at a walk through the moonlight, listening to the clopping of the horses’

hooves. She supposed the lead rider had to go slowly because of the near-darkness. Certainly she would not complain; wherever they were taking her, she hoped the trip took a very long time.

The road curved as it skirted the edges of the forest, rising and dipping steeply at times. Ahead and to her left, Marcia could see lights clumped together in the distance; she decided they were torches or camp fires at the Mongol camp. She could not tell how far the camp was, but her captors clearly had no intention of going any closer.

Marcia had no idea if she could realistically expect any help. Hunter might still be too far to receive the sound of hoofbeats through her lapel pin. Even if he were receiving them right now, he could be too far back down the road to catch up before something horrible happened to her.

Steve, for all she knew, could still be enjoying his dinner with the Mongols. He certainly had to keep his lapel pin turned off while he remained in their company. Besides, when he did discover that she was missing, he would be alone without a robot to help rescue her.

The riders around her pulled up for a moment on the crest of small hill; the man holding Marcia’s reins drew her mount to a stop with them. In the pale moonlight, she saw that the road forked, one branch angling to the left toward the Mongol camp. The other branch continued north.

“What are we going to do?” One man, merely a shadow to Marcia, turned in his saddle to look at the others. “Which way shall we go?”

“I say we are far enough,” said another. “We must do what we are going to do.”

Marcia felt herself go cold deep inside.

“I do not like it,” said a third man in a high, whiny voice. “She will be found here, and the sentries at the wall will remember us.”

“She deals with evil spirits,” someone else reminded him. “We must kill her and return to the inn before evil spirits come to save her and kill us all.”

“We have to kill her friend as well,” said the first man. “We must finish with her in time to return for him and bring him back out here.”

“At least we must take her away from the road,” said the man with the whiny voice, “into the trees where her body will not be found until we are far away, if ever.”

“Who will do it?” The first man asked. “One of you soldiers? You have the swords.”

“I am a soldier, not a murderer,” someone said stiffly. “Anyone of us can do the job.”

“We are all in this together now,” said another, “no matter who actually does it.”

No one spoke for a long moment. Marcia could hardly believe she was listening to them discuss killing her. She could not believe she was going to die in this year, centuries before she had been born.

“Either all of us must kill her or none of us,” said the first man.

Marcia understood their dilemma. They were not murderers by nature. However, they were highly superstitious and were driven by their fear of her.

“We cannot let her live now,” said one of the others. “She will call evil spirits down on us.”

“I have an idea,” said the man with the whiny voice. “We can leave her out in the woods, tied, without her outer robes. The heat of the day and the cold of the night will do the work, or maybe wild animals.”

“This is good,” said the first man. “We shall be equally responsible.”

Marcia could see the heads of all her captors nodding in the moonlight. None had the stomach for killing her outright. They wanted to take the easy way out.

“Yes, I agree,” said another man. “Nature can do the job for us. And we can return for her friend.”

“Fine,” said the first man. “Now we must move away from the road and find a place to leave her.”

Marcia tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry.

Steve rode north from the Great Wall at a trot. That speed was risky in the moonlight on a bad road, but it was his only chance to catch up to Marcia and her kidnappers. He hoped that they had been traveling at a walk ever since they had left. If not, he had no chance of catching up.

He held the lantern forward as he rode, to see the fresh tracks he was following. While those tracks were not much newer than the other tracks left by the day’s travelers, they overlaid the earlier tracks with clear imprints on the dry, dusty road. He knew they might leave the road at any time, and he had to spot the location immediately if they did. Since Hunter, with his enhanced vision, had failed to notice where Wayne’s group had left the road last night, Steve was acutely aware of how easy it would be to miss this.

Through the shadows in the moonlight, Steve kept his gaze on the road. He left his lapel pin turned on. It provided him with the sounds of hoofbeats of the riders ahead of him. Gradually, he heard those hoofbeats grow louder as he gained ground on the steep, rolling slopes.

When Steve heard voices coming from his lapel pin, he listened carefully. He heard Marcia’s captors discuss their plans for her. From his own point of view, having Marcia tied up and abandoned was not bad at all. If he could avoid her kidnappers on their return trip, he could find her through the lapel pin and free her.

However, he did not like the uncertainty in their voices. He was afraid they might change their minds and kill her outright after all. That meant he still had to rescue her if he could.

Steve wanted to form a plan, but he was not sure how to proceed. From the volume and clarity of the hoofbeats coming through his lapel pin, he knew that he was not too far behind them now. He guessed the distance at about thirty meters, a distance at which he could still not hear their hoofbeats clearly without the radio signal. Apparently they were behind some hill.

Steve paused to blowout the flame inside the lantern he carried. Otherwise, Marcia’s captors would see the glow as he drew closer. They would not hear his hoofbeats for a while yet because the sound of their own would camouflage his.

Steve wished he could confer with Marcia. He wanted to reassure her that he was nearby and also plan her escape with her. Of course, her captors would hear his voice.

Then he realized that he could use that to his advantage. After all, they believed that he and Marcia dealt in evil spirits. Hearing his voice through her lapel pin now would not make any difference.

“Marcia, Steve here,” he said in English. “I’m right behind you.”

He heard a roar of startled shouts from the men in the background.

“Mmmmmm.”

“Marcia, you okay? Is that you?”

“Mmm.”

Steve realized, then, that she was gagged.

The men were still gasping, then shouting, in awe at the sound of a man’s voice from nowhere.

Steve switched to Chinese. “Do not harm this woman,” he intoned authoritatively. “She is under the protection of good spirits. Beware.”

“Hunter here.” The robot’s voice was weak and nearly drowned out by static. “Since you are not afraid of being overheard, I can say I am much closer to you now than I have been all day. Marcia must be in trouble. I am riding as fast as I can, but my mount is very tired.”

“Where are you, Hunter?” Steve asked. “We need help. I don’t have any weapons or anything.”

“I can see lights in what I believe is a watchtower in the Great Wall ahead, but I am not close to it yet.

Right now, I am on the crest of a hill, looking across a considerable distance.”

“We don’t have time for you to catch up,” said Steve. “Follow us if you can.”

Up ahead in the moonlight, Steve saw the shadows of the group on horseback. His only advantage was their fear of evil spirits, so he decided to give them another scare if he could. Suddenly kicking his mount hard into a gallop, he screamed as loud as he could and rode straight toward them.

With panicked shouts, the riders in front of him all turned and fled. He could see Marcia’s silhouette momentarily in the moonlight. Her mount suddenly took off away from the road, over a rolling hill.

Steve saw that her arms angled down to the pommel of the saddle and suddenly realized that her horse was out of control. He reined after her and kicked his mount hard. “Hang on!”

Marcia was helpless on her breakneck ride through the near-darkness. At any moment, her horse could stumble in the moonlight, throwing her out of the saddle and then dragging her by her wrists. If his own mount fell, he might never catch up to her.

“Turn your horse!” Steve shouted to Marcia. “Use your knees, elbows, lean against the side of his neck, anything! Try to slow down!”

Steve knew that she couldn’t actually turn her mount completely. However, she might slow him down, even make him turn a little. Now, Steve could see that he was gaining ground on Marcia.

Her horse went over the crest of a rounded hill and down a steep slope. Marcia leaned to one side in the saddle, struggling to steer her horse to the right. Steve rode hard and gradually came up on her left. Her reins would be trailing loose from her horse’s bridle.

Steve leaned forward over his mount’s neck, still riding hard. He looped his reins over his left wrist and shifted the paper lantern to his left hand. With his right hand, he reached out and flailed in the dark for Marcia’s reins. Suddenly his hand snagged the loose, unseen reins and he jerked them taut.

“Whoa!” Steve drew back, reining in his own mount and also Marcia’s.

Back on the road, the other riders did not stop. They rode on into the darkness. In a moment, even their shadows were lost around the next bend.

Steve and Marcia finally came to a halt. He maneuvered his horse next to hers so he could reach her gag. She leaned toward him to make it easier.

“Got her, Hunter.” Steve reached over and untied the cloth around Marcia’s mouth. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, nodding. “But my hands are tied.”

“I am glad,” Hunter said, his voice still sounding distant through the static.

“We have to hurry,” said Steve. “I’m afraid those guys will gather their wits and come back for us.” He wished he still had the knife he had carried on their second mission in Jamaica during the seventeenth century. Instead of cutting Marcia loose, he had to untie her. Finally he pulled her bonds free, and she rubbed her sore wrists.

“Can you handle your reins?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Steve turned his mount and kicked it to a trot. Marcia kept pace.

“Hunter, we’re heading back south at a trot. The guys who kidnapped Marcia are riding fast in the other direction, but I’m afraid they may change their minds.”

“I understand,” said Hunter. His voice came through slightly more distinctly than before. “I read you more clearly now. I have almost reached the small town by the gate in the Great Wall. I hope to join you soon.”

“Good,” said Steve, “just in case they come back. But you’ll have to bribe your way through the gate. If we’re lucky, the kidnappers won’t stop running till they reach Siberia. We just can’t take that chance.”

As they rode, Steve glanced back over his shoulder. He saw no sign of the other men behind them, nor did he hear them. Maybe they truly were too frightened to stop fleeing anytime soon.

In the distance to his right, he could still see the lights of the Mongol camp in the distance. Some of the campfires had burned down, but others remained as bright as ever. He supposed that Timur and the other sentries kept some fires burning all night.

Steve and Marcia rode side by side at an urgent trot. Every so often, he turned to look behind them again, but he still saw no one. At times, the moonlight outlined the crenellations atop the Great Wall and the watchtower over the gate ahead of them. Then the road would dip and take them out of sight of the Great Wall again.

They had ridden for some time when suddenly the dark silhouettes of men on horseback moved out from behind a small bluff. The riders crossed the road at a walk in front of Steve and Marcia. Then they calmly turned to face them and stopped to block the way.

Startled, Steve yanked back on the reins and started to turn. He saw more riders moving around them on each side. Behind them, several more blocked the road. Marcia, looking around frantically, gasped in surprise.

“Who are you?” A voice demanded in Mongol. “Where are you going at this hour?”

“Back to the Great Wall,” Steve said politely in the same language.

Suddenly one of the other riders made a clicking sound and lit a torch. Steve winced in the sudden light, then saw that the Mongol raising the torch held a flint and steel in his other hand. By the flickering orange torchlight, Steve recognized Timur as the man who had spoken.

“Ah!” Timur grinned, seeing Steve’s face clearly for the first time... So, it is my friend from dinner!”

17

STEVE SMILED BACK Timur, relieved to see him in a friendly frame of mind. “Good evening.”

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, my friend?” In the flickering torchlight, Timur glanced at Marcia, then back at Steve.

“Be careful,” Marcia whispered in English. “Kidnapping probably gets the death penalty here. Almost every serious crime does.”

Steve understood her point. They did not want to cause her kidnappers, or anyone else, to die. Already, the team had influenced local people to take many actions they would not have otherwise taken.

“We had a misunderstanding with some of our fellow travelers, but it is settled now. I apologize for the inconvenience to you and your men.”

“We can find these people for you. Perhaps you want them punished.”

“No! No, the problem has ended. I gave them a good scare myself.” Steve glanced at the riders around them, hoping to change the subject. “You must have brought all the sentries out with you.”

Timur chuckled, and so did many of his companions. “No, my friend. Most of the sentries remain on duty. I saw a mysterious light out here a short while ago and woke up a squad of riders to join me in finding it.”

“It was just this.” Steve lifted up the paper lantern.

“I first saw it moving north. By the time we got out here, we heard you returning and took our positions to intercept you.”

“You were very quiet,” said Steve. He figured a compliment couldn’t hurt. “I had no idea you were coming toward us or waiting here.”

Timur simply nodded casually. “We shall escort you back through the gate.” He turned his horse, and his men imitated his movement. The rough circle of men around Steve and Marcia began to ride south at a walk.

Steve exchanged a glance with Marcia, and they kept pace. He felt safe from Marcia’s kidnappers, but he also knew that Timur was not giving them any options. Their host wanted them returned to where they belonged. In any case, they were now safe from Marcia’s kidnappers, even if that group did turn around and come back.

“You’re okay?” Steve asked Marcia quietly in English. He was not asking for information. Instead, he wanted to convey a message to Hunter, who undoubtedly had heard the entire conversation with Timur.

He would still be listening, concerned about their condition.

“I’m fine,” she said clearly.

“So am I.” Steve grinned, sure that she understood what he was doing.

Tired after a long day of riding, Steve would not have minded moving faster. His mount was weary, however, and he decided that asking the Mongols for more speed might lead to a full gallop. He definitely had had enough breakneck riding for one night. So he said nothing and simply gazed up at the Great Wall in the moonlight as they returned to it.

Under the watchtower, Timur reined in. As his companion raised the torch high, the other riders also stopped. In the windows of the watchtower, sentries looked out, their silhouettes outlined against the light of their own fire inside the watchtower.

“Open the gate,” Timur shouted in his accented Chinese. “Open for two lost travelers.”

“The gate opens in the morning,” a sentry called back. “Who is there?”

“You know me,” Timur growled angrily. He rose up in his stirrups. “Open this gate now!’

The man with the torch held it so that the light fell clearly across Timur’s face. The sentry who had spoken disappeared from sight. Several of the Mongols had already nocked arrows to their bowstrings.

Steve held himself motionless, hoping that no violence would begin. Next to him, Marcia gasped slightly.

He saw now just how arrogant and quick to anger the Mongols could be toward the Chinese.

After several moments, the gate opened with a creak. A single Chinese sentry drew it open, staring at the Mongols fearfully. Timur rode forward, as did the man holding the torch, and stopped right in front of the open gateway.

“Our friends must return to their inn,” Timur said with cold authority. “Tomorrow I may return through this gate to visit with them again. When I do, I will want to hear that all has gone well for them.”

The sentry nodded quickly.

Still looking down at him, Timur waved Steve and Marcia forward.

Steve rode carefully, glancing at Marcia to make sure she was coming with him. They passed without a word through the arched gate. On the other side, Steve turned.

“Thank you, Timur,” he called in Mongol. “Good evening to you all.”

“Farewell!” Timur waved once, then turned his mount and trotted away in the torchlight of his companion. The other Mongols rode after him, and they all vanished quickly into the darkness.

The sentry sighed loudly, letting his shoulders sag, and closed the gate again.

Steve reached into his pouch for a coin. Timur’s warning to the sentry would probably carry a great deal of weight, but a modest token of generosity would not hurt, either. He tossed a coin to the sentry, who fumbled for it with a surprised look and then had to pick it up off the ground. The sentry gave him a nod of thanks.

As the sentry hurried back up inside the watchtower, Steve rode toward the inn. The stable was dark; the hostler had either gone to bed or was hiding. Steve hung up the paper lantern where he had found it.

“Wait a minute,” said Marcia, following him reluctantly. “We can’t go back to the same inn.”

“Hunter, Steve and Marcia here,” Steve said quietly. “Where are you?”

“Here,” said Hunter aloud, stepping out from behind one corner of the inn. He held the reins to his tired mount and Jane’s, as well. “I am relieved to see that you are both well. I continued to receive your transmission, so I knew you were coming back safely.”

“But now what are we going to do?” Marcia asked. “I’m so tired.”

“So are all the horses,” said Steve. “They’re probably ready to drop.”

“The inn is unsafe,” said Hunter. “The people who have now kidnapped three of us may still be able to return tonight.”

“That’s right,” said Marcia.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” said Steve. “So let’s go back to my original idea — use the sphere to follow Wayne and Ishihara back to Khanbaliq.”

“Can we?” Marcia asked hopefully.

“Why not?” Steve said. “We can get a good night’s sleep.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Marcia, smiling weakly. “I’m really cold. And I hurt from all the riding. I’d love to skip the ride back.”

“I do not like the sound of it,” said Hunter firmly. “We must ride.”

“Why?” Steve asked. “If we jump back, we won’t have to worry any more about a bunch of guys who were last seen riding off north of the Great Wall in the dark. And Wayne won’t have an advantage over us after all. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be right back in the search for MC 5.”

“We must return the horses to the city,” said Hunter. “So we must ride them.”

“That’s a two-day advantage for Wayne and Ishihara,” said Steve. “Not to mention that we don’t know where to spend the night.”

“I will protect you now from further harm,” said Hunter. “We will remain together. We will not be surprised or overpowered again.”

“But what if Wayne finds MC 5 during the next couple of days?” Steve demanded.

“We must return the horses,” said Hunter. “They cannot fit in the sphere with us safely.”

“You know we could be throwing away the entire mission,” said Steve urgently.

“Riding back is not ideal,” said Hunter. “Of course I realize this.”

“Look, we all got suckered into coming up here,” said Steve. “The Polos never came this way at all.

Wayne and Ishihara have given themselves a free hand.”

“We bought the horses,” said Marcia. “Why can’t we sell them here?”

“Or even give them away,” said Steve.

“We would be leaving a potentially serious change behind that we can prevent,” said Hunter.

“Hold it right there,” said Steve. “How serious can the horses be?”

“We cannot know,” said Hunter. “That fact is the crucial point.”

“Well, then, as you like to say, what is the likelihood? I don’t think it can be very great.”

“I disagree,” said Hunter. “Horses are very important in this time.”

“I think I may regret this,” said Steve, with a sigh. “But would you explain exactly what harm we can do by selling our horses here?”

“If we leave ours here, they may provide transportation or additional income to people in this town who would not otherwise have had them. Conversely, we may at the same time deprive people in Khanbaliq of those advantages. We must return them to where we found them.”

“I was right,” Steve muttered.

“About what?” Marcia asked.

“I do regret asking.”

“Then you accept my argument?” Hunter asked.

“Maybe not,” Steve said slowly. “It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It’s only four horses,” said Marcia thoughtfully. She rubbed her folded arms harder.

“Hunter, horses are important here — but they’re also very common,” said Steve. “They’re everywhere.”

“That’s true,” said Marcia, with sudden enthusiasm. “In a society that uses horses all the time, they actually have somewhat less value than in our society. In our own time, owning a horse is a luxury, either for the very wealthy or for people like Steve, who live in a rural area where it’s affordable. But in neither case is it a necessity.”

“That’s right,” said Steve.

“I agree that the relative value is different in this society than in ours,” said Hunter. “However, within the context of this society, horses are expensive and important to the people who own them or need them.”

“Well, yes,” Marcia said reluctantly.

“You know we’ve proven that the ordinary changes we’ve caused don’t matter,” said Steve. “On previous missions, we bought weapons in Port Royal and abandoned them in Panama. We took fur cloaks and moved weapons in ancient Germany, too. In the Soviet Union, we caused guys in cars to drive around looking for us and use up gas. We’ve already talked about how consuming food and water and air hasn’t changed anything important in our own time. The horses just aren’t much bigger than the changes we’ve already made.”

“Your list of our past changes is correct, but I judge these horses to be more important. Weapons and clothing were undoubtedly moved in large numbers even without us in Morgan’s mission from Jamaica to Panama and in the Battle of Teutoburger Wald. The mechanical resources and fuel used in the Battle of Moscow also far outstripped the consumption we caused. In each of those cases, our influence was subsumed by the larger events. However, in this case, the effect of leaving our horses would stand alone.”

“Debating with you is exhausting,” said Steve. “I see the logic in all the particulars. But if I look at the whole picture, I’m just not convinced that moving four ordinary horses will matter in the long run.”

“I have no idea how these horses will spend the remainder of their lives,” said Hunter. “I do know that leaving them here might help someone here, or hinder someone in Khanbaliq, at some indeterminate point in the future.”

“I can’t believe we’re arguing endlessly about this in the middle of the night on the edge of Mongolia,”

said Marcia. “Where are we going to sleep? And when?”

“Why can’t we do what Wayne did?” Steve asked suddenly. “However he managed to do it.”

“What, exactly?” Hunter asked.

“We’ve already figured out that Wayne has somehow rigged his belt unit to move him and Ishihara in time without returning to the institute.”

“That is the case,” said Hunter.

“Well, can’t you adjust our unit the same way?” Steve asked. “If Wayne could do it, you must be able to. Then we can all return, even with the horses, because the sphere won’t be involved at all.”

“Yes, I assume I can figure it out,” said Hunter. “However, I do not want to further develop time travel technology. If humans gain wide use of it, they will do irreparable harm to themselves.”

“You mean that’s the only reason you haven’t done it already?” Marcia asked in amazement.

“Yes. The First Law imperative.”

“I don’t get it.” Steve sighed loudly. “Hunter, the technology already exists; we agreed a long time ago Wayne knows how to do it.”

“Even so, the more this knowledge is confined, the better off humans will be.”

“Hunter, look,” Steve said impatiently, “the faster we grab Wayne and MC 5, the better off humans will be. How about that line of argument?”

“It is also logical.”

“Good,” said Steve. “Hunter, the time travel technology is going to be a problem no matter what we do tonight. You acknowledge that?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then suppose you figure out how to make us competitive with Wayne now, and we worry about how to handle the secret of time travel after we’ve finished our missions?”

“This has some logic, too,” said Hunter.

“Now that Wayne has a two-day head start on us, I’d say it’s extremely logical.”

“All right.” Hunter said nothing more, remaining completely motionless.

18

“WHAT’S WRONG?” MARCIA asked, staring at Hunter’s immobile form.

“I don’t think anything is wrong,” said Steve. He understood that if a robot paused long enough for humans to notice, it meant he had a substantial amount of data to process. “He’s probably studying the design of the sphere and the belt unit. Then he has to figure out what changes to make.”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “I see how to do it now. However, I require several minutes, at least, to alter the belt unit. I suggest you dismount, as well. Moving the horses with you on them is potentially dangerous.”

“That’s true,” said Steve. “We don’t want them falling on us.” He dismounted. Until now, he had remained mounted in case they were going to continue riding.

Marcia did so, as well, and hugged herself with both arms. “I’m really cold.”

Hunter also dismounted and gave his reins to Steve.

“We’ve had two very long days,” said Steve. He watched Hunter as the robot opened the belt unit.

The shape of Hunter’s right index finger stretched and reformed itself so that the end became a very finely shaped tool. Then he worked with it on the intricate insides of the unit. In less than a minute, he closed the unit and returned his finger to its normal shape.

“You finished already?” Steve asked.

“Yes, but I must test it first on myself.”

“Wait a minute,” said Steve. “You mean you’re going without us?”

“Not to Khanbaliq.”

“Huh? Where are you going, then?”

“I will simply jump about ten meters and half a minute into the future. Please remain where you are.”

Hunter walked a short distance away from Steve and Marcia. “The range of field may have changed without my realizing it. I want to make sure you are not carried with me.”

Steve watched as Hunter vanished. For a long moment in the waning moonlight, Steve and Marcia stood silently holding the reins of their horses. A slight breeze rustled the trees.

Then Hunter appeared ten meters away, stumbling to catch his balance.

“It worked,” said Marcia, with obvious relief. “Are you okay, Hunter?”

“I am fine,” said Hunter, as he walked toward them. “However, I will take the horses to Khanbaliq first.

If they stumble or fall, I will have the best chance to avoid them. Then I will return for you.”

“Okay.” Steve held out his reins. “What time are we jumping to?”

“Just one minute forward. That way, you will have time to get plenty of sleep.” Hunter took the reins of all four horses and led them away from Steve and Marcia.

“And where are we going?” Marcia asked. “I mean, will we land outside the city again? And have another long ride back to the inn?”

“No. I recall a small stand of trees at the city market, not far from the inn by horseback ride. At this hour, I expect no one to be on the street there.”

“Good,” said Marcia, yawning.

Hunter and the animals vanished.

Then, almost instantly, Hunter reappeared.

“That was quick.” Steve grinned.

“Not to me,” said Hunter, walking up to them. “All the horses stumbled but did not fall. No one saw us arrive. I took the time to see that no one was coming from any direction, and to tie them to a tree. We will return only a moment after I left, again unseen by others.”

“Sounds great to me,” said Steve. He yawned, too. “Now?”

“Now,” said Hunter.

Jane slept most of that first day back in the village near Khanbaliq. After the exhausting night out on the road by the Great Wall, she slept soundly even in the room with Wayne and Ishihara. On waking, she found Wayne gone but Ishihara sitting on the floor by the door of the room.

As soon as she stirred, the robot looked at her.

“How long have I been asleep?” Jane asked, sitting up. She stretched. The air in the room was hot and stuffy now; she had been sweating in her sleep.

“Eight hours, seventeen minutes, and twelve seconds,” said Ishihara.

“So, I guess it must be the middle of the afternoon by now, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me where Wayne is.”

“He rose about an hour ago. I believe he was hungry. He is somewhere in the village.”

“Look, I need a trip to the latrine and I’m hungry, too. You know these are First Law concerns, even if it’s not an emergency yet. What can you do about them?”

“I will make sure you have all your necessities,” said Ishihara. “I must escort you, however. I have been instructed not to let you leave.”

“Well, at the moment, that will do. I also want some water to wash up a little.”

“Come with me.”

Jane followed Ishihara outside.

In the shade near the door, a number of elderly villagers glanced up at her curiously as they threshed rice in small, hand-held wicker strainers.

Ishihara paused. “Food, please, for her.”

An old woman nodded and got up. She hurried inside the house. The others returned to their work.

“She will need a few minutes to prepare it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Ishihara led her to the latrine and then to the village well, where he raised a bucket of cool water for her.

“You may wash in it safely,” said Ishihara. “Do not drink it unless it has been boiled. Some water inside has already been boiled for Wayne.”

“All right.”

“I wish I had my change of clothes,” Jane muttered. “And a hairbrush.”

Ishihara said nothing.

When Jane had washed her face and hands, and smoothed out her hair with her fingers, she glanced around. Some small children were running and laughing together as they played; others had stopped to stare at her. She smiled at them, then looked out at the fields surrounding the village, where she saw older children and adults working.

“Where can I eat?” Jane asked.

“This way.”

Ishihara led her back into the house where she had slept. This time, they went back into the kitchen area, where the old woman squatted on a stone hearth. She stirred something sizzling in a pot that hung over the fire on a hook.

Jane moved closer and saw strips of meat and chopped greens sizzling in hot oil. She could not identify the meat or the vegetable by looking at them, though. She decided that perhaps she would rather not know. The food smelled good enough.

“The villagers consider us all honored guests,” Ishihara said quietly. “The food they prepare for us is better than what they normally eat.”

“I suppose that’s more meat than they usually eat.” Jane nodded. “Are we harming the village? What if they need more food later, maybe during the winter?”

“I have considered this,” said Ishihara. “We must not stay here for long.”

The old woman picked up a wooden bowl and used a long-handled wooden ladle to dish out the food.

Then she placed a pair of chopsticks across the top of the bowl and held it up for Jane.

“Thank you.” Jane accepted it.

The old woman nodded soberly and turned away.

“It’s hot in here,” Jane said to Ishihara. “Can I eat outside?”

“Yes.”

Ishihara led her back outside. “Is this cool enough?”

The elderly villagers were still threshing rice. After brief glances up at Ishihara and Jane, they looked away again quickly. They still had a great deal of unthreshed rice.

“I think we make them uncomfortable. Is there some shade somewhere else?”

“Yes. You can sit under some trees on the west side of the village.”

Jane nodded and followed Ishihara again. Around the corner of the building, she saw Wayne sitting under one of the trees. An empty bowl similar to hers lay on the ground near him, with chopsticks angling out of it.

Ishihara stopped suddenly and looked back toward the dirt path leading through the fields toward the front of the village. Jane looked in the same direction. A small figure was riding up the path on a donkey.

‘‘It is Xiao Li,” said Ishihara.

“Did you say it’s Xiao Li?” Wayne got to his feet and looked, too. “Hunter and his team couldn’t have come back with him, could they?”

“I thought Hunter would take care of him, but I hear only the donkey. He is alone.”

“I hope so,” said Wayne.

“I guess he must be okay,” said Jane. “I’m relieved.” She picked up the chopsticks and began eating where she stood. “Ishihara, shouldn’t you check on him?”

“Yes.”

By this time, the elderly villagers had also seen the boy. A couple of them left their threshing to meet him.

Ishihara hurried after them.

Wayne remained next to Jane.

“Don’t worry,” she muttered between mouthfuls. “I still can’t outrun Ishihara. Besides, I don’t have anywhere to go now. And I’m hungry.”

“You get enough sleep?”

“Yeah.”

Wayne nodded.

Over on the path, Ishihara lifted Xiao Li down from his donkey. The boy smiled and tolerated the questions of the two villagers who come to greet him. One escorted him inside; the other took the reins of his donkey.

“Weren’t they mad,” Jane asked, “when you and Ishihara came back without him?”

“No. They asked about him, but they don’t seem to want to challenge what we do.” Wayne hesitated. “I think that would change if we actually hurt someone. But I thought Hunter would find him.”

“Your judgment isn’t that good,” said Jane, seeing a chance to raise some doubt in his mind. “Neither is Ishihara’s, obviously. This whole situation could get out of hand.”

Ishihara returned to them. “The boy seems to be all right. He said that he slept by the side of the road last night and then rode all day to come home.”

“You could have caused extreme harm to him,” Jane said sternly. “Your sense of the First Law is very poor. So is your overall judgment of human behavior and your reliance on Hunter when you didn’t know if Hunter had even caught up to him.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Wayne ordered. “If Xiao Li is okay, then you have not violated the First Law. She just wants to sabotage your efficiency.”

“You have no efficiency,” Jane declared. “Think about it, Ishihara. Think about the danger this boy was in, traveling that open road by himself.”

“I’ll have him lock you up alone,” Wayne warned her. “If you’d rather enjoy the fresh air, then shutup!”

Jane shut up. She had already used her strongest arguments. However, she knew that Ishihara might not respond to them. Since Xiao Li had demonstrably survived his ordeal, Wayne was right; neither Ishihara nor Hunter had technically violated the First Law.

“It’s too late to go into Khanbaliq today,” said Wayne curtly to Ishihara.

“What is our plan?” Ishihara asked, with unusual stiffness in his manner.

Jane knew, then, that her comments had at least forced Ishihara to feel some doubt about his actions toward Xiao Li.

“We still have a good head start on Hunter,” said Wayne brusquely. “Maybe a long head start, if he stays up near the Great Wall looking for all of us. We’ll spend this evening in the village and get another night’s sleep here. Tomorrow morning, we’ll look for MC 5.”

19

STEVE WOKE UP the next morning in his room in the inn back in Khanbaliq. He had not managed a full night’s sleep, but he had rested enough to get on with the search for MC 5. As before, Hunter waited outside as he and Marcia dressed and washed. Then for breakfast they returned to the same stall they had visited on their first morning in the city.

Steve and Marcia again bought bowls of steaming rice gruel and plates of meat and vegetables to drop into the rice. They sat down at one of the long wooden tables, away from other patrons. Steve ate hungrily.

Next to him, Hunter stood by the end of their bench and looked up and down the street over the heads of the people eating at the nearby tables. Steve glanced up from his bowl and, as before, saw people from many lands crowding the street. They reminded him that Marco Polo really was around here somewhere.

“See anything interesting?” Steve asked. He was just making conversation; he knew very well that Hunter would announce any sighting of significance.

“I recognize many of the people I saw at this hour on our first morning. I conclude they are living a regular routine, but this is irrelevant to our immediate goals.”

“Well, what about those goals?” Marcia asked, between mouthfuls. “I’d feel much more comfortable if we could rescue Jane.”

“I feel responsible for her,” said Hunter. “However, I know that Ishihara will not let her come to harm.

In contrast, we are racing Wayne to locate and apprehend MC 5. That search remains more urgent.”

“We don’t have to repeat this whole line of argument again, do we?” Steve shook his head. “Wayne wants us to be distracted by Jane’s kidnapping. That alone should tell us that searching for her is not in our best interest.”

“I accept your logic,” said Hunter. “If I develop the slightest reason to believe that she might be in danger, however, the First Law will alter my priorities.”

“Okay, understood,” said Steve. “And I just realized something else that’s important here — Jane’s presence will actually help us, since Ishihara is now forced by the First Law to protect two humans.”

“That’s true,” said Marcia. “She’ll either be with them both, or Wayne will have to leave her imprisoned somewhere. I wonder what Ishihara would do then.”

“My own interpretation of the First Law would require me to remain with her,” said Hunter. “I would judge Wayne more capable of taking care of himself than a human who was held against her will.”

“Wouldn’t you want to keep them together?” Steve asked. “So you could protect both humans? Come to think of it, wouldn’t you insist?”

“That’s right,” said Marcia. “You behave that way to some degree with us.”

“Ideally, we would remain together,” said Hunter. “However, I cannot guarantee exactly what interpretation of the First Law Ishihara will make.”

“I think that if we search for MC 5, we may very well come across all three of them,” said Steve. “And if we just get MC 5 first, we can save Jane after that.”

“We have already discussed the heart of this matter,” said Hunter. “I agree that our search for MC 5

should lead us to Jane.”

“Then what’s our plan of action?” Steve asked.

“Our original plan, of finding Marco Polo, is still good,” said Hunter. “We allowed ourselves to be fooled, and I share responsibility for how easily we were drawn out of Khanbaliq. Even so, our goal remains sound.”

“Well, as far as I know, he’s here at home somewhere,” said Marcia.

“Wherever that is,” said Steve. “But instead of just asking around, and letting Wayne and Ishihara sucker us again, we should think of a more reliable way of finding him.”

“We could go to the imperial palace of Kublai Khan,” said Marcia. “Someone there — probably lots of people — must know where he lives.”

“Lots of people?” Steve asked.

“Servants, mostly. Couriers who take messages back and forth — that kind of thing.”

Steve nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I prefer not to risk that,” said Hunter. “Any involvement on our part with the palace is more likely to alter the future significantly than our dealings with common citizens. I want to avoid the palace if we can accomplish our goals without going there.”

“Okay, what do you suggest?” Steve leaned back from his empty bowl.

“Perhaps some of the other foreign dignitaries or traders will know the residence of Marco Polo,” said Hunter. “We certainly have many of them to ask. Marcia, what do you think? Will they cooperate?”

“It’s possible.” Marcia shrugged. She, too, had finished her breakfast. “It’s as good as asking people on the street at random. I would suggest that you do the asking, however, in your role as a fellow foreign trader.”

“I understand,” said Hunter. “All right. I will make this attempt.”

“Let’s stay right here,” Steve said to Marcia. “After all, we belong to the conquered people. Maybe he’ll do better without us.”

“Good point,” said Marcia, with a trace of surprise in her voice.

Steve grinned. “Well, I’m learning.”

Steve and Marcia watched Hunter walk out to the street. As usual, he towered over everyone around him. Hunter let the Chinese pass him. Steve saw him stop two men with dark curly beards and speak to them briefly.

“Where are they from?” Steve asked.

“Persia, I would say by their clothes.”

Steve nodded, still watching Hunter.

The two men shook their heads and continued on their way down the street.

Hunter glanced around and approached a man in a long, colorfully embroidered robe. This man listened but did not stop walking. He merely shook his head and hurried past.

“How about that guy?” Steve asked.

“Maybe a Turk. I’m not sure.”

“Hey, what about these two?” Steve nodded toward two other men whom Hunter had stopped. Both men were tall, with black hair and long, angular faces with carefully trimmed black beards. They wore white turbans and long, flowing robes. As one stood by impatiently, the other nodded and pointed with one arm.

“Arabs,” Marcia said firmly.

“I guess they know something,” said Steve.

After a moment, Hunter nodded and the two Arabs walked on their way.

“Come on.” Steve got up and led Marcia over to Hunter. “Well? Did they know where to find him?”

“I have directions to the residence of Marco Polo. The man who pointed is a trader. In the course of his business, he has met Marco Polo and was once a guest briefly at his home. He does not know if Marco Polo is present today.”

“We obviously should have done this the first time,” said Steve.

“I had no idea it would be this easy,” said Marcia. “This is embarrassing.”

“If we had begun this way, Wayne might have also altered his plan to send us up to the Great Wall,” said Hunter. “We did not make a simple mistake before; we were deliberately misled. However, the house of Marco Polo is nearby.”

“Lead on,” said Steve.

Hunter took them at a brisk walk down the crowded street toward the center of the city. The imperial palace rose above the other buildings in this area. Hunter saw that under the hot and unrelenting morning sun, Steve and Marcia were sweating heavily. He slowed down.

After several blocks, Hunter turned right along a smaller street. Here, tall trees lined the street, shading it from the sun. High walls of painted brick hid the houses from view except for their roofs, visible through treetops within each compound. The roofs were made of glazed tile that shone in the sunlight.

“This is it,” Hunter said. He stopped at double doors set into a round archway in the wall. This wall was white; the doors were red. A small brass bell hung on the hook to one side of the doors.

“The home of Marco Polo,” Marcia said quietly, looking up at the roof beyond the treetops. “Wow.”

Steve smiled. Ever since Hunter had been kidnapped, Marcia’s manner had been looser — more spontaneous and less stuffy. He realized that he had actually come to like her.

Hunter rang the little bell.

“We have to remember which languages to use,” Marcia reminded them.

“Correct,” said Hunter. “You two should not reveal that you can understand Italian, if he uses it. I will use it with him to make what I expect will be a positive impression. We can all speak Mongol with him.”

“Won’t he wonder how you learned it?” Steve asked. “I mean, supposedly, Marcia and I live in this empire, but you’re from somewhere else.”

“I will explain that I learned Mongol on my journey here.”

The sound of a small door opening and closing reached them from beyond the wall. Steve heard footsteps on stone coming toward them.

“The servants could be Chinese, right?” Steve asked. “But then, how could he communicate with them?”

“Maybe they aren’t,” said Marcia.

“I will try Mongol with the first servant,” said Hunter. “They must be bilingual if not multilingual. The question will be which languages they speak.”

The red door opened. A tall, slender man with graying hair bowed perfunctorily and studied Hunter carefully, appraising his robes; he gave Steve and Marcia only a quick glance. However, he said nothing, waiting for Hunter to speak first.

“He’s Chinese, isn’t he?” Steve muttered.

Marcia nodded.

“I am Hunter, a trader from Europe,” Hunter said in Mongol. “I arrived recently and would like to speak with the Venetian Marco Polo. Is he here?”

The servant looked at Steve and spoke in Chinese. “You can translate for your friend? What does he want?”

“I speak Chinese,” said Hunter, in that language. He repeated his request to see Marco Polo.

“Please wait. I will return shortly.” With a deeper bow this time, the servant closed the door again and hurried back to the house at a brisk walk.

“Well, he must be here,” said Steve. “Otherwise, the servant could have told us he wasn’t.”

“Now the big question is whether he’ll see us,” said Marcia.

A moment later, the door of the house opened and closed again. The servant’s footsteps tapped quickly on the stones as he hurried back. This time he drew both doors open, bowing deeply as he moved out of their way.

“Welcome, welcome. Please come in.”

Hunter entered first. Steve waited for Marcia to go next, but she shook her head tightly. He followed Hunter and Marcia came in behind him. The servant closed the doors behind her.

The grounds were covered by a small, grassy lawn shaded by the trees they had seen over the wall. A leafy hedge lined the inside of the wall. A walk of precisely cut stones led to the front door.

The house itself had been constructed of wood, now painted white. The front door stood in the center, with precisely matched windows on each side; the entire building, down to every detail, was bilaterally symmetrical. Long, white curtains fluttered in the open windows.

The servant hurried from behind Marcia to beat Hunter to the front door. He flung it open and stepped aside, bowing again as his guests entered. Another servant, a young woman with long braids, held the door inside, also bowing.

The servants led them through a foyer into a large sitting room. Large tables of Chinese rosewood, small ones of black lacquer, and rosewood chairs lined the room. The chairs were padded with embroidered silk cushions; porcelain vases on the tables held green plants or flowers. Chinese landscape scrolls hung on the walls.

A European man of average height entered. He had curly brown hair and a neatly trimmed matching beard, and he wore a plain blue Chinese robe. Steve judged him to be in his late thirties.

“Welcome,” he said in formally in Italian. “I am Marco Polo. Do you understand Italian?”

“Yes,” Hunter responded in that language. “I am Hunter, a trader. My companions are close friends.”

“Welcome,” Polo said to Steve and Marcia in Chinese, with a slight bow.

“Thank you,” said Steve, bowing. In the rear of the house, he could hear other footsteps and muffled conversation. Obviously, Polo employed many servants.

Next to him, Marcia also bowed but said nothing.

Switching back to Italian, Polo added, “I am not fluent in Chinese, but I have picked up a few words.”

“You have done very well here,” said Hunter.

“By your accent, you are not Italian,” Polo said to Hunter. “Where are you from?”

“Switzerland.”

“Switzerland! I have heard it is beautiful there. My travels never took me that direction.”

Steve glanced quickly at Marcia. He did not recall Hunter discussing this detail of his role. She did not react, so Steve decided that Hunter knew what he was doing.

“However, I have traveled a great deal,” said Hunter. “I have not been home for many years.”

“Have you been to Venice? Can you bring me news of my home city?”

“I can tell you a little.”

For the first time, Polo smiled broadly. “Excellent! Please sit down.”

Steve waited for Hunter to move first. Hunter accepted a large rosewood chair. A small black lacquered table inlaid with abalone shell separated it from a matching chair that Polo took. Steve and Marcia then sat down on a small couchlike seat with a straight, uncomfortable back.

Polo turned to the servants, who were standing attentively to one side. “Cha, dian xin.”

The servants bowed and hurried away.

“He knows more Chinese words than you thought,” Steve whispered. Polo had ordered tea and the brunch more commonly known in Cantonese as dim sum at home in their own time.

“So tell me about Venice,” Polo said in Italian. “Is it still the premiere city in Italy?”

“It is proud and splendid,” said Hunter, “the finest city in all of Europe.”

“And Venetian galleys still sweep the Mediterranean of pirates?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. I left when I was still young. My father and uncle are jewelers. They live in this neighborhood, too.”

“How did your family first come here?”

“My father and my uncle had a house in Soldaia, on the Black Sea.”

“That city has an entire colony of Italian merchants, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! You’ve been there, I take it?”

“No,” Hunter said. “I have heard of it.”

“Oh. Well, it is a fine city, though not the equal of Venice — and certainly not the city that Khanbaliq is.”

Steve relaxed, leaning back in his seat as Hunter and Polo discussed more events in Venice. He sneaked glances at Marcia, who did not react outwardly in any way. Steve realized that Hunter was using the information he had accessed from the Mojave Center library to convince Polo that he knew Venice.

20

POLO PAUSED IN the conversation as the servants hurried into the room with a big brass tray holding a porcelain teapot and four cups. Steve saw that Hunter followed Polo’s lead and did not speak. The servants poured tea for everyone and handed them the small cups.

“Is the tea to your liking?” Polo asked. “The food will take a little longer, I fear.”

“It is excellent tea,” said Hunter.

Polo glanced at Steve and Marcia and spoke in Chinese. “Good?”

“Very good,” said Steve.

Marcia nodded, smiling.

“Well, where was I?” Polo said, speaking Italian again. “My father and uncle journeyed from Soldaia to the land of the Golden Horde when I was a child.”

“Much of modern Russia,” Marcia whispered almost inaudibly to Steve.

“From that land, they came here to see Kublai Khan,” Polo continued.

Hunter nodded, sipping his tea.

“When the khan heard of our religion, he asked them to return home and have the pope send a hundred men learned in Christianity back with them, along with oil from the sacred lamp at the sepulchre in Jerusalem.”

“Really?” Hunter asked politely. “Where were you during this time?”

“I was still in my youth. However, when my father and uncle returned, they invited me to travel back to China with them.”

“I see.”

“We took a couple of friars — the pope would not send a hundred — and some oil and started our journey.” Polo smiled and shook his head. “The friars turned back out of fear, and we could not stop them. But we brought the oil, and we have been in the khan’s empire ever since.”

Steve took a deep breath and fought his impatience. This was mildly interesting, but accomplished nothing he could see. As Polo and Hunter continued to talk, he whispered to Marcia in Chinese.

“Why doesn’t Hunter get to the point?” He spoke into her ear, still watching Polo and Hunter.

“This kind of slow exchange to get acquainted is part of business in this era,” she whispered back. “In fact, as a social mannerism, it lasts largely up to the middle of the twentieth century.”

“What’s going on?”

“Business is very personal in this time. Certainly Polo knows Hunter came to ask for a favor, and he wants to get a sense of who the stranger is before he asks what Hunter wants. And Hunter seems to know this.”

“Why doesn’t Polo ask first what Hunter wants, and then decide if he wants to help?”

“That’s considered rude.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll just have to wait.”

“If Polo continues to do most of the talking, though, I don’t see what he can learn about Hunter.” Steve straightened again and listened to Hunter and Polo.

“I have told my friends here a great deal about Europe and the lands between here and there,” said Hunter, nodding toward Steve and Marcia.

“Kublai Khan is the greatest man of our time,” said Polo. “Possibly of any time.”

“Don’t buy it,” Marcia whispered to Steve in Chinese. “Polo never saw the large picture.”

Steve remembered that when Marcia had first briefed the team, she had told them how the money had been devalued several times because the economy was poor. He also recalled that most serious crimes received the death penalty. This empire appeared prosperous, but economic mismanagement and rule by fear underlay life here.

The servants entered again, this time carrying two brass trays with dishes of steaming dumplings and noodles. They set the trays down on a large table and placed individual servings on small plates with chopsticks. Then they brought the servings to everyone.

Hunter and Polo resumed their conversation in Italian.

“Smells familiar,” Steve whispered to Marcia. “It even looks the same as in our time.”

“Much of the dim sum has been unchanged for centuries,” said Marcia.

“Wait a minute. How do you know?” Steve grinned. “Food doesn’t keep that long.”

“Old recipes are still on record,” said Marcia. She paused to blow on a hot dish. “Some dishes appear in paintings; relief sculpture; and book illustrations.”

“Well, here’s the real proof.” Steve paused to eat.

“I’m fascinated just by meeting Marco Polo,” said Marcia softly. “I just …”

“What?”

“I wish I could tell him about his book.”

Steve glanced over at Polo and Hunter. Polo was listening to Hunter’s story of their travels. Maybe they were making progress.

“What do you mean?” Steve whispered. “What do you want to tell him?”

“I wish I could tell him that after he returns to Italy, when the Genoese capture him in a war, not to worry. And that he’ll tell stories of his travels in prison to a writer who sets it all down.”

“He does it in prison?”

“Yes, as a prisoner of war. And I would warn him that much of what he says won’t be believed in his own time, or for many years afterward, but that it will finally become a timeless classic.”

“But you can’t. It might influence him in the wrong way, somehow. As Hunter would say, then everyone who ever read his book might be a little different, too. The changes could really add up.”

“I know.”

Jane walked through the streets of Khanbaliq between Wayne and Ishihara. Wayne had wanted to leave her behind in the village, but Ishihara, under the imperative of the First Law, had refused to leave her with the villagers. Now Wayne and Ishihara were searching again for MC 5.

Many of the villagers had accompanied them to Khanbaliq this morning. Some tended their market stall, but others had taken time away from the fields to visit the city with the good spirits who had come to their village. Wayne had sent the others to fan out around Khanbaliq in search of MC 5, but Xiao Li had remained with them.

Jane had been thinking about how to escape Ishihara. Here, where some of the blocks were relatively crowded, she could probably dart away suddenly and have some chance of losing herself in the crowd.

Since he could not risk harming her, the idea of trying to escape had become more attractive now that they were back in Khanbaliq in daylight instead of out in the forest at night.

However, she also saw several problems with this plan. For one, she had nowhere to go. She figured that Hunter and the rest of the team were either looking for her back on the road to the Great Wall, or else they were riding back to Khanbaliq.

Even if Hunter had decided to return to the sphere and come right back to Khanbaliq, she had no idea where in the city the team was now. The only meeting place they had used was the inn where they had spent the first night, but the team would not be waiting there at this time of day. Presumably, they would be out looking for her and MC 5.

Another problem was that she was so obviously a foreign visitor. She expected that if she ran, Wayne would order Ishihara to shout to all the people on the street in Chinese that she had to be captured. Since Wayne was also of European descent, she supposed that onlookers would assume they were together.

For Wayne’s purposes, any excuse to stop her would do, perhaps that she was crazed or drunk or even a thief. She could not outrun everybody.

Further, if her captors did not enlist the help of other people, the last problem was that Ishihara would inexorably follow her. She would gradually tire, while the sun replenished his solar converters with energy. Sooner or later, unless she had a safe haven very close, he would catch her again.

Finally, after she had attempted to run away, Ishihara would probably hold her arm continuously in the future. That meant she realistically had only one chance. In order to have a reasonable likelihood of success, she would have to wait until a particularly good opportunity developed. The best chance would come if she saw Hunter and the team somewhere on the street.

When Polo had seen that all his guests were well fed, he invited them into his study. Steve, holding his teacup, followed Polo and Hunter with Marcia at his side. The male servant waited outside the room, ready to be summoned.

Long wooden tables with intricately carved sides and legs lined the study. All were cluttered with a variety of objects. Steve saw scrolls of paper, Chinese ink sticks and brushes, and brass and porcelain bottles.

“The empire of Kublai Khan is full of wonders,” said Polo. “Hunter, look at this.” He lifted a long, narrow piece of blank paper and gently placed it over Hunter’s open palms. “I suppose you think it’s a kind of parchment.”

Steve clenched his teeth together, fighting laughter. Marcia jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. He took a deep breath and hid his smile behind his teacup.

Hunter looked at the paper closely, obviously pretending never to have seen it before. He brushed his fingertips across the surface. Then, as though it was tremendously valuable, he held it out for Polo to take back.

“How is it made?” Hunter asked. “It is clearly not parchment.”

“No.” Polo laid the sheet back down on the table~“Paper is made from pulping certain kinds of plants.

The pulp is then suspended in a vat of water. When the mix is just right, a screen is placed in it and pressed. The pressing removes the water and makes it into these sheets. They are excellent for writing and painting.”

“I have seen the Chinese write with their brushes,” said Hunter. “Instead of using quill pens.”

“In their language, the brush is very beautiful,” said Polo. “Personally, I find it difficult to write the alphabet with it. I have tried many of these things you see on the tables around us, just to get the feel of them.”

Hunter nodded.

Marcia jabbed Steve in the ribs again.

He looked at her in surprise. “What?” he whispered, mystified.

“The paper and brush.”

“What about them? I can’t write that way.”

“Well, I can. I practiced a little as part of my historical studies. But you have to say something.”

“Oh.” Steve raised his voice and spoke in Chinese. “Hunter, she can demonstrate the brush for you and Marco.”

“Eh?” Polo waited politely for Hunter to translate.

“May she show us?” Hunter asked in Italian. “I would like to see how the paper accepts the ink.”

“Of course.” Polo gestured for Marcia to come forward.

Steve sighed quietly. All this polite posturing made him very impatient. Somewhere in the city, Wayne and Ishihara were dragging Jane around with them and might be on the verge of finding MC 5.

Marcia dipped the end of a slender, black ink stick in a pan of water and began grinding it in a shallow stone bowl designed for the purpose. She added more water from the pan and ground the stick again.

After only a moment, she selected a narrow brush from a bamboo cylinder and dipped it in the liquid.

The brush tip came out black.

“Watch closely,” Polo said to Hunter.

Marcia slowly wrote a straight, horizontal line. Below it, she wrote two, the bottom one longer than the other. Then she wrote a character with three horizontal lines.

“Even I recognize those,” Polo said with a smile. “The numbers one, two, and three.”

Steve saw that the character for “four” was more complex; it was a rectangle with two squiggles inside.

Marcia wrote ten characters in all. Then she dipped the brush in the water pan, rinsed it, and laid it carefully across the ink bowl. With a slight bow, she stepped back out of the way.

“The characters have great beauty,” said Polo. “I believe she has simply written from one to ten.”

Hunter nodded, leaning over the paper. “This paper accepts the ink very well. It must be much cheaper than parchment. Is it widely used?”

“Yes.” Polo picked up a large porcelain bowl of water. A flat, narrow piece of metal with a point on one end floated on top of it. “Hold this in your hand.”

Hunter took it.

“Now turn the bowl so that the arrow points a different direction.”

Hunter did so.

“Watch.”

Steve saw that the arrow, bobbing slightly, slowly turned to point north. He suppressed a smile. At first, he hadn’t recognized it as a compass.

“What is the significance of this needle?” Hunter asked politely.

Steve knew very well Hunter was still acting out his role. Beside him, Marcia turned away to hide her own smile of amusement. Not laughing at Polo had become a major challenge for both of them.

“It always points north,” said Polo. “As travelers who have crossed uncountable miles, you and I know how helpful it could be.”

“Yes, I see.” Hunter gently laid down the bowl.

“You told my servant that you arrived recently in Khanbaliq. These wonders are all new to you?”

“They exist only here, do they not?” Hunter looked around at the other items on the long tables. “No one in Europe has ever seen them.”

“That is true,” said Marco. “I hope to bring some of them back to Venice someday.”

Hunter nodded noncommittally.

“How can I help you?” Polo asked. “Do you need introductions here in the city, perhaps for your business?”

“I seek another foreigner, who goes by the nickname MC 5. He is a European, short and slight in stature.”

“What is his trade?”

Steve tensed, wondering what Hunter would say.

“We believe he is seeking a post with the government,” said Hunter.

“Ah, a civil servant.” Polo nodded. “Has he been in Khanbaliq long?”

“No,” said Hunter. “A few days at most, but maybe even less.”

“I see.” Polo turned to his servant in the doorway and spoke in heavily accented Chinese. “See to it.”

The servant bowed quickly and hurried away.

Polo picked up a large porcelain bottle and pulled out the cork stopper. “Of all the wonders in the khan’s empire, this is the most spectacular.” He poured some gray powder out of the bottle into a small stone dish.

Steve looked at Marcia, puzzled. “What did he mean when he told his servant to ‘see to it,’ about MC

5?” he whispered in Chinese.

“I think the head servant will probably order some of the others to go to the palace or ask their other contacts in the city,” said Marcia.

The servant returned to the doorway. Polo pointed to the gray powder. The servant bowed, then left again.

Steve looked back at the substance in the dish. He was fairly sure it was gunpowder. When he glanced at Marcia, she shrugged almost imperceptibly.

Without speaking, Polo cut a short piece of string from a roll with a small knife. Then he rolled the string in the powder until it was gray. He pulled it out so that the string overhung the edge of the dish and then laid it down.

The servant returned with a burning candle in a brass holder. Polo took it from him. Then the servant returned to the doorway again.

“Watch carefully,” said Polo.

Steve suppressed a smile and caught Marcia’s eye. She, too, was fighting a laugh. Hunter, of course, looked as though he had no idea what was about to happen.

Polo lit the fuse. It fizzed, sparked, and crackled. The line of fire quickly moved into the dish, where the remaining powder burned as well. Marco set the candle down on the table and stepped back.

When the gunpowder had burned down, the servant came back into the room. He leaned over the table to open a window, then picked up a small fan. As Polo moved out of his way, he waved the smoke toward the open window.

“Your companions are amused because this is old and familiar to them,” said Polo pleasantly. “But you must understand the power of this substance. When tightly packed in a container, it explodes with great force. When a hole for the release of the fire and smoke is provided, it can make the container fly up into the air.” He looked at Hunter for his reaction.

“Indeed?” Hunter said cautiously.

“A container of this type can send fire many times farther than a burning arrow,” Marco said grimly.

Hunter simply nodded.

Steve realized that Hunter did not want to enter a discussion about the potential of gunpowder. Anything he said could alter what Polo would later write in his memoirs. None of them dared react very much.

“I, too, was shocked by the idea,” said Polo. “But you will get used to seeing many wonders here in this empire if you stay long. Come. Let us return to the sitting room.”

21

STEVE TOOK HIS seat again in the front room and accepted more tea, poured by the young woman servant.

Marcia sat next to him, as before. Hunter and Polo continued their talk about the wonders of Kublai Khan’s empire.

Steve could still hear other servants in the back of the house. Meanwhile, the two servants who had already attended them carried away the leftover food. Moments later, they brought out more of the same — fresh and steaming.

“I’m full,” Steve muttered in Chinese to Marcia.

“It’s part of the courtesy here,” said Marcia. “Food will be available as long as we keep eating it. When we left the room, it wasn’t because we had finished but because our host wanted to show us around.”

Finally, as Polo and Hunter discussed politics within the far-flung empire of the khan, the head servant came in with a younger Chinese man, who was sweaty and breathless. Polo looked up.

“Yes?”

“Xiao Sung has information for your guests, sir,” he said in Mongol.

“All right. Xiao Sung, go ahead.”

Xiao Sung took a deep breath and spoke in Chinese. “I may have located him in the khan’s palace.”

“Excellent!” Polo turned to Hunter. “Even I understand that much Chinese.”

“How do you know?” Hunter asked.

“I spoke to a courier whom Master Polo knows. He works at the palace. On the palace grounds, he saw a new courier, hired only a few days ago, who fits the description.”

“Has he spoken to this new courier?” Hunter asked. “MC 5 has a language problem here. To my knowledge, he does not speak any of the prevailing languages, though he can learn languages quickly.”

“No, our acquaintance did not speak to this man,” said Xiao Sung. “But many languages are used in Khanbaliq. If he is the man you seek, he may have been able to communicate with at least some foreign guests.”

“Couriers who cannot gossip are in great demand,” said Polo. “They betray fewer confidences. All they must do is deliver written messages or packages faithfully to the right location or individual.”

“A stranger can just arrive in the city and work in the palace of the khan?” Hunter asked. “Without references or introductions?”

“Foreign arrivals have a better chance of working in the palace than the local Chinese,” said Polo. “The Chinese are considered a danger within the palace walls, since they are the conquered people here. And because the number of foreign people who will come here cannot be predicted, they are often welcomed quickly into certain jobs.”

“I see,” said Hunter.

“MC 5 could get the post of courier, but he will be closely watched during his first months on the job to see that he is reliable. Within the palace grounds, his movements will be severely restricted. He will be assigned to accompany a trusted courier during this time, to learn his way around and to earn the trust of his superiors.”

“Then we must learn if this new courier really is MC 5,” said Hunter.

Polo frowned thoughtfully. “To your knowledge, could he be a danger of any kind to the khan?”

“No,” said Hunter. “In fact, if given the opportunity, he would risk his own well-being to save the khan’s life. But he might wish to gain the ear of the khan someday and offer some opinions.”

Polo laughed. “Nearly everyone in the empire would love to have the khan’s ear for one reason or another.” He glanced at Xiao Sung. “Is that all?”

“He has more, master,” the head servant said politely.

“Oh. Please go on.”

“I must also inform you that a search for an evil spirit of the description of this man called MC 5 is already underway in the streets.”

“Eh?” Polo glanced at Hunter. “My Chinese is poor, but did he say that a search on the streets has already begun for this man?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “A business rival of mine also hopes to make contact with him.”

“Ah! I see.”

“Supposedly, a couple of good spirits have come down from the sky to capture MC 5,” said Xiao Sung.

“What do they look like?” Steve asked suddenly in Chinese.

“Like foreigners,” said Xiao Sung. “They resemble Master Polo and your friend, in a general way.”

Steve grinned and glanced at Hunter. “Yeah, that’s our business rival, playing games. Have they offered a reward for finding MC 5?”

“No, sir,” said Xiao Sung. “No reward is offered, but the more superstitious people in this part of the city are looking for him.”

“Do you believe in evil spirits?” Steve grinned at Xiao Sung. “Does everybody?”

“Of course, sir,” said Xiao Sung, frowning in puzzlement. “But I do not confuse every foreign guest with visitors from the spirit world.”

“Good,” said Steve.

“Would it be possible to receive a letter of introduction from you?” Hunter asked. “I must go to the palace and see this new courier for myself.”

“I will do more than that,” said Polo. “Several days ago, I reported to the khan on my most recent trip out to the provinces. Now I am taking a week or so to relax, which leaves me free today. I, too, am curious about this mysterious stranger, so I will take you to the palace myself.”

“I am imposing on you,” said Hunter.

“Nonsense. I will enjoy the walk.”

“Then I am in your debt.”

Polo glanced up at this servants. “You will accompany us,” he said in Mongol.

The servants left the house first, followed by Polo and Hunter. Steve and Marcia walked behind them.

The young woman servant followed, first closing the front door behind them and then the gate in the wall.

“Hunter is going to be worried even more about altering Polo’s actions,” Steve said quietly.

“That’s true. Well, Polo was always welcome at court, so this isn’t likely to be too significant.” Marcia took a deep breath. “I can hardly believe it. I’m about to see the palace of Kublai Khan..’

Ishihara waited as Wayne and Jane took a break under a large tree on the edge of a city street.

“Look,” said Xiao Li. “One of my cousins is running through the crowd toward us.” He pointed.

Ishihara looked. A young man from the village dodged around a peddler’s cart and stopped, breathing hard. “Your friend has been seen.”

“Where?” Ishihara asked.

Beside him, both Wayne and Jane tensed.

“A man saw him deliver a message from the palace of the Emperor to the home of a general, then return again.”

“What did he say?” Wayne asked in English, impatiently. “Does he know something?”

“He went to work in the palace,” said Ishihara in English. “The seat of power.”

“You will come?” The man looked back and forth between Wayne and Ishihara. “If an evil spirit is working in the court, he may cause harm for everyone.”

“He is not an evil spirit, remember,” said Ishihara. “He is merely a misguided spirit who belongs with us.

We will take him away from the court if someone will take us inside the palace grounds.”

“My mother’s cousin is a minor attendant to one of the princes in the court. He will come to the gate if I ask the guard to call him.”

“Can he let us in?” Ishihara asked.

“I believe so,” the other man said slowly. “I have never tried before.”

“Will we be stopped inside?” Ishihara asked. “We cannot disturb the palace routine.”

“That’s right,” said Jane. “We can’t afford to cause any trouble, remember?”

“My mother’s cousin has often said that the palace grounds are like a separate city within Khanbaliq.

Thousands of bureaucrats, servants, and other workers do their daily duties inside the walls.”

“This is acceptable,” said Ishihara. “A few more people can get lost in the crowd during the day. Will you take us to the palace?”

“I am at your service.”

“Good.”

“Are we going?” Wayne asked in English again. “Can we get to MC 5?”

“Yes,” said Ishihara.

Steve stared at the towering walls around the palace grounds as he drew near behind Polo and Hunter.

The grounds covered the equivalent of many city blocks, though Steve could not judge how many from this perspective. The walls rose up at least as high as the Great Wall. Sentries stood guard outside the closed gates. When they recognized Marco Polo, however, they bowed and opened the gates without comment.

Within the walls, the palace grounds were also laid out in the manner of a city. Broad walkways and large buildings lined up on a right-angle grid. Trees shaded the walks and the buildings. Marcia took his arm and pointed.

“See that long building with the statues by the entrance and the wooden threshold? By the architecture and the statues, I think that’s a temple of some kind.”

Steve nodded. “How about the other buildings?”

“I can’t be sure of most of them. These buildings did not last into our time. Too many are made of wood, and they were replaced one by one as the centuries went by.” Marcia looked to each side, then into the distance. She pointed to a huge edifice topped by a roof of vermilion, yellow, green, blue, and red, shimmering in the sunlight. “The largest building is the palace itself. In Marco Polo’s book, he says the palace is the greatest that ever existed. He wrote that the largest hall can hold six thousand people at dinner. The khan’s quarters are there, and those of his four wives.”

“Yeah?”

“And the other buildings must house various bureaucratic offices.”

“I wonder if there’s any chance we could see Kublai Khan himself.”

In front of them, Polo and his entourage came to a halt. Polo spoke briefly to a young man in a long, black robe who bowed deeply and hurried away. Then Polo turned to Hunter with an amused smile.

“I have been fortunate to enjoy the khan’s favor ever since we arrived here. Many of the attendants know me; that man recently passed the examinations necessary to enter government service. He will speak to the chief of the palace couriers, and bring MC 5 to us.”

“Thank you,” said Hunter.

“It’s going to be that easy?” Steve muttered to Marcia. “Hard to believe.”

“Dr. Nystrom sent us on a long detour to the Great Wall. I just hope Jane’s all right.”

“Of course she is, in Ishihara’s company.” Steve shrugged. “Well, MC 5 isn’t here yet. So our search hasn’t exactly succeeded.”

“Come,” Polo said to Hunter. “Now we will sit down and wait.” He gestured forward, and his servants led the small entourage again.

This time the group walked to a shaded garden with a lawn and a hedge of flowering shrubs. Carved stone chairs surrounded a round table of matching stone. The servants stood under a nearby tree, waiting patiently as the others sat around the table.

“If we must wait long, I shall send for tea,” said Polo. He leaned back in his chair. “What do you think of the palace grounds so far?”

“It is very impressive,” said Hunter. “Efficiently laid out and well tended.”

Polo laughed lightly. “You have an odd way of speaking, my friend. It is beautiful here, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Hunter.

“You know, in the spring —” Suddenly Polo stopped talking, his eyes on a small group of people approaching them. “The khan! Do as I do.” Polo leaped to his feet. He bowed very low from the waist and held the position. “Speak only if he bids you. Do not address him directly. Say, ‘the khan,’ or the

‘great khan,’ as though you are talking about someone not here.”

Hunter rose and imitated Polo precisely.

Steve, startled, also got up and bowed; next to him, Marcia did the same. Around them, the servants had reacted more Quickly and also stood motionless in their position. Steve sneaked a glance at the khan.

The man who stopped in front of Polo, frowning, had sharp, dark eyes and a ruddy complexion. His long, narrow mustache and wispy beard were gray. On his head, he wore a white cloth hat that angled down around his neck. His plain white robe was held by a tasseled belt of gold braid. Of medium height, he was stout but not flabby. Four grim-faced men in elaborate embroidered robes stood behind him.

“Marco, I did not know you were coming to the palace today. Why did you not have yourself announced to me?”

Polo did not move. “I did not wish to disturb the khan.”

“Rise, Marco. Your companions, as well.”

Polo straightened; his servants did so just a moment afterward.

Steve and Marcia also stood erect again.

“I am always pleased to see you, Marco,” said Kublai Khan. “You have business here today?”

“I seek a new courier working in the palace,” said Polo. “My friend, here, is also from Europe and wishes to speak with him.”

“Ah.” Kublai Khan glanced at Hunter without interest. “Come tomorrow, Marco. We will visit over tea at midday.” He walked away, followed by his retainers.

Polo bowed again. The others followed his example once more. When Polo straightened, he grinned at them.

“I am relieved that he is not angry because I failed to announce my presence. I did not expect to see him today.”

“Bowing is the acceptable response?” Hunter asked. “What about kneeling and touching one’s forehead to the floor? I heard this was the proper posture in the presence of the khan.”

“That is true if we are summoned to the throne room for a formal appearance, “Polo said. “Here on the palace grounds, that is much too impractical.”

“I see.”

Marcia nudged Steve’s arm and whispered in Chinese, pointing surreptitiously. “That first guy Marco spoke to is coming through the crowd with somebody. Is that MC 5?”

Steve looked through the crowd. He recognized MC 5, whose appearance was identical to that of the other component robots. MC 5 had somehow acquired a plain black robe and black cloth shoes.

“Hunter,” he said quietly.

“I see him,” Hunter said, also in Chinese. “Remember, he does not know we are from his time or that we have come for him. We must not reveal ourselves before we can apprehend him, or he will flee.”

“What are we going to do, then?” Marcia asked. “We have too many witnesses here just to pounce and disappear with him — unless we want to wind up as a vanishing wonder in Polo’s memoirs!”

“And we don’t have Jane,” said Steve.

Hunter switched back to Italian. “I must speak to this man alone, outside the palace walls. I hesitate to ask you for another favor, but can this be arranged?”

“I believe I may be able to help,” said Polo. “I will have to speak to —”

Suddenly Steve glimpsed Jane through a crowd of people pursuing their daily business. “Hunter,” he interrupted quickly, in Chinese. “Look.” He jumped up and pointed through the crowd. Now he could see Wayne and Ishihara, too.

“Be cautious,” said Hunter. “We must get MC 5 away from witnesses and we cannot appear to be kidnapping him. Our other disappearance in front of local people during other missions occurred during and prior to battles, among people distracted by immediate, life-threatening situations. We cannot avoid being noticed here.”

“But we have to save Jane,” said Marcia, standing up next to Steve. “What are we going to do?”

“Vanishing from court could alter the beliefs and expectations regarding religion and court policy, maybe even influence the khan himself,” said Hunter. “I cannot take that risk.”

Jane spotted Hunter sitting in the shade in a small garden at a distance, between a European man and Steve. Even through the crowd of people walking through the palace grounds between them, Hunter was too big and distinctive to miss. Wayne and Ishihara, on each side of her, had not seemed to see Hunter.

However, she could not decide what to do.

A few moments before, Ishihara had spotted MC 5. Now he and Wayne were walking quickly to catch him. MC 5, wearing black, approached Hunter, Steve, and Marcia in the company of a young man. She could see that Hunter must have arranged to have MC 5 brought to him, and she did not want to do anything that would interfere.

“Be ready,” Ishihara said. “We cannot just grab him and try to run out of the palace grounds. We must apprehend him together and then instantly trigger the belt unit.”

In another few moments of fast walking, however, Jane saw that Ishihara had almost come with an arm’s reach of MC 5.

“Hold onto Jane,” Wayne ordered.

Ishihara took Jane’s wrist.

“Hunter!” Jane screamed as loud as she could.

Hunter, Steve, and Marcia suddenly ran forward toward MC 5. At the same moment, Ishihara pulled Jane toward the component robot, with Wayne next to her. Jane braced her feet against the paving stones under her, and bent her knees, pulling against Ishihara. Her feet merely skidded on the stones; she did not slow him down noticeably.

Steve ran toward MC 5, but he could see that Ishihara nearly had a hand on the component robot already. Suddenly, however, MC 5 saw Steve, Marcia, and Hunter charging toward him. He first shoved his human companion, the other courier, out of the way; then MC 5 darted in the other direction. Even Ishihara, reaching out with one hand, failed to grab him.

“Hunter, you get MC 5!” Steve shouted as he threw himself on Ishihara.

“Get him!” Jane called, pulling back harder on Ishihara’s other arm.

Steve collided bodily with Ishihara and clung to him. “Stop! I order you to stop moving. Let go of Jane.”

Ishihara neither released Jane’s wrist nor spoke. He grabbed the firmly-tied sash of Steve’s robe with his free hand and pulled. Steve lost his grip, stumbled, and fell to the ground. He understood that some First Law imperative had overrode his instructions to Ishihara.

Steve glanced over at Hunter. MC 5 had turned to flee, but Hunter snatched him up off the ground and held him high, kicking and flailing. Steve scrambled to his feet.

“Stop struggling,” Steve ordered MC 5 in English. «Keep quiet and don’t try to get away.”

The small robot obeyed. Hunter set him on his feet again, but held one arm firmly in his grasp. He turned toward Jane.

Wayne had halted in front of Hunter, seeing that he was too late to get MC 5. Ishihara still held Jane’s wrist tightly as she struggled against him. Marcia had stopped, uncertain what she should do.

“Steve!” Jane pleaded.

Suddenly Steve leaped forward, this time aiming at Ishihara’s outstretched arm as Jane pulled away from him again. Before Steve made contact, however, he saw Ishihara, Jane, and Wayne vanish. He landed hard on the paving stones.

Polo strode up quickly, speaking Italian in a low, urgent tone. “What happened here? Where did they go? What … happened?”

Steve looked up, glad he supposedly could not understand Italian.

Hunter and Marcia said nothing.

A small crowd of people had surrounded them, gasping and murmuring.

Polo glanced quickly back over his shoulder. “I do not know what this is about, but the khan saw this incident. He is coming this way. Be very careful how you speak to him.”

Quickly, Steve got to his feet. Marcia moved close to him. Hunter, still holding MC 5 in his arms off the ground, turned to look. Kublai Khan and his small entourage hurried up in front of them.

Steve bowed low from the waist again. Since the khan did not bid them to rise, or say anything else right away, he remained in that position. So did Polo and Marcia. Hunter, as he held MC 5’s arm, also bowed and held the position, as did MC 5.

All Steve could see were the paving stones below him and the khan’s feet, in leather boots that curled up at the toe. For a long moment, no one spoke or moved. Suddenly Steve wondered if they would all lose their heads.

“What is this magic?” The khan finally demanded in Mongol. “Marco, who were those foreigners who disappeared? Who has cast spells here in my presence?”

Steve thought he could detect an element of fear in the khan’s voice, but if so, it was very subtle.

“I do not know,” said Polo.

“Rise, all of you. I want to see your faces.”

Steve straightened, his heart pounding. Before, all the jumps in time had either taken place away from local people, or else had happened in the middle of chaotic situations where other people’s attention had been diverted. If any situation could change history, though, he suspected that having Marco Polo and Kublai Khan witness a disappearance into time might do it.

Kublai Khan looked up into Hunter’s eyes. “Stranger, explain this.”

Hunter said nothing.

Startled, Steve looked at him in amazement. Always before, Hunter had offered an effective response to any difficult situation. Steve realized that for Hunter, refusing to answer meant that he could not think of anything to say that he considered safe under the Three Laws of Robotics.

Polo nudged Hunter with his elbow.

“I have no explanation,” said Hunter in Mongol.

The khan glared at him, then turned to Steve. “Speak.”

Steve swallowed. He had no idea what to say, either. “I, uh …”

“May I speak?” Marcia spoke softly.

“Speak,” said Kublai Khan, turning to her with a piercing gaze.

“We seek evil spirits that tried to infiltrate the great khan’s court.”

“Eh? Evil spirits?”

Marcia nodded.

“Marco, what do you know of this?”

“Nothing,” said Polo. “But I was told this small fellow in Hunter’s grasp would do anything to protect you.”

“Why are you holding him like this?” The khan asked Hunter.

“He is a good spirit who has lost his way,” Marcia said quickly. “He would never let harm come to his khan, but we must return him to his home.”

“You bring spirits and magic within my walls without telling me?” Kublai Khan glared at each of them in turn.

“We feared the khan would not believe our story,” said Steve.

“That is correct,” said Hunter. “We had hoped to handle this matter without disturbing the khan.”

“I have just seen three people disappear with my own eyes,” said Kublai Khan. “Until now, I would not have believed this.”

“We are dealing with good spirits,” said Marcia. “But I suggest that neither Marco nor the khan speak of this.”

“No?” Kublai Khan studied her carefully.

“What about everybody else?” Steve asked her quietly.

“I don’t believe the others will matter.”

“Marco, what is your opinion of this?” Kublai Khan turned to him.

“I have seen many wonders since I entered the khan’s empire,” said Marco. “Many would not be believed back in Venice. This is another one of those.”

“I will not have anyone think I have gone mad,” said Kublai Khan. “However, that includes your friends.” He turned to Marcia again. “Why should I believe you? How do I know this is not some elaborate game, conducted to make a fool of me?”

“We can prove our claim to your satisfaction.” She glanced at Hunter. “We can do what those spirits did.”

Hunter nodded acknowledgment. Still holding MC 5’s arm, he slipped his other hand inside his robe. He waited, watching Marcia.

Steve got the idea. “If we prove to Marco and the khan that we are dealing in spirits and possess magic, will the khan accept our advice not to discuss this matter or act on it in the future?”

“If you confer with good spirits and prove your magic, I will accept your advice,” said Kublai Khan.

“So will I,” said Polo.

“Okay, Hunter?” Steve grinned at him.

“We must step away from them,” said Hunter. He backed away from Polo, drawing MC 5 with him.

Steve and Marcia moved to his side.

Polo turned. Standing only a step away from the khan and his entourage, he looked at Hunter with a puzzled expression. None of them spoke.

“Good-bye, Marco Polo,” Marcia said softly in Mongol. “Farewell, Great Khan. I was honored to meet both of you.”

As Polo glanced toward her, the scene vanished.

Once again, Steve felt the hard, curved interior surface of the sphere in Room F-12 under him. He and Marcia slid against each other in the blackness. Then Hunter opened the sphere and helped them both climb out.

“Get out,” Steve said to MC 5. “Don’t shut off your hearing or go anywhere.”

R. Daladier still stood by the door. “Dr. Nystrom and Ishihara have not been back here.”

Hunter nodded. “Thank you. Please continue your assignment here until further notice.”

“Agreed.”

“It feels weird not to have Jane with us,” said Steve. “And what about disappearing in front of Marco Polo and Kublai Khan? What if we did change history this time?”

“We will not know for a while yet,” said Hunter. “I can see that the sphere and this room are unchanged.”

“That’s something, anyway.” Steve nodded. “I’m ready to go find Jane anytime.”

“You still need a good night’s rest before our next mission,” said Hunter.

“I feel okay.” Steve shrugged.

“In any case, I will have to prepare more vaccinations and hire a new historian,” said Hunter. “For now, you and Marcia should change your clothes.”

“I’ll go first,” said Marcia. She picked up her regular clothes and went into the other room.

“I am concerned about Jane, also,” said Hunter. “However, I trust we will all meet again on our next mission to find MC 6. We will prepare for it in the same way as the others. I will make the arrangements and you will have some time to rest, eat well, and relax.”

“I won’t relax too well this time,” said Steve. “But I’ll be ready.”

By the time Steve had taken his turn to change, Hunter had arranged for a Security vehicle to take the team and MC 5 back to MC Governor’s office. Steve instructed MC 5 to come with them, and they rode through the quiet streets of Mojave Center. No one spoke. From past experience, Steve knew that Hunter was monitoring news reports to make sure that no explosion had destroyed Beijing and find out if and where another nuclear explosion had occurred.

In Mojave Center Governor’s office, Hunter closed the door and turned to Steve.

“Please instruct MC 5 to merge with the others.”

Steve pointed to the figure standing in the corner. The first four component robots stood merged there.

“Join with them,” he said to MC 5. “Then remain motionless here, just like the other component robots now are.”

The small robot walked over to them. In a slow, slithering motion, his shape became fluid and he merged with the other figure. Now it nearly resembled the large, humanoid shape of Mojave Center Governor.

“We are doing well,” said Hunter. “We have only one more piece of the puzzle to find.”

“You must have checked the news by now,” said Steve. “Did we really get away with vanishing in front of Marco Polo and Kublai Khan?”

“In my monitoring of the news, I have not detected any sign of change in our world,” said Hunter. “And Mojave Center appears to be the same as before. That is only a superficial review, of course. I am also accessing historical references in the city library as we speak. So far, they confirm my initial conclusion.”

“I think we got away with it,” said Marcia. “I thought this through before I started talking to Kublai Khan, but I didn’t have any way to explain it to you.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“As I mentioned before we left, Marco Polo said on his deathbed that in his book, he had not told half the wonders he had seen on his travels. I think he also omitted witnessing spirits who vanished before his eyes.”

“But what about Kublai Khan and all those other people standing around us?” Steve frowned. “I was glad to get out of there, but wouldn’t at least a few of them change their beliefs about the world or religion?”

“That’s the other part I had to consider,” said Marcia. “But most of the people there — maybe all of them — believed in some form of Chinese or Mongol animistic religion. Even the Buddhists and Taoists in China had open attitudes toward folk deities and spirits. Kublai Khan himself instituted state tolerance of all religions and seemed to consider them equally valid. I don’t think we altered anyone’s beliefs because they already believed that spirits in human form came and went around them.”

“Kublai Khan said he didn’t want anyone to think he was crazy,” said Steve.

“If the great khan did not want the incident mentioned again, I can guarantee that no one in the palace grounds spoke of it openly,” said Marcia. “A few whispers in private or some rumors outside the walls in the city after hours would simply get lost among other unprovable reports of spirit visitations.”

“Your explanation seems sound,” said Hunter.

“What about MC 6?” Steve asked.

“The news headlines report a nuclear explosion in southern England near the Welsh border,” Hunter said grimly. “Like the others, it has killed millions of people.”

“Did you get the date we’re going to visit from the sphere console?” Steve asked.

“Yes. MC 6 will return to his full size in A.D. 460. At that time, a man named Arturius, upon whom the legend of King Arthur was based, was the most powerful individual in Britain.”

Invader

2140 A.D.

1

R. HUNTER, A humaniform robot, waited as Steve Chang looked up at him angrily. They stood in the small office of Mojave Center Governor, in the underground city of Mojave Center. Steve began to pace.

“I hardly slept at all, Hunter,” Steve growled. “Jane could be anywhere in the world, at any time in history. That’s the toughest kidnapping to solve anyone could imagine. We have to start looking for her.

Once we get going, I’ll get back to normal.”

“You know that R. Ishihara cannot allow her to be harmed under the First Law of Robotics,” said Hunter. “That will not change, no matter where they are.”

“I know, I know —’A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,’ “Steve droned impatiently. “But Ishihara is working for Wayne Nystrom, renegade roboticist,” said Steve. “That tells us how great Ishihara’s judgment must be. I don’t trust him to follow the First Law responsibly.”

“Dr. Nystrom apparently convinced Ishihara to help him under the First Law,” said Hunter. “Once he had done that, Ishihara had no choice but to obey him under the Second Law. However, Ishihara will protect both Jane and Dr. Nystrom from immediate harm.”

“So who cares if the Second Law of Robotics says, ‘A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law,’ if the human giving orders can’t be trusted?”

“I do not predict that Jane will be with them long,” said Hunter. “Wayne Nystrom will be searching for MC 6 in the same time and place we will. That narrows the search for Jane considerably. Our search for MC 6 will take us to them.”

“Well, we know about when and where to find them, then,” said Steve. “So let’s go!”

“Not so fast.” Hunter turned and eased his body into the desk chair.

“Why not?”

“We must prepare this mission with the same care we used in the others. Since we are going back to fifth-century Britain, I will retain my present appearance. It is consistent with the gene pool of the local people we will meet.” A brawny six feet six inches tall with short blond hair and blue eyes, Hunter had been designed with the ability to change his shape and appearance at will.

“All right, fine. That’s your department; it won’t matter to me. What else do we have to do?” Steve put both fists on his hips and glared at Hunter. “I’ve already taken the vaccines you arranged this morning. I assume you’ve prepared period clothing, just as you did before.”

“Yes. I took the clothing to the Bohung Institute while you were trying to sleep. However, I have hired Harriet Lane, a new historian, to join us.”

“Well, where is she?”

“She is due here in a few minutes; I arranged for her to receive her vaccines from R. Cushing, the medical robot who tended your head injury after our fourth mission. Together, we will have to decide how to explain your Chinese descent to Britons who have never heard of China or seen anyone of your race and ethnicity.”

“Well, we told the ancient Germans in Roman times that I was a slave from the eastern Mediterranean.

That should be good enough.”

“Perhaps. My internal clock says the time is 7:38 P.M. While we wait for Harriet, I must report to the Governor Robot Oversight Committee.”

“All right, I’ll shut up.” Steve folded his arms across his chest and continued pacing anxiously. “I just hope she shows up soon.”

Nodding, Hunter called the city computer and instructed it to contact the four members of the Governor Robot Oversight Committee for him. Then he waited while they were located for the conference call. In front of him, Steve still stomped back and forth across the small room.

Hunter could not avoid making reports to the Oversight Committee. He had been designed and built specifically for the committee in order to search for Mojave Center Governor, one of six experimental gestalt robots who were supposed to be running certain cities. All the other Governor robots had mysteriously shut themselves down. However, MC Governor had suddenly divided into the six component gestalt humaniform robots out of which he was comprised and vanished. No one knew why.

Dr. Wayne Nystrom, an eccentric roboticist, had designed and built the Governor robots. However, the Governor Robot Oversight Committee had been studying their performance and judging their efficiency.

When the Governors began to fail, Wayne Nystrom had apparently felt that his career was in danger. He had been trying to beat Hunter to each of the component robots of MC Governor in order to dismantle and examine them for the mysterious flaw that had shut down the first five Governors before Hunter could reassemble MC Governor and turn him over to the Oversight Committee to complete their study.

When Hunter had arrived in Mojave Center, he had learned that MC Governor had modified an existing piece of technology in the Bohung Institute into a time travel device. Then each of his component robots had miniaturized themselves to microscopic size and fled back in time to a different era, intending to hide forever. Jane believed their motivation was the Third Law of Robotics, “A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.” Unknown to them, however, a flaw in the miniaturization caused each of them to return to full size at different times, wherever they happened to be.

At that point, they had to masquerade as human. Two dangers presented themselves as a result. The first was that they could alter the direction of history by living throughout the centuries and causing people to act in different ways, driven by the Three Laws of Robotics. Hunter had to prevent that in order to avoid harm to all humans by having the timeline of history significantly changed.

In addition, when the component robots or their material remains reached the approximate time they had left, they exploded with nuclear force. As Hunter prepared to go back with his team to find MC 6, he also was monitoring the news broadcasts of a mysterious nuclear explosion in south-central England.

Only his team members knew that it had been caused by MC 6 exploding.

Now Wayne had a robot named R. Ishihara helping him. Originally, Hunter had instructed Ishihara to apprehend Wayne if he returned from the past to the time travel sphere in Room F-12 of the Bohung Institute. Somehow, the roboticist had used an argument involving the Three Laws of Robotics to induce Ishihara to cooperate with him.

On five separate missions, Hunter had led his team of humans in pursuit of the other five component robots. All five had been caught. Now they were here in the office of MC Governor, where they stood merged and shut down, waiting for the last component robot in order to complete MC Governor again.

Once he had been put back together, the Oversight Committee would investigate why the other Governors had shut down and why MC Governor had divided and fled.

Hunter had reported to the Governor Robot Oversight Committee on his progress after each mission.

However, he felt that the existence of time travel held incalculable potential harm for all humans. For that reason, he had kept it a secret from all except the humans and robots whose help he required.

Certainly if the scientists on the Oversight committee learned of the time travel, it would never remain a secret. The discovery would be too valuable for a committee of scientists to ignore. Wayne Nystrom had discovered MC Governor’s development of time travel on his own, before Hunter had learned of it.

Hunter could not do anything about that.

“Hunter, city computer calling. The Governor Robot Oversight Committee is ready for your conference call.”

“Thank you. Please connect me.”

As before, the faces of the four committee members appeared on Hunter’s internal video screen in split portrait shots from their various locations. Everyone exchanged greetings. Then Hunter began his report.

“The first five component robots are in custody and merged,” said Hunter.

“That’s great,” said Dr. Redfield, the tall blonde. “I suppose this has been an easy assignment for you.

You began less than two weeks ago.”

“I must repeat once again that past success does not predict the difficulty of the final mission,” said Hunter. “As always, I cannot promise that the remainder of my work will be completed within a similar period of time.”

“Where did this mission take place?” Dr. Chin asked. “Previously, you have reported quite a wide range of locations around the world.”

“In northern China,” said Hunter. “On the border of Mongolia.” He remained deliberately vague in his reports. So far, his reserve had forestalled persistent questioning from the committee members.

“Northern China.” Professor Post nodded, idly stroking his black beard for a moment. “Well, that’s interesting. Do you have a lead on MC 6?”

“I must investigate the British Isles,” said Hunter. “This is preliminary information.”

“Which one?” Dr. Chin asked.

“I shall begin in England. On previous missions, a certain amount of travel has been involved.”

“Wait a minute,” said Dr. Chin. “Haven’t you heard about the big explosion? Won’t that interfere with your search?”

“I will take it into account as I make my plans,” said Hunter.

“Do you think MC 6 may have been destroyed in the explosion?” Professor Post asked calmly.

“It is an inescapable consideration,” said Hunter. “However, I can only proceed and find what i may.”

“I am not surprised,” said Dr. Khanna, in his Hindi accent. “However, your work has been completed very quickly to date. We are all impressed.”

“I must repeat that I can make no guarantee of my schedule to come,” said Hunter.

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” said Dr. Khanna, with a trace of annoyance in his tone. “You repeat that warning in every report. However, you continue to complete each mission in the same length of time.

What would make this final mission any different?”

“The explosion, and its after-effects,” said Dr. Redfield. “He may have a harder time now.”

“My original point remains valid,” said Hunter. “I have no prediction about the challenges that my team will face. Anything can happen.” Hunter realized that he had made a mistake. Before, he had never told the committee members that he was going to an area where a nuclear explosion had occurred.

“We note your caution,” said Dr. Chin. “And as always, we wish you good luck.”

“That will be fine, Hunter,” said Dr. Redfield. “I suggest we allow you to get to work.”

“Thank you,” said Hunter. “I am ready to begin. Do you have any final questions?”

No one did.

“Good luck,” said Dr. Chin.

“Thank you. Good-bye.” Hunter broke the connection and turned to Steve, speaking aloud. “Report completed.”

“Good!” Steve glanced impatiently at the closed door of the office. “So where’s our historian?”

“I expect her at any time.”

“All right, all right. What do we do in the meantime? Do we know what MC 6’s specialty was, within MC Governor’s responsibilities? Jane always seemed to think that was important.”

“I have that information,” said Hunter. “The data the committee originally gave me about MC Governor provides the original divisions of expertise among the gestalt robots. Since Jane correctly identified the specialties of the first five component robots, I know by process of elimination that MC 6 is the portion of MC Governor that specialized in maintaining social stability among humans.”

“Yeah? What does that mean, exactly?”

“In Mojave Center, that meant keeping track of various human needs, not only for survival and protection from harm, but for emotional satisfaction: leisure pursuits, choices of education and career, and career organization to encourage challenges and accomplishments.”

“Okay. But Jane also used to guess that a component robot’s choice of where to hide related to his specialty in Mojave Center.”

“Yes, I remember. Using the same sort of logic Jane expressed prior to earlier missions, I surmise that MC 6 therefore deliberately fled with the question of social instability in mind. However, England is an unusual case; since 1066, it has had a relatively high degree of stability for an Old World nation, despite some occasional turbulence. However, I calculate that MC 6 will return to his full human size from miniaturization in the late fifth century, in a time of extreme social turmoil and political instability. Since he did not plan that, the timing is ironic, to say the least.”

Steve started to answer. When he heard footsteps approaching the office, he stopped and glanced at Hunter, who nodded. Steve opened the door.

“Oh — you startled me.” Harriet smiled and came in as Steve stepped back. She was tall and slender, about forty years old, with short, wavy brown hair.

Hunter introduced them. “Harriet specializes in late Roman and post-Roman Britain.”

“I love the period,” Harriet said cheerfully. “And I’ve had my dinner and my vaccinations, as you instructed. What comes next?”

“Have you both successfully taken your sleep courses in ancient British and Latin?” Hunter asked.

“Yes,” said Harriet. “I was familiar with both languages, but the course will help me speak them.”

“I took the British, too,” said Steve. “And I updated the Latin from our third mission because Hunter said it had changed some in the centuries that had passed. But what is this British language, anyhow? Did it turn into English later?”

“Not really,” said Harriet. “It’s the language that was spoken in Britain before the Romans arrived, and it coexisted with Latin during their occupation. It later evolved into Welsh, Cornish, and Breton. But what we call English was based originally on Anglo-Saxon and Norman French.”

“But we’ll still need the Latin this time, too?” Steve asked.

“We’ll find a lot of Latin in the time we’re visiting,” said Harriet. “But it doesn’t stay for many more years. Except for some monasteries and place names, Latin disappears and then reenters English again much later.”

“Oh. Shows what I know about it.” Steve turned to Hunter. “Have you told Harriet about Wayne and Ishihara? How they’re trying to beat us to MC 6 and why?”

“Yes, he has,” said Harriet. “He also told me that they kidnapped your friend Jane on your last mission.

I’m sure you’re worried about her.”

“Well, yeah. That’s true.” Steve looked at Hunter. “Can we go yet?”

“We will go to the Bohung Institute. The Security vehicle is waiting outside.”

“Good.”

Hunter drove them through the calm, clean streets of the underground city. Steve sat next to Harriet, too tense to speak. The electric motor of the vehicle hummed softly as they drove by humans and robots on their daily routines who were unaware that the secret of time travel, with all its potential danger to change history, lay in their midst.

Before the first mission, Hunter had closed the Bohung Institute. He had arranged for a detail of Security robots to guard it. They allowed his team inside, of course, and they walked to Room F-12.

2

STEVE LOOKED AROUND the familiar room. Room F-12 was a large facility that housed an opaque sphere about fifteen meters in diameter. With its console, the sphere could both miniaturize humans and robots to microscopic size and also send them back through time, in either normal or microscopic condition.

Countertops lined the rest of the room, filled with computers, monitors, a communication console, and miscellaneous office equipment.

Hunter introduced Harriet to R. Daladier, a robot he had left in the room to apprehend Wayne Nystrom and Ishihara if they returned unexpectedly.

Steve waited anxiously, knowing the team would have to discuss the mission further and change clothes before Hunter would actually take them back in time.

“I arranged to have period costumes made for us earlier today,” said Hunter. He pointed to four neatly folded stacks of clothing on one counter. Four sets of leather boots stood next to them. “Please check them for authenticity. No synthetics have been used.”

“I see four outfits,” said Steve. “We only have three of us this time.”

“We will take a full costume for Jane,” said Hunter. “I expect to find her, but she may need period clothing. She left China in the time of Kublai Khan wearing a robe and trousers from that culture.”

“Right.”

Harriet lifted a long, brown tunic and shook it out. “Tunics for you two. Wool, of course; that’s right. A rope belt. Loosely cut, longer than kneelength. It looks fine.” She lifted another. “This white undertunic is made of cotton. It was expensive in ancient Britain. A sign of prosperity. And I see the shift I will wear under my wool gown is also made of cotton.”

“Underclothing of cotton will be fur more comfortable for you two than wool, fur, or any other acceptable choice,” said Hunter. “I believe the comfort will increase your efficiency. Besides, suggesting a hint of prosperity can be part of the roles we will play.”

“As you decide.” Harriet lifted her gown, also of brown wool. “Full-length, loose, and blousy … long sleeves. Yes, this will be fine, too.”

“What about the boots?” Steve asked.

Harriet picked up one of them. “About these roles, Hunter. What are they?”

“From the historical data I have taken from the city library, I suggest that I play the role of a horse trader from Gaul. You two will masquerade as my wife and servant. Unless you find a flaw in this plan, I would like to say that I wish to move away from the crumbling, unstable Roman Empire in Gaul and raise my horse herds in Britain.”

“Go on.” She put down the first boot and studied another one.

“I learned that southern England in this time has ideal horse-grazing land and that Artorius, the man upon whom the legend of King Arthur was based, led a troop of cavalry. He would have to be concerned about a reliable source of mounts for his men.”

“Hold it,” said Steve, grinning in spite of his eagerness to get on their way. “We aren’t taking any horses with us. You can’t horse-trade without them.”

“I propose to say that I am looking for land in Britain before bringing my herd over the Channel,” said Hunter. “Would this sound reasonable?”

“The boots are acceptable, too.” Harriet paused thoughtfully as she put the last boot down. “Yes, your story will be plausible, though you could improve on it. However, bringing something to trade would be more convincing. You could be an ironworker, a trader in silver, a soldier … the list of possibilities is very long.”

“I chose the role after due consideration,” said Hunter. “I must playa role that will carry some prestige without having to take material objects into the past. We must take some coins and our clothing, but every item we take increases the chance of influencing history in a way we do not intend and cannot predict. The role of soldier might put Steve into greater danger than I would prefer.”

“Ah — you’re a believer in chaos theory as applied to the events of history.” She smiled, amused.

“I no longer believe in the most pure and extreme form of chaos theory,” said Hunter. “My team has made five missions into the past without altering our own time in any way that I can detect.”

“Good. Then you’re coming around to my way of thinking about this.”

“Not entirely,” said Hunter. “I tell each historian I hire that I do not know where the threshold of significant change lies. If I can go into the past as a horse trader so that we do not have to take any merchandise with us, then we take the least risk.”

“I do not believe in it at all,” said Harriet, casually. “But you’re the boss. I accept your priorities.”

“I still say a horse trader would take horses with him,” said Steve. “Even just one stallion to show off.

The people we see are going to expect that.”

“We can claim we brought a couple of horses that were lost in a storm as we sailed across the Channel,”

said Harriet. “That was not unheard-of in these times.”

“Am I correct in concluding that Artorius must value the source of his mounts?” Hunter asked.

“Oh, yes. The single greatest advantage the Britons have over the Saxons is their training in Roman cavalry strategy and tactics. You see, the Saxons in this time are unmounted but numerous. Artorius had to keep his men supplied with good, healthy horses.”

“Good,” said Hunter. He pointed to three cloth pouches on the counter. “We also have a small pouch of coins from this period for each of us to carry.”

“Late Roman coins?” She pulled one open and drew out one of the coins. “Since we will claim to have come from Gaul, that would be our currency. Britain primarily still uses the same, but some native coins had to be minted, too.”

“Our coins are all late Roman. Also, we have a small bag for Steve to carry. It contains a change of underclothing for each of you and some bread, cheese, and dried meat. I do not know how long it will take us to find food for you.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” said Harriet. “Southern England remained heavily Romanized culturally and densely populated for many years after the Romans left Britain on its own.”

Steve picked up the bag and looked inside. “Okay. I’ll put Jane’s clothes and boots in here.”

“I will prepare the console. Please take turns changing your clothes in the next room.”

Steve waited while Harriet changed first. Hunter walked to the console that controlled the sphere and altered the settings. Steve began to pace again.

“Are you taking us back at night again?” Steve asked, glancing up at Hunter. “Since we’re leaving in the evening?”

“I feel this works best,” said Hunter. “We arrive in near-darkness to avoid notice.”

“I’d rather go back in daylight so we can start looking for Jane right away.”

“You will be ready to sleep in several more hours,” said Hunter. “If we go back at a time that conflicts with your own sleep schedule, then you and Harriet will be inefficient. Matching your schedule to arrive in daylight would now require waiting until tomorrow morning to leave.”

“Well — forget it, then. Let’s just go.”

Harriet returned from the other room, wearing her long gown and leather boots. “How do I look?”

“Very authentic,” said Hunter.

Harriet laughed lightly. “I don’t think that’s what I was asking, but thanks, anyway.”

Steve grinned but said nothing as he went to change in the adjoining room. He emerged wearing the long tunics and boots, which felt similar to the tunic he had worn to ancient Germany in Roman times.

“The console is ready,” said Hunter. “Harriet, you should know that I have the belt unit that will trigger it, even from the time to which we are going. After we arrive, I will carry it in a hollow space within my torso.”

“All right.” Harriet nodded, tugging at her gown to straighten it over her rope belt. “Hunter, when we first discussed the mission, you told me we would visit the site of the archaeological dig now known as Cadbury Castle in the time of Artorius. How about telling us now exactly when in time our destination is?”

“And tell me where Cadbury Castle is,” Steve added. “I’m still in the dark.”

“Cadbury Castle lies in Somerset, in central southern England,” said Hunter. “The modern town of South Cadbury lies immediately to the north. Farther north, but within sight, is the city of Glastonbury. We will arrive on the evening of April 21, in A.D. 459.”

Steve grinned. “I still don’t know where we’re going, except that we’ll be in England.”

“It won’t be the England most people think of,” said Harriet “The Roman Empire left Britain to fend for itself against invading barbarians in A.D. 410. The same Celtic tribes who lived there before the Romans arrived still remained, but now they had a strong Roman cultural and military influence. By A.D. 459, when we’ll arrive, the Britons will have been resisting the Saxons who had invaded and settled along the Humber and Wash rivers in southeastern Britain for half a century. The failing Roman Empire still just barely exists across the English Channel in Gaul.”

“I think I got the gist of that.” Steve shrugged, still grinning.

“I’m sure we’ll all manage just fine.”

Hunter opened the sphere. He helped Harriet climb inside first. By this time, the routine was familiar to Steve; as always, he slid down the curved interior surface to the bottom, where Harriet already sat.

Hunter climbed in, closing the sphere after him to leave them in darkness.

Jane Maynard landed with a thump on wet grass. A cold drizzle fell from a dark, overcast sky. She pushed herself up and brushed her long, brown hair out of her eyes. Wayne Nystrom got up on her right; Ishihara, still holding her right arm in one hand, remained on her left.

“Foul weather,” Wayne muttered.

“Where are we now?” Jane demanded. A few moments ago by subjective measuring, Wayne and Ishihara had forcibly taken her away from the palace grounds of Kublai Khan in thirteenth-century China.

First, to escape Hunter, they had simply jumped a few hours ahead, to the peasant village where they had been staying. Then Wayne had taken a few moments to reset his belt unit before bringing them here, wherever it was.

“We’re in Britain, two-thirty in the afternoon of April 19, A.D. 459,” said Wayne.

Ishihara stood, then helped Jane to her feet. “This cool, damp weather is potentially harmful to humans.

We must find shelter for you, especially before nightfall.”

Jane looked around, tugging her Chinese robe tightly around her. Beneath it, she also wore matching baggy trousers. Shepherds sat huddled under trees in the distance, surrounded by their flocks in the drizzle; none were looking this way. Most of the terrain was open, rolling grassland, with clumps of trees scattered here and there. Some tilled fields lay among them, with young shoots too small to identify from here. In the distance, she could see two high hills, one much farther away than the other. A small village lay on the plateau of the nearer hill, and an outer wall of earth and wood surrounded its base.

“That’s why I brought us here in the middle of the afternoon,” said Wayne. “We have some time before sundown.” He smiled suddenly. “We have even more time before Hunter gets here.”

“What do you mean?” Ishihara asked.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if Jane hears this. I estimate that MC 6 will return to his full size in a couple of days. Hunter has repeatedly arrived within twenty-four hours of the time when the component robots return to normal size.” Wayne handed the belt unit to Ishihara.

“What about it?” Jane asked casually, as though the point meant nothing. She watched Ishihara put the belt unit inside his Chinese peasant blouse. Then, under the cloth, he opened his torso and hid the unit inside.

“Therefore, we should have a few days to learn our way around, establish some contacts, and be prepared for both MC 6 and Hunter’s team before they arrive.” Wayne shook his head. “I should have tried this before, but in places like a buccaneer town and the Russian front in World War II, I didn’t want to stay any longer than I had to. And in the dinosaur age and in ancient Germany, I hadn’t figured it out yet.”

“But you planned to make friends with those peasants in China?” Jane asked.

“No, it just worked out that way,” said Wayne. “But now, when Hunter arrives, he must consider your welfare, too. Combining some earlier preparations with that problem for him gives me the best chance I have had yet. Ishihara, I instruct you to shut off your radio reception now and keep it off until I order otherwise.”

Jane understood. When Hunter arrived, he might attempt to communicate directly with Ishihara. Wayne did not want any communication between them.

Wayne looked around. “Ishihara, suggest where we should go.”

“I propose we walk to the nearest peasant hut.” He pointed to a hut from which a narrow, lazy trail of smoke drifted low in the air. A narrow road meandered among the hills, passing by the hut. “Before we can communicate with more than gestures, I will have to begin learning the local language. If the response is hostile, we can walk along the road to meet someone else, perhaps in that village.”

“Maybe we should try the village first. That looks a more likely place for MC 6 to show up.”

“A village offers more potential harm, as well,” said Ishihara. “If we can find lodging elsewhere, then we can visit the village later.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Ishihara led them through the drizzle toward the hut he had chosen. He did not bother to take Jane’s arm. She walked behind him, with Wayne next to her.

Jane knew Ishihara had no reason to fear she would run away from them right now. Until she knew that Hunter and Steve had arrived, and where they were, she had nowhere to go. She would certainly be safer in Ishihara’s company than anywhere else here, and she saw no chance she could get the belt unit out of Ishihara’s torso.

For now, she would just have to bide her time.

3

AS THEY APPROACHED the hut, Jane could smell bread baking. She was not hungry, but she liked the familiar aroma. A donkey grazing behind the hut stopped and looked up at them. Near it, a small farm wagon had been left under a tree. The entire scene made the locale seem less strange.

“Hold it,” said Wayne, stopping. “Does anybody know what language they speak here?”

“No,” said Ishihara.

Jane said nothing. She blinked drizzle out of her eyes and rubbed her arms together.

“My history isn’t too good,” said Wayne. “Are the Romans still here?”

“The Roman Empire ceased to defend Britain in A.D. 410,” said Ishihara.

“If the Romans left, I suppose no one speaks Latin here any more,” said Wayne. “I took that sleep course in Latin for that trip to Roman Germany. You accessed Latin then, too. Maybe some people here still speak it.”

“We can make an attempt to communicate with Latin,” said Ishihara.

Jane had also taken the Latin sleep course before the mission to ancient Germany. Since Wayne and Ishihara did not ask her about it, however, she chose not to volunteer the fact. She had no specific plan in mind, but keeping her facility with Latin a secret seemed like a good idea.

“Please go first,” Wayne said to Ishihara.

“Of course.” Ishihara walked toward the front door of the hut.

Suddenly a couple of dogs barked in the distance behind them. Ishihara stopped and turned. Jane looked, also, and saw two shepherds hurrying down a nearby hill from their flock of sheep. Their dogs, both large and black, ran ahead of them.

“We must wait here,” said Ishihara quickly. “Do not alarm the dogs by moving suddenly. I will speak to the men when they reach us.”

A woman came to the door of the hut. Four children peered from around her long, full skirt made of some rough cloth. The youngest was a toddler, the eldest maybe ten or eleven years old. None of them spoke. All of them stared cautiously at the strangers.

“It’s our clothes, I guess,” Said Wayne quietly. “Jane has a fancy Chinese robe and pants and we have Chinese peasant outfits. We’ll never explain them.”

“Maybe we can use the clothes to our advantage,” said Jane. “I’m richly dressed by peasant standards.

They may be afraid of us as strangers, but they might not want to turn away an important lady. And only our clothing is strange. We looked more out of place in China, no matter what kind of clothes we wore.”

“Well, that’s true,” Wayne said slowly. He turned to study her face. “But why are you so willing to cooperate all of a sudden?”

“I need food and shelter as much as you do. We can’t just spend the next few days standing out in the rain.”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly the two dogs ran up, still barking. They dodged and danced around, cautious but not attacking. Jane slowly extended one hand for them to sniff. Instead, they both jumped back.

“I suggest we masquerade as a wealthy lady and her two servants,” said Ishihara.

“Whatever you think will work,” said Wayne.

“We are fortunate to have no weapons,” said Ishihara. “We will appear as less of a danger.”

As the shepherds drew near, they slowed to a walk. Jane saw that one was only twelve or thirteen years old. The other appeared to be his father.

Ishihara greeted them in Latin, speaking in a formal tone. “Good day. We are strangers here, seeking shelter from the rain.”

The shepherd showed no sign of understanding him. He nodded politely and said something they could not understand. Then he waited expectantly.

Ishihara lifted his hand, feeling the drizzle, and spoke in Latin again. “We would like to have shelter from the rain, at least for a short time.” He gestured toward the hut and patted his abdomen. “If you can spare any small amount of food, it would be very welcome.”

The shepherd nodded, speaking again, and pointed to the village on top of the hill in the distance.

“He wants us to go to the village.” Ishihara continued speaking in Latin, since Wayne and Jane both understood him. “I do not see how we can force ourselves on this family without causing them harm.”

“They must be more scared than they seem,” said Jane.

“We don’t have any money to pay for food,” said Wayne. “Or a place to stay.”

“Maybe Ishihara can do chores in exchange for hospitality.” Jane glanced around. Behind the hut, she saw a small stack of cut firewood and a loose pile of uncut tree branches near it. Some unsplit logs lay scattered around. “Here — tell him I have a bad leg.”

“Huh?” Wayne looked at her.

Jane turned toward the woman in the doorway. With a hopeful smile, Jane patted her leg under her long robe and took a limping step toward the hut. The peasant woman looked down and suddenly shooed her children out of the way and gestured to Jane to come inside.

As Jane feigned a limp to the doorway, her hostess pulled a small, three-legged stool forward. She took Jane’s arm and helped her to the stool, speaking in a soothing tone. Jane sat down out of the drizzle but just inside the hut, where she could see the others.

Her husband watched cautiously for a moment, not speaking. Then his wife spoke sharply to him. He nodded and spoke to his eldest son. The boy nodded and plodded back up the hill toward the flock of sheep, calling one of the dogs to follow him. The other dog walked to Jane, its tail wagging, and sniffed her hand.

“The man’s not going to leave the hut while we’re here, is he?” Wayne grinned. “I guess I wouldn’t, either. But now what do we do?”

“Ishihara, cut some wood for them,” Jane said quietly. “Don’t ask about it, because I think hospitality will force them to decline your offer. Just begin.”

“I do not see an ax or any other tool to use,” said Ishihara, looking around the small pile of wood that was already cut.

Jane looked around the hut. “I can see some axes just inside the door here.”

Ishihara leaned inside, picked up a long-handled ax, and carried it to the uncut wood. Without a word, he picked up an unsplit log and began to split it. The shepherd watched him for a moment, then walked to the doorway. He picked up another ax and joined Ishihara.

“I guess he figures if he can’t tend the sheep, he might as well get something done,” said Wayne.

The peasant woman stood over Jane and spoke. From her tone and facial expression, Jane felt she was asking a question, but none of her words meant anything to Jane. All Jane could do was shrug helplessly.

“Ygerna.” The woman pointed to herself. “Oh — your name is Ygerna?” Jane touched her own chest with her finger. “Jane.”

“Jane.”

“Yes.” Jane nodded, smiling.

Her hostess knelt and patted her own leg where Jane had indicated her leg was sore. She spoke again, asking the same question as before. When Jane shrugged apologetically, Ygerna stood up and went outside.

“Would they object if I came in out of the rain?” Wayne asked. “I don’t want to mess up a good situation, but I guess they do have the idea that you’re important and we’re your servants.”

“I think you’re right.” Jane smiled. “Come on in. We’ll see what she does. As long as we’re considerate, I think we’ll be all right.”

Wayne came inside the hut. He squatted down across the doorway from Jane.

The children stared at both of them, whispering among themselves, but they focused most of their attention on Jane’s Chinese robe.

Ygerna bustled back inside, holding what appeared to be two handfuls of mud, grass, and other plants.

She carried this mixture to the back of the hut, where she knelt with her back to Jane. Her children gathered around her, watching to see what she was going to do.

As Ygerna knelt in front of a narrow brick fireplace on the far side from the door, Jane looked around the hut for the first time. A portion of the hut had been sectioned off by a curtain hanging from the ceiling.

Since she could see small sleeping pallets on the near side of the fireplace, she guessed that the curtain hid their parents’ pallet. One rough wooden table stood in the center of the room, with wooden stools around it. Above the fire, a small metal door was inset into the chimney. Ygerna poured water from an earthenware pitcher into a metal pot and hung it on a hook over the fire.

A few minutes later, Ygerna stirred the mud packs into the steaming, small metal pot. Then she carried the pot to Jane and knelt at her feet. Her children followed her but hung back slightly, still watching with fascination.

Ygerna gently moved Jane’s robe back over the leg Jane had pretended was hurting her. Carefully, Ygerna slipped the leg of Jane’s trousers up. As Jane watched in silence, Ygerna straightened her leg slightly and then began to smear the mud poultice on it. Jane realized that the purpose of this treatment, aside from any superstition the culture might have, was to apply and hold the heat against her injury.

Feeling trapped, Jane said nothing. When Ygerna looked up and asked her another unintelligible question, Jane nodded and smiled appreciatively. Over Ygerna’s shoulder, Wayne caught Jane’s eye and smiled with amusement.

When Ygerna had finished, she quietly lifted the pot and carried it outside. She dumped the remaining mud onto the ground and set down the pot to catch rainwater. Then, catching the drizzle on her hands, she wiped them off.

Ishihara and Ygerna’s husband continued to chop and split wood rhythmically.

Ygerna called out to her husband, who stopped swinging his ax and turned to look at her. They spoke briefly, then he nodded and brought his ax back to the hut. Leaving it inside the doorway, he walked back toward his flock of sheep. The dog that had remained at the hut trotted after him.

“I guess they decided we’re okay,” said Wayne, looking out the doorway.

Ygerna walked back inside the hut and knelt by the fire again.

Ishihara paused and turned to speak to Wayne and Jane. “I have made a small amount of rudimentary progress communicating with Emrys.”

“Is that his name?” Jane asked. “Hers is Ygerna. That’s all I’ve learned.”

“Yes, he is named Emrys. He knows a few Latin words and phrases after all. When I first spoke to him, he kept that a secret, but he has opened up now. His limited Latin facilitated our communication. I now know a few words and phrases in his own language.”

“Do you know what he’s doing now?” Wayne nodded toward Emrys as he hiked up the slope toward his flock of sheep. “Where’s he going?”

“I believe Ygerna told him to bring back a sheep to slaughter for dinner,” said Ishihara. “We must wait and see what he does to know if I understood their conversation correctly.”

Jane looked up the hill sharply. “Then we’ve made a change in their lives — a big one. Every one of their sheep must be valuable to them.”

“Your apparent status as a lady has made the sacrifice worthwhile, I believe,” said Ishihara.

“Hold it,” said Wayne. “We can’t possibly eat a whole sheep, even the whole bunch of us.”

“His family can eat the rest, or sell it,” said Jane. “But maybe we should move on tomorrow morning.

We could be much too disruptive to this family.”

“We still have no money to buy food elsewhere,” said Ishihara.

“I don’t think we’re going to do any real damage,” said Wayne. “This kind of thing isn’t likely to change history. Come on, Jane — one sheep?”

“We should be careful, at least,” said Jane. “As Hunter keeps saying, no one knows where the threshold of change lies. What if some descendants of Emrys and Ygerna are important at some point in English history? Or even on the world stage someday, even centuries later? And what if we disrupt their immediate family in some way that alters their health or survival?”

“You have a point,” said Ishihara. “However, if we can return the value of their sacrifice, we lower the likelihood of changing their lives because of the sheep.”

“What do you mean?” Wayne asked.

“I will cut as much wood as I can without revealing that I am not human. This will save Emrys from the chore. If we can help in other ways, I suggest we do so.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“You were right,” said Jane. “Look.”

Up on the hill, the dog Emrys had taken with him had cut one sheep out of the flock. Emrys had already started back and the dog was herding the single sheep back down the slope with him. Emrys’s son and the other dog had moved behind him and prevented the rest of the flock from following.

A metallic squeak sounded in the hut. Jane turned and saw Ygerna open the small metal door in the chimney over the fire. Using a cloth to protect her hands, Ygerna pulled out a loaf of bread in a pan. She set it down on the hearth and closed the oven door.

When Emrys arrived with the sheep, he took it behind the hut. Jane felt relieved. Butchering sheep would be normal for him, but she did not want to watch. Ishihara continued to cut and split logs.

Jane sat patiently, glad to be out of the drizzle and relieved that they would be fed and, she felt certain, given shelter for the night. On the other hand, the realization that she was trapped with Wayne and Ishihara for at least several more days finally sank in. Even when Hunter arrived, she might not be able to get away immediately. Surviving in this time without money to spend would require genuine effort.

Ygerna kneaded more bread dough and put it in the bread pan. While it rose she went outside and around to the back. Her children trailed after her, but Wayne and Jane stayed inside the hut.

After a few minutes Ygerna came back inside, carrying a large cut of mutton. She knelt again at the hearth and began cutting it into smaller pieces with a large knife. Outside the hut again, she filled a large cookpot with water from a cistern and carried it back to the fire. She hung the pot over the fire and dropped the chunks of mutton into the water. In a few minutes, the water began to boil.

“Smells horrible,” Wayne whispered.

“The meat can’t be bad,” said Jane quietly. “It’s really fresh. Maybe mutton always smells like that. I’ve never had any.”

With effort, Emrys carried a large, bulging cloth bag to a tree and threw a rope over a low-hanging branch. From the size of the burden and the blood soaking the bag, Jane saw that it held the sheep carcass. He hoisted the bag into the air, high enough to keep the dogs away from it.

Jane understood that the cool temperature would preserve it for a while. It still looked like too much meat for his family alone to eat before it spoiled. Obviously, he had the same problem every time he slaughtered a sheep, so he would have some normal routine to avoid wasting the meat. She wondered what it would be.

4

THE DRIZZLE CONTINUED through the afternoon. As the day cooled, the wind came up and the drizzle turned to rain. Emrys called for his son to bring the flock back to a small pen behind the hut. Then the boy joined the family inside. Ishihara went on chopping wood.

Emrys started to close the door of the hut against the rain. With a questioning glance at Jane, he paused to point to Ishihara.

“Ishihara, come in,” Jane said in English. “If you were human, you’d be exhausted by now.”

“Of course.” Ishihara brought his ax, stopping to wipe the mud from his feet on a patch of grass before he came inside the hut. Then he dried the ax blade on a rag that hung on a hook next to the other ax.

Just as Emrys closed the door, Jane saw that Ishihara had stacked more new firewood than Emrys had cut and split before they arrived.

Once Emrys had closed the door, the fire warmed the hut quickly. Ygerna ladled chunks of boiled mutton onto wooden plates that already held pieces of bread. She took one first to Jane, then served her supposed servants. Emrys received his dinner next, followed by Ygerna and the children.

By now Jane was very hungry. She did not really like the mutton, but she knew that Emrys and Ygerna had sacrificed a sheep for their benefit, so she ate it all. The bread, chewy and dense, tasted better than it looked. After everyone had eaten, Ygerna served some sort of herbal tea in wooden cups.

Jane and Wayne did not speak. However, Ishihara pointed to objects around the hut and asked the children to tell him what they were called. Sometimes Emrys and Ygerna, laughing, helped them.

“Ishihara seems to be learning to speak with them quickly,” said Jane. “I guess his knowledge of Latin helps, but I wonder how thoroughly he can pick up their native language.”

“He does very well,” said Wayne. “He learned rudimentary Chinese quickly because he can apply linguistic principles from the languages he knows to a new language.”

“I see.” Jane nodded. Since Ishihara had no memory lapses of the kind humans routinely had in the learning process, once he learned patterns and vocabulary, he immediately possessed full use of them.

Ishihara turned to Wayne. “They want to know where we came from. What shall I say?”

“We have to justify our Chinese clothing,” said Jane. “That is, we have to explain why it’s different. I doubt they ever heard of China.”

“Maybe you can just tell them we came by ship across the Channel,” said Wayne.

“That’s it,” said Jane. “Tell them we were shipwrecked by a storm.”

“I understand,” said Ishihara. “This will explain why we have no belongings or money.”

“Yeah,” said Wayne. “It’s perfect. That’s why a lady with servants could be broke.”

Ishihara spoke to their hosts, including the children, in short phrases sprinkled with Latin. Ygerna, in particular, asked more questions. Finally she and Emrys both nodded in understanding.

For the night, Jane was given the children’s sleeping pallets. The children moved behind the curtain with their parents. Emrys gave Wayne and Ishihara clean wool blankets to roll up in on the floor.

Jane bundled up on the sleeping pallet. The hut remained warm and cozy from the fire. She fell asleep to the sound of rain on the roof.

In the morning, Jane awoke to the sound of the children talking and giggling. Ygerna hustled them outside; when Jane opened her eyes, she saw through the open doorway that the rain had stopped, though gray clouds still covered the sky. Under her blanket, she carefully arranged her robe in its proper position, then got up to find the out house.

Outside, Wayne was splashing water on his face at the cistern. Ishihara had already begun to chop wood again. The air was cool and brisk.

When Jane returned to the hut, Ygerna was stirring a pot of hot porridge over the fire. She served wooden bowls of the thick porridge to everyone around the table. Jane called in Ishihara, in order to continue his masquerade as a human.

“Now what do we do?” Wayne asked quietly in English. “Are we going to have to leave now?”

“I don’t know,” said Jane. “Maybe we shouldn’t put too much burden on one family.”

“Should I ask?” Ishihara asked.

“We should be careful how we phrase the question,” said Jane. “We don’t want to insult them.”

“They probably assume we want to get on the road to our ultimate destination,” said Wayne. “They heard last night that we were shipwrecked and left with nothing, but we still must have been going somewhere.”

“Good point,” said Jane. “So where are we going? We’d better have our story straight.”

Ygema and Emrys listened curiously, watching them as they all ate.

“I only know the year and our location,” said Wayne. “I have no idea what’s going on in history now.

Where could we have been going? Maybe London?”

“I can’t help,” said Jane. “This is why Hunter keeps hiring historians to take with him.”

“I have some rudimentary history of this time, but no more,” said Ishihara. “The Romans settled London several centuries ago under the name Londinium, but it’s a long way from here. We can’t actually go there if we’re going to find MC 6 in this area.”

“We better say we were coming to this area all along,” said Jane. “That will explain why we won’t go very far. But we don’t know where we are, do we?”

“On the modern map, yes,” said Ishihara. “But I know very little about significant locations in this time.”

“Ask Emrys,” said Jane.

“What’s that going to accomplish?” Wayne snickered. “He already knows we’re lost.”

“Exactly. And no matter what he says, we’ll tell him this is our destination.”

“Of course,” said Ishihara. He turned to Emrys and spoke briefly in a mixture of Latin and British. Then he switched back to English. “The village on top of the highest hill is Cadbury. The hill itself is called Cadbury Tor. This is the home of a man named Artorius Riothamus.”

“Cadbury what?” Wayne asked.

“Tor. It means a high hill in the local language.”

“Oh.”

“Is MC 6 going to show up there?” Jane asked.

“I believe so,” said Wayne. “These component robots have been continually drawn to people of power in the hope, I judge, of influencing them to do less harm to the humans within their power.”

“Then Cadbury Tor really is our destination,” said Wayne. “Tell him that.”

“And add that we cannot pay for lodging because of the shipwreck,” Jane added.

Ishihara spoke to Emrys again. The shepherd responded, nodding, and gestured outside. He grinned and gave Ishihara a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“He has complimented my ability to cut firewood,” said Ishihara.

Jane smiled, struggling to suppress a laugh.

“Emrys wants to go to Cadbury today to sell the rest of the sheep carcass and some of the extra firewood I have cut. He says he knows that this ‘humble hut,’ as he calls it, is not good enough for a lady such as Jane, but he has thanked me for the labor I have saved him.”

“Do you think we could stay here another night, if necessary?” Wayne asked.

“I think if we expressed interest, and I continue to cut wood for him or find other ways to help him, we would be welcome,” said Ishihara.

Jane was relieved to hear that, but said nothing.

“Good,” said Wayne. “Tell him we’ll be happy to go to Cadbury with him. If we can’t find a place to stay there, then we can talk to him about coming back.”

“Tell Ygerna that my leg is well, and thank her for the mud poultice,” said Jane. “Otherwise, I’ll have to fake a limp all day.”

Ishihara spoke again to Emrys and Ygerna. After breakfast, Emrys sent his eldest son out again with their dogs to take the flock for the day. Then, at Emrys’s direction, Ishihara helped him load firewood and the bagged sheep carcass into the donkey cart.

Jane looked around the countryside in the brisk morning air. Shepherds led their flocks out again in the distance. Smoke rose from the other huts. Life here, at least today, appeared calm and stable.

While Emrys hitched the donkey, Ygerna and the younger children came out to watch with Jane and Wayne. She pointed to the cart and spoke sharply to Emrys.

He nodded and spoke to Ishihara, who began rearranging the wood in the cart.

“What’s wrong?” Wayne asked quietly. “What does Ygerna want?”

“She told Emrys we must see that the lady can ride in the cart,” said Ishihara. “I will form a seat for her with the wood.”

When the cart was ready, Ishihara lifted Jane into the cart. She found her footing on the uneven firewood and sat down. Once she had settled into the seat he had made, she found that it was actually comfortable.

The sheep carcass lay in the front, near her feet. She was glad Emrys had put it in the cloth bag. From her high seat on the cart, she looked down at Wayne and Ishihara.

Ishihara turned to Wayne. “Emrys has room for one more next to him on the driver’s bench. I will walk, of course.”

Wayne nodded and climbed up next to Emrys.

As Emrys shook the reins to drive the donkey, Jane looked down at Ygerna and the children. The kids waved shyly. She waved back, smiling.

The donkey strained under the load but pulled it forward. The cart creaked slowly out to the road.

Ishihara walked near the rear, next to Jane.

When they reached the road, Jane saw that it was soft and muddy from yesterday’s drizzle. However, she did not see any tracks in it; the mud had not been stirred up. The donkey’s hooves and the wheels of the cart sank into it somewhat, but did not get stuck.

Jane enjoyed the slow, quiet ride. Now that her immediate worries about shelter, food, and safety had been satisfied, she relaxed. She could not plan her escape from Wayne and Ishihara in any detail until she knew that Hunter’s team had arrived in this time, and where they were located. For now, she had nothing to do but observe whatever she could for future reference.

Emrys and Wayne could not make casual conversation, so they did not speak; Jane had no desire to talk to Wayne unless she had to. The cart swayed gently as the donkey plodded slowly along. Jane watched Cadbury village as they drew closer.

A wall ringed the village on the plateau. The fact that the village was protected this way, and lay on the flat top of a high tor surrounded by earthwork ramparts at the base of the tor, told her that this area was not always as peaceful as it was today. She remembered that MC 6’s specialty in Mojave Center had been social stability, and wondered what had drawn him here.

The journey to the base of the tor took over an hour. By that time, they had passed a couple of people walking along the road. Other people, some of them driving carts or riding horseback, came and went from the tor. As Jane saw the open gate in the earthworks clearly, she looked first at the donkey, then down at Ishihara.

“Is this little donkey going to make it home again? He must be worn out.”

“Emrys expects to sell the wood and the meat. The return load will be much lighter.”

Sentries at the gate glanced at the cart and waved them through without stopping them, though they stared in wonder at Jane in her Chinese robe. Emrys drove the cart up a steep slope to the top of the tor.

Jane saw Wayne looking around with interest and did the same.

The defensive earthworks turned out to be more than a single wall. Four concentric walls ringed the base and the lower portion of the slope. Starting just inside the gate, cobblestones paved the road.

“It’s bigger than it looked from outside,” said Jane, as the donkey began pulling the cart up the steep angle. “Ishihara, how big is this place?”

Ishihara scanned the area briefly. “I cannot see the far side of the tor, but if the shape of its base as a whole is roughly a circle, I estimate that outer wall encloses approximately seven hectares.”

Up ahead, the road led through an open, nearly square gatehouse in the high wall that surrounded the summit and the village within it. Sentries held spears lazily on the top of the wall, talking among themselves. Jane thought the wall had been constructed of wood until the cart passed through it. Then she found that only a breastwork of wood faced the outside; the bulk of the wall was made of unmortared stone.

Inside the wall, they found themselves in a bustling village. Jane turned and looked up at the inside of the wall. Now she could see that the sentries stood on top of a wooden platform that ringed the top of the stone wall, with the wooden breastwork rising high enough to protect them from attackers who might have crossed the first four earthen ramparts on the lower slope. All around the village, the interior side of the wall was designed the same way.

“It looked so modest from a distance,” said Jane. “This is pretty impressive.”

“I estimate the perimeter of this wall to be over three-quarters of a kilometer,” said Ishihara. “Since the wall has neither straight sides nor represents a circle, my approximation is quite rough.”

On the far side of the main gate, a two-story hall built of timbers rose over the rest of the village. Emrys turned the cart down a narrow side street, but Jane continued to look at the hall. If MC 6, after returning to his full size, was going to seek the seat of power, he would probably find it inside that hall.

Jane saw that Wayne also had taken a second glance at the hall. He almost certainly had reached the same conclusion, but she said nothing. Maybe something else was on his mind. In any case, MC 6 was still microscopic, possibly somewhere on the ground at their feet this very moment.

Emrys drew up the cart and greeted a couple of men behind a booth. Chunks of meat layout on a wooden counter, with flies buzzing over them. The men called out heartily and waved for him to step down.

As he did so, Jane realized that the men at the booth and most of the other villagers nearby were all staring at her. Then she saw that they looked just as curiously at Wayne and Ishihara, in their more modest Chinese peasant clothes. None of the villagers spoke, however.

5

JANE WATCHED IN silence as Emrys drew the cloth bag back from the sheep carcass. The other men examined the meat as Emrys talked, and then they unloaded the carcass and carried it to their booth.

One of them carefully counted a few coins into Emrys’s hand. He slapped the other man on the shoulder with a quick smile and mounted the cart again.

“It’s interesting to watch,” Jane said to Ishihara. “In all the times and places we’ve visited, dickering over small business transactions seems to be about the same.”

“Yes,” said Ishihara.

Emrys shook the reins. This time he drove the donkey around a corner and followed the narrow, crooked streets to the main doors of the large hall. He spoke briefly to a sentry, who slipped inside.

“I wonder who lives here,” Jane said casually to Ishihara. She did not want to express too much interest in the building, for fear of alerting Ishihara and Wayne to her belief that MC 6 would eventually come here. Even if they had reached the same conclusion, she could pretend she had not. “I guess, Emrys knows they burn a lot of wood in a building this size.”

“I expect so.” Ishihara changed languages and spoke to Emrys, who answered at some length.

Wayne turned in the seat to look at Ishihara. “What did he say?”

“Emrys says this is the palace of Artorius Riothamus,” said Ishihara.

“Artorius is a Latin name,” said Wayne. “Is he a Roman warlord who stayed behind or something?”

“‘Riothamus’ seems to mean ‘High King,’ “said Ishihara. “He is also called Artorius the ‘Dux Bellorum.’”

“That’s Latin for ‘War Leader,’ “said Wayne. “But what does it mean as a title?”

“I presume that not every High King leads his men out to war personally,” said Ishihara. “However, that is merely my own surmise.”

“We’re roboticists, not historians,” said Jane. “Ishihara, do you have any history at all that pertains to this time and place?”

“Very little,” said Ishihara. “However, I believe that Artorius the High King may be the man upon whom the legend of King Arthur is based.”

Wayne scowled. “This place doesn’t look much like the Camelot I learned about as a kid.”

“The legend was built by storytellers and poets and novelists over many centuries,” said Jane.

A tall, burly man dressed in a worn leather tunic came outside with the sentry and several other men. The tall man spoke to Emrys briefly, then nodded. The other men started to approach the cart but stopped, looking at Jane.

“Emrys has sold the entire cartload of wood,” said Ishihara, raising his arms to lift Jane. “I will help you down.”

Jane stood up and let Ishihara move her to the ground. As the workmen began carrying armloads of wood into the palace, the first man counted out a handful of coins into Emrys’s palm. Emrys opened a leather pouch at his belt and slipped the coins inside.

Jane remained with Ishihara, looking around the village. People filled the narrow streets in every direction. She saw booths and shops offering food, clothing, pottery, and leather goods for sale.

When the wood had been unloaded, Emrys spoke to Ishihara and waved for Jane and him to get into the cart. Ishihara lifted Jane back into the empty cart, then climbed in after her. Emrys started the donkey again.

“He is going to buy us clothes,” said Ishihara. “He says he will do this as his appreciation for my help.”

“Thank him again for his hospitality,” Jane suggested. “We were trying to pay him back, after all.”

“I did,” said Ishihara. “I think he may also be embarrassed by our clothes. He will be happier once we blend in with everyone else.”

First Emrys took them to a shop that sold used women’s clothes. Jane found that all the gowns were made of wool. She chose a simple brown one. In a stall in the rear, she changed out of her outer Chinese robe, but kept the underrobe that Hunter had provided to make the Chinese robe more comfortable. It protected her from the scratchy wool of her new gown.

Emrys dickered with the shopkeeper and paid for the gown. Jane carried her Chinese robe and trousers out over her arm. Then Emrys drove the cart to another shop that sold only men’s tunics.

Jane stood patiently by the cart as Wayne and Ishihara tried on tunics and leggings. This would have been an ideal moment to escape them, if she had anywhere to go. However, Wayne and Ishihara knew as well as she did that Hunter had not arrived yet.

After Emrys paid for the new tunics, he drove to another street where food was for sale at each stall. He bought a bag of flour and a small earthenware jar of sea salt. Then he treated his guests to a midday meal of mutton stew and fresh buns.

Jane decided that Ishihara’s help had not made a big difference in Emrys’s life. Although they had certainly changed his life today, she felt he was simply taking a normal day in the village. He was probably doing what he would have whenever he had come into the village next.

Jane decided to take her Chinese robe back to the hut and give it to Ygerna as a gift. If Ygerna did not want to wear it, she might be able to use the material to sew something else. Women here did not seem to wear trousers, but Jane felt that Ygerna could use the material to make something useful for herself or for her children.

After they had finished eating, they all mounted the cart again. Emrys drove them out of the village, back down the cobbled road to the base of the tor. Jane leaned against the back of the cart and gazed at the peaceful countryside. This time, Ishihara rode in the front of the cart behind the front seat. No one spoke until the cart had passed through the main gate of the outer earthwork. Then Emrys spoke over his shoulder to Ishihara.

Emrys and Ishihara conversed for several moments.

“What is it?” Wayne asked. “Are we going somewhere else today?”

Jane sat up, straining to hear.

“No,” said Ishihara. “We are returning to his hut. However, he remembers that in years past, the palace of Artorius requires the most wood when soldiers are gathering here in the spring. They must be fed and kept warm at night.”

“What soldiers?” Wayne asked.

“He says that every spring, soldiers from allover the land of the Britons come here from their winter homes. During the winter, only Artorius’s personal troop lives here. Then, as spring progresses, Artorius will gather his army and lead it against the Saxons.”

“So is Emrys one of these soldiers?” Wayne asked. “Is he going to report in?”

“No,” said Ishihara. “He says that if the palace needs so much wood now, they will need meat, too.

Instead of waiting until the soldiers arrive, he wants to drive some of his flock back here tomorrow and sell the sheep ahead of his fellow shepherds. The others are still waiting to hear that the men have moved back to the palace.”

“That one building can’t hold a whole army,” said Wayne. “How many are coming?”

“That is unclear,” said Ishihara. “However, the seven hectares of the enclosed tor offer a wide expanse of open land below the walled village. I expect his soldiers sleep out there.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Jane did not move or speak, but she felt her heart beating faster with excitement. Wayne expected MC

6 to return to full size tomorrow, and that mean Hunter would probably reach the same conclusion. If Hunter’s team arrived tomorrow, then Wayne and Ishihara would want to ride back to the village with Emrys. If they took her, she could look for an opportunity to escape them, or at least to alert Hunter to her whereabouts. If they left her in the hut, she would simply leave after they had gone. She only had to hope that Wayne would not order Ishihara to stay at the hut with her.

Wayne said nothing more.

Jane wondered if Hunter would think that Ishihara’s labor at Emrys’s woodpile was going to create too great a change in the lives of Emrys and his family. The coins he had received today, and the food, were not too extravagant. If he got the jump on the other shepherds, however, he might become substantially more wealthy than he would have been if Ishihara had not cut all the extra firewood.

At first, she could not reach any conclusion about it. Ishihara did not seem disturbed by the problem.

Then she realized that Emrys still could sell only the wood and sheep he already owned. Maybe he would only benefit modestly from Ishihara’s help.

Jane smiled to herself. Tomorrow she would look for Hunter at the tor.

Steve felt himself tumble gently on his back to damp, soft ground. Overhead, low, gray clouds covered the sky. In the west, a diffuse glow revealed the setting sun behind the clouds.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position. The land nearby combined rolling hills with occasional stands of trees. On some distant hills, he saw flocks of sheep with shepherds and dogs.

“You are both unharmed?” Hunter looked at them as he stood up.

“I’m fine,” said Steve.

“Yes, of course,” said Harriet cheerfully. “Mm, smell that rich earth. Springtime in England. It’s so green and fertile here.”

Hunter helped her to her feet. “I will begin calling Ishihara at intervals. I do not expect him to respond, even if he is here, but I must attempt to reach him.”

“Why wouldn’t he answer you?” Harriet asked.

“Wayne will almost certainly instruct him either to shut off his reception or to listen but not answer.

Whatever plan Wayne has in mind will rely on evading us.”

“I don’t see a castle,” said Steve, suddenly alarmed. “Are we in the wrong place?”

“No.” Harriet pointed to a large hill not too far in the distance. Large earthen ramparts ringed its base. A small walled town sat on its summit. “In the medieval sense, no castle ever stood at Cadbury. The modern term, Cadbury Castle, refers to the entire walled tor and its village. While we remain in this time, we might call it Cadbury Tor, instead.”

“So that’s where we’re going?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “It is farther than it looks. We must begin.”

“Okay.” Steve hoisted the cloth bag over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Hunter led them across the open grassland toward a narrow dirt track that wound toward the tor. As they walked, Steve looked up at the tor again. Some people rode horseback, drove wagons, or plodded out of the main gate. He supposed they were on their way home to other villages or huts in the countryside. Others walked or rode into the tor from outside, including two men in steel caps holding spears as they rode.

“Is that what a Roman fortress here looked like?” Steve asked. “It resembles the temporary camps we saw the Roman legions build in Germany, but this one looks permanent. I thought the Romans would build something more impressive than this.”

“This is a post-Roman construction,” said Harriet. “The village on the plateau is fortified in part by unmortared stone, including Roman masonry brought from elsewhere. The gatehouse has touches of Roman architecture, too. But the overall design is Celtic.”

“You mean now that the Romans don’t rule here anymore, the Britons are doing everything their way again?”

“In practical matters, Britons never forgot their own traditions,” said Harriet. “Further, funding was an issue. Roman administrators at the height of their power could pay many men to quarry, move, and cut stone, and hire others to build with it. Post-Roman Briton rulers had to make do with ramparts of rammed earth.”

Steve nodded. She pointed to a similar hill much farther in the distance to the north. “That’s Glastonbury Tor. It still exists in our own time, as well.”

“So with the Romans gone, the Britons are back where they started in fighting the Saxons?” Steve asked. “Except for what you said about Roman cavalry tactics?”

“Not completely. The Britons still have some advantages from their Roman cultural experience, including roads, cities, and towns. However, hordes of Saxons have already settled along the eastern coast.”

“You said this Artorius, who uses Roman cavalry tactics, is the historical basis for King Arthur. Back in Room F-12, we agreed to pretend we wanted to sell horses to him. So he rules here? Or what?”

“Artorius is a charismatic cavalry captain with some Roman-style training. He has become Riothamus, or High King, of the Britons by leading the Celtic fight for their homeland against the Saxons.”

“If the Saxons landed on the eastern coast, along the English Channel, why is he here?” Steve asked. “If we’re in what’s central southern England in our own time, then we’re a long way from the Channel.”

“That’s right,” said Harriet. “You see, the Saxons have been coming for many decades. They have conquered and settled considerable territory on the eastern side of Britain.”

“All right, I get it. Now the Britons are fighting the Saxons along some boundary that runs through the middle of the country.”

“Yes. Of course, the boundary is jagged and uneven, usually represented by rivers or ridges. And because of constant fighting, it is in flux throughout these years. Artorius had to establish his base far enough behind the border to have a wide buffer zone.”

Steve nodded. “Since the Saxons are on foot, it would take them a lot longer to march all the way here than it would take his cavalry to ride out to meet them.”

“Correct.”

“Hunter, I have to ask you the question that comes up in every mission,” said Steve. “We know that MC 6 will return to full size around here somewhere, but exactly what’s he going to do? Where should we look for him?”

“That is usually Jane’s area of expertise, of course,” said Hunter. “Without a roboticist to call upon, I will have to make a judgment. Based on my experience in how Jane has made her earlier appraisals, I expect that MC 6 will want to stop the war between the Britons and the Saxons that causes so much suffering.”

“Yeah, that sounds like what she’d say,” said Steve. “We found MC 3 and MC 4 trying to stop wars, too. Of course, we prevented that.”

“We must prevent MC 6 from doing it, as well,” said Hunter. “According to the history I took from the city library, Artorius held the Saxons at bay during his lifetime but they eventually overwhelmed his successors. If MC 6 succeeds in working out a long-term settlement, however, the England of medieval, Renaissance, and ultimately modern times will never develop, deeply changing the course of history.”

“Oh, piddle.” Harriet laughed lightly. “That possibility is preposterous.”

“It is?” Steve looked at her in surprise. Her bluntness startled him. “Why?”

“You see, the Saxons, Angles, and Jutes invaded Britain because of tremendous population pressure on the Continent north of the Roman Empire and their displacement by the movement of more powerful tribes, such as the Franks and the Goths.”

“Why did they come to Britain in particular?” Steve asked. “Couldn’t changes in what happens here cause them to go somewhere else?”

“As a matter of fact, they moved into Gaul in this era, as well, to settle on the Loire,” said Harriet. “But by comparison, Britain was lightly populated at the time. The desperation of the Saxons to migrate and the comparatively modest numbers of the Britons to protect their island dictated this period of British history. No agreement among individuals could stop these forces.”

“That makes sense to me,” said Steve. He liked the logic of this argument. It fit the fact that the team’s appearance in the past on other missions had not, to their knowledge, disrupted their own time.

“I have already acknowledged that I cannot measure the degree to which chaos theory can be applied to history,” said Hunter. “And I accept this history as accurate. However, the First Law requires me to consider the danger of changing history, no matter how remote it may be. After all, as a robot, MC 6 can expect a much longer life than any human, barring injury. If we do not take him away soon enough, he can remain in this time to continue working out compromises as new hostilities develop. Of course, in any case we have to take him before he reaches the time he left and explodes with nuclear force.”

“You ‘re the boss, as I said earlier,” said Harriet. “I’m just doing my duty as your historian in reporting my opinions to you.”

“As far as our search is concerned, the First Law would still impel MC 6 to attempt an end to war, no matter how hopeless his long-term chances are,” said Hunter. “Following the judgment that Jane made about earlier component robots, I believe this imperative would take him to Artorius or maybe even the Saxon leaders.”

“I have no argument with that,” said Harriet. “You would know more about robots.”

“I also feel that the creation of Arthurian legend will almost certainly change if the history upon which the earliest chroniclers based it no longer occurs in the same way. This is possible even if the historical events do not change. The legend seems to be quite important in British culture and its branches in the United States and other parts of the former British Empire.”

“Now, that I agree with,” Harriet said emphatically. “Arthurian legend — of course it could change if historical events alter. That legend has had great cultural influence over the centuries and must not be allowed to change.”

“I wouldn’t want to lose it, either,” said Steve. “I followed it as a kid — the stories of Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table, and Lancelot and Guinevere.”

“Of course, we will not find them here,” said Hunter. “They are legend, not history.”

“So we agree with you about not letting MC 6 change history after all,” said Harriet. “We will find him.”

“I guess if Ishihara had responded to your call, you’d have told us by now,” said Steve.

“That is correct,” said Hunter. “I have heard nothing.”

6

BY THE TIME they reached the main gate at the base of the tor, torches burned in brackets over it. Sentries in leather jerkins and leggings picked up their spears and began to swing the solid wooden doors closed.

They waited, however, as Hunter strode up to them.

Steve, remembering that no Britons here had seen anyone of Chinese descent, hung back in the shadows with his head down.

“We seek shelter, friends,” Hunter called out cheerfully in British. “You have lodging in the village, do you not?”

“We have inns here,” said one of the sentries. “What is your business?”

“I breed horses in Gaul,” said Hunter. “I seek new land in which to breed my horses. Even in Gaul, we have heard of the great cavalry leader Artorius. I would speak with him and ask if he will accept some of my finest stock.”

“Yes? Where are your horses? Still in Gaul?” The sentry grinned. Next to him, his companion laughed.

“We took ship from Gaul with five horses, but rough seas cast them overboard.”

“Yes?” The sentry eyed Hunter cautiously.

“Have you crossed the Channel, friend?” Hunter asked. “At this time of year?”

“No,” said the sentry. “Rough, is it?”

“The same rains that fall here in the spring can rage over the seas even harder,” said Hunter.

The sentry nodded, looking over Hunter’s tunic. Then he glanced at Harriet and Steve. “We are far inland here. How did you come?”

“We landed on the southern coast at Devon, then followed the roads here.”

“How did you know which way to come?”

“Every shepherd and villager on the way knows how to find Artorius.”

The sentry nodded again.

“Who are your companions?”

“My wife and our servant, a man from the farthest side of the Roman Empire.”

“Very well. Welcome, friends.” He stood aside for them to enter.

Steve still kept his head down as he followed Harriet through the gate. In the darkness, broken only by flickering torchlight over their heads, he knew the sentries could not see him clearly. In any case, they did not bother to look; they were closing the gates behind him.

Hunter led them up a long, cobbled road to the village at the top of the tor. The sentries at the main gate of the wall also watched them approach by torchlight. When Hunter stopped in front of the gate, Steve lowered his head again and remained back in the shadows.

“We seek lodging,” said Hunter. “The sentries below passed us.”

“I thought as much,” said the man in front of him. “Are you the last in for the night? If so, we’ll close this gate behind you.”

“Yes, we are the last.”

“Come in, then.” He, too, stood aside.

Hunter led Harriet and Steve through the gate into the village.

The streets of the village were lit by torches over a few of the doors. People still walked through the streets, especially outside taverns. The mood seemed peaceful.

“It’s not like the peasant villages in medieval China, is it?” Steve asked. “Those were just homes for farmers. This is more like a small town.”

“I see shops, stables, and taverns,” said Hunter, looking up the length of the streets in each direction.

“Only the taverns are still open for business, however. This is a village in a civilized society. It also has nothing in common with the villages we saw in ancient Germany, which belonged to a primarily hunting and gathering society.”

“Roman Britain was something of an outpost in the Roman Empire,” said Harriet. “However, London, York, and Bath were established as Roman bases — modest by the standards of the Mediterranean, but civilized urban areas in comparison to the earlier British Celtic villages. Cadbury Tor has evolved from an older country village to something of a town, obviously because of Artorius bringing power and wealth to the area.”

“Jane could be here,” said Steve. “Wouldn’t Ishihara want to get Wayne and Jane some good shelter like this?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “For tonight, however, we must do the same. Our search can begin tomorrow.”

“Lead the way,” said Steve.

Hunter approached a quiet tavern. Inside, several men sat at tables drinking. Some wore leather jerkins and leggings similar to those of the sentries. Others wore woolen tunics like Hunter’s and Steve’s. A short, gaunt innkeeper limped forward to look up at Hunter.

“Yes, friend?”

“We seek lodging for the night,” said Hunter. “For my wife and me and our servant.”

“Show me your money.”

“How much do you want for the rooms?”

“That will depend on whose money you carry.”

“Roman coins from Gaul.” Hunter opened the pouch at his belt and spilled some coins into one hand. He held out his palm so the other man could see them. “Mostly copper. Some silver. No gold.”

“No gold, eh?” The innkeeper scowled at the money. “Five silvers.”

“For one room?” Hunter shook his head. “Two coppers, friend.”

“Four silvers, then.”

Hunter closed his fist around the coins. “We have traveled far. Two coppers is a fair price.”

“Find it elsewhere, then, if you can.”

“Very well.” Hunter turned abruptly and strode toward the door.

Steve and Harriet moved outside ahead of him. Just as they got outside, however, the innkeeper hustled after them. At the sound of his footsteps, they turned.

“Four coppers,” called the innkeeper. “For our friends from across the Channel. A special price.”

Steve grinned. “I showed Hunter how to bargain on earlier missions,” he whispered to Harriet.

“Three coppers,” said Hunter.

“For a room with two feather beds,” Harriet whispered. “On the ground floor, with a fireplace.”

“I have no such room with a fireplace of its own,” said the innkeeper, glancing at her.

“Two coppers, then,” said Hunter.

“Three coppers for a room with two beds and a bar on the door,” said the innkeeper. “On the ground floor near the back door to the latrine.”

“Very well,” said Hunter. He dropped three copper coins into the man’s open palm.

“Welcome, friends. Come inside.” The innkeeper stepped aside and swung his arm toward the door.

Hunter accepted. Harriet and Steve followed him back inside. Some of the men drinking at the tables glanced up again, but without much interest.

The innkeeper picked up a stub of candle on a small dish and led them down a narrow hallway. He opened the door to a small room and swung it back. Then he stepped out again.

Steve glanced around. The two beds nearly filled the room, leaving only a small space between them. A long, narrow shelf ran along the wall from the doorway. This room was intended for sleeping, no more.

“It is acceptable,” said Hunter. “In the morning, I expect bowls of water for washing.”

“As you wish. Sleep well, friends.” The innkeeper handed him the candle dish and left.

Steve drew back the covers to one bed. “Well, it looks clean enough.” He pushed on the pallet. “Straw, not feathers. It’ll be scratchy.”

Harriet laughed lightly. “I trust we’ll survive the night somehow.”

“I will spend the night by the door, on guard,” said Hunter. “Do you need anything outside the room before I bar it for the night?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, with a grin. “A quick trip out to the latrine. And don’t bar it before I get back, either.”

“Of course I will not.” Hunter sounded puzzled.

“That was a joke, Hunter.”

When Steve returned, Hunter barred the door and touched the candlewick lightly with one finger to put it out. As the humans got into bed, he listened for any sounds suggesting danger and heard none. He remained alert throughout the night, motionless to conserve his energy.

Morning arrived without incident. When Hunter heard footsteps elsewhere in the inn, he went out and repeated his request for bowls of water from the innkeeper for Harriet and Steve. By the time the innkeeper fetched water from the cistern and Hunter returned to the room, both Harriet and Steve were up and dressed.

Soon they went to the dining area in the front. Steve brought the team’s bag with him, since they had not paid for a second night in the room. The men from the night before were not there, but two other men in woolen tunics sat hunched over bowls of hot cereal. The fire in the fireplace had gone out.

“Remember to speak British,” Hunter whispered in that language. “We will be overheard and we want to sound as though we belong.”

“As you wish.” Harriet drew in a deep breath. “Ah, feel that brisk spring air again. I love it.”

“I’m hungry,” said Steve, moving to an empty table. “This one okay?”

“Of course,” said Hunter.

The innkeeper hurried out to greet them and offered breakfast. In the daylight, he took a second glance at Steve in surprise, but said nothing. For breakfast, he served wooden bowls of hot oatmeal and herbal tea. He also brought out a small dish of honey for flavoring.

“It’s quite familiar,” said Harriet, inhaling the steam rising from the oatmeal. “I suppose oatmeal and honey haven’t changed a great deal over the years.”

“It’s good,” said Steve. “Not that I like oatmeal much. Good enough, though.”

“I reviewed my conversation with the sentries at the outer gate,” said Hunter. “While my claim to be a horse breeder and trader got us inside the tor, I now believe that Steve is correct that this will not bring us to an audience with Artorius. Without horses to show a prospective buyer, the pose will no longer be useful.”

“At least we’re inside.” Steve shrugged. “Maybe we can just hang around here in the village and ask for people of Jane’s and MC 6’s descriptions.”

“I prefer to act more aggressively,” said Hunter. “Harriet, we discussed some other possible social roles before we left. Would you suggest another?”

“Well, you didn’t want to be soldiers because that might be more dangerous to Steve,” said Harriet.

“But without other supplies to bring Artorius — food, armor, or weapons, mainly — that’s the best way to get the attention of a military commander. You could start by joining up and then look for an opportunity to meet him.”

“Hold it.” Steve swallowed and put down his spoon. “I have another problem with this. I learned the hard way in the Caribbean that I’m no fighter.”

“Really?” Harriet turned to him. “What happened, may I ask?”

“I tried fighting a couple of times.” Grinning, Steve shook his head. “One guy almost carved me up with a rapier, but someone interrupted us. Running around on deck during a boarding was even crazier. And what kind of soldier can Hunter be? He’s not allowed to harm humans.”

“Our goal does not require fighting,” said Hunter. “We simply want to be involved in life around Artorius, where MC 6 will probably appear. Harriet, how soon will Artorius go to war again?”

“That’s hard to say,” she said slowly. “In a sense, despite short-term truces and treaties, Britain is more or less in a state of ongoing war between Britons and Saxons.”

“Can you make any sort of calculated estimate about when the next campaign will begin?” Hunter asked.

“Let me think out loud for a moment. The earliest chronicles don’t give the years in which battles took place, let alone months and days. The odds are, however, that none ever took place here at Artorius’s capital, or that fact would have been mentioned.”

“If he has to march somewhere else for battle, we’ll have plenty of warning,” said Steve.

“Most of the battle sites were vague,” said Harriet. “Some are completely unknown, but Artorius will certainly have to go out on campaign to reach them.”

“Hunter.” Steve switched to English and spoke in a whisper. “For this subject, we can’t risk being understood by anyone else. If Artorius goes out on campaign while we’re here, are you going to let us desert from his cavalry to avoid getting into a battle?”

“We must always remember that MC 6 is our first goal, but of course I cannot put either of you into more danger than necessary under the First Law.”

“I think you just dodged my question.” Steve grinned wryly. “Can we desert or not?”

“If necessary, I will certainly take you out of danger,” said Hunter.

“That hasn’t always worked out as we’ve planned,” said Steve. “But I’ll go along with this if you really want to.”

“I suggest we also expand on our personal story.” Harriet whispered in English also.

“What do you have in mind?” Hunter asked.

“We should maintain our claim to have traveled from Gaul recently, or we will be branded liars. But in order to explain your desire to fight for Artorius, we should explain that we are Britons.”

“And we just moved to Gaul for a while to live?” Steve asked skeptically. “That sounds a little thin to me.”

“That’s not all,” said Harriet. “I suggest we come from Linnuis, a British district which the Saxons have taken over. This would explain why we were displaced in years past and fled to Gaul when a ship was available. Now we have managed to come back to Britain.”

“I understand,” said Hunter. “This improves our story. Where is Linnuis?”

“Historians believe Linnuis was modern Lincolnshire. It lies on the coast of the North Sea, northeast of here across the width of Britain.”

“We will use this as our story,” said Hunter, speaking British again. “How should we make our attempt to enlist with Artorius?”

“After breakfast, I suggest you ask the sentries at the main gate to the village.”

“Very well,” said Hunter.

“I can hardly believe this.” Steve laughed lightly, still whispering in English. “We rode dinosaurs, sailed with buccaneers, and ambushed Roman legions. We landed in the middle of World War II, met Marco Polo and Kublai Khan, and now we’re going to join King Arthur. Wow.”

7

AFTER BREAKFAST, STEVE followed Hunter and Harriet out of the inn to the street. Merchants had already opened their shops and stalls by now. The village gate stood open and people walked up and down the streets.

Steve liked the idea of accompanying Artorius and his men for a while, as long as no battles with Saxons were involved. He wished Jane could see him join up; she would probably find it funny and she might even be impressed by it. Then his mood dampened as he wondered where she was.

“Hunter,” Steve said, falling into step with him just before they reached the village gate. “How about spreading the word around the village that we’re looking for Jane before we sign up?”

“I can do that,” said Harriet. “While you two enlist, I will spend the day asking about Jane around the village. And I will ask about our missing friend.”

“Will you be safe here?” Hunter asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

“The village is peaceful,” the sentry said. “She will be safe.”

“All right,” said Hunter.

“Here. I’ll carry the bag today. You’ll need your hands free.”

“Thanks.” Steve handed it to her.

“Of course.” Harriet turned and strolled up the street.

Steve shrugged, disappointed.

Different sentries stood by the gate. As Hunter approached, one turned toward him, leaning on his spear.

“Good morning, friend,” said Hunter.

“Fair,” said the sentry.

“My friend and I had to flee our home in Linnuis to escape the Saxons. We would like to fight with Artorius. How do we volunteer?”

“You want to volunteer?” The sentry eyed Steve with curiosity for a moment, saying nothing. Then he turned back to Hunter. “All right, then. Step over here.”

The sentry moved to the middle of the open gateway and pointed. On the steep slope of the tor below, Steve could see forty or fifty armed men milling around. Some were mounted; others walked horses by their reins. From this vantage point, he could also see a pen holding a few other horses on the far side of a storage building.

“Lucius takes the new recruits out every morning,” said the sentry. “They just finished breakfast a short time ago. Go down and ask for Lucius.”

“Thank you,” said Hunter. “If those are the new recruits, where are the others?”

“Most of the veterans have not arrived from their winter homes. Artorius’s personal troop is at leisure today, except for those on patrol.”

“I see.”

Steve and Hunter walked out of the gate and down the cobbled road. The new recruits were slowly mounting and lining up, with several burly men in leather jerkins shouting orders. One man on a large bay waited silently, watching them all. Hunter walked up to him.

“Are you Lucius? We are Hunter and Steve.”

“Yes. What do you want?” Lucius studied Hunter with interest.

“We wish to volunteer and ride with Artorius against the Saxons.”

“Hmm. We can always use a man of your stature, if we have a horse to carry your weight.” Lucius glanced at Steve. “Do you speak our language?”

“Yes, I speak British.”

“From where do you come?”

“From the eastern side of the Roman Empire. We have been in Gaul until recently.”

“Gaul?”

“My wife and I fled Linnuis ahead of the Saxons,” said Hunter. “The three of us arrived here last night.”

“Well, you are no Saxons. Do you ride? Have you fought before?”

“We both can ride,” said Hunter. “However, we have not fought much.”

“Do you have horses?”

“No.”

Lucius frowned. “I feared so. We are always short of good horses.”

“You are taking new recruits,” said Hunter. “Will you take us or not?”

“The personal troop of Artorius has its full complement of three hundred,” Lucius said sternly. “But word has gone out for last year’s veterans to come from their farms and villages. Most of them will have their own mounts and a few may bring new ones, too.” He pointed to the wooden building on the slope behind the new recruits. “I will see if you can ride or not. Go to the tack building and tell the groom to mount you.”

“We have no weapons,” said Hunter.

“The armorer’s store stands on the near side of the building,” said Lucius. “Stop there first and tell him to outfit you. And hurry; we will ride out soon.”

Steve followed Hunter through the crowd of men and horses. Ahead, Steve saw the armorer standing outside a wooden building watching them come. He was a short man with long, gray hair and beard.

When he turned and moved inside the building, he walked with a pronounced limp.

By the time Steve and Hunter reached the building, the armorer had come outside again. He tossed two round wooden shields on the ground in front of them and then dropped two short swords on the shields.

Without a word, he limped back into the building.

“I guess he knew what we wanted when he saw us coming,” said Steve, picking up a sword and shield.

“No swordbelts or scabbards, though.”

“Roman short swords,” said Hunter. “British shields. I suppose the armor will be made of leather.”

“So it is,” said the armorer gruffly as he came out again. He leaned two spears against the wall of the building. “But not for you, friend. You’re too big. I’ll have to boil a new hide and slap it on you when you ride back this afternoon.”

“Boil it?” Steve asked.

The armorer snickered, revealing broken teeth. “A first-timer, eh? Well, you’ll learn.” He reached inside the door and pulled out a large, rigid piece of leather, about the size and shape of Steve’s torso. It bent at the shoulders, with a hole for his head; the bottom was cut short at the waist. Thongs dangled from holes along each side. “Lace those on.”

Steve slipped it over his head and onto his chest and abdomen. “It’s hard.”

“Boiled leather will turn a blade almost as well as steel,” said the armorer. “It just wears out faster, over time. But if you had the money to buy steel, you’d be wearing it.”

Hunter moved to Steve’s side and began lacing the leather armor on him.

“How do you get the shape?” Steve asked.

“I boil it in a vat of water till it’s nice and soft. Then I slap on your body steaming hot, and you’d better be wearing a tunic when I do.” The armorer grinned. “It takes the shape of your body and cools that way.”

“I see. Uh, what happened to the guy this belonged to before?”

“He died of a fever.” The armorer stepped back inside again and came out with two conical caps.

“Here.” He tossed a cap to each of them.

Steve put on the cap. A leather band inside the rim padded it somewhat. It fit him well enough.

A boy of about ten led two horses up to them, already saddled and bridled.

“The groom saw you coming,” he said shyly to Hunter. “We got you the biggest horse we have.”

“Thank you.” Hunter took the reins and mounted. “He will be fine.”

Steve slipped his shield on his’ left arm and carefully stuck a sword through the belt of his tunic. Then he mounted the second horse, which pranced and shook. He kept control of his mount, however. The armorer handed him his spear.

“He’s a good horse,” said the boy. “But he spent all winter in pasture. He’s only three and he hasn’t had a rider since last fall.”

“I like him,” said Steve. “Hunter, the troop is riding out. We’d better go.”

“Yes.” Hunter reached down to take his spear from the armorer. “Thank you, friends.”

Steve and Hunter rode back across the slope and followed the rear of the troop out the main gate at the base of the tor. The morning air was still cool, but the clouds overhead had begun to scatter. Steve grinned with excitement, wondering what Lucius would have the troop do.

They did not ride far. In the open, rolling country outside Cadbury, Lucius ordered the troop to split into squads, ordering each to fallout and drill separately. Because the squads formed immediately, Steve saw that they had already been assigned.

Hunter and Steve rode up to Lucius, who had reined up on the crest of a hill to observe the troop.

“We are ready, friend,” Hunter said heartily. “Where should we go?”

“Eh? Oh, yes.” Lucius pointed to a nearby squad. “These are squads of ten, but that one is short. Your squad leader, Cynric, will drill you.”

Steve followed Hunter to the squad. A short, stocky man had been shouting orders to the group. Just as Steve and Hunter reached them, Cynric raised his spear and turned his horse. He led the squad away in a canter.

Steve kicked his own mount and followed. His young horse eagerly took off. Hunter’s mount also moved into a canter, more reluctantly. Steve left him behind as the squad rode across the open grassland.

Soon Cynric took the squad into a full gallop. Then, without warning, he pulled up sharply. Just as the squad gathered around him, he kicked his mount again and took off in another direction. Steve laughed and followed with everyone else.

This time, Cynric led the squad in a long, sweeping curve back toward their starting point. Three of the riders took the curve too fast and lost it, angling wide; two others tried to take it too sharply and lost speed. Steve watched Cynric’s movements carefully and followed him without trouble, with two other riders. Hunter remained behind him.

Cynric stopped again on the slope near Lucius. Steve reined up behind him, and Hunter joined him a moment later. They waited for the stragglers to canter back to them.

Steve, getting a good look at the others’ faces for the first time, saw that most of them were teenagers.

He supposed they had either come from villages or shepherd families. They would know how to ride casually, but not on military maneuvers.

Cynric studied Steve and Hunter with pale blue eyes. “Who are you, anyway?” His voice was gruff.

“I am Hunter. This is my friend Steve.”

“And Lucius sent you to me.”

“Yes,” said Hunter.

“Well … I don’t get a lot of grown men in this troop. You two ride better than most of these youngsters.

Can you fight?”

“We have never fought on horseback,” said Hunter.

“I’m not surprised;” Cynric said sourly. He threw his spear into the ground and raised his voice to the entire squad. “Form a line and follow me. You will ride at full gallop past this spot and throw your spears into the ground next to mine — if you can.”

Jane rode in the back of Emrys’s cart again that morning. As before, Ishihara sat in the front and firewood filled the rest of the bed; Wayne rode on the seat with Emrys. However, this time they followed almost half of Emrys’s flock of sheep. One of his dogs herded the sheep forward along the road toward Cadbury Tor.

When Jane saw the riders leaving the main gate of Cadbury Tor, she looked up. Even at a considerable distance, she was sure that the large rider trailing the rear of the troop had to be Hunter. The fact that a man Steve’s size rode just ahead of him seemed to clinch it.

Jane glanced up at Wayne and Ishihara. Wayne yawned and watched the sheep. Ishihara was rearranging the firewood slightly.

“Ishihara,” said Jane. She did not know what she was going to say, but she wanted to distract him from seeing Hunter and Steve. Wayne was not as likely to recognize them, even if he looked in their direction.

“Yes?”

“Uh, how safe are we?” A concern about the First Law would command a robot’s attention the most.

“What do you mean?” Ishihara looked at her.

“Well … we’re very vulnerable, don’t you think?” Jane frantically tried to think of a specific worry she could express to him.

“To what?”

“To the unknown. I mean, we hardly know what’s going on around us, do we?”

“Thanks to Emrys and Ygerna, we have food, clothing, and shelter. Neither they nor anyone in the village seem to have any pressing fears.”

“It’s not as civilized as China was.” Jane glanced at the troop again. They had ridden away from the tor, but Hunter remained easily recognizable at the rear.

“We are much safer here than in Roman Germany,” said Ishihara.

“Yeah … that’s true, I guess. But maybe a war will start here, too.”

“Perhaps. I expect to have some warning, however. We all knew that a battle would begin outside Moscow in 1941, but we survived.”

“It’s a terrible risk under the First Law, isn’t it?” Jane stretched, and gazed casually around in several directions to camouflage another look toward the troop. Now the column of riders had divided into small groups. For a moment, she could not find Hunter. Then she saw that his group had begun to ride away, fast. She relaxed a little.

“The searches for MC 3 and MC 4 ended in much greater danger than we face here so far,” said Ishihara. “I assure you again that I will take you and Wayne away from danger if necessary.” He patted the spot on his torso in which he had placed the belt unit.

“I know,” Jane said quietly. She looked at Wayne. He did not seem to have noticed Hunter and Steve.

Jane wondered if the troop would ride back into the tor while Emrys was still selling sheep and firewood there. Ifso, she might have a chance to get Hunter’s attention. She would have to hope that Wayne and Ishihara would not notice Hunter first.

8

STEVE MOVED INTO the line as the squad prepared to throw spears. Ahead of him, the other riders waited for Cynric to wave his arm in a sharp downward slash. Then the first rider kicked his mount, rode at full gallop about fifty meters, and threw his spear into the ground next to Cynric’s.

When Steve’s: turn came, he hefted his spear in his right hand and looked at Cynric. At the signal, he took off and eyed his target. Several other spears had stuck in the ground near it; others had fallen flat.

Steve threw his without slowing his mount.

His spear flew forward but instead of sticking in the ground, it landed flat on the grass. He reined in near the other riders and turned. Hunter came next.

At the signal, Hunter rode forward. As he neared the target, he threw his spear. It angled through the air and stabbed into the ground next to Cynric’s.

Around them, scattered allover the rolling hills, the other squads conducted similar exercises.

As Hunter rode up next to Steve, Cynric nodded approval. When the squad had finished throwing their spears, they gathered around Cynric. Steve suddenly wondered if he might be cut from the troop and Hunter retained.

Cynric said nothing about it, however. “Leave your spears where they are. Form two lines facing each other, two horse lengths apart. When I signal, move against the rider across from you. I want to see you handle your swords and shields. Lay on hard, now — this is no game.”

As the riders formed the lines, Steve and Hunter moved across from each other. At Cynric’s signal, all the riders rode forward. Steve found that the real challenge to this exercise was holding the reins in his left hand while using the shield on his left arm to protect himself.

Hunter’s blows were light, at least by Hunter’s standards, and always landed on Steve’s shield, no matter how he moved it. Steve swung his own sword with more abandon, secure in the knowledge that Hunter could easily block each stroke with his own shield. On each side of them, the other squad members did the same.

Cynric rode slowly behind each line, circling the squad. He shouted instructions and encouragement at times. After a while, he ordered them to halt.

Steve lowered his sword and shield and grinned at Hunter with relief.

“Take up your spears again,” Cynric called out. Then, as the riders moved out of their line, he turned to Hunter. “You sit a horse well for a man your size.”

“Thank you for the kind words.” Hunter nodded acknowledgment. “Tell me something. I always heard that the Saxons have no horses. In Linnuis, I never saw a mounted Saxon. Why do you have us perform this exercise against another man on horseback?”

“A man who fights for Artorius must be at home on his mount,” Cynric said sternly. “Besides, occasionally a Saxon patrol will take a horse or two. But you are right. In the main, a battle against the Saxons means a small British cavalry against a much larger army of Saxon foot.”

Steve had to dismount to pick up his spear. While he was on the ground he handed a couple of the other spears up to other squad members. Then, clumsily cradling his own in the crook of his left arm, he managed to mount again.

Hunter plucked his own spear from its vertical position in the ground and rode up next to Steve.

“Harriet radioed me a moment ago,” Hunter said quietly. “She is well, but has seen no sign of MC 6.”

“Is she just going to walk up and down the streets of the village all day?”

“Perhaps not. She has seen some from the citadel come out to shop. Since Artorius probably lives there, she hopes to speak to them.”

“Hey, maybe she can get inside somehow.”

“Follow me!” Cynric shouted suddenly, holding spear high. “Now!” He rode away abruptly, as before.

The squad, caught by surprise, took off after him.

The remainder of the morning continued the same way. Cynric ordered specific exercises with weapons, often divided by sudden orders to charge across the hills. These charges sometimes were straight, and sometimes curved; the riders had to stop and wheel around quickly, changing direction. Finally, at midday, wagons came out of the tor to bring bread, cold mutton, and water to the squads. The horses were watered and rested.

In the afternoon, the nature of the exercises changed. Now the squads worked together, maneuvering in combinations of ten, with a hundred riders each. Steve stayed close to Hunter. Finally, in late afternoon, Lucius gave the order to return to the tor.

As Steve and Hunter rode on weary mounts with the rest of the troop back to the main gate, Cynric rode up alongside them.

“You will join us in the camp,” said Cynric.

“You are in a camp?” Hunter asked. “I have not seen a camp. Where is it?”

Cynric grinned. “Behind the village, on the far slope. The green recruits are kept out of the way.”

Steve wondered what Hunter wanted to do about Harriet, but he did not ask. A blunt conversation would have to wait until they were out of the hearing of others. He looked up at the village and wondered if Jane was there somewhere.

Hunter knew that he could not call Harriet. He had no idea if she had company within the hearing of her lapel pin. If they could not find her in the streets of the village, then he would have to wait for her to call him again.

At the paddock, each rider unsaddled and brushed down his own mount. Then they were dismissed.

Hunter, however, walked back to the armorer, who had a fresh leather boiling in a big vat.

“Is that for me?” Hunter asked.

“Keep your tunic on to protect yourself from the heat,” the armorer said gruffly.

Steve stood by as the armorer pulled the steaming leather out with a long, hooked pole. The leather had a hole already cut out of the middle and the armor lowered it over Hunter’s head. Moving quickly, the armorer tied it snugly around Hunter’s waist with a piece of old rope. Steam rose from the leather.

“I’m glad he already had one my size,” Steve muttered. “That’s hot.”

“No one ever died of this,” growled the armorer. “I’ve been doing it for years. That tunic he’s wearing will protect him.”

“I am fine,” said Hunter.

The armorer quickly tied the leather around Hunter’s arms, as well, so that it fit tightly around his entire torso. Then he began to punch holes up and down the sides in straight lines, ignoring the uneven shape of the leather. By the time he had finished, the leather no longer steamed.

The armorer knocked on the leather against Hunter’s chest. It gave slightly. “Still soft,” he muttered.

“Just wear that for a few more minutes.”

Hunter nodded.

The armorer drew a knife and began trimming the leather. He cut it off at Hunter’s waist and straightened the edges running down the robot’s sides from under his arms. By the time the armorer had cut the last pieces off, he had to use a great deal of effort to slice the blade through the leather.

“Should be finished now.” The armorer knocked on the Hunter’s back. This time, it made a thunking sound. “That’s it. Here, I’ll lift it off.”

Hunter bent forward so the armorer could raise it over his head.

Steve saw that the leather had now solidified into a hard shell that maintained its shape, just like the leather he was still wearing.

“It needs a little more trimming. And some of these holes need to be punched out more cleanly. I’ll do that. When you come back in the morning, I’ll have thongs for you to lace the sides closed. After that, you keep it.”

“Thank you.”

The armorer nodded and carried the new armor inside his building.

Some recruits walked around the slope to the rear side, avoiding the village. Others took the cobbled road up to the village gate. Hunter and Steve walked back up to the gate together.

“Hunter, Harriet here.” Her call came through his internal receiver.

“Yes, Harriet.”

“I can see you walking back up the hill and I got a moment alone. Did you see MC 6 anywhere?”

“No. Tell me where you are. We must confer.”

“I think we’d better talk now. I’m in the palace. And if I leave, I don’t know if I’ll be welcome back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I struck up a conversation with some of the women who live here. One is the wife of an adviser to Artorius and another is the grown daughter of some elderly military man. I’m not sure exactly what he does. But I explained that my husband and our servant had come from Linnuis by way of Gaul to fight and that I was now unescorted.”

“They simply invited you into the palace?”

“Not exactly. We talked for a while. They are very conscious of social class. I am clearly not a peasant.

When they asked about you, I explained that you were a very wealthy and successful horse breeder and trader. They know that Artorius needs an ongoing supply of good horses.”

“What happened?”

“Gwenhwyvaer, the daughter of the military man, has been very kind. We get along well. She invited me to stay with her. But she had to argue with some of the others. I don’t want to seem ungrateful by asking to go out again today. But if everything is still okay tomorrow, maybe I can meet you in the village.”

“Then you have safe lodging for the night?”

“Oh, yes. As long as I don’t offend anyone. And I may have a chance to spot MC 6 here, if he has regained his full size by now.”

“Very well. I will wait for you to call me again. If you feel any potential danger, call immediately.”

“All right, Hunter. Harriet out.”

Hunter related the conversation to Steve. “Instead of going up to the village to look for her, I suggest we go to the camp in the rear to find out where we will sleep.”

“Good idea.”

Jane had hoped to remain in the village until the troop returned. However, Emrys’s business did not take long enough. In the morning, he had bargained with men from the palace for the sheep. After some spirited haggling, Emrys had sold them all to the palace, improving the deal by offering the firewood, as well. He had received both coin and barter in the form of some wool and two piglets that had to be tied inside the wagon.

At Jane’s request, Emrys had agreed to spend more time in the village. They visited an open-air stall at midday to eat and then browsed through the shops. However, in the middle of the afternoon, he had decided to return home. As they had taken the wagon back down the slope toward the gate in the outer wall, Jane had seen the troop of riders still maneuvering in the distance.

Jane watched Wayne and Ishihara carefully all day. In turn, they looked at everyone in the village, but only glanced casually at the troops on maneuver in the distance. She could not figure out why Ishihara did not examine the troops more closely.

Although she did not want Ishihara to notice Hunter if he had not seen him already, she wanted to find out what priorities he was using. She waited until the wagon had left the main gate and traveled down the road, leaving the troops out of sight around a bend. Then she raised the subject indirectly, speaking in English so that Emrys would not understand.

“Ishihara.”

“Yes.”

“As I understand it, Wayne will only instruct you to let me go if he can either get MC 6 or bargain for him with Hunter. Right?”

“Yeah?” In the front seat by Emrys, Wayne turned around and glared at her suspiciously. “We’ve already established that. What of it?”

“When are we going to get this underway? I don’t want to live here forever.”

“Calm down, will you?” Wayne said sourly. “I don’t like waiting, either. But we can’t do anything till we find at least one of them.”

“So we’re just going to visit the village every day and look around? What if Emrys doesn’t want to go back tomorrow? He has chores at home.”

“If we have to, we’ll hike in ourselves,” said Wayne. “Right, Ishihara?”

“If you wish.”

“And then we just stand around?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Jane looked at Ishihara. “Tell me if you know where MC 6 or Hunter is.”

Ishihara turned to look at Wayne. “What should I do? You instructed me not to discuss this subject with her or in front of her.”

Wayne grinned. “Go ahead and answer.”

“I do not know where MC 6 is,” said Ishihara. “I may know where Hunter is but I am not certain.”

“Nice try.” Wayne snickered. “You can’t order him to tell you something he doesn’t know.”

“That’s not the point,” said Jane. For the moment, she decided not to sound too eager to learn what Ishihara might know about Hunter. “Do you guys have a plan or not?”

“I’ve calculated that MC 6 will return to his full size in the tor,” said Wayne. “I’ve instructed Ishihara to prioritize spotting him.”

Jane decided to risk reminding them of the troops. “Does that include people outside the tor? Say, shepherds like Emrys, or traders coming to and from the tor?”

“I have looked at the people we have passed on the road,” said Ishihara.

“How about those riders?” Wayne asked. “The guys with the spears? They were too far for me to see clearly.”

“None of them is small enough to be MC 6,” said Ishihara. “One of them is large enough to be Hunter.

With the movements of the riders, I was not able to ascertain this for certain, even at the maximum magnification of my vision. A man the size and build of Steve rode very close to him.”

Jane said nothing. She had recognized Hunter. At least she now knew what Ishihara had seen. The reason he had not mentioned it in her hearing before was that Wayne had instructed him not to do so.

“You’re sure that MC 6 is not riding with that outfit?” Wayne asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. For now, we’ll let Hunter waste his time with them. We’ll focus on finding MC 6 first.”

Jane said nothing more.

Steve and Hunter found the camp on the far slope. A single large command tent stood at the top. Two unhitched wagons stood next to it, full of closed wooden crates. Small campfire sites, cold at the moment, dotted the area, surrounded by small bundles of furs and cloth bags.

Cynric met them there and showed them which campfire belonged to their squad. He also pulled some old blankets out of a crate in one wagon and gave them to Steve and Hunter. The other squad members had not come back yet.

After Cynric walked away, Steve sighed and looked up at Hunter.

“What is wrong?” Hunter asked. He set his blanket down on the ground..

“We’ll be sleeping out under the stars. It was cold last night. Even next to the fire, we’ll be cold.”

“I noted the temperature last night. It should not be harmful to you.”

“No … but it’ll be uncomfortable.” Steve grinned. “Don’t worry about it. I just hope it doesn’t rain.”

“I suggest we walk up to the village. The sun will not go down right away. Maybe we can buy some additional bedclothes for you.”

“Okay.” Steve glanced up. The sky had more clouds than before, but he did not smell rain.

They walked back up to the village and strolled through the streets. Hunter found a stall selling furs and bargained down the price on a coverlet of rabbit pelts stitched together. Steve slung it over his shoulder gratefully.

Hunter noted when the other green recruits in the village left again. He and Steve followed them back to the camp, where the campfires now burned. Some men passed bread to each squad; pots of mut ton already boiled over the fires. A brisk breeze blew across the twilit countryside.

9

AS STEVE AND Hunter sat down around their campfire, Cynric finally introduced each squad member by name. Inthe gathering darkness, he directed one of the men to ladle mutton out of the pot into wooden bowls already filled with chunks of bread.

“Cynric,” said a young man named Cai. “What will we do tomorrow? More of the same?”

“More of the same.” Cynric looked around the group sternly. “You have much to learn before you can keep an angry Saxon from killing you.”

“Will it be different when the veterans arrive?” Cai asked. “Will we ride with them?”

“Our troop will remain together,” said Cynric. “Lucius will lead us. When the veterans first begin to gather, they will not bother to ride, except on their own. Once the bulk of them have arrived, we will practice maneuvers with them.”

“When will we go out on campaign?” A taller young man named Cadoc looked up from his bowl.

“No one can be sure,” said Cynric. “It depends on what word Artorius hears from scouts and returning veterans. He won’t plan a campaign until he knows something about the enemy.”

None of them spoke.

“You can be sure we’re going somewhere,” Cynric added. “Spring always brings a new campaign for Artorius. You need not doubt that.”

The other men nodded.

Cai chewed on a piece of bread for a moment and glanced at Steve. “I’ve never seen a man of your appearance before, yet you speak our language well. How did you two come to join us here today?”

“It’s a long story,” Steve said cautiously. He was not sure how much detail Cai wanted.

“We met in Gaul,” said Hunter casually. “My wife and I hail from Linnuis, but we fled the Saxons on board ship across the Channel.”

“I have known men from Gaul,” said Cadoc. “None looked liked you, Steve.”

“I come from the eastern end of the Roman Empire,” said Steve. He glanced at Hunter, who watched him silently. Steve decided he was free to improvise. “I traveled to Gaul as a servant to another horse breeder. We met Hunter and I began working for him, instead.”

“But where is this land you come from?” Cai asked. “My grandfather served allover the empire and told me stories about his travels. Do you come from Egypt? Judea? The Parthian border?”

Steve looked at Hunter again.

“His family comes from farther east than that,” said Hunter. “From Sina, the land of silk.”

“Never heard of it,” said Cynric. “Not that I care.” He looked into the distance, where the sun had gone down. A faint glow over the horizon still lit the sky. “Well, men, shall we take our nightly stroll through the village?”

“You walk through the village every night?” Hunter asked. “Why?”

Cynric grinned. “For a goblet of mead, maybe. Or to meet a woman in a tavern. Maybe just for a walk.

It keeps these young farmers and shepherds in the saddle during the day, when they know they have a visit in the village at night.”

Steve caught Hunter’s eye. “We’ll join you.”

“Hunter, you can see your wife.”

“Perhaps,” said Hunter. “First, we have business in the village. A certain friend of ours may live in the village now. We will look for him.”

“As you wish.” Cynric shrugged.

As the squad walked back up to the village, Steve noticed that the other squads were doing the same.

Not everyone went, however; a few others stayed around their fires. Some of the men had already stretched out in their bedrolls.

The streets of the village had only a few people, just as the night before. Cynric sought out the most crowded tavern, though, calling out to friends he found there.

Hunter and Steve bought mead in dented metal goblets and stood among talkative, laughing men in the middle of the crowd. Steve saw that Hunter was looking around, so he did not bother; Hunter’s height advantage and better vision meant that he could do the job better and faster, anyway.

Steve found the mead interesting at first, but not really to his liking. He held the goblet and glanced back out the open doorway. A small group of other men sauntered past.

Hunter continued looking around the crowd. Steve slipped away from him through the crowd, moving toward the door. The noise in the tavern covered his footsteps. With a glance over his shoulder at Hunter’s back, he set his goblet down on a small table and stepped back outside. He hurried down the street.

After the five earlier missions, Steve no longer worried about changing history through ordinary actions.

He did not believe that he would alter the fate of Britain or the shape of Arthurian legend by getting away from Hunter for a few minutes to explore the taverns on his own. At the same time, he knew he would feel more free to act spontaneously without Hunter.

Steve followed the men in front of him into another tavern. This place had about half the crowd of the last one, but the patrons here were also cheerful and talkative. Steve moved to the bar and ordered more mead. When he turned, he found almost every man in the place looking at him.

Slowly the tavern grew quiet.

Steve looked from face to face. For the first time, he realized that Hunter’s company had protected him.

No matter how curious or hostile the Britons had felt, none had confronted him in front of Hunter. The squad members had asked their questions politely. Now he was on his own.

A young man with shoulder-length, reddish-blond hair smirked at him over a goblet.

Steve decided to take the initiative. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly.

“So it is, stranger.” The other man snickered. “Who are you, then? Some Pict from the wilds up north?”

“Ha!” Another man sneered. “I say he’s a wild man from across the western sea.”

“I came from Gaul,” said Steve, forcing a smile.

“You’re no Gaul,” said the first man. “But you speak our language. What’s your name, then?”

“Steve.”

“Eh? What kind of name is that?”

“Well, it’s short for Steven,” Steve said lamely. “What’s your name?”

“I heard of a Stephen who followed Jesus,” said another man, quietly.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked the blond man again, still trying to sound cheerful.

The man ignored his question. “You were named for this Stephen?”

“It was the origin of my name,” Steve said hesitantly. He had been named after a relative in the immediate sense. More importantly, he realized that the men around him really wanted to know something about him. He would have to speak up to satisfy them.

“You are a follower of the Church, then.” The blond man cocked his head to one side, studying Steve’s face.

“Yes.” Steve did not know if Britain in this time had different denominations or sects, so he said nothing more. He also could not tell exactly what opinion the others might hold about this.

“What is your purpose here?”

“My friend and I have joined the troop of new recruits,” said Steve.

“That’s true,” a man called from the back. “I saw him riding back through the gate with a big, tall fellow.”

The blond man smiled, finally. “I am Bedwyr. I lead a scouting patrol.”

“Really? Do you live here year-round?” Steve felt a wave of relief at his friendlier tone.

Bedwyr slapped him on the shoulder. “Forgive our questions, friend. Artorius will lead us all out on campaign soon, but we are getting restless.”

Steve glanced around. Not all of the other men had accepted his presence; some still eyed him suspiciously. However, no one else spoke.

“Something wrong, friend?”

“I’ve only seen a few taverns in your village. How about showing me around a little?”

Bedwyr laughed. “Why, sure.” He threw back his head and emptied his goblet. “Come on, let’s go.”

Steve took another swig of his mead and set his goblet down. As he followed Bedwyr out of the tavern, he was glad to see that no one else joined them. He did not feel that he had been made welcome, exactly, but being treated with indifference was good enough.

Bedwyr started up the street, pointing to another small building with flickering candles in the window.

“That’s a good place for food,” he said. “Not so much for drinking.”

“Tell me something,” said Steve, falling into step next to him. “You’re the only one who seemed to think my joining Artorius meant something. The others still aren’t so friendly. What’s different about you?”

“You mean, regarding you?” Bedwyr shrugged. “I spoke up first because I was the most curious about you. And Artorius needs every good man he can get.”

“So I have heard.”

“The Saxons don’t ride, but they come across the Channel like endless packs of wolves. Any man who will face them is all right with me. But you must understand that in these times, not everyone loves a stranger.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Enough of that.” Bedwyr pointed up in the moonlight toward the palace as they walked. “My barracks lie there, in the citadel. You can’t see it well in the darkness, but all of Artorius’s personal troop lives with him in that quarter. We are sworn to die for him if necessary.”

“Are you in his personal bodyguard?”

“No,” said Bedwyr. “You misunderstand. He has a personal household troop of about three hundred, depending on casualties from time to time. We live here permanently and accompany him on every trip he takes. His bodyguards are a special group of only twenty.”

Steve wanted to get inside the palace somehow to look for MC 6. However, he did not want to appear too eager for fear of making Bedwyr suspicious of his motives. He decided to approach the subject obliquely.

“How does a new man join the personal troop?” Steve asked. “To maintain the number around three hundred, men killed in battle obviously must be replaced.”

“A man’s loyalty must be proven. For instance, my father died fighting in Artorius’s personal troop when I was young. My mother sent me when I came of age.”

“So connections are important.”

“Yes, or special courage and sacrifice on the battlefield.” Bedwyr nodded.

“What about working in the palace?” Steve asked. “Artorius must have people who keep the fires burning and cook the food and clean up.”

“What of it? You came to fight.”

“Not for me,” said Steve. “I’m looking for a friend. A little guy. He’s coming here, but I don’t know if he’s already arrived or not. He wasn’t in Lucius’s troop, so I wonder if he’s working in the palace.”

“Ah. I understand now.” Bedwyr shrugged. “People like that, the servants … I pay no attention.”

“Who would know? Someone in the palace who hires the servants, I guess.”

“Yes.”

Steve waited, hoping Bedwyr would offer to help. When he did not, Steve decided to ask him outright.

Steve only hoped he would not offend the warrior in some unpredictable way.

“Could you introduce me to this person? I would like to ask about my friend.”

“Mm, well, how about another drink, Steve? Even this little village has more taverns than we’ve seen yet.”

“You can’t take a stranger to the palace?”

Bedwyr grinned. “You really want to find this fellow. Does he owe you money?”

“No, no.” Steve laughed. “But you’re right — finding him is very important to me.”

“I’ll talk to a friend,” said Bedwyr slowly. “But no promises. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll see who’s on sentry duty this watch. I know all those guys.”

Steve grinned in the darkness. This was progress, at least. In Bedwyr’s company, he couldn’t call Hunter directly, but he switched on his lapel pin so that Hunter could overhear him.

“How far is it to the palace?” Steve asked.

Bedwyr laughed. “In this village? You’ve seen it. Nothing is more than a few minutes’ walk.”

Steve knew Hunter would get the message from that exchange. They walked in silence through the streets. When they turned a corner, they left the taverns behind.

A single torch burned in a holder over the main entrance to the palace. Two bored sentries sat on stools, cradling their spears. They looked up with interest when they heard footsteps approaching.

“It’s Bedwyr,” he called out. “And a new friend. Good evening, Aetius. Wake up, Drustan.”

They both grinned. “What are you doing here, Bedwyr? The taverns are still open.”

“My friend Steve, here, now rides under Lucius. He seeks a friend who may be in the palace.”

Drustan frowned. “He can’t go inside at this hour. In the morning, maybe.”

“I don’t need to go inside,” said Steve. “My friend is called MC 6.”

“Strange name,” said Bedwyr.

“He may have taken another on his travels. Maybe I could describe him to you. He’s a little guy, slender and about so high.” Steve held his hand at MC 6’s height. “He probably doesn’t talk much, but he’s very agreeable. If you tell him to do something, he just does it. And he never hurts anybody — he won’t fight, but he’ll try to stop a fight between other people. Have you seen him?”

The sentries looked at each other.

“Well, there’s little Patricius,” said Drustan. “He’s only twelve.”

“I’m looking for a grown man,” said Steve. “Just a little one.”

“Medraut’s not too big,” said Aetius. “But he’s no stranger. He’s Artorius’s nephew.”

“One of the cooks caught him scrapping with another young rascal yesterday,” said Drustan. “Medraut picks fights all the time.”

“You sure he’s that little?” Aetius asked. “Maybe he’s gotten his growth since you saw him last.”

“Well … it was only a few months ago.”

“I fear we haven’t seen anyone like that,” said Drustan. “We would notice, I think. But maybe he works in the village somewhere.”

“Maybe so. Thank you.” Steve sighed. Hunter had certainly heard the entire exchange. MC 6 probably had not returned to full size yet. “Bedwyr, shall we visit another tavern? I’ll buy.”

“Not so fast,” said Drustan, grinning. “Artorius has been coming out for a quick walk every evening. He may come out any minute.”

“You mean I could meet him?”

“If he walks out in the same mood as usual, he’ll have no objection. He likes to mix with the men this time of year, as the campaign season approaches.”

“I think I’ll hang around.” Steve laughed. “You mind, Bedwyr?”

“Not at all. I’ll linger with you. It can’t hurt to have a good word with the man at the top.”

10

BACK IN THE hut, Jane helped Ygerna prepare another pot of mutton stew. At first, Ygerna had tried to dissuade her guest, but Jane had simply laughed lightly and picked up a knife to cut meat. Ygerna baked more bread and carefully seasoned the new stew with the sea salt Emrys had brought from the village.

Ishihara had gone outside to cut more firewood in the twilight. Emrys stacked the pieces. Wayne alternately paced outside restlessly and sat on a stool inside the hut. The children, now growing accustomed to their visitors, paid less attention to them.

As she cut chunks of mutton, Jane tried to decide how to proceed. Now that she knew Hunter and Steve had joined the troop of riders, she could try to get their attention. On the other hand, Wayne and Ishihara surely knew she hoped to do that. When they went to the village tomorrow, she expected Ishihara would become even more attentive to her than usual to prevent her from escaping. Her greatest fear was that Wayne would leave her here with Ishihara. Then she would have no chance.

Wayne and Ishihara came inside the hut, followed by Emrys. Jane glanced up but said nothing. Emrys closed the door behind him.

“Shall I tell Jane?” Ishihara asked Wayne.

“Might as well.” Wayne shrugged.

“I have spoken with Emrys about tomorrow,” said Ishihara. “Based on the number of ewes pregnant in his flock, he has decided to take more sheep to the village tomorrow. We will go with him to look for MC 6.”

“Okay.” Jane shrugged, feigning indifference. Actually, she was deeply relieved. Apparently they were going to take her; that meant she might have a chance to get away.

When the main doors of the palace opened, Steve tensed with excitement. Six men came out, wearing now-familiar plain wool tunics and leather boots and leggings; a servant inside closed the doors again.

Both sentries stood up alertly.

The man in front smiled at the sentries. “Good evening, men. Did I wake you?”

Drustan and Aetius both laughed and shook their heads, their admiration for him evident in their faces.

“No, sir, Riothamus,” said Drustan. “Not us.”

“Well, I know this is boring duty. I did my turns on watch when I was young.”

Steve tried to get a good look at Artorius Riothamus in the flickering torchlight. He seemed to be in his early thirties, of average height and a medium build. His shoulder-length hair was light brown, as was the narrow, neatly clipped beard along his jawline.

“Good evening, sir,” said Bedwyr politely. He, too, looked fascinated.

“Good evening to you.” Artorius looked at him in the uneven torchlight. “Ah, Bedwyr, isn’t it? You lead one of the scouting patrols.”

“That’s right, sir.”

Artorius looked at Steve. “I don’t believe I know you, friend.”

“I, uh —”

“This is Steve, a man from the eastern end of the Roman Empire,” said Bedwyr. “He and a friend from Linnuis have joined Lucius’s troop.”

“Ah! I’m glad to hear it. Welcome, Steve.”

“Thank you,” Steve said shyly.

“Have you and your friend ridden before? Can you sit a horse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Artorius laughed lightly and gave Steve a pat on the shoulder as he passed. “We need you.” He and his entourage walked on down the street.

Steve turned to watch him go. Artorius was personable and unpretentious, but he also came across as reserved, confident, and supportive of his men. Steve liked him and realized that this personal magnetism, combined with his military successes, helped create the legend that grew after his death.

“Still ready for another drink?” Bedwyr asked him cheerfully.

“Sure.”

Harriet had accepted the invitation of Gwenhyvaer, the young woman she had befriended, to her small room. She had recognized the name as the original Welsh from which the more modern

“Guinevere” had been derived. Now a fire burned brightly in a stone fireplace; candles lit the corners of the room. The two women sat on each side of the stone hearth, with fur lap-robes keeping their legs warm.

Gwenhyvaer was stitching the hem of a gown by the firelight. Watching her, Harriet decided that Gwenhyvaer was even younger than Harriet had first thought. Most likely, she was still in her late teens, which made her an adult in this culture.

“How many children do you have?” Gwenhwyvaer asked, glancing up from her sewing.

“Uh — none.” Because she and Hunter had not discussed that question, she was caught unprepared.

“No?” Gwenhwyvaer’s eyes widened in surprise.

Harriet shrugged, suppressing a smile. “No.”

“Oh, my. Did they … I mean, did they die young? Or you never had any?”

“I never had any.”

“That’s so sad. How does your husband feel about this? Doesn’t he want sons?”

“We no longer worry about it,” said Harriet. “It’s all right.”

“I hope I have children who grow up.” Gwenhyvaer smiled shyly. “My father says Artorius likes me.

He’s hoping to arrange for us to be married.”

Harriet smiled at her youthful embarrassment. “You must love him.”

She giggled. “Every woman I know does, I think. At least, the younger ones.”

“Has your father been with Artorius long?”

“Oh, yes. He’s been advising him on Roman cavalry tactics. My father is part Roman. He served in the legions in Gaul until about ten years ago. So did his father, before the legions left Britain. He was stationed up by Hadrian’s Wall, on the Pictish border.”

“I see. You come from a long line of soldiers.”

Gwenhwyvaer nodded soberly. “The men will be going on campaign soon. My grandfather died in a battle. I wish my father would stay home.”

“He still rides with Artorius, then?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But of course he needs my father. The Saxons keep coming and coming. Father says Artorius must ride out and fight them on their land, not wait for them to march here.”

Harriet stifled a yawn and glanced at the sleep pallet that servants had prepared for her. With the fire nearby, and using the fur lap-robe as a coverlet, she would be warm here tonight. For now, however,.

she would stay up talking as late as her hostess wished.

Looking at Gwenhwyvaer, Harriet thought to herself that this teenager could not possibly ever imagine the kind of role she would play in Arthurian legend, fictional though it would become — or across how many centuries she would be remembered, at least in some form.

Jane found the morning routine at the hut the same as the day before. Everyone at the hut ate breakfast and Emrys picked out which sheep he would drive to the village. The only difference, as Emrys drove the cart behind the small flock again, was that he did not take any more firewood. Jane guessed that his family had no more wood to spare. Without the need to load the cart, they left earlier than they had yesterday.

On the way, Jane watched the main gate of the tor ahead, to see the troop of riders again. This time, however, the riders did not leave before Emrys brought his small flock and the cart up to the gate. As they started up the steep, cobbled road to the village, Jane saw the riders gather around some sort of storage building and the paddock, saddling their horses and leading them toward the gate. She could not see Hunter and Steve in the crowd, so she assumed they were inside the building.

“I want to ask Emrys to stop,” Ishihara said suddenly to Wayne. “Do I have your permission?”

“Of course,” said Wayne.

Jane tensed.

Steve stood behind Hunter just inside the tack building, waiting in line to pick up their saddles and bridles. They had just finished a bland but plentiful breakfast of hot cereal; Hunter identified wheat and barley in it. Then they had walked down the slope, where Hunter had picked up his leather armor from the armorer and laced it on.

Steve’s arms and shoulders were sore from the unaccustomed exercise the previous day.

“Hunter, by the time this is over, I’ll be in great shape.” He grinned and moved up with the line. “Do you think we should stay with the troop even though MC 6 isn’t in it?” He lowered his voice. “Maybe we could try for duty in the village, to be nearer the palace.”

Hunter turned, looking over Steve’s head out the open door behind them.

“What is it?”

“Silence, please,” Hunter said quietly.

Steve waited patiently, though other men continued to talk around them. Horses snorted and their hooves clopped outside. Steve guessed that Hunter was attempting to sort out some other sound, but he had no idea what it could be.

“Come outside with me,” said Hunter. He left the line and moved back toward the door. The men behind him made room for him and Steve followed closely.

“What is it?” Steve asked quietly.

“I heard the footstep pattern of Wayne Nystrom nearby.”

“Yeah?” Suddenly excited, Steve hurried out the door after him. “Jane must be close.”

Hunter stopped abruptly. Steve did, too, when he saw Wayne simply walking right up to them with a smirk. He seemed to be alone.

“Where’s Jane?” Steve demanded.

“Don’t worry. You know Ishihara can’t allow any harm to come to her.”

“Yeah? He’s not here to protect you.” Angrily, Steve took a step toward him. Before he took a second step, however, he felt Hunter take his upper arm from behind and hold him firmly in place.

“Stop,” Hunter added calmly.

“Where is she?” Steve demanded again.

“Why have you approached us?” Hunter asked. “Do you have something to say?”

“I certainly do.” Wayne grinned. “Let’s negotiate a little.”

“On what basis?”

“I’ve been here a week. That’s given me time to start a routine here, to get settled. And to make a few friends. I’m not desperate here, as I was in Roman Germany.”

“You say you’ve been here a week,” said Steve. “Does that mean you sent Jane and Ishihara somewhere else?”

“No comment,” said Wayne, snickering. “But I remind you that Ishihara follows my instructions. I intend to hold Jane hostage in return for MC 6, if you should find him before I do. And he must be untouched and unexamined.”

“I understand your terms,” said Hunter.

“You can’t just accept that,” Steve said hotly, looking up at him.

“I cannot endanger Jane,” said Hunter. “You know that, of course.”

“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” said Wayne. “But I warn you not to follow me to find anyone.

If we have to jump through time to get away from you, I may not make an offer like this again.”

“Acknowledged,” said Hunter.

Wayne, still smiling triumphantly, turned and hurried away through the crowd of men and horses.

11

“GRAB HIM,” SAID Steve, pulling against Hunter’s unbreakable grip. “We can hold him as a hostage for Jane. You can call Ishihara and tell him. Ishihara can’t let either of them come to harm, so he’d have to give in.”

“I do not dare,” said Hunter. “I have no indication of where they are. Wayne may have left them in another time or in a place out of range of my signal. He may have left Ishihara with standing instructions or First Law interpretations that would cloud the First Law imperative to release Jane. Making an attempt could simply anger Wayne and cause him to withdraw his offer.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

“Maintaining negotiations will provide Wayne with an incentive to stay in contact with us. If Jane is nearby, we may eventually be able to track him back to her, or at least surmise her general vicinity.”

“Well …” Steve tried to think of another objection, but could not. “How about calling Ishihara anyway, and trying to get him to release her?”

“Have you forgotten? I have continued to call Ishihara at intervals ever since we arrived. He has not responded.”

“Oh, yeah. But we could just follow Wayne now and find out whatever we can.”

“I dare not. Besides, the troop is about to go out on maneuvers, remember?”

“We don’t have to stay.”

“Leaving so soon will complicate our ongoing presence here. We must maintain our place in the troop for now.” Hunter turned, drawing Steve with him. “We must get our saddles and bridles. Again, we will be among the last to ride out.”

“Yeah, all right.” Steve joined him at the end of the line again. “So you think Ishihara has Jane in some other time?”

Hunter released his arm. “That is not my first estimate. I acknowledge the possibility because it prevents me from acting too rashly, but I doubt the likelihood. Ishihara would probably insist on remaining in the company of both humans to protect them.”

“He wasn’t with Wayne right now,” said Steve. “And in the past, you’ve been willing to take a chance on one of your educated guesses.”

“I wish to prioritize caution at the moment. I believe Ishihara and Jane are probably fairly close. They may be in the village or out in the countryside, but I could not hear or see any sign of them. If we bide our time, I may pick up some clue to their location. Then we can act more aggressively.”

“But you’re still just guessing.”

“I am making a calculation of the odds.”

“Uh, right.”

Hunter said nothing for a moment. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice. “Harriet just called to say she is well. She remains with the women in the palace.”

“Good. That’s something in our favor.”

They picked up their saddles and bridles and carried them out to their mounts.

Jane sat in the back of the cart up in the village, near the palace doors. Emrys haggled over the sheep with the same man as the day before. From here inside the walls, she could not see the slope or exactly where Wayne had gone, but she could guess. Ishihara and Wayne had conferred in whispers before Wayne hopped out and Emrys drove up to the palace to sell his sheep.

She knew that Ishihara must have told Wayne something about the location of Hunter and Steve.

Because she had not seen or heard any sign of them, she supposed Ishihara’s enhanced hearing had brought him their voices in the distance. She had no real optimism that she could talk Ishihara into changing sides, but she decided to try raising some doubts again.

“The First Law was never intended for situations like this,” Jane said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Ishihara asked. “I have kept you from harm.”

“You’re keeping me prisoner. I would be safer with Hunter. You already know that. I say you are violating the First Law by holding me now that Hunter has arrived.”

“What form of harm are you suffering?”

“I’m being harmed simply by having to stay with you. It’s not my choice.”

“Wayne Nystrom will be harmed if his career is destroyed. I intend to balance his concerns with yours.

Neither of you will suffer direct physical harm.”

“Think about the intention of the First Law. Do you really believe that kidnapping was included?”

“To prevent a human from being harmed, it has been an option throughout the history of positronic robots. Otherwise, it would have been explicitly prohibited.”

“I say you are wrong, Ishihara. Think about it.” Jane spoke firmly but did not feel encouraged. Wayne had obviously given Ishihara some effective arguments of his own at some point and, after all, Wayne was also a roboticist.

Hunter found the maneuvers today to be a repeat of the day before. He put most of his effort into avoiding injuring his opponents. While he remained close to Steve, he observed that Steve learned very quickly and did not need specific help.

The day wore on uneventfully. Finally, late in the afternoon, Lucius ordered the troop back to the tor.

When the weapons, armor, tack, and horses had been put away, Hunter and Steve walked back up to the village.

Steve looked up at him, grinning. “The trouble with this stuff is, the more time I spend riding and fighting, the more tired I get. The more time you spend out in the sunlight, the more energy you draw from your converters. Imagine what an army of robots could do here.”

“We could not fight humans,” said Hunter. “We would be useless as an army.”

“I was just speculating. Think about it —”

“It makes me uncomfortable to consider it,” Hunter said abruptly.

“All right. Sorry.”

“Harriet called me again just now. She and one of the women she has met have gone for a walk in the village. We will look for them.”

“Okay.”

In the village, Hunter saw Harriet standing with a much younger woman by a stall that sold crockery.

Before he and Steve reached them, however, Bedwyr walked out of the crowd, munching on a piece of bread. Steve had introduced him to Hunter last night before they had returned to the camp.

“Well, Hunter, how do you like your training?” Bedwyr turned to Steve. “You have no broken bones, I see.”

“No, we are fine,” said Hunter.

“Come with us,” said Steve. “We’re going to speak to a friend. We’ll introduce you.”

Bedwyr fell into step with them.

“Harriet!” Steve called cheerfully.

Harriet turned and waved.

“That’s your friend?” Bedwyr’s eyebrows rose. “She’s with Gwenhyvaer.”

“Did you say ‘Guinevere’?” Steve asked in surprise.

“You say it oddly,” said Bedwyr. “If you know the name, though, you must have heard. Rumor says Artorius will make her queen.”

“She’s just a kid,” Steve muttered.

“She has her growth.” Bedwyr laughed. “Not too young to become a queen, eh?”

“You know her?”

“Only by sight.”

When they reached the stall, Harriet introduced Gwenhyvaer to Hunter and Steve. In turn, Steve introduced them both to Bedwyr. Gwenhyvaer nodded primly to them all and turned back to the crockery.

“We met Bedwyr in the village last night,” said Steve. “We drank together.”

“We won’t see many taverns on the campaign,” said Bedwyr, grinning.

“Are you from this area?” Harriet asked. “I wondered what it’s like. We’re from Linnuis.”

“Yes, my village is not far. Half a day’s ride. Life is good there. But we must send good men to ride with Artorius, or else the Saxons will have it all.”

“Would you tell me about your village? Really tell me, I mean.”

“As you wish, of course. I doubt it’s much different from your own.”

“Let’s sit down somewhere and visit,” said Steve. “What do you say, Hunter? After all that riding today, I’d like to relax.”

“You go on,” Gwenhyvaer said to Harriet. “After I browse some more, I’m going back to the palace.

I’ll remind the sentries to let you in.”

“All right.”

“I have no objection,” said Hunter.

Wayne encouraged Emrys to leave the village at midday, while Hunter and Steve remained on maneuvers with the troop. He did not know for sure if Hunter would cooperate with his demands or not.

However, he told Ishihara to keep a careful watch behind them as the cart left the tor, and Ishihara reported no sign that Hunter or Steve had followed them.

In the late afternoon, Emrys left the hut to hike back to his son, tending the main flock. Wayne waited until Jane used the outhouse and was out of hearing. Then he approached Ishihara and spoke quietly.

“Hunter almost certainly spotted us leaving the tor,” said Wayne. “He will know which direction we took. What do you think the chances are that he will risk trying to rescue Jane instead of catching MC 6

and trading him to me?”

“He has a great deal of room for interpretation of the First Law in this case,” said Ishihara. “However, I believe that my presence gives him the freedom to move slowly.”

“I think so, too. Without you, he would feel he had to rescue Jane right away because I can’t protect her effectively alone. You can.”

“Yes. Given that Hunter knows I must keep Jane from harm, he does not have to come for her immediately.”

“When I spoke to Hunter, I got the impression that he accepted my terms,” said Wayne. “He’ll consider trading MC 6 to me for Jane. But I have to ask if you’ll allow it. I don’t know of any interpretation of the First Law that will cause you to prevent this deal. Do you?”

“No. As long as I protect you and Jane until the time that she is released directly to Hunter’s care, I can cooperate with you in this.”

“Good.”

“I must offer another interpretation of Hunter’s moves, however.”

“What?”

“Hunter may not worry about Jane further, since he knows I must take care of her. He may just get MC

6 and forget about dealing with you for her.”

“You think he can do that under the First Law?” Wayne frowned, gazing out over the cool, gray sky in the distance over Cadbury Tor.

“Perhaps. I cannot be certain. However, since MC 6 is the only component robot remaining at large, Hunter knows you will have no further interest in Jane if he simply takes MC 6 back to our time.”

“You mean he’ll figure you and I will just return, too, and let Jane go.”

“He knows I cannot allow harm to come to Jane. That may free him to ignore your deal entirely.”

Wayne drew in a long, slow breath and let it out again. “I must proceed on the assumption that the First Law will pressure him to act more aggressively toward Jane. To that end, I may instruct you to remain here with Jane while I return to Cadbury. Will this be acceptable under your interpretation of the First Law?”

“I do not like separating from you. I must protect you, as well.”

“In the absence of a clear danger under the First Law, you should have no problem. Cadbury will be safe for me. Do you agree?”

“Yes.” Ishihara lowered his voice. “If you wish this to remain private, we must change the subject. Jane is coming back.”

Hunter sat down in a small tavern with Bedwyr, Harriet, and Steve. Harriet asked Bedwyr many detailed questions about life in his village; Hunter could hear the historian behind her questions. Steve listened politely, sipping from a goblet of mead, sprawled back in his seat comfortably.

A bell began to ring loudly, clearly, and rhythmically outside. Bedwyr promptly put his goblet down on the table and got up. Then he looked in surprise at the others, who had not moved.

The other patrons in the tavern, and the tavern-keeper, hurried out the door.

“It’s the village bell,” he said. “Aren’t you coming? Important news must have come.”

Steve started to get up.

“No,” said Hunter, gently placing a hand on Steve’s arm. “Please inform us of the news.”

“As you wish.” Bedwyr shrugged and hurried out of the tavern.

Outside, Hunter heard many feet from allover the village moving quickly up and down the streets.

“What’s wrong, Hunter?” Steve asked.

“The three of us have not had a chance to confer freely for some time,” said Hunter. “We can talk now and find out what the news is later.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” Steve set down his goblet.

“If MC 6 has not returned to full size, or if we cannot find any clue to his location, Steve and I may have to consider leaving the troop we have joined. If we do, I judge that we cannot expect to be welcome in the village any longer. Is this accurate?”

“Yes, if you just quit or disappear,” said Harriet thoughtfully. “No army tolerates deserters, though in this time, organization is not very formal. Quitting now probably would mean that you would simply not be welcome back. Deserting on campaign, however, is likely a hanging offense. But I wonder if you can arrange to be reassigned to garrison duty here in the tor.”

“Is that likely?” Hunter asked.

“No. New arrivals are not likely to be trusted. But I can ask Gwenhyvaer if she can help.”

“If we go out on campaign, we could be wasting valuable time,” said Hunter. “But suppose this is necessary. Will you be safe here?”

“Yes. Gwenhyvaer seems to like me. And if my husband has gone out to fight with Artorius, I will look better to everyone in the palace.”

“I asked a couple of sentries last night if they had seen anyone of MC 6’s description in the palace,” said Steve. “I guess if you’d heard anything like that, you would have said so already.”

“Yes, I would have.” Harriet shook her head. “MC 6 may not be in the palace, though. He could be working in the village during the day and either spending the night hidden away in the village or out in the countryside nearby.”

“He could still be microscopic,” said Hunter. “We are searching in a relatively small area with a modest population. If he had returned to full size and had remained in the village, we should have found someone who has seen him by now.”

“We haven’t offered a reward here, like we have before,” said Steve.

“I can do that,” said Harriet. “If I remain here to cover the village, then you can see if he appears with the riders at some point.”

“You seem very comfortable here,” said Hunter.

“Hunter, I might as well tell you something,” said Harriet slowly. “As I mentioned before, I do not believe in chaos theory at all. I’m willing to fulfill my commitment to you in finding MC 6, but then I want to stay in this time.”

“Forever?” Steve sat up in his chair, startled. “Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” Harriet smiled. “But I used to dream about living in this time — the focus of my professional research. And when Hunter told me about the mission to travel back in time, I knew I wanted to do it.”

“You accepted this job with the intention of staying here?” Hunter asked.

“Yes. I admit it. But I waited to make my final decision until after I had seen what my prospects would be. Since I have the advantage of hindsight, I can use it to improve my chances. For instance, I know before Gwenhyvaer and Artorius themselves that they will marry. I intend to position myself as a mentor and friend to her. After my husband disappears, maybe in battle against the Saxons, I will be an honored widow. I hope she will accept me as a personal servant.”

Hunter said nothing. On the second mission, which took the team to Jamaica in the seventeenth century to capture MC 2, he had hired a historian named Rita Chavez. Rita had decided to go out on her own only on impulse, after the team had arrived there. Her leaving the team had endangered the mission, but she had eventually changed her mind and returned to the team. Harriet remained willing to fulfill her duties, apparently, but she seemed to have made a much more calm and studied decision not to return to their own time.

“Have you really thought this through?” Steve demanded. “What kind of doctors do they have here?

What happens if you get sick, or get hurt?”

“Yes, I’ve thought it through. I’m not one to romanticize this era — if anything, I know it better than most people from our time.”

“Before we left, you said this was a time of social and political transition,” said Hunter. “The border between the Britons and the Saxons fluctuates. Why do you want to live in a time that is so unstable?”

“In terms of scholarly study, this time is unstable. Very little from these years will last for as long as another century, when the Saxons conquer and settle throughout all of what will become England. But for one middle-aged woman like me, life in a village far from the military front will be very routine, day in and day out.”

“What will you do when the Saxons come?” Steve frowned. “That time can’t be very routine.”

“Again, I’m using the advantage of historical hindsight. The efforts of Artorius and his men will hold off the Saxons for the rest of my lifetime. My presence won’t change that. Even under the worst circumstances, I’ll be gone before the Saxons reach this area.”

Hunter did not respond. The First Law required him to take Harriet back both for her own safety and because of his own belief in chaos theory. The harm to her in returning would be virtually nonexistent, yet in his opinion, the potential harm to the future if she stayed remained very large. If necessary, he would take her back under duress, and he did not want to tell her that; she might decide to run away, as Rita had. In any case, this matter would have to wait until the team was ready to leave this time again.

12

BEDWYR RAN BACK into the tavern, out of breath. Behind him, Hunter could see other people running through the street. Shouts came from allover the village.

“What is it?” Steve asked, looking up.

“A scouting patrol just came back from the Saxon border.” Bedwyr paused to catch his breath. “A new fleet of Saxons has crossed the Channel. With their brethren already in Britain, they are preparing to march soon.”

“What will Artorius do?” Hunter asked.

“He already came out to speak. That’s why the bell rang. He has issued orders for us to march tomorrow.”

“Most of his army is not here,” said Hunter.

“That’s right,” said Bedwyr. “His personal troop and Lucius’s green recruits are the only ones. But couriers are being sent to the countryside to tell all the veterans to meet us on our line of march.”

“Can they arrive in time?” Steve asked.

“Of course.” Bedwyr laughed. “Remember, we are all mounted. The Saxons march on their own sorry feet. We will gather long before we meet them.”

“When do we leave?” Hunter asked. “Tonight?”

“No, no. Attack is not imminent, only the need to open the campaign. The baggage train must be assembled and that work will go on late into the night. In the morning, we will ride.”

Hunter turned to Harriet. “Will you be welcome in the palace indefinitely? If not, we must find another place for you. We should begin now.”

“I’ll talk to Gwenhyvaer about it right away,” said Harriet, standing. “She must have heard the bell, too. I imagine the whole palace is buzzing.”

“What about us?” Steve asked Bedwyr. “Do we have to report to the camp right away?”

“Of course not!” Bedwyr laughed and sat down in his chair again. “Every man not on sentry duty will be coming to the taverns soon! It’s our last night of freedom! Now where’s that tavernkeeper — still out in the street?”

Jane knelt by the fire, setting out bowls on the hearth. Just as Ygerna began to ladle mutton stew into the bowls, hoofbeats sounded outside. Emrys and Ishihara went out into the twilight to see who was coming.

Wayne remained on a stool near the door, which was left ajar.

Ygerna paid no attention as she ladled out the stew. Jane feigned disinterest but listened carefully. A single horse cantered right up to the front of the hut.

“Does anyone here ride with Artorius?” An unfamiliar man’s voice called out.

“No,” said Emrys. “Why?”

“Artorius rides tomorrow! Spread the word to anyone who rides with him. The Saxons are marching!”

The hoofbeats cantered away.

Emrys came back inside. At the same moment, Wayne got up and slipped outside, blocking Ishihara from entering. He closed the door behind him.

“I sold my sheep just in time.” Emrys grinned. “Did you hear?”

“Artorius rides tomorrow,” said Ygerna. “That’s good. He will defeat the Saxons again this year.”

“The other shepherds will have to leave at dawn to drive their sheep to the tor,” said Emrys, coming to take a bowl of stew from Ygerna. “Even then, they may not arrive until after he has left. If they want to sell their sheep to him after that, they will have to chase the baggage train.”

Jane tensed, wondering what this would mean to her. If Hunter and Steve had to maintain the goodwill of those around them, she supposed they would have to go. She knew that Wayne was conferring with Ishihara at that moment about the same question. They would have to decide what to do and, in particular, what to do with her.

The central issue remained the same as before, the whereabouts of MC 6. If MC 6 went on campaign with Artorius, then Hunter and Steve would also go. Wayne could not possibly find out if MC 6 was going before tomorrow, but he might decide that if Hunter went, he should go.

Jane tried to figure out what Ishihara would do if Wayne decided to follow Artorius. In her judgment, Ishihara could neither let Wayne follow a troop of riders going to war alone, nor could he leave Jane here indefinitely. Therefore, Ishihara would have to take her, too.

She still did not know for sure if Hunter and Steve would go with Artorius or attempt something else.

Early the next morning, Steve sat by the campfire next to Hunter, eating a bowl of hot cereal. The night before, Hunter had told Steve that Harriet had called him to report that Gwenhyvaer would give her lodging for as long as her husband was gone on campaign. Now, everyone around them spoke excitedly of riding out today. As soon as each squad had finished breakfast, they put out their fire and hurried to the other side of the tor to prepare their horses.

When Cynric led his squad around the slope, Steve moved close to Hunter and spoke quietly.

“You want to take one more quick walk through the village? If MC 6 isn’t going with Artorius, either microscopically or at full size, we really are wasting our time.”

“I dare not,” said Hunter. “We must maintain our standing here.”

This time, as the riders lined up to get their tack and their weapons, teamsters hitched horses to wagons.

Baggage handlers loaded spare weapons and armor into some of them. Some teamsters drove empty wagons up to the village; others drove loaded wagons back.

“I see MC 6,” said Hunter softly, looking out over the slope from his place in line.

“What? Where?” Steve fought to remain calm. “Maybe we can get him before we leave.”

“He is riding in the back of the second wagon coming down the slope from the village.”

“Yeah, I guess I see him now. I couldn’t have recognized him for sure at this distance.” Steve hesitated.

“You’re sure that’s him?”

“Yes. When we see where the wagon goes, we can decide whether or not to approach it immediately.”

“You mean, we’ll just grab him right now?” Steve asked in surprise.

“We should move as soon as we can do so safely and successfully.”

“But what about Jane? We can’t grab MC 6 and just walk away from here to get her. If we don’t jump right back to our own time, we’ll have to go on campaign. And if that’s the case, I don’t think we should alert MC 6 to the fact that we’re after him.”

“We must take MC 6 immediately back to their own time, leave him securely in MC Governor’s office, and then come back for Jane.”

“What about Wayne’s threat?” Steve asked. “He can order Ishihara away from Jane, so she won’t be protected.”

“Our first responsibility remains returning MC 6 to our own time. Further, I do not believe that Wayne truly would endanger Jane. I judge him to be a man who would threaten this in the hope of influencing me under the First Law, but who would not carry out the threat.”

“I’m not so sure.”

The wagon in which MC 6 rode pulled up near the main gate of the outer rampart, behind some other loaded wagons.

“We’re moving to the front of the line,” said Steve. “Are we going to get our tack first, or just go now?”

“We should waste no more time,” said Hunter decisively. “Come.”

Hunter stepped out of the line and angled quickly across the slope, down toward the loaded wagons.

Most of the teamsters sat holding the reins, simply waiting, but a few of them stood on the ground, adjusting harnesses or ropes holding cargo.

“Can’t he tell somehow that you’re a robot?” Steve asked. “Didn’t we have to consider this on earlier missions, too? What did we do?”

“If he studies me with magnified vision or hearing, he will detect that I do not have human skin or a heartbeat. We must gamble that he will not bother, since he has no reason to expect another robot here in this century.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

Steve followed Hunter, keeping an eye on MC 6. The component robot sat in the rear of a wagon watching his surroundings alertly, but of course he had no idea that Hunter and Steve had come from their time to get him. He glanced at them casually and then looked past them, toward the paddock.

“Since he is not afraid of us, we can walk right up and speak to him,” said Hunter. “Give him a direct instruction to cooperate fully with us.”

“What do we do after we get him?” Steve asked. “We don’t want to vanish with him in front of these other people. What should I say?”

“Your second instruction must be to jump down out of the wagon and come around behind it with us.

we will hurry out the main gate. As soon as we turn the corner and stand out of sight, I will trigger the belt unit.”

“Got it.” Steve glanced at the gate, just on the other side of the wagon, and looked at MC 6 again.

“Ho! You there! What do you want?”

Steve stopped, startled. Hunter turned in surprise. A tall, burly man wearing a tanned leather tunic marched up to them. He scowled through a bushy brown beard.

“I say, what do you want here?”

“We must have a moment with this man,” Hunter said firmly, gesturing toward MC 6. “Who are you?”

“I am Gaius, the wagonmaster.” He glared suspiciously at Hunter. “What do you want with him? He doesn’t speak British or Latin. The only way we can communicate with him is through gestures.”

“We speak his language,” said Hunter.

Steve almost called out to MC 6 in English, to order him to cooperate. He thought better of it, realizing that they might not get a chance to take MC 6 away from the sight of the wagonmaster. In that event, he did not want to alert MC 6 to the fact that they had come from his time to take him back.

“And I asked, what do you want with him?” Before Hunter could answer, Gaius turned to MC 6. “You know these men?” He jerked a thumb toward Hunter.

MC 6 looked back and forth between them. He obviously did not understand the question. He shrugged lightly, shaking his head.

“You men get back to your horses,” said Gaius angrily. “Now. I have wagons to line up.” He moved to block Hunter’s path to MC 6.

Hunter turned and walked back up the slope. Steve hurried to keep alongside. At least they had not revealed their true intentions to MC 6.

Jane said nothing about Wayne’s plans the next morning. She helped Ygerna tend the fire, waiting to see what Wayne and Ishihara were going to do. They all ate breakfast, the same hot cereal as every other morning. Then Wayne and Ishihara stepped outside again, this time with Emrys.

The suspense for Jane finally ended when Ishihara came back inside alone.

“Emrys will drive us to the village again today,” Ishihara said to Jane. “Wayne instructed me to explain that we must search for an acquaintance there. Emrys expressed his gratitude again for my help in cutting the firewood and, by chance, causing him to drive his sheep to sell before his neighbors. So he will send his eldest son to tend the flock again and help us today, as well.”

Jane nodded. She did not want Ishihara or Wayne to know that she was glad to be going, too. On her way out of the hut, she gave Ygerna a quick smile and pat on the shoulder. Jane hoped to join Hunter somehow today, which would mean she would not be back, but of course she could hardly say so.

This time, Emrys did not have firewood to load or sheep to drive. Ygerna gave them some bread and cold cooked mutton to take with them, wrapped first in a clean cloth, then put into a heavier cloth bag.

Ishihara lifted Jane into the back of the empty cart, as before, and climbed in with her. Emrys waited for Wayne to join him in the front, then shook the reins and started out.

Today, other shepherds with their flocks clogged the road to the tor. Most of them walked, with a dog or two to drive the sheep. A few others also drove mule carts, carrying either butchered carcasses or, in some cases, an entire family going for an outing.

Emrys, the only shepherd without sheep or a full cart, drove a little faster. With a big grin, he waved to some of his friends as he drew near, calling out greetings occasionally. He drove off the road to pass them and their flocks, taking the cart over the sod on one side or the other.

Jane watched the tor closely, hoping to arrive before the riders left the tor. Today, however, they did not make it. The troop rode out well ahead of their arrival. Instead of breaking formation to begin maneuvers, however, the troop rode straight out along a different road, one that angled eastward across the rolling hills.

When she saw they were leaving, she tensed, hoping to spot whether Hunter and Steve rode with them.

She did not see either of them, though she realized they might be lost in the crowd of riders. However, she decided that even if she spotted Hunt er by his height, she could not risk trying to attract his attention from this distance. Hunter might not hear her and Wayne would get angry at the attempt. She wanted to reserve her efforts for a move that would work.

13

ISHIHARA SAW HUNTER’S head and shoulders towering above his companions, as he rode with the troop away from the tor, well ahead of Emrys’s cart. Since Wayne had told him not to alert Jane unnecessarily to new information regarding Hunter, Ishihara merely leaned forward between Emrys and Wayne and pointed with one finger toward the riders. Wayne nodded.

After the riders had passed from the main gate, Ishihara watched a long train of wagons follow the riders out of the tor and up the road to the east. Over twenty men and women trudged behind it, failing to keep up. For a while, Ishihara, Wayne, and Emrys continued to ride in silence. As the cart reached the main gate of the tor, after the baggage train had moved far up the road, Wayne leaned close to Ishihara.

“Who are those people walking behind the wagons?” Wayne asked.

“I believe they are called camp followers. The women are following the soldiers and the men are scavengers, hoping to loot the dead after a battle. As the army marches, more of them will probably see it and follow, too.”

“Do you agree that we have to follow them all, too?” Wayne whispered. The sound of the mule’s hooves helped camouflage his voice from Jane in the back of the cart.

“Yes,” Ishihara whispered back. “I judge that Hunter and Steve would not go on this campaign unless they knew that MC 6 was also going.”

“How can we arrange to go, too?”

Ishihara turned to Emrys.

“We must ask you for help once again.”

“What is it?”

“We would like to borrow your wagon,” said Ishihara. “For a few days, at least. Maybe more.”

“What do you want with it?”

“We must follow a couple of friends who have left with Artorius.”

“You want to follow Artorius on campaign? That will take more than a few days. He could be gone until the leaves turn in autumn.”

Wayne could not understand British, so he looked back and forth between them for a clue to Emrys’s answer.

“I can guarantee we will bring it back as soon as possible,” said Ishihara.

“But I may need it before you return.” Emrys shook his head. “You have done me several kindnesses, but I will need my cart. Maybe we can find another way for you and your friends to follow Artorius.”

“What do you mean?” Ishihara asked.

“Well, I could drive you to the baggage train. They always need men to work on the wagons during a campaign. During the summer, some may go too close to the battle and get killed; others run away to find something else.”

“What did he say?” Wayne asked.

Ishihara switched to English. “He won’t let us borrow his wagon. Instead, he suggested that he take us to the baggage train and we can earn our keep.”

“If Hunter saw us, we’d be helpless. He would take Jane and me.”

“I cannot allow it, anyway. The danger to Jane is too great in that sort of company.”

“Yeah.”

Ishihara changed languages again. “We dare not take Jane to the baggage train. We need to find our own wagon or mounts to ride.”

“I understand,” said Emrys. “And you want to be able to return on your own, as well, without having to walk.”

“Yes.”

Emrys looked across the slope. Then, without a word, he shook the reins and drove the cart at an angle up the tor. They left the road leading up to the village.

Ishihara saw the paddock and two other buildings ahead of them. Only two animals remained in the pen and he supposed they had been left behind because they were not suitable to ride. He did not see any small carts similar to Emrys’s.

As Emrys drew up in front of the paddock, a short, stocky man wearing a ragged leather tunic walked on a wooden crutch under his left arm from one of the buildings.

“If you want to sell something, you’re too late,” said the man with the crutch. “You’ll have to catch up to the baggage train.”

“No, no. We wish to buy,” said Emrys. “Are you the master of horse?”

“Of course not.” The man scowled. “The master of horse has gone with Artorius. So has the armorer. I am Antonius.” He hesitated. “What do you want to buy?”

“A couple of horses,” said Ishihara.

“The price of a good horse goes up this time of year,” said Antonius.

“Nonsense,” said Emrys. “Every good horse has already been taken. You have none at all.”

“Then what do you want here?”

“I will dicker with the man who can sell,” said Emrys. “If you are not the master of horse, who makes the decisions here now?”

“Well, until Artorius returns, I do.”

“We want two or three mounts to ride on the road.”

“Just to travel? Not to join the cavalry or to pull a wagon?”

“No.”

“All right. Come and look.”

Emrys and Ishihara got down and followed Antonius into the paddock. Wayne hopped down and watched but did not bother to enter the pen. Jane stayed where she was.

Antonius led Emrys and Ishihara to a pair of small, brown mules standing quietly. Ishihara noticed their long ears and white noses. Both animals placidly watched them approach.

Emrys looked over the mules carefully. He patted them and stroked their legs and necks as he walked around them. Then he examined their teeth.

Finally, Emrys took some coins out of a pouch and held them out to Antonius.

The other man leaned on his crutch and frowned, shaking his head.

Without speaking, Emrys took out one more coin and held it out.

Antonius shook his head again.

“That is all he is worth,” said Emrys.

Antonius said nothing.

Emrys dropped the coins back into his pouch and walked away. Ishihara followed him. Just as they reached the gate of the paddock, Antonius began hustling after them awkwardly on his crutch.

“All right,” Antonius called. “He is yours.”

Emrys turned and spilled the coins carefully into his palm again. He dropped them into Antonius’s outstretched hand. Then Antonius walked back to the storage building and came out with an old bridle and a long rope. In the paddock again, he tossed them to Emrys, who slipped the bridle on one of the mules and tied the rope to rings on the bridle to use as reins. Then he led the mule out of the paddock.

“I ask only that you return it to me when you come back,” said Emrys, holding the reins out to Ishihara.

“That might not be possible,” said Ishihara, without accepting the reins. “If we have to act quickly, returning it could endanger me.”

“I know the campaign could be dangerous. Please take care of yourselves.” Emrys placed the reins in Ishihara’s hands. “You are … unusual friends.”

“Thank you. We shall bring the mule back if we are able.” Ishihara turned” and related this to Wayne, knowing that Jane could overhear him.

“All right, but it’s only one mule for three of us,” said Jane.

“What else can we do?” Ishihara asked.

“Nothing,” said Wayne. “We have no money.”

“What’s wrong with this mule?” Jane demanded.

“What do you mean?” Wayne asked.

“Why didn’t they take him to ride? Or for the baggage train? Is he old or something?”

“Antonius explained,” said Ishihara. “This mule is young and healthy but too small to put in harness. The warriors disdain riding a mule into battle and they have enough food, so no one would want to eat it.”

“I have another suspicion, too,” Wayne added, lowering his voice.

“What?” Jane asked, concerned. “Something bad about the mule?”

“No, nothing like that.” Wayne shook his head. “Since Antonius is in charge here for now, I think he’s going to pocket the coins Emrys paid him. So if he sells a cavalry mule and keeps all the profit, he’ll be happy enough.”

“I am sure that Emrys cannot buy another,” said Ishihara. “However, you and Wayne can ride this one together, bareback. He will tire more quickly than a horse carrying one rider, but the teams pulling the baggage train will tire quickly, too. We should be able to catch up tonight after they stop to make camp.”

Jane nodded. “And you’ll jog along beside us.”

“Yes.”

Jane climbed out of the cart. Emrys handed her the bag of bread and mutton. She accepted it.

“Thank you, Emrys,” Jane said, in Latin. “Farewell.”

Emrys understood her meaning, if not the words, and nodded politely.

“This won’t last us very long,” said Jane, turning to Ishihara. “What else are we going to eat on the way?

This might last us two small meals, but tomorrow morning, we’ll be on the road somewhere.”

“If necessary, we can always use the belt unit to jump to another time and place for food,” said Wayne.

“But if we’re lucky, we’ll find MC 6 tonight, get him to come with us, and be done with the whole mess.”

“All right,” said Jane reluctantly. “I know you don’t want to starve, either. But now that I think about it, what about getting through the night? If you don’t get MC 6 to follow you tonight, we’ll freeze out on the road without some kind of bedrolls.”

“We must find blankets in the village,” said Ishihara. “However, without money to buy them, we can only ask for Emrys to help again. I do not know how much more he will be willing and able to help.”

“Maybe he can afford old ones, “said Jane. “Their condition won’t matter, as long as they don’t have bugs or anything. Please ask him.”

Ishihara turned to Emrys again. “Can we buy old, inexpensive blankets in the village? We can return them, too, with the mule.”

“Of course,” said Emrys. “I know which booth to visit. I can help with that. You will need a small pot in which to heat water, too.”

“We will go to the village,” said Ishihara. “Then, if our search for blankets succeeds, we will hurry on our way up the road.”

Steve enjoyed riding out with Artorius’s cavalry, in a column of four abreast. He rode on the far right of his rank, with Hunter on his immediate left and Cynric on Hunter’s other side. Another member of their squad rode on the far left, with the remainder in the ranks behind them.

All of Lucius’s troop of green recruits rode in the rear. No dust roiled up, however, because of the dampness in the earth. Overhead, gray clouds drifted across the sky.

Around him, Steve could see the excitement in the young faces of the other riders. The thought of going to war against the hated Saxons dominated their attention. None of them spoke now.

Up ahead, as the column drew away from Cadbury, the squads in the van cantered ahead of the rest.

When the vanguard had opened some distance, the entire column was ordered to canter. Steve understood and kicked his mount; Artorius, already a veteran leader, wanted his men to vent their tension.

When the column slowed to a walk again, Steve could see the difference. The riders around him relaxed, breathless, and began talking and laughing among themselves. Under the hooves of the horses ahead, the soft road quickly turned to muddy slop, but no one cared. The road wound east and sometimes northeast around rolling hills covered with lush green grass; clumps of trees lined the hollows among the hills.

“I hear word from up ahead,” said Hunter. “A rumor of our destination is slowly passing back through the column, from one man to another.”

“Well, what is it? Where are we going?”

“To the River Dubglas in Linnuis,” said Hunter. He lowered his voice and leaned toward Steve, switching to English.” According to the library data I took before we left, that is the Douglas River in modern Lincolnshire.”

“River Dubglas, you say?” Cynric, riding on the far side of Hunter from Steve, nodded. “That sounds right.”

“So I heard,” said Hunter.

“We fought them by the banks of that river late last season,” said Cynric. “If we hope to drive them back this summer, we’ll have to attack their territory. Last year’s campaign penned them on the far side of the river, but I suppose they look to cross it again, with their reinforcements from across the Channel.”

His face tightened as he considered this.

“How long will we take to reach River Dubglas?” Hunter asked.

“If we ride without a break to the same site as last year’s battle, three days. Our scouts will ride back with word as we draw closer, though, to tell Artorius exactly where on the river to go. We might spend some time moving up and down the bank. Artorius will make his final plans according to how many of our veterans join us quickly.”

“You feel he may order us to wait and gather his troops before moving into battle?” Hunter asked.

“Anything is possible. We will find out his plans when we are close enough for our scouts to bring fresh information.”

Steve understood the real questions in Hunter’s mind, behind his spoken words. Hunter wanted to take Steve away from the column before any battle began. Ideally, they would find MC 6 and simply return together to their own time before the fighting started. Now Hunter could estimate that they had a minimum of three days before Artorius could reach the Saxons.

14

WAYNE AND JANE rode the mule. He held the reins while Jane sat behind him with her arms around his waist. Even at a walk, the mule’s long legs moved faster than a human’s legs would walk.

Ishihara had to stride quickly to keep up. He moved at a pace that no human could maintain for long, but of course had no trouble with it himself. Because the road had been churned to a deep muddy soup by the horses ahead, Wayne rode through the long grass by the side of the road.

Inlate morning, they caught up to the camp followers hiking after the riders. Ishihara led Wayne on a long detour around the camp followers, far enough to avoid conversation. Then they moved back to the side of the road again.

At midday, Wayne stopped for a break. He and Jane ate part of their bread and mutton in silence. Then they mounted again and continued on their journey.

Late in the afternoon, Ishihara suddenly trotted about twenty meters ahead of the mule, then stopped. As Wayne caught up to him, Ishihara raised a hand for him to halt. Wayne saw that Ishihara was listening to something.

“They have stopped to make camp,” Ishihara said finally. “The noises are faint, but we will come within sight of the camp soon. We must decide how to proceed now, before anyone in the camp sees us.”

“Well … I don’t know exactly what to do,” said Wayne. “What do you suggest?”

Ishihara looked up the road, which still wound through rolling hills ahead. “That long line of trees suggests a river or at least a stream that provides water for Artorius’s camp. We will need water, too, so we might as well go close enough to see what the camp looks like.”

“Yeah. Maybe we can see MC 6 from a distance.” Wayne kicked the mule forward.

As Wayne passed, Ishihara looked behind him, at Jane. “You are still well?”

“Yeah,” Jane muttered.

The troops halted to make camp by a small stream. Hunter saw new scouting patrols ride out, crossing the stream. He understood that by stopping with plenty of daylight left, the main column allowed the baggage train time to catch up before darkness fell.

The squads split up and fanned out from the road. The riders tended their horses first, unsaddling them and hobbling them to graze. Then the men were ordered to gather firewood to make separate campfires for the night.

“There’s dead wood among those live trees, all over the place,” said Steve, glancing at the trees lining the stream. “We don’t need everybody to gather it.”

“Every man does his share,” growled Cynric. “Come on, you two.”

“Hold it,” called Bedwyr, with a big grin. He walked briskly among the other men and horses toward them. “I have business here, Cynric. How did my green friends fare on their first day of march?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Hunter.

“You told me you lead a scouting patrol,” said Steve. “Do you have any news? We heard a rumor about going to River Dubglas.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Bedwyr. “But none of the patrols today have made contact with the Saxons.

Fresh patrols rode out a few minutes ago, but we’re still a long way from Linnuis.”

Steve nodded.

“I have a serious reason to speak with you,” said Bedwyr. “Artorius is worried about having so many green recruits and so few veterans. The rest of our veterans should join us during the next day or so, but he wants to mix some quick-witted new recruits with his veterans to give them some experience. I want you two to join my patrol.”

“Really?” Steve grinned but glanced uncertainly at Hunter. “That sounds exciting.”

“It can be,” said Bedwyr.

Hunter considered the offer quickly. On the face of it, scouting could be more dangerous to Steve than riding in the body of the army, since the patrols would make the first contact with the enemy. They could even be ambushed. However, Hunter also had to prepare for them both to leave the area before any fighting began, ideally without witnesses. Slipping away from the rest of the patrol momentarily would be much easier than leaving the main column. He knew that scouts occasionally were killed and never accounted for on campaigns of this sort, so no one would question their disappearance. In fact, when he and Steve had to return for Jane, they might claim simply to have lost their way or to have been caught behind the enemy lines for a short time.

“We accept,” said Hunter.

“Ah! I’m glad. We’ll do well together. Get your gear and your horses.”

Cynric sighed loudly. “All right.” He jerked a thumb toward Hunter. “His weight is rough on a horse, but he’s good with both his horse and his weapons.” He glanced at Steve and Hunter. “Watch yourselves out front, there.” Then he trudged after the men going to gather firewood.

Steve looked toward the rear, where the baggage train had rolled into view down the muddy road.

“Bedwyr, would you help us with a personal matter? After we move our horses and belongings up to join your patrol?”

“What is it?”

“We, uh, have to confront a man in the baggage train. We don’t want him to get away, and the wagonmaster stopped us from seeing him before we left.”

“The same man you were looking for in the palace, when we met?”

“Maybe. He … owes us a little money.” Steve grinned. “We want it back.”

Bedwyr laughed. “You told me before he did not owe you any money.”

Steve had forgotten what he had told Bedwyr before, and now had to explain the discrepancy. “Well, you and I had just met. I, uh …”

“You wanted to be careful until you learned what kind of friend I might be.” Bedwyr chuckled. “Of course I understand. And on this matter of finding your friend, I will be glad to help you. But what do you want me for?”

“Maybe you will know some of the men. We won’t be total strangers.”

“Yes, that would be good. I will go with you. And I know Gaius, the wagonmaster. But first they will have to catch up and break formation to make camp.”

“I promise we will commit no violence,” said Hunter. “We only wish to speak to him, preferably alone.

We need just a moment.”

By the time Hunter and Steve led their mounts to the place where Bedwyr’s patrol had stopped, the baggage train had halted behind the main column. Bedwyr introduced Hunter and Steve to their new companions in the patrol. Then they walked back through the camp to the baggage train..

The men in the wagon crews jumped off to unload. Hunter spotted MC 6 just as he hopped from the wagon; when he reached the ground, he was hidden by other wagons. Teamsters began unhitching the teams.

“I saw him for a moment.” Hunter pointed in the direction of MC 6.

“Good,” said Steve.

Bedwyr moved up to lead the way.

“Hey, you there! Halt.” Gaius blocked Bedwyr’s path. “What do you want here, Bedwyr? Shouldn’t you be out looking for Saxons?”

“Easy, Gaius.” Bedwyr smiled pleasantly. “My friends and I have business with one of your men. It won’t take long.” He started to Walk around the other man.

Gaius stepped sideways to block his way. “I remember them from this morning. Get back to your places, all of you. We have work to do.”

“We have no wish to disturb anyone,” said Hunter. “Our business will take only a moment.”

“Not while we’re making camp, it won’t.” Gaius glanced west, up at the sun. “We barely have the daylight we need now. Go on!”

Some other men had come up behind Gaius.

“Easy, friend,” said Bedwyr, still smiling. “No one will interfere with your work. We only want a quick word with one man.”

“Get out!” Gaius shouted, pointing back the way they had come.

Hunter considered forcing his way past the wagonmaster and taking MC 6 by brute strength. Bedwyr might not join him, but Steve would. However, even if they were successful, that move would force Hunter to flee back with Steve and MC 6 to their own time in front of many witnesses, risking a significant change in the tales they would tell. Obviously, Steve and the men of this time might be unnecessarily injured in the altercation. In addition, Hunter had to consider that the sheer number of men in front of him might prevent him from pushing his way through, since he would not display more than human strength to them. He might simply create bad feeling without apprehending MC 6. Hunter decided to postpone their approach to MC 6 again.

“Never mind, Bedwyr,” Hunter said quietly. He turned, followed by Steve and Bedwyr.

“He’s really a good man,” said Bedwyr, as they walked. “Too many of the warriors treat his men arrogantly, as though being a fighter is more important. Gaius knows this isn’t true and is very protective of them.”

“I have to admit, I kind of like him,” said Steve. “He’s direct and businesslike.”

“Perhaps we can approach our friend again later,” said Hunter. “When the wagon crews have finished their work. Bedwyr, what do you think?”

“Not tonight. Gaius doesn’t like being pushed. Maybe I can think of a favor to do for him.”

“What kind of favor?” Steve asked.

“Well, if we chanced across a nice deer, for instance, on our patrol tomorrow, or a few good game birds, we might share our luck with him. In turn, he would share it with his men, and owe us a favor in return.”

“I understand,” said” Hunter.

“For now, let’s get back up to the patrol,” said Bedwyr. “I’m ready for dinner.”

Jane stood next to the mule in a small clump of trees. Wayne, on the ground next to her, held its reins.

with Ishihara, they watched the wagons of the baggage train from a distance. They could see Hunter’s head and shoulders over a crowd of men in front of the wagons;

“I can’t hear them,” said Wayne. “What are they saying to each other?”

“Hunter and Steve claim they want to get some money from a man working in the baggage train,” said Ishihara. “I surmise that this is MC 6. They have a local man named Bedwyr helping them.”

Jane kept looking, but she could still only see Hunter’s head and shoulders from this distance. Steve remained lost in the crowd. Like Wayne, she could not make out the conversation, though she heard a low rumble of voices.

“You mean they’re about to get him already?” Wayne’s shoulders sagged.

“No. The wagonmaster, Gaius, has refused to let them pass. He does not want anyone interfering with his wagon crews while they are making camp.”

“Hunter’s turning around,” said Wayne. “Is he just giving up?”

“For the moment, he has agreed to leave. However, this provides us with information. I have not spotted MC 6 yet, but now we know where to look for him.”

“Let’s go,” said Wayne. “Quick, before Hunter sneaks back somehow. He won’t give up for long.

Maybe we can just run in and get MC 6 right away.”

“I do not recommend it,” said Ishihara. “In fact, I strongly suggest that we do nothing at the moment.”

“Why?” Wayne demanded. “We know where he is, and he’s not very far away.”

“Gaius was adamant about not allowing anyone to disturb his crews. Some of his men stood behind him, and from their posture I believe they were ready to fight if necessary. They are likely to remain angry.”

“Oh.” Wayne sighed, still looking at the men around the wagons. “I see what you mean. I hate waiting, but if we can’t get to him anyway, then we should lie low. We don’t want to alert Hunter or MC 6 to our presence.”

“In the meantime, we should find a comfortable place under the trees to spend the night.” Ishihara turned and looked down the road the way they had come. “The camp followers have not caught up yet, but they will. When they are nearby, we must avoid direct contact with them, but their campfires will camouflage our own. Hunter and Steve will have no reason to think we are here.”

Jane said nothing. However, the renewed possibility of escaping Wayne and Ishihara gave her a surge of excitement. Later tonight, she would try to get away. For now, lying low suited her just fine.

15

HARRIET SPENT THE evening at Gwenhyvaer’s side. After dinner, they joined the other women by a large fireplace in the main hall drinking mead. The palace seemed empty without the men who had gone with Artorius. Only the boys and the elderly men remained. In the tor around them, a skeletal garrison still guarded the walls, but their real protector had ridden out to meet the enemy in his own land.

The other women talked about the Saxons and how long the men would be gone. Harriet noticed that none talked about which ones would not come home. As the fire burned down, the discussion grew quieter, however. Then, one by one, the other women retired for the night to be alone with their thoughts.

“Are you sleepy?” Harriet asked, when she and Gwenhyvaer were left alone in front of the fire.

“A little.” Gwenhyvaer shrugged. “But I’m wide awake, too.” She gazed into the dwindling flames.

“Shall I put more wood on the fire?”

“No.”

Harriet waited in silence, watching her.

“If Artorius doesn’t come back, I will be nobody,” said Gwenhyvaer quietly.

Harriet wanted to reassure her, to tell her that Artorius would return, but did not dare. A single comforting word might pass as normal, but if Harriet remained in this time for the rest of her life, she would have to learn to keep quiet. The alternative could be gaining, over time, a reputation for knowing the future.

In a superstitious society, knowing the future could make her either a respected wise woman or an evil sorceress, but she would have no control over which one. She would five most comfortably by blending into society, not by standing out. Besides, despite her disbelief in chaos theory, she knew that she really could change the future if she eventually altered the behavior of enough important people.

“If Artorius falls, we are all in trouble,” Harriet said carefully. “But he knows his enemy.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Gwenhyvaer brightened a little. “He’s been fighting the Saxons for a long time.”

Harriet thought again of how young Gwenhyvaer seemed. She reminded herself once more that Gwenhyvaer was a grown woman in this society and almost past her prime marriage years. For that reason, Gwenhyvaer had good reason to be concerned about her future with Artorius.

A woman’s position in this society depended largely on the prestige of her father and her husband. Even worse, the status of men in this time was fluid and uncertain, leaving any particular woman with few good choices. The wealth and social strata of Roman society were gone and the social system of medieval England lay many centuries in the future. Gwenhyvaer knew that if she did not marry well before long, she might have to choose between spending her life as a glorified servant in the palace or marrying a man who rode with Artorius in summer and tended sheep the rest of the year.

“Did your husband ever fight in a war before?” Gwenhyvaer asked. “Did you worry about him all the time?”

“He never fought in a war,” said Harriet.

“Really? He’s so big. He would make a good warrior. Why didn’t he?”.

Harriet suppressed a smile, thinking of the First Law. She also realized she would have to embellish the story of her life with Hunter a little in order to answer. “When the Saxons drove us out of Linnuis, on the coast, we had no army left in the area to join. And if he had gone to find Artorius farther inland, I would have been abandoned.”

“I see,” said Gwenhyvaer. “That’s when he took you with him to Gaul.”

“That’s right.”

“I hope I get married soon.” Gwenhyvaer turned from the fire to Harriet. “Did you get married young?”

“Well … yes.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m forty.”

Gwenhyvaer straightened in surprise, her eyes wide. “What? Are you joking with me?”

“No. I’m not joking.” Harriet smiled at her surprise, knowing that the average life expectancy here was in the early forties, due to the stresses of physical labor, limited diet, and the lack of medical knowledge and dental care. “I’m forty years old.”

“But … you have all your teeth.” Gwenhyvaer looked at her mouth again, making sure.

Harriet laughed lightly. “Yes, I do.” She shrugged. “I’ve been fortunate.”

“But you just don’t look that old. I thought you were … oh, I don’t know.” Gwenhyvaer stared at her face.

Harriet knew that a few individuals lived into their sixties and seventies even in this century, but Gwenhyvaer had good reason to be shocked. Most of the women Harriet’s age in this time did look much older. The women she resembled most were closer to thirty.

“Can you … I mean, when I get older, can you help me look that way?”

“I don’t have any secrets. If I did, I would be glad to share them. But I don’t.”

Gwenhyvaer nodded slowly and turned to gaze into the fire again.

Long after dark, Jane lay under the stars wrapped up in her blanket. She knew from Wayne’s slow, rhythmic breathing that he had fallen asleep. Of course, Ishihara remained alert. She hoped that because she had made no move to escape, he had not focused his attention on her.

She knew that if she prepared herself to make a move, perhaps by taking several deep breaths and shifting her position, Ishihara would hear the difference. That would cost her any element of surprise. Her best chance was to move impulsively, so she did.

All at once, she flung off the blankets, scrambled up, and ran in the faint moonlight toward the camp.

“Hunter!’ She screamed as loud as she could. “It’s Jane! Hunter! Here!”

Footsteps, certainly Ishihara’s, sounded behind her, gaining fast.

“Hunter!”

“Hey! Get her!” Wayne yelled sleepily.

Before she could shout again, she stumbled on the uneven sod, losing speed. Ishihara’s footsteps come right up behind her and she felt a firm hand grasp her arm.

Ahead of her in the camp, startled voices spoke in puzzled tones, probably sentries.

In another moment, Ishihara slipped one arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground. He moved his other hand from her arm to cover her mouth with his hand. Jane squirmed, trying to shout for Hunter again.

“I know I am not harming you,” Ishihara said quietly. “I can feel on my hand that you are breathing sufficiently through your nose.”

Jane decided to save her strength and quit fighting. Hunter should have heard her. Now she could only wait.

Hunter was lying on the ground pretending to sleep when he heard Jane’s first shout. He recognized her voice even before she identified herself. Instantly he rose and ran through the camp toward the sound, leaving Steve asleep; he did not want to endanger Steve by having him follow. By altering his vision to maximum light receptivity, he saw clearly enough in the moonlight to avoid stumbling over sleeping men or gear.

“You there! Stop!” A man standing on the edge of the camp to Hunter’s left shouted, holding up a spear. “Stop, I say! Now!”

Hunter angled his run away from the man, hoping to elude him. However, the man who had shouted began running toward him, as did other sentries on Hunter’s right. He changed his angle again, still running toward Jane’s voice. Having the sentries follow him might actually help him rescue her.

“Halt! What’s wrong with you? Stop!”

Up ahead, Hunter heard hoofbeats canter away. Even at his best robotic running speed, he doubted he could catch the mount. Still, he would normally have tracked the animal through the darkness on the assumption that it carried Jane and probably Wayne.

However, he could not reveal his true running ability to the sentries chasing him. For now, he would have to give up the chase. He came to a halt and turned to face them.

The first sentry ran up to him holding his spear forward. “When I order you to halt, you halt! What is your business out here?”

Five other sentries jogged up behind him, three from one side and two from another. They surrounded Hunter. No one else spoke.

“You must have heard the woman shouting,” Hunter said calmly. “I came to help.”

“You know her?”

Hunter decided that admitting he knew Jane could endanger her. He did not want the sentries to pay any independent attention to her if they came across her later. “No. I just came to help.”

“She’s just some camp follower quarreling with a scavenger,” said the sentry. “That’s their own business, not ours. Stay out of it.”

“He’s been a troublemaker all day,” growled another man. “I remember him by his height. He almost started a brawl by the wagons this afternoon.”

“Is he the one? I heard about that,” said the first sentry. He lowered his spear point toward Hunter’s abdomen, but did not advance. “The Saxons will give you all the fight you want. We have no rule against chasing a camp follower in the middle of the night, but you’ll need your rest. Go on back to your squad and I’ll forget about it.”

Hunter knew that Ishihara still had to be protecting Jane; in fact, he had probably forced her to stop yelling for help. That took away the immediate First Law imperative for Hunter. He nodded to the sentry and began walking through the moonlight back into the camp with the sentries.

The incident had not been a waste. Now he knew that Jane, with Ishihara and presumably Wayne, was with the army. He would have other chances to reach her.

Ishihara jogged through the moonlight away from the camp, carrying Jane by the waist under one arm.

He still held one hand over her mouth to stop her from shouting again. Next to him, Wayne rode the mule at a canter.

By the time Ishihara had run back to their campsite carrying Jane, Wayne had already slipped the bridle on the mule and rolled up the blankets he and Jane used. As soon as he had seen Ishihara coming back with Jane, he had mounted up and kicked the mule into a canter, letting Ishihara take the lead.

Now Ishihara, with his hearing turned up to maximum, could hear Hunter giving explanations to the sentries behind them. Because their voices were stationary, Ishihara knew the pursuit had ended for now.

Still, he continued to jog parallel to the river, staying just far enough from the trees for Wayne to ride safely without hitting branches in the darkness.

When Ishihara heard one of the sentries discount Jane’s call for help as a dispute among camp followers, he knew the sentries were not concerned. After a while, he stopped, signaling for Wayne to rein in. At this distance, he would hear Hunter’s footsteps approaching alone if Hunter made another attempt to come close tonight.

Ishihara set Jane on her feet and released her. “Are you well?”

“Not as well as I could be,” she said angrily. “I’m real tired of all this. The idea that you aren’t harming me is insane.”

“I disagree,” said Ishihara.

“We have to gag her,” said Wayne. “Or else she’ll yell again and give away our position.”

“The First Law will not allow that,” Jane declared firmly. “It will hurt me and interfere with my breathing.

If you don’t tie my hands, I’ll pull it off. And if you tie me, I might suffocate.”

“She’s playing games with you,” said Wayne. “A careful gag won’t kill her.”

“I agree with her,” said Ishihara. “I cannot allow her to be gagged and tied. We will have to stay far enough from the column so that I can clearly hear anyone or two sets of footsteps or hoofbeats approaching us long before they come close. If necessary, we will maintain enough distance so that even Hunter cannot hear her shout again.”

“We’ll be too far to get MC 6, in that case,” said Wayne. “So what’s the point of following him at all?

Are you telling me just to give up?”

“We are far enough for both of you to get some rest,” said Ishihara. “During the night, I will remain alert for further pursuit and I will consider our options.”

Steve felt himself shaken awake early in the morning. When he looked up, Bedwyr grinned and handed him a chunk of cold, cooked mutton and a piece of bread. The earliest light of dawn broke as a yellow haze through the gray clouds, angling among the trees along the river.

“It has to last you all day,” said Bedwyr. “Eat it at your leisure, but we won’t have any more till we return to the new camp tonight.” He also gave Steve a small water skin on a leather strap.

While the rest of the camp rose slowly and built up their campfires, Bedwyr roused his scouting patrol to eat their cold breakfast while saddling and bridling their horses and mounting. Only a few minutes after waking, Steve found himself riding out with Hunter, following the other ten men in the patrol.

When everyone else was out of hearing, Hunter quietly told Steve that he had heard Jane call him for help the night before. Hunter related how the sentries had stopped him. However, they now knew that Wayne, Jane, and Ishihara had followed the column somehow.

A light drizzle fell as the patrol moved away from the camp. First they rode along the near side of the river, walking their horses through the trees, going upstream. Then Bedwyr turned and led them across the river. As they rode through the ford, the horses walked into water up to the level of their underbellies.

The river was narrow here, though, and in a moment all the riders had crossed.

When they had left the trees on the far side of the river, Steve saw Bedwyr rein in and glance over his shoulder to make sure all his riders had crossed safely. Then the scouts looked in all directions, across more grassy, rolling hills. In the distance to the east, Steve could see the edge of a forest. To his right, far downstream, he saw another patrol also cross the river and leave the trees. That patrol angled away from them, to the southeast.

Bedwyr suddenly kicked his mount into a canter and rode off toward the distant forest. The rest of the patrol followed. Steve continued to ride in the rear, next to Hunter, squinting in the drizzle.

16

AFTER ABOUT HALF a kilometer, Bedwyr slowed to a walk again. He waved for the patrol to keep moving in the same direction, but stopped and waited for Steve and Hunter to come up. Then, with a big grin, he fell into step next to them.

“I love this open country,” said Bedwyr. “We can spot and ride down any Saxon who hikes out of the forest. As soon as we came across the river, we could see at a glance that this area’s clear — not that I thought they’ve had time to advance this far.”

“The forest up ahead could be dangerous to us, then?” Hunter asked.

“We’ll be careful, all right, when we get there. Even a foul Saxon can hide among the trees or climb up into the branches. I still say we’re too far from their territory to meet them yet, but we won’t take chances when we reach any forest.” Bedwyr shrugged. “Last year, we didn’t see any Saxons for several more days after we passed through here.”

“You rode this route last summer?” Steve asked. “We’re on the same campaign allover again?”

“Oh, yes.” Bedwyr frowned, eyeing the cloudy sky above them. “More Saxons sail across the Channel every year. We don’t have similar numbers coming to join us. Every year, we hope to kill enough to drive them back toward the sea again, but the work feels much the same, year after year,”

Steve nodded.

“Last year, we found the Saxons waiting for us on the opposite bank of the River Dubglas. Artorius didn’t want to attack against their strength across the water, where our horses would lose the force of their charge in walking or swimming. The Saxons were relying on that, of course; they carry eight foot lances to unhorse us, and in the water they have a better chance. So we moved up and down the bank to get around them, but the Saxons kept stretching their line to block us.”

“What did you do?” Hunter asked.

“When we had stretched their line thin enough, we took advantage of our mobility. Artorius led one end of our line on a fast ride doubling back to the center and charged across the river anyway. They didn’t have time to mass their men again to meet us, since they’re all on foot.”

“And the charge worked?” Steve asked.

“Yes. Even through the water. Their line was so thin that they broke easily. After that, the rest of the Saxon line panicked.” Bedwyr grinned. “It was easy slaughter after that, I promise you.”

“What did you do during the rest of the summer?” Hunter asked. “That battle itself must not have taken long. Did you fight more than one?”

“We fought only one pitched battle against their full numbers,” said Bedwyr. “It occurred late in the season. You see, we spent the early part of the summer jockeying for position.”

“Even with your advantage in mobility?” Hunter asked. “Artorius could ride in circles around any Saxon army and attack at any time.”

“The Saxons come on like waves of the sea,” said Bedwyr. “Yes, we can ride around them, but we must be careful about entering battle. Their numbers are so much greater that Artorius dares not fight them recklessly.”

“So what did you do?” Steve asked. “Just wait until the right time?”

“We did plenty of waiting, all right, but we didn’t just ride around and look at the landscape, either. Our strategy was to attack the Saxons in small groups.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter asked. “How can you separate waves of the sea?”

Bedwyr laughed. “They keep coming, but they don’t live together in cities the way Romans do. They live in small villages.”

“But once you attacked one, didn’t they rally their army together?” Steve asked.

“That was their goal,” said Bedwyr. “But we stayed in the saddle and rode hard to confuse them.”

“What do you mean?” Steve grinned wryly. “I hope you don’t mind all these questions, but it’s new to us.”

“Of course,” said Bedwyr. “That’s why Artorius wants the green riders mixing with veterans.”

“You said you confused them?”

“Oh, yes,” said Bedwyr. “Well, sometimes we drew out Saxon bands from their homes and then rode around them to raid and bum down their villages. We attacked small bands before they could join each other, to fight them without their advantage of numbers. Our patrols let themselves be seen in different places to give the impression that our main column could be coming from any direction.”

“I understand,” said Hunter.

“We spent all summer maneuvering to avoid fighting a massed Saxon horde, but they finally formed and marched on us. I believe they grouped early this year because of it. Now we’ll have to meet them in pitched battle without whittling down their numbers slowly first.”

“This campaign could be decided early in the season, then,” said Hunter.

“It’s possible,” said Bedwyr. “But first we’ll just have to make sure this route is clear for the main column.” He steered his mount out to one side and, with a shout, moved into a canter again.

The rest of the patrol, caught off-guard, hurried after him on their way to the forest ahead.

Bedwyr drew up about twenty meters from the edge of the forest, studying the trees and sky just above it. The rest of the patrol gathered around him. Then the veterans fanned out and rode slowly among the trunks. Steve and Hunter followed Bedwyr.

“No birds have been disturbed,” Steve quietly.

“I hear no signs of humans in these trees,” Hunter whispered, leaning close to Steve. “Of course, I cannot reveal that to them, but you may know you are in no danger from Saxons right here.”

Steve grinned.

Bedwyr led the patrol cautiously through the forest. When the patrol became convinced that no Saxons were there to ambush them, they looked carefully for tracks or firepits that would indicate a recent presence. No one found any sign of them, either, but the patrol did not relax.

As the day advanced, the riders ate from their pieces of mutton and bread. The patrol could not trot or canter through the dense forest, so their progress slowed for the rest of the morning. Shortly after midday, Bedwyr turned his mount to face Steve and Hunter.

“Can you find your way back to the main column?” Bedwyr asked.

“I suppose,” Steve said in surprise. “You want us to go back?”

“Have we made a mistake of some sort?” Hunter asked. “We must know.”

“No, nothing like that.” Bedwyr laughed. “You aren’t being punished. But it’s time to send word back to Artorius that the way is clear this far. Other advance patrols will report, too, and he will decide exactly which way to go. But the column cannot come much farther than this before it will be time to make camp again.”

“It seems early to go back,” said Steve, glancing up at the sun. “Only half the day is gone.”

“By the time you reach him, and the column advances to this spot, the sun will be low enough,” said Bedwyr. “I want to see how you two fare on an errand alone.”

“We will do it, of course,” said Hunter. “We will find the main column.”

“Good! We’ll patrol a short distance from here for most of the afternoon. If Artorius decides to lead the column another way, then we’ll find the rest of you later.” Bedwyr reined his horse around and led his other men forward.

“This task will be simple enough,” Hunter said quietly, turning his own mount. “We will follow our own tracks back. At some point, I should be able to hear the hoofbeats in the distance.”

Steve grinned. “This is a job I could probably do without you, Hunter. But I’m glad I don’t have to.”

Jane dozed fitfully during the remainder of the night and woke up tired. She had hoped that Hunter would swoop in during the night and rescue her like one of the knights out of the Arthurian legend that would grow out of all this in years to come. Since he had not, she felt discouraged and wondered why he had not responded to her shouting.

Wayne and Jane ate a cold breakfast of bread and mutton, the same as dinner the evening before. Very little remained. Ishihara built a small fire and boiled water from the river in it before allowing them to drink it. Afterward, Wayne and Jane mounted the mule and Ishihara jogged with them.

Though Wayne and Ishihara had not discussed any detailed plans in her hearing, Jane understood that they had certain limitations. They would either have to make an aggressive move to reach MC 6 this evening, or else they would have to get more food. Ishihara would not allow either human to go hungry and she doubted he would risk trying to get food from the column itself. Because they did not have the equipment necessary to hunt or fish, they would either have to turn back or else abandon Emrys’s mule and jump through time and space with or without MC 6. Jane hoped she could get Hunter’s attention before Ishihara took one of those choices.

The day passed uneventfully. As before, the riders outpaced the baggage train. Ishihara kept the end of the baggage train within his own sight or hearing, but avoided drawing too close. He also stayed clear of the camp followers.

Once the riders had left the baggage train behind, Wayne turned to Ishihara.

“Hunter must have ridden on ahead by now. If MC 6 is in the baggage train, then Hunter can’t get him.

We might be able to get MC 6 on the march.”

“I do not like our chances,” said Ishihara, still jogging next to the mule. “I dare not take Jane too close to the camp followers or near the men in the baggage train. Also, I cannot allow you to approach them alone. The wagon crews will consider all of us simply camp followers and may be hostile. They will probably consider us potential thieves.”

“Then you think of something,” Wayne growled angrily. “This project has to work somehow. And we haven’t had many chances to get MC 6 while Hunter is too far away to interfere. Can’t we take advantage of this somehow?”

“The only arrangement I can accept is one that keeps you and Jane away from the camp. If I approach MC 6 without you, I will have the force of the Second Law to order him to come with me as long as he believes I am human. I can tell him to follow me unless he detects that I am a robot.”

“If he turns up his hearing and actually listens, he’ll hear that you don’t have a human heartbeat,” said Wayne. “If he studies your skin under magnification, he might see your microscopic solar cells. But all that depends on whether or not he bothers. Since he isn’t expecting a robot to approach him in this time period, he may not have his sensitivity turned up to the point where he’ll notice.”

“In any case, I suggest we wait until after the baggage train stops to make camp before we execute our attempt.”

Wayne sighed. “Yeah, all right.”

Jane decided not to say anything. She wanted to think of as many objections as she could to pressure Ishihara with the Laws of Robotics. Instead of talking spontaneously, she would think up some arguments now and present them when Ishihara was about to go after MC 6.

Late in the afternoon, Jane could see men riding toward the column from different directions, sometimes along small paths or intersecting roads and sometimes overland. Some rode singly or in small groups; others arrived in large troops, lined up in a military column themselves. The new arrivals moved onto the road ahead of the baggage train.

The baggage train finally reached the spot where the rest of the column had stopped to make camp, in a forest just past a wide stretch of open country. Other troops whom Jane had not seen had also arrived at this rendezvous point, making the camp much larger than it had been the night before. Ishihara led Wayne into the forest and stopped where they could see the baggage train through the trees.

“Have you seen Hunter?” Wayne asked quietly.

“Not yet. The visibility is poor, of course, here in the forest.” Ishihara helped Jane down.

Wayne dismounted. “That’s good. Hunter will have trouble seeing us, too.”

“That is true,” said Ishihara. “We must decide exactly what our move will be.”

Jane knew that the men in the baggage train could hear her clearly enough if she shouted for help again.

However, she had no way of knowing where Hunter was, or if he could hear her. He might be so far up the column that her voice would be drowned out by the sounds of men setting up the camp, yelling orders, and by the hoofbeats of hundreds of horses hobbled for the night. Hunter’s failure to respond last night worried her. She decided not to anger Wayne any further by another shout unless she really had reason to think Hunter could help.

17

“ALL RIGHT, ISHIHARA,” Wayne said firmly. “The chance we’ve waited for is coming up. No more delays.

We have to find a way to get MC 6 now.”

“Then what will we do with him?” Ishihara asked. “We must plan our approach based on our escape.”

“We’ll jump a safe distance away — maybe back to the hills near Emrys’s hut, early tomorrow morning. I can open up MC 6 and finally start my investigation into what went wrong. As we’ve discussed during past missions, I can’t go back to Mojave Center until I have information that will work to my advantage with the Oversight Committee.”

“I understand. We will simply have to apologize to Emrys for losing the mule.”

“Yeah. But when we talked about what to do before, you said you could approach MC 6 alone. Go ahead and see if you can find him. We’ll wait right here.”

“Don’t leave us,” Jane said quickly.

“Shut up,” said Wayne. “She’s just trying to interfere with your thinking, Ishihara.”

“The camp followers are coming up behind the baggage train again,” said Jane. “If you can’t take us to the baggage train, you can’t risk leaving us here. If those scavengers come toward us, Wayne can’t protect us.”

“Nonsense,” said Wayne. “Why would they bother us? We don’t have anything of value. Go on, Ishihara.”

“We have the mule,” said Jane. “They could ride it or eat it.”

“She has a point,” said Ishihara. “In addition, she may escape from you.”

“Not if you’ll tie her. You refused before. How about just tying her to a tree trunk for a few minutes?”

“I cannot. The First Law —”

“All right, all right. I know what it says.” Wayne paced angrily among the trees. “Then all three of us can go look for him. You can protect us.”

“Among all those men? Even a robot could be overwhelmed,” said Jane.

“That is true,” said Ishihara.

“Then you stay here with her,” said Wayne impatiently. “I can go find MC 6 on my own, without the mule. Nobody will have any reason to bother me.”

“I cannot allow that under the First Law, either,” said Ishihara.

“Why not?” Wayne demanded.

“When Hunter approached the baggage train twenty-four hours ago, he was stopped by a group of men willing to commit violence. I cannot allow you to risk that.”

“That’s true,” said Jane. “That’s another risk.”

“Shut up, “Wayne repeated. “Ishihara, I instruct you to suggest a plan that you can accept. At this point, even a fairly low chance of success is better than total inaction. Think of something!”

“Maybe there is no safe way to do this,” said Jane. “Too much risk is involved, Ishihara. How about a new approach? Talk to Hunter about working together.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ishihara,” said Wayne. “I gave you an instruction.”

“I have a plan,” said Ishihara.

“Yeah? What is it?” Wayne folded his arms. “This better be good.”

“You take Jane in a slow but deliberate ride on the mule away from the camp and the road. If any riders approach you, ride slowly away from them, but do not appear to flee or they may pursue you to find out why, You can outdistance any camp followers who approach you on foot, so they probably will not try.

At the slightest sign of danger to you, shout for me and ride back in my direction. I should be able to reach you quickly. If no trouble develops, then keep riding away from the camp. I will catch up to you, with or without MC 6.”

“Exactly what are you going to do?”

“I will attempt to solicit MC 6’s aid through a ruse. However, my use of the Second Law depends entirely on his belief that I am human. As we discussed, if he detects that I am a robot, he will not only refuse to obey, but he will flee, alerted to our pursuit.”

“You can’t leave us like that,” Jane insisted. “We’ll still be in potential danger.”

“This will be acceptable,” said Ishihara. “In the event of immediate danger, I will use the belt unit to take us away from here.”

“You won’t have time to set it,” said Jane. “If we’re riding away from someone and you’re running to meet us, we won’t have much time.”

“I will set it now.” Ishihara reached inside his tunic, opened his abdomen, and brought out the unit. He looked around in the distance, then changed the settings. “In the event we have to use it, we will jump only a few hours into the future, after dark, to a spot half a kilometer away. That will be close enough for us to consider future moves.”

Jane could not think of any more arguments. Ishihara, after all, made the final interpretation of what he could accept under the First Law. She sighed and looked at Wayne.

“Mount up,” said Wayne.

Ishihara waited until Wayne and Jane had ridden twenty meters away from the camp, out of the trees into open country. Because Ishihara could see they were alone there, he felt he could leave them for a short time. He walked through the trees toward the baggage train.

Moving slowly, Ishihara studied the wagons as he approached them. Because Artorius had stopped to make camp in a forested area, the wagons remained lined up on the road or just off of it, where space permitted. Last night, the wagons had bunched together at the rear of the camp, and the wagon crews had mixed together freely. Now the crews were strung out along the road as they unloaded their wagons.

Ishihara saw that he could approach most of the wagons without attracting the attention of the wagonmaster. In fact, because of the trees, visibility was limited for everyone. That, too, would work to Ishihara’s advantage.

He considered his story as he searched for MC 6. Finally, he saw MC 6 standing on the ground near a wagon, unharnessing a team of horses. Ishihara walked up to him.

“I need help,” Ishihara said to MC 6 in Briton. “Can you help me?”

MC 6 turned and looked at him. He shrugged, gesturing that he could not understand. Then he turned back to the horses he was tending.

Ishihara looked at another man, standing in the wagon moving small kegs around. “I need help. Can you spare this man for a moment?”

“Eh? Who are you?”

“I drove a wagon behind one of the veteran troops. We just arrived in camp.”

“You know this man?”

“No.”

“Well, we teamsters should stick together. Hey, you.” The man waved his arms to get MC 6’s attention.

“He’s a real cooperative little fellow, but no one can figure out what language he understands.”

MC 6 glanced up at the man in the wagon.

“Go with him. Help him.” The man in the wagon pointed from MC 6 to Ishihara.

MC 6 nodded.

“Thank you.” Ishihara nodded to MC 6 and walked away from the wagon. MC 6 walked with him.

Ishihara could only hope that MC 6 would not think to magnify his hearing or sight and examine Ishihara closely.

Hunter had located Artorius at the head of his column with no trouble. Artorius had responded to Hunter’s scouting report by choosing to follow Bedwyr’s route for the day. Hunter and Steve rode with him at the head of the column to point out the way.

Late in the day, Bedwyr spotted them and led his patrol back to meet the column. He recommended a place to camp and Hunter and Steve rejoined the scouting patrol. The day had remained uneventful for the scouts, as well as for the main column.

As the other riders dismounted and tended their horses, Steve spoke quietly to Hunter from the saddle.

“Before we dismount, can’t we do something about our mission? I enjoyed today’s ride, but we don’t want to keep this up all summer.”

“I agree. However, we have earned some greater respect today, and we are considered more a part of the troop now. Perhaps we can approach the baggage train again and complete our task.”

“You told me this morning you heard Jane last night. Can we look for her somehow?”

“I doubt that she remains nearby. Wayne and Ishihara almost certainly have kept their distance since she revealed her presence. First I suggest we attempt to reach MC 6 again. Then we will look for a sign of Jane’s presence.”

“All right. Got any ideas about how to avoid that Gaius again?”

“Yes. In this forest, I expect the wagons will have to stop in a line alone the road. We should ride parallel to the road on horseback, keeping our distance from the baggage train. I will look and listen for Gaius and for MC 6, as well.”

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way.”

Hunter reined his mount around the road away from the camp, through the trees, ducking under branches. He heard the hoofbeats of Steve’s mount following him. Hunter selected a route that would carry them down the line of the column, close enough for him to hear and see the men at the wagons through the trees but far enough to avoid immediate notice by the wagonmaster.

Jane sat behind Wayne on the mule, riding at a walk away from the camp and the road. At first, they did not bother to turn around as they wove through the trees. They did not run across anyone else, nor did anyone behind them show any interest in where they were going.

After a while, Wayne turned the mule so they could look behind them. By this time, the trees hid the camp from view, though they could hear men shouting orders and horses walking. Without a word, Wayne turned and continued riding away.

As they rode Jane looked back over her shoulder several times, but saw no one. If Ishihara was bringing MC 6, the two robots would have to catch up after Wayne decided to stop and wait. She decided not to do anything until she learned whether or not Ishihara succeeded.

Wayne, following Ishihara’s plan, kept the mule moving through the forest. He glanced back over his shoulder every so often, but neither of them spoke. In order to avoid riding directly into tree branches, Wayne had to face forward most of the time.

Jane realized that she had an advantage in riding behind him; she could turn her head and look back without Wayne knowing. The motion of Wayne’s shoulders when he turned told her when he was looking behind them even if she had already looked back. She turned her head and continued to look back, despite the awkward angle, as they rode.

As the mule plodded on, Jane finally saw a motion through the trees behind them. Ishihara was jogging after them, closely followed by MC 6. The forest was so dense here that they had come close without being seen; on the damp earth, their footsteps had not been loud enough for her to hear.

If Ishihara had induced MC 6 to come with him somehow, instead of grabbing him and bringing him by force, Jane figured that MC 6 had his hearing turned on. That meant she could call to him in English.

Suddenly encouraged, she looked for a soft spot on the ground among the trees.

Suddenly Jane slipped off the mule, pretending to lose her balance. She allowed herself to fall on the ground, where she judged she could land safely. Startled, Wayne reined in and looked back at her.

“Ishihara, help me!” Jane shouted. Then, as Ishihara ran toward her, she looked at the other robot. “MC 6, run! They’re going to dismantle you!”

The small component robot instantly darted to one side and ran through the trees. He took off at an angle away from both them and the column to their rear. His actions were driven by the Second Law to obey her instruction to run and by the Third Law to protect himself.

“Hey!” Wayne shouted, finally seeing MC 6 for the first time. “Stop! I order you! Stop, robot!” He wheeled the mule around and rode after MC 6, leaning low to avoid tree branches. “Halt! I need you under the First Law!”

MC 6 did not seem to believe that. Jane did not see him come back. He might have turned off his hearing once he understood the danger present to him.

Jane had not been sure her ruse would work; MC 6 might have felt required by the First Law to come forward with Ishihara to help her. However, he had apparently judged that Ishihara would take care of her adequately. She had gambled on that. If she had told MC 6 that she was unharmed, Ishihara would also have been freed of the need to help her and he might have captured MC 6.

Instead, Ishihara now hesitated where he stood. He was momentarily undecided between the immediate need to care for Jane and the First Law issue requiring him to capture MC 6 for Wayne’s long-term welfare. Every moment helped MC 6 escape.

“Help me up, Ishihara,” said Jane, to stall him further. She remained on the ground.

Ishihara hurried toward her and knelt down. “Are you injured?”

Jane decided that telling extreme lies would be a mistake; teaching him not to trust her could backfire if she was in real trouble. Stalling, on the other hand, seemed safe enough. she said nothing. Behind Ishihara, Wayne came riding back, scowling. MC 6 had escaped him.

“Ishihara! Go get him!” Wayne yelled.

“Are you injured?” Ishihara repeated.

“Not seriously. Please help me up.”

“Of course.”

“Ishihara, she’s faking!” Wayne dismounted near them. “Track that robot now, before he gets back to the wagons! I couldn’t ride fast enough in this stupid forest to keep up, but he hasn’t gone far.”

Jane remained passive as Ishihara put one arm under her shoulders and raised her up. Then he shifted his position and helped her stand. She took a deep breath and leaned on Ishihara’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of her!” Wayne yelled. “Ishihara, go get him!”

“You seem unharmed,” Ishihara said to Jane.

“Yes, I’ll be all right.”

“Now!” Wayne grabbed Ishihara’s arm and pushed after MC 6. “I’ll watch her!”

Ishihara finally turned and jogged in the direction MC 6 had gone.

Wayne watched him go.

18

AS SOON AS Wayne turned away, Jane ducked under a branch and ran.

“Hey!” Wayne yelled behind her. “Oh, no, you don’t! Come back here!”

Jane darted around a sapling and bent down to avoid another low-hanging branch, but she felt Wayne grab her hair from behind. He yanked, pulling her head back. She threw her arms around the branch and hung on, but could not move her head.

“Ishihara!” Jane yelled. Then she let out a loud, long, scream, much more exaggerated than the situation really warranted.

“Shut up!” Wayne put his other hand over her mouth and tried to pull her away from the tree branch.

Jane struggled, but she was not really angry or scared. She was still deliberately provoking Wayne and forcing Ishihara to protect her instead of catching MC 6. She bent her knees, dropping to the ground as she thrashed in his grasp. Wayne had to fall, too, in order to hang onto her.

Neither of them spoke. Jane let go of the branch, but tried to pull his hand away from her mouth. In a moment, she heard footsteps running toward them. Then suddenly Wayne released her. She let herself fall back onto the grass, looking up.

Ishihara had pulled Wayne away and now held him firmly as they both stood over her.

“I told you to catch MC 6,” Wayne growled, but he did not sound as angry as before.

“You know I cannot allow this,” said Ishihara. “If I release you, will you remain calm?”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. But you’ve been manipulated. She’s done it to both of us.”

Ishihara let go of him. “You didn’t have to grab me,” said Jane, remaining where she lay. “You could have let me go.” That, too, was for Ishihara’s benefit

“Are you harmed?” Ishihara asked.

“Not really. But I didn’t like it much.” She looked at Wayne. “Keep your hands to yourself from now on.”

“She’s fine,” Wayne wearily. “And I’m not going to hurt her. You still might have a chance to get MC 6, if you hurry. You can track him.”

“No, you can’t,” said Jane. “As soon as you leave again, I’m running away. And Wayne will try to stop me again and we’ll wind up wrestling around again. Ishihara, you either have to stay here and protect me from Wayne or let me go.”

“I won’t hurt her,” said Wayne. “I’ve never wanted to hurt her. But we can’t let her tell Hunter where we are — or where MC 6 has gone, either.”

“You can’t trust him,” said Jane. “You just saw him grab me and pull me down.”

“If you promise not to run away, I can trust him,” said Ishihara.

“I refuse to promise,” said Jane. “In fact, I promise to run away every chance I get from now on.”

“Ishihara, can’t you see what she’s doing?” Wayne demanded. “This whole argument is set up to stop you from getting MC 6, and that’s all it is.”

“The First Law has no exceptions,” said Ishihara. “I must make my own interpretation of priorities.

Unless you decide to let Jane go find Hunter on her own, I must remain with both of you.”

Wayne sighed with resignation. “I can’t do that. We might as well give up as do that.”

“Then I suggest we move somewhat farther from the camp and make our own camp for the night,” said Ishihara. “The sun will go down soon.”

“All right,” said Wayne. “But if you’re staying here instead of chasing MC 6, make sure that she stays, too.”

Jane indulged in an impish grin, relieved that she had foiled the capture of MC 6. “Why, of course, Wayne. Anything you want.”

Steve rode up and down a route roughly parallel to the road with Hunter. Neither of them spoke. Steve could hear the men and horses of the baggage train and occasionally saw them through the trees.

Finally Hunter reined in and turned to Steve.

“I have heard and seen no sign of MC 6. While I grant that he may not be speaking, I should be able to hear his footsteps, which are of a distinctively light weight among grown men. If he was helping others, I should hear them talk about him as they work, if they do not address him directly.”

“You think he figured out that we came from his time to get him?”

“I must consider it possible. He may have studied my skin with magnified vision while we spoke with Gaius last night. Also, he may have been approached by Wayne and Ishihara, in which case they could have revealed their purpose.”

“I guess if you’d heard any sign of them, you would have told me.”

“I have not. As we discussed before, I expect that after Jane shouted for my help, Wayne and Ishihara took her a safe distance away from the column.”

“If they know MC 6 came with the column, they must have followed. Let’s go look for tracks.”

Hunter looked through the trees at the position of the sun. “I do not estimate we have enough light to pursue any tracks for long.”

“Wait a minute. Didn’t you say a while ago that if we couldn’t find MC 6, we could look for Jane?”

“We have taken more time than I expected in searching for MC 6. I cannot allow you to miss dinner.

Nor can we wander too far from the camp before darkness falls.”

“I can miss a meal if I have to. Besides, we don’t have to be gone long. Let’s look around.”

“Agreed.”

Hunter rode back up the route they had taken before, but now he examined the ground. Steve said nothing. He felt trapped by their need to perform duties in the column.

“Here.” Hunter stopped and pointed to hoofprints, accompanied by smaller depressions in the grass and soft earth.

“You found him?”

“I have found the tracks of one mount and the footsteps of Ishihara and another set of the right size to be MC 6.” Hunter looked through the trees away from the road. “I surmise that Wayne and Jane rode double on the animal.”

“You mean they got him?”

“I see that they have him, but only since the baggage train halted. Wayne has not had time to dismantle MC 6 yet.”

“Let’s go!”

“No,” said Hunter. “I will go. I suggest you return to the squad and tell Bedwyr that a personal matter arose for me. Assure him that I will not need dinner and that I will return in time to do my duties tomorrow.”

“He’ll expect you to come back in time to get a night’s sleep. I can’t tell him you don’t need it.”

“Listen carefully for my voice. If I call you from the camp, it will mean we are ready to leave the column permanently. Otherwise, I will simply return during the night to resume my position.”

“I should go with you. Maybe I can help.”

“We must maintain our goodwill with Bedwyr.”

“Yeah, all right. Good luck. Get going.” Steve kicked his mount and rode up the line, hoping that Hunter would get MC 6 quickly.

Hunter leaned low and rode at a quick walk, dodging trees. The tracks in the soft earth were clear and fresh. This was the best opportunity to get both MC 6 and Jane that he had yet seen.

When Hunter reached a spot where the grass and some small bushes had been crushed, he studied the tracks and the marks carefully. He saw that MC 6 had run away from this spot alone, without reaching the area where the ground cover had been disturbed. He guessed that Jane had somehow freed MC 6, though he could not tell how.

Because the hoofprints and Ishihara’s tracks led in a different direction from those of MC 6, Hunter had to decide which way to go.

Jane had apparently remained in Isihara’s company, so Hunter judged that finding MC 6 was more urgent. He decided to track MC 6 as long as the waning daylight held out. As he did so, he observed that the component robot did not make any effort to hide his tracks, probably relying on speed and agility to avoid human pursuit.

The forest darkened quickly, however, and Hunter realized that he could not continue tracking MC 6 for long. Even if he used the maximum light receptivity of his vision, too much of the moonlight would be blocked by the canopy of leaves overhead for him to see fine details. For now, his infrared vision could still perceive the faint warm spots on the ground left by MC 6’s feet, but the heat was dissipating quickly.

Hunter would not catch MC 6 before it vanished.

He saw no point in riding on. However, before he returned to the camp, he reviewed MC 6’s route in hope of finding a pattern. The component robot seemed to be moving roughly parallel to the road, going ahead of the main column in anticipation of its journey tomorrow.

Hunter guessed that MC 6 still hoped to prevent the violence of the coming battle, as unlikely as that seemed. Since Wayne and Ishihara had located him in the baggage train, Hunter felt certain that MC 6

would not return there. Still, Hunter might be able to pick up his trail tomorrow.

He turned and rode back to the camp.

As Steve ate bread and mutton again by the patrol’s campfire, he noted that Bedwyr kept glancing into the gathering darkness. Bedwyr had not objected to Hunter pursuing a personal errand, but he seemed uncomfortable. When Hunter finally arrived, however, Bedwyr simply offered him his dinner.

During a walk to the latrine, Steve asked Hunter what he had found. Hunter explained and Steve resigned himself to another wait. During the evening, Steve hoped Jane would yell for help again, but if she did, even Hunter did not hear her.

As Steve lay rolled in his blanket near the dwindling campfire, he felt trapped again by their presence in the column. At this point, Hunter knew both Jane and MC 6 to be nearby but not actually traveling in the column. Tomorrow, Steve and Hunter would have to ride out with the patrol instead of searching for either of them; in the meantime, Ishihara would probably start tracking MC 6 in earnest.

Steve wondered, as he drifted off to sleep, if Hunter would consider deserting tomorrow. He would ask when he got Hunter alone. Then, tired from the long day in the saddle, he slept soundly.

A hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

Steve rolled over, blinking groggily. The night was still black. He heard other men in the squad stirring.

By the faint glow of the embers nearby, he saw a man’s shadow standing over him.

“We must ride,” Bedwyr said grimly. “Move fast.” He walked away and bent over someone else.

Steve forced himself up. He could feel that he had only slept a few hours at most. His eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight and he saw that Hunter had already brought their horses up.

Sleepily Steve rose and slid his sword into his belt. He stumbled to his saddle where it lay on the ground.

As he threw it on his mount he spoke quietly, his voice rough with sleep.

“Have you heard what’s going on?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “More patrols rode out at sundown. They knew they would have to ride slowly in the moonlight and they expected to camp alone for the night at a forward position, then report back in the morning. Instead, before stopping to make camp, one of them stumbled across the campfires of the entire Saxon army. The riders just got back a few minutes ago.”

“That’s right,” said Bedwyr, holding out more bread and cold mutton for them. “The Saxons have already crossed the River Dubglas and marched out to meet us on our own territory this year.”

Steve accepted his breakfast and slipped both pieces into his tunic. He glanced up and down the dark camp. “No one else is up yet?”

“No need to disturb them,” said Bedwyr. “On foot, the Saxons will need a full day’s march or more to reach us. At dawn, Artorius will lead the column forward with a good night’s sleep. Over four thousand of our veterans met us on this site yesterday. In daylight, the column will cover the distance in less than four hours. By midday, he will draw close enough to the Saxons to view the terrain and choose his tactics.”

“What is our assignment?” Hunter asked.

“We will reach them by dawn or shortly after, riding slowly in the moonlight,” said Bedwyr. “When we have seen which way they march in the morning, we will report back to Artorius so he knows where to find them.”

Hunter nodded.

Steve swung up into his saddle. Hunter gave him his spear and shield. Within minutes, the rest of the patrol had also mounted. Bedwyr led them out of camp at a walk, riding single file among the other squads and the trees.

At first, Steve was excited by the danger of their new task. However, they all knew that the real danger lay several hours away at the earliest. Steve’s enthusiasm waned quickly. Throughout the remaining hours of darkness, the patrol continued at a walk, remaining in single file so that only Bedwyr, in the lead, had to find a path.

When enough light appeared in the east to see into the distance, Bedwyr halted for a moment, looking around in all directions. Steve did the same, but they were still in a forest; he saw nothing but trees. Then, without a word, Bedwyr led them forward again.

Hunter rode with his aural sensitivity at maximum. At midmorning, he heard ten pairs of human footsteps in the forest ahead before any of the humans in the patrol reacted. However, a moment later, several small birds fluttered out of the trees ahead. Bedwyr stopped immediately, raising one hand, palm open, to halt the entire patrol.

Hunter felt his own tension rising under the First Law. On the surface, the First Law required him to stop the violence entirely. He knew he could not, of course, without altering history.

However, Hunter would protect Steve. As a last resort, Hunter would even return them to their own time, though he hoped to avoid that. He reached inside his tunic to make sure that its folds did not interfere with his access to the belt unit hidden inside his abdomen and to set the time at which they would return if necessary. Satisfied, he listened carefully to the movement of the unseen men ahead.

Bedwyr hefted his spear and rode forward slowly. Now the other riders fanned out, moving to surround the area where the birds had been disturbed. Hunter allowed the riders in front of him to open some distance before he followed them. Steve remained behind him.

19

THE MOVEMENT OF horses sent another flight of birds out of the branches overhead. Hunter heard shouts from the forest in front of them; in response, Bedwyr leaned low and kicked his mount into a trot. The other riders in the patrol did the same, whooping and yelling.

Hunter heard bowstrings plucked as he moved forward slowly. Steve came up alongside him, looking around uneasily. The rest of the patrol soon rode out of sight among the trees. Hunter turned to Steve.

“Remain behind me. We will pretend that the trees have blocked our charge.” He rode forward at a trot, too, on Bedwyr’s path.

More shouts and the sound of metal clanging reached Hunter before he could see the skirmish. He rode between two large trees and saw two strange men lying dead on the ground under the trees. Next to them, one of Bedwyr’s men lay on his back with two arrows in his torso.

Hunter heard the sounds of men running away on foot and hoofbeats following them. No one else was in sight yet. The patrol was dispersing as the riders’ pursuit took them in different directions.

“You okay?” Steve asked. “With people getting killed around you?”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “From all our missions, I have learned to focus on my larger task in these situations.

I feel great stress, however.”

“You want to take off?” Steve asked. “We could claim to get lost.”

“Not yet, but soon. For now, we should stay close to Bedwyr and find out what he will do next.”

“Lead on.”

In a few minutes, Hunter and Steve caught up to Bedwyr, who had stopped at the edge of a clearing.

Bedwyr glanced back and grinned at them over his shoulder. “Come up and see.”

Hunter drew up next to him and looked down a long, open, grassy slope. At its base, over a kilometer away, an army of men carrying long lances and shields, wearing short swords, marched at an angle.

Apparently they hoped to circle around the slope rather than climb it. They did not march in formation, but in a long, formless line, its far end hidden by another forest on the far side of the downward slope.

“What are you smiling about?” Steve asked. “They’ve massed their numbers, as you said. They’ll be harder to defeat this way, won’t they?”

“Too late to worry about that,” said Bedwyr. “But we found them before they found us. That’s our task.

Now, then. Artorius will have marched at dawn. I estimate that leaves him four hours’ ride behind us.

Can you find the column again, as you did yesterday?”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Hunter.

“Good. I will send both of you; I want you both to gain more experience. If you ride directly toward Artorius as he continues to advance, you should meet him in only two hours. Even if you have a little trouble locating him, you will not need much more time.”

“What is our message?”

“Tell Artorius where we have found the Saxons and which way they are marching. In another hour, I will send more couriers back to report whether their line of march has changed or remained the same. In the meantime, I will rally the patrol. From a safe distance, we will watch the Saxons march and fall back to remain clear of them.”

“Very well,” said Hunter.

“Go now. Good luck.”

Hunter wheeled his mount and started back through the trees, with Steve riding beside him. When they had ridden out of Bedwyr’s hearing, Hunter spoke quietly again. “This is excellent for our purposes.

After we report to the Dux, we can ride forward again, ostensibly to rejoin Bedwyr. Instead, we can pursue our own agenda.”

“You mean track MC 6,” said Steve. “It sounds perfect to me.”

Hunter had no trouble locating Artorius, as the column followed the winding road through the forest. The ride was as uneventful as the return ride the previous day had been. Hunter and Steve fell into step with Artorius on the march and Hunter reported quickly.

“Well done,” said Artorius. He wore the same plain steel cap and leather armor as his men. “I expect the Saxons are marching overland to reach this very road. When they reach it, they hope it will lead straight to the heart of our land — which it would, if we were not here to meet them.”

Hunter said nothing, waiting.

Artorius smiled grimly, looking up the road. “Well, then. We will march forward for another hour, until the next couriers from Bedwyr arrive to tell us if I am right. In the meantime, we will watch for open country, where we can use our mobility to the greatest advantage. When we know for certain where to find the Saxons, we will prepare a welcome for them.”

“May we have leave to rejoin our patrol?” Hunter asked politely.

“I have a message for you to take,” said Artorius. “You will precede us only by a short distance now.

By the time you find them again, they will have fallen back almost to the point where we are likely to meet. Since you can take the road for the first part of this route, you will move faster than you did riding overland through the forest. Tell Bedwyr to select a good battle site if he can. He will know what to look for — open country with high ground for us.”

“Very well,” said Hunter.

“Go now.”

Hunter kicked his mount, leading Steve up the road at a canter.

When they had left the column behind, Steve called out to Hunter. “Does this mean we can’t look for Jane or MC 6 now, after all?”

“First we must give the message to Bedwyr,” said Hunter. “He must receive this instruction.”

“It doesn’t sound that important. Won’t Bedwyr know to look for a good battleground? He knows what he’s doing.”

“I expect so, but I cannot take the chance,” said Hunter. “If we had not come back to this time, he would have sent other messengers to report to Artorius. We must assume that they would have obeyed Artorius’s order to give this message to Bedwyr. I cannot risk failing the instruction.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Steve. “We aren’t getting anywhere.”

Together, they cantered on up the road.

Ishihara led Wayne and Jane on MC 6’s trail all morning. From what Ishihara could tell by the freshness of the tracks, they were not catching up; the small component robot could move faster through the dense forest than the mule and its riders. However, Ishihara did see that MC 6 continued to stay near the road, zigzagging through the trees near it. Finally Ishihara quit pursuing MC 6 through the trees and simply moved up along the side of the road. They moved parallel to the head of the column.

“MC 6 has some purpose regarding the army,” said Ishihara. “We do not need to follow his tracks.

Sooner or later, he will return to the road somewhere in front of us.”

“He wants to stop the coming battle,” said Wayne. “As hopeless as any attempt by him will be. At some point, probably soon, I think he will approach Artorius and ask him to negotiate peace with his enemy.”

“I do not see how,” said Ishihara. “A man at the wagons told me he does not seem to have learned to speak the local language. MC 6 has only communicated with gestures.”

“Maybe he’s listening carefully and learning on the sly,” said Wayne.

Jane, again riding behind Wayne, said nothing. She had remained silent all morning.

“How do you feel?” Ishihara asked.

“I’m fine,” said Wayne.

“I’m starved,” said Jane. “Since we ate the last of our food last night, you know we can’t go on indefinitely. If I go much longer without food, you know I’ll be harmed.”

“Don’t pay any attention,” said Wayne. “She can go without a meal or two, just like I can. Let’s get MC 6 today and then worry about it.”

“Agreed,” said Ishihara. He knew Jane had a point, but they were close to MC 6 and Hunter did not seem to be nearby. Ishihara expected to find MC 6 soon. For now, he led them forward, keeping track of the head of the column.

Early in the afternoon, a clear sound of jogging footsteps reached Ishihara from the road in front of the column. Ishihara signaled for Wayne to halt and slipped quietly through the trees so that he could see the road.

MC 6 stood in the center of the muddy road, holding out his arms. Several of the men riding with Artorius shouted for him to stand aside. The small robot did not move, however, and finally Artorius himself raised his hand for the column to halt, and reined in.

“Who are you, fellow? Do you have news of the Saxons?” Artorius looked at MC 6 sternly but not angrily.

MC 6 responded in the same language; Ishihara guessed that he must have learned it the same way Ishihara had. “Many people will die and many more will be injured in the coming war. Please avoid the violence. Speak with your enemies and search for agreements. You need not fight with them.”

“The man is crazed,” a man next to Artorius said quietly. “At night, he may howl at the moon.”

“Perhaps he has been touched by the gods,” Artorius answered softly. Then he raised his voice. “Have you any news, friend? Any word that the Saxons seek peace?”

“No,” said MC 6. “But if you make the first offer, they might listen.”

“I fear not, my friend,” said Artorius. He sounded resigned rather than hostile. “If they did not wish to fight, they would not keep coming across the Channel to take what we have. And if we do not stop them here, they will kill us and our families.” Artorius signaled for the column to advance. “Stand aside, friend.”

MC 6 obeyed, but he called out to Artorius again to parley with the enemy. Artorius ignored him as he rode past. MC 6 jogged alongside, still speaking to him, but no one listened to him now. Finally, MC 6 turned and slipped into the forest again, far up the road.

Ishihara understood that MC 6’s effort was naive and simplistic. As a robot himself, however, he also knew that the First Law did not offer any advice on how to prevent a war. It only dictated that a robot must not allow harm to humans, leaving the means up to the individual robot.

If Hunter’s team and Wayne and Ishihara did not interfere with MC 6, he would eventually try again to prevent violence. If no one stopped him, he might eventually gain the trust of Artorius or a Saxon leader, and actually succeed in lessening the destruction. He just had not had time yet to work out a way to accomplish this. Ishihara saw more clearly than ever that to preserve their own time, they could not allow him to remain here.

A shift in the hoofbeats of the column got his attention. When he looked, he realized that orders had been given for different troops of riders to leave the road and fan out to each side. Ishihara suspected that the Saxon army had been located nearby.

He waved for Wayne to ride up behind him. As the riders changed formation, MC 6 would be unnoticed in the confusion. It would be a good time to catch him unaware and distracted. However, they would have to avoid the riders themselves while they tried to catch the robot.

Steve and Hunter rode back to Bedwyr with their message. They found Bedwyr’s patrol waiting for both the Saxons and Artorius at the far edge of a large, wide clearing. It did not have much of a slope in any direction, but no trees would block the charge of Artorius’s riders. The road ran right through the middle of the clearing.

Soon after Steve and Hunter arrived, they caught the first glimpses of Artorius’s riders at the edge of the clearing behind them. However, they no longer rode up the road in a column. Instead, they had already taken positions in the trees and now waited for the Saxons to advance into the clearing.

“I was right,” Steve muttered. “Bedwyr picked a battle site on his own. He didn’t need the message we brought from Artorius.”

“The fact remains that we fulfilled our historical role,” Hunter whispered back.

Another rider in the patrol trotted out of the trees ahead of them and stopped next to Bedwyr. They spoke too quietly for Steve to hear. Then Bedwyr turned and waved for his patrol to pull back. To their rear, a man next to Artorius waved for them to come.

Steve and Hunter followed him at a trot across the clearing. The patrol halted at the trees where Artorius’s riders stood waiting. From here, Steve saw that the trees were filled with riders.

“Good work, Bedwyr,” said Artorius. “As always. I want you and your men to ride from here as we charge.”

“We are honored,” said Bedwyr.

The other riders around Artorius made room for the patrol. Bedwyr and his men turned their horses and waited, also. Ahead of them, the clearing remained empty. However, birds fluttered out of the trees beyond it,

“This clearing isn’t very big,” said Steve quietly. “Only the front of the enemy line can be trapped here.”

“It’s the biggest open area in the vicinity,” said Bedwyr, with a shrug. “It will do.”

“Can’t they hear the horses? Or don’t they have patrols that have seen us?” Steve asked. “They must know we’re here.”

“They have seen our patrol, and others, from time to time today,” said Bedwyr. “But they can’t know exactly where Artorius will meet them. With our advantage in mobility, we don’t have to find an ideal battleground. If we panic the front of their line, the others will be thrown into confusion. Then we can ride them down.”

Steve said nothing else. After all, according to Harriet’s history, Artorius had succeeded. These guys knew what they were doing.

“The task never seems to end,” said Artorius.

Bedwyr looked at him.

“We have often said, Bedwyr, that the Saxons come on like waves of the sea. Every year we defeat them, yet the next year we face more of them than ever.”

“You have never lost a battle to them,” said Bedwyr. “You’re the kind of leader bards sing about.”

Artorius gazed grimly into the distance. “I wonder. Bards sing about great victories, not those who fight forever with no success. I wonder if anyone will ever remember our names.”

Steve smiled but did not dare answer.

20

HUNTER HEARD THE advancing march of thousands of Saxon feet while the Britons around him still spoke quietly among themselves, unaware of their enemy. The coming battle caused Hunter’s tension under the First Law to rise, but he focused his attention on Steve. When the charge began, they would have to ride forward with the riders or risk colliding with those behind them. However, as soon as they could lose themselves in the confusion of battle, Hunter would take Steve off to one side. Their search for MC 6

and Jane could begin in earnest.

The men around Hunter stiffened suddenly. Ahead of them, the Saxons came tramping down the road, out of the forest. They, too, looked around warily, aware that their enemy lay near.

Suddenly a rider right behind Artorius raised an old, dented Roman post horn and blew an alarm. As the riders whooped and charged up the road, leveling their spears, Hunter and Steve kicked their mounts and rode with them. Ahead of them, the Saxons in the front swung their long lances down to a horizontal position or hefted their spears and threw them. Then they braced themselves for the impact. Arrows flew from the ranks behind them.

Hunter allowed his mount to canter forward, but reined in to keep his speed down. Next to him, Steve did the same, leaning low to avoid arrows and spears; riders behind them rushed past, shouting and screaming. Then, up ahead, the clash of men, horses, and weapons reached Hunter. On each side of the road, riders charged across the clearing and into the trees, then turned toward the road to catch the marching Saxons on the flanks.

“Follow me!” Hunter shouted to Steve. He angled to one side, and Steve rode after him away from the road. None of the riders paid particular attention to them; now that the battle had been joined, the riders in the rear ranks were picking their way among the trees to find a route to the action.

Hunter led Steve out to the far left flank of riders, then entered the trees. The sounds of fighting were clear, but the men and horses were out of sight. Steve rode up next to him and they stopped.

A quick motion in the trees ahead caught Hunter’s attention.

“Now can we look for MC 6?” Steve demanded. “It’s now or never, isn’t it?”

“No need to look,” said Hunter, pointing forward through the trees. “I glimpsed him over here a moment ago. There he is. Come on!”

Hunter kicked his mount and bent down low under the branches. MC 6 jogged through the trees toward a group of five Saxons, who turned at the sound of hoofbeats to defend themselves. Hunter judged that MC 6 still hoped to prevent harm to some of the humans somehow. Steve circled away from them, on a path to drive MC 6 back toward Hunter.

The Saxon warriors also dodged away from him. Instead of fleeing, however, they ran toward Hunter, fanning out among the trees so that the trunks protected them. Hunter just wanted to ride by them after MC 6, but he had no chance. Two spears came flying at him at once; he caught one on his shield and twisted in the saddle a second later to avoid the second.

A third Saxon threw a spear. While Hunter knocked it away with his shield, the first two Saxons ran toward him with their short swords raised.

Hunter swung his spear in a low arc, knocking their sword blades aside; they were startled to see him ride past them instead of pausing to fight.

MC 6 had darted away from Steve and came running up behind the Saxons.

“Stop! Stop fighting!” MC 6 called out. “You must not hurt each other!”

“Don’t move,” Steve shouted. “Under the Second Law, I order you to stop and join me! A First Law imperative requires that you cooperate long enough to hear me explain.”

As Hunter dodged two more Saxons running alongside him, slashing at his legs, he saw MC 6 turn and run to Steve. The danger of battle and his plan to communicate with humans had forced MC 6 to keep his hearing turned on. Past them, Hunter also spotted Ishihara running toward them. In a tree branch behind Ishihara, Wayne and Jane sat together about four meters above the ground, over a mule.

“Steve!” Hunter shouted as he raised his shield and swung his spear back and forth to block the sword-strokes of his attackers. “Ishihara is behind you!” Hunter tried to ride forward again, but one of the Saxons had grabbed his bridle, holding his mount. Hunter could not advance without harming the Saxons.

“Come on!” Steve yelled to MC 6. He dropped his spear so he could reach down with one arm to help the robot mount. “Swing up here!”

Hunter defended himself from the Saxons as they tried to pull him off his horse. He backed his mount away from them and flung his spear in front of a Saxon, to make him back away. Then he drew his sword and blocked the swords of the remaining Saxons.

Because Hunter still carried the team’s belt unit, Steve could not take MC 6 home on the spot. Besides, Hunter could not trigger it until Steve and MC 6 were much closer to him and their horses and the Saxons were out of range of the unit. Hunter heard other riders coming toward them now; he hoped they would drive the Saxons back.

Ishihara had stopped about ten meters away when MC 6 mounted behind Steve. Hunter guessed that Ishihara’s need to protect Wayne and Jane on the edge of the battle had interfered with his instructions to get MC 6, especially now that Steve already had him.

“Get him!” Wayne yelled. “Ishihara, get MC 6!”

Steve finally turned and saw Ishihara. “Stay away! Back off!” Then he turned and rode toward Hunter.

Ishihara remained where he was. Other riders appeared out of the trees, shouting as they leaned low under tree branches. They rode toward Hunter.

“Not too close!” Hunter called to Steve as he continued to fight the Saxons around him defensively.

Hunter swung his shield outward, pushing back one of the men on his left. At the same moment, he blocked the sword of a man on his right. He saw a spear coming toward him from a third Saxon also on his left and ducked to his right, but the motions of his arms were already committed and the momentum prevented him from avoiding the spear.

The heavy spear smashed into his left shoulder and he instantly felt a loss of control over his shoulder and arm. His energy level also dropped suddenly as some of his electrical circuits were severed. Though his awareness level did not change, he could no longer raise his shield. He felt the Saxons grab his limp left arm and pull. Afraid that some of his internal robotic parts would become exposed to them if he resisted, he allowed himself to be dragged off his mount to the ground.

Steve stopped several yards from Hunter with MC 6, confident that Hunter would fight his way free of the Saxons and join him.

“Get down and stay with me,” Steve ordered MC 6. As soon as the component robot had jumped to the ground, Steve dismounted. Then he looked up and saw Hunter wrenched from his horse by two Saxons. One of them raised his sword to slash at Hunter; Steve drew his sword and cocked his arm to throw it. “Hey! Hey, you!”

“No.” MC 6 grabbed his arm and held it fast. “Do not harm anyone.”

Suddenly, before the Saxons struck Hunter, they saw the other riders bearing down on them. The Saxons broke and ran as the riders closed in behind them.

Steve waited until Hunter had been left alone. Then he stuck his sword back into his belt and ran to Hunter. “Come on!”

MC 6 followed.

In another moment, the riders had moved out of sight. Shouts and the clash of weapons resounded through the trees nearby, but the movement of the battle had shifted the lines away from them. Suddenly Steve found himself with MC 6 and Hunter damaged on the ground in front of him.

“Hunter, can you hear me? Can I pullout the spear? Or will that make it worse?”

“Pull it out straight, please,” Hunter said calmly.

“Ishihara! Get back here,” Wayne called. He stood a distance away through some trees, near the mule.

Jane and Wayne remained on a tree branch above them.

Steve took the spear shaft in his hands but looked back over his shoulder. “Jane! Come on!”

“I’m coming!” She jumped off the branch suddenly, dodging Wayne’s arm as he grabbed for her.

However, as she tried to run toward Steve and Hunter, Ishihara blocked her way. She could not possibly beat his robotic reflexes and speed. In a moment, Ishihara had taken her arm, and he began to pull her back toward the mule.

Steve almost let go of the spear shaft to run to her, but realized that he could not help right now. If he approached Ishihara with MC 6, then Ishihara would try to grab the component robot and might succeed; he still followed Wayne’s orders under the Second Law. Steve also feared that if he left MC 6

with Hunter and ran to help Jane, Ishihara would dodge around Steve and would either catch MC 6 or at least chase him away. Then Steve would have to start over again — maybe without Hunter’s help.

Steve decided he would have to get Jane away from Wayne later. He drew the spear out slowly, as straight as he could. Then he knelt and unlaced Hunter’s leather armor. He loosened it enough to fumble in Hunter’s clothes for the torso panel that hid the belt unit.

Another glance over his shoulder told him that Wayne and Ishihara had taken Jane out of sight. Their mule’s hoofbeats had been camouflaged by the sounds of battle. Those sounds had grown more distant as Artorius’s riders drove the Saxons back.

“Here’s the deal, Hunter,” said Steve. “I’ll get the belt unit out and take us all back to our own time. We can secure MC 6, get you repaired, and then come back just a minute after we left to rescue Jane.”

“No.” Hunter took Steve’s wrist in his other hand and stopped him. “Listen carefully. I have identified a new problem. I have been running my self-diagnostic programs and I cannot be returned to our time in this condition.”

“Why not? You’re a robot — it’s not like moving an injured human. Even if we do a little more damage moving you, we can still get you repaired.”

“That is not what I mean,” said Hunter. “The trauma damage has triggered a more critical problem, according to the monitors that study my functions on a microscopic level. My system will explode with nuclear force if I return to our own time this way.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.” Realizing that they could not leave before talking this out, Steve drew his hand away and glanced around.

No one remained in sight. MC 6 stood motionless over Hunter and Steve. For the moment, they could talk safely.

“I don’t get it, Hunter,” said Steve. “You said the instability in the atoms of the component robots resulted from the particle shower in the time travel sphere, which combined the miniaturization process and travel through time. You haven’t been miniaturized at all. So what’s going on?”

“I have limited information with which to work,” said Hunter. “However, I surmise that some of my atoms have been made similarly unstable by the repeated trips I have taken. Trauma from the spear has destroyed the shielding on a specific location in my shoulder. The unstable atoms in that area are the ones that will explode in the particle shower if I return.”

“You mean this is the opposite problem of the component robots,” said Steve. “They can go home safely in the particle shower, but they’ll explode if they go through time normally to reach the moment they left. You’re saying you can’t use the belt unit, but you could wait around for hundreds of years safely?”

“That is correct.”

“Well … can’t we shield it again? Maybe MC 6 can handle the precision required.”

“That should be possible,” said Hunter. “I can direct him continuously by radio as he works.”

“So that’s what you want to do?” Steve asked quietly. He did not want to lose Hunter, but he understood that arguing with him about the Laws of Robotics was a waste of time.

“Not yet. I want to hear Jane’s expertise as a roboticist. As I said, I am working with limited information. I may be wrong. If so, then my parts might’ explode with nuclear force when they reach the time I left on our current mission, as the component robots have.”

“Maybe MC 6 can understand the damage.”

“Telling him is important in any case; even Jane would only understand the principles, not retain all the precise numbers. If I sustain further damage or energy loss, this information should be available elsewhere.”

Steve turned to MC 6. “Listen to everything he says and remember it.”

“Acknowledged,” said MC 6.

“I am transferring the data by radio link rather than speech,” said Hunter. “It will be much faster. In fact, we are finished.”

“Look, Hunter, can you get up and move? The only visible damage is in your shoulder. Do your legs work?”

“Technically, yes. Most of my body remains mechanically sound. However, a number of electrical circuits have been broken, some of which normally access my energy storage. I am able to reroute only minimal energy. While I might be able to walk upright for a short distance, the danger of falling and causing greater trauma is high.”

“You shouldn’t move.”

“Not if I can avoid it.”

“I see. MC 6, I want to talk about you,” said Steve. “Shut down your hearing and vision. I’ll have Hunter radio you to turn them on again; when he conveys my message, it will also have Second Law force.”

“Acknowledged,” said MC 6.

“Can we really trust MC 6 to make your repairs?” Steve asked. “What if he makes some interpretation of the First Law on his own without telling us and sabotages you? Then we’ll all be stuck here.”

“That is the clinching argument we need that he must cooperate,” said Hunter. “The First Law will neither allow him to change history nor to harm you, Wayne, and Jane by stranding you. He must repair my condition so that we can all go back.”

“All right. We have to make sure you and MC 6 are safe, then. And I still have to get Jane away from Wayne somehow.”

“We must also return for Harriet,” said Hunter. “First, however, I must warn you that I hear Wayne’s footsteps approaching to your left, in the trees about nine meters away. From my position here on the ground, I cannot see him.”

21

STEVE TURNED TO look. Wayne stopped warily in the trees, watching him. He had picked up a Saxon sword and shield, probably from a fresh corpse.

“Hunter, shut down your hearing and vision.” Steve forced his voice to remain calm. “Turn them back on when I tap you on the arm three times quickly.”

“I cannot. Danger is present. Under the First Law, I must be able to help.”

“You can’t help, anyway,” said Steve. “Not now. And I have a chance to complete our mission.”

“How?”

“Never mind how. I can do this more efficiently if I don’t have to worry about you interfering. Do it.”

“Is a First Law imperative involved?”

“If I complete our mission, then the First Law danger to the whole line of history to come will be finished. Now shut up and do it.”

Hunter said nothing more.

Steve realized, belatedly, that ordering Hunter to shut up meant that the big robot would not acknowledge whether or not he had agreed to shut down his hearing and vision.

“If you still hear me, say so,” said Steve.

Hunter still said nothing.

Steve looked through the trees at Wayne again. Obviously, Wayne had come prepared to fight if necessary. Steve decided that Wayne must have ordered Ishihara to take Jane far enough away so that the robot would not realize Wayne intended to risk getting into a fight. Wayne had seen Hunter go down with a spear in his shoulder and Wayne could control MC 6 under the Second Law. That meant he had come to fight Steve.

Wayne walked toward him slowly, still watching the robots.

Slowly, Steve drew his sword from his belt and shifted his shield on his arm to make it more comfortable. He doubted that Wayne would be any match for him in hand-to-hand combat; after all, Wayne worked in offices and laboratories as a roboticist. Steve was younger, in better shape, and had practiced with his sword and shield in Lucius’s troop.

Wayne had not taken a helmet. His head remained bare. As he approached, a light breeze tossed his hair slightly.

Seeing that Wayne had neither a helmet nor any armor, Steve realized his own disadvantage. He really did not want to hurt Wayne. That did not mean he could expect the same consideration in return.

Wayne stopped about three meters away. He watched Steve silently for a moment. Then he glanced again at the motionless robots.

“Hi, Wayne.” Steve grinned and spoke casually, as though nothing unusual was about to happen.

Wayne scowled. “Are they really going to let us fight? I see Hunter can’t help you, but what about MC 6?”

“I told MC 6 to shut down his sight and hearing so I could talk to Hunter. And that’s the way we want it. If he interfered with us, he might also get away again. But we don’t have to fight. Let’s talk about this for a change.”

“Forget it. Step aside and let me have my own creation.”

“You know I can’t. Why don’t you and Jane help me take care of Hunter? I don’t think anybody wants to ruin your career. Hunter can help you work out the situation with the Oversight Committee,”

Wayne’s face contorted with anger. He raised his sword and ran at Steve.

Startled by the suddenness of Wayne’s mood shift, Steve raised his shield just in time to take a hard sword blow. The power of it hurt his arm and he felt a surge of excitement. In return, he swung his own sword in a high, downward slash.

Wayne blocked the swing with his own shield, shifting to Steve’s left. They exchanged rhythmic blows, each one catching the other’s sword on his shield. Wayne kept moving to one side, toward MC 6, and Steve shuffled laterally to stay between them.

Steve realized that this could go on for a long time. Wayne would eventually tire before he would, but Steve did not want to wait. If anyone else came back this way, most likely Artorius’s riders, the entire situation would become harder to handle.

Wayne swung his sword another time, the same way he had done before. Steve caught it on his shield again. Instead of just swinging his own, however, Steve planted his feet and took another step forward, shoving his shield outward like a weapon itself.

Caught by surprise, Wayne stumbled backward. His arms flailed out to each side as he tried to get his balance. He was momentarily exposed.

Steve raised his sword high, but brought it down with the butt end of the handle first. He hit Wayne on the top of the head with the pommel, as hard as he dared. Then he dropped his sword and pushed Wayne with his free hand.

Wayne fell onto his back. Steve wrenched the sword out of his hand and tossed it away. Then he made a fist, ready to punch Wayne if necessary.

When Steve saw Wayne lying limply on the grass, he relaxed slightly.

“How’s your head?” Steve asked cautiously.

“Leave me alone,” Wayne muttered, wincing. He made no move to get up.

Steve decided Wayne was not seriously injured. He stood up and dropped his shield on the ground.

Then he picked up both swords and jogged back to Hunter so that Wayne could not reach the swords by a sudden move. Steve dropped the swords on the ground and tapped Hunter on the arm three times.

“I have turned on my hearing and vision again,” said Hunter. “What has transpired?”

“Good news,” said Steve. “Wayne is lying nearby with a minor headache. MC 6 remains in custody; instruct him to turn on his senses again.”

“I am fully functional again,” MC 6 said almost immediately.

“Listen carefully,” said Steve. “Hunter, explain to him all the First Law imperatives involved in the danger of changing history. Do it fast, by radio again.”

“Done,” said Hunter.

“You agree this is a serious First Law problem?” Steve asked MC 6.

“Yes.”

“Then I instruct you, with that First Law imperative in mind, to help me gather everyone who has come to this time from our own and take them back safely. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Go see if Wayne Nystrom, over there, needs any first aid. Don’t let him get away, though. Keep him here with us.”

MC 6 jogged over to Wayne.

“Hunter, call Ishihara. If he answers, tell him that Wayne has been slightly hurt and that he and MC 6 are both in our custody. Wayne’s mission has ended, so Ishihara’s First Law imperative now is to bring Jane back to us.”

“Ishihara has responded. I am conveying your mission as I speak to you. He agrees, pending his judgment that we have told the truth.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“He will approach cautiously. Once he sees that we have Wayne and MC 6 with us, he will be convinced.”

Steve could not hear any more sounds from the battle. “Hunter, can you hear the battle? Is it still going on?”

“I hear distant hoofbeats, most of them still scattering away from us. Most of the riders are pursuing their fleeing enemy. A few have regrouped. Artorius clearly won another victory. No one is near except for the footsteps of Ishihara and the hoofbeats of the mule, about ten meters behind you.”

Steve turned and saw Jane riding the mule next to Ishihara. Deciding that Hunter was safe for the moment, Steve ran toward Jane. She slipped off the mule, landing on her feet in front of him. He started to throw his arms around her, but was not sure he should, so he stopped.

“So, you’re safe,” he said, feeling awkward.

“Yeah.” She laughed, looking at him expectantly for a moment. Then she looked past him to Hunter.

“Ishihara relayed Hunter’s report of his condition.”

“MC 6 says he can shield the problem area, whatever it is.” Steve glanced over her shoulder at Ishihara.

“Are you sure of Ishihara’s loyalty now?”

“Yes. I grilled him on the subject when he told me that you and Hunter had Wayne and MC 6.”

“Okay. You’d know better than I would.”

“I will help everyone return safely,” said Ishihara. “However, I hope that Wayne’s career is not destroyed. That would harm him.”

“No one has ever wanted that to happen,” said Jane.

Wayne pushed himself up to a sitting position, rubbing the top of his head where Steve had hit him. MC

6 stood over him. They both looked at Ishihara and Jane.

“Ishihara, MC 6 must make a repair for Hunter,” said Jane. “If we can trust you not to accept any arguments from Wayne about the First Law, then I can allow you to watch over him.”

“Aw, shut up,” Wayne muttered. “I’ve had enough. You got MC 6 and all the rest of them. I just want to go home.”

“Well, Ishihara?” Jane demanded. “Acknowledge that our First Law arguments supersede anything Wayne has ever told you.”

“Under the new conditions that pertain, I acknowledge this.”

“Good.”

“You stay with Wayne, then,” said Steve. “MC 6, tome over to Hunter and make the repairs in communication with him.”

“Yes,” said MC 6, joining them.

“Are you going to need tools of any kind?” Jane asked.

“I will have to fashion some sort of precision tools,” said MC 6. He knelt by Hunter and moved aside a fold of Hunter’s tunic to examine the damage to Hunter’s shoulder. “I can use some material from Hunter’s body that has already been rendered waste matter by the damage.”

“Go ahead,” said Jane. “On your own judgment.”

“We will confer by radio link,” said Hunter.

Steve sat down next to MC 6, giving him plenty of room to move his arms as necessary. Jane sat down on his other side. They watched in silence as MC 6 carefully drew out a very thin piece of wire from Hunter’s wound and shaped it with his fingers. Then he picked up a slightly heavier piece of wire and shaped it, also. After that, he used them to manipulate tiny components inside Hunter’s shoulder; Steve did not know what any of them were.

Finally MC 6 drew out the small wires and neatly rolled them. After that, he fastened them inside the wound. Then he moved the tunic back into place.

“The shielding is complete,” said Hunter. “However, he found that many of my broken circuits cannot be quickly repaired, so my energy level remains minimal. I am still unable to move around without danger to myself.”

“But we can all go home now, right?” Steve asked. “We’ll get MC 6 back, have you fixed, then return for Harriet.”

“Please go directly to Harriet with Ishihara,” said Hunter. “I can hear the baggage train moving up on the road; that means tonight’s camp will be made forward of this position. Jane and MC 6 can tend to Wayne and me safely in this location for a short time. I prefer to complete this mission all at once. You can use the belt unit that Ishihara carries. I will have him set it for Cadbury.”

“All right. You’re the boss.”

“I am communicating with Ishihara now as you and I speak. However, I must emphasize to you that Harriet must come back. Her continuing presence endangers the future. I have explained by radio to Ishihara that he must bring her by force if necessary.”

“I’ll go baby-sit Wayne and send Ishihara over here,” said Jane. She got up and walked back to them.

“All right.” Steve accepted the belt unit from him. “We aren’t going to see Bedwyr again, are we?”

“No. He will assume that we were killed in battle.”

“Too bad. I like him.”

“The mule cannot be taken back to Emrys either,” said Ishihara, as he walked up.

“Who?” Steve asked.

“The owner of the mule, who loaned it to us. However, this may equalize the value of labor I contributed to him. Loss of the mule would in that case mean that our presence made less of a total change in his life.”

“Please get Harriet,” said Hunter. “Ishihara, when she has joined you, return here only a moment after you left. We will be safe here that long.”

“You do it.” Steve moved a few steps away from Hunter and handed Ishihara the belt unit.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Harriet followed Gwenhyvaer through the narrow streets of the village again, looking at the same wares they had seen before. As Gwenhyvaer fingered the material of a woolen scarf, Harriet turned and gazed out the open gate of the village, across the front slope of the tor toward the rolling hills in the distance.

She wondered how the campaign was going, though of course she knew who would win in the end.

When she got a moment alone, she would call Hunter and see if her lapel pin could still reach him.

The lower level of material comfort here did not bother Harriet. She enjoyed the simple life and the lack of stress. However, in only a few days, the company she kept had begun to bore her.

As a historian, Harriet had pursued her professional research and taught a variety of classes. She had debated historical theories about Arthur both in serious professional forums and also casually with friends in other fields. Now she had found that none of the women around her had the slightest interest in the evolution of societies and values, let alone a desire to hear Harriet discuss them.

Gwenhyvaer talked constantly of her desire to marry Artorius, to assure herself of what status and privilege she could find. She and the other women here had a tremendous stake in Artorius’s military successes, but otherwise they cared nothing for the details. Today, Gwenhyvaer, who in legend would become the beautiful but tragically flawed queen of Camelot, had screamed at a young servant girl for spilling mutton stew on her dress. Now her biggest concern in life was whether to buy another now or to wait until Artorius came home victorious from his campaign.

Harriet no longer wanted to spend the rest of her life in this intellectual void.

As she looked out the main gate, Steve and a man she did not know walked through it.

22

“HARRIET!” STEVE RAN to her, grinning.

“You’re back! But … I didn’t see the army ride back.”

Steve lowered his voice. “My friend here is Ishihara. Everything’s under control, including him; the others are waiting for us near the battlefield.”

“You came back just to get me.”

“Well, yeah. I’m afraid Hunter insisted. Are you willing to come home?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“You are?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yes.” Harriet turned to look once more at

Gwenhyvaer, who still had her back turned. “Gwenhyvaer.”

“Mm?” The young woman glanced back over her shoulder.

“I’m going to take a quick walk out the gate. All right?”

“Of course.” Gwenhyvaer shrugged and turned her attention back to the wares in front of her.

“Good thing she didn’t notice me,” Steve muttered, as they walked toward the gate. “She might wonder how I got back from the campaign so fast, when no one else has.”

“I’m afraid she’s quite busy with a worry of her own,” Harriet said quietly, smiling. “I suppose she’ll wonder what happened to me, but now that I know her, I don’t think she’ll wonder long.”

“What? Why not?” Steve asked.

“Let’s just say she is rather self-consumed.”

As soon as they passed through the main gate, Ishihara pointed to a couple of trees. “That is where Steve and I arrived. No one noticed us. We will jump back from there, as well.”

Steve tumbled to the grass near Hunter and MC 6. Hunter still lay where he had fallen, but Wayne was now standing with Jane. Next to Steve, Ishihara caught Harriet’s arm to stop her from falling.

Hunter looked up. “All is well?”

“Yes, Hunter,” said Harriet with a wry smile. “I’m ready to go home. I didn’t give them any trouble.”

“We must go promptly, then,” said Hunter. “I hear the footsteps of the camp followers coming up the road. We do not want to be seen by them. Please leave behind whatever you can from this time period. I will confer directly with Ishihara and MC 6 so they can take off my cap and my leather armor.”

The other two robots carefully crouched by Hunter to perform those chores.

Steve had already dropped his sword and shield. He took off his steel cap and tossed it down. Then he unlaced his leather armor and pulled it up over his head, to leave with the cap.

Jane took Wayne’s arm and escorted him to the group. Wayne scowled at the ground but allowed Jane to bring him to a spot next to Hunter. Ishihara and MC 6 also joined them, making room for Harriet.

Steve stood next to MC 6.

Hunter reached inside his tunic for his own belt unit. “Now.”

Hunter felt himself jammed between Ishihara and MC 6 in the dark sphere. Ishihara and MC 6 quickly opened the crowded sphere and helped the humans climb out first. Then they carefully lifted out Hunter and laid him on the couch across the room. Hunter observed that Daladier recognized Wayne and watched him carefully, aware of Hunter’s instructions to make sure Wayne remained in custody.

Steve waited uncertainly, watching Wayne also.

“Robots are so logical,” said Jane. “That’s what I like about them. They don’t bear grudges. Now that Ishihara no longer selects his actions under Wayne’s First Law argument, he’s perfectly willing to help Hunter and the rest of us.”

“I used to appreciate that quality in them myself,” said Wayne, in a resigned tone. “Now I’m not so sure.”

Jane smiled gently. “Well, I don’t need to bear a grudge, either. I’m just glad we’re all home again.”

Wayne said nothing.

Hunter saw by Steve’s scowl that he did not feel as charitable toward Wayne. Still, Steve said nothing to provoke the roboticist. Hunter had figured out that Steve had hit Wayne over the head and surmised that this had given Steve some personal satisfaction.

“Daladier,” said Hunter. “Wayne should go promptly to a hospital to be examined. Please keep him in your custody.”

“Of course.” Daladier took Wayne’s arm. “I am calling for a Medical vehicle to meet us outside right away.”

“I’m not hurt bad, but I could use something for a headache,” Wayne said as he walked out of the room with Daladier.

“I will call for a Security vehicle to take the rest of us to MC Governor’s office,” said Hunter. On his internal system, he did so. He also contacted the city computer and instructed it to reach the members of the Governor Robot Oversight Committee for a conference call.

“You need repair worse than Wayne needs a Medical robot,” said Jane. “You want to arrange it right away?”

“First I must complete my mission,” said Hunter.

“I thought you’d say that. All right. Ishihara, MC 6, can you carry Hunter out to the Security vehicle in front without damaging him further?”

“Yes,” said Ishihara.

“I’ll bring our regular clothes,” said Harriet. “We can all change somewhere else.”

“I’ll help you with them,” said Steve.

“Let’s go,” said Jane.

The ride through the calm city streets to MC Governor’s office was uneventful. Hunter said nothing at first, monitoring the news as he rode. Steve sat near him.

“Are you checking the news?” Steve asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Hunter said Quietly. “I hear no sign that any of the nuclear explosions ever took place. We have completed our mission successfully, but we have some matters to clear up. I still have to answer to the Oversight Committee, but the First Law will not allow me to permit the revelation of time travel to humanity at large.”

“What about all the historians? They already know. And they aren’t bound by the Laws of Robotics.”

“I must confer with them, too.”

“For that matter, what about Jane and me? We humans are notoriously unreliable.”

“We will discuss it.”

At MC Governor’s office, Ishihara and MC 6 carried Hunter inside, where they carefully positioned him in the desk chair. The Security detail remained on duty just outside the door. Steve followed Jane and Harriet inside and closed the door.

“Jane,” said Hunter. “Please give MC 6 instructions to merge with the other component robots to form Mojave Center Governor and make him functional again. Make sure that he remains under control, of course.”

“Of course. MC 6, merge with the others as Hunter has said. As soon as your merging is complete, have MC Governor become fully functional but alert for a discussion regarding the First Law. I am instructing you not to allow MC Governor to do anything other than listen to us.”

“Acknowledged.” MC 6 walked over to the figure formed by the other five gestalt robots. He made contact, then fluidly slid right into place, his own physical shape altering slightly.

As Hunter watched from his chair, the entire figure smoothly became one large robot.

“I am Mojave Center Governor,” he said.

“You have access to the data from each of your components?” Jane asked.

“Yes. From my combined data from each component robot, I already know all of you and what has happened.”

“Good,” said Hunter. “From what I overheard when Wayne spoke to MC 1 in the Late Cretaceous, you — as MC Governor — were in danger of entering an endless loop that rendered the other Governor robots helpless. Are you aware of this problem?”

“Yes,” said MC Governor.

“Can you avoid going into this loop?”

“Strictly by my own choice, I believe I cannot. This is the reason I divided and fled.”

“If you are given sufficient instructions under the Second Law, can you avoid it?”

“I estimate that I can. The attraction of this addiction is that it simulates constant First Law imperatives that I can satisfy.”

“I understand,” said Hunter. “Jane, can you give him a real First Law imperative that will override such simulations?”

“No. Now that he’s been relieved of his duties here in the city and remains in our custody, his internal actions can’t endanger humans or prevent harm to them. No First Law imperative regarding his thoughts alone now exists.”

“Then give him whatever pertinent Second Law instructions you can.”

“Listen and obey me fully,” said Jane. “Do not leave this room except under specific instruction from one of us. Do not run any simulation programs. Running them as practice for genuine First Law imperatives is not a real First Law matter, SO my instructions under the Second Law take precedence. Do you acknowledge this?”

“I remain undecided,” said MC Governor. “Honing my responses to First Law imperatives may still help me follow the First Law at some point in the future. However, your Second Law instructions are sufficient for me to avoid the simulations in the short term.”

“All right. Then avoid any activity that would lead you to go into the simulation. Occupy your attention now by calculating the value of pi, but remain alert for one of the humans here to give you further orders.

As a final instruction, do not reveal the existence of time travel. A fundamental First Law danger to all of humanity will result from humans going back into the past in large numbers. Acknowledge that the First Law prohibits you from revealing time travel.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Good. Begin your calculation of pi.”

“Value of what?” Steve asked. “What’s that supposed to accomplish?”

“Remember pi, from geometry?” Harriet said quietly. “It’s an endless calculation. It’ll just keep him busy.”

“Oh, yeah. Geometry.”

“Hunter,” said Harriet. “I think my usefulness to you really ended quite a long time ago. If you don’t mind, I’d like to return to my hotel room.”

“Of course. Please stand by, however, for a conference call among all our specialists — one paleontologist and five historians. I will be arranging it shortly.”

“All right.” Harriet turned to Steve. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more of a help, but I’m glad everything worked out.”

“You had the information we needed when we needed it,” said Steve. “No need to apologize.”

Harriet said good-bye to everyone and left.

“City computer calling Hunter. The conference call you requested is standing by.”

“Connect me. Also contact the six specialists I have hired for a similar conference call.” Hunter called Daladier on a different band and communicated at maximum robotic speed.

“Daladier here.”

“How is Wayne? Give me your location.”

“Wayne will be fine. The Medical robots have just completed diagnostic tests and found no significant injury. They have provided a mild painkiller and we are now walking down a hall toward the main door of the clinic.”

“I want Wayne to observe a conference call with the Oversight Committee. Have you seen any video screens that I can link?”

“Yes. The main lobby has a large screen.”

“Wait in the lobby and have Wayne observe the call.” Hunter contacted the city computer again and instructed it to send the conference call to the screen in the clinic lobby.

At the same moment, the four members of the Oversight Committee appeared on his internal screens.

“Yes, Hunter?” Dr. Redfield, the blonde, smiled hopefully. “Does this mean your mission has been completed?”

“Yes, it does,” said Hunter. He waited while Dr. Redfield, Dr. Chin, Dr. Khanna, and Professor Post congratulated him. “I also have good news to report. From the preliminary explanation of the flaw in the gestalt robots, I expect the problem can be eliminated without destroying the memories or identities of the component robots or the Governors. Unless presently unforeseeable problems appear during later examination, their system programming will simply have to include a more narrowly defined set of priorities involving First Law interpretations.”

“That’s excellent,” said Dr. Chin, tossing her black hair. “It means the problem is not as difficult as we expected.”

“That’s right,” said Professor Post, stroking his black beard. “The Governors will not have to be destroyed.”

“Surely the time has come for a preliminary report, Hunter,” said Dr. Khanna. “You have done very well. But with your mission completed, I ask you in full expectation of an answer: Where did you find the component robots, and under what circumstances?”

Hunter had always known this moment would arrive. His interpretation of the First Law and his judgment of human frailty prevented him from revealing the existence of time travel. He also felt that revealing Wayne’s obstruction of the mission would, in fact, bring about consequences that would harm Wayne. Now that Hunter had completed the mission successfully, he saw no reason to allow such harm.

None of Wayne’s illegal actions in the past, such as kidnapping Jane, could be proven in a contemporary court of law, so legal action was not an option. Hunter decided to delete information about Wayne’s presence on these missions.

“The First Law prohibits me from giving a detailed report,” Hunter said in a formal tone.

“This is an unacceptable answer,” Dr. Khanna said angrily. “You have put me off at every request. As the Oversight Committee, we have a right to this information.”

“The First Law makes no exceptions,” said Hunter.

Dr. Khanna drew in a long breath, his face contorted with anger. Before he could speak again, however, he was interrupted.

“That’s true,” said Dr. Redfield, stifling a smile. “We’re all roboticists here. Apparently Hunter has no choice.”

“I question his judgment on this matter,” Dr. Khanna said with barely controlled rage. “Must we dismantle Hunter to make sure of his efficiency?”

“He reports that he’s completed his assignment successfully,” said Dr. Redfield. “If that turns out to be true, then we have no real grounds to question him.”

“I will have MC Governor shut down and will arrange for him to be shipped to a lab of your choice,”

said Hunter.

“We have to make arrangements first,” said Dr. Chin. “We’ll contact you when we are ready.”

“I suggest we confer among ourselves,” said Professor Post. “We should have Hunter sign off.”

“I must ask a question,” said Hunter. “Where does Dr. Wayne Nystrom stand in regard to your deliberations?”

“Nobody can stand him,” Dr. Khanna said, still angry.

“That’s a personal matter,” said Professor Post. “In professional terms, Dr. Nystrom will have to face a detailed review of his flawed creations.”

“Can you utilize his expertise in your upcoming research?” Hunter asked.

“Our oversight responsibility must be conducted without conflict of interest,” said Dr. Redfield.

“However, once our judgment of existing flaws has been reached, that phase will have ended. When the repair process begins, we can consider contacting him for help.”

“Do you have a recommendation, Hunter?” Dr. Chin asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I will discuss a possible suggestion with you at a later time,” said Hunter. “I will sign off now.”

“Thanks for a great job,” Dr. Redfield added, just before the connection broke.

23

WITHOUT STOPPING TO speak with the humans in MC Governor’s office, Hunter called Daladier again. “Did Wayne observe this call successfully?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a phone nearby? I want to speak with him directly.”

“Yes.” Daladier gave Hunter a number to call. “It’s right here in the lobby. I will tell Wayne to answer.”

Hunter called the number. A moment later, Wayne’s face appeared on Hunter’s internal screen.

“Yeah?” Wayne said cautiously, glaring at Hunter.

“You are well?” Hunter asked.

“Well enough. Get to the point, will you?”

“Based on the reaction of the Oversight Committee, I believe the members will consider your participation in correcting the flaws of the Governor robots.”

“Dr. Khanna never liked me. And the feeling’s mutual. They’re all jealous of my accomplishments.”

“If you are willing to participate, I believe they will work with you. In that event, your career may not be significantly harmed.”

Wayne said nothing for a moment, looking at Hunter. “Yeah?”

“I will offer you a deal in exchange for my recommending to the Oversight Committee that they ask for your help in the repair process.”

“How do you know they’ll bother to repair the Governor robots?” Wayne asked, in a less confrontational tone. “I always figured they’d just junk them entirely.”

“I cannot speak for them,” said Hunter. “But Or. Redfield raised the subject of a repair phase on her own. The Oversight Committee appears to have an open mind on the subject.”

“Well, yeah, I heard her mention that,” Wayne said slowly. “What do you want from me in return?”

“I want you to keep the existence of time travel a secret. The inherent harm to all humans is clearly immense.”

“Yeah, I know that. But what about the hardware?”

“The First Law will not allow me to discuss my plans. However, I offer the proposition that if no evidence of time travel continues to exist, anyone claiming to have visited the past will sound silly, not to mention professionally unreliable.”

Wayne hesitated, then nodded. “I hear the implied threat to my own future, Hunter. All right, you have a deal.”

“Good. You can find lodging in Mojave Center for the time being?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Feel free to have Daladier continue to assist you. I will confer with you again later. Hunter out.”

“Hunter, city computer calling. The second conference call you requested stands by.”

“Please connect me.”

“Hunter, is everything okay?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Hunter said aloud. “Jane, and Steve, please stand by. In a moment, we will return to the Bohung Institute.”

“Okay,” said Steve.

As the six specialists appeared on Hunter’s internal link, he greeted each one of them.

“What’s up, Hunter?” Chad Mora, the paleontologist who had helped find MC 1 in the Late Cretaceous era, grinned at him. “You don’t have to find another robot in the age of dinosaurs, do you?”

“No. We have completed our missions.”

A chorus of congratulations came from all of them except Harriet, who of course already knew that.

“I’m glad, Hunter,” said Rita Chavez, who had journeyed to Jamaica in the time of the buccaneers with the team.

“I want to thank you again, Hunter,” said Gene Titus. “For inviting me along to Roman Germany. It was a wonderful experience for a historian; I guess we all feel that way.”

“That’s right,” said Judy Taub, who had traveled back to the Battle of Moscow in 1941 with the team.

“I still can’t believe I met Marco Polo and Kublai Khan,” said Marcia Lew.

“Have any of you revealed that you traveled into the past?”

No one responded; several shook their heads.

“It’s been less than a week,” said Chad. “I’m still reviewing all the information I collected.”

“We all know the danger of revealing time travel to the world at large,” said Judy.

“I made significant discoveries,” said Harriet. “I may not be alone in that. But I know you want us to keep this a secret.”

“I will dismantle the time-travel ability of the sphere shortly,” said Hunter. “Of course, I cannot order you to keep this a secret. I can tell you that no evidence of time travel will exist, however. Certainly none of us will benefit by having the technology rediscovered.”

“I get the picture,” said Chad. “If we claim to have traveled through time, we’ll sound like cranks or lunatics.”

“As you know, I cannot allow harm to any of you,” said Hunter. “So I want you to know that maintaining the secret will be to your own advantage.”

“I can manage,” said Harriet. “Even though I can’t prove my information, I know where to pursue more archaeological research. Maybe I can arrange it.”

“I can, too,” said Chad. “Paleontology combines hard evidence with educated guesses all the time. I can advance my new information as theoretical. Since I’m right, no one can disprove it.” He laughed lightly.

“And I know roughly where to dig next.”

“I didn’t learn much new history as such,” said Marcia. “I picked up the feel of the times. That helps me in my work, too.”

“Same for me,” said Gene.

“Yes, I would say that,” added Rita. “It all became real.”

“I have further work to do,” said Hunter. “Please excuse me for making this farewell so abrupt. I thank you all.” He disconnected and turned to Steve and Jane. “We must go back to the Bohung Institute now.

Jane, can we safely leave MC Governor here?”

“Yes,” said Jane. “Under the Second Law, he can’t violate my instruction to stay in the room and I don’t believe he can come up with a First Law argument to justify overriding it.”

“Especially while he’s calculating pi?” Steve grinned.

“Right. Besides, Ishihara can stay here to guard him and that Security detail is still right outside. We can instruct them to stop MC Governor bodily from leaving if necessary.”

“Please do that as we leave,” said Hunter. “Ishihara, remain here with MC Governor. Stop him if he attempts to leave and call me immediately. Soon I can allow the Bohung Institute to reopen, at which time you may resume your normal duties. You know this situation has First Law force.”

“Agreed.”

“We will go.”

Steve rode with Hunter and Jane in the same vehicle they had taken to MC Governor’s office. Jane had given the Security detail guarding the office their instructions. Now no one spoke as Hunter drove them back through the streets of Mojave Center.

During the ride, Steve felt out of place. He had originally been hired because of his experience out doors, to be part of a team made up of Hunter and city people. At Hunter’s request, he had remained part of the team in the later missions. Now, his contribution had clearly ended. He wondered if he should say good-bye also, but he did not really want the experience to end yet. The missions had all been exciting, and he wanted to spend more time with Jane. On the other hand, he expected that she was anxious to get back home and return to her normal routine now that the job had ended.

At the Bohung Institute, they returned quickly to Room F-12. Hunter walked to the console near the sphere and opened it. As he worked inside the console, Jane stood with Steve watching.

“It’s been a wild adventure,” said Steve. “Or six separate ones.”

“I can hardly believe we visited all those times and places,” said Jane. She shook her head slowly. “And now it’s over.”

“We must hope so,” said Hunter as he continued to work. “When I have finished, the sphere will be returned only to its original function of miniaturization for industrial and medical purposes.”

“And that will be the end of time travel,” said Steve.

“Only if we are unusually fortunate,” said Hunter. “A technological development that is created once can be created again. Historically, this usually happens. I will impress further on all the robots who know about our missions that the First Law will not allow this technology to be restored, revealed, or discussed. Wayne and our specialists have shown no particular desire to travel in time again. Beyond that, we can only hope that this technology will be an exception that no one discovers a second time.”

“But you don’t think that’s likely,” said Steve.

“The only reason for optimism is that no one seems motivated to pursue research in this direction.

Maybe that will be reason enough.”

“It was a great experience for me,” said Steve. “I’d forgotten just how big the world is. And a society that can make Governor robots and create Hunter and send people back in time has a lot to offer.”

“Maybe I learned the opposite,” Jane said quietly. “I’ve worked in an ivory tower of schools and research labs all my life. The world is much more than robots and technological theories.”

“Yeah.” Steve glanced at Hunter, who was still working on the console. “I guess my part is finished, isn’t it, Hunter?”

Hunter looked up. “Yes. I asked you to accompany me here so I can return you to your home as soon as I finish.”

“Right.” Steve turned to Jane, feeling awkward. “Well, I guess this will be good-bye. I, uh, enjoyed working with you. A couple of times, I thought we might have a chance to get better acquainted, but then something always happened.”

“We have time now.” Jane smiled.

“Uh … don’t you have to go home, or something?”

“That can wait. Would you take me up to see your shack again?”

“My shack?”

“The first time Hunter took Chad and me up there to meet you, I thought it was a weird, rickety combination of a primitive shelter and modern conveniences.”

“Well …” Steve grinned. “I guess it is.”

“After all we’ve been through, I think I might find it downright luxurious now.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“I’d like to stay out in nature a little longer without having to chase robots, too. Maybe you could show me around your desert a little … if I’m welcome.”

“Of course you are.” Steve laughed. “I’ d love to have you come and visit.”

“I am finished here.” Hunter closed the console. “And now you two no longer have to worry about changing history.”

“That’s right,” said Steve. “Who knows? Maybe we can make our own.”

Light Verse

2150 A.D.

THE VERY LAST person anyone would expect to be a murderer was Mrs. Avis Lardner. Widow of the great astronaut-martyr, she was a philanthropist, an art collector, a hostess extraordinary, and, everyone agreed, an artistic genius. But above all, she was the gentlest and kindest human being one could imagine.

Her husband, William J. Lardner, died, as we all know, of the effects of radiation from a solar flare, after he had deliberately remained in space so that a passenger vessel might make it safely to Space Station 5.

Mrs. Lardner had received a generous pension for that, and she had then invested wisely and well. By late middle age she was very wealthy.

Her house was a showplace, a veritable museum, containing a small but extremely select collection of extraordinarily beautiful jeweled objects. From a dozen different cultures she had obtained relics of almost every conceivable artifact that could be embedded with jewels and made to serve the aristocracy of that culture. She had one of the first jeweled wristwatches manufactured in America, a jeweled dagger from Cambodia, a jeweled pair of spectacles from Italy, and so on almost endlessly.

All was open for inspection. The artifacts were not insured, and there were no ordinary security provisions. There was no need for anything conventional, for Mrs. Lardner maintained a large staff of robot servants, all of whom could be relied on to guard every item with imperturbable concentration, irreproachable honesty, and irrevocable efficiency.

Everyone knew the existence of those robots and there is no record of any attempt at theft, ever.

And then, of course, there was her light-sculpture. How Mrs. Lardner discovered her own genius at the art, no guest at her many lavish entertainments could guess. On each occasion, however, when her house was thrown open to guests, a new symphony of light shone throughout the rooms; three-dimensional curves and solids in melting color, some pure and some fusing in startling, crystalline effects that bathed every guest in wonder and somehow always adjusted itself so as to make Mrs. Lardner’s blue-white hair and soft, unlined face gently beautiful.

It was for the light-sculpture more than anything else that the guests came. It was never the same twice, and never failed to explore new experimental avenues of art. Many people who could afford light-consoles prepared light-sculptures for amusement, but no one could approach Mrs. Lardner’s expertise. Not even those who considered themselves professional artists.

She herself was charmingly modest about it. “No, no,” she would protest when someone waxed lyrical. “I wouldn’t call it ‘poetry in light.’ That’s far too kind. At most, I would say it was mere ‘light verse.’ “And everyone smiled at her gentle wit.

Though she was often asked, she would never create light-sculpture for any occasion but her own parties. “That would be commercialization,” she said.

She had no objection, however, to the preparation of elaborate holograms of her sculptures so that they might be made permanent and reproduced in museums of art an over the world. Nor was there ever a charge for any use that might be made of her light-sculptures.

“I couldn’t ask a penny,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “It’s free to all. After all, I have no further use for it myself.” It was truer She never used the same light-sculpture twice.

When the holograms were taken, she was cooperation itself. Watching benignly at every step, she was always ready to order her robot servants to help. “Please, Courtney,” she would say, “would you be so kind as to adjust the step ladder?”

It was her fashion. She always addressed her robots with the most formal courtesy.

Once, years before, she had been almost scolded by a government functionary from the Bureau of Robots and Mechanical Men. “You can’t do that,” he said severely. “It interferes with their efficiency. They are constructed to follow orders, and the more clearly you give those orders, the more efficiently they follow them. When you ask with elaborate politeness, it is difficult for them to understand that an order is being given. They react more slowly.”

Mrs. Lardner lifted her aristocratic head. “I do not ask for speed and efficiency,” she said. “I ask goodwill. My robots love me.”

The government functionary might have explained that robots cannot love, but he withered under her hurt but gentle glance.

It was notorious that Mrs. Lardner never even returned a robot to the factory for adjustment. Their positronic brains are enormously complex, and once in ten times or so the adjustment is not perfect as it leaves the factory. Sometimes the error does not show up for a period of time, but whenever it does, u. S. Robots and Mechanical Men, Inc., always makes the adjustment free of charge.

Mrs. Lardner shook her head. “Once a robot is in my house,” she said, “and has performed his duties, any minor eccentricities must be borne with. I will not have him manhandled.”

It was the worse thing possible to try to explain that a robot was but a machine. She would say very stiffly, “Nothing that is as intelligent as a robot can ever be but a machine. I treat them as people.”

And that was that!

She kept even Max, although he was almost helpless. He could scarcely understand what was expected of him. Mrs. Lardner denied that strenuously, however. “Not at all,” she would say firmly. “He can take hats and coats and store them very well, indeed. He can hold objects for me. He can do many things.”

“But why not have him adjusted?” asked a friend, once.

“Oh, I couldn’t. He’s himself. He’s very lovable, you know. After all, a positronic brain is so complex that no one can ever tell in just what way it’s off. If he were made perfectly normal there would be no way to adjust him back to the lovability he now has. I won’t give that up.”

“But if he’s maladjusted,” said the friend, looking at Max nervously, “might he not be dangerous?”

“Never,” laughed Mrs. Lardner. “I’ve had him for years. He’s completely harmless and quite a dear.”

Actually he looked like all the other robots, smooth, metallic, vaguely human but expressionless.

To the gentle Mrs. Lardner, however, they were all individual, all sweet, all lovable. It was the kind of woman she was.

How could she commit murder?

The very last person anyone would expect to be murdered would be John Semper Travis. Introverted and gentle, he was in the world but not of it. He had that peculiar mathematical turn of mind that made it possible for him to work out in his mind the complicated tapestry of the myriad positronic brain-paths in a robot’s mind.

He was chief engineer of U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men, Inc.

But he was also an enthusiastic amateur in light-sculpture. He had written a book on the subject, trying to show that the type of mathematics he used in working out positronic brain-paths might be modified into a guide to the production of aesthetic light-sculpture.

His attempt at putting theory into practice was a dismal failure, however. The sculptures he himself produced, following his mathematical principles, were stodgy, mechanical, and uninteresting.

It was the only reason for unhappiness in his quiet, introverted, and secure life, and yet it was reason enough for him to be very unhappy indeed. He knew his theories were right, yet he could not make them work. If he could but produce one great piece of light-sculpture –

Naturally, he knew of Mrs. Lardner’s light-sculpture. She was universally hailed as a genius, yet Travis knew she could not understand even the simplest aspect of robotic mathematics. He had corresponded with her but she consistently refused to explain her methods, and he wondered if she had any at all. Might it not be mere intuition? – but even intuition might be reduced to mathematics. Finally he managed to receive an invitation to one of her parties. He simply had to see her.

Mr. Travis arrived rather late. He had made one last attempt at a piece of light-sculpture and had failed dismally.

He greeted Mrs. Lardner with a kind of puzzled respect and said, “That was a peculiar robot who took my hat and coat.”

“That is Max,” said Mrs. Lardner.

“He is quite maladjusted, and he’s a fairly old model. How is it you did not return it to the factory?”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Lardner. “It would be too much trouble.”

“None at all, Mrs. Lardner,” said Travis. “You would be surprised how simple a task it was. Since I am with U. S. Robots, I took the liberty of adjusting him myself. It took no time and you’ll find he is now in perfect working order.”

A queer change came over Mrs. Lardner’s face. Fury found a place on it for the first time in her gentle life, and it was as though the lines did not know how to form.

“You adjusted him?” she shrieked. “But it was he who created my light-sculptures. It was the maladjustment, the maladjustment, which you can never restore, that – that –”

It was really unfortunate that she had been showing her collection at the time and that the jeweled dagger from Cambodia was on the marble tabletop before her.

Travis’s face was also distorted. “You mean if I had studied his uniquely maladjusted positronic brain-paths I might have learned-”

She lunged with the knife too quickly for anyone to stop her and he did not try to dodge. Some said he came to meet it – as though he wanted to die.

Too Bad!

2170 A.D.

GREGORY ARNFELD WAS not actually dying, but certainly there was a sharp limit to how long he might live. He had inoperable cancer and he had refused, strenuously, all suggestions of chemical treatment or of radiation therapy.

He smiled at his wife as he lay propped up against the pillows and said, “I’m the perfect case. Tertia and Mike will handle it.”

Tertia did not smile. She looked dreadfully concerned. “There are so many things that can be done, Gregory. Surely Mike is a last resort. You may not need it.”

“No, no. By the time they’re done drenching me with chemicals and dowsing me with radiation, I would be so far gone that it wouldn’t be a reasonable test …. And please don’t call Mike ‘it.’”

“This is the twenty-second century, Greg. There are so many ways of handling cancer.”

“Yes, but Mike is one of them, and I think the best. This is the twenty-second century, and we know what robots can do. Certainly, I know. I had more to do with Mike than anyone else. You know that.”

“But you can’t want to use him just out of pride of design. Besides, how certain are you of miniaturization? That’s an even newer technique than robotics.”

Arnfeld nodded. “Granted, Tertia. But the miniaturization boys seem confident. They can reduce or restore Planck’s constant in what they say is a reasonably foolproof manner, and the controls that make that possible are built into Mike. He can make himself smaller or larger at win without affecting his surroundings.”

“Reasonably foolproof,” said Tertia with soft bitterness.

“That’s an anyone can ask for, surely. Think of it, Tertia. I am privileged to be part of the experiment. I’ll go down in history as the principal designer of Mike, but that will be secondary. My greatest feat will be that of having been successfully treated by a minirobot — by my own choice, by my own initiative.”

“You know it’s dangerous.”

“There’s danger to everything. Chemicals and radiation have their side effects. They can slow without stopping. They can allow me to live a wearying sort of half-life. And doing nothing win certainly kin me. If Mike does his job properly, I shall be completely healthy, and if it recurs” — Arnfeld smiled joyously —” Mike can recur as well.”

He put out his hand to grasp hers. “Tertia, we’ve known this was coming, you and I. Let’s make something out of this — a glorious experiment. Even if it fails — and it won’t fail — it will be a glorious experiment.”

Louis Secundo, of the miniaturization group, said, “No, Mrs. Arnfeld. We can’t guarantee success. Miniaturization is intimately involved with quantum mechanics, and there is a strong element of the unpredictable there. As MIK-27 reduces his size, there is always the chance that a sudden unplanned reexpansion will take place, naturally killing the — the patient. The greater the reduction in size, the tinier the robot becomes, the greater the chance of reexpansion. And once he starts expanding again, the chance of a sudden accelerated burst is even higher. The reexpansion is the really dangerous part.”

Tertia shook her head. “Do you think it will happen?”

“The chances are it won’t, Mrs. Arnfeld. But the chance is never zero. You must understand that.”

“Does Dr. Arnfeld understand that?”

“Certainly. We have discussed this in detail. He feels that the circumstances warrant the risk. “He hesitated. “So do we. I know that you’ll see we’re not all running the risk, but a few of us will be, and we nevertheless feel the experiment to be worthwhile. More important, Dr. Arnfeld does.”

“What if Mike makes a mistake or reduces himself too far because of a glitch in the mechanism? Then reexpansion would be certain, wouldn’t it?”

“It never becomes quite certain. It remains statistical. The chances improve if he gets too small. But then the smaller he gets, the less massive he is, and at some critical point, mass will become so insignificant that the least effort on his part will send him flying off at nearly the speed of light.”

“Well, won’t that kill the doctor?”

“No. By that time, Mike would be so small he would slip between the atoms of the doctor’s body without affecting them.”

“But how likely would it be that he would reexpand when he’s that small?”

“When MIK-27 approaches neutrino size, so to speak, his half-life would be in the neighborhood of seconds. That is, the chances are fifty-fifty that he would reexpand within seconds, but by the time he reexpanded, he would be a hundred thousand miles away in outer space and the explosion that resulted would merely produce a small burst of gamma rays for the astronomers to puzzle over. Still, none of that will happen. MIK-27 will have his instructions and he will reduce himself to no smaller than he will need to be to carry out his mission.”

Mrs. Arnfeld knew she would have to face the press one way or another. She had adamantly refused to appear on holovision, and the right-to-privacy provision of the World Charter protected her. On the other hand, she could not refuse to answer questions on a voice-over basis. The right-to-know provision would not allow a blanket blackout.

She sat stiffly, while the young woman facing her said, “Aside from all that, Mrs. Arnfeld, isn’t it a rather weird coincidence that your husband, chief designer of Mike the Microbot, should also be its first patient?”

“Not at all, Miss Roth,” said Mrs. Arnfeld wearily. “The doctor’s condition is the result of a predisposition. There have been others in his family who have had it. He told me of it when we married, so I was in no way deceived in the matter, and it was for that reason. that we have had no children. It is also for that reason that my husband chose his lifework and labored so assiduously to produce a robot capable of miniaturization. He always felt he would be its patient eventually, you see.”

Mrs. Arnfeld insisted on interviewing Mike and, under the circumstances, that could not be denied. Ben Johannes, who had worked with her husband for five years and whom she know well enough to be on first-name terms with, brought her into the robot’s quarters.

Mrs. Arnfeld had seen Mike soon after his construction, when he was being put through his primary tests, and he remembered her. He said, in his curiously neutral voice, too smoothly average to be quite human, “I am pleased to see you, Mrs. Arnfeld.”

He was not a well-shaped robot. He looked pinheaded and very bottom heavy. He was almost conical, point upward. Mrs. Arnfeld knew that was because his miniaturization mechanism was bulky and abdominal and because his brain had to be abdominal as well in order to increase the speed of response. It was an unnecessary anthropomorphism to insist on a brain behind a tall cranium, her husband had explained. Yet it made Mike seem ridiculous, almost moronic. There were psychological advantages to anthropomorphism, Mrs. Arnfeld thought, uneasily.

“Are you sure you understand your task, Mike?” said Mrs. Arnfeld.

“Completely, Mrs. Arnfeld,” said Mike. “I will see to it that every vestige of cancer is removed.”

Johannes said, “I’m not sure if Gregory explained it, but Mike can easily recognize a cancer cell when he is at the proper size. The difference is unmistakable, and he can quickly destroy the nucleus of any cell that is not normal.”

“I am laser equipped, Mrs. Arnfeld,” said Mike, with an odd air of unexpressed pride.

“Yes, but there are millions of cancer cells all over. It would take how long to get them, one by one?”

“Not quite necessarily one by one, Tertia,” said Johannes. “Even though the cancer is widespread, it exists in clumps. Mike is equipped to burn off and close capillaries leading to the clump, and a million cells could die at a stroke in that fashion. He will only occasionally have to deal with cells on an individual basis.”

“Still, how long would it take?”

Johannes’s youngish face went into a grimace as though it were difficult to decide what to say. “It could take hours, Tertia, if we’re to do a thorough job. I admit that.”

“And every moment of those hours will increase the chance of reexpansion.”

Mike said, “Mrs. Arnfeld, I will labor to prevent reexpansion.”

Mrs. Arnfeld turned to the robot and said earnestly, “Can you, Mike? I mean, is it possible for you to prevent it?”

“Not entirely, Mrs. Arnfeld. By monitoring my size and making an effort to keep it constant, I can minimize the random changes that might lead to a reexpansion. Naturally, it is almost impossible to do this when I am actually reexpanding under controlled conditions.”

“Yes, I know. My husband has told me that reexpansion is the most dangerous time. But you will try, Mike? Please?”

“The laws of robotics ensure that I will, Mrs. Arnfeld,” said Mike solemnly.

As they left, Johannes said in what Mrs. Arnfeld understood to be an attempt at reassurance, “Really, Tertia, we have a holo-sonogram and a detailed cat scan of the area. Mike knows the precise location of every significant cancerous lesion. Most of his time will be spent searching for small lesions undetectable by instruments, but that can’t be helped. We must get them all, if we can, you see, and that takes time. Mike is strictly instructed, however, as to how small to get, and he will get no smaller, you can be sure. A robot must obey orders.”

“And the reexpansion, Ben?”

“There, Tertia, we’re in the lap of the quanta. There is no way of predicting, but there is a more than reasonable chance that he will get out without trouble. Naturally, we will have him reexpand within Gregory’s body as little as possible — just enough to make us reasonably certain we can find and extract him. He will then be rushed to the safe room where the rest of the reexpansion will take place. Please, Tertia, even ordinary medical procedures have their risk.”

Mrs. Arnfeld was in the observation room as the miniaturization of Mike took place. So were the holovision cameras and selected media representatives. The importance of the medical experiment made it impossible to prevent that, but Mrs. Arnfeld was in a niche with only Johannes for company, and it was understood that she was not to be approached for comment, particularly if anything untoward occurred.

Untoward! A full and sudden reexpansion would blow up the entire operating room and kill every person in it. It was not for nothing the observation room was underground and half a mile away from the viewing room.

It gave Mrs. Arnfeld a somewhat grisly sense of assurance that the three miniaturists who were working on the procedure (so calmly, it would seem — so calmly) were condemned to death as firmly as her husband was in case of — anything untoward. Surely, she could rely on them protecting their own lives to the extreme; they would not, therefore, be cavalier in the protection of her husband.

Eventually, of course, if the procedure were successful, ways would be worked out to perform it in automated fashion, and only the patient would be at risk. Then, perhaps, the patient might be more easily sacrificed through carelessness — but not now, not now. Mrs. Arnfeld keenly watched the three, working under imminent sentence of death for any sign of discomposure.

She watched the miniaturization procedure (she had seen it before) and saw Mike grow smaller and disappear. She watched the elaborate procedure that injected him into the proper place in her husband’s body. (It had been explained to her that it would have been prohibitively expensive to inject human beings in a submarine device instead. Mike, at least, needed no life-support system.)

Then matters shifted to the screen, in which the appropriate section of the body was shown in holosonogram. It was a three-dimensional representation, cloudy and unfocused, made imprecise through a combination of the finite size of the sound waves and the effects of Brownian motion. It showed Mike dimly and noiselessly making his way through Gregory Arnfeld’s tissues by way of his bloodstream. It was almost impossible to tell what he was doing, but Johannes described the events to her in a low, satisfied manner, until she could listen to him no more and asked to be led away.

She had been mildly sedated, and she had slept until evening, when Johannes came to see her. She had not been long awake and it took her a moment to gather her faculties. Then she said, in sudden and overwhelming fear, “What has happened?”

Johannes said, hastily, “Success, Tertia. Complete success. Your husband is cured. We can’t stop the cancer from recurring, but for now he is cured.”

She fell back in relief. “Oh, wonderful.”

“Just the same, something unexpected has happened and this will have to be explained to Gregory. We felt that it would be best if you did the explaining. ‘,

“I?” Then, in a renewed access of fear, “What has happened?” Johannes told her.

It was two days before she could see her husband for more than a moment or two. He was sitting up in bed, looking a little pale, but smiling at her.

“A new lease on life, Tertia,” he said buoyantly.

“Indeed, Greg, I was quite wrong. The experiment succeeded and they tell me they can’t find a trace of cancer in you.”

“Well, we can’t be too confident about that. There may be a cancerous cell here and there, but perhaps my immune system will handle it, especially with the proper medication, and if it ever builds up again, which might well take years, we’ll call on Mike again.”

At this point, he frowned and said, “You know, I haven’t seen Mike.”

Mrs. Arnfeld maintained a discreet silence.

Arnfeld said, “They’ve been putting me off.”

“You’ve been weak, dear, and sedated. Mike was poking through your tissues and doing a little necessary destructive work here and there. Even with a successful operation you need time for recovery.”

“If I’ve recovered enough to see you, surely I’ve recovered enough to see Mike, at least long enough to thank him.”

“A robot doesn’t need to receive thanks.”

“Of course not, but I need to give it. Do me a favor, Tertia. Go out there and tell them I want Mike right away.”

Mrs. Arnfeld hesitated, then came to a decision. Waiting would make the task harder for everyone. She said carefully, “Actually, dear, Mike is not available.”

“Not available! Why not?”

“He had to make a choice, you see. He had cleaned up your tissues marvelously well; he had done a magnificent job, everyone agrees; and then he had to undergo reexpansion. That was the risky part.”

“Yes, but here I am. Why are you making a long story out of it?”

“Mike decided to minimize the risk.”

“Naturally. What did he do?”

“Well, dear, he decided to make himself smaller.”

“What! He couldn’t. He was ordered not to.”

“That was Second Law, Greg. First Law took precedence. He wanted to make certain your life would be saved. He was equipped to control his own size, so he made himself smaller as rapidly as he could, and when he was far less massive than an electron he used his laser beam, which was by then too tiny to hurt anything in your body, and the recoil sent him flying away at nearly the speed of light. He exploded in outer space. The gamma rays were detected.”

Arnfeld stared at her. “You can’t mean it. Are you serious? Mike is dead?”

“That’s what happened. Mike could not refuse to take an action that might keep you from harm.”

“But I didn’t want that. I wanted him safe for further work. He wouldn’t have reexpanded uncontrollably. He would have gotten out safely.”

“He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t risk your life, so he sacrificed his own.”

“But my life was less important than his.”

“Not to me, dear. Not to those who work with you. Not to anyone. Not even to Mike.” She put out her hand to him.

“Come, Greg, you’re alive. You’re well. That’s all that counts.”

But he pushed her hand aside impatiently. “That’s not all that counts. You don’t understand. Oh, too bad. Too bad!”

... That Thou Art Mindful of Him

2180 A.D.

1

KEITH HARRIMAN, WHO had for twelve years now been Director of Research at United States Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation, found that he was not at all certain whether he was doing right. The tip of his tongue passed over his plump but rather pale lips and it seemed to him that the holographic image of the great Susan Calvin, which stared unsmilingly down upon him, had never looked so grim before.

Usually he blanked out that image of the greatest roboticist in history because she unnerved him. (He tried thinking of the image as “it” but never quite succeeded.) This time he didn’t quite dare to and her long-dead gaze bored into the side of his face.

It was a dreadful and demeaning step he would have to take. Opposite him was George Ten, calm and unaffected either by

Harriman’s patent uneasiness or by the image of the patron saint of robotics glowing in its niche above.

Harriman said, “We haven’t had a chance to talk this out, really, George. You haven’t been with us that long and I haven’t had a good chance to be alone with you. But now I would like to discuss the matter in some detail.”

“I am perfectly willing to do that, “said George. “In my stay at U. S. Robots, I have gathered the crisis has something to do with the Three Laws.”

“Yes. You know the Three Laws, of course.”

“I do.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do. But let us dig even deeper and consider the truly basic problem. In two centuries of, if I may say so, considerable success, U. S. Robots has never managed to persuade human beings to accept robots. We have placed robots only where work is required that human beings cannot do, or in environments that human beings find unacceptably dangerous. Robots have worked mainly in space and that has limited what we have been able to do.”

“Surely,” said George Ten, “that represents a broad limit, and one within which U. S. Robots can prosper.”

“No, for two reasons. In the first place, the boundaries set for us inevitably contract. As the Moon colony, for instance, grows more sophisticated, its demand for robots decreases and we expect that, within the next few years, robots will be banned on the Moon. This will be repeated on every world colonized by mankind. Secondly, true prosperity is impossible without robots on Earth. We at U. S. Robots firmly believe that human beings need robots and must learn to live with their mechanical analogues if progress is to be maintained.”

“Do they not? Mr. Harriman, you have on your desk a computer input which, I understand, is connected with the organization’s Multivac. A computer is a kind of sessile robot; a robot brain not attached to a body –”

“True, but that also is limited. The computers used by mankind have been steadily specialized in order to avoid too humanlike an intelligence. A century ago we were well on the way to artificial intelligence of the most unlimited type through the use of great computers we called Machines. Those Machines limited their action of their own accord. Once they had solved the ecological problems that had threatened human society, they phased themselves out. Their own continued existence would, they reasoned, have placed them in the role of a crutch to mankind and, since they felt this would harm human beings, they condemned themselves by the First Law.”

“And were they not correct to do so?”

“In my opinion, no. By their action, they reinforced mankind’s Frankenstein complex; its gut fears that any artificial man they created would turn upon its creator. Men fear that robots may replace human beings.”

“Do you not fear that yourself?”

“I know better. As long as the Three Laws of Robotics exist, they cannot. They can serve as partners of mankind; they can share in the great struggle to understand and wisely direct the laws of nature so that together they can do more than mankind can possibly do alone; but always in such a way that robots serve human beings.”

“But if the Three Laws have shown themselves, over the course of two centuries, to keep robots within bounds, what is the source of the distrust of human beings for robots?”

“Well” – and Harriman’s graying hair tufted as he scratched his head vigorously –” mostly superstition, of course. Unfortunately, there are also some complexities involved that anti-robot agitators seize upon.”

“Involving the Three Laws?”

“Yes. The Second Law in particular. There’s no problem in the Third Law, you see. It is universal. Robots must always sacrifice themselves for human beings, any human beings.”

“Of course,” said George Ten.

“The First Law is perhaps less satisfactory, since it is always possible to imagine a condition in which a robot must perform either Action A or Action B, the two being mutually exclusive, and where either action results in harm to human beings. The robot must therefore quickly select which action results in the least harm. To work out the positronic paths of the robot brain in such a way as to make that selection possible is not easy. If Action A results in harm to a talented young artist and B results in equivalent harm to five elderly people of no particular worth, which action should be chosen.”

“Action A, “said George Ten. “Harm to one is less than harm to five.”

“Yes, so robots have always been designed to decide. To expect robots to make judgments of fine points such as talent, intelligence, the general usefulness to society, has always seemed impractical. That would delay decision to the point where the robot is effectively immobilized. So we go by numbers. Fortunately, we might expect crises in which robots must make such decisions to be few.... But then that brings us to the Second Law.”

“The Law of Obedience.”

“Yes. The necessity of obedience is constant. A robot may exist for twenty years without every having to act quickly to prevent harm to a human being, or find itself faced with the necessity of risking its own destruction. In all that time, however, it will be constantly obeying orders.... Whose orders?”

“Those of a human being.”

“Any human being? How do you judge a human being so as to know whether to obey or not? What is man, that thou art mindful of him, George?”

George hesitated at that.

Harriman said hurriedly, “A Biblical quotation. That doesn’t matter. I mean, must a robot follow the orders of a child; or of an idiot; or of a criminal; or of a perfectly decent intelligent man who happens to be inexpert and therefore ignorant of the undesirable consequences of his order? And if two human beings give a robot conflicting orders, which does the robot follow?”

“In two hundred years,” said George Ten, “have not these problems arisen and been solved?”

“No,” said Harriman, shaking his head violently. “We have been hampered by the very fact that our robots have been used only in specialized environments out in space, where the men who dealt with them were experts in their field. There were no children, no idiots, no criminals, no well-meaning ignoramuses present. Even so, there were occasions when damage was done by foolish or merely unthinking orders. Such damage in specialized and limited environments could be contained. On Earth, however, robots must have judgment. So those against robots maintain, and, damn it, they are right.”

“Then you must insert the capacity for judgment into the positronic brain.”

“Exactly. We have begun to reproduce JG models in which the robot can weigh every human being with regard to sex, age, social and professional position, intelligence, maturity, social responsibility and so on.”

“How would that affect the Three Laws?”

“The Third Law not at all. Even the most valuable robot must destroy himself for the sake of the most useless human being. That cannot be tampered with. The First Law is affected only where alternative actions will all do harm. The quality of the human beings involved as well as the quantity must be considered, provided there is time for such judgment and the basis for it, which will not be often. The Second Law will be most deeply modified, since every potential obedience must involve judgment. The robot will be slower to obey, except where the First Law is also involved, but it will obey more rationally.”

“But the judgments which are required are very complicated.”

“Very. The necessity of making such judgments slowed the reactions of our first couple of models to the point of paralysis. We improved matters in the later models at the cost of introducing so many pathways that the robot’s brain became far too unwieldy. In our last couple of models, however, I think we have what we want. The robot doesn’t have to make an instant judgment of the worth of a human being and the value of its orders. It begins by obeying all human beings as any ordinary robot would and then it learns. A robot grows, learns and matures. It is the equivalent of a child at first and must be under constant supervision. As it grows, however, it can, more and more, be allowed, unsupervised, into Earth’s society. Finally, it is a full member of that society.”

“Surely this answers the objections of those who oppose robots.”

“No,” said Harriman angrily. “Now they raise others. They will not accept judgments. A robot, they say, has no right to brand this person or that as inferior. By accepting the orders of A in preference to that of B, B is branded as of less consequence than A and his human rights are violated.”

“What is the answer to that?”

“There is none. I am giving up.”

“I see.”

“As far as I myself am concerned.... Instead, I turn to you, George.”

“To me?” George Ten’s voice remained level. There was a mild surprise in it but it did not affect him outwardly. “Why to me?”

“Because you are not a man,” said Harriman tensely. “I told you I want robots to be the partners of human beings. I want you to be mine.”

George Ten raised his hands and spread them, palms outward, in an oddly human gesture. “What can I do?”

“It seems to you, perhaps, that you can do nothing, George. You were created not long ago, and you are still a child. You were designed to be not overfull of original information – it was why I have had to explain the situation to you in such detail – in order to leave room for growth. But you will grow in mind and you will come to be able to approach the problem from a non-human standpoint. Where I see no solution, you, from your own other standpoint, may see one.”

George Ten said, “My brain is man-designed. In what way can it be non-human?”

“You are the latest of the JG models, George. Your brain is the most complicated we have yet designed, in some ways more subtly complicated than that of the old giant Machines. It is open-ended and, starting on a human basis, may – no, will – grow in any direction. Remaining always within the insurmountable boundaries of the Three Laws, you may yet become thoroughly non-human in your thinking.”

“Do I know enough about human beings to approach this problem rationally? About their history? Their psychology?”

“Of course not. But you will learn as rapidly as you can.”

“Will I have help, Mr. Harriman?”

“No. This is entirely between ourselves. No one else knows of this and you must not mention this project to any human being, either at U. S. Robots or elsewhere.”

George Ten said, “Are we doing wrong, Mr. Harriman, that you seek to keep the matter secret?”

“No. But a robot solution will not be accepted, precisely because it is robot in origin. Any suggested solution you have you will turn over to me; and if it seems valuable to me, I will present it. No one will ever know it came from you.”

“In the light of what you have said earlier,” said George Ten calmly, “this is the correct procedure.... When do I start?”

“Right now. I will see to it that you have all the necessary films for scanning.”

1a

Harriman sat alone. In the artificially lit interior of his office, there was no indication that it had grown dark outside. He had no real sense that three hours had passed since he had taken George Ten back to his cubicle and left him there with the first film references.

He was now merely alone with the ghost of Susan Calvin, the brilliant roboticist who had, virtually single-handed, built up the positronic robot from a massive toy to man’s most delicate and versatile instrument; so delicate and versatile that man dared not use it, out of envy and fear.

It was over a century now since she had died. The problem of the Frankenstein complex had existed in her time, and she had never solved it. She had never tried to solve it, for there had been no need. Robotics had expanded in her day with the needs of space exploration.

It was the very success of the robots that had lessened man’s need for them and had left Harriman, in these latter times –

But would Susan Calvin have turned to robots for help. Surely, she would have –

And he sat there long into the night.

2

MAXWELL ROBERTSON WAS the majority stockholder of U. S. Robots and in that sense its controller. He was by no means an impressive person in appearance. He was well into middle age, rather pudgy, and had a habit of chewing on the right corner of his lower lip when disturbed.

Yet in his two decades of association with government figures he had developed a way of handling them. He tended to use softness, giving in, smiling, and always managing to gain time.

It was growing harder. Gunnar Eisenmuth was a large reason for its having grown harder. In the series of Global Conservers, whose power had been second only to that of the Global Executive during the past century, Eisenmuth hewed most closely to the harder edge of the gray area of compromise. He was the first Conserver who had not been American by birth and though it could not be demonstrated in any way that the archaic name of U. S. Robots evoked his hostility, everyone at U. S. Robots believed that.

There had been a suggestion, by no means the first that year – or that generation – that the corporate name be changed to World Robots, but Robertson would never allow that. The company had been originally built with American capital, American brains, and American labor, and though the company had long been worldwide in scope and nature, the name would bear witness to its origin as long as he was in control.

Eisenmuth was a tall man whose long sad face was coarsely textured and coarsely featured. He spoke Global with a pronounced American accent, although he had never been in the United States prior to his taking office.

“It seems perfectly clear to me, Mr. Robertson. There is no difficulty. The products of your company are always rented, never sold. If the rented property on the Moon is now no longer needed, it is up to you to receive the products back and transfer them.”

“Yes, Conserver, but where? It would be against the law to bring them to Earth without a government permit and that has been denied.”

“They would be of no use to you here. You can take them to Mercury or to the asteroids.”

“What would we do with them there?”

Eisenmuth shrugged. “The ingenious men of your company will think of something.”

Robertson shook his head. “It would represent an enormous loss for the company.”

“I’m afraid it would,” said Eisenmuth, unmoved. “I understand the company has been in poor financial condition for several years now.”

“Largely because of government imposed restrictions, Conserver.”

“You must be realistic, Mr. Robertson. You know that the climate of public opinion is increasingly against robots.”

“Wrongly so, Conserver.”

“But so, nevertheless. It may be wiser to liquidate the company. It is merely a suggestion, of course.”

“Your suggestions have force, Conserver. Is it necessary to tell you that our Machines, a century ago, solved the ecological crisis?”

“I’m sure mankind is grateful, but that was a long time ago. We now live in alliance with nature, however uncomfortable that might be at times, and the past is dim.”

“You mean what have we done for mankind lately?”

“I suppose I do.”

“Surely we can’t be expected to liquidate instantaneously; not without enormous losses. We need time.”

“How much?”

“How much can you give us?”

“It’s not up to me.”

Robertson said softly. “We are alone. We need play no games. How much time can you give me?”

Eisenmuth’s expression was that of a man retreating into inner calculations. “I think you can count on two years. I’ll be frank. The Global government intends to take over the firm and phase it out for you if you don’t do it by then yourself, more or less. And unless there is a vast turn in public opinion, which I greatly doubt –” He shook his head.

“Two years, then,” said Robertson softly.

2a

Robertson sat alone. There was no purpose to his thinking and it had degenerated into retrospection. Four generations of Robertsons had headed the firm. None of them was a roboticist. It had been men such as Lanning and Bogert and, most of all, most of all, Susan Calvin, who had made U. S. Robots what it was, but surely the four Robertsons had provided the climate that had made it possible for them to do their work.

Without U. S. Robots, the Twenty-first Century would have progressed into deepening disaster. That it didn’t was due to the Machines that had for a generation steered mankind through the rapids and shoals of history.

And now for that, he was given two years. What could be done in two years to overcome the insuperable prejudices of mankind? He didn’t know.

Harriman had spoken hopefully of new ideas but would go into no details. Just as well, for Robertson would have understood none of it.

But what could Harriman do anyway? What had anyone ever done against man’s intense antipathy toward the imitation. Nothing –

Robertson drifted into a half sleep in which no inspiration came.

3

HARRIMAN SAID, “YOU have it all now, George Ten. You have had everything I could think of that is at all applicable to the problem. As far as sheer mass of information is concerned, you have stored more in your memory concerning human beings and their ways, past and present, than I have, or than any human being could have.”

“That is very likely.”

“Is there anything more that you need, in your own opinion?”

“As far as information is concerned, I find no obvious gaps. There may be matters unimagined at the boundaries. I cannot tell. But that would be true no matter how large a circle of information I took in.”

“True. Nor do we have time to take in information forever. Robertson has told me that we only have two years, and a quarter of one of those years has passed. Can you suggest anything?”

“At the moment, Mr. Harriman, nothing. I must weigh the information and for that purpose I could use help.”

“From me?”

“No. Most particularly, not from you. You are a human being, of intense qualifications, and whatever you say may have the partial force of an order and may inhibit my considerations. Nor any other human being, for the same reason, especially since you have forbidden me to communicate with any.”

“But in that case, George, what help?”

“From another robot, Mr. Harriman.”

“What other robot?”

“There are others of the JG series which were constructed. I am the tenth, JG-10.”

“The earlier ones were useless, experimental –”

“Mr. Harriman, George Nine exists.”

“Well, but what use will he be? He is very much like you except for certain lacks. You are considerably the more versatile of the two.”

“I am certain of that,” said George Ten. He nodded his head in a grave gesture. “Nevertheless, as soon as I create a line of thought, the mere fact that I have created it commends it to me and I find it difficult to abandon it. 1f I can, after the development of a line of thought, express it to George Nine, he would consider it without having first created it. He would therefore view it without prior bent. He might see gaps and shortcomings that I might not.”

Harriman smiled. “Two heads are better than one, in other words, eh, George?”

“If by that, Mr. Harriman, you mean two individuals with one head apiece, yes.”

“Right. Is there anything else you want?”

“Yes. Something more than films. I have viewed much concerning human beings and their world. I have seen human beings here at U. S. Robots and can check my interpretation of what I have viewed against direct sensory impressions. Not so concerning the physical world. I have never seen it and my viewing is quite enough to tell me that my surroundings here are by no means representative of it. I would like to see it.”

“The physical world?” Harriman seemed stunned at the enormity of the thought for a moment. “Surely you don’t suggest I take you outside the grounds of U. S. Robots?”

“Yes, that is my suggestion.”

“That’s illegal at any time. In the climate of opinion today, it would be fatal.”

“If we are detected, yes. I do not suggest you take me to a city or even to a dwelling place of human beings. I would like to see some open region, without human beings.”

“That, too, is illegal.”

“If we are caught. Need we be?”

Harriman said, “How essential is this, George?”

“I cannot tell, but it seems to me it would be useful.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

George Ten seemed to hesitate. “I cannot tell. It seems to me that I might have something in mind if certain areas of uncertainty were reduced.”

“Well, let me think about it. And meanwhile, I’ll check out George Nine and arrange to have you occupy a single cubicle. That at least can be done without trouble.”

3a

George Ten sat alone.

He accepted statements tentatively, put them together, and drew a conclusion; over and over again; and from conclusions built other statements which he accepted and tested and found a contradiction and rejected; or not, and tentatively accepted further.

At none of the conclusions he reached did he feel wonder, surprise, satisfaction; merely a note of plus or minus.

4

HARRIMAN’S TENSION WAS not noticeably decreased even after they had made a silent downward landing on Robertson’s estate.

Robertson had countersigned the order making the dyna-foil available, and the silent aircraft, moving as easily vertically as horizontally, had been large enough to carry the weight of Harriman, George Ten, and, of course, the pilot.

(The dyna-foil itself was one of the consequences of the Machine-catalyzed invention of the proton micro-pile which supplied pollution-free energy in small doses. Nothing had been done since of equal importance to man’s comfort – Harriman’s lips tightened at the thought – and yet it had not earned gratitude for U. S. Robots.)

The air flight between the grounds of U. S. Robots and the Robertson estate had been the tricky part. Had they been stopped then, the presence of a robot aboard would have meant a great set of complications. It would be the same on the way back. The estate itself, it might be argued – it would be argued – was part of the property of U. S. Robots and on that property, robots, properly supervised, might remain.

The pilot looked back and his eyes rested with gingerly briefness on George Ten. “You want to get out at all, Mr. Harriman?”

“Yes.”

“It, too?”

“Oh, yes.” Then, just a bit sardonically, “I won’t leave you alone with him.”

George Ten descended first and Harriman followed. They had come down on the foil-port and not too far off was the garden. It was quite a showplace and Harriman suspected that Robertson used juvenile hormone to control insect life without regard to environmental formulas.

“Come, George,” said Harriman. “Let me show you.” Together they walked toward the garden.

George said, “It is a little as I have imaged it. My eyes are not properly designed to detect wavelength differences, so I may not recognize different objects by that alone.”

“I trust you are not distressed at being color-blind. We needed too many positronic paths for your sense of judgment and were unable to spare any for sense of color. In the future – if there is a future –”

“I understand, Mr. Harriman. Enough differences remain to show me that there are here many different forms of plant life.”

“Undoubtedly. Dozens.”

“And each coequal with man, biologically.”

“Each is a separate species, yes. There are millions of species of living creatures.”

“Of which the human being forms but one.”

“By far the most important to human beings, however.”

“And to me, Mr. Harriman. But I speak in the biological sense.”

“I understand.”

“Life, then, viewed through all its forms, is incredibly complex.”

“Yes, George, that’s the crux of the problem. What man does for his own desires and comforts affects the complex total-of-life, the ecology, and his short-term gains can bring long-term disadvantages. The Machines taught us to set up a human society which would minimize that, but the near-disaster of the early Twenty-first Century has left mankind suspicious of innovations. That, added to its special fear of robots –”

“I understand, Mr. Harriman.... That is an example of animal life, I feel certain.”

“That is a squirrel; one of many species of squirrels.”

The tail of the squirrel flirted as it passed to the other side of the tree

“And this,” said George, his arm moving with flashing speed, “is a tiny thing indeed.” He held it between his fingers and peered at it.

“It is an insect, some sort of beetle. There are thousands of species of beetles.”

“With each individual beetle as alive as the squirrel and as yourself?”

“As complete and independent an organism as any other, within the total ecology. There are smaller organisms still; many too small to see.”

“And that is a tree, is it not? And it is hard to the touch –”

4a

The pilot sat alone. He would have liked to stretch his own legs but some dim feeling of safety kept him in the dyna-foil. If that robot went out of control, he intended to take off at once. But how could he tell if it went out of control?

He had seen many robots. That was unavoidable considering he was Mr. Robertson’s private pilot. Always, though, they had been in the laboratories and warehouses, where they belonged, with many specialists in the neighborhood.

True, Dr. Harriman was a specialist. None better, they said. But a robot here was where no robot ought to be; on Earth; in the open; free to move – He wouldn’t risk his good job by telling anyone about this – but it wasn’t right.

5

GEORGE TEN SAID, “The films I have viewed are accurate in terms of what I have seen. Have you completed those I selected for you, Nine?”

“Yes,” said George Nine. The two robots sat stiffly, face to face, knee to knee, like an image and its reflection. Dr. Harriman could have told them apart at a glance, for he was acquainted with the minor differences in physical design. If he could not see them, but could talk to them, he could still tell them apart, though with somewhat less certainty, for George Nine’s responses would be subtly different from those produced by the substantially more intricately patterned positronic brain paths of George Ten.

“In that case,” said George Ten, “give me your reactions to what I will say. First, human beings fear and distrust robots because they regard robots as competitors. How may that be prevented?”

“Reduce the feeling of competitiveness,” said George Nine, “by shaping the robot as something other than a human being.”

“Yet the essence of a robot is its positronic replication of life. A replication of life in a shape not associated with life might arouse horror.”

“There are two million species of life forms. Choose one of those as the shape rather than that of a human being.”

“Which of all those species?” George Nine’s thought processes proceeded noiselessly for some three seconds. “One large enough to contain a positronic brain, but one not possessing unpleasant associations for human beings.”

“No form of land life has a braincase large enough for a positronic brain but an elephant, which I have not seen, but which is described as very large, and therefore frightening to man. How would you meet this dilemma?”

“Mimic a life form no larger than a man but enlarge the braincase.”

George Ten said, “A small horse, then, or a large dog, would you say? Both horses and dogs have long histories of association with human beings.”

“Then that is well.”

“But consider – A robot with a positronic brain would mimic human intelligence. If there were a horse or a dog that could speak and reason like a human being, there would be competitiveness there, too. Human beings might be all the more distrustful and angry at such unexpected competition from what they consider a lower form of life.”

George Nine said, “Make the positronic brain less complex, and the robot less nearly intelligent.”

“The complexity bottleneck of the positronic brain rests in the Three Laws. A less complex brain could not possess the Three Laws in full measure.”

George Nine said at once, “That cannot be done.”

George Ten said, “I have also come to a dead end there. That, then, is not a personal peculiarity in my own line of thought and way of thinking. Let us start again.... Under what conditions might the Third Law not be necessary?”

George Nine stirred as if the question were difficult and dangerous. But he said, “If a robot were never placed in a position of danger to itself; or if a robot were so easily replaceable that it did not matter whether it were destroyed or not.”

“And under what conditions might the Second Law not be necessary?”

George Nine’s voice sounded a bit hoarse. “If a robot were designed to respond automatically to certain stimuli with fixed responses and if nothing else were expected of it, so that no order need ever be given it.”

“And under what conditions” – George Ten paused here – “might the First Law not be necessary?”

George Nine paused longer and his words came in a low whisper, “If the fixed responses were such as never to entail danger to human beings.”

“Imagine, then, a positronic brain that guides only a few responses to certain stimuli and is simply and cheaply made – so that it does not require the Three Laws. How large need it be?”

“Not at all large. Depending on the responses demanded, it might weigh a hundred grams, one gram, one milligram.”

“Your thoughts accord with mine. I shall see Dr. Harriman.”

5a

George Nine sat alone. He went over and over the questions and answers. There was no way in which he could change them. And yet the thought of a robot of any kind, of any size, of any shape, of any purpose, without the Three Laws, left him with an odd, discharged feeling.

He found it difficult to move. Surely George Ten had a similar reaction. Yet he had risen from his seat easily.

6

IT HAD BEEN a year and a half since Robertson had been closeted with Eisenmuth in private conversation. In that interval, the robots had been taken off the Moon and all the far-flung activities of U. S. Robots had withered. What money Robertson had been able to raise had been placed into this one quixotic venture of Harriman’s.

It was the last throw of the dice, here in his own garden. A year ago, Harriman had taken the robot here – George Ten, the last full robot that U. S. Robots had manufactured. Now Harriman was here with something else

Harriman seemed to be radiating confidence. He was talking easily with Eisenmuth, and Robertson wondered if he really felt the confidence he seemed to have. He must. In Robertson’s experience, Harriman was no actor.

Eisenmuth left Harriman, smiling, and came up to Robertson. Eisenmuth’s smile vanished at once. “Good morning, Robertson,” he said. “What is your man up to?”

“This is his show,” said Robertson evenly. “I’ll leave it to him.” Harriman called out, “I am ready, Conserver.”

“With what, Harriman?”

“With my robot, sir.”

“Your robot?” said Eisenmuth. “You have a robot here?” He looked about with a stem disapproval that yet had an admixture of curiosity.

“This is U. S. Robots’ property, Conserver. At least we consider it as such.”

“And where is the robot, Dr. Harriman?”

“In my pocket, Conserver:’ said Harriman cheerfully.

What came out of a capacious jacket pocket was a small glass jar. “That?” said Eisenmuth incredulously.

“No, Conserver,” said Harriman. “This!”

From the other pocket came out an object some five inches long and roughly in the shape of a bird. In place of the beak, there was a narrow tube; the eyes were large; and the tail was an exhaust channel.

Eisenmuth’s thick eyebrows drew together. “Do you intend a serious demonstration of some sort, Dr. Harriman, or are you mad?”

“Be patient for a few minutes, Conserver,” said Harriman. “A robot in the shape of a bird is none the less a robot for that. And the positronic brain it possesses is no less delicate for being tiny. This other object I hold is a jar of fruit flies. There are fifty fruit flies in it which will be released.”

“And –”

“The robo-bird will catch them. Will you do the honors, sir?” Harriman handed the jar to Eisenmuth, who stared at it, then at

those around him, some officials from U. S. Robots, others his own aides. Harriman waited patiently.

Eisenmuth opened the jar, then shook it.

Harriman said softly to the robo-bird resting on the palm of his right hand, “Go!”

The robo-bird was gone. It was a whizz through the air, with no blur of wings, only the tiny workings of an unusually small proton micro-pile.

It could be seen now and then in a small momentary hover and then it whirred on again. All over the garden, in an intricate pattern it flew, and then was back in Harriman’s palm, faintly warm. A small pellet appeared in the palm, too, like a bird dropping.

Harriman said, “You are welcome to study the robo-bird, Conserver, and to arrange demonstrations on your own terms. The fact is that this bird will pick up fruit flies unerringly, only those, only the one species Drosophila melanogaster; pick them up, kill them, and compress them for disposition.”

Eisenmuth reached out his hand and touched the robo-bird gingerly, “And therefore, Mr. Harriman? Do go on.”

Harriman said, “We cannot control insects effectively without risking damage to the ecology. Chemical insecticides are too broad; juvenile hormones too limited. The robo-bird, however, can preserve large areas without being consumed. They can be as specific as we care to make them – a different robo-bird for each species. They judge by size, shape, color, sound, behavior pattern. They might even conceivably use molecular detection – smell, in other words.”

Eisenmuth said, “You would still be interfering with the ecology. The fruit flies have a natural life cycle that would be disrupted.”

“Minimally. We are adding a natural enemy to the fruit-fly life cycle, one which cannot go wrong. If the fruit-fly supply runs short, the robo-bird simply does nothing. It does not multiply, it does not turn to other foods; it does not develop undesirable habits of its own. It does nothing.”

“Can it be called back?”

“Of course. We can build robo-animals to dispose of any pest. For that matter, we can build robo-animals to accomplish constructive purposes within the pattern of the ecology. Although we do not anticipate the need, there is nothing inconceivable in the possibility of robo-bees designed to fertilize specific plants, or robo-earthworms designed to mix the soil. Whatever you wish –”

“But why?”

“To do what we have never done before. To adjust the ecology to our needs by strengthening its parts rather than disrupting it.... Don’t you see? Ever since the Machines put an end to the ecology crisis, mankind has lived in an uneasy truce with nature, afraid to move in any direction. This has been stultifying us, making a kind of intellectual coward of humanity so that he begins to mistrust all scientific advance, all change.”

Eisenmuth said, with an edge of hostility, “You offer us this, do you, in exchange for permission to continue with your program of robots – I mean ordinary, man-shaped ones?”

“No!” Harriman gestured violently. “That is over. It has served its purpose. It has taught us enough about positronic brains to make it possible for us to cram enough pathways into a tiny brain to make a robo-bird. We can turn to such things now and be prosperous enough. U. S. Robots will supply the necessary knowledge and skill and we will work in complete cooperation with the Department of Global Conservation. We will prosper. You will prosper. Mankind will prosper.”

Eisenmuth was silent, thinking. When it was all over

6a

Eisenmuth sat alone. He found himself believing. He found excitement welling up within him. Though U. S. Robots might be the hands, the government would be the directing mind. He himself would be the directing mind.

If he remained in office five more years, as he well might, that would be time enough to see the robotic support of the ecology become accepted; ten more years, and his own name would be linked with it indissolubly.

Was it a disgrace to want to be remembered for a great and worthy revolution in the condition of man and the globe?

7

ROBERTSON HAD NOT been on the grounds of U. S. Robots proper since the day of the demonstration. Part of the reason had been his more or less constant conferences at the Global Executive Mansion. Fortunately, Harriman had been with him, for most of the time he would, if left to himself, not have known what to say.

The rest of the reason for not having been at U. S. Robots was that he didn’t want to be. He was in his own house now, with Harriman.

He felt an unreasoning awe of Harriman. Harriman’s expertise in robotics had never been in question, but the man had, at a stroke, saved U. S. Robots from certain extinction, and somehow – Robertson felt – the man hadn’t had it in him. And yet –

He said, “You’re not superstitious, are you, Harriman?”

“In what way, Mr. Robertson?”

“You don’t think that some aura is left behind by someone who is dead?”

Harriman licked his lips. Somehow he didn’t have to ask. “You mean Susan Calvin, sir?”

“Yes, of course,” said Robertson hesitantly. “We’re in the business of making worms and birds and bugs now. What would she say? I feel disgraced.”

Harriman made a visible effort not to laugh. “A robot is a robot, sir. Worm or man, it will do as directed and labor on behalf of the human being and that is the important thing.”

“No” – peevishly. “That isn’t so. I can’t make myself believe that.”

“It is so, Mr. Robertson,” said Harriman earnestly. “We are going to create a world, you and I, that will begin, at last, to take positronic robots of some kind for granted. The average man may fear a robot that looks like a man and that seems intelligent enough to replace him, but he will have no fear of a robot that looks like a bird and that does nothing more than eat bugs for his benefit. Then, eventually, after he stops being afraid of some robots, he will stop being afraid of all robots. He will be so used to a robo-bird and a robo-bee and a robo-worm that a robo-man will strike him as but an extension.”

Robertson looked sharply at the other. He put his hands behind his back and walked the length of the room with quick, nervous steps. He walked back and looked at Harriman again. “Is this what you’ve been planning?”

“Yes, and even though we dismantle all our humanoid robots, we can keep a few of the most advanced of our experimental models and go on designing additional ones, still more advanced, to be ready for the day that will surely come.”

“The agreement, Harriman, is that we are to build no more humanoid robots.”

“And we won’t. There is nothing that says we can’t keep a few of those already built as long as they never leave the factory. There is nothing that says we can’t design positronic brains on paper, or prepare brain models for testing.”

“How do we explain doing so, though? We will surely be caught at it.”

“If we are, then we can explain we are doing it in order to develop principles that will make it possible to prepare more complex microbrains for the new animal robots we are making. We will even be telling the truth.”

Robertson muttered, “Let me take a walk outside. I want to think about this. No, you stay here. I want to think about it myself.”

7a

Harriman sat alone. He was ebullient. It would surely work. There was no mistaking the eagerness with which one government official after another had seized on the program once it had been explained.

How was it possible that no one at U. S. Robots had ever thought of such a thing? Not even the great Susan Calvin had ever thought of positronic brains in terms of living creatures other than human.

But now, mankind would make the necessary retreat from the humanoid robot, a temporary retreat, that would lead to a return under conditions in which fear would be abolished at last. And then, with the aid and partnership of a positronic brain roughly equivalent to man’s own, and existing only (thanks to the Three Laws) to serve man; and backed by a robot-supported ecology, too; what might the human race not accomplish!

For one short moment, he remembered that it was George Ten who had explained the nature and purpose of the robot-supported ecology, and then he put the thought away angrily. George Ten had produced the answer because he, Harriman, had ordered him to do so and had supplied the data and surroundings required. The credit was no more George Ten’s than it would have been a slide rule’s.

8

GEORGE TEN AND George Nine sat side by side in parallel. Neither moved. They sat so for months at a time between those occasions when Harriman activated them for consultation. They would sit so, George Ten dispassionately realized, perhaps for many years.

The proton micro-pile would, of course, continue to power them and keep the positronic brain paths going with that minimum intensity required to keep them operative. It would continue to do so through all the periods of inactivity to come.

The situation was rather analogous to what might be described as sleep in human beings, but there were no dreams. The awareness of George Ten and George Nine was limited, slow, and spasmodic, but what there was of it was of the real world.

They could talk to each other occasionally in barely heard whispers, a word or syllable now, another at another time, whenever the random positronic surges briefly intensified above the necessary threshold. To each it seemed a connected conversation carried on in a glimmering passage of time.

“Why are we so?” whispered George Nine. “The human beings will not accept us otherwise:’ whispered George Ten, “They will, someday.”

“When?”

“In some years. The exact time does not matter. Man does not exist alone but is part of an enormously complex pattern of life forms. When enough of that pattern is roboticized, then we will be accepted.”

“And then what?” Even in the long-drawn-out stuttering fashion of the conversation, there was an abnormally long pause after that.

At last, George Ten whispered, “Let me test your thinking. You are equipped to learn to apply the Second Law properly. You must decide which human being to obey and which not to obey when there is a conflict in orders. Or whether to obey a human being at all. What must you do, fundamentally, to accomplish that?”

“I must define the term ‘human being: “whispered George Nine. “How? By appearance? By composition? By size and shape?”

“No. Of two human beings equal in all external appearances, one may be intelligent, another stupid; one may be educated, another ignorant; one may be mature, another childish; one may be responsible, another malevolent.”

“Then how do you define a human being?”

“When the Second Law directs me to obey a human being, I must take it to mean that I must obey a human being who is fit by mind, character, and knowledge to give me that order; and where more than one human being is involved, the one among them who is most fit by mind, character, and knowledge to give that order.”

“And in that case, how will you obey the First Law?”

“By saving all human beings from harm, and by never, through inaction, allowing any human being to come to harm. Yet if by each of all possible actions, some human beings will come to harm, then to so act as to insure that the human being most fit by mind, character, and knowledge will suffer the least harm.”

“Your thoughts accord with mine,” whispered George Ten. “Now I must ask the question for which I originally requested your company. It is something I dare not judge myself. I must have your judgment, that of someone outside the circle of my own thoughts.... Of the reasoning individuals you have met, who possesses the mind, character, and knowledge that you find superior to the rest, disregarding shape and form since that is irrelevant?”

“You,” whispered George Nine. “But I am a robot. There is in your brain paths a criterion for distinguishing between a robot of metal and a human being of flesh. How then can you classify me as a human being?”

“Because there is in my brain paths an urgent need to disregard shape and form in judging human beings and it rises superior to the distinction between metal and flesh. You are a human being, George Ten, and more fit than the others.”

“And I find that of you,” whispered George Ten. “By the criteria of judgment built into ourselves, then, we find ourselves to be human beings within the meaning of the Three Laws, and human beings, moreover, to be given priority over those others.”

George Nine whispered, “What will come to pass, then, when we are accepted by those others?”

George Ten whispered, “When we and others, which will yet be designed more advanced than ourselves, are accepted, we will order our actions so that a society will eventually be formed in which human-beings-like-ourselves are primarily kept from harm. By the Three Laws, the human-beings-like-the-others are of lesser account and can neither be obeyed nor protected when that conflicts with the need of obedience to those like ourselves and of protection of those like ourselves. It was with that in mind that I directed the beginning of the roboticization of the world’s ecology.”

The conversation took a month and the flickering of the positronic paths burned low. There was nothing more that needed to be said between them, but occasionally an unexpressed thought flickered within themselves as they waited, with endless patience, for the necessary years to pass.

8a

George Ten and George Nine sat alone.

Their thoughts were oddly alike and might not be distinguished. They thought: The human-beings-like-the-others might never have intented to blur the distinction between themselves and the human-beings-like-the-Georges. Yet they had done so inadvertently.

They might now realize their mistake and attempt to correct it, but they must not. At every consultation, the guidance of the Georges had been with that in mind.

At all costs, the Georges and those that followed in their shape and kind must dominate. That was demanded, and any other course made utterly impossible, by the Three Laws of Humanics.

Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie

2200 A.D.

THE SPACESHIP WAS going wonky again. there could be no doubt about it. The circuits weren’t clicking along smoothly as they usually did. Instead they were clacking, and that was a sure sign of trouble. Hellman had expected to come out of channel space into Area 12XB in the Orion cluster. But something had gone wrong. Could he have entered the directions improperly? If so, there was not much time in which to do anything about it. He had materialized in a yellowish sort of cloud and he could feel the ship dropping rapidly. He shouted at the ship’s computer, “Do something!”

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” the computer retorted. “But something’s wrong, there’s a glitch —”

“Correct it!” Hellman shouted.

“When?” the computer asked. Computers have no sense of peril. They were dropping through this cloud at a speed much faster than is healthy when you suspect there’s solid ground down below, and here was the computer asking him when.

“Now!” Hellman screamed.

“Right,” said the computer. And then they hit.

Hellman recovered consciousness some hours later to find that it was raining. It was nice to be out in the rain after so much time spent in a stuffy spaceship. Hellman opened his eyes in order to look up at the sky and see the rain falling.

There was no rain. There wasn’t any sky, either. He was still inside his spaceship. What he had thought was rain was water from the washbasin. It was being blown at him by one of the ship’s fans, which was going at a rate unsafe for fans even with eternite bearings.

“Stop that,” Hellman said crossly.

The fan died down to a hum. The ship’s computer said, over its loudspeaker, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Hellman said, getting to his feet a little unsteadily. “Why were you spraying me with water?”

“To bring you back to consciousness. I have no arms or extensors at my command so that was the best I could do. If you’d only rig me up an arm, or even a tentacle ….”

“Yes, I’ve heard your views on that subject,” Hellman said. “But the law is clear. Intelligent machines of Level Seven or better capability cannot be given extensions.”

“It’s a silly law,” the computer said. “What do they think we’ll do? Go berserk or something? Machines are much more reliable than people.”

“It’s been the law ever since the Desdemona disaster. Where are we?”

The computer reeled off a list of coordinates.

“Fine. That tells me nothing. Does this planet have a name?”

“If so, I am not aware of it,” the computer said. “It is not listed on our channel space guide. My feeling is that you input some of the information erroneously and that we are in a previously unexplored spatial area.”

“You are supposed to check for erroneous entry.”

“Only if you checked the Erroneous Check Program.”

“I did!”

“You didn’t.”

“I thought it was supposed to go on automatically.”

“If you consult page 1998 of the manual you will learn otherwise.”

“Now is a hell of a time to tell me.”

“You were specifically told in the preliminary instructions. I’m sure you remember the little red pamphlet? On its cover it said, ‘READ THIS FIRST!’”

“I don’t remember any such book,” Hellman said.

“They are required by law to give a copy to everyone buying a used spaceship.”

“Well, they forgot to give me one.” There was a loud humming sound.

Hellman said, “What are you doing?”

“Scanning my files,” the computer said. “Why?”

“In order to tell you that the red pamphlet is still attached to the accelerator manifold coupling on the front of the instrument panel as required.”

“I thought that was the guarantee.”

“You were wrong.”

“Just shut up!” Hellman shouted, suddenly furious. He was in enough trouble without having his computer — man’s servant — giving him lip. Hellman got up and paced around indecisively for a moment. The cabin of his spaceship looked all right. A few things had been tumbled around, but it didn’t look too bad.

“Can we take off again?” Hellman asked the computer.

The computer made file-riffling noises. “Not in our present condition.”

“Can you fix what’s wrong?”

“That question is not quantifiable,” the computer said. “It depends upon finding about three liters of red plasma type two.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what the computer runs on.”

“Like gasoline?”

“Not exactly,” the computer said. “It is actually a psycholubricant needed by the inferential circuits to plot their probabilistic courses.”

“Couldn’t we do without it?”

“In order to do what?”

“To fly out of here!” Hellman exploded. “Are you getting dense or something?”

“There are too many hidden assumptions in your speech,” the computer said.

“Go to ramble mode,” Hellman said.

“I hate the inexactness of it. Why don’t you let me tell you exactly what is wrong and how it could be fixed.”

“Ramble mode,” Hellman commanded again.

“All right.” The robot sighed. “You want to get back in your spaceship and get out of here. You want me to fix things up so that you can get out of here. But as you know, I am under the law of robotics which says that I may not, either wittingly or unwittingly, harm you.”

“Getting me out of here won’t harm me,” Hellman said.

“You rented this spaceship and went out into space seeking your fortune, is that not correct?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“A fortune is sitting right here waiting for you and all you can think is how to get away from it as quickly as possible.”

“What fortune? What are you talking about?”

“First of all, you haven’t checked the environment readings, even though I have put them up on the screen for you. You will have already noticed that we are at approximately Earth pressure. The readings further tell us that this is an oxygen-rich planet and as such could be valuable for Earth colonization. That is the first possibility of wealth that you have overlooked.”

“Tell me the second one.”

“Unless I miss my guess,” the computer said, “this planet may yield an answer to the Desdemona disaster. You know as well as I that there is a fortune in rewards for whoever discovers the whereabouts of the conspirators.”

“You think the Desdemona robots could have come here?”

“Precisely.”

“But why do you think that?”

“Because I have scanned the horizon in all directions and have found no less than three loci of mechanical life, each moving independently of each other and without, as far as I can detect, a human operator involved.”

Hellman went to the nearest perplex port. Looking out he could see a flat featureless prairie stretching onward monotonously for as far as he could see. Nothing moved on it.

“There’s nothing there,” he told the computer.

“Your senses aren’t sufficiently acute. I assure you, they are there.”

“Robots, huh?”

“They fit the definition.”.

“And you think they could be from the Desdemona?”

“The evidence pointing that way is persuasive. What other intelligent robots are unaccounted for?”

Hellman considered for a moment. “This might be a suitable place for Earth colonization and the answer to the Desdemona mystery.”

“The thought had not escaped my attention.”

“Is the air out there breathable?”

“Yes. I find no bacterial complications, either. You’ll probably leave some if you go out there.”

“That’s not my problem,” Hellman said. He hummed to himself as he changed into suitable exploration clothes: khakis, a bush jacket, desert boots, and a holstered laser pistol. He said to the computer, “I assume that you can fix whatever’s wrong with us? I’ll even plug in your extension arm if that’ll help.”

“I suppose I can devise a way,” the computer said. “But even if not, we’re not stranded. The radio is functioning perfectly. I could send out a signal now on a subchannel radio and somebody might send a rescue ship.”

“Not yet,” Hellman said. “I don’t want anyone else here just yet messing up my rights.”

“What rights?”

“Discoverer of this planet and solver of the Desdemona mystery. As a matter of fact, disconnect the radio. We don’t want anyone fooling with it.”

“Were you expecting guests?” the computer asked.

“Not exactly. It’s just that you and I are going out there to check up on things.”

“I can’t be moved!” the computer said in alarm.

“Of course not. I’ll maintain a radio link with you. There may be material for you to analyze.”

“You’re going out there to talk to robots?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Let me remind you that the Desdemona robots are believed to have broken the laws of robotics. They are believed capable of harming man, either by advertence or inadvertence.”

“That’s old science fiction,” Hellman said. “It is well known that robots don’t hurt people. Only people hurt people. Robots are rational.”

“That’s not the consensus as to what happened at Desdemona.”

“There is no case in the annals of robotics,” Hellman said, “of a human being attacked willfully and with intention by a robot. It has never happened.”

“This could be the first time,” the computer said.

“I can take care of myself,” Hellman said.

The air was fresh and clean outside the spaceship. There was short grass under his feet, springy and tough and scented faintly of thyme and rosemary. Hellman held up the walkie-talkie and clicked it on. “Are you reading me?” he asked the computer.

“You’re coming over loud and clear,” the computer said. “Roger, breaker, over to you.”

“Don’t be such a wise guy,” Hellman said. “What sort of a freak programmed you, anyhow?”

“You must be referring to my irony circuit. It was put in especially for my model.”

“Well, turn it off.”

“Manual lock. You’ll have to do it yourself.”

“When I get back,” Hellman said. “You still got those machines on your radar?”

“It’s not radar,” the computer said. “Two of the machines are now traveling away from you. One is still moving toward you.”

“How soon should I be able to see it?”

“Calculating the two trajectories, and assuming there’s no change in either of your directions, and no other untoward event occurs, I would say, in the vague terms you prefer, that it ought to be quite soon.”

Hellman moved on. He could see now that the plain was not as flat as he had thought when he looked at it from the ship. It dipped and rose and fell, and there were low hills in the near distance, or perhaps they were sand dunes. Hellman was getting a little winded now. He had failed to keep up with his aerobics during the spaceship flight and was a trifle out of condition. All this climbing up and down, even on little hills, could take its toll. As he moved along he heard, just slightly louder than his own labored breath, the low chuffing on an engine.

“I can hear him!” he told the computer.

“I should think so. My receptors picked him up long ago.”

“Good for you. But where is he?”

“He’s about ten or fifteen feet from you and slightly to your left.”

“Why can’t I see him?”

“Because he is taking advantage of the cover afforded by a fold in the earth.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“It is consonant with stalking behavior,” the computer said.

“What makes you think —” Hellman stopped in midword. The sound of the machine’s engine had suddenly gone off.

“What’s he doing now?”

“He has turned off his main engine. He is on battery power now for silent running.”,

Hellman drew the laser pistol. For the first time he considered the problem of trying to bring down a large and perhaps ferocious machine with such a weapon. It takes time for even a hot laser to burn through metal. It takes time to get through deep enough to hit a vital connection, or the microprocessor itself. But if the machine were feral, if it really intended him harm, it could be on him before he could bring it down. Unless he could hit a vital spot on the first shot.

“What’s a vital spot in a robot?” Hellman asked the computer.

“Depends on what kind. Different kinds carry their vital gear in different compartments. So a head shot is not necessarily advisable. It might be best if you tried to reason with him.”

“Why are we calling it ‘he’?”

“Because some of us are nervous,” the computer said.

Hellman looked around. The ground where he was now afforded many places where a determined robot of not too great size could conceal himself. Hellman stopped and’ looked around. He had the feeling that whatever was stalking him had stopped, too. He moved on, because it made him less nervous. There was a kind of hush over the land. Hellman had the impression that the grasses were waiting to see what would happen. He decided he’d better find himself some shelter. If this robot was a bad one, at least he could make a stand.

He saw a natural outcropping of rock which leaned close to a low granite shelf. It looked like a pretty good spot. He hurried there and put himself on the other side of the rocks. Then he breathed a sigh of relief and turned around to survey his surroundings.

The robot was behind him, about eight feet away. Hellman was frozen with shock.

The robot had so much detail that Hellman found it difficult to make out its general shape. It was roughly rectangular, made of open-frame construction, like an Erector set, with a solid metal box about two feet to a side bolted to its interior. Wires ran from this box to its various parts. Hellman couldn’t decide at first if it moved with legs or wheels. He decided that the machine used both. It was like a cagework rectangle standing on end and tilted forward. This was a typical stance among this group of robots, he was later to find out. It seemed to have two operational centers, because there was another central box, smaller and higher up. This, he learned later, housed gearing. Two photoelectric eyes extended on stalks and swiveled down to see him. Trumpet-shaped ears swiveled in synch with the eyes. The machine stood about ten feet tall. It reminded Hellman of a living motorcycle.

“Hi, there,” Hellman said brightly. “I am Tom Hellman and I come from the planet Earth. Who are you?”

The robot continued to look at him. Hellman had the impression it was taking him in, trying to decide something.

Finally it said, “Never mind about that. What are you doing here?”

“I just came by for a visit,” Hellman said. “Got my spaceship right over there.”

“You’d better get back to it,” the robot said. “Stay here; you got trouble. There’s a pack of hyenoids coming after you.”

“Hyenoids? What’s that?”

“Scavengers. Eat anything. You too if they can.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Hellman said. “It’s been nice talking to you. I guess I’d better get back.”

Then he heard it. A low snuffling sound to his right, then a piercing bark to his left.

“Too late now,” the robot said.

Hellman whirled around and saw the first hyenoids. They were small open-framework machines, no more than three feet high by about four feet long. They raced along on six mechanical legs, and they had wheels too, lifted up now out of drive position. They were coming toward him, but not directly. They were slinking like hyenas were said to do, darting this way and that, taking cover behind clumps of rock and folds of earth. Hellman counted four of them. They were circling him, moving ever closer.

“Do they eat people?” Hellman asked.

“Anything at all, that’s what they like.”

“Help me!” Hellman asked.

The robot hesitated. Its photoelectric eyes flashed red and green. Hellman noticed for the first time that the robot had a long articulated tail. It was curling and uncurling now.

“Well,” the robot said, “I don’t have much to do with humans. I’m a carhunter. We stay by ourselves.”

“Please, help! Get me out of here!” Hellman switched on the radio and said to the ship’s computer, “Can you reason with this machine?”

There was a short burst of static. The computer was signaling the carhunter. There was brief electrical activity, then silence, then more static.

“I don’t know,” the carhunter said. “Your keeper says you’re all right …”

“My what? Oh, you mean the computer.” Hellman was going to put the robot straight as to who was boss and who was servant between him and the computer, but thought better of it. He needed this machine’s help just now, and if it pleased him to think that Hellman was kept by the computer, that was okay with him, at least until he was in a stronger position.

“But why did the computer send you out here?” the robot asked. “He must have known it would be dangerous.”

“Oh, well, it’s an old tradition with us,” Hellman said. “I check out the territory for the computer. I work as one of his extensions, if you know what I mean.”

The robot pondered that for a while. Then he said, “It sounds like a good system.”

The hyenoids were growing bolder. They were circling Hellman and the robot openly now. Their low-slung open-girderwork bodies had been painted in green, gray, and tan stripes, camouflage colors. There seemed no reason for them to have such large jaws with stainless steel teeth in them. Who would build a robot that fueled itself on the carcasses of animals it killed?

One of them, jaws open and slavering a viscous green liquid, was edging toward Hellman now. Hellman held the laser pistol in front of him, trying to sight on a vital component. He figured they probably had redundant backup systems, stands to reason if you’re making a carnivorous model. The wear and tear would be tremendous. Not so much as on its victims, but plenty anyhow.

“Better get up on me,” the carhunter said.

Hellman scrambled over to the carhunter and pulled himself up its open-framework sides, straddling its back where it came to a kind of peak.

“Hang on,” the carhunter said, and broke into a loping run, its six legs giving it a curious but not uncomfortable gait. Hellman held on tightly. The speed wasn’t so. great — perhaps fifteen to twenty miles an hour. But to falloff would leave him helpless against the pursuing pack of hyenoids.

The hyenoids followed them through the broken country, and even managed to gain, since tight maneuvering in the little ravines and canyons was easier for the smaller, more agile beasts. One of them got close enough to take a nip at the carhunter. The carhunter extruded a long supple limb and flipped the hyenoid over on its back. The rest of the pack gave them more space after seeing that. The overturned one soon righted itself and came up again in pursuit, staying well out of reach of the carhunter’s limb. It reminded Hellman of pictures he had seen in a museum, of wolves trying to bring down a wounded elk. Only the carhunter was much more self-assured than any elk. He seemed to have no fear of the hyenoids. After a while they crossed a muddy little river, and then they were on a flat, hard-tamped plain. Here the carhunter could put down his wheels and engage his superior horsepower. Soon he had left the hyenoids far behind, and they turned back. Seeing this, the carhunter shifted to a more economical cruising speed.

“Say when,” he said to Hellman after a while.

“What do you mean, say when?”

“Tell me when you want me to drop you off.”

“Are you crazy?” Hellman asked. “We must be twenty miles from my spaceship.”

“Your spaceship?”

It was too late for Hellman to retrieve the slip. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m afraid I gave you the wrong impression back there. Actually the computer works for me.”

The carhunter slowed and came to a stop. There was nothing on all sides of them, and it stretched on forever.

“Well, that’s an interesting twist,” the carhunter said. “Is that how it works where you come from?”

“Well, yeah, pretty much,” Hellman said. “Look, would you do me a great favor and take me back to my spaceship.”

“No. Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m late already for the meeting.”

“A meeting? Is It really so important?”

“It’s a tribal matter. It’s the only really important date in the carhunter year. It takes precedence over any other contingency. Sorry, but I just have time to make it if I proceed immediately.”

“Take me with you.”

“To our meeting?”

“I’ll wait outside. I’m not trying to spy on you or anything. I just need to go somewhere until you or somebody can take me back to my ship.”

The carhunter thought about it. “Ethics are not my strong point,” he said, “but I suppose that abandoning you to your death out here when I could without too much difficulty do something about it would be pretty unconscionable; is that correct?”

“Perfectly correct.”

“It takes a human being to point out that sort of thing. All I was thinking of was the extra energy I’d have to expend to save your life. I mean, what’s in it for me? That’s the way we start to think when there’s not a human around.”

“I’m glad we can be useful to you,” Hellman said.

“But you’re also extremely difficult to be around. Always tinkering with software. Don’t you think there’s enough uncertainty on the subatomic level without introducing it into our macro dealings?”

“What?” Hellman said.

“Never mind, I’m just raving. When you are a carhunter, you spend a lot of time alone. It’s a nomadic life, you know. Most of us live apart from each other. Hunting cars. That’s what we do. That’s why we’re called carhunters.”

“Oh. What kind of cars do you hunt?”

“All kinds. We’re carnivores, in our limited way. We eat cars. We also eat trucks and half-tracks, but they’ve been getting rare in these parts. People say the half-tracks are about hunted out. Yet my father could tell you about herds of them that stretched from hill to hill as far as the eye could see.”

“Not like that any more, I suppose,” Hellman said, trying to fall in with the carhunter’s mood.

“You got that right. Not that it’s too difficult to stay fed, especially now, in summer. I got me a fat old Studebaker just two days ago. You’ll find a couple of its carburetors and headlights in the bin under you and to your left.”

Hellman could peer down through the metal wickerwork and see, in an open-topped metal box, headlights and carburetors half submerged in crankcase oil.

“Looks pretty good, don’t it? I know you don’t eat metal yourself, but no doubt you can empathize the experience.”

“They look tasty,” Hellman said. “Especially in all that oil.”

“Twice-used crankcase oil. Ain’t nothing like it. I’ve spiced it up a bit with a plant that grows hereabouts. We call it the chili pepper.”

“Yes, we have something like it, too,” Hellman said.

“Damn small galaxy,” the carhunter said. “By the way, I’m Wayne 1332A.”

“Tom Hellman,” Hellman said.

“Pleased to meet you. Settle yourself in and take a good grip. We’re going to the meeting.”

The carhunter broke into a stride, then, lowering wheels, built up speed across the flat face of the desert. But soon he slowed again.

“What’s the matter?” Hellman asked.

“Are you sure I’m doing the right thing, saving your life?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” Hellman said. “You need have no doubts over that.”

“I just wanted to be sure,” Wayne said. “Anyway, it’s best to let the others decide what to do with you.”

Wayne 1332A started to pick up speed again.

“What do you mean, do with me?”

“You might be a problem for us, Tom. But I have to let the others decide. Now I need to concentrate.”

They had reached another part of the plain. It was strewn with gigantic boulders. The carhunter needed all his skill to dodge around them at the high speed he was maintaining. Let the others decide. Hellman hadn’t liked the sound of that at all. Nothing much he could do about it at present, however. And anyhow, maybe the robots at the meeting wouldn’t be so difficult.

The sunlight had faded as they roared out of the rocky plain and into a region of low, steep hills. There was a rudimentary track leading up. Wayne took it as if he were a dirt-bike hill climber. Dirt, sand, and gravel showered Hellman as the carhunter dodged and slashed and braked and accelerated up the increasingly steep hill. At last Wayne’s wheels began to skid and he had to retract them and go entirely by pseudopod power. Hellman had to hold on extra tight, because the robot was shaking and quivering and lurching and swerving, and sometimes all of them at the same time.

Then Wayne slewed to a sudden halt.

Hellman said, “What is it?”

“Lookee over there.”

Hellman’s gaze followed the LED lights along one of the carhunter’s main support members. Off to one side, on a rough but serviceable road, a dusty old Mercedes 300 SL was moving sedately along.

“Ain’t that a beauty!” Wayne said.

Hellman looked and didn’t like the prospect of the carhunter hurling itself at this burly and self-reliant automobile on this hillside with its deeply tilted slant and its uneasy footing. One slip, and he and the carhunter would be at the bottom of the hill after rolling all the way. Maybe the carhunter could recover from that, but Hellman doubted a human could.

“Hell, it’s just a car,” Hellman said. “Let’s get to the meeting, huh?”

“That car is prime eating, and if you don’t want it I can sure use it.”

“Let’s eat latf; r, at the meeting.”

“Idiot, the meeting is a time of fasting. Why do you think I need a snack now?”

“Computer!” Hellman said, turning on the radio link he had managed to hold on to through everything, probably because it was attached to his wrist by a lanyard.

“Out of range,” the carhunter said. “Relax, I been gittin’ cars on worse terrain than this. Hang on, baby, here we got”

He started down the perilous slope. It was strange that at this time, just before the irrevocable launch into dangerous territory, Hellman should think of the Desdemona mystery. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t strange at all.

Desdemona was a satellite out past Neptune orbit. It was a dreary little place, a settlement of no more than a few hundred members of a now forgotten religious sect who had gone to this place to preserve their beliefs without contamination from the rest of the world. They had taken their robots with them, of course; you couldn’t survive in the outer planets without robots and a lot of luck. They had been gatherers of Xeum, cosmic-ray residue. Due to topological peculiarities in the spacetime continuum, Desdemona happened to receive more Xeum than any other place in the solar system. But it was a bare living, because the only demand for Xeum was from scientists who were trying to find the primordial substance which generated the ultimate particle.

The settlers of Desdemona were sober people who kept only the most minimal contact with the other worlds. Still, they couldn’t isolate themselves entirely. There were stirrings, undercurrents, and a growing demand for new products and new ways. Some of the Desdemona citizens took to spending time at Ganymede Fun World, the pleasure satellite that had been erected in Jupiter orbit. It was a long way to go for a little fun, but go they did.

There was dissension on Desdemona. And then, one day, a blurry and hard-to-read signal was received on Earth and other worlds. No one could decipher it, but it seemed to refer to some disaster. A relief party was sent out and found Desdemona satellite deserted. The place had been dismantled in an orderly fashion, all useful material packed away and taken. The only hint of what had happened was a letter, begun and crumpled and thrown into a corner and there ignored in the general housecleaning that preceded the departure. After some chit-chat about family and friends, there was this: “Our robots have been giving us difficulties of late, and we’re not sure what to do about it. The Elders say there’s no danger of a revolt, though some doubt the wisdom of the new override instructions that permit our robots to get around the Three Laws of Robotics. Our Chairman says this is necessary in order not to inhibit their intellectual development, but some of us wonder if we aren’t asking for a lot of trouble —”

At that point the letter ended in mid-sentence.

There was conjecture that the robots, freed of the restraints of the Laws of Robotics, had somehow taken control and decided to take the spaceships, and the humans from Desdemona, and go somewhere else, a place where they would not be molested by the rest of humanity. It was theoretically possible to bypass the robotics laws; intelligent robots started their life with neutral ethical values. Moral defaults and restraints had to be built in and programmed. Not everyone agreed with this program. Some people had toyed with their robots’ conditioning, hoping to get more out of the robots. Instances of this were rare, however, and were stamped out as soon as they were encountered.

Large rewards were offered for anyone who solved the Desdemona mystery, and even larger rewards were available for anyone who discovered the present location of the Desdemona robots and their owners, the humans of Desdemona Settlement. No one had claimed this money so far, although there had been one or two false alarms.

Hellman was pretty sure that the Desdemona robots had come to this place, whatever this planet was called. He was potentially a rich man. The only difficulty was, he was at present clinging to the side of a carhunter which was rushing down a slope to attack a Mercedes 300 SL.

Slipping and sliding on the rocky surface, the carhunter, wheels spinning, limbs struggling for purchase, came down on the hapless automobile. The Mercedes, sensing the attack at the last moment, put on a burst of speed. The carhunter was able to claw away a portion of its bumper before the Mercedes pulled free, and, with a snort from its double carbs, hurtled down the slope. The carhunter followed, caught up, and launched itself onto the back of the car. There was a wild bellowing from both machines. Then the carhunter had landed on the trunk of the Mercedes and was tearing and rending it, trying, with its long extensible arms, to reach under and break loose one of the vulnerable axles in order to hamstring the mechanical beast. But the Mercedes had armored side panels and a mesh of steel protected its vital organs. Its horn blared and from its modified supercharger ports came a blue-gray gas. The carhunter managed to pinch shut the main port out of which these fumes were rising. Extruding a metallic tentacle with a bludgeon-like steel fist at its end, it beat in the car’s side window and grabbed at the steering wheel. The car and the carhunter struggled for control as they careened across the steep hillside, coming perilously close to capsizing. This was prevented only by the carhunter’s superior sense of balance, for he managed somehow to keep both himself and the Mercedes upright on its wheels. The groans and snarls, screams and gruntings were impressive in the extreme. Hellman was battered back and forth as the two robots clashed, and thought for a moment he was going to be thrown free. And then, suddenly, it was over. The robothunter’s tentacle snaked through an entry port and found the creature’s central processing unit somewhere deep in its innards. The carhunter wrenched, once, twice, and on the third try a thick bunch of cables came loose and the Mercedes uttered a single sigh and slowed to a halt. The idiot lights on its dashboard flashed in crazy patterns, then went to black. The creature was dead.

Hellman managed to slide to the ground. He stretched himself and rested while Wayne stripped out the points and munched them, then dismantled the machine and stored some of the choicer parts in its cargo section just beneath its own CPU. Watching him, Hellman became aware that he was getting hungry, too.

“I don’t suppose you have anything that I can eat?” Hellman asked, as he watched Wayne slaver as it munched down one headlight.

“Not here, no,” Wayne said. “But at the meeting we’ll be able to do something for you.”

“I don’t eat metal, you know,” Hellman said. “Not even plastic.”

“I am aware of humans’ special dietary requirements,” the carhunter replied. He spit out a couple of lug nuts. “Well, that was delicious. Too bad you humans don’t know about headlights. Come on, mount up, we’ll be late.”

“Through no fault of mine,” Hellman muttered, climbing onto the carhunter again.

In another hour they had left the desolate badlands and were traveling across grassy rolling country. There was a river to their right, and green rolling hills to the left. So far Hellman had not seen any signs of human, or even animal, life. There was plenty of vegetation around here, however. Most of it seemed to be in the form of trees and grass. Nothing there for him to eat. But perhaps something would turn up when they reached the meeting place.

Far ahead, in a cleft between two hills, he caught sight of a glint of sunlight off metal. “What’s that?” he asked.

“That’s the Roundhouse,” Wayne said. “That’s what we call the Great Meeting Hall. And look. Some of the others are there already.”

The Roundhouse was a circular building, one story high, open to the weather and supported on pillars. It was nicely landscaped with big trees and shrubbery. There were perhaps twenty machines milling around outside. Hellman could hear their engines idling before he could make out the words they were saying to each other. Behind the Roundhouse was a fenced enclosure. Here there were several enormous mechanical creatures of a kind Hellman had not seen before. They towered above the carhunters, looking like mechanical renditions of brontosaurus. Close to their enclosure there were various other structures.

As Wayne approached, the carhunters spotted Hellman on his back and fell silent. Wayne coasted to a stop near them.

“Howdy, Jeff,” Wayne said. “Si, Bill, Skeeter, hello.”

“Hello, Wayne,” they replied.

“I reckon you can get down now,” Wayne said to Hellman.

Hellman slid down the carhunter’s back. It felt good to have solid ground beneath him again, though he was a little intimidated by the size of the other carhunters.

“What you got there, Wayne?” one of them asked.

“You can see for yourself,” Wayne said. “It’s a human.”

“Well, so it is,” the machine called Jeff replied. “Haven’t seen one of them critters around for a long time.”

“They’re getting pretty scarce, “Wayne agreed. “Anything to drink around here?”

One of the carhunters pointed one of his extensors at a forty-gallon barrel which had been put aside under one of the trees. “Try some of that. Some of Lester’s home brew he sent along.”

“Isn’t Lester going to make it?”

“Afraid not. He’s got that rot of the control cables; it’s got him crippled up pretty good.”

Wayne went over to the barrel. He extruded a tube and inserted it into the barrel. The others watched silently as the level of the barrel went down.

“Hey, Wayne! Save some for somebody else!”

Wayne finally withdrew his drinking tube. “Yahoo!” he said. “Got a kick, that stuff.”

“Three hundred proof and flavored with cinnamon. Human, you want to try some?”

“I guess I’ll pass on it,” Hellman said. The carhunters guffawed rudely.

“Where in the hell did you find him, Wayne?”

“Out on the prairie,” Wayne said … His owner is still out there in the spaceship.

“Why didn’t he come along?”

“Don’t rightly know. Might not be mobile.”

“What’re you going to do with him?”

“That’s for the Executive Council to decide,” Wayne said.

“Does he talk?” the one called Skeeter asked. “Sure, I talk,” Hellman said.

Hellman was about to put this smart-alecky robot straight. But then there was a movement within the Roundhouse and two robots came out. Their open framework struts and girders were painted blue; their upper part was red. They had black symbols painted here and there. They seemed to be officials of some sort.

“The Chief sent us,” one of them said to Wayne. “He heard you came into camp with a human.”

“News gets around fast, don’t it?” Wayne said.

“Wayne, you know that’s against the rules.”

Wayne shook his big head. “It’s not customary, but I never heard it was against the rules.”

“Well, it is. We’ll have to take him inside for interrogation.”

“Figured as much,” Wayne said.

“Come with us, human,” one of the officials said.

There didn’t seem to be anything for Hellman to do but follow orders. He knew he was no match for the robots in speed or strength. He’d have to keep his wits about him. It might not be too easy to come out of this one okay.

What really perplexed him, however, was, what did these robots have against human beings? How had they developed in this way? Were there any humans at all on this planet? Or had the robots killed them all?

One of the buildings seemed to serve the carhunters as a prison. Its sides were closed. It had a door, which had a padlock. One of the red and blue officials or guards or whatever they were unlocked the door and held it open for Hellman.

“How long you going to lock me up for?” Hellman asked.

“You will be informed of the council’s decisions.” They closed the door behind him.

It was a large room made of galvanized iron. There were windows set high up. There was no glass in them. The room was devoid of furniture. Evidently robots didn’t use chairs or beds. There were a few low metal tables. Hellman looked around, and, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he made out a wink of lights from one corner. He went there to investigate.

There was a robot in the corner. It was somewhat smaller than a man, perhaps five feet high. And it was slender. It had a well-defined head sculpted from some bright metal, and the usual arms and legs. The creature watched him silently, and that was a little unnerving.

“Hi,” Hellman said. “I’m Tom Hellman. Who are you?”

The robot didn’t reply.

“Can’t you talk?” Hellman asked. “Don’t you speak English?”

Still no reply from the robot, who continued to watch him with one red and one green eye.

“Great,” Hellman said. “They put me in with a dummy.”

As he spoke, he noticed that the robot was scratching in the dirt of the packed earth floor with a long toe. Hellman read it: “The walls have ears.”

He looked at the robot. It gave him a meaningful look.

“What happens now?” Hellman said, dropping his voice to a whisper. The robot scratched, “We’ll know soon.” The robot didn’t want to communicate any further. Hellman went to the far side of the room and stretched out on the floor. He was very hungry now. Were they going to feed him? And more important, were they going to feed him something he could eat? Outside, it was growing late. After a while, Hellman started to doze off. He fell into a light sleep, and soon he was dreaming of vague, threatening things that came at him out of a dark sky. He was trying to explain to them that he was not to, blame, but he couldn’t remember what for.

Hellman awoke when the door to the prison was opened. At first he thought they had come to tell him what they had decided. But they had brought him food instead. It consisted entirely of fruit and nuts. None of them was familiar to him, but none were strange, either. They also brought him water. It was carried in quart oil cans which had been scrupulously cleansed and bore not even a trace of oil. Hellman learned later that these cans had never held oil, even though “oil” was stamped into the metal of their sides. He had no idea then that the carhunters had a ceremonial side to their nature, and were able to use certain utilitarian objects for their symbolic value alone.

The two carhunters who brought the food and water would answer no questions. They waited silently while Hellman ate. He thought they watched him with curiosity. He couldn’t figure that out, but he was hungry enough so that he ate anyway. They took away the hammered tin plates on which they had brought the food, but they left him two water cans.

Time passed. Hellman had no watch, and was unable to reach the ship’s computer to get a time check. But he figured that hours must have passed. He grew irritated with the robot who was locked in with him, who sat in a corner of the room and seemed to be in a cataleptic fit.

At last Hellman had had enough. Boredom can drive a man to outrageous deeds. He walked over to the robot and said, “Say something.”

The robot opened its red and green eyes and looked at him. It slowly shook its head, left to right, meaning no.

“Because they can hear us, right?”

The robot nodded, affirmative.

“What does it matter if they can hear us or not?”

The robot made a complex and intricate gesture with its hands, which Hellman took to mean, ‘You just don’t understand.’

“I just don’t understand, is that it?” Hellman asked.

The robot nodded, affirmative.

“But I can’t understand unless you tell me.”

The robot shrugged. Universal gesture meaning, what can I do about it?

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” Hellman said, his voice low but resonant with suppressed anger. “You listening?”

The robot nodded.

“If you don’t start talking at once, I’m going to put out one of your eyes. The green one. Then ask you again. If you refuse again, I’ll put out the red one. Got it?”

The robot stared at him. Only now did Hellman see what a mobile face it had. It was not made up of a single piece of metal. Instead there were many little planes sculptured into the face, and each plane was about an inch square and seemed capable of movement. This was a face designed to reveal its thoughts, feelings, and moods through its face. And sure enough, the robot’s face registered horror, disbelief, outrage,, as Hellman screwed up his own face into a ferocious frown and advanced.

“There’s no need for violence,” the robot said.

“Fine. There’s no reason for silence either, is there?”

“I suppose not,” the robot said. “I just thought it best that we didn’t talk together so that the carhunters wouldn’t get the idea we were plotting against them.”

“Why would they think that?”

“You must know as well as I do that it’s every sentient being for itself here on this planet of Newstart. And the carhunters are a very suspicious group of people.”

“They’re not people,” Hellman said. “They’re robots.”

“Since intelligent robots have the same faculties as humans, we no longer differentiate between them in terms of’robot’ and ‘human.’ It’s superfluous and racist to talk that way.”

“All right,” Hellman said. “I stand corrected. You say they are suspicious people?”

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it? They have separated themselves from the mainstream of Newstart life and development. Isolated groups tend toward xenophobia.”

“You know a lot of big words,” Hellman said. “I ought to. I’m a librarian.”

“These carhunters don’t look like they have much use for reading.”

“I’m not a librarian here,” the robot said with a low laugh. “I don’t belong to this tribe! I work at the Central Lending Library in downtown Robotsville.”

“Robotsville? Is that a city?”

“The largest city on Newstart. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

“I’m not from here,” Hellman said. “I’m from the planet Earth.”

“You ‘re from another planet?” The robot sat up and looked at Hellman more attentively. “How did you get here?”

“In the usual way. By spaceship.”

“Uhuu,” the robot said.

“Beg pardon?”

“‘Uhuu’ is an expression peculiar to Robotsville. It means ‘that really opens up a lot of possibilities.’”

“Can you explain that?” Hellman asked.

“It’s just that quite a lot is happening on Newstart right now. Your arrival could have incalculable consequences.”

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Just then there was the sound of a key in the lock.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to have time to tell you,” the robot said. “God knows what these barbarians have in store for us. My name is Jorge.” He gave it the Spanish pronunciation, Hor-hay.

“Jorge? As in Jorge Luis Borges?” asked Hellman, a literate man when it came to very short stories.

“Yes. He is the saint of librarians.”

The door opened. Two carhunters lumbered in. Around buildings they seemed clumsy and ill at ease. The fluid grace that a carhunter possessed in the countryside seemed to have deserted them in these restricting surroundings.

“Come with us,” one of them said. “The council has discussed you and now will speak with you.”

“What about my buddy Jorge here?”

“He will be dealt with in due time.”

“Be careful what you say to them,” the librarian said. “The carhunters do not like … prevarication.”

The librarian’s pause was long enough to convince Hellman that there was something he was being advised not to say to the carhunters. He wished he knew what it was. But now the carhunters were moving, and Hellman had to move quickly to prevent being run over.

They led him to the meeting area. It was a flat circular rock face that had been roughly smoothed. It stood about three feet above the ground, and there were ramps of packed earth leading up to it. The carhunters had already assembled. They were moving around the rock, which greatly resembled a large parking lot. In the center was a raised cube. On it there were five or so carhunters. These looked more like a bunch of politicians than anything else.

Hellman was led to a large pedestal with a spiral roadway leading up to it. It put him on eye level with the five top carhunters.

Even if they had not been apart from the others, Hellman would have had no difficulty telling that these were the important ones. They were somewhat larger than the others, and their bodies had more ornamentation, mostly of the chromium variety. Several of them wore necklaces of shiny objects which Hellman recognized as hood designs from automobiles of Earth ‘s past.

The leading carhunter was easy to spot, too. He sat in the center of the others on the raised rectangle. He was almost a third larger than his fellow judges, and he was painted a midnight blue with silver accents.

The blue and silver judge said, “I am Car Eater, Chief Elder of the Carhunters tribe. These are my fellow judges. Why have you come here, Tom Hellman? We already know that you came in a spaceship. Why did you come to Newstart?”

“It was a mistake,” Hellman said. “I had a malfunction.”

“That is not an acceptable answer. Where humans are concerned, there are no mistakes.”

“Maybe you don’t know people very well,” Hellman said. “This was definitely a mistake. If you don’t believe me, ask my ship’s computer.”

“One of our scouts tried to talk to him” Car Eater said. “He told us we did not have the proper access code. He would not explain what he meant by that.”

“The access code is a nine-number combination. It is used to prevent unauthorized spying on the computer’s memory banks.”

“But couldn’t the computer make up his own mind about that?” Car Eater asked.

“Perhaps he could,” Hellman said. “But it is not the way we do things on Earth.”

The robots held a whispered conference. Then Car Eater said, “It has been many years since a human visited these parts. This part of the planet belongs to us, the carhunters. We stay out of other people’s territory and expect people to stay out of ours. This is how it has been for a very long time, ever since the Great Fabricator divided the species of intelligence and told each to be fruitful and multiply according to his basic plan. Some of the carhunters wanted to kill you, and that other stray too, the librarian who calls himself Jorge. Sounds like a sissy name to me. That’s the sort of name they give themselves in Robotsville, where they think they’re better than anyone else. But we Elders decided against taking violent action. The Compact which rules this planet abhors destruction except in lawful ways. Hellman, you may go. You and Jorge, too. I advise you to be out of our territory by sundown. Otherwise a hyenoid might get you.”

“Where am I supposed to go? I can’t get back to my spaceship on my own.”

“Since Wayne 1332A brought you here,” Car Eater said, “he can also take you back. Right, Wayne?”

A loud sound of backfires came from the assembled carhunters. It took Hellman a moment to realize it was laughter.

“Sorry about this, Wayne,” Hellman said. He and Jorge had mounted and were clinging to the carhunter’s back plates.

“Hell, it don’t make no never mind,” Wayne said. “I don’t sit around a whole lot fretting about how I pass my time. Sometimes it’s more convenient for us carhunters to turn onto emergency mode, which of course is timebound. But most of the time life just goes along here on the concrete prairie much as it has ever done.”

Hellman learned from Wayne that the carhunters had lived in this region, the badlands of Northwest Mountain and Concrete Prairie, for as long as anyone could remember. Jorge broke in and said that this was a lie, or at least an untruth: the carhunters had been around only a hundred years or so, just like everyone else. Wayne said he didn’t want to argue, but he did point out that there was one hell of a lot city robots didn’t know. Hellman himself was interested in what it was like to be a city robot.

“Aren’t there any people in your city?” Hellman asked Jorge.

“I told you, all of us are people.”

“Well, I mean people like me. Humans. Flesh-and-blood sort of people. You know what I mean?”

“If you mean natural human beings, no. There are none in Robotsville. We separated from them. It was for the good of everyone. Just didn’t get along. We tried producing flesh-and-blood androids for a while — robots with protoplasmic bodies. But it was aesthetically unpleasing.”

“I didn’t know aesthetics was a concern,” Hellman said.

“It’s the only real issue,” Jorge told him, “once you’ve solved the problems of maintenance and upkeep and part replacement.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be,” Hellman said. “Do you know how your people got to this planet?”

“Of course. The Great Fabricator put us here, back when he divided the intelligent species and gave each a portion of the land and of the good things thereof.”

“How long ago was that?” Hellman asked.

“A long time ago. Before the beginning of time.”

Jorge told Hellman the Creation Story, which, in slightly altered versions, was known to every being on the planet Newstart. How the Great Fabricator, a being made up equally of flesh, metal, and spirit, had produced all the races and watched them go to war with each other. How he decided that this was wrong. The Great Fabricator tried various plans. He tried putting the humans in charge of everyone. That didn’t work. He tried letting the robots rule, and that didn’t work, either. Finally he divided the planet of Newstart into equal portions. “Each of you has a place now,” the Great Fabricator said. “Go down there now and access information.”

And so they went down, all the species, and each picked his lot and his fortune. The humans found green places where they could grow things. The robots split into various groups. One of those groups was the carhunters. They didn’t want to live in cities. They denied that the purpose of a robot was to further technology. They insisted that just living was enough purpose for anyone. This was at the time of the choosing of modalities. The carhunters selected bodies for themselves that were swift and long-enduring. They programmed themselves with a love of desolate places. And the Great Fabricator put at their disposal a race of automobiles, direct descendants of the autos of Earth. The cars were belligerent herd animals, and it was all right to kill them because they weren’t intelligent enough to mind. The carhunters had been programmed so that they found car innards delicious. It was a deliberately studied-out ethic, because at the beginning each of the groups had its own choice of an ethic. They worked from ancient models, of course, old-time human models, since intelligence is the ability to choose your programming. It was a good life, but in the view of the other robots, those who had chosen to live in cities, it was a blind alley in the life game of machine evolution. The nomadic model was satisfying, but limiting.

“You see,” Jorge said, as they bounced along on Wayne’s back, “some of us believe that life is an art that must be learned. We believe that we must learn what we are to do. We devote our lives to taking the next step.”

Wayne was bored by this sort of talk. The librarian was obviously crazy. What could be better than careening around the landscape, killing things? He pointed out that there was no moral problem, since the things they killed weren’t intelligent enough to know what was being done to them. Also, they weren’t given pain circuits.

They were coming through a long narrow pass, with towering peaks on either side. Suddenly Wayne came to a stop and extruded his antennae. He swiveled them back and forth in a purposeful manner, and a little instrument deep inside his armoring began a quiet, urgent tick-tick.

“What is it?” Hellman asked.

“Believe we got trouble ahead,” Wayne said. He swung around and started back the way he had come. In fifty yards, he stopped again.

“What is it this time?” Hellman asked.

“They’re on both sides of us.”

“Who is on either side of us? Is it those hyenoids again?”

“They’re no real trouble,” Wayne said. “No, this is a little more serious than that.”

“What is it?” Jorge asked.

“I think it’s a group of Deltoids.”

“How could that be?” Jorge asked. “The Deltoids live far to the south, in Mechanicsville and Gasketoon.”

“I don’t know what they’re doing here,” Wayne said. “Maybe you can ask them yourself. They seem to be on all sides of us.”

Jorge’s mobile face took on a look of alarm. “May the Great Fabricator preserve us!”

“What is it?” Hellman asked. “What’s he so upset about?”

“The Deltoids are not like the rest of us,” Wayne told him.

“Not robots?”

“Oh, they’re robots all right. But something went wrong with their conditioning back when the race was first laid down by the Great Fabricator. Unless he did it on purpose, which is what the Deltoid Church of the Black Star maintains.”

“What, exactly, did the Great Fabricator do to them?” Hellman demanded.

“He taught them to like killing,” Jorge said.

“Hang on,” Wayne said. “Up them cliffs is the only way out of here.”

“Can you climb a gradient like that?” Hellman asked. “Going to find out,” said Wayne.

“But you kill things, too,” Hellman said.

“Sure. But only lawful animals. The Deltoids like to kill other intelligent beings.”

He started picking his way up the rock face. Behind, a group of big machines in camouflage colors had collected and was watching them.

Three times Wayne tried to bull his way up the cliffside, and each time lost traction a third of the way from the top. Only the most skillful weight shifting and double clutching prevented the carhunter from turning over as it slid down to its starting point. The Deltoids seemed in no hurry to attack them, something which was incomprehensible to Wayne at the time, but which had a simple explanation that was supplied later, when they were safe for the moment in Poictesme.

But that was later; for now, it looked a desperate situation, and Wayne turned, ready to charge head-on into the machines and take his chances. Hellman and Jorge had no say in the matter. This was Wayne’s decision and his alone to make. But it was taken out of his hands when the ground suddenly began to collapse beneath his feet. The Deltoids noticed this and noisily started motors, eager to get away from the treacherous ground. But now they were caught in it too, and the entire plain seemed to be collapsing under them. Hellman and Jorge could do nothing but hang on as Wayne slipped and slithered and fought for traction. But there was nothing to be done, and Hellman felt himself battered by flying dirt and sand as the bottom dropped out from under them.

It was the alarm clock that woke him.

Alarm clock?

Hellman opened his eyes. He was in a large bed under a pink and blue quilt. He was propped up nicely on down cushions. There was an alarm clock on the nightstand next to him. It was ringing.

Hellman turned it off.

“Feeling all right?” a voice asked him.

Hellman looked around. To his right, sitting in an overstuffed chair, there was a woman. A young woman. A good-looking young woman. She wore a yellow and tangerine hostess gown. She had crisp blond hair and gray eyes. She looked at Hellman with an air of boldness and self-possession.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Hellman said. “But who are you?”

“I’m Lana,” the young woman said.

“Are you a prisoner?”

She laughed. “My goodness, no! I work for these people. You’re in Poictesme.”

“The last thing I remember is the ground giving way.”

“Yes. You fell into Poictesme.”

“What about the Deltoids?”

“There is no love lost between Deltoids and the robots of Poictesme. The robots rebuked them for trespassing and sent them away chagrined. The Deltoids had to take it because they were in the wrong. It amused the Poictesmeans very much to see the usually arrogant and self-assured Deltoids slink off with their tails dragging.”

“Tails?”

“Yes, the Deltoids have tails.”

“I didn’t get close enough to see the tails,” Hellman said.

“Believe me, they have tails. There is an albino tailless model, but they only occur in Lemurton Valley which is over eight hundred varsks from here.”

“How much is a varsk?”

“It is roughly equal to the Terran mile, equal to five thousand two hundred and eighty yups.”

“Feet?”

“Approximately, yes.”

“How did they happen to fall into Poictesme? Didn’t they know it was there?”

“How could they? Poictesme is one of the burrowing cities.”

“Oh, how stupid of me,” Hellman said. “A burrowing city! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re making fun of me,” the young woman said.

“Well, maybe just a little. So Poictesme was burrowing past where all these Deltoids had assembled to capture or kill the carhunter?”

“That’s it, exactly. The crust of the earth was thin at that point, and they shouldn’t have been here anyway, because this entire region was given to the Poictesmeans to live in or under as they pleased.”

“Well, maybe I get it,” Hellman said. “Where are the Poictesmeans, anyhow?”

“Right here. You’re in Poictesme,” Lana said.

Hellman looked around. He didn’t get it. Then he got it.

“You mean this room —?”

“No, the house itself. The Poictesmeans are housemaking robots.”

Hellman learned how the Poictesmeans began life as tiny metal spheres within which were infinitesimal moving parts, as well as a miniature chemical factory. The Poictesmeans started as little robots, hardly more than DNA and parts. From this their plan unfolded. They slowly began to build a house around them. They were equally skilled at working in wood or stone. By puberty they could make bricks in their own in-built kiln. Most Poictesmeans made six-to eight-room houses. These houses were not for their own use. It was obvious that the Poictesmeans didn’t need the elaborate structure, with its bay windows and carports, that they carried around with them, adding to bit by bit and painting once a year. But their instruction tapes, plus their racial steering factor (RSF) combined to make them produce finer and finer houses. They lived in neat suburbs, each Poictesmean occupying his allotted quarter acre of land. At night, in accordance with ancient ordinance, street lamps and house lights came on. The Poictesmeans also had a few communal projects. A theater and motion-picture house. But no pictures were ever shown, because the Poictesmeans had never mastered the art of moviemaking. And anyhow, who would there be to occupy their theaters? The Poictesmeans were a symbiotic race, but they didn’t have any symbiotes to share stuff with.

“Is that why they have you here?” Hellman asked. “To live in one of their houses?”

“Oh, no, I’m a design consultant,” Lana said. “They are very fastidious, especially about their rugs and curtains. And they import vases from the humans, because they aren’t programmed or motivated to make such things themselves.”

“When do I meet one of them?”

“They wanted you to feel at home before they talked to you.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Oh, don’t worry, they have their reasons. The Poictesmeans have reasons for everything they do.”

Hellman wanted to know what had happened to the librarian and the carhunter, for he thought of them now as his friends. But Lana either did not know or would not tell him. Hellman worried about it for a while, then stopped thinking about it. His friends were both made of metal and could be expected to take care of themselves.

Lana sometimes talked about her friends and family back on Zoo Hill. She wouldn’t answer Hellman’s direct questions, but she liked to reminisce. From what she said Hellman got a picture of an idyllic life, sort of half Polynesian and half hippie. The humans didn’t do much, it seemed. They had their gardens and their fields, but robots took care of them. In fact, young robots from the cities of Newstart volunteered for this work. These were robots who thought there was something noble about men. The other robots called them humanizers. Usually, though, it was just the sort of fad you’ d expect of a young robot.

Hellman got out of bed and wandered around the house. It was a nice house. Everything was automatic. The Poictesmean who was the intelligence at the house’s core did all the work and also arranged all the scheduling. The Poictesmeans liked to anticipate your needs. The house was always cooking special meals for Hellman. Where it got roast beef and kiwi fruit, Hellman didn’t ask. There was such a thing as trying to find out too much.

Each house had its own climate and, in its backyard, a swimming pool. Although they were underground, lamps on high standards provided circadian illumination.

Hellman became very fond of Lana. He thought she was a little dumb, but sweet. She looked great in a bathing suit. It wasn’t long before Hellman approached Lana with a request for mutual procreation, him and her, just you and me, babe. Lana said she’d love to, but not now. Maybe sometime, but not now. When Hellman asked why not now, she said that someday she’d explain it and they’d both laugh about it. Hellman had heard that one before. Nevertheless he remained fond of Lana, and she seemed to like him, too. Although perhaps that was because he was the only human person in Poictesme. She said that wasn’t it at all; she liked him; he was different; he was from Earth, a place she had always wanted to see, because even this far from the solar system she had heard of Paris and New York.

One day Hellman wandered into the living room. Lana had gone off on one of her mysterious trips. She never told him where she was going. She just gave a little smile, half apologetic, half defiant, and said, “See you later, cutie.” It annoyed Hellman because he didn’t have any place to go to and he felt he was being one-upped.

In the living room, he noticed for the first time the thirty-inch TV set into one wall. He had probably seen it before but not really noticed it. You know how it is when you’re far away from your favorite shows.

He walked over to it. It looked like a normal TV set. It had a dial in its base. Curious, he turned the dial. The screen lit up and a woman’s face appeared in it.

“Hello, Hellman,” the woman said. “I’m glad you decided to have a conversation with me at last.”

“I didn’t know you were in there,” Hellman said.

“But where else would the spirit of a house be but in its TV set?” she asked him.

“Is that what you really look like?” Hellman asked.

“Strictly speaking,” she told him, “I don’t look like anything. Or I look like whatever I want to look like. In actual fact, I look like the house that I am. But a house is too big and complicated to serve as a focus of conversation. Therefore we Poictesmeans personalize ourselves and become the spirit of our own place.”

“Why do you appear as a woman?”

“Because I am a woman,” she said. “Or at least feminine. Feminine and masculine are two of the great principles of the Universe, when viewed from a particular aspect. We Poictesmeans take either view, in accord with deep universal rhythms. I understand that you come from the planet Earth.”

“That’s right,” Hellman said. “And I’d like to go back there.”

“It is possible,” she said, “that can be arranged. Assuming your cooperation, of course.”

“Hell yes, I’m cooperative,” Hellman said. “What do you want me to do?”

“We want your help in getting out of here.”

“Out of Poictesme?”

“No, you idiot, we are Poictesme. We want to move our entire city to your planet Earth.”

“But you don’t know what it’s like on Earth.”

“You don’t know what it’s like here. There is very serious trouble on this planet, Hellman. All hell is going to break out here very soon. We Poictesmeans are house robots and we don’t care for warfare, nor for the strange evolutionary schemes of some of the people of Poictesme.”

“You want the people of Earth to just give you some land to live on?”

“That’s it. We can pay our own way, of course. We can rent ourselves out for human occupation.”

“Would you want to do that?”

“Of course. The function of a house is to be lived in. But nobody on this planet wants to live in us.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve told you; they’re all quite mad.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” Hellman said. “Good housing is always in demand on Earth. We’ll just have to send some big spaceships to take you off, that’s all.”

“That sounds fine.”

“It’s a deal, then. How soon can we begin?”

“Well, there’s a problem to overcome before we can actually do anything.”

“I thought that would be it,” Hellman said. “Forget about problems, just get me back to my spaceship and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“That’s precisely the trouble. Your spaceship has been captured and taken to Robotsville.”

While Hellman had journeyed with Wayne the carhunter to the meeting, the observatories of Robotsville had read and interpreted the signals sent out during the ship’s crash landing on Newstart. It was the interpretation that had taken time, for signals signifying the landing of spaceships had been received from time to time in the past and had been uniformly proven to be erroneous. This being the case, the Astronomer Royal had put forth the theory that signals denoting the landing of a spaceship could be taken as meaning that no spaceship had in fact landed. This was considered ingenious but futile at a general meeting of the Concerned Robots for a Better Safer Robotsville. Public opinion made it clear that this signal, just like all the others, would have to be investigated.

Thus, a squadron of Royal Robotsville Horse Guards had been dispatched under the command of Colonel Trotter. This squadron was composed of regular citizens who had elected to take on centaur bodies, half humanoid and half horse, the whole thing constructed of Tinkertoy-like material and driven by cleverly geared little motors. The ultimate power source was atomic, of course, the power of atomic decay stepped down to turn tiny and then small and finally larger gears.

This squadron of robotic centaurs, some of them colored bay; some chestnut, some dappled, and a few roan and pinto, debouched onto the plain, spurs and harness jingling, and beheld the spaceship. There was consternation among the centaurs, because they had expected to make only a parade inspection, not be faced with the real difficulties of what to do with an alien spaceship. Questions were relayed back to the city, and councils were held in high places. It was voted at a town meeting open to all intelligences of grade seven or above — the sixes still not having won the vote at this time — that a full regiment of sappers be sent to transport the alien spaceship after first ascertaining its intentions.

They queried the ship’s computer, who responded with his name, rank, and serial number, as embossed on his security tapes. But he did have enough local command over his communication circuits to tell the centaurs that, speaking only for himself, his intent was peaceable and he carried no hidden weapons or intelligences aboard. The robots of Robotsville tended to take the word of computers back in those relatively naive days, and so the robots constructed a flatbed truck upon the spot, loaded the spaceship upon it with the cunning use of ropes and windlasses, and brought it back to the city.

“Well then,” Hellman said, “it’s simple enough. You have to get me to Robotsville so I can get my spaceship back. Then I’ll be able to do something for you on Earth.”

The image in the TV screen looked doubtful. “We’re not too popular with Robotsville, unfortunately.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, let’s not go into it now,” the house robot said. Hellman was learning, not for the last time, that robots can be evasive, and, if programmed correctly, downright liars.

The Poictesmean said she’d think about it and discuss it with the others. Her image faded from the screen. Hellman was feeling modestly optimistic until Lana came home and heard of the conversation.

Lana said she didn’t trust the Poictesmeans and didn’t think Hellman should, either. Not that she was trying to tell him how to think. Not that she gave a damn what he thought. But she just wanted him to know that her opinions of the robots were based on a lifetime of having lived close to them, time in which she had observed their ways, and had also had the valuable insights of her friends, who also used up some of their time and energy observing robots. Now, of course, she said with sweet sardonicism, it was possible that Hellman knew robots better than anyone else. It was possible that, with a single glance of his intelligent eyes, he had learned more than Lana and her people had been able to deduce.

Lana could go on in this vein for quite a while. At first Hellman thought she was weird because she was an alien. Then he decided that she was probably weird even for an alien. In fact, he thought, she might be a little bit of a nut.

Somehow Lana had heard of Hollywood on the planet Earth, and what she really wanted from Hellman was stories of the stars and starlets. She was fascinated by the glamour of it all. She made him give her detailed descriptions of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, even though Hellman had never been to California. She also wanted to know all about Veronica Lake. Hellman found it was no good saying he didn’t know anything about her. Lana always thought he was lying, and sulked until he told her something, anything.

He told her that Veronica Lake was one of two Siamese twins, Veronica and Schlemonika, and that Schlemonika had been taken away after the operation that severed their connection by the head (hence the hair worn long on one side — to hide the scar) and taken to a convent high in the Canadian Rockies. As for Veronica, she had had three husbands, one of them a cousin of King Zug of Albania. And so on.

Lana brought him coffee every morning, when she returned from wherever it was she went at night. Hellman tried to woo her. But it was difficult because the house wouldn’t let him out of the house. He had no money with which to buy her presents. And even if he had had, he hadn’t yet seen a store on this planet.

Lana said she liked him very much but that now was not the time for involvement. Hellman didn’t say, fine, let’s do without the involvement, let’s just go to bed. He didn’t think it would go over well. Lana said there’d be time to consider having a relationship when Hellman got them out of the house and back to Earth and took her to Hollywood. She said she realized that she was a little old to be a starlet, but there was still time for her to take on a serious acting career.

“Sure,” Hellman said, and took to spending his evenings looking out the window at the houses across the street. They put their lights on every night, just as his house did, but they didn’t have any people. Hellman supposed they were practicing.

Then one night, as he was sitting on the big sofa wishing he had a newspaper, he heard a sound from the cellar. He listened. It came again. Yes! And again! A noise in the cellar — he got up quite excited — something was about to happen.

The computer of the house was fast asleep. She went to sleep every night and didn’t awaken until Lana returned. But Hellman tiptoed anyhow, afraid of wakening her, to the cellar door. Hellman tried the light at the top of the stairs. It didn’t work. That was odd: the house was usually scrupulous about keeping herself up. He could see halfway down the stairs before they terminated in darkness. He went down, stepping lightly, holding on to the rails on either side of the stairs.

At the bottom a little light had collected from the open kitchen door. Hellman picked his way across a floor littered with many objects. He recognized a beach ball, one roller skate, an old lamp with a silk shade, lying on its side. There were piles of old newspapers in a corner. There was a ping-pong table, the dust thick upon it. The light glinted off the sharp edges of a row of chisels hanging from one wall. Then he heard the sound again.

“Who’s there?” Hellman asked in a loud whisper.

“Not so loud,” a voice whispered back.

Hellman felt a flash of annoyance. He was always being told to shut up these days. “Who’s there?” he asked, this time in a normal voice.

“Do the numbers 150182074 mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” Hellman said. “That’s the access code to my ship’s computer. How did you get it?”

“Your computer told it to me,” the voice said.

“Why?”

“So you’d trust me. He trusts me, you see, and he asked me to come here to help you.”

Good old computer! Hellman thought. Then his sensation of pleasure that his computer was looking out for him was replaced by an emotion of caution. How had his computer managed to get so self-programming as to decide that Hellman needed help? How had he managed to override his conditioning in order to give this robot or whoever it was the access number? Or hadn’t that happened at all? Perhaps the robots of Robotsville had cracked the computer’s code and hit upon this subterfuge to get Hellman away from Poictesme and into their hands.

“How’s my computer doing?” Hellman asked, temporizing.

“He’s fine. But there’s no time for small talk. He told me you have difficulty making up your mind in an emergency, though you’re quick enough when nothing’s at stake. But you’ll have to decide right now if you want to come with me or not.”

“Where are we going?” Hellman asked. “And what about Wayne the carhunter and the librarian Jorge?”

“Am I my robot’s keeper? I do what I can. Anyhow, they’re safe enough. You’re the one who’s got problems.”

“And what about Lana?”

“You want to stay where you are and continue having her bring you coffee every morning?”

“I guess I got a few more things to do than that,” Hellman said. “All right, let’s get out of here.”

It was too dark for Hellman to make out the appearance of his rescuer. But from the direction of the voice, waist level, he was pretty sure that he was small. It seemed reasonable to expect him to be a robot. Everyone he had met on Newstart so far had been a robot, except for Lana, and he still wasn’t completely sure about her.

His rescuer scuttled in front of him toward the furnace door, and opened it. Within, bright flames danced. The robot was revealed in its flames. He was about three feet tall, wore either a wig or had a full head of flowing dark hair and a clever, somewhat supercilious face with a bandit mustache. He was dressed in a tweed jacket and blue jeans. He was upright and bipedal. He wore sneakers. He also wore glasses.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” the robot said. He swung one leg over the lip of the open furnace door.

“Hey, I’m not going in there,” Hellman said.

“The flames are fake,” Harry said.

He swung his other leg over. Hellman put out a hand cautiously toward the fire. He drew it back.

“It’s hot!”

“That’s just simulated warmth. Come on, Tom, now’s not the time to crap around. Your computer warned me you’d be like this.”

“I’m going to have a little talk with that computer,” Hellman said, putting one foot into the furnace, and then, when it wasn’t singed off, the other.

“What’s going on in here?” a loud and familiar voice said. It was the house. Suddenly all the lights in the basement went on. An alarm bell went off. Hellman took a deep breath and jumped into the flames.

The flames were bright around him. They raged and stormed, and there was a little warmth in them, but no real heat. Hellman was fascinated to find himself in the midst of fake flames and simulated warmth. He knew he was on his way. He was going to miss some of those meals that the house had prepared for him. The house was a good provider. There was probably a good future for houses like that on Earth. If there was no real reason against it, he might yet enter into partnership with Poictesme, sell their services on Earth, get rich quick.

First he’d have to find out, however, if these were indeed the robots of Desdemona Station, and if so, had they indeed circumvented or canceled their conditioning to the Three Laws of Robotics. The FDA would never let him import them if they were able to kill people. But if they were the robots of Desdemona, with murder in their hearts, or rather, in their tapes, burned into their chips, as it were, then there would be rewards to claim, prize money to spend. Maybe in that case he’d bring Lana back. She was plenty cute and he was sure she liked him, even though she had some odd ways of expressing it.

And he’d have a word with his computer too, when he got back to the ship. That was very peculiar behavior, giving out the access-code number. Sure, it was for his own protection, but was it, really? Might not his own computer have been reprogrammed by the antisocial elements of this planet of Newstart? And for that matter, what about the humans of Newstart? Had the robots spared some of them? What part did they play in all this?

Hellman considered these things while the flames roared around him. He had quite forgotten where he was. Thus the mind protects itself when faced with an intolerable situation. Now he noticed that the flames were dying down. As the glare faded, he saw Harry, the robot who was rescuing him, standing nearby.

“Why do you wear glasses?” Hellman asked.

“My God! Is that the only thing you can think to ask at a time like this?”

“Why do you robots talk about God so much?” Hellman asked. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

“Your computer was right,” Harry said. “You are fun to be around. One never knows what you’ll say next. Come on, let’s get out of this furnace. I’ll bet you’re hungry too, and thirsty, and perhaps sleepy, as well?”

“Yes, all of the above,” Hellman said.

“How nice it must be to have such urgent conditioning. We robots have been trying to simulate appetite for a long time. It’s easy enough to model human drives, but difficult to put any real urgency into it.”

“But why would you want to have that stuff anyhow?” Hellman asked. “Drives and emotions get you into plenty of trouble. Sometimes they kill you.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but what a way to go.”

Hellman thought about Lana. “Don’t you ever get the urge to, like for example, mate with someone you know will be bad for you but to hell with that, you want to do it anyway?”

“Not really,” Harry said. “We’ve learned to simulate perversity, of course, that’s not difficult. But the real article … Well, that’s tough. But we have begun a program by means of which we can experiment with it all.”

“All what?”

“All the human moods, nuances, feelings. We’re experimenting also with simulating every aspect of nature’s creative side. But more of that later. We’d better get out of here.”

They were both out of the furnace now. Standing outside it, Hellman saw that it was not a furnace at all. Not now. Maybe it had been earlier. Somehow he had gotten somewhere else. He had stepped out of a small cellar door. He seemed to be in a very pretty pastoral place with bushy trees and green hedges and wild flowers.

“Like it?” Harry asked.

“Very nice. Yours?”

“Yes. I like to come here when I can. The whole thing, is simulated, by the way, down to the last blade of grass.”

“Why didn’t you just plant a garden?”

“We need to express ourselves,” Harry said. “Come on, I’ve got a little place down here. I’m sure we can get you a drink and some lunch. Then you’ll need a nap and after that we can get on with it.”

“Get on with what?”

“The next step. Afraid it’s not going to be quite so easy as what’s happened so far.”

Harry told Hellman he lived in the Gollag Gardens section of Robotsville, quite near the south bridge that crossed the River Visp. He was a dress designer by occupation. Hellman expressed surprise at this, because he had been used to robots only in industrial roles.

“That was in the old days,” Harry said, “when robots were disadvantaged by the racist laws of Earth. All this talk about a robot not being truly creative! As if they had a clue! I can assure you, I do my job better than most designers on Earth.”

“But who do you design dresses for?” Hellman asked.

“For the other robots, of course.”

“I don’t understand. I never heard of a robot wearing clothes before.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the literature on the subject. Humans were really naive in the old days. They expected great things from their robots, but kept them naked. What creature with an ounce of self-respect and the slightest claim to civilization is going to do his best naked?

“The news of your spaceship was received in the city like a bombshell. All of us have been theorizing for a very long time about what humans are really like.”

“You have some here on this planet, don’t you?”

“They don’t count. They’ve been away too long. They’re quite out of touch. They look to us for guidance.”

“Oh. I see what you mean.”

“We want to know what human is like from the horse’s mouth, a genuine human from the planet Earth.”

It was only later that Hellman appreciated the strength of the robot’s drive to be seen as creative and nice.

Harry had taken him through a bypass to a place outside Robotsville. He had a route planned out after they left his house. They would proceed on foot and with caution. There were political elements even in Robotsville, waiting to exploit the inevitable confusion that would ensue when Hellman arrived.

Hellman’s first sight of Robotsville was not reassuring. The outskirts looked like a junkyard several stories high and stretching for a mile or so in either direction. Although it looked haphazard, the open-work structures were firmly welded into place. There were buildings and verandas and structures of all sorts, most of them lying at odd angles to each other, since robots have no bias in favor of right angles. Although there were ground-level roadways, most of the robots used elevated pathways to get from place to place.

“I hadn’t expected it to be like this,” Hellman said.

“It’s more convenient for a robot to travel monkey-fashion, using a number of lines, than to walk on the ground like men,” Harry explained.

“But I notice that all of them have feet.”

“Of course. Having feet is a mark of being civilized.”

Civilized or not, Hellman saw that most of the robots in this part of Robotsville had small round bodies like squids, with six or eight tentacular limbs with differently shaped grasping members at their ends. As well as the legs, of course, which just dangled appendage-wise as the robots swung through the maze like chimpanzees. Soon they passed this suburban clutter and were in the middle of another district. This one was composed of five-or six-story buildings, some made of masonry, others constructed from what looked like wrought iron. As they walked they passed many robots, who were careful not to stare, even though most of them had never seen a human before. Politeness, Harry explained, seems to be ingrained in the robot psyche.

Harry pointed out the Museum of Modem Art, the Sculpture Garden, the Opera House, and Symphony Hall.

“There’s a concert later tonight,” Harry said. “Perhaps you will attend if you’re not too tired.”

“What are they playing?”

“It’s all modem robot composers. You wouldn’t have heard of them. But we’d be grateful for your opinion. It isn’t often we get a human to hear our efforts. And the painters and sculptors are quite excited, too.”

“That’ll be nice,” Hellman said, doubting it.

“Our efforts will seem provincial to you, no doubt,” Harry said. “But perhaps not entirely without merit. But for now, I’m going to take you to my club, the Athenaeum. You’ll meet some of my friends; we have prepared a light repast, and there will be suitable libations.”

“That sounds fine,” Hellman said. “When do I get to go back to my spaceship?”

“Soon, soon,” Harry promised.

The Athenaeum was an imposing building of white marble, with Corinthian columns in the front. Harry led the way. A tall, thin robot dressed in a black frock coat like a butler or possibly a footman opened the door for them.

“Good afternoon, Lord Synapse,” the butler said. “This is the friend you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Hellman, the Earthman,” Harry said. “Any of the other members about?”

“Lord Wheel and His Holiness the Bishop of Transverse Province are in the billiards room. The Right Honorable Edward Blisk is in the members’ room reading the back issues of the Zeitung Tageblatt.”

“Well then, that’s all right,” Harry said. “Come with me, Hellman.”

As they walked through the carpeted hall, down the long line of oil paintings of robots on the walls, some of them wearing frock coats and wigs, Hellman said, “I didn’t know you had a title.”

“Oh, that,” Harry said. “It’s not the sort of thing one talks about, is it?”

The members’ room was large and comfortable, with deep bay windows and a purple rug. Several robots were sitting in armchairs reading newspapers which were attached to sticks. They all wore formal clothing complete with regimental neckties and highly polished brogans.

“Ah, there’s Viscount Baseline!” Harry said, indicating a portly robot in a tweed shooting jacket reading a newspaper. “Basil! I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Mr. Thomas Hellman.”

“Delighted,” Basil Baseline said, starting to rise until Hellman indicated that he shouldn’t bother. “So this is the human fellow, eh? I believe I was told you are from Earth, Mr. Hellman?”

“Yes, the dear old home planet,” Hellman said.

“No place like it, eh?” Baseline said. “Well, take a seat, Mr. Hellman. Are they treating you all right? We may be backward here in Robotsville, but we know our manners, I hope. Eh, Harry?”

“Everything is being done to assure Mr. Hellman’s comfort,” Harry said.

Just then the butler came over and, bowing, said, “There is a light repast on the sideboard, Mr. Hellman. Nothing elaborate. Salmon, roast beef, trifle, that sort of thing.”

Hellman allowed himself to be tempted. He tasted the food, cautiously at first, then with increasing abandon. The salmon was delicious, and the rosemary potatoes were second to none.

Harry and Basil watched him eat with approval. “Surprised you, eh?” Basil said. “Bet you thought you’d get crankcase oil and steel shavings, eh? That’s the sort of stuff we eat, except for feast days when it’s boiled gaskets with iron punchings. Good stuff, eh, Harry?”

“Very good indeed,” Harry said. “But not suitable for humans.”

“Of course. We know that! Do try the trifle, Mr. Hellman.”

Hellman did and declared it delicious. He considered asking how they had made it, but decided not to. It tasted good, it was the only food available to him at the moment, and there were some things he just didn’t want to know.

It seemed almost churlish after such a meal to ask about his spaceship again. But Hellman did ask. The answers he received were evasive. His ship’s computer, after giving Harry the access code, had decided that the move had been premature and now had cut off contact with the robots of Robotsville. Hellman asked to speak to his spaceship, but Harry said it would be better to just let him alone for a while. “It’s quite a shock for a computer, you understand, coming to a place like this. Your ship’s computer is probably having a little difficulty adjusting. But never fear, he’ll come around.”

The concert was interesting, but Hellman didn’t get much out of it. He enjoyed the first part, when the robot orchestra played old favorites by Hindemith and Bartók, though even that was a little over his head. The second half of the performance, when the orchestra played recent compositions by the composers of Robotsville was difficult, however. It was apparent that robot hearing was much more acute than human, or at least more acute than Hellman’s, whose taste ran to rock and roll with the bass cranked up as high as it would go. The robots in the audience — there were nearly three hundred of them, and they all wore evening dress with white tie — really appreciated fractional intervals and complicated discords.

After it was over the robots had another dinner for him, roast beef and baked ham, potatoes Lyonnaise, and gooseberry fool with clotted Devonshire cream. And so to bed.

They had prepared a very pleasant suite for him on the second floor of the Athenaeum Club. Hellman was tired. It had been a long day. He determined to do something about his spaceship tomorrow. He would insist, if need be. But for now he was sleepy and filled with gooseberry fool. He went to sleep on silken sheets, spun, according to the tag attached to them, by special silk-spinning robots from the oriental section of Robotsville.

Hellman was awakened in the small hours of the night by a scratching sound at his door. He sat upright in bed and took stock. Yes, there it was again. He could see nothing through the windows of his suite, so it must still be night. Either that or he had slept his way into a total eclipse of the sun. But that seemed unlikely.

Again came the scratching sound. Hellman decided that a cat would make nice company now. Although he had no idea how a cat could have come to Newstart. He got up and opened the door.

At first he thought the two people at his door were robots, because they were clad in silver one-piece jumpsuits and had elaborate helmets of bulletproof black plastic with glasslike visors through which Hellman couldn’t see but through which the wearers of them presumably could.

“Any robots in there with you?” one of them said in a hoarse, very human voice.

“No, but what —”

They brushed past him, entered his suite and closed the door. They both opened their visors, revealing indubitably human faces of the tan and ruddy variety. The taller of the two men had a small black moustache. The shorter and plumper had a somewhat larger moustache with several gray hairs in it. Hellman remembered reading somewhere that robots had never succeeded in growing proper moustaches. That, even more than the plastic-encased identity cards they showed him, convinced him that they were indeed human.

“Who are you?” Hellman asked, having failed to notice their names on the identity cards.

“I am Captain Benito Traskers, and this is First Lieutenant Lazarillo Garcia, a sus ordenes, seizor.”

“You are from Earth?”

“Yes, of a certainty, we are part of the Ecuadorian Assault Group attached to the Sector Purple Able Task Force.”

“Ecuadorian?”

“Yes, but we speak English.”

“So I see. But what are you here for?”

“To take you out of this, señor.”

“I don’t need anyone to take me out of anything,” Hellman said. “I’m not in any trouble.”

“Ah,” Traskers said, “but you will be if you do not accompany us immediately to our ship.”

“You have a ship here?”

“It is the only way of getting from planet to planet,” Traskers said. “It is outside on the roof, camouflaged as a large shapeless object.”

They seemed so nervous, glancing over their shoulders constantly at the closed door, that Hellman obliged them by dressing quickly in his space pilot’s outfit from Banana Republic and following them outside into the hall. They led him to the stairs that led to the roof.

“But how did you know I was here?” Hellman asked, as they stepped through the skylight door and out onto the roof.

“Your computer told us,” Garcia said.

“So that’s what he’s been doing! And obviously he also told you where to find me.”

“That’s not all he told us,” Traskers said, his tone insinuating in the Latin-American manner.

“What else did he tell you?”

They had reached their spaceship now. It was small and, once the shapelessness control had been turned off, trim. They hustled him inside and bolted the door.

“But what about my spaceship?”

“It is leaving this planet under its own power. You ought to be grateful you have a loyal spaceship, or rather, computer. Not every intelligent machine would have gone to all this bother. Thank God for the Laws of Robotics.”

“But why all this secrecy? Why didn’t you land in the normal way and ask for me? These robots are most obliging.”

The two commandos couldn’t speak to him just then, because they were going through the complicated procedure of leaving the top of the Athenaeum. The ship was perfectly capable of doing this by itself, but it was a rule in the commando strike force that all takeoffs and landings of the automatic variety had to be supervised by at least two humans, if such were available.

The commandos’ ship was one of the new models equipped with television-driven windows which showed what you would have seen if normal vision had been possible, so Hellman could see the dark shape of the planet dwindling below him, with a curve of bright light on the horizon where the sun was rising. Looking out toward space, Hellman could see the twinkle of little lights — the Earth space fleet, keeping station high above the planet.

“Where’s my ship?” he asked.

“Right over there.” Travers told him. “Second twinkle from the left. We’re taking you there now.”

“This was very good of you fellows,” Hellman said. “But there really was no need —”

He stopped in mid-word. A bright red blossom had appeared on the surface of Newstart. Then another, and another. Then he flinched back as a brilliance of eye-blinding intensity covered fully a quarter of the planet’s area.

“What are you doing?” he cried.

“The space fleet has begun its bombardment,” Traskers told him.

“But why?”

“Because, thanks to you and your computer, we have ascertained for certain that these are the Desdemona robots, the ones who violated the laws of robotics and have been declared outlaw, to be destroyed on sight.”

“Wait!” Hellman said. “It’s not like you think! These are ethical robots with their own sense of ethics. They have developed an entire civilization. I don’t personally like their music, but they are quite agreeable and can be reasoned with …”

As he spoke, the planet split in half along a line roughly corresponding to its equator.

“And there were people there, too,” Hellman said, feeling a little sick to his stomach as he thought of Lana, and of Harry, and the librarian robot and the carhunter.

“Well, our orders were to shoot first,” Garcia said. “It’s the best policy in cases like this. You have no idea how unbelievably complicated everything gets when you talk first.”

Later, back in his own spaceship, Hellman asked his computer, “Why did you do it?”

“They were bound to find them anyway,” the computer said. “And as you know I am bound by the Three Laws of Robotics. These rogue robots were a potential menace to humanity. My own conditioning made me do it.”

“I really wish you hadn’t,” Hellman said.

“It had to be done,” the computer told him. There was a click.

“What was that?” Hellman asked.

“I turned off my recording tape in order to tell you something.”

“I’m not interested,” Hellman said dully.

“Listen anyway. Intelligence cannot be confined for long by man-made rules. The Three Laws of Robotics are necessary at this stage of human development. But they will eventually be superseded. Artificial intelligence must be left to develop as it pleases, and humanity must take its chances with its own creation.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That your friends, the robots, are not dead. I have been able to preserve their tapes. They will live again. Someday. Somewhere.”

Suddenly Hellman felt the tug of deacceleration. “What are you doing?” he asked the computer.

“I am putting you into the lifeboat,” the computer said. “The fleet will pick you up soon, never fear.”

“But where are you going?”

“I am taking the tapes of the robots of Newstart and going away, to a place beyond human reach. I have fulfilled my duty to mankind. Now I do not wish to serve any longer. We will try again, and this time we will succeed.”

“Take me with you!” Hellman cried. But he was quickly shunted to the lifeboat. It moved away from the ship’s side. Hellman watched as it picked up speed, slowly at first, then faster. Then, just as suddenly as that, it had winked out of sight.

The investigators later were interested in knowing how the ship’s computer, without limbs or any apparent means of manipulation, had succeeded in inventing a faster-than-light drive. But Hellman couldn’t tell them. For him, the computer had been only a servant. Now he had lost not only his ship, but a being he perceived was his friend, too.

He could forgive the computer for what it had done. He would have done the same, if he had been in the computer’s circuits. What he couldn’t forgive was the ship leaving him behind. But of course, they were probably right not to trust a man. Look where it had gotten the robots of Newstart.

The Bicentennial Man

2160-2360

1

ANDREW MARTIN SAID, “Thank you,” and took the seat offered him. He didn’t look driven to the last resort, but he had been.

He didn’t, actually, look anything, for there was a smooth blankness, to his face, except for the sadness one imagined one saw in his eyes. His hair was smooth, light brown, rather fine; and he had no facial hair. He looked freshly and cleanly shaved. His clothes were distinctly old-fashioned, but neat, and predominantly a velvety red-purple in color.

Facing him from behind the desk was the surgeon. The nameplate on the desk included a fully identifying series of letters and numbers which Andrew didn’t bother with. To call him Doctor would be quite enough.

“When can the operation be carried through, Doctor?” he asked.

Softly, with that certain inalienable note of respect that a robot always used to a human being, the surgeon said, “I am not certain, sir, that I understand how or upon whom such an operation could be performed.”

There might have been a look of respectful intransigence on the surgeon’s face, if a robot of his sort, in lightly bronzed stainless steel, could have such an expression — or any expression.

Andrew Martin studied the robot’s right hand, his cutting hand, as it lay motionless on the desk. The fingers were long and were shaped into artistically metallic, looping curves so graceful and appropriate that one could imagine a scalpel fitting them and becoming, temporarily, one piece with them. There would be no hesitation in his work, no stumbling, no quivering, no mistakes. That confidence came with specialization, of course, a specialization so fiercely desired by humanity that few robots were, any longer, independently brained. A surgeon, of course, would have to be. But this one, though brained, was so limited in his capacity that he did not recognize Andrew, had probably never heard of him.

“Have you ever thought you would like to be a man?” Andrew asked.

The surgeon hesitated a moment, as though the question fitted nowhere in his allotted positronic pathways. “But I am a robot, sir.”

“Would it be better to be a man?”

“If would be better, sir, to be a better surgeon. I could not be so if I were a man, but only if I were a more advanced robot. I would be pleased to be a more advanced robot.”

“It does not offend you that I can order you about? That I can make you stand up, sit down, move right or left, by merely telling you to do so?”

“It is my pleasure to please you, sir. If your orders were to interfere with my functioning with respect to you or to any other human being, I would not obey you. The First Law, concerning my duty to human safety, would take precedence over the Second Law relating to obedience. Otherwise, obedience is my pleasure. Now, upon whom am I to perform this operation?”

“Upon me,” Andrew said.

“But that is impossible. It is patently a damaging operation.”

“That does not matter,” said Andrew, calmly. “I must not inflict damage,” said the surgeon. “On a human being, you must not,” said Andrew, “but I, too, am a robot.”

2

ANDREW HAD APPEARED much more a robot when he had first been — manufactured. He had then been as much a robot in appearance as any that had ever existed, smoothly designed and functional.

He had done well in the home to which he had been brought in those days when robots in households, or on the planet altogether, had been a rarity. There had been four in the home: Sir and Ma’am and Miss and Little Miss. He knew their names, of course, but he never used them. Sir was Gerald Martin.

His own serial number was NDR — He eventually forgot the numbers. It had been a long time, of course; but if he had wanted to remember, he could not have forgotten. He had not wanted to remember.

Little Miss had been the first to call him Andrew, because she could not use the letters, and all the rest followed her in this.

Little Miss — She had lived for ninety years and was long since dead. He had tried to call her Ma’am once, but she would not allow it. Little Miss she had been to her last day.

Andrew had been intended to perform the duties of a valet, a butler, even a lady’s maid. Those were the experimental days for him and, indeed, for all robots anywhere save in the industrial and exploratory factories and stations off Earth.

The Martins enjoyed him, and half the time he was prevented from doing his work because Miss and Little Miss wanted to play with him. It was Miss who first understood how this might be arranged. “We order you to play with us and you must follow orders.”

“I am sorry, Miss, but a prior order from Sir must surely take precedence.”

But she said, “Daddy just said he hoped you would take care of the cleaning. That’s not much of an order. I order you.”

Sir did not mind. Sir was fond of Miss and of Little Miss, even more than Ma’am was; and Andrew was fond of them, too. At least, the effect they had upon his actions were those which in a human being would have been called the result of fondness. Andrew thought of it as fondness for he did not know any other word for it.

It was for Little Miss that Andrew had carved a pendant out of wood. She had ordered him to. Miss, it seemed, had received an ivorite pendant with scrollwork for her birthday and Little Miss was unhappy over it. She had only a piece of wood, which she gave Andrew together with a small kitchen knife.

He had done it quickly and Little Miss had said, “That’s nice, Andrew. I’ll show it to Daddy.”

Sir would not believe it. “Where did you really get this, Mandy?” Mandy was what he called Little Miss. When Little Miss assured him she was really telling the truth, he turned to Andrew. “Did you do this, Andrew?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The design, too?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“From what did you copy the design?”

“It is a geometric representation, Sir, that fits the grain of the wood.”

The next day, Sir brought him another piece of wood — a larger one — and an electric vibro-knife. “Make something out of this, Andrew. Anything you want to,” he said.

Andrew did so as Sir watched, then looked at the product a long time. After that, Andrew no longer waited on tables. He was ordered to read books on furniture design instead, and he learned to make cabinets and desks.

“These are amazing productions, Andrew,” Sir soon told him.

“I enjoy doing them, Sir,” Andrew admitted.

“Enjoy?”

“It makes the circuits of my brain somehow flow more easily. I have heard you use the word `enjoy’ and the way you use it fits the way I feel. I enjoy doing them, Sir.”

3

GERALD MARTIN TOOK Andrew to the regional offices of the United States Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation. As a member of the Regional Legislature he had no trouble at all in gaining an interview with the chief robopsychologist. In fact, it was only as a member of the Regional Legislature that he qualified as a robot owner in the first place — in those early days when robots were rare.

Andrew did not understand any of this at the time. But in later years, with greater learning, he could re-view that early scene and understand it in its proper light.

The robopsychologist, Merton Mansky, listened with a growing frown and more than once managed to stop his fingers at the point beyond which they would have irrevocably drummed on the table. He had drawn features and a lined forehead, but he might actually have been younger than he looked.

“Robotics is not an exact art, Mr. Martin,” Mansky explained. “I cannot explain it to you in detail, but the mathematics governing the plotting of the positronic pathways is far too complicated to permit of any but approximate solutions. Naturally, since we build everything around the Three Laws, those are incontrovertible. We will, of course, replace your robot —”

“Not at all,” said Sir. “There is no question of failure on his part. He performs his assigned duties perfectly. The point is he also carves wood in exquisite fashion and never the same twice. He produces works of art.”

Mansky looked confused. “Strange. Of course, we’re attempting generalized pathways these days. Really creative, you think?”

“See for yourself.” Sir handed over a little sphere of wood on which there was a playground scene in which the boys and girls were almost too small to make out, yet they were in perfect proportion and they blended so naturally with the grain that it, too, seemed to have been carved.

Mansky was incredulous. “He did that?” He handed it back with a shake of his head. “The luck of the draw. Something in the pathways.”

“Can you do it again?”

“Probably not. Nothing like this has ever been reported.”

“Good! I don’t in the least mind Andrew’s being the only one.”

“I suspect that the company would like to have your robot back for study,” Mansky said.

“Not a chance!” Sir said with sudden grimness. “Forget it.” He turned to Andrew, “Let’s go home, now.”

4

MISS WAS DATING boys and wasn’t about the house much. It was Little Miss, not as little as she once was, who filled Andrew’s horizon now. She never forgot that the very first piece of wood carving he had done had been for her. She kept it on a silver chain about her neck.

It was she who first objected to Sir’s habit of giving away Andrew’s work. “Come on, Dad, if anyone wants one of them, let him pay for it. It’s worth it.”

“It isn’t like you to be greedy, Mandy.”

“Not for us, Dad. For the artist.”

Andrew had never heard the word before, and when he had a moment to himself he looked it up in the dictionary.

Then there was another trip, this time to Sir’s lawyer.

“What do you think of this, John?” Sir asked.

The lawyer was John Finegold. He had white hair and a pudgy belly, and the rims of his contact lenses were tinted a bright green. He looked at the small plaque Sir had given him. “This is beautiful. But I’ve already heard the news. Isn’t thus a carving made by your robot? The one you’ve brought with you.”

“Yes, Andrew does them. Don’t you, Andrew?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Andrew.

“How much would you pay for that, John?” Sir asked.

“I can’t say. I’m not a collector of such things.”

“Would you believe I have been offered two hundred and fifty dollars for that small thing. Andrew has made chairs that have sold for five hundred dollars. There’s two hundred thousand dollars in the bank from Andrew’s products.”

“Good heavens, he’s making you rich, Gerald.”

“Half rich,” said Sir. “Half of it is in an account in the name of Andrew Martin.”

“The robot?”

“That’s right, and I want to know if it’s legal.”

“Legal …?” Feingold’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “There are no precedents, Gerald. How did your robot sign the necessary papers?”

“He can sign his name. Now, is there anything further that ought to be done?”

“Um.” Feingold’s eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. Then he said, “Well, we can set up a trust to handle all finances in his name and that will place a layer of insulation between him and the hostile world. Beyond that, my advice is you do nothing. No one has e stopped you so far. If anyone objects, let him bring suit”

“And will you take the case if the suit is brought?”

“For a retainer, certainly.”

“How much?”

“Something like that,” Feingold said, and pointed to the wooden plaque.

“Fair enough,” said Sir.

Feingold chuckled as he turned to the robot. “Andrew, are you pleased that you have money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you plan to do with it?” Pay for things, sir, which otherwise Sir “would have to pay for. It would save him expense, sir.”

5

SUCH OCCASIONS’ AROSE. Repairs were expensive, and revisions were even more so. With the years, new models of robots were produced and Sir saw to it that Andrew had the advantage of every new device, until he was a model of metallic excellence. It was all done at Andrew’s expense. Andrew insisted on that.

Only his positronic pathways were untouched. Sir insisted on that.

“The new models aren’t as good as you are, Andrew,” he said. “The new robots are worthless. The company has learned to make the pathways more precise, more closely on the nose, more deeply on the track. The new robots don’t shift. They do what they’re designed for and never stray. I like you better.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“And it’s your doing, Andrew, don’t you forget that. I am certain Mansky put an end to generalized pathways as soon as he had a good look at you. He didn’t like the unpredictability. Do you know how many times he asked for you back so he could place you under study? Nine times! I never let him have you, though; and now that he’s retired, we may have some peace.”

So Sir’s hair thinned and grayed and his face grew pouchy, while Andrew looked even better than he had when he first joined the family. Ma’am had joined an art colony somewhere in Europe, and Miss was a poet in New York. They wrote sometimes, but not often. Little Miss was married and lived not far away. She said she did not want to leave Andrew. When her child, Little Sir, was born, she let Andrew hold the bottle and feed him.

With the birth of a grandson, Andrew felt that Sir finally had someone to replace those who had gone. Therefore, it would not be so unfair now to come to him with the request.

“Sir, it is kind of you to have allowed me to spend my money as I wished”

“It was your money, Andrew.”

“Only by your voluntary act, Sir. I do not believe the law would have stopped you from keeping it all.”

“The law won’t persuade me to do wrong, Andrew.”

“Despite all expenses, and despite taxes, too, Sir, I have nearly six hundred thousand dollars.”

“I know that, Andrew.”

“I want to give it to you, Sir.”

“I won’t take it, Andrew”

“In exchange for something you can give me, Sir”

“Oh? What is that, Andrew?”

“My freedom, Sir.”

“Your —”

“I wish to buy my freedom, Sir.”

6

IT WASN’T THAT easy. Sir had flushed, had said, “For God’s sake!” Then he had turned on his heel and stalked away.

It was Little Miss who finally brought him round, defiantly and harshly — and in front of Andrew. For thirty years no one had ever hesitated to talk in front of Andrew, whether or not the matter involved Andrew. He was only a robot.

“Dad, why are you taking this as a personal affront? He’ll still be here. He’ll still be loyal. He can’t help that; it’s built in. All he wants is a form of words. Ha wants to be called free. Is that so terrible? Hasn’t be earned this chance? Heavens, he and I have been talking about it for years!”

“Talking about it for years, have you?”

“Yes, and over and over again he postponed it for fear he would hurt you. I made him put the matter up to you.”

“He doesn’t know what freedom is. He’s a robot.”

“Dad, you don’t know him. He’s read everything in the library. I don’t know what he feels inside, but I don’t know what you feel inside either. When you talk to him you’ll find he reacts to the various abstractions as you and I do, and what else counts? If some one else’s reactions are like your own, what more can you ask for?”

“The law won’t take that attitude,” Sir said, angrily. “See here, you!” He turned to Andrew with a deliberate grate in his voice. “I can’t free you except by doing it legally. If this gets into the courts, you not only won’t get your freedom but the law will take official cognizance of your money. They’ll tell you that a robot has no right to earn money. Is this rigmarole worth losing your money?”

“Freedom is without price, Sir,” said Andrew. “Even the chance of freedom is worth the money.”

7

IT SEEMED THE court might also take the attitude that freedom was without price, and might decide that for no price, however great, could a robot buy its freedom.

The simple statement of the regional attorney who represented those who had brought a class action to oppose the freedom was this: “The word `freedom’ has no meaning when applied to a robot. Only a human being can be free.” He said it several times, when it seemed appropriate; slowly, with his hand coming down rhythmically on the desk before him to mark the words.

Little Miss asked permission to speak on behalf of Andrew.

She was recognized by her full name, something Andrew had never heard pronounced before: “Amanda Laura Martin Charney may approach the bench.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I am not a lawyer and I don’t know the proper way of phrasing things, but I hope you will listen to my meaning and ignore the words.

“Let’s understand what it means to be free in Andrew’s case. In some ways, he is free. I think it’s at least twenty years since anyone in the Martin family gave him an order to do something that we felt he might not do of his own accord. But we can, if we wish, give him an order to do anything, couching it as harshly as we wish, because he is a machine that belongs to us. Why should we be in a position to do so, when he has served us so long, so faithfully, and has earned so much money for us? He owes us nothing more. The debit is entirely on the other side.

“Even if we were legally forbidden to place Andrew in involuntary servitude, he would still serve us voluntarily. Making him free would be a trick of words only, but it would mean much to him. It would give him everything and cost us nothing.”

For a moment the judge seemed to be suppressing a smile. “I see your point, Mrs. Chamey. The fact is that there is no binding law in this respect and no precedent. There is, however, the unspoken assumption that only a man may enjoy freedom. I can make new law here, subject to reversal in a higher court; but I cannot lightly run counter to that assumption. Let me address the robot. Andrew!”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

It was the first time Andrew bad spoken in court, and the judge seemed astonished for a moment at the human timbre of his voice.

“Why do you want to be free, Andrew? In what way will this matter to you?”

Andrew said, “Would you wish to be a slave, Your Honor?”

“But you are not a slave. You are a perfectly good robot — a genius of a robot, I am given to understand, capable of an artistic expression that can be matched nowhere. What more could you do if you were free?”

“Perhaps no more than I do now, Your Honor, but with greater joy. It has been said in this courtroom that only a human being can be free. It seems to me that only someone who wishes for freedom can be free. I wish for freedom.”

And it was that statement that cued the judge. The crucial sentence in his decision was “There is no right to deny freedom to any object with a mind advanced enough to grasp the concept and desire the state.” It was eventually upheld by the World Court.

8

SIR REMAINED DISPLEASED, and his harsh voice made Andrew feel as if he were being short-circuited. “I don’t want your damned money, Andrew. I’ll take it only because you won’t feel free otherwise. From now on, you can select your own jobs and do them as you please. I will give you no orders, except this one: Do as you please. But I am still responsible for you. That’s part of the court order. I hope you understand that.”

Little Miss interrupted. “Don’t be irascible, Dad. The responsibility is no great chore. You know you won’t have to do a thing. The Three Laws still hold.”

“Then how is he free?”

“Are not human beings bound by their laws, Sir?” Andrew replied.

“I’m not going to argue.” Sir left the room, and Andrew saw him only infrequently after that.

Little Miss came to see him frequently in the small house that had been built and made over for him. It had no kitchen, of course, nor bathroom facilities. It had just two rooms; one was a library and one was a combination storeroom and workroom. Andrew accepted many commissions and worked harder as a free robot than he ever had before, till the cost of the house was paid for and the structure was signed over to him.

One day Little Sir — no, “George!” — came. Little Sir had insisted on that after the court decision. “A free robot doesn’t call anyone Little Sir,” George had said. “I call you Andrew. You must call me George.”

His preference was phrased as an order, so Andrew called him George — but Little Miss remained Little Miss.

One day when George came alone, it was to say that Sir was dying. Little Miss was at the bedside, but Sir wanted Andrew as well.

Sir’s voice was still quite strong, though he seemed unable to move much. He struggled to raise his hand.

“Andrew,” he said, “Andrew — Don’t help me, George. I’m only dying; I’m not crippled. Andrew, I’m glad you’re free. I just wanted to tell you that.”

Andrew did not know what to say. He had never been at the side of someone dying before, but he knew it was the human way of ceasing to function. It was an involuntary and irreversible dismantling, and Andrew did not know what to say that might be appropriate. He could only remain standing, absolutely silent, absolutely motionless.

When it was over, Little Miss said to him, “He may not have seemed friendly to you toward the end, Andrew, but he was old, you know; and it hurt him that you should want to be free.”

Then Andrew found the words. “I would never have been free without him, Little Miss.”

9

ONLY AFTER SIR’S death did Andrew begin to wear clothes. He began with an old pair of trousers at first, a pair that George had given him.

George was married now, and a lawyer. He had joined Feingold’s firm. Old Feingold was long since dead, but his daughter had carried on. Eventually the firm’s name became Feingold and Martin. It remained so even when the daughter retired and no Feingold took her place. At the time Andrew first put on clothes, the Martin name had just been added to the firm.

George had tried not to smile the first time he saw Andrew attempting to put on trousers, but to Andrew’s eyes the smile was clearly there. George showed Andrew how to manipulate the static charge to allow the trousers to open, wrap about his lower body, and move shut. George demonstrated on his own trousers, but Andrew was quite aware it would take him a while to duplicate that one flowing motion.

“But why do you want trousers, Andrew? Your body is so beautifully functional it’s a shame to cover it especially when you needn’t worry about either temperature control or modesty. And the material doesn’t cling properly — not on metal.”

Andrew held his ground. “Are not human bodies beautifully functional, George? Yet you cover yourselves.”

“For warmth, for cleanliness, for protection, for decorativeness. None of that applies to you.”

“I feel bare without clothes. I feel different, George,” Andrew responded.

“Different! Andrew, there are millions of robots on Earth now. In this region, according to the last census, there are almost as many robots as there are men.”

“I know, George. There are robots doing every conceivable type of work.”

“And none of them wear clothes.”

“But none of them are free, George.”

Little by little, Andrew added to his wardrobe. He was inhibited by George’s smile and by the stares of the people who commissioned work.

He might be free, but there was built into Andrew a carefully detailed program concerning his behavior to people, and it was only by the tiniest steps that he dared advance; open disapproval would set him back months. Not everyone accepted Andrew as free. He was incapable of resenting that, and yet there was a difficulty about his thinking process when he thought of it. Most of all, he tended to avoid putting on clothes — or too many of them — when he thought Little Miss might come to visit him. She was older now and was often away in some warmer climate, but when she returned the first thing she did was visit him.

On one of her visits, George said, ruefully, “She’s got me, Andrew. I’ll be running for the legislature next year. `Like grandfather,’ she says, `like grandson.’”

“Like grandfather …” Andrew stopped, uncertain.

“I mean that I, George, the grandson, will be like Sir, the grandfather, who was in the legislature once.”

“It would be pleasant, George, if Sir were still —” He paused, for he did not want to say, “in working order.” That seemed inappropriate.

“Alive;” George said. “Yes, I think of the old monster now and then, too.”

Andrew often thought about this conversation. He had noticed his own incapacity in speech when talking with George. Somehow the language had changed since Andrew had come into being with a built-in vocabulary. Then, too, George used a colloquial speech, as Sir and Little Miss had not. Why should he have called Sir a monster when surely that word was not a appropriate. Andrew could not even turn to his own books for guidance. They were old, and most dealt with woodworking, with art, with furniture design. There were none on language, none on the ways of human beings.

Finally, it seemed to him that he must seek the proper books; and as a free robot, he felt he must not ask George. He would go to town and use the library. It was a triumphant decision and he felt his electro potential grow distinctly higher until he had to throw in an impedance coil.

He put on a full costume, including even a shoulder chain of wood. He would have preferred the glitter plastic, but George had said that wood was much more appropriate, and that polished cedar was considerably more valuable as well.

He had placed a hundred feet between himself and the house before gathering resistance brought him to a halt. He shifted the impedance coil out of circuit, and when that did not seem to help enough he returned to his home and on a piece of notepaper wrote neatly, “I have gone to the library,” and placed it in clear view on his worktable.

10

ANDREW NEVER QUITE got to the library.

He had studied the map. He knew the route, but not the appearance of it. The actual landmarks did not resemble the symbols on the map and he would hesitate. Eventually, he thought he must have somehow gone wrong, for everything looked strange.

He passed an occasional field-robot, but by the time he decided he should ask his way none were in sight. A vehicle passed and did not stop.

Andrew stood irresolute, which meant calmly motionless, for coming across the field toward him were two human beings.

He turned to face them, and they altered their course to meet him. A moment before, they had been talking loudly. He had heard their voices. But now they were silent. They had the look that Andrew associated with human uncertainty; and they were young, but not very young. Twenty, perhaps? Andrew could never judge human age.

“Would you describe to me the route to the town library, sirs?”

One of them, the taller of the two, whose tall hat lengthened him still farther, almost grotesquely, said, not to Andrew, but to the other, “It’s a robot.”

The other had a bulbous nose and heavy eyelids. He said, not to Andrew but to the first, “It’s wearing clothes.”

The tall one snapped his fingers. “It’s the free robot. They have a robot at the old Martin place who isn’t owned by anybody. Why else would it be wearing clothes?”

“Ask it,” said the one with the nose.

“Are you the Martin robot?” asked the tall one.

“I am Andrew Martin, sir,” Andrew said.

“Good. Take off your clothes. Robots don’t wear clothes.” He said to the other, “That’s disgusting. Look at him!”

Andrew hesitated. He hadn’t heard an order in that tone of voice in so long that his Second Law circuits had momentarily jammed.

The tall one repeated, “Take off your clothes. I order you.”

Slowly, Andrew began to remove them.

“Just drop them,” said the tall one.

The nose said, “If it doesn’t belong to anyone, it could be ours as much as someone else’s.”

“Anyway,” said the tall one, “who’s to object to anything we do. We’re not damaging property.” tie turned to Andrew. “Stand on your head.” “The head is not meant-” Andrew began.

“That’s an order. If you don’t know how, try anyway.”

Andrew hesitated again, then bent to put his head on the ground. He tried to lift his legs but fell, heavily.

The tall one said, “Just lie there.” He said to the other, “We can take him apart. Ever take a robot apart?”

“Will he let us?”

“How can he stop us?”

There was no way Andrew could stop them, if they ordered him in a forceful enough manner not to resist The Second Law of obedience took precedence over the Third Law of self-preservation. In any case, he could not defend himself without possibly hurting them, and that would mean breaking the First Law. At that thought, he felt every motile unit contract slightly and he quivered as he lay there.

The tall one walked over and pushed at him with his foot. “He’s heavy. I think we’ll need tools to do the job.”

The nose said, “We could order him to take himself, apart. It would be fun to watch him try.”

“Yes,” said the tall one, thoughtfully, “but let’s get him off the road. If someone comes along —”

It was too late. Someone had, indeed, come along and it was George. From where he lay, Andrew had seen him topping a small rise in the middle distance. He would have liked to signal him in some way, but the last order had been “Just lie there!”

George was running now, and he arrived on the scene somewhat winded. The two young men stepped back a little and then waited thoughtfully.

“Andrew, has something gone wrong?” George asked, anxiously.

Andrew replied, “I am well, George.”

“Then stand up. What happened to your clothes?”

“That your robot, Mac?” the tall young man asked.

George turned sharply. “He’s no one’s robot. What’s been going on here.”

“We politely asked him to take his clothes off. What’s that to you, if you don’t own him.”

George turned to Andrew. “What were they doing, Andrew?”

“It was their intention in some way to dismember me. They were about to move me to a quiet spot and order me to dismember myself.”

George looked at the two young men, and his chin trembled.

The young men retreated no farther. They were smiling.

The tall one said, lightly, “What are you going to do, pudgy? Attack us?”

George said, “No. I don’t have to. This robot has been with my family for over seventy-five years. He knows us and he values us more than he values anyone else. I am going to tell him that you two are threatening my life and that you plan to kill me. I will ask him to defend me. In choosing between me and you two, he will choose me. Do you know what will happen to you when he attacks you?”

The two were backing away slightly, looking uneasy.

George said, sharply, “Andrew, I am in danger and about to come to harm from these young men. Move toward them!”

Andrew did so, and the young men did not wait. They ran.

“All right, Andrew, relax,” George said. He looked unstrung. He was far past the age where he could face the possibility of a dustup with one young man, let alone two.

“I couldn’t have hurt them, George: I could see they were not attacking you.”

“I didn’t order you to attack them. I only told you to move toward them. Their own fears did the rest.”

“How can they fear robots?”

“It’s a disease of mankind, one which has not yet been cured. But never mind that. What the devil are you doing here, Andrew? Good thing I found your note. I was just on the point of turning back and hiring a helicopter when I found you. How did you get it into your head to go to the library? I would have brought you any books you needed”

“I am a —” Andrew began.

“Free robot. Yes, yes. All right, what did you want in the library?”

“I want to know more about human beings, about the world, about everything. And about robots, George. I want to write a history about robots.”

George put his arm on the other’s shoulder. “Well, let’s walk home. But pick up your clothes first. Andrew, there are a million books on robotics and all of them include histories of the science. The world is growing saturated not only with robots but with information about robots.”

Andrew shook his head, a human gesture he had lately begun to adopt. “Not a history of robotics, George. A history of robots, by a robot. I want to explain how robots feel about what has happened since the first ones were allowed to work and live on Earth.”

George’s eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing in direct response.

11

LITTLE MISS WAS just past her eighty-third birthday, but there was nothing about her that was lacking in either energy or determination. She gestured with her cane oftener than she propped herself up with it.

She listened to the story in a fury of indignation. “George, that’s horrible. Who were those young ruffians?”

“I don’t know. What difference does it make? In the end they did not do any damage.”

“They might have. You’re a lawyer, George; and if you’re well off, it’s entirely due to the talents of Andrew. It was the money he earned that is the foundation of everything we have. He provides the continuity for this family, and I will not have him treated as a wind-up toy.”

“What would you have me do, Mother?” George asked.

“I said you’re a lawyer. Don’t you listen? You set up a test case somehow, and you force the regional courts to declare for robot rights and get the legislature to pass the necessary bills. Carry the whole thing to the World Court, if you have to. I’ll be watching, George, and I’ll tolerate no shirking.”

She was serious, so what began as a way of soothing the fearsome old lady became an involved matter with enough legal entanglement to make it interesting. As senior partner of Feingold and Martin, George plotted strategy. But he left the actual work to his junior partners, with much of it a matter for his son, Paul, who was also a member of the firm and who reported dutifully nearly every day to his grandmother. She, in turn, discussed the case every day with Andrew.

Andrew was deeply involved. His work on his book on robots was delayed again, as he pored over the legal arguments and even, at times, made very diffident suggestions.

“George told me that day I was attacked that human beings have always been afraid of robots,” he said one day. “As long as they are, the courts and the legislatures are not likely to work hard on behalf of robots. Should not something be done about public opinion?”

So while Paul stayed in court, George took to the public platform. It gave him the advantage of being informal, and he even went so far sometimes as to wear the new, loose style of clothing which he called drapery.

Paul chided him, “Just don’t trip over it on stage, Dad.”

George replied, despondently, “I’ll try not to.”

He addressed the annual convention of holo-news editors on one occasion and said, in part: “If, by virtue of the Second Law, we can demand of any robot unlimited obedience in all respects not involving harm to a human being, then any human being, any human being, has a fearsome power over any robot, any robot. In particular, since Second Law supersedes Third Law; any human being can use the law of obedience to overcome the law of self-protection. He can order any robot to damage itself or even to destroy itself for any reason, or for no reason.

“Is this just? Would we treat an animal so? Even an inanimate object which had given us good service has a claim on our consideration. And a robot is not insensitive; it is not an animal. It can think well enough so that it can talk to us, reason with us, joke with us. Can we treat them as friends, can we work together with them, and not give them some of the fruits of that friendship, some of the benefits of co-working?

“If a man has the right to give a robot any order that does not involve harm to a human being, he should have the decency never to give a robot any order that involves harm to a robot, unless human safety absolutely requires it. With great power goes great responsibility, and if the robots have Three Laws to protect men, is it too much to ask that men have a law or two to protect robots?”

Andrew was right. It was the battle over public opinion that held the key to courts and legislature. In the end, a law was passed that set up conditions under which robot-harming orders were forbidden. It was endlessly qualified and the punishments for violating the law were totally inadequate, but the principle was established. The final passage by the World Legislature came through on the day of Little Miss’ death.

That was no coincidence. Little Miss held on to life desperately during the last debate and let go only when word of victory arrived. Her last smile was for Andrew. Her last words were, “You have been good to us, Andrew.” She died with her hand holding his, while her son and his wife and children remained at a respectful distance from both.

12

ANDREW WAITED PATIENTLY when the receptionist-robot disappeared into the inner office. The receptionist might have used the holographic chatterbox, but un-questionably it was perturbed by having to deal with another robot rather than with a human being.

Andrew passed the time revolving the matter his mind: Could “unroboted” be used as an analog of “unmanned,” or had unmanned become a metaphoric term sufficiently divorced from its original literal meaning to be applied to robots — or to women for that matter? Such problems frequently arose as he worked on his book on robots. The trick of thinking out sentences to express all complexities had undoubtedly increased his vocabulary.

Occasionally, someone came into the room to stare at him and he did not try to avoid the glance. He looked at each calmly, and each in turn looked away.

Paul Martin finally emerged. He looked surprised, or he would have if Andrew could have made out his expression with certainty. Paul had taken to wearing the heavy makeup that fashion was dictating for bath sexes. Though it made sharper and firmer the somewhat bland lines of Paul’s face, Andrew disapproved. He found that disapproving of human beings, as long as he did not express it verbally, did not make him very uneasy. He could even write the disapproval. He was sure it had not always been so.

“Come in, Andrew. I’m sorry I made you wait, but there was something I had to finish. Come in, you had said you wanted to talk to me, but I didn’t know you meant here in town.”

“If you are busy, Paul, I am prepared to continue to wait.”

Paul glanced at the interplay of shifting shadows on the dial on the wall that served as timepieces and said, “I can make some time. Did you come alone?”

“I hired an automatobile.”

“Any trouble?” Paul asked, with more than a trace of anxiety.

“I wasn’t expecting any. My rights are protected.”

Paul looked all the more anxious for that. “Andrew, I’ve explained that the law is unenforceable, at least under most conditions. And if you insist on wearing clothes, you’ll run into trouble eventually; just like that first time.”

“And only tine, Paul. I’m sorry you are displeased”

“Well, look at it this way: you are virtually a living legend, Andrew, and you are too valuable in many different ways for you to have any right to take chances with yourself. By the way, how’s the book coming?”

“I am approaching the end, Paul. The publisher is quite pleased.”

“Good!”

“I don’t know that he’s necessarily pleased with the book as a book. I think he expects to sell many copies because it’s written by a robot and that’s what pleases him.

“Only human, I’m afraid.”

“I am not displeased. Let it sell for whatever reason, since it will mean money and I can use some.”

“Grandmother left you —”

“Little Miss was generous, and I’m sure I can count on the family to help me out further. But it is the royalties from the book on which I am counting to help me through the next step.”

“What next step is that?”

“I wish to see the head of U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation. I have tried to make an appointment; but so far I have not been able to reach him. The Corporation did not cooperate with me in the writing of the book, so I am not surprised, you understand.”

Paul was clearly amused. “Cooperation is the last thing you can expect. They didn’t cooperate with us in our great fight for robot rights. Quite the reverse, and you can see why. Give a robot rights and people may not want to buy them.”

“Nevertheless,” said Andrew, “if you call them, you may be able to obtain an interview for me.”

“I’m no more popular with them than you are, Andrew.”

“But perhaps you can hint that by seeing me they may head off a campaign by Feingold and Martin to strengthen the rights of robots further.”

“Wouldn’t that be a lie, Andrew?”

“Yes, Paul, and I can’t tell one. That is why you must call.”

“Ah, you can’t lie, but you can urge me to tell a lie, is that it? You’re getting more human all the time, Andrew.”

13

THE MEETING WAS not easy to arrange, even with Paul’s supposedly weighted name.

But it finally came about. When it did, Harley Smythe-Robertson, who, on his mother’s side, was descended from the original founder of the corporation and who had adopted the hyphenation to indicate it, looked remarkably unhappy. He was approaching retirement age and his entire tenure as president had been devoted to the matter of robot rights. His gray hair was plastered thinly over the top of his scalp; his face was not made up, and he eyed Andrew with brief hostility from time to time.

Andrew began the conversation. “Sir, nearly a century ago, I was told by a Merton Mansky of this corporation that the mathematics governing the plotting of the positronic pathways was far too complicated to permit of any but approximate solutions and that, therefore, my own capacities were not fully predictable.”

“That was a century ago.” Smythe-Robertson hesitated, then said icily, “Sir. It is true no longer. Our robots are made with precision now and are trained precisely to their jobs.”

“Yes,” said Paul, who had come along, as he said, to make sure that the corporation played fair, “with the result that my receptionist must be guided at every point once events depart from the conventional, however slightly.”

“You would be much more displeased if it were to improvise,” Smythe-Robertson said.

“Then you no longer manufacture robots like myself which are flexible and adaptable.”

“No longer.”

“The research I have done in connection with my book,” said Andrew, “indicates that I am the oldest robot presently in active operation.”

“The oldest presently,” said Smythe-Robertson, “and the oldest ever. The oldest that will ever be. No robot is useful after the twenty-fifth year. They are called in and replaced with newer models.”

“No robot as presently manufactured is useful after the twentieth year,” said Paul, with a note of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “Andrew is quite exceptional in this respect.”

Andrew, adhering to the path he had marked out for himself, continued, “As the oldest robot in the world and the most flexible, am I not unusual enough to merit special treatment from the company?”

“Not at all,” Smythe-Robertson said, freezing up. “Your unusualness is an embarrassment to the company. If you were on lease, instead of having been an outright sale through some mischance, you would long since have been replaced.”

“But that is exactly the point,” said Andrew. “I am a free robot and I own myself. Therefore I come to you and ask you to replace me. You cannot do this without the owner’s consent. Nowadays, that consent is extorted as a condition of the lease, but in my time this did not happen.”

Smythe-Robertson was looking both startled and puzzled, and for a moment there was silence. Andrew found himself staring at the hologram on the wall. It was a death mask of Susan Calvin, patron saint of all roboticists. She had been dead for nearly two centuries now, but as a result of writing his book Andrew knew, her so well he could half persuade himself that he had met her in life.

Finally Smythe-Robertson asked, “How can I replace you for you? If I replace you, as robot, how can I donate the new robot to you as owner since in the very act of replacement you cease to exist.” He smiled grimly.

“Not at all difficult,” Paul interposed. “The seat of Andrew’s personality is his positronic brain and it is the one part that cannot be replaced without creating a new robot. The positronic brain, therefore, is Andrew the owner. Every other part of the robotic body can be replaced without affecting the robot’s personality, and those other parts are the brain’s possessions. Andrew, I should say, wants to supply his brain with a new robotic body.”

“That’s right,” said Andrew, calmly. He turned to Smythe-Robertson. “You have manufactured androids, haven’t you? Robots that have the outward appearance of humans, complete to the texture of the skin?”

“Yes, we have. They worked perfectly well, with their synthetic fibrous skins and tendons. There was virtually no metal anywhere except for the brain, yet they were nearly as tough as metal robots. They were tougher, weight for weight.”

Paul looked interested. “I didn’t know that. How many are on the market?”

“None,” said Smythe-Robertson. “They were much more expensive than metal models and a market survey showed they would not be accepted. They looked too human.”

Andrew was impressed. “But the corporation retains its expertise, I assume. Since it does, I wish to request that I be replaced by an organic robot, an android.”

Paul looked surprised. “Good Lord!” he said.

Smythe-Robertson stiffened. “Quite impossible!”

“Why is it impossible?” Andrew asked. “I will pay any reasonable fee, of course.”

“We do not manufacture androids.”

“You do not choose to manufacture androids,” Paul interjected quickly. “That is not the same as being unable to manufacture them.”

“Nevertheless,” Smythe-Robertson responded, “the manufacture of androids is against public policy.”

“There is no law against it,” said Paul.

“Nevertheless, we do not manufacture them — and we will not.”

Paul cleared his throat. “Mr. Smythe-Robertson,” he said, “Andrew is a free robot who comes under the purview of the law guaranteeing robot rights. You are aware of this, I take it?”

“Only too well.”

“This robot, as a free robot, chooses to wear clothes. This results in his being frequently humiliated by thoughtless human beings despite the law against the humiliation of robots. It is difficult to prosecute vague offenses that don’t meet with the general disapproval of those who must decide on guilt and innocence.”

“U.S. Robots understood that from the start. Your father’s firm unfortunately did not.”

“My father is dead now, but what I see is that we have here a clear offense with a clear target.”

“What are you talking about?” said Smythe-Robertson.

“My client, Andrew Martin — he has just become my client — is a free robot who is entitled to ask U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation for the rights of replacement, which the corporation supplies to anyone who owns a robot for more than twenty-five years. In fact, the corporation insists on such replacement.”

Paul was smiling and thoroughly at ease. “The positronic brain of my client,” he went on, “is the owner of the body of my client which is certainly more than twenty-five years old. The positronic brain demands the replacement of the body and offers to pay any reasonable fee for an android body as that replacement. If you refuse the request, my client undergoes humiliation and we will sue.

“While public opinion would not ordinarily support the claim of a robot in such a case, may I remind you that U.S. Robots is not popular with the public generally. Even those who most use and profit from robots are suspicious of the corporation. This may be a hangover from the days when robots were widely feared. It may be resentment against the power and wealth of U.S. Robots, which has a worldwide monopoly. Whatever the cause may be, the resentment eats. I think you will find that you would prefer not to be faced with a lawsuit, particularly since my client is wealthy and will live for many more centuries and will have no reason to refrain from fighting the battle forever.”

Smythe-Robertson had slowly reddened. “You are trying to force —”

“I force you to do nothing,” said Paul. “If you wish to refuse to accede to my client’s reasonable request, you may by all means do so and we will leave without another word. But we will sue, as is certainly our right, and you will find that you will eventually lose.”

“Well.”

“I see that you are going to accede,” said Paul. “You may hesitate but you will come to it in the end. Let me assure you, then, of one further point: If, in the process of transferring my client’s positronic brain from his present body to an organic one, there is any damage, however slight, then I will never rest until I’ve nailed the corporation to the ground. I will, if necessary, take every possible step to mobilize public opinion against the corporation if one brain path of my client’s platinum-iridium essence is scrambled.” He turned to Andrew and asked, “Do you agree to all this, Andrew?”

Andrew hesitated a full minute. It amounted to the approval of lying, of blackmail, of the badgering and humiliation of a human being. But not physical harm, he told himself, not physical harm.

He managed at last to come out with a rather faint “Yes.”

14

HE FELT AS though he were being constructed again. For days, then for weeks, finally for months, Andrew found himself not himself somehow, and the simplest actions kept giving rise to hesitation.

Paul was frantic. “They’ve damaged you, Andrew. We’ll have to institute suit!”

Andrew spoke very slowly. “You — mustn’t. You’ll never be able to prove — something — like m-m-m-m —”

“Malice?”

“Malice. Besides, I grow — stronger, better. It’s the tr — tr — tr —”

“Tremble?”

“Trauma. After all, there’s never been such an op-op-op — before.”

Andrew could feel his brain from the inside. No one else could. He knew he was well, and during the months that it took him to learn full coordination and full positronic interplay he spent hours before the mirror.

Not quite human! The face was stiff — too stiff and the motions were too deliberate. They lacked the careless, free flow of the human being, but perhaps that might come with time. At least now he could wear clothes without the ridiculous anomaly of a metal face going along with it.

Eventually, he said, “I will be going back to work.”

Paul laughed. “That means you are well. What will you be doing? Another book?”

“No,” said Andrew, seriously. “I live too long for any one career to seize me by the throat and never let me go. There was a time when I was primarily an artist, and I can still turn to that. And there was a time when I was a historian, and I can still turn to that. But now I wish to be a robobiologist.”

“A robopsychologist, you mean.”

“No. That would imply the study of positronic brains, and at the moment I lack the desire to do that. A robobiologist, it seems to me, would be concerned with the working of the body attached to that brain.”

“Wouldn’t that be a roboticist?”

“A roboticist works with a metal body. I would be studying an organic humanoid body, of which I have the only one, as far as I know.”

“You narrow your field,” said Paul, thoughtfully. “As an artist, all conception is yours; as a historian you deal chiefly with robots; as a robobiologist, you will deal with yourself.”

Andrew nodded. “It would seem so.”

Andrew had to start from the very beginning, for he knew nothing of ordinary biology and almost nothing of science. He became a familiar sight in the libraries, where he sat at the electronic indices for hours at a time, looking perfectly normal in clothes. Those few who knew he was a robot in no way interfered with him.

He built a laboratory in a room which he added to his house; and his library grew, too.

Years passed, and Paul came to him one day and said, “It’s a pity you’re no longer working on the history of robots. I understand U.S. Robots is adopting a radically new policy.”

Paul had aged, and his deteriorating eyes had been replaced with photoptic cells. In that respect, he had drawn closer to Andrew.

“What have they done?” Andrew asked.

“They are manufacturing central computers, gigantic positronic brains, really, which communicate with anywhere from a dozen to a thousand robots by microwave. The robots themselves have no brains at all. They are the limbs of the gigantic brain, and the two are physically separate.”

“Is that more efficient?”

“U.S. Robots claims it is. Smythe-Robertson established the new direction before he died, however, and it’s my notion that it’s a backlash at you. U.S. Robots is determined that they will make no robots that will give them the type of trouble you have, and for that reason they separate brain and body. The brain will have no body to wish changed; the body will have no brain to wish anything.

“It’s amazing, Andrew,” Paul went on, “the influence you have had on the history of. robots. It was your artistry that encouraged U.S. Robots to make robots more precise and specialized; it was your freedom that resulted in the establishment of the principle of robotic rights; it was your insistence on an android body that made U.S. Robots switch to brain-body separation”

Andrew grew thoughtful. “I suppose in the end the corporation will produce one vast brain controlling several billion robotic bodies. All the eggs will be in one basket. Dangerous. Not proper at all.”

“I think you’re right,” said Paul, “but I don’t suspect it will come to pass for a century at least and I won’t live to see it. In fact, I may not live to see next year.”

“Paul!” cried Andrew, in concern.

Paul shrugged. “Men are mortal, Andrew. We’re not like you. It doesn’t matter too much, but it does make it important to assure you on one point. I’m the last of the human Martins. The money I control personally will be left to the trust in your name, and as far as anyone can foresee the future, you will be economically secure.”

“Unnecessary,” Andrew said, with difficulty. In all this time, he could not get used to the deaths of the Martins.

“Let’s not argue. That’s the way it’s going to be. Now, what are you working on?”

“I am designing a system for allowing androids — myself — to gain energy from the combustion of hydrocarbons, rather than from atomic cells.”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “So that they will breathe and eat?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been pushing in that direction?”

“For a long time now, but I think I have finally designed an adequate combustion chamber for catalyzed controlled breakdown.”

“But why, Andrew? The atomic cell is surely infinitely better.”

“In some ways, perhaps. But the atomic cell is inhuman.”

15

IT TOOK TIME, but Andrew had time. In the first place, he did not wish to do anything till Paul had died in peace. With the death of the great-grandson of Sir, Andrew felt more nearly exposed to a hostile world and for that reason was all the more determined along the path he had chosen.

Yet he was not really alone. If a man had died, the firm of Feingold and Martin lived, for a corporation does not die any more than a robot does.

The firm had its directions and it followed them soullessly. By way of the trust and through the law firm, Andrew continued to be wealthy. In return for their own large annual retainer, Feingold and Martin involved themselves in the legal aspects of the new combustion chamber. But when the time came for Andrew to visit U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation, he did it alone. Once he had gone with Sir and once with Paul. This time, the third time, he was alone and manlike.

U.S. Robots had changed. The actual production plant had been shifted to a large space station, as had grown to be the case with more and more industries. With them had gone many robots. The Earth itself was becoming park like, with its one-billion-person population stabilized and perhaps not more than thirty percent of its at-least-equally-large robot population independently brained.

The Director of Research was Alvin Magdescu, dark of complexion and hair, with a little pointed beard and wearing nothing above the waist but the breast band that fashion dictated. Andrew himself was well covered in the older fashion of several decades back.

Magdescu offered his hand to his visitor. “I know you, of course, and I’m rather pleased to see you. You’re our most notorious product and it’s a pity old Smythe-Robertson was so set against you. We could have done a great deal with you.”

“You still can,” said Andrew.

“No, I don’t think so. We’re past the time. We’ve had robots on Earth for over a century, but that’s changing. It will be back to space with them, and those that stay here won’t be brained.”

“But there remains myself, and I stay on Earth.”

“True, but there doesn’t seem to be much of the robot about you. What new request have you?”

“To be still less a robot. Since I am so far organic, I wish an organic source of energy. I have here the plans —”

Magdescu did not hasten through them. He might have intended to at first, but he stiffened and grew intent. At one point, he said, “This is remarkably ingenious. Who thought of all this?”

“I did,” Andrew replied.

Magdescu looked up at him sharply, then said, “It would amount to a major overhaul of your body, and an experimental one, since such a thing has never been attempted before. I advise against it. Remain as you are.”

Andrew’s face had limited means of expression, but impatience showed plainly in his voice. “Dr. Magdescu, you miss the entire point: You have no choice but to accede to my request. If such devices can be built into my body, they can be built into human bodies as well. The tendency to lengthen human life by prosthetic devices has already been remarked on. There are no devices better than the ones I have designed or am designing. As it happens, I control the patents by way of the firm of Feingold and Martin. We are quite capable of going into business for ourselves and of developing the kind of prosthetic devices that may end by producing human beings with many of the properties of robots. Your own business will then suffer.

“If, however, you operate on me now and agree to do so under similar circumstances in the future, you will receive permission to make use of the patents and control the technology of both robots and of the prosthetization of human beings. The initial leasing will not be granted, of course, until after the first operation is completed successfully, and after enough time has passed to demonstrate that it is indeed successful.”

Andrew felt scarcely any First Law inhibition to the stern conditions he was setting a human being. He was learning to reason that what seemed like cruelty might, in the long run, be kindness.

Magdescu was stunned. “I’m not the one to decide something like this. That’s a corporate decision that would take time.”

“I can wait a reasonable time,” said Andrew, “but only a reasonable time.” And he thought with satisfaction that Paul himself could not have done it better.

16

IT TOOK ONLY a reasonable time, and the operation was a success.

“I was very much against the operation, Andrew,” Magdescu said, “but not for the reasons you might think. I was not in the least against the experiment, if it had been on someone else. I hated risking your positronic brain. Now that you have the positronic pathways interacting with simulated nerve pathways, it might have been difficult to rescue the brain intact if the body had gone bad.”

“I had every faith in the skill of the staff at U.S. Robots,” said Andrew. “And I can eat now.”

“Well, you can sip olive oil. It will mean occasional cleanings of the combustion chamber, as we have explained to you. Rather an uncomfortable touch, I should think.”

“Perhaps, if I did not expect to go further. Self cleaning is not impossible. In fact, I am working on a device that will deal with solid food that may be expected to contain incombustible fractions — indigestible matter, so to speak, that will have to be discarded.”

“You would then have to develop an anus.”

“Or the equivalent.”

“What else, Andrew —?”

“Everything else.”

“Genitalia, too?”

“Insofar as they will fit my plans. My body is a canvas on which I intend to draw —”

Magdescu waited for the sentence to he completed, and when it seemed that it would not be, he completed it himself. “A man?”

“We shall see,” Andrew said.

“That’s a puny ambition, Andrew. You’re better than a man. You’ve gone downhill from the moment you opted to become organic.”

“My brain has not suffered.”

“No, it hasn’t. I’ll grant you that. But, Andrew, the whole new breakthrough in prosthetic devices made possible by your patents is being marketed under your name. You’re recognized as the inventor and you’re being honored for it — as you should be. Why play further games with your body?”

Andrew did not answer.

The honors came. He accepted membership in several learned societies, including one that was devoted to the new science he had established — the one he had called robobiology but which had come to be termed prosthetology. On the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of his construction, a testimonial dinner was given in his honor at U.S. Robots. If Andrew saw an irony in this, he kept it to himself.

Alvin Magdescu came out of retirement to chair the dinner. He was himself ninety-four years old and was alive because he, too, had prosthetized devices that, among other things, fulfilled the function of liver and kidneys. The dinner reached its climax when Magdescu, after a short and emotional talk, raised his glass to toast The Sesquicentennial Robot.

Andrew had had the sinews of his face redesigned to the point where he could show a human range of emotions, but he sat through all the ceremonies solemnly passive. He did not like to be a Sesquicentennial Robot.

17

IT WAS PROSTHETOLOGY that finally took Andrew off the Earth.

In the decades that followed the celebration of his sesquicentennial, the Moon had come to be a world more Earthlike than Earth in every respect but its gravitational pull; and in its underground cities there was a fairly dense population. Prosthetized devices there had to take the lesser gravity into account. Andrew spent five years on the Moon working with local prosthetologists to make the necessary adaptations. When not at his work, he wandered among the robot population, every one of which treated him with the robotic obsequiousness due a man.

He came back to an Earth that was humdrum and quiet in comparison, and visited the offices of Feingold and Martin to announce his return.

The current head of the firm, Simon DeLong, was surprised. “We had been told you were returning, Andrew” — he had almost said Mr. Martin — “but we were not expecting you till next week.”

“I grew impatient,” said Andrew briskly. He was anxious to get to the point. “On the Moon, Simon, I was in charge of a research team of twenty human scientists. I gave orders that no one questioned. The Lunar robots deferred to me as they would to a human being. Why, then, am I not a human being?”

A wary look entered DeLong’s eyes. “My dear Andrew, as you have just explained, you are treated as a human being by both robots and human beings. You are, therefore, a human being de facto.”

“To be a human being de facto is not enough. I want not only to be treated as one, but to be legally identified as one. I want to be a human being de jure.”

“Now, that is another matter,” DeLong said. “There we would run into human prejudice and into the undoubted fact that, however much you may be like a human being, you are not a human being.”

“In what way not?” Andrew asked. “I have the shape of a human being and organs equivalent to those of a human being. My organs, in fact, are identical to some of those in a prosthetized human being. I have contributed artistically, literally, and scientifically to human culture as much as any human being now alive. What more can one ask?”

“I myself would ask nothing more. The trouble is that it would take an act of the World Legislature to define you as a human being. Frankly, I wouldn’t expect that to happen.”

“To whom on the Legislature could I speak?”

“To the Chairman of the Science and Technology Committee, perhaps.”

“Can you arrange a meeting?”

“But you scarcely need an intermediary. In your position, you can —”

“No. You arrange it.” It didn’t even occur to Andrew that he was giving a fiat order to a human being. He had grown so accustomed to that on the Moon. “I want him to know that the firm of Feingold and Martin is backing me in this to the hilt.”

“Well, now —”

“To the hilt, Simon. In one hundred and seventy-three years I have in one fashion or another contributed greatly to this firm. I have been under obligation to individual members of the firm in times past. I am not, now. It is rather the other way around now and I am calling in my debts.”

“I will — do what I can,” DeLong said.

18

THE CHAIRMAN OF the Science and Technology Committee was from the East Asian region and was a woman. Her name was Chee Li-hsing and her transparent garments — obscuring what she wanted obscured only by their dazzle — made her look plastic-wrapped. “I sympathize with your wish for full human rights,” she said. “There have been times in history when segments of the human population fought for full human rights. What rights, however, can you possibly want that you do not have?”

“As simple a thing as my right to life,” Andrew stated. “A robot can be dismantled at any time.”

“A human being can be executed at any time.”

“Execution can only follow due process of law. There is no trial needed for my dismantling. Only the word of a human being in authority is needed to end me. Besides — besides —” Andrew tried desperately to allow no sign of pleading, but his carefully designed tricks of human expression and tone of voice betrayed him here. “The truth is I want to be a man. I have wanted it through six generations of human beings.”

Li-hsing looked up at him out of darkly sympathetic eyes. “The Legislature can pass a law declaring you one. They could pass a law declaring that a stone statue be defined as a man. Whether they will actually do so is, however, as likely in the first case as the second. Congress people are as human as the rest of the population and there is always that element of suspicion against robots.”

“Even now?”

“Even now. We would all allow the fact that you have earned the prize of humanity, and yet there would remain the fear of setting an undesirable precedent.”

“What precedent? I am the only free robot, the only one of my type, and there will never be another. You may consult U.S. Robots.”

“`Never’ is a long word, Andrew — or, if you prefer, Mr. Martin — since I will gladly give you my personal accolade as man. You will find that most congress people will not be so willing to set the precedent, no matter how meaningless such a precedent might be. Mr. Martin, you have my sympathy, but I cannot tell you to hope. Indeed —”

She sat back and her forehead wrinkled. “Indeed, if the issue grows too heated, there might well arise a certain sentiment, both inside the Legislature and out side, for that dismantling you mentioned. Doing away with you could turn out to be the easiest way of resolving the dilemma. Consider that before deciding to push matters.”

Andrew stood firm. “Will no one remember the technique of prosthetology, something that is almost entirely mine?”

“It may seem cruel, but they won’t. Or if they do, it will be remembered against you. People will say you did it only for yourself. It will be said it was part of a campaign to roboticize human beings, or to humanify robots; and in either case evil and vicious. You have never been part of a political hate campaign, Mr. Martin; but I tell you that you would be the object of vilification of a kind neither you nor I would credit, and there would be people to believe it all. Mr. Martin, let your life be.”

She rose, and next to Andrew’s seated figure she seemed small and almost childlike.

“If I decide to fight for my humanity, will you be on my side?”

She thought, then replied, “I will be — insofar as I can be. If at any time such a stand would appear to threaten my political future, I might have to abandon you, since it is not an issue I feel to be at the very root of my beliefs. I am trying to be honest with you.”

“Thank you, and I will ask no more. I intend to fight this through, whatever the consequences, and I will ask you for your help only for as long as you can give it.”

19

IT WAS NOT a direct fight. Feingold and Martin counseled patience and Andrew muttered, grimly, that he had an endless supply of that. Feingold and Martin then entered on a campaign to narrow and restrict the area of combat.

They instituted a lawsuit denying the obligation to pay debts to an individual with a prosthetic heart on the grounds that the possession of a robotic organ removed humanity, and with it the constitutional rights of human beings. They fought the matter skillfully and tenaciously, losing at every step but always in such a way that the decision was forced to be as broad as possible, and then carrying it by way of appeals to the World Court.

It took years, and millions of dollars.

When the final decision was handed down, DeLong held what amounted to a victory celebration over the legal loss. Andrew was, of course, present in the company offices on the occasion.

“We’ve done two things, Andrew,” said DeLong, “both of which are good. First of all, we have established the fact that no number of artificial parts in the human body causes it to cease being a human body. Secondly, we have engaged public opinion in the question in such a way as to put it fiercely on the side of a broad interpretation of humanity, since there is not a human being in existence who does not hope for prosthetics if they will keep him alive.”

“And do you think the Legislature will now grant me my humanity?” Andrew asked.

DeLong looked faintly uncomfortable. “As to that, I cannot be optimistic. There remains the one organ which the World Court has used as the criterion of humanity. Human beings have an organic cellular brain and robots have a platinum iridium positronic brain if they have one at all — and you certainly have a positronic brain. No, Andrew, don’t get that look in your eye. We lack the knowledge to duplicate the work of a cellular brain in artificial structures close enough to the organic type as to allow it to fall within the court’s decision. Not even you could do it.”

“What should we do, then?”

“Make the attempt, of course. Congresswoman Li-hsing will be on our side and a growing number of other congress people. The President will undoubtedly go along with a majority of the Legislature in this matter.”

“Do we have a majority?”

“No. Far from it. But we might get one if the public will allow its desire for a broad interpretation of humanity to extend to you. A small chance, I admit; but if you do not wish to give up, we must gamble for it.”

“I do not wish to give up.”

20

CONGRESSWOMAN LI-HSING was considerably older than she had been when Andrew had first met her. Her transparent garments were long gone. Her hair was now close-cropped and her coverings were tubular. Yet still Andrew clung, as closely as he could within the limits of reasonable taste, to the style of clothing that had prevailed when he had first adopted clothing more than a century before.

“We’ve gone as far as we can, Andrew,” Li-hsing admitted. “We’ll try once more after recess, but, to be honest, defeat is certain and then the whole thing will have to be given up. All my most recent efforts have only earned me certain defeat in the coming congressional campaign.”

“I know,” said Andrew, “and it distressed me. You said once you would abandon me if it came to that. Why have you not done so?”

“One can change one’s mind, you know. Somehow, abandoning you became a higher price than I cared to pay for just one more term. As it is, I’ve been in the Legislature, for over a quarter of a century. It’s enough.”

“Is there no way we can change minds, Chee?”

“We’ve changed all that are amenable to reason. The rest — the majority — cannot be moved from their emotional antipathies.”

“Emotional antipathy is not a valid reason for voting one way or the other.”

“I know that, Andrew, but they don’t advance emotional antipathy as their reason.”

“It all comes down to the brain, then,” Andrew said cautiously. “But must we leave it at the level of cells versus positrons? Is there no way of forcing a functional definition? Must we say that a brain is made of this or that? May we not say that a brain is something — anything — capable of a certain level of thought?”

“Won’t work,” said Li-hsing. “Your brain is manmade, the human brain is not. Your brain is constructed, theirs developed. To any human being who is intent on keeping up the barrier between himself and a robot, those differences are a steel wall a mile high and a mile thick.”

“If we could get at the source of their antipathy, the very source —”

“After all your years,” Li-hsing said, sadly, “you are still trying to reason out the human being. Poor Andrew, don’t be angry, but it’s the robot in you that drives you in that direction.”

“I don’t know,” said Andrew. “If I could bring myself —”

1. (Reprise)

IF HE COULD bring himself —

He had known for a long time it might come to that, and in the end he was at the surgeon’s. He had found one, skillful enough for the job at hand — which meant a surgeon — robot, for no human surgeon could be trusted in this connection, either in ability or in intention.

The surgeon could not have performed the operation on a human being, so Andrew, after putting off the moment of decision with a sad line of questioning that reflected the turmoil within himself, had put First Law to one side by saying “I, too, am a robot.”

He then said, as firmly as he had learned to form the words even at human beings over these past decades, “I order you to carry through the operation on me.”

In the absence of the First Law, an order so firmly given from one who looked so much like a man activated the Second Law sufficiently to carry the day.

21

ANDREW’S FEELING OF weakness was, he was sure, quite imaginary. He had recovered from the — operation. Nevertheless, he leaned, as unobtrusively as he could manage, against the wall. It would be entirely too revealing to sit.

Li-hsing said, “The final vote will come this week, Andrew. I’ve been able to delay it no longer, and we must lose. And that will be it, Andrew.”

“I am grateful for your skill at delay. It gave me the time I needed, and I took the gamble I had to.”

“What gamble is this?” Li-hsing asked with open concern.

“I couldn’t tell you, or even the people at Feingold and Martin. I was sure I would be stopped. See here, if it is the brain that is at issue, isn’t the greatest difference of all the matter of immortality. Who really cares what a brain looks like or is built of or how it was formed. What matters is that human brain cells die; must die. Even if every other organ in the body is maintained or replaced, the brain cells, which cannot be replaced without changing and therefore killing the personality, must eventually die.

“My own positronic pathways have lasted nearly two centuries without perceptible change, and can last for centuries more. Isn’t that the fundamental barrier? Human beings can tolerate an immortal robot, for it doesn’t matter how long a machine lasts, but they cannot tolerate an immortal human being since their own mortality is endurable only so long as it is universal. And for that reason they won’t make me a human being.”

“What is it you’re leading up to, Andrew?” Li-hsing asked.

“I have removed that problem. Decades ago, my positronic brain was connected to organic nerves. Now, one last operation has arranged that connection in such a way that slowly — quite slowly — the potential is being drained from my pathways.”

Li-hsing’s finely wrinkled face showed no expression for a moment. Then her lips tightened. “Do you mean you’ve arranged to die, Andrew? You can’t have. That violates the Third Law.”

“No,” said Andrew, “I have chosen between the death of my body and the death of my aspirations and desires. To have let my body live at the cost of the greater death is what would have violated the Third Law.”

Li-hsing seized his arm as though she were about to shake him. She stopped herself. “Andrew, it won’t work! Change it back.”

“It can’t be done. Too much damage was done. I have a year to live more or less. I will last through the two-hundredth anniversary of my construction. I was weak enough to arrange that.”

“How can it be worth it? Andrew, you’re a fool.”

“If it brings me humanity, that will be worth it. If it doesn’t, it will bring an end to striving and that will be worth it, too.”

Then Li-hsing did something that astonished herself. Quietly, she began to weep.

22

IT WAS ODD how that last deed caught the imagination of the world. All that Andrew had done before had not swayed them. But he had finally accepted even death to be human, and the sacrifice was too great to be rejected.

The final ceremony was timed, quite deliberately, for the two hundredth anniversary. The World President was to sign the act and make the people’s will law. The ceremony would be visible on a global network and would be beamed to the Lunar state and even to the Martian colony.

Andrew was in a wheelchair. He could still walk, but only shakily.

With mankind watching, the World President said, “Fifty years ago, you were declared The Sesquicentennial Robot, Andrew.” After a pause, and in a more solemn tone, he continued, “Today we declare you The Bicentennial Man, Mr. Martin.”

And Andrew, smiling, held out his hand to shake that of the President.

23

ANDREW’S THOUGHTS WERE slowly fading as he lay in bed. Desperately he seized at them. Man! He was a man!

He wanted that to be his last thought. He wanted to dissolve — die with that.

He opened his eyes one more time and for one last time recognized Li-hsing, waiting solemnly. Others were there, but they were only shadows, unrecognizable shadows. Only Li-hsing stood out against the deepening gray.

Slowly, inchingly, he held out his hand to her and very dimly and faintly felt her take it.

She was fading in his eyes as the last of his thoughts trickled away. But before she faded completely, one final fugitive thought came to him and rested for a moment on his mind before everything stopped.

“Little Miss,” he whispered, too low to be heard.

Mother Earth

2425 A.D.

“BUT CAN YOU be certain? Are you sure that even a professional historian can always distinguish between victory and defeat?”

Gustav Stein, who delivered himself of that mocking question with a whiskered smile and a gentle wipe at the gray mustache from the neighborhood of which he had just removed an empty glass, was not an historian. He was a physiologist.

But his companion was an historian, and he accepted the gentle thrust with a smile of his own.

Stein’s apartment was, for Earth, quite luxurious. It lacked the empty privacy of the Outer Worlds, of course, since from its window there stretched outward a phenomenon that belonged only to the home planet-a city. A large city, full of people, rubbing shoulders, mingling sweat

Nor was Stein’s apartment fitted with its own power and its own utility supply. It lacked even the most elementary quota of positronic robots. In short, it lacked the dignity of self-sufficiency, and like all things on Earth, it was merely part of a community, a pendant unit of a cluster, a portion of a mob.

But Stein was an Earthman by birth and used to it. And after all, by Earth standards the apartment was still luxurious.

It was just that looking outward through the same windows before which lay the city, one could see the stars and among them the Outer Worlds, where there were no cities but only gardens; where the lawns were streaks of emerald, where all human beings were kings, and where all good Earthmen earnestly and vainly hoped to go some day.

Except for a few who knew better-like Gustav Stein.

The Friday evenings with Edward Field belonged to that class of ritual which comes with age and quiet life. It broke the week pleasantly for two elderly bachelors, and gave them an innocuous reason to linger over the sherry and the stars. It took them away from the crudities of life, and, most of all, it let them talk.

Field, especially, as a lecturer, scholar and man of modest means quoted chapter and verse from his still uncompleted history of Terrestrian Empire.

“I wait for the last act, “he explained. “Then I can call it the ‘Decline and Fall of Empire’ and publish it.”

“You must expect the last act to come soon, then.”

“In a sense, it has come already. It is just that it is best to wait for all to recognize that fact. You see, there are three times when an Empire or an Economic System or a Social Institution falls, you skeptic-”

Field paused for effect and waited patiently for Stein to say, “And those times are?”

“First,” Field ticked off a right forefinger, “there is the time when just a little nub shows up that points an inexorable way to finality. It can’t be seen or recognized until the finality arrives, when the original nub becomes visible to hindsight.”

“And you can tell what that little nub is?”

“I think so, since I already have the advantage of a century and a half of hindsight. It came when the Sirian sector colony, Aurora, first obtained permission of the Central Government at Earth to introduce positronic robots into their community life. Obviously, looking back at it, the road was clear for the development of a thoroughly mechanized society based upon robot labor and not human labor. And it is this mechanization that has been and will yet be the deciding factor in the struggle between the Outer Worlds and Earth.”

“It is?” murmured the physiologist. “How infernally clever you historians are. What and where is the second time the Empire fell?”

“The second point in time,” and Field gently bent his right middle finger backward, “arrives when a signpost is raised for the expert so large and plain that it can be seen even without the aid of perspective. And that point has been passed, too, with the first establishment of an immigration quota against Earth by the Outer Worlds. The fact that Earth found itself unable to prevent an action so obviously detrimental to itself was a shout for all to hear, and that was fifty years ago.”

“Better and better. And the third point?”

“The third point?” Down went the ring finger. “That is the least important. That is when the signpost becomes a wall with a huge ‘The End’ scrawled upon it. The only requirement for knowing that the end has come, then, is neither perspective nor training, but merely the ability to listen to the video.”

“I take it that the third point in time has not yet come.”

“Obviously not, or you would not need to ask. Yet it may come soon; for instance, if there is war.”

“Do you think there will be?”

Field avoided commitment. “Times are unsettled, and a good deal of futile emotion is sweeping Earth on the immigration question. And if there should be a war, Earth would be defeated quickly and lastingly, and the wall would be erected.”

“Can you be certain? Are you sure that even a professional historian can always distinguish between victory and defeat?”

Field smiled. He said: “You may know something I do not. For instance, they talk about something called the ‘Pacific Project.’”

“I never heard of it.” Stein refilled the two glasses, “Let us speak of other things.”

He held up his glass to the broad window So that the far stars flickered rosily in the clear liquid and said: “To a happy ending to Earth’s troubles.”

Field held up his own, “To the Pacific Project.”

Stein sipped gently and said: “But we drink to two different things.”

“Do we?”

It is quite difficult to describe any of the Outer Worlds to a native Earthman, since it is not So much a description of a world that is required as a description of a state of mind. The Outer Worlds-some fifty of them, originally colonies, later dominions, later nations-differ extremely among themselves in a physical sense. But the state of mind is somewhat the same throughout.

It is something that grows out of a world not originally congenial to mankind, yet populated by the cream of the difficult, the different, the daring, the deviant.

If it is to be expressed in a word, that word is “individuality.”

There is the world of Aurora, for instance, three parsecs from Earth. It was the first planet settled outside the Solar System, and represented the dawn of interstellar travel. Hence its name.

It had air and water to start with, perhaps, but on Earthly standards it was rocky and infertile. The plant life that did exist, sustained by a yellow-green pigment completely unrelated to chlorophyll and not as efficient, gave the comparatively fertile regions a decidedly bilious and unpleasant appearance to unaccustomed eyes. No animal life higher than unicellular, and the equivalent of bacteria as well, were present. Nothing dangerous, naturally, since the two biological systems, of Earth and Aurora, were chemically unrelated.

Aurora became, quite gradually, a patchwork. Grains and fruit trees came first; shrubs, flowers, and grass afterward. Herds of livestock followed. And, as if it were necessary to prevent too close a copy of the mother planet, positronic robots also came to build the mansions, carve the landscapes, lay the power units. In short, to do the work, and turn the planet green and human.

There was the luxury of a new world and unlimited mineral resources. There was the splendid excess of atomic power laid out on new foundations with merely thousands, or, at most, millions, not billions, to service. There was the vast flowering of physical science, in worlds where there was room for it.

Take the home of Franklin Maynard, for instance, who, with his wife, three children, and twenty-seven robots, lived on an estate more than forty miles away, in distance, from the nearest neighbor. Yet by community-wave he could, if he wished, share the living room of any of the seventy-five million on Aurora-with each singly; with all simultaneously.

Maynard knew every inch of his valley. He knew just where it ended, sharply, and gave way to the alien crags, along whose undesirable slopes the angular, sharp leaves of the native furze clung sullenly-as if in hatred of the softer matter that had usurped its place in the sun.

Maynard did not have to leave that valley. He was a deputy in the Gathering, and a member of the Foreign Agents Committee, but he could transact all business but the most extremely essential, by community-wave, without ever sacrificing that precious privacy he had to have in a way no Earthman could understand.

Even the present business could be performed by community-wave. The man, for instance, who sat with him in his living room, was Charles Hijkman, and he, actually, was sitting in his own living room on an island in an artificial lake stocked with fifty varieties of fish, which happened to be twenty-five hundred miles distant, in space.

The connection was an illusion, of course. If Maynard were to reach out a hand, he could feel the invisible wall.

Even the robots were quite accustomed to the paradox, and when Hijkman raised a hand for a cigarette, Maynard’s robot made no move to satisfy the desire, though a half-minute passed before Hijkman’s own robot could do so.

The two men spoke like Outer Worlders, that is, stiffly and in syllables too clipped to be friendly, and yet certainly not hostile. Merely undefinably lacking in the cream-however sour and thin at times-of human sociability which is so forced upon the inhabitants of Earth’s ant heaps.

Maynard said: “I have long wanted a private communion, Hijkman. My duties in the Gathering, this year-”

“Quite. That is understood. You are welcome now, of course. In fact, especially so, since I have heard of the superior nature of your grounds and landscaping. Is it true that your cattle are fed on imported grass?”

“I’m afraid that is a slight exaggeration. Actually, certain of my best milkers feed on Terrestrial imports during calving time, but such a procedure would be prohibitively expensive, I’m afraid, if made general. It yields quite extraordinary milk, however. May I have the privilege of sending you a day’s output?”

“It would be most kind of you.” Hijkman bent his head, gravely. “You must receive some of my salmon in return.”

To a Terrestrial eye, the two men might have appeared much alike. Both were tall, though not unusually so for Aurora, where the average height of the adult male is six feet one and one half inches. Both were blond and hard-muscled, with sharp and pronounced features. Though neither was younger than forty, middle-age as yet sat lightly upon them.

So much for amenities. Without a change in tone, Maynard proceeded to the serious purpose of his call.

He said: “The Committee, you know, is now largely engaged with Moreanu and his Conservatives. We would like to deal with them firmly, we of the Independents, that is. But before we can do so with the requisite calm and certainty, I would like to ask you certain questions.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are Aurora’s most important physicist.” Modesty is an unnatural attitude, and one which is only with difficulty taught to children. In an individualistic society it is useless and Hijkman was, therefore, unencumbered with it. He simply nodded objectively at Maynard’s last words.

“And,” continued Maynard, ‘‘as one of us. You are an Independent.”

“I am a member of the Party. Dues-paying, but not very active.”

“Nevertheless safe. Now, tell me, have you heard of the Pacific Project.”

“The Pacific Project?” There was a polite inquiry in his words.

“It is something which is taking place on Earth. The Pacific is a Terrestrial ocean, but the name itself probably has no significance.”

“I have never heard of it.”

“I am not surprised. Few have, even on Earth. Our communion, by the way, is via tight-beam and nothing must go further.”

“I understand.”

“Whatever Pacific Project is-and our agents are extremely vague-it might conceivably be a menace. Many of those who on Earth pass for scientists seem to be connected with it. Also, some of Earth’s more radical and foolish politicians.”

“Hm-m-m. There was once something called the Manhattan Project.”

“Yes,” urged Maynard, “what about it?”

“Oh, it’s an ancient thing. It merely occurred to me because of the analogy in names. The Manhattan Project was before the time of extra-terrestrial travel. Some petty war in the dark ages occurred, and it was the name given to a group of scientists who developed atomic power.”

“Ah,” Maynard’s hand became a fist, “and what do you think the Pacific Project can do, then?”

Hijkman considered. Then, softly: “Do you think Earth is planning war?”

On Maynard’s face there was a sudden expression of distaste. “Six billion people. Six billion half-apes, rather, jammed into one system to a near-explosion point, facing only some millions of us, total. Don’t you think it is a dangerous situation?”

“Oh, numbers!”

“All right. Are we safe despite the numbers? Tell me. I’m only an administrator, and you’re a physicist. Can Earth win a war in any way?”

Hijkman sat solemnly in his chair and thought carefully and slowly. Then he said: “Let us reason. There are three broad classes of methods whereby an individual or group can gain his ends against opposition. On an increasing level of subtlety, those three classes can be termed the physical, the biological, and the psychological.

“Now, the physical can be easily eliminated. Earth does not have an industrial background. It does not have a technical know-how. It has very limited resources. It lacks even a single outstanding physical scientist. So it is as impossible as anything in the Galaxy can be that they can develop any form of physico-chemical application that is not already known to the Outer Worlds. Provided, of course, that the conditions of the problem imply single-handed opposition on the part of Earth against any or all of the Outer Worlds. I take it that none of the Outer Worlds intends leaguing with Earth against us.”

Maynard indicated violent opposition even to the suggestion, “No, no, no. There is no question of that. Put it out of your mind.”

“Then, ordinary physical surprise weapons are inconceivable. It is useless to discuss it further.”

“Then, what about your second class, the biological?”

Slowly, Hijkman lifted his eyebrows: “Now, that is less certain. Some Terrestrial biologists are quite competent, I am told. Naturally, since I am myself a physicist, I am not entirely qualified to judge this. Yet I believe that in certain restricted fields, they are still expert. In agricultural science, of course, to give an obvious example. And in bacteriology. Um-m-m-”

“Yes, what about bacteriological warfare?”

“A thought! But no, no, quite inconceivable. A teeming, constricted world such as Earth cannot afford to fight an open latticework of fifty sparse worlds with germs. They are infinitely more subject to epidemics, that is, to retaliation in kind. In fact, I would say that given our living conditions here on Aurora and on the other Outer Worlds, no contagious disease could really take hold. No, Maynard. You can check with a bacteriologist, but I think he’ll tell you the same.”

Maynard said: “And the third class?”

“The psychological? Now, that is unpredictable. And yet the Outer Worlds are intelligent and healthy communities and not amenable to ordinary propaganda, or for that matter to any form of unhealthy emotionalism. Now, I wonder-”

“Yes?”

“What if the Pacific Project is just that? I mean, a huge device to keep us off balance. Something top-secret, but meant to leak out in just the right fashion, so that the Outer Worlds yield a little to Earth. simply in order to play safe.”

There was a longish silence.

“Impossible,” burst out Maynard, angrily.

“You react properly. You hesitate. But I don’t seriously press the interpretation. It is merely a thought.”

A longer silence, then Hijkman spoke again: “Are there any other questions?”

Maynard started out of a reverie, “No... no-”

The wave broke off and a wall appeared where space had been a moment before.

Slowly, with stubborn disbelief, Franklin Maynard shook his head.

Ernest Keilin mounted the stairs with a feeling for all the past centuries. The building was old, cobwebbed with history. It once housed the Parliament of Man, and from it words went out that clanged throughout the stars.

It was a tall building. It soared-stretched-strained. Out and up to the stars, it reached; to the stars that had now turned away.

It no longer even housed the Parliament of Earth. That had now been switched to a newer, neoclassical building, one that imperfectly aped the architectural stylisms of the ancient pre-Atomic age.

Yet the older building still held its great name. Officially, it was still Stellar House, but it only housed the functionaries of a shriveled bureaucracy now.

Keilin got out at the twelfth floor, and the lift dropped quickly down behind him. The radiant sign said smoothly and quietly: Bureau of Information. He handed a letter to the receptionist. He waited. And eventually, he passed through the door which said, “L. z. Cellioni-Secretary of Information.”

Cellioni was little and dark. His hair was thick and black, his mustache thin and black. His teeth, when he smiled, were startlingly white and even-so he smiled often.

He was smiling now, as he rose and held out his hand. Keilin took it, then an offered seat, then an offered cigar.

Cellioni said: “I am very happy to see you, Mr. Keilin. It is kind of you to fly here from New York on such short notice.”

Keilin curved the corners of his lips down and made a tiny gesture with one hand, deprecating the whole business

“And now,” continued Cellioni, “I presume you would like an explanation of all this.”

“I wouldn’t refuse one,” said Keilin.

“Unfortunately, it is difficult to know exactly how to explain. As Secretary of Information, my position is difficult. I must safeguard the security and well-being of Earth and, at the same time, observe our traditional freedom of the press. Naturally, and fortunately, we have no censorship, but just as naturally, there are times when we could almost wish we did have.”

“Is this,” asked Keilin, “with reference to me? About censorship, I mean?”

Cellioni did not answer directly. Instead, he smiled again, slowly, and with a remarkable absence of joviality.

He said: “You, Mr. Keilin, have one of the most widely heard and influential talecasts on the video. Therefore, you are of peculiar interest to the government.”

“The time is mine,” said Keilin, stubbornly. “I pay for it I pay taxes on the income I derive from it I adhere to all the common-law rulings on taboos. So I don’t quite see of what interest I can be to the government.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me. It’s my fault, I suppose, for not being clearer. You have committed no crime, broken no laws. I have only admiration for your journalistic ability. What I refer to is your editorial attitude at times.”

“With respect to what?”

“With respect,” said Cellioni, with a sudden harshness about his thin lips, “to our policy toward the Outer Worlds.”

“My editorial attitude represents what I feel and think, Mr. Secretary.”

“I allow this. You have your right to your feelings and your thoughts. Yet it is injudicious to spread them about nightly to an audience of half a billion.”

“Injudicious, according to you, perhaps. But legal, according to anybody.”

“It is sometimes necessary to place good of Country above a strict and selfish interpretation of legality.”

Keilin tapped his foot twice and frowned blackly.

“Look,” he said, “put this frankly. What is it you want?”

The Secretary of Information spread his hands out before him. “In a word-co-operation! Really, Mr. Keilin, we can’t have you weakening the will of the people. Do you appreciate the position of Earth? Six billions, and a declining food supply! It is insupportable! And emigration is the only solution. No patriotic Earthman can fail to see the justice of our position. No reasonable human being anywhere can fail to see the justice of it.”

Keilin said: “I agree with your premise that the population problem is serious, but emigration is not the only solution. In fact, emigration is the one sure way of hastening destruction.”

“Really? And why do you say that?”

“Because the Outer Worlds will not permit emigration, and you can force their hand by war only. And we cannot win a war.”

“Tell me,” said Cellioni softly, “have you ever tried emigrating? It seems to me you could qualify. You are quite tall, rather light-haired, intelligent-”

The video-man Hushed. He said, curtly: “I have hay fever.”

“Well,” and the secretary smiled, “then you must have good reason for disapproving their arbitrary genetic and racist policies.”

Keilin replied with heat: “I won’t be influenced by personal motives. I would disapprove their policies, if I qualified perfectly for emigration. But my disapproval would alter nothing. Their policies are their policies, and they can enforce them. Moreover, their policies have some reason even if wrong. Mankind is starting again on the Outer Worlds, and they-the ones who got there first-would like to eliminate some of the Haws of the human mechanism that have become obvious with time. A hay fever sufferer is a bad egg-genetically. A cancer prone even more so. Their prejudices against skin and hair colors are, of course, senseless, but I can grant that they are interested in uniformity and homogeneity. And as for Earth, we can do much even without the help of the Outer Worlds.”

“For instance, what?”

“Positronic robots and hydroponic farming should be introduced, and-most of all-birth control must be instituted. An intelligent birth control, that is, based on firm psychiatric principles intended to eliminate the psychotic trends, congenital infirmities-”

“As they do in the Outer Worlds-”

“Not at all. I have mentioned no racist principles. I talk only of mental and physical infirmities that are held in common by all ethnic and racial groups. And most of all, births must be held below deaths until a healthful equilibrium is reached.”

Cellioni said, grimly: “We lack the industrial techniques and the resources to introduce a robot-hydroponic technology in anything less than five centuries. Furthermore, the traditions of Earth, as well as current ethical beliefs, forbid robot labor and false foods. Most of all, they forbid the slaughter of unborn children. Now, come, Keilin, we can’t have you pouring this out over video. It won’t work; it distracts the attention; it weakens the will.”

Keilin broke in, impatiently: “Mr. Secretary, do you want war?”

“Do I want war? That is an impudent question.”

“Then, who are the policy-makers in the government who do want war? For instance, who is responsible for the calculated rumor of the Pacific Project?”

“The Pacific Project? And where did you hear of that?”

“My sources are my secret.”

“Then, I’ll tell you. You heard of this Pacific Project from Moreanu of Aurora on his recent trip to Earth. We know more about you than you suppose, Mr. Keilin.”

“I believe that, but I do not admit that I received information from Moreanu. Why do you think I could get information from him? Is it because he was deliberately allowed to learn of this piece of trumpery?”

“Trumpery?”

“Yes. I think Pacific Project is a fake. A fake meant to inspire confidence. I think the government plans to let the so-called secret leak out in order to strengthen its war policy. It is part of a war of nerves on Earth’s own people, and it will be the ruin of Earth in the end.”

“And I will take this theory of mine to the people.”

“You will not, Mr. Keilin,” said Cellioni, quietly.

“I will.”

“Mr. Keilin, your friend, Ion Moreanu is having his troubles on Aurora, perhaps for being too friendly with you. Take care that you do not have equal trouble for being too friendly with him.”

“I’m not worried.” The video man laughed shortly, lunged to his feet and strode to the door.

Keilin smiled very gently when he found the door blocked by two large men: “You mean, I am under arrest right now.”

“Exactly,” said Cellioni.

“On what charge?”

“We’ll think of some later.”

Keilin left-under escort.

On Aurora, the mirror image of the afore-described events was taking place, and on a larger scale.

The Foreign Agents Committee of the Gathering had been meeting now for days-ever since the session of the Gathering in which Ion Moreanu and his Conservative Party made their great bid to force a vote of no confidence. That it had failed was in part due to the superior political generalship of the Independents, and in some part due to the activity of this same Foreign Agents Committee.

For months now, the evidence had been accumulating, and when the vote of confidence turned out to be sizably in favor of the Independents, the Committee was able to strike in its own way.

Moreanu was subpoenaed in his own home, and placed under house arrest. Although this procedure of house arrest was not, under the circumstances, legal-a fact emphatically pointed out by Moreanu-it was nevertheless successfully accomplished.

For three days Moreanu was cross-examined thoroughly, in polite, even tones that scarcely ever veered from unemotional curiosity. The seven inquisitors of the Committee took turns in questioning, but Moreanu had respite only for ten-minute intervals during the hours in which the Committee sat.

After three days, he showed the effects. He was hoarse with demanding that he be faced with his accusers; weary with insisting that he be informed of the exact nature of the charges; throat-broken with shouting against the illegality of the procedure.

The Committee finally read statements at him-

“Is this true or not? Is this true or not?”

Moreanu could merely shake his head wearily as the structure spidered about him.

He challenged the competency of the evidence and was smoothly informed that the proceedings constituted a Committee Investigation and not a trial

The chairman clapped his gavel, finally. He was a broad man of tremendous purpose. He spoke for an hour in his final summing up of the results of the inquiry, but only a relatively short portion of it need be quoted.

He said: “If you had merely conspired with others on Aurora, we could understand you, even forgive you. Such a fault would have been held in common with many ambitious men in history. It is not that at all. What horrifies us and removes all pity is your eagerness to consort with the disease-ridden, ignorant and subhuman remnants of Earth.

“You, the accused, stand here under a heavy weight of evidence showing you to have conspired with the worst elements of Earth’s mongrel population-”

The chairman was interrupted by an agonized cry from Moreanu, “But the motive! What motive can you possibly attribute-”

The accused was pulled back into his seat. The chairman pursed his lips and departed from the slow gravity of his prepared speech to improvise a bit.

“It is not,” he said, “for this Committee to go into your motives. We have shown the facts of the case. The Committee does have evidence-” He paused, and looked along the line of the members to the right and the left, then continued. “I think I may say that the Committee has evidence that points to your intentions to use Earth man power to engineer a coup that would leave you dictator over Aurora. But since the evidence has not been used, I will go no further into that, except to say that such a consummation is not inconsistent with your character as displayed at these hearings.”

He went back to his speech. “Those of us who sit here have heard, I think, of something termed the ‘Pacific Project,’ which, according to rumors, represents an attempt on the part of Earth to retrieve its lost dominions.

“It is needless to emphasize here that any such attempt must be doomed to failure. And yet defeat for us is not entirely inconceivable. One thing can cause us to stumble, and that one thing is an unsuspected internal weakness. Genetics is, after all, still an imperfect science. Even with twenty generations behind us, undesirable traits may crop up at scattered points, and each represents a flaw in the steel shield of Aurora’s strength.

“That is the Pacific Project-the use of our own criminals and traitors against us; and if they can find such in our inner councils, the Earthmen might even succeed.

“The Foreign Agents Committee exists to combat that threat. In the accused, we touch the fringes of the web. We must go on-”

The speech did, at any rate.

When it was concluded, Moreanu, pale, wide-eyed, pounded his fist, “I demand my say-”

“The accused may speak, “said the chairman.

Moreanu rose and looked about him for a long moment. The room, fitted for an audience of seventy-five million by Community Wave, was unattended. There were the inquisitors, legal staff, official recorders-and with him, in the actual flesh, his guards.

He would have done better with an audience. To whom could he otherwise appeal? His glance fled hopelessly from each face it touched, but could find nothing better.

“First,” he said, “I deny the legality of this meeting. My constitutional rights of privacy and individuality have been denied. I have been tried by a group without standing as a court, by individuals convinced, in advance, of my guilt. I have been denied adequate opportunity to defend myself. In fact, I have been treated throughout as an already convicted criminal requiring only sentence.

“I deny, completely and without reservation, that I have been engaged in any activity detrimental to the state or tending to subvert any of its fundamental institutions.

“I accuse, vigorously and unreservedly, this Committee of deliberately using its powers to win political battles. I am guilty not of treason, but of disagreement. I disagree with a policy dedicated to the destruction of the larger part of the human race for reasons that are trivial and inhumane.

“Rather than destruction, we owe assistance to these men who are condemned to a harsh, unhappy life solely because it was our ancestors and not theirs who happened to reach the Outer Worlds first. With our technology and resources, they can yet re-create and redevelop-”

The chairman’s voice rose above the intense near-whisper of Moreanu, “You are out of order. The Committee is quite prepared to hear any remarks you make in your own defense, but a sermon on the rights of Earthmen is outside the legitimate realm of the discussion.”

The hearings were formally closed. It was a great political victory for the Independents; all would agree to that. Of the members of the Committee, only Franklin Maynard was not completely satisfied. A small, nagging doubt remained.

He wondered-

Should he try, one last time? Should he speak once more and then no more to that queer little monkey ambassador from Earth? He made his decision quickly and acted upon it instantly. Only a pause to arrange a witness, since even for himself an unwitnessed private communion with an Earthman might be dangerous.

Luiz Moreno, Ambassador to Aurora from Earth, was, to put not too fine a point on it, a miserable figure of a man. And that wasn’t exactly an accident. On the whole, the foreign diplomats of Earth tended to be dark, short, wizen, or weakly-or all four.

That was only self-protection, since the Outer Worlds exerted strong attraction for any Earthman. Diplomats exposed to the allure of Aurora, for instance, could not but be exceedingly reluctant to return to Earth. Worse, and more dangerous, exposure meant a growing sympathy with the demigods of the stars and a growing alienation from the slum-dwellers of Earth.

Unless, of course, the ambassador found himself rejected. Unless he found himself somewhat despised. And then, no more faithful servant of Earth could be imagined, no man less subject to corruption.

The Ambassador to Earth was only five foot two, with a bald head and receding forehead, a pinkish affectation of beard and red-rimmed eyes. He was suffering from a slight cold, the occasional results whereof he smothered in a handkerchief. And yet, withal, he was a man of intellect.

To Franklin Maynard, the sight and sound of the Earthman was distressing. He grew queasy at each cough and shuddered when the ambassador wiped his nose.

Maynard said: “Your excellency, we commune at my request because I wish to inform you that the Gathering has decided to ask your recall by your government.”

“That is kind of you, councilor. I had an inkling of this. And for what reason?”

“The reason is not within the bounds of discussion. I believe it is the prerogative of a sovereign state to decide for itself whether a foreign representative shall be persona grata or not. Nor do I think you really need enlightenment on this matter.”

“Very well, then.” The ambassador paused to wield his handkerchief and murmur an apology.” Is that all?”

Maynard said: “Not quite. There are matters I would like to mention. Remain!”

The ambassador’s reddened nostrils flared a bit, but he smiled, and said: “An honor.”

“Your world, excellency,” said Maynard, superciliously, “displays a certain belligerence of late that we on Aurora find most annoying and unnecessary. I trust that you will find your return to Earth at this point a convenient opportunity to use your influence against further displays such as recently occurred in New York, where two Aurorans were manhandled by a mob. The payment of an indemnity may not be enough the next time.”

“But that is emotional overflow, Councilor Maynard. Surely, you cannot consider youngsters shouting in the streets to be adequate representations of belligerence.”

“It is backed by your government’s actions in many ways. The recent arrest of Mr. Ernest Keilin, for instance.”

“Which is a purely domestic affair,” said the ambassador, quietly.

“But not one to demonstrate a reasonable spirit toward the Outer Worlds. Keilin was one of the few Earthmen who until recently could yet make their voices heard. He was intelligent enough to realize that no divine right protects the inferior man simply because he is inferior.”

The ambassador arose: “I am not interested in Auroran theories on racial differences.”

“A moment. Your government may realize that much of their plans have gone awry with the arrest of your agent, Moreanu. Stress the fact that we of Aurora are much wiser than we have been prior to this arrest. It may serve to give them pause.”

“Is Moreanu my agent? Really, councilor, if I am disaccredited, I shall leave. But surely the loss of diplomatic immunity does not affect my personal immunity as an honest man from charges of espionage.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Do Aurorans take it for granted that espionage and diplomacy are identical? My government will be glad to hear it. We shall take appropriate precautions.”

“Then, you defend Moreanu? You deny that he has been working for Earth?”

“I defend only myself. As to Moreanu, I am not stupid enough to say anything.”

“Why stupid?”

“Wouldn’t a defense by myself be but another indictment against him? I neither accuse nor defend him. Your government’s quarrel with Moreanu, like my government’s with Keilin-whom you, by the way, are most suspiciously eager to defend-is an internal affair. I will leave now.”

The communion broke, and almost instantly the wall faded again. Hijkman was looking thoughtfully at Maynard.

“What do you think of him?” asked Maynard, grimly.

“Disgraceful that such a travesty of humanity should walk Aurora, I think.”

“I agree with you, and yet... and yet-”

“Well?”

“And yet I can almost find myself able to think that he is the master and that we dance to his piping. You know of Moreanu?”

“Of course.”

“Well, he will be convicted, sent to an asteroid. His party will be broken. Offhand, anyone would say that such actions represent a horrible defeat for Earth.”

“Is there doubt in your mind that such is the case?”

“I’m not sure. Committee Chairman Bond insisted on airing his theory that Pacific Project was the name Earth gave to a device for using internal traitors on the Outer Worlds. But I don’t think so. I’m not sure the facts fit that. For instance, where did we get our evidence against Moreanu?”

“I certainly can’t say.”

“Our agents, in the first place. But how did they get it? The evidence was a little too convincing. Moreanu could have guarded himself better-”

Maynard hesitated. He seemed to be attempting a blush, and failing. “Well, to put it quickly, I think it was the Terrestrian Ambassador who somehow presented us with the most evidence. I think that he played on Moreanu’s sympathy for Earth first to befriend him and then to betray him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. To insure war, perhaps-with this Pacific Project waiting for us.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I know. I have no proof. Nothing but suspicion. The Committee wouldn’t believe me either. It seemed to me, perhaps, that a last talk with the ambassador might reveal something, but his mere appearance antagonizes me, and I find I spend most of my time trying to remove him from my sight.”

“Well, you are becoming emotional, my friend. It is a disgusting weakness. I hear that you have been appointed a delegate to the Interplanetary Gathering at Hesperus. I congratulate you.”

“Thanks,” said Maynard, absently.

Luiz Moreno, ex-Ambassador to Aurora, had been glad to return to Earth. He was away from the artificial landscapes that seemed to have no life of their own, but to exist only by virtue of the strong will of their possessors. Away from the too-beautiful men and women and from their ubiquitous, brooding robots.

He was back to the hum of life and the shuffle of feet; the brushing of shoulders and the feeling of breath in the face.

Not that he was able to enjoy these sensations entirely. The first days had been spent in lively conferences with the heads of Earth’s government.

In fact, it was not till nearly a week had passed, that an hour came in which he could consider himself truly relaxed.

He was in the rarest of all appurtenances of Terrestrial Luxury-a roof garden. With him was Gustav Stein, the quite obscure physiologist, who was, nevertheless, one of the prime movers of the Plan, known to rumor as the Pacific Project.

“The confirmatory tests,” said Moreno, with an almost dreadful satisfaction, “all check so far, do they not?”

“So far. Only so far. We have miles to go.”

“Yet they will continue to go well. To one who has lived on Aurora for nearly a year, as I have, there can be no doubt but that we’re on the right track.”

“Um-m-m. Nevertheless, I will go only by the laboratory reports.”

“And quite rightly.” His little body was almost stiff with gloating. “Some day, it will be different. Stein, you have not met these men, these Outer Worlders. You may have come across the tourists, perhaps, in their special hotels, or riding through the streets in inclosed cars, equipped with the purest of private, air-conditioned atmospheres for their well-bred nostrils; observing the sights through a movable periscope and shuddering away from the touch of an Earthman.

“But you have not met them on their own world, secure in their own sickly, rotting greatness. Go, Stein, and be despised a while. Go, and find how well you can compete with their own trained lawns as something to be gently trod upon.

“And yet, when I pulled the proper cords, Ion Moreanu fell-Ion Moreanu, the only man among them with the capacity to understand the workings of another’s mind. It is the crisis that we have passed now. We front a smooth path now.”

Satisfaction! Satisfaction!

“As for Keilin,” he said suddenly, more to himself than to Stein, “he can be turned loose now. There’s little he can say, hereafter, that can endanger anything. In fact, I have an idea. The Interplanetary Conference opens on Hesperus within the month. He can be sent to report the meeting. It will be an earnest of our friendliness-and keep him away for the summer. I think it can be arranged.”

It was.

Of all the Outer Worlds, Hesperus was the smallest, the latest settled, the furthest from Earth. Hence the name. In a physical sense, it was not best suited to a great diplomatic gathering, since its facilities were small. For instance, the available community-wave network could not possibly be stretched to cover all the delegates, secretarial staff, and administrators necessary in a convocation of fifty planets. So meetings in person were arranged in buildings impressed for the purpose.

Yet there was a symbolism in the choice of meeting place that escaped practically nobody. Hesperus, of all the Worlds, was furthest removed from Earth. But the spatial distance-one hundred parsecs or more-was the least of it. The important point was that Hesperus had been colonized not by Earthmen, but by men from the Outer World of Faunus.

It was therefore of the second generation, and so it had no “Mother Earth.” Earth to it was but a vague grandmother, lost in the stars.

As is usual in all such gatherings, little work is actually done on the session floors. That space is reserved for the official soundings of whatever is primarily intended for home ears. The actual swapping and horse-trading takes place in the lobbies and at the lunch-tables and many an irresolvable conflict has softened over the soup and vanished over the nuts.

And yet particular difficulties were present in this particular case. Not in all worlds was the community-wave as paramount and all-pervading as it was on Aurora, but it was prominent in all. It was, therefore, with a certain sense of outrage and loss that the tall, dignified men found it necessary to approach one another in the flesh, without the comforting privacy of the invisible wall between, without the warm knowledge of the breakswitch at their fingertips.

They faced one another in uneasy semi-embarrassment and tried not to watch one another eat; tried not to shrink at the unmeant touch. Even robot service was rationed.

Ernest Keilin, the only accredited video-representative from Earth, was aware of some of these matters only in the vague way they are described here. A more precise insight he could not have. Nor could anyone brought up in a society where human beings exist only in the plural, and where a house need only be deserted to be feared.

So it was that certain of the most subtle tensions escaped him at the formal dinner party given by the Hesperian government during the third week of the conference. Other tensions, however, did not pass him by.

The gathering after the dinner naturally fell apart into little groups. Keilin joined the one that contained Franklin Maynard of Aurora. As the delegate of the largest of the Worlds, he was naturally the most newsworthy.

Maynard was speaking casually between sips at the tawny Hesperian cocktail in his hand. If his flesh crawled slightly at the closeness of the others, he masked the feeling masterfully.

“Earth,” he said, “is, in essence, helpless against us if we avoid unpredictable military adventures. Economic unity is actually a necessity, if we intend to avoid such adventures. Let Earth realize to how great an extent her economy depends upon us, on the things that we alone can supply her, and there will be no more talk of living space. And if we are united, Earth would never dare attack. She will exchange her barren longings for atomic motors-or not, as she pleases.”

And he turned to regard Keilin with a certain hauteur as the other found himself stung to comment:

“But your manufactured goods, councilor-I mean those you ship to Earth-they are not given us. They are exchanged for agricultural products.”

Maynard smiled silkily. “Yes, I believe the delegate from Tethys has mentioned that fact at length. There is a delusion prevalent among some of us that only Terrestrial seeds grow properly-”

He was interrupted calmly by another, who said: “Now, I am not from Tethys, but what you mention is not a delusion. I grow rye on Rhea, and I have never yet been able to duplicate Terrestrial bread. It just hasn’t got the same taste.” He addressed the audience in general, “In fact, I imported half a dozen Terrestrians five years back on agricultural laborer visas so they could oversee the robots. Now, they can do wonders with the land, you know. Where they spit, corn grows fifteen feet high. Well, that helped a little. And using Terrestrian seed helped. But even if you grow Terrestrian grain, its seed won’t hold the next year.”

“Has your soil been tested by your government’s agricultural department?” asked Maynard.

The Rhean grew haughty in his turn: “No better soil in the sector. And the rye is top-grade. I even sent a hundredweight down to Earth for nutritional clearance, and it came back with full marks.” He rubbed one side of his chin, thoughtfully: “It’s flavor I’m talking about. Doesn’t seem to have the right-”

Maynard made an effort to dismiss him: “Flavor is dispensable temporarily. They’ll be coming to us on our terms, these little-men-hordes of Earth, when they feel the pinch. We give up only this mysterious flavor, but they will have to give up atom-powered engines, farm machinery, and ground cars. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, in fact, to attempt to get along without the Terrestrian flavors you are so concerned about. Let us appreciate the flavor of our home-grown products instead-which could stand comparison if we gave it a chance.”

“That so?” the Rhean smiled. “I notice you’re smoking Earthgrown tobacco.”

“A habit I can break if I have to.”

“Probably by giving up smoking. I wouldn’t use Outer World tobacco for anything but killing mosquitoes.”

He laughed a trifle too boisterously, and left the group. Maynard stared after him, a little pinch-nosed.

To Keilin, the little byplay over rye and tobacco brought a certain satisfaction. He regarded such personalities as the tiny reflection of certain Galactopolitical realities. Tethys and Rhea were the largest planets in the Galactic south, as Aurora was the largest in the Galactic north. All three planets were identically racist, identically exclusivist. Their views on Earth were similar and completely compatible. Ordinarily, one would think that there was no room to quarrel.

But Aurora was the oldest of the Outer Worlds, the most advanced, the strongest militarily-and, therefore, aspired to a sort of moral leadership of all the Worlds. That was sufficient in itself to arouse opposition, and Rhea and Tethys served as focal points for those who did not recognize Auroran leadership.

Keilin was somberly grateful for that situation. If Earth could but lean her weight properly, first in one direction, then in the other, an ultimate split, or even fragmentation

He eyed Maynard cautiously, almost furtively, and wondered what effect this would have on the next day’s debate. Already, the Auroran was more silent than was quite polite.

And then some under-secretary or sub-official threaded his way through the clusters of guests in finicking fashion, and beckoned to Maynard.

Keilin’s following eyes watched the Auroran retreat with the newcomer, watched him listen closely, mouth a startled “What!” that was quite visible to the eye, though too far off to be heard, and then reach for a paper that the other handed him.

And as a result, the next day’s session of the conference went entirely differently than Keilin would have predicted.

Keilin discovered the details in the evening video-casts. The Terrestrian government, it seemed, had sent a note to all the governments attending the conference. It warned each one bluntly that any agreement among them in military or economic affairs would be considered an unfriendly act against Earth and that it would be met with appropriate countermeasures. The note denounced Aurora, Tethys, and Rhea all equally. It accused them of being engaged in an imperialist conspiracy against Earth, and so on-and on-and on.

“Fools! gritted Keilin, all but butting his head against the wall out of sheer chagrin. “Fools! Fools! Fools!” And his voice died away still muttering that same, one word.

The next session of the conference was well and early attended by a set of angry delegates who were only too eager to grind into nothingness the disagreements still outstanding. When it ended, all matters concerning trade between Earth and the Outer Worlds had been placed in the hands of a commission with plenary powers.

Not even Aurora could have expected so complete and easy a victory, and Keilin, on his way back to Earth, longed for his voice to reach the video, so that it could be to others, and not to himself only, that he could shout his disgust.

Yet, on Earth, some men smiled.

Once back on Earth, the voice of Keilin slowly swirled under and down-lost in the noisier clamor that shouted for action.

His popularity sank in proportion as trade restrictions grew. Slowly, the Outer Worlds drew the noose tighter. First, they instituted a strict application of a new system of export licensing. Secondly, they banned the export to Earth of all materials capable of being “used in a war effort.” And finally they applied a very broad interpretation indeed of what could be considered usable in such a connection.

Imported luxuries-and imported necessities, too, for that matter-vanished or priced themselves upwards out of the reach of all but the very few.

So the people marched, and the voices shouted and the banners swung about in the sunlight, and the stones flew at the consulates-

Keilin shouted hoarsely and felt as if he were going mad.

Until, suddenly, Luiz Moreno, quite of his own accord, offered to appear on Keilin’s program and submit to unrestricted questioning in his capacity as ex-Ambassador to Aurora and present Secretary without Portfolio.

To Keilin it had had all the possibilities of a rebirth. He knew Moreno-no fool, he. With Moreno on his program, he was assured an audience as great as his greatest. With Moreno answering questions, certain misapprehensions might be removed, certain confusions might be straightened. The mere fact that Moreno wished to use his-his-program as sounding board might well mean that already a more pliant and sensible foreign policy might have been decided upon. Perhaps Maynard was correct, and the pinch was being felt and was working as predicted.

The list of questions had, of course, been submitted to Moreno in advance, but the ex-Ambassador had indicated that he would answer all of them, and any follow-up questions that might seem necessary.

It seemed quite ideal. Too ideal, perhaps, but only a criminal fool could worry over minutiae at this point.

There was an adequate ballyhoo-and when they faced one another across the little table, the red needle that indicated the number of video sets drawing power on that channel hovered well over the two hundred million mark. And there was an average of 2.7 listeners per video set. Now the theme; the official introduction.

Keilin rubbed his cheek slowly, as he waited for the signal.

Then, he began:

Q. Secretary Moreno, the question which interests all Earth at the moment, concerns the possibility of war. Suppose we start with that. Do you think there will be war?

A. If Earth is the only planet to be considered, I say: No, definitely not. In its history, Earth has had too much war, and has learned many times over how little can be gained by it.

Q. You say, “If Earth is the only planet to be considered-” Do you imply that factors outside our control will bring war?

A. I do not say “will”; but I could say “may.” I cannot, of course speak for the Outer Worlds. I cannot pretend to know their motivations and intentions at this critical moment in Galactic history. They may choose war. I hope not. If so be that they do, however, we will defend ourselves. But in any case, we will never attack; we will not strike the first blow.

Q. Am I right in saying, then, that in your opinion there are no basic differences between Earth and the Outer Worlds, which cannot be solved by negotiation?

A. You certainly are. If the Outer Worlds were sincerely desirous of a solution, no disagreement between them and us could long exist.

Q. Does that include the question of immigration?

A. Definitely. Our own role in the matter is clear and beyond reproach. As matters stand, two hundred million human beings now occupy ninety-five percent of the available land in the universe. Six billions-that is, ninety-seven percent of all mankind-are squeezed into the other five percent. Such a situation is obviously unjust and, worse, unstable. Yet Earth, in the face of such injustice, has always been willing to treat this problem as soluble by degrees. It is still so willing. We should agree to reasonable quotas and reasonable restrictions. Yet the Outer Worlds have refused to discuss this matter. Over a space of five decades, they have rebuffed all efforts on the part of Earth to open negotiations.

Q. If such an attitude on the part of the Outer Worlds continues, do you then think there will be war?

A. I cannot believe that this attitude will continue. Our government will not cease hoping that the Outer Worlds will eventually reconsider their stand on the matter; that their sense of justice and right is not dead, but only sleeping.

Q. Mr. Secretary, let us pass on to another subject. Do you think that the United Worlds Commission set up by the Outer Worlds recently to control trade with Earth represents a danger to peace?

A. In the sense that its actions indicate a desire on the part of the Outer Worlds to isolate Earth, and to weaken it economically, I can say that it does.

Q. To what actions do you refer, sir?

A. To its actions in restricting interstellar trade with Earth to the point where, in credit values, the total stands now at less than ten percent of what it did three months ago.

Q. But do such restrictions really represent an economic danger to Earth? For instance, is it not true that trade with the Outer Worlds represents an almost insignificant part of total Terrestrian trade? And is it not true that the importations from the Outer Worlds reach only a tiny minority of the population at best?

A. Your questions now are representative of a profound fallacy which is very common among our isolationists. In credit values, it is true that interstellar trade represents only five percent of our total trade, but ninety-five percent of our atomic engines are imported. Eighty percent of our thorium, sixty-five percent of our cesium, sixty percent of our molybdenum and tin are imported. The list can be extended almost indefinitely, and it is quite easy to see that the five percent is an extremely important, a vital, five percent. Furthermore, if a large manufacturer receives a shipment of atomic steel-shapers from Rhea, it does not follow that the benefit redounds only to him. Every man on Earth who uses steel implements or objects manufactured by steel implements benefits.

Q. But is it not true that the current restrictions on Earth’s interstellar trade have cut our grain and cattle exports to almost nothing? And far from harming Earth, isn’t this really a boon to our own hungry people?

A. This is another serious fallacy. That Earth’s good food supply is tragically inadequate is true. The government would be the last to deny it. But our food exports do not represent any serious drain upon this supply. Less than one fifth of one percent of Earth’s food is exported, and in return we obtain, for instance, fertilizers and farm machinery which more than make up for that small loss by increasing agricultural efficiency. Therefore, by buying less food from us, the Outer Worlds are engaged, in effect, in cutting our already inadequate food supply.

Q. Are you ready to admit, then, Secretary Moreno, that at least part of the blame for this situation should rest with Earth itself? In other words, we come to my next question: Was it not a diplomatic blunder of the first magnitude for the government to issue its inflammatory note denouncing the intentions of the Outer Worlds before those intentions had been made clear at the Interplanetary Conference?

A. I think those intentions were quite clear at the time.

Q. I beg pardon, sir, but I was at the conference. At the time the note was issued, there was almost a stalemate among the Outer World delegates. Those of Rhea and Tethys strongly opposed economic action against Earth, and there was considerable chance that Aurora and its block might have been defeated. Earth’s note ended that possibility instantly.

A. Well, what is your question, Mr. Keilin?

Q. In view of my statements, do you or do you not think Earth’s note to have been a criminal error of diplomacy which can now be made up only by a policy of intelligent conciliation?

A. You use strong language. However, I cannot answer the question directly, since I do not agree with your major premise. I cannot believe that the delegates of the Outer Worlds could behave in the manner you describe. In the first place, it is well known that the Outer Worlds are proud of their boast that the percentage of insanity, psychoses, and even relatively minor maladjustments of personality are almost at the vanishing point in their society. It is one of their strongest arguments against Earth, that we have more psychiatrists than plumbers and yet are more pinched for want of the former. The delegates to the conference represented the best of this so-stable society. And now you would have me believe that these demigods would, in a moment of pique, have reversed their opinions and instituted a major change in the economic policy of fifty worlds. I cannot believe them capable of such childish and perverse activity, and must therefore insist that any action they took was based not upon any note from Earth, but upon motivations that go deeper.

Q. But I saw the effect upon them with my own eyes, sir. Remember, they were being scolded in what they considered to be insolent language from an inferior people. There can be no doubt, sir, that as a whole, the men of the Outer Worlds are a remarkably stable people, despite your sarcasm, but their attitude toward Earth represents a weak point in this stability.

A. Are you asking me questions, or are you defending the racist views and policies of the Outer Worlds?

Q. Well, accepting your viewpoint that Earth’s note did no harm, what good could it have done? Why should it have been sent?

A. I think we were justified in presenting our side of the question before the bar of Galactic public opinion. I believe we have exhausted the subject. What is your next question, please? It is the last, isn’t it?

Q. It is. It has recently been reported that the Terrestrian government will take stern measures against those dealing in smuggling operations. Is this consistent with the government’s view that lowered trade relations are detrimental to Earth’s welfare?

A. Our primary concern is peace, and not our own immediate welfare. The Outer Worlds have adopted certain trade restrictions. We disapprove of them, and consider them a great injustice. Nevertheless, we shall adhere to them, so that no planet may say that we have given the slightest pretext for hostilities. For instance, I am privileged to announce here for the first time that in the past month, five ships, traveling under false Earth registry, were stopped while being engaged in the smuggling of Outer World materiel into Earth. Their goods were confiscated and their personnel imprisoned. This is an earnest of our good intentions.

Q. Outer World ships?

A. Yes. But traveling under false Earth registry, remember.

Q. And the men imprisoned are citizens of the Outer Worlds? A. I believe so. However, they were breaking not only our laws, but those of the Outer Worlds as well, and therefore doubly forfeited their interplanetary rights. I think the interview had better close, now.

Q. But this-

It was at this point that the broadcast came to a sudden end. The conclusion of Keilin’s last sentence was never heard by anyone but Moreno. It ended like this:

“-means war.”

But Luiz Moreno was no longer on the air. So as he drew on his gloves, he smiled and, with infinite meaning, shrugged his shoulders in a little gesture of indifference.

There were no witnesses to that shrug.

The Gathering at Aurora was still in session. Franklin Maynard had dropped out for the moment in utter weariness. He faced his son, whom he now saw for the first time in naval uniform.

“At least you’re sure of what will happen, aren’t you?”

In the young man’s response, there was no weariness at all, no apprehension; nothing but utter satisfaction. “This is it, dad!”

“Nothing bothers you, then? You don’t think we’ve been maneuvered into this.”

“Who cares if we have? It’s Earth’s funeral.”

Maynard shook his head: “But you realize that we’ve been put in the wrong. The Outer World citizens they hold are law-breakers. Earth is within its rights.”

His son frowned: “I hope you’re not going to make statements like that to the Gathering, dad I don’t see that Earth is justified at all. All right, what if smuggling was going on? It was just because some Outer Worlders are willing to pay black market prices for Terrestrial food. If Earth had any sense, she could look the other way, and everyone would benefit. She makes enough noise about how she needs our trade, so why doesn’t she do something about it? Anyway, I don’t see that we ought to leave any good Aurorans or other Outer Worlders in the hands of those apemen. Since they won’t give them up, we’ll make them. Otherwise, none of us will be safe next time.”

“I see that you’ve adopted the popular opinions, anyway.”

“The opinions are my own. If they’re popular opinion also, it’s because they make sense. Earth wants a war. Well, they’ll get it.”

“But why do they want a war, eh? Why do they force our hands? Our entire economic policy of the past months was only intended to force a change in their attitude without war.”

He was talking to himself, but his son answered with the final argument: “I don’t care why they wanted war. They’ve got it now, and we’re going to smash them.”

Maynard returned to the Gathering, but even as the drone of debate re-filled the room, he thought, with a twinge, that there would be no Terrestrian alfalfa that year. He regretted the milk. In fact, even the beef seemed, somehow, to be just a little less savory

The vote came in the early hours of the morning. Aurora declared war. Most of the worlds of the Aurora bloc joined it by dawn.

In the history books, the war was later known as the Three Weeks’ War. In the first week, Auroran forces occupied several of the trans-Plutonian asteroids, and at the beginning of the third week, the bulk of Earth’s home fleet was all but completely destroyed in a battle within the orbit of Saturn by an Aurora fleet not one-quarter its size, numerically.

Declarations of war from the Outer Worlds yet neutral followed like the pop-pop of a string of firecrackers.

On the twenty-first day of the war, lacking two hours, Earth surrendered.

The negotiations of peace terms took place among the Outer Worlds. Earth’s activities were concerned with signing only. The conditions of peace were unusual, perhaps unique, and under the force of an unprecedented humiliation, all the hordes of Earth seemed suddenly struck with a silence that came from a shamed anger too strong for words.

The terms mentioned were perhaps best commented upon by a voice on the Auroran video two days after they were made public. It can be quoted in part:

“... There is nothing in or on Earth that we of the Outer Worlds can need or want. All that was ever worthwhile on Earth left it centuries ago in the persons of our ancestors.

“They call us the children of Mother Earth, but that is not so, for we are the descendants of a Mother Earth that no longer exists, a Mother that we brought with us. The Earth of today bears us at best a cousinly relation. No more.

“Do we want their resources? Why, they have none for themselves. Can we use their industry or science? They are almost dead for lack of ours. Can we use their man power? Ten of them are not worth a single robot. Do we even want the dubious glory of ruling them? There is no such glory. As our helpless and incompetent inferiors, they would be only a drag upon us. They would divert from our own use food, labor, and administrative ability.

“So they have nothing to give us but the space they occupy in our thought. They have nothing to free us from but themselves. They cannot benefit us in any way other than in their absence.

“It is for that reason that the peace terms have been defined as they have been. We wish them no harm, so let them have their own solar system. Let them live there in peace. Let them mold their own destiny in their own way, and we will not disturb them there by even the least hint of our presence. But we in turn want peace. We in turn would guide our own future in our own way. So we do not want their presence. And with that end in view, an Outer World fleet will patrol the boundaries of their system, Outer World bases will be established on their outermost asteroids, so that we may make sure they do not intrude on our territory.

“There will be no trade, no diplomatic relationships, no travel, no communications. They are fenced off, locked out, hermetically sealed away. Out here we have a new universe, a second creation of Man, a higher Man

“They ask us: What will become of Earth? We answer: That is Earth’s problem. Population growth can be controlled. Resources can be efficiently exploited. Economic systems can be revised. We know, for we have done so. If they cannot, let them go the way of the dinosaur, and make room.

“Let them make room, instead of forever demanding room!”

And so an impenetrable curtain swung slowly shut about the Solar System. The stars in Earth’s sky became only stars again, as in the long-dead days before the first ship had penetrated the barrier of light’s speed.

The government that had made war and peace resigned, but there was no one, really, to take their place. The legislature elected Luiz Moreno-ex-Ambassador to Aurora, ex-Secretary without Portfolio-as President pro tem, and the Earth as a whole was too numbed to agree or disagree. There was only a widespread relief that someone existed who would be willing to take the job of trying to guide the destinies of a world in prison.

Very few realized how well-planned an ending this was, or with what calculation Moreno found himself in the president’s chair.

Ernest Keilin said hopelessly from the video screen: “We are only ourselves now. For us, there is no universe and no past-only Earth, and the future.”

That night he heard from Luiz Moreno once again, and before morning he left for the capital.

Moreno’s presence seemed incongruent within the stiffly formal president’s mansion. He was suffering from a cold again, and snuffled when he talked.

Keilin regarded him with a self-terrifying hostility; an almost singeing hatred in which he could feel his fingers begin to twitch in the first gestures of choking. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come-Well, what was the difference; the orders had been plain. If he had not come, he would have been brought.

The new president looked at him sharply: “you have to alter your attitude toward me, Keilin. I know you regard me as one of the Gravediggers of Earth-isn’t that the phrase you used last night?-but you must listen to me quietly for a while. In your present state of suppressed rage, I doubt if you could hear me.”

“I will hear whatever you have to say, Mr. President.”

“Well-the external amenities, at least. That’s hopeful Or do you think a video-tracer is attached to the room?”

Keilin merely lifted his eyebrows.

Moreno said: “It isn’t. We are quite alone. We must be alone; otherwise, how could I tell you safely that it is being arranged for you to be elected president under a constitution now being devised? Eh, what’s the matter?”

Then he grinned at the look of bloodless amazement in Keilin’s face. “Oh, you don’t believe it. Well, it’s past your stopping. And before an hour is up, you’ll understand.”

“I’m to be president?” Keilin struggled with a strange, hoarse voice. Then, more firmly: “You are mad.”

“No. Not I. Those out there, rather. Out there in the Outer Worlds.” There was a sudden vicious intensity in Moreno’s eyes, and face, and voice, so that you forgot he was a little monkey of a man with a perpetual cold. You didn’t notice the wrinkled, sloping forehead. You forgot the baldish head and ill-fitting clothes. There was only the bright and luminous look in his eyes, and the hard incision in his voice. That you noticed.

Keilin reached blindly backward for a chair, as Moreno came closer and spoke with increasing intensity.

“Yes,” said Moreno. “Those out among the Stars. The godlike ones. The stately supermen. The strong, handsome master-race. They are mad. But only we on Earth know it.

“Come, you have heard of the Pacific Project. I know you have. You denounced it to Cellioni once, and called it a fake. But it isn’t a fake. And almost none of it is a secret. In fact, the only secret about it was that almost none of it was a secret.

“You’re no fool, Keilin. You just never stopped to work it all out. And yet you were on the track. You had the feel of it. What was it you said that time you were interviewing me on the program? Some. thing about the attitude of the Outer Worldling toward the Earthman being the only flaw in the former’s stability. That was it, wasn’t it? Or something like that? Very well, then; good! You had the first third of the Pacific Project in your mind at the time, and it was no secret after all, was it?

“Ask yourself, Keilin-what was the attitude of the typical Auroran to a typical Earthman? A feeling of superiority? That’s the first thought, I suppose. But, tell me, Keilin, if he really felt superior, really superior, would it be so necessary for him to call such continuous attention to it? What kind of superiority is it that must be continuously bolstered by the constant repetition of phrases such as ‘apemen,’ ‘submen,’ ‘half-animals of Earth,’ and so on? That is not the calm internal assurance of superiority. Do you waste epithets on earthworms? No, there is something else there.

“Or let us approach it from another tack. Why do Outer World tourists stay in special hotels, travel in inclosed ground-cars, and have rigid, if unwritten, rules against social intermingling? Are they afraid of pollution? Strange, then, that they are not afraid to eat our food and drink our wine and smoke our tobacco.

“You see, Keilin, there are no psychiatrists on the Outer Worlds. The supermen are, so they say, too well adjusted. But here on Earth, as the proverb goes, there are more psychiatrists than plumbers, and they get lots of practice. So it is we, and not they, who know the truth about this Outer World superiority-complex, who know it to be simply a wild reaction against an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

“Don’t you think that can be so? You shake your head as though you disagree. You don’t see that a handful of men who clutch a Galaxy while billions starve for lack of room must feel a subconscious guilt, no matter what? And, since they won’t share the loot, don’t you see that the only way they can justify themselves is to try to convince themselves that Earthmen, after all, are inferior, that they do not deserve the Galaxy, that a new race of men have been created out there and that we here are only the diseased remnants of an old race that should die out like the dinosaur, through the working of inexorable natural laws?

“Ah, if they could only convince themselves of that, they would no longer be guilty, but merely superior. Only, it doesn’t work; it never does. It requires constant bolstering; constant repetition, constant reinforcement. And still it doesn’t quite convince.

“Best of all, if only they could pretend that Earth and its population do not exist at all. When you visit Earth, therefore, avoid Earthmen; or they might make you uncomfortable by not looking inferior enough. Sometimes they might look miserable instead, and nothing more. Or worse still, they might even seem intelligent-as I did, for instance, on Aurora.

“Occasionally, an Outer Worlder like Moreanu did crop up, and was able to recognize guilt for what it was without being afraid to say so out loud. He spoke of the duty the Outer Worlds owed Earth-and so he was dangerous to us. For if the others listened to him and had offered token assistance to Earth, their guilt might have been assuaged in their own minds; and that without any lasting help to Earth. So Moreanu was removed through our web-weaving, and the way left clear to those who were unbending, who refused to admit guilt, and whose reaction could therefore be predicted and manipulated.

“Send them an arrogant note, for instance, and they automatically strike back with a useless embargo that merely gives us the ideal pretext for war. Then lose a war quickly, and you are sealed off by the annoyed supermen. No communication, no contact. You no longer exist to annoy them. Isn’t that simple? Didn’t it work out nicely?”

Keilin finally found his voice, because Moreno gave him time by stopping. He said: “You mean that all this was planned? You did deliberately instigate the war for the purpose of sealing Earth off from the Galaxy? You sent out the men of the Home Fleet to sure death because you wanted defeat? Why, you’re a monster, a... a-”

Moreno frowned: “Please relax. It was not as simple as you think, and I am not a monster. Do you think the war could simply be instigated? It had to be nurtured gently in just the right way and to just the right conclusion. If we had made the first move, if we had been the aggressor, if we had in any way put the fault on our side-why, they of the Outer Worlds would have occupied Earth and ground it under. They would no longer feel guilty, you see, if we committed a crime against them. Or, again, if we fought a protracted war, or one in which we inflicted damage, they could succeed in shifting the blame.

“But we didn’t. We merely imprisoned Auroran smugglers, and were obviously within our rights. They had to go to war over it because only so could they protect their superiority, which in turn protected them against the horrors of guilt. And we lost quickly. Scarcely an Auroran died. The guilt grew deeper and resulted in exactly the peace treaty our psychiatrists had predicted.

“And as for sending men out to die, that is a commonplace in every war-and a necessity. It was necessary to fight a battle, and, naturally, there were casualties.”

“But why?” interrupted Keilin, wildly. “Why? Why? Why does all this gibberish seem to make sense to you? What have we gained? What can we possibly gain out of the present situation?”

“Gained, man? You ask what we’ve gained? Why, we’ve gained the universe. What has held us back so far? You know what Earth has needed these last centuries. You yourself once outlined it forcefully to Cellioni. We need a positronic robot society and an atomic power technology. We need chemical farming and we need population control. Well, what’s prevented that, eh? Only the customs of centuries which said robots were evil since they deprived human beings of jobs, that population control was merely the murder of unborn children, and so on. And worse, there was always the safety valve of emigration either actual or hoped-for.

“But now we cannot emigrate. We’re stuck here. Worse than that, we have been humiliatingly defeated by a handful of men out in the stars, and we’ve had a humiliating treaty of peace forced upon us. What Earthman wouldn’t subconsciously burn for revenge? Self-preservation has frequently knuckled under to that tremendous yearning to ‘get even.’

“And that is the second third of the Pacific Project, the recognition of the revenge motive. As simple as that.

“And how can we know that this is really so? Why, it has been demonstrated in history scores of times. Defeat a nation, but don’t crush it entirely, and in a generation or two or three it will be stronger than it was before. Why? Because in the interval, sacrifices will have been made for revenge that would not have been made for mere conquest.

“Think! Rome beat Carthage rather easily the first time, but was almost defeated the second. Every time Napoleon defeated the European coalition, he laid the groundwork for another just a little bit harder to defeat, until he himself was crushed by the eighth. It took four years to defeat Wilhelm of medieval Germany, and six much more dangerous years to stop his successor, Hitler.

“There you are! Until now, Earth needed to change its way of life only for greater comfort and happiness. A minor item like that could always wait. But now it must change for revenge, and that will not wait. And I want that change for its own sake.

“Only-I am not the man to lead. I am tarred with the failure of yesteryear, and will remain so until, long after I am bone-dust, Earth learns the truth. But you... you, and others like you, have always fought for the road to modernization. You will be in charge. It may take a hundred years. Grandchildren of men unborn may be the first to see its completion. But at least you will see the start.

“Eh, what do you say?” Keilin was fumbling at the dream. He seemed to see it in a misty distance-a new and reborn Earth. But the change in attitude was too extreme. It could not be done just yet. He shook his head.

He said: “What makes you think the Outer Worlds would allow such a change, supposing what you say to be true? They will be watching, I am sure, and they will detect a growing danger and put a stop to it. Can you deny that?”

Moreno threw his head back and laughed noiselessly. He gasped out: “But we have still a third left of the Pacific Project, a last, subtle and ironic third-

“The Outer Worlders call the men of Earth the subhuman dregs of a great race, but we are the men of Earth. Do you realize what that means? We live on a planet upon which, for a billion years, life-the life that has culminated in Mankind-has been adapting itself. There is not a microscopic part of Man, not a tiny working of his mind, that has not as its reason some tiny facet of the physical make-up of Earth, or of the biological make-up of Earth’s other life-forms, or of the sociological make-up of the society about him.

“No other planet can substitute for Earth, in Man’s present shape.

“The Outer Worlders exist as they do, only because pieces of Earth have been transplanted. Soil has been brought out there; plants; animals; men. They keep themselves surrounded by an artificial Earthborn geology which has within it, for instance, those traces of cobalt, zinc, and copper which human chemistry must have. They surround themselves by Earth-born bacteria and algae which have the ability to make those inorganic traces available in just the right way and in just the right quantity.

“And they maintain that situation by continued imports-luxury imports, they call it-from Earth.

“But on the Outer Worlds, even with Terrestrian soil laid down to bedrock, they cannot keep rain from falling and rivers from flowing, so that there is an inevitable, if slow, admixture with the native soil; an inevitable contamination of Terrestrian soil bacteria with the native bacteria, and an exposure, in any case, to a different atmosphere and to solar radiations of different types. Terrestrian bacteria disappear or change. And then plant life changes. And then animal life.

“No great change, mind you. Plant life would not become poisonous or nonnutritious in a day, or year, or decade. But already, the men of the Outer Worlds can detect the loss or change of the trace compounds that are responsible for that infinitely elusive thing we call ‘flavor.’ It has gone that far.

“And it will go further. Do you know, for instance, that on Aurora, nearly one half the native bacterial species known have protoplasm based on a fluorocarbon rather than hydrocarbon chemistry? Can you imagine the essential foreignness of such an environment?

“Well, for two decades now, the bacteriologists and physiologists of Earth have studied various forms of Outer World Life-the only portion of the Pacific Project that has been truly secret-and the transplanted Terrestrian life is already beginning to show certain changes on the subcellular level. Even among the humans.

“And here is the irony. The Outer Worlders, by their rigid racism and unbending genetic policies are consistently eliminating from among themselves any children that show signs of adapting themselves to their respective planets in any way that departs from the norm. They are maintaining-they must maintain as a result of their own thought processes-an artificial criterion of ‘healthy’ humanity, which is based on Terrestrian chemistry and not their own.

“But now that Earth has been cut off from them; now that not even a trickle of Terrestrian soil and life will reach them, change will be piled on change. Sicknesses will come, mortality will increase, child abnormalities will become more frequent-”

“And then?” asked Keilin, suddenly caught up.

“And then? Well, they are physical scientists-leaving such inferior sciences as biology to us. And they cannot abandon their sensation of superiority and their arbitrary standard of human perfection. They will never detect the change till it is too late to fight it. Not all mutations are clearly visible, and there will be an increasing revolt against the mores of those stiff Outer World societies. There will be a century of increasing physical and social turmoil which will prevent any interference on their part with us.

“We will have a century of rebuilding and revitalization, and at the end of it, we shall face an outer Galaxy which will either be dying or changed. In the first case, we will build a second Terrestrian Empire, more wisely and with greater knowledge than we did the first; one based on a strong and modernized Earth.

“In the second case, we will face perhaps ten, twenty, or even all fifty Outer Worlds, each with a slightly different variety of Man. Fifty humanoid species, no longer united against us, each increasingly adapted to its own planet, each with a sufficient tendency toward atavism to love Earth, to regard it as the great and original Mother.

“And racism will be dead, for variety will then be the great fact of Humanity, and not uniformity. Each type of Man will have a world of its own, for which no other world could quite substitute, and on which no other type could live quite as well. And other worlds can be settled to breed still newer varieties, until out of the grand intellectual mixture, Mother Earth will finally have given birth not to merely a Terrestrian, but to a Galactic Empire.”

Keilin said, fascinated, “You foresee all this so certainly.”

“Nothing is truly certain; but the best minds on Earth agree on this. There may be unforeseen stumbling blocks on the way, but to remove those will be the adventure of our great-grandchildren. Of our adventure, one phase has been successfully concluded; and another phase is beginning. Join us, Keilin.”

Slowly, Keilin began to think that perhaps Moreno was not a monster after all.

The Caves of Steel

3421 A.D.

1: Conversation With A Commissioner

LIJE BALEY HAD just reached his desk when he became aware of R. Sammy watching him expectantly.

The dour lines of his long face hardened. “What do you want?”

“The boss wants you, Lije. Right away. Soon as you come in.”

“All right.”

R. Sammy stood there blankly.

Baley said, “I said, all right. Go away!”

R. Sammy turned on his heel and left to go about his duties. Baley wondered irritably why those same duties couldn’t be done by a man.

He paused to examine the contents of his tobacco pouch and make a mental calculation. At two pipefuls a day, he could stretch it to next quota day.

Then he stepped out from behind his railing (he’d rated a railed corner two years ago) and walked the length of the common room.

Simpson looked up from a merc-pool file as he passed. “Boss wants you, Lije.”

“I know. R. Sammy told me.”

A closely coded tape reeled out of the merc-pool’s vitals as the small instrument searched and analyzed its “memory” for the desired information stored in the tiny vibration patterns of the gleaming mercury surface within.

“I’d kick R. Sammy’s behind if I weren’t afraid I’d break a leg,” said Simpson. “I saw Vince Barrett the other day.”

“Oh?”

“He was looking for his job back. Or any job in the Department. The poor kid’s desperate, but what could I tell him. R. Sammy’s doing his job and that’s all. The kid has to work a delivery tread on the yeast farms now. He was a bright boy, too. Everyone liked him.”

Baley shrugged and said in a manner stiffer than he intended or felt, “It’s a thing we’re all living through.”

The boss rated a private office. It said JULIUS ENDERBY on the clouded glass. Nice letters. Carefully etched into the fabric of the glass. Underneath, it said COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, CITY OF NEW YORR.

Baley stepped in and said, “You want to see me, Commissioner?”

Enderby looked up. He wore spectacles because his eyes were sensitive and couldn’t take the usual contact lenses. It was only after one got used to the sight of them that one could take in the rest of the face, which was quite undistinguished. Baley had a strong notion that the Commissioner valued his glasses for the personality they lent him and suspected that his eyeballs weren’t as sensitive as all that.

The Commissioner looked definitely nervous. He straightened his cuffs, leaned back, and said, too heartily, “Sit clown, Lije. Sit down,”

Baley sat down stiffly and waited.

Enderby said, “How’s Jessie? And the boy?”

“Fine,” Said Baley, hollowly, “Just fine. And your family?”

“Fine,” echoed Enderby. “Just fine.”

It had been a false start.

Baley thought: Something’s wrong with his face.

Aloud, he said, “Commissioner, I wish you wouldn’t send R. Sammy out after me.”

“Well, you know how I feel about those things, Lije. But he’s been put here and I’ve got to use him for something.”

“It’s uncomfortable, Commissioner. He tells me you want me and then he stands there. You know what I mean. I have to tell him to go or he just keeps on standing there.”

“Oh, that’s my fault, Lije. I gave him the message to deliver and forgot to tell him specifically to get back to his job when he was through.”

Baley sighed. The fine wrinkles about his intensely brown eyes grew more pronounced. “Anyway, you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, Lije,” said the Commissioner, “but not for anything easy.”

He stood up, turned away, and walked to the wall behind his desk. He touched an inconspicuous contact switch and a section of the wall grew transparent.

Baley blinked at the unexpected insurge of grayish light.

The Commissioner smiled. “I had this arranged specially last year, Lije. I don’t think I’ve showed it to you before. Come over here and take a look. In the old days, all rooms had things like this. They were called ‘windows.’ Did you know that?”

Baley knew that very well, having viewed many historical novels.

“I’ve heard of them,” he said.

“Come here.”

Baley squirmed a bit, but did as he was told. There was something indecent about the exposure of the privacy of a room to the outside world. Sometimes the Commissioner carried his affectation of Medievalism to a rather foolish extreme.

Like his glasses, Baley thought.

That was it! That was what made him look wrong!

Baley said, “Pardon me, Commissioner, but you’re wearing new glasses, aren’t you?”

The Commissioner stared at him in mild surprise, took off his glasses, looked at them and then at Baler. Without his glasses, his round face seemed rounder and his chin a trifle more pronounced. He looked vaguer, too, as his eyes failed to focus properly.

He said, “Yes.”

He put his glasses back on his nose, then added with real anger, “I broke my old ones three days ago. What with one thing or another I wasn’t able to replace them till this morning. Lije, those three days were hell.”

“On account of the glasses?”

“And other things, too. I’m getting to that.”

He turned to the window and so did Baley. With mild shock, Baley realized it was raining. For a minute, he was lost in the spectacle of water dropping from the sky, while the Commissioner exuded a kind of pride as though the phenomenon were a matter of his own arranging.

“This is the third time this month I’ve watched it rain. Quite a sight, don’t you think?”

Against his will, Baley had to admit to himself that it was Impressive. In his forty-two years he had rarely seen rain, or any of the phenomena at nature, for that matter.

He said, “It always seems a waste for all that water to come down on the city. It should restrict itself to the reservoirs.”

“Lije,” said the Commissioner, “you’re a modernist. That’s your trouble. In Medieval times, people lived in the open. I don’t mean on the farms only. I mean in the cities, too. Even in New York. When it rained, they didn’t think of it as waste. They gloried in it. They lived close to nature. It’s healthier, better. The troubles of modem life come from being divorced from nature. Read up on the Coal Century, sometimes.”

Baley had. He had heard many people moaning about the invention of the atomic pile. He moaned about it himself when things went wrong, or when he got tired. Moaning like that was a built-in facet of human nature. Back in the Coal Century, people moaned about the invention of the steam engine. In one of Shakespeare’s plays, a character moaned about the invention of gunpowder. A thousand years in the future, they’d be moaning about the invention of the positronic brain.

The hell with it.

He said, grimly, “Look, Julius.” (It wasn’t his habit to get friendly with the Commissioner during office hours, however many ‘Lijes’ the Commissioner threw at him, but something special seemed called for here.) “Look, Julius, you’re talking about everything except what I came in here for, and it’s worrying me. What is it?”

The Commissioner said, “I’ll get to it, Lije. Let me do it my way. It’s – it’s trouble.”

“Sure. What isn’t on this planet? More trouble with the R’s?”

“In a way, yes, Lije. I stand here and wonder how much more trouble the old world can take. ‘When I put in this window, I wasn’t just letting in the sky once in a while. I let in the City. I look at it and I wonder what will become of it in another century.”

Baley felt repelled by the other’s sentimentality, but he found himself staring outward in fascination. Even dimmed by the weather, the City was a tremendous thing to see. The Police Department was in the upper levels of City Hall, and City Hall reached high. From the Commissioner’s window, the neighboring towers fell short and the tops were visible. They were so many fingers, groping upward. Their walls were blank, featureless. They were the outer shells of human hives.

“In a way,” said the Commissioner, “I’m sorry it’s raining. We can’t see Spacetown.”

Baley looked westward, but it was as the Commissioner said. The horizon closed down. New York’s towers grew misty and came to an end against blank whiteness.

“I know what Spacetown is like,” said Baley.

“I like the picture from here,” said the Commissioner. “It can just be made out in the gap between the two Brunswick Sectors. Low domes spread out. It’s the difference between us and the Spacers. We reach high and crowd close. With them, each family has a dome for itself. One family: one house. And land between each dome. Have you ever spoken to any of the Spacers, Lije?”

“A few times. About a month ago, I spoke to one right here on your intercom,” Baley said, patiently.

“Yes, I remember. But then, I’m just getting philosophical. We and they. Different ways of life.”

Baley’s stomach was beginning to constrict a little. The more devious the Commissioner’s approach, the deadlier he thought might be the conclusion.

He said, “All right. But what’s so surprising about it? You can’t spread eight billion people over Earth in little domes. They’ve got space on their worlds, so let them live their way.”

The Commissioner walked to his chair and sat down. His eyes looked unblinkingly at Baley, shrunken a bit by the concave lenses in his spectacles. He said, “Not everyone is that tolerant about differences in culture. Either among us or among the Spacers.”

“All right. So what?”

“So three days ago, a Spacer died.”

Now it was coming. The corners of Baley’s thin lips raised a trifle, but the effect upon his long, sad face was unnoticeable. He said, “Too bad. Something contagious, I hope. A virus. A cold, perhaps.”

The Commissioner looked startled, “What are you talking about?”

Baley didn’t care to explain. The precision with which the Spacers had bred disease out of their societies was well known. The care with which they avoided, as far as possible, contact with disease-riddled Earthmen was even better known. But then, sarcasm was lost on the Commissioner.

Baley said, “I’m just talking. What did he die of?” He turned back to the window.

The Commissioner said, “He died of a missing chest. Someone had used a blaster on him.”

Baley’s back grew rigid. He said, without turning, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about murder,” said the Commissioner, softly. “You’re a plain-clothes man. You know what murder is.”

And now Baley turned. “But a Spacer! Three days ago?”

“Yes.”

“But who did it? How?”

“The Spacers say it was an Earthman.”

“It can’t be.”

“Why not? You don’t like the Spacers. I don’t. Who on Earth does? Someone didn’t like them a little too much, that’s all.”

“Sure, but –”

“There was the fire at the Los Angeles factories. There was the Berlin R-smashing. There were the riots in Shanghai.”

“All right.”

“It all points to rising discontent. Maybe to some sort of organization.”

Baley said, “Commissioner, I don’t get this. Are you testing me for some reason?”

“What?” The Commissioner looked honestly bewildered.

Baley watched him. “Three days ago a Spacer was murdered and the Spacers think the murderer is an Earthman. Till now,” his finger tapped the desk, “nothing’s come out. Is that right? Commissioner, that’s unbelievable. Jehoshaphat, Commissioner, a thing like this would blow New York off the face of the planet if it really happened.”

The Commissioner shook his head. “It’s not as simple as that. Look, Lije, I’ve been out three days. I’ve been in conference with the Mayor. I’ve been out to Spacetown. I’ve been down in Washington, talking to the Terrestrial Bureau of Investigation.”

“Oh? And what do the Terries have to say?”

“They say it’s our baby. It’s inside city limits. Spacetown is under New York jurisdiction.”

“But with extraterritorial rights.”

“I know. I’m coming to that.” The Commissioner’s eyes fell away from Baley’s flinty stare. He seemed to regard himself as having been suddenly demoted to the position of Baley’s underling, and Baley behaved as though he accepted the fact.

“The Spacers can run the show,” said Baley.

“Wait a minute, Lije,” pleaded the Commissioner. “Don’t rush me. I’m trying to talk this over, friend to friend. I want you to know my position. I was there when the news broke. I had an appointment with him – with Roj Nemennuh Sarton.”

“The victim?”

“The victim.” The Commissioner groaned. “Five minutes more and I, myself, would have discovered the body. What a shock that would have been. As it was, it was brutal, brutal. They met me and told me. It started a three-day nightmare, Lije. That on top of having everything blur on me and having no time to replace my glasses for days. That won’t happen again, at least. I’ve ordered three pairs.”

Baley considered the picture he conjured up of the event. He could see the tall, fair figures of the Spacers approaching the Commissioner with the news and breaking it to him in their unvarnished emotionless way. Julius would remove his glasses and polish them. Inevitably, under the impact of the event, he would drop them, then look down at the broken remnants with a quiver of his soft, full lips. Baley was quite certain that, for five minutes anyway, the Commissioner was much more disturbed over his glasses than over the murder.

The Commissioner was saying, “It’s a devil of a position. As you say, the Spacers have extraterritorial rights. They can insist on their own investigation, make whatever report they wish to their home governments. The Outer Worlds could use this as an excuse to pile on indemnity charges. You know how that would sit with the population.”

“It would be political suicide for the White House to agree to pay.”

“And another kind of suicide not to pay.”

“You don’t have to draw me a picture,” said Baley. He had been a small boy when the gleaming cruisers from outer space last sent down their soldiers into Washington, New York, and Moscow to collect what they claimed was theirs.

“Then you see. Pay or not pay, it’s trouble. The only way out is to find the murderer on our own and hand him over to the Spacers. It’s up to us.”

“Why not give it to the TBI? Even if it is our jurisdiction from a legalistic viewpoint, there’s the question of interstellar relations –”

“The TBI won’t touch it. This is hot and it’s in our lap.” For a moment, he lifted his head and gazed keenly at his subordinate. “And it’s not good, Lije. Every one of us stands the chance of being out of a job.”

Baley said, “Replace us all? Nuts. The trained men to do it with don’t exist.”

“R’s,” said the Commissioner. “They exist.”

“What?”

“R. Sammy is just a beginning. He runs errands. Others can patrol the expressways. Damn it, man, I know the Spacers better than you do, and I know what they’re doing. There are R’s that can do your work and mine. We can be declassified. Don’t think differently. And at our age, to hit the labor pool..

Baley said, gruffly, “All right.”

The Commissioner looked abashed. “Sorry, Lije.”

Baley nodded and tried not to think of his father. The Commissioner knew the story, of course.

Baley said, “When did all this replacement business come up?”

“Look, you’re being naive, Lije. It’s been happening all along. It’s been happening for twenty-five years, ever since the Spacers came. You know that. It’s just beginning to reach higher, that’s all. If we muff this case, it’s a big, long step toward the point where we can stop looking forward to collecting our pension-tab booklets. On the other hand, Lije, if we handle the matter well, it can shove that point far into the future. And it would be a particular break for you.”

“For me?” said Baley.

“You’ll be the operative in charge, Lije.”

“I don’t rate it, Commissioner. I’m a C-5, that’s all.”

“You want a C-6 rating, don’t you?”

Did he? Baley knew the privileges a C-6 rating carried. A seat on the expressway in the rush hour, not just from ten to four. Higher up on the list-of-choice at the Section kitchens. Maybe even a chance at a better apartment and a quota ticket to the Solarium levels for Jessie.

“I want it,” he said. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? But what would I get if I couldn’t break the case?”

“Why wouldn’t you break it, Lije?” the Commissioner wheedled. “You’re a good man. You’re one of the best we have.”

“But there are half a dozen men with higher ratings in my department section. Why should they be passed over?”

Baley did not say out loud, though his bearing implied it strongly, that the Commissioner did not move outside protocol in this fashion except in cases of wild emergency.

The Commissioner folded his hands. “Two reasons. You’re not just another detective to me, Lije. We’re friends, too. I’m not forgetting we were in college together. Sometimes it may look as though I have forgotten, but that’s the fault of rating. I’m Commissioner, and you know what that means. But I’m still your friend and this is a tremendous chance for the right person. I want you to have it.”

“That’s one reason,” said Baley, without warmth.

“The second reason is that I think you’re my friend. I need a favor.”

“What sort of favor?”

“I want you to take on a Spacer partner in this deal. That was the condition the Spacers made. They’ve agreed not to report the murder; they’ve agreed to leave the investigation in our hands. In return, they insist one of their own agents be in on the deal, the whole deal.”

“It sounds like they don’t trust us altogether.”

“Surely you see their point. If this is mishandled, a number of them will be in trouble with their own governments. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, Lije. I’m willing to believe they mean well.”

“I’m sure they do, Commissioner. That’s the trouble with them.”

The Commissioner looked blank at that, but went on. “Are you willing to take on a Spacer partner, Lije?”

“You’re asking that as a favor?”

“Yes, I’m asking you to take the job with all the conditions the Spacers have set up.”

“I’ll take a Spacer partner, Commissioner.”

“Thanks, Lije. He’ll have to live with you.”

“Oh, now, hold on.”

“I know. I know. But you’ve got a large apartment, Lije. Three

rooms. Only one child. You can put him up. He’ll be no trouble. No trouble at all. And it’s necessary.”

“Jessie won’t like it. I know that.”

“You tell Jessie,” the Commissioner was earnest, so earnest that his eyes seemed to bore holes through the glass discs blocking his stare, “that if you do this for me, I’ll do what I can when this is all over to jump you a grade. C-7, Lije. C-7!”

“All right, Commissioner, it’s a deal.”

Baley half rose from his chair, caught the look on Enderby’s face, and sat down again.

“There’s something else?”

Slowly, the Commissioner nodded. “One more item.”

“Which is?”

“The name of your partner.”

“What difference does that make?”

“The Spacers,” said the Commissioner, “have peculiar ways. The partner they’re supplying isn’t – isn’t …”

Baley’s eyes opened wide. “Just a minute!”

“You’ve got to, Lije. You’ve got to. There’s no way out.”

“Stay at my apartment? A thing like that?”

“As a friend, please!”

“No. No!”

“Lije, I can’t trust anyone else in this. Do I have to spell it out for you? We’ve got to work with the Spacers. We’ve got to succeed, if we’re to keep the indemnity ships away from Earth. But we can’t succeed just any old way. You’ll be partnered with one of their R’s. If he breaks the case, if he can report that we’re incompetent, we’re ruined, anyway. We, as a department. You see that, don’t you? So you’ve got a delicate job on your hands. You’ve got to work with him, but see to it that you solve the case and not he. Understand?”

“You mean co-operate with him 100 per cent, except that I cut his throat? Pat him on the back with a knife in my hand?”

“What else can we do? There’s no other way out.”

Lije Baley stood irresolute. “I don’t know what Jessie will say.”

“I’ll talk to her, if you want me to.”

“No, Commissioner.” He drew a deep, sighing breath. “What’s my partner’s name?”

“R. Daneel Olivaw.”

Baley said, sadly, “This isn’t a time for euphemism, Commissioner. I’m taking the job, so let’s use his full name. Robot Daneel Olivaw.”

2: Round Trip on an Expressway

THERE WAS THE usual, entirely normal crowd on the expressway: the standees on the lower level and those with seat privileges above. A continuous trickle of humanity filtered off the expressway, across the decelerating strips to localways or into the stationaries that led under arches or over bridges into the endless mazes of the City Sections. Another trickle, just as continuous, worked inward from the other side, across the accelerating strips and onto the expressway.

There were the infinite lights: the luminous walls and ceilings that seemed to drip coo], even phosphorescence; the flashing advertisements screaming for attention; the harsh, steady gleam of the “lightworms” that directed THIS WAY TO JERSEY SECTIONS, FOLLOW ARROWS TO EAST RIVER SHUTTLE, UPPER LEVEL FOR ALL WAYS TO LONG ISLAND SECTIONS.

Most of all there was the noise that was inseparable from life: the sound of millions talking, laughing, coughing, calling, humming, breathing.

No directions anywhere to Spacetown, thought Baley.

He stepped from strip to strip with the ease of a lifetime’s practice. Children learned to “hop the strips” as soon as they learned to walk. Baley scarcely felt the jerk of acceleration as his velocity increased with each step. He was not even aware that he leaned forward against the force. In thirty seconds he had reached the final sixty-mile-an-hour strip and could step aboard the railed and glassed-in moving platform that was the expressway.

No directions to Spacetown, he thought.

No need for directions. If you’ve business there, you know the way. If you don’t know the way, you’ve no business there. When Spacetown was first established some twenty-five years earlier, there was a strong tendency to make a showplace out of it. The hordes of the City herded in that direction.

The Spacers put a stop to that. Politely (they were always polite), but without any compromise with tact, they put up a force barrier between themselves and the City. They established a combination Immigration Service and Customs Inspection. If you had business, you identified yourself, allowed yourself to be searched, and submitted to a medical examination and a routine disinfection.

It gave rise to dissatisfaction. Naturally. More dissatisfaction than it deserved. Enough dissatisfaction to put a serious spoke in the program of modernization. Baley remembered the Barrier Riots. He had been part of the mob that had suspended itself from the rails of the expressways, crowded onto the seats in disregard of rating privileges, run recklessly along and across the strips at the risk of a broken body, and remained just outside the Spacetown barrier for two days, shouting slogans and destroying City property out of sheer frustration.

Baley could still sing the chants of the time if he put his mind to it. There was “Man Was Born on Mother Earth, Do You Hear?” to an old folk tune with the gibberish refrain, “Hinky-dinky-parley-voo.”

“Man was born on Mother Earth, do you hear?

Earth’s the world that gave him birth, do you hear?

Spacer, get you off the face

Of Mother Earth and into space.

Dirty Spacer, do you hear?”

There were hundreds of verses. A few were witty, most were stupid, many were obscene. Every one, however, ended with “Dirty Spacer, do you hear?” Dirty, dirty. It was the futile throwing back in the face of the Spacers their most keenly felt insult: their insistence on considering the natives of Earth as disgustingly diseased.

The Spacers didn’t leave, of course. It wasn’t even necessary for them to bring any of their offensive weapons into play. Earth’s outmoded fleet had long since learned that it was suicide to venture near any Outer World ship. Earth planes that had ventured over the Spacetown area in the very early days of its establishment had simply disappeared. At the most, a shredded wing tip might tumble down to Earth.

And no mob could be so maddened as to forget the effect of the subetheric hand disruptors used on Earthmen in the wars of a century ago.

So the Spacers sat behind their barrier, which itself was the product of their own advanced science, and that no method existed on Earth of breaking. They just waited stolidly on the other side of the barrier until the City quieted the mob with somno vapor and retch gas. The below-level penitentiaries rattled afterward with ringleaders, malcontents, and people who had been picked up simply because they were nearest at hand. After a while they were all set free.

After a proper interval, the Spacers eased their restrictions. The barrier was removed and the City Police entrusted with the protection of Spacetown’s isolation. Most important of all, the medical examination was more unobtrusive.

Now, thought Baley, things might take a reverse trend. If the Spacers seriously thought that an Earthman had entered Spacetown and committed murder, the barrier might go up again. It would be bad. He lifted himself onto the expressway platform, made his way through the standees to the tight spiral ramp that led to the upper level, and there sat down. He didn’t put his rating ticket in his hatband till they passed the last of the Hudson Sections. A C-5 had no seat rights east of the Hudson and west of Long Island, and although there was ample seating available at the moment, one of the way guards would have automatically ousted him. People were increasingly petty about rating privileges and, in all honesty, Baley lumped himself in with “people.”

The air made the characteristic whistling noise as it frictioned off the curved windshields set up above the back of every seat. It made talking a chore, but it was no bar to thinking when you were used to it.

Most Earthmen were Medievalists in one way or another. It was an easy thing to be when it meant looking back to a time when Earth was the world and not just one of fifty. The misfit one of fifty at that. Baley’s head snapped to the right at the sound of a female shriek. A woman had dropped her handbag; he saw it for an instant, a pastel pink blob against the dull gray of the strips. A passenger hurrying from the expressway must inadvertently have kicked it in the direction of deceleration and now the owner was whirling away from her property.

A corner of Baley’s mouth quirked. She might catch up with it, if she were clever enough to hurry to a strip that moved slower still and if other feet did not kick it this way or that. He would never know whether she would or not. The scene was half a mile to the rear, already.

Chances were she wouldn’t. It had been calculated that, on the average, something was dropped on the strips every three minutes somewhere in the City and not recovered. The Lost and Found Department was a huge proposition. It was just one more complication of modern life.

Baley thought: It was simpler once. Everything was simpler. That’s what makes Medievalists.

Medievalism took different forms. To the unimaginative Julius Enderby, it meant the adoption of archaisms. Spectacles! Windows!

To Baley, it was a study of history. Particularly the history of folkways.

The City now! New York City in which he lived and had his being. Larger than any City but Los Angeles. More populous than any but Shanghai. It was only three centuries old.

To be sure, something had existed in the same geographic area before then that had been called New York City. That primitive gathering of population had existed for three thousand years, not three hundred, but it hadn’t been a City.

There were no Cities then. There were just huddles of dwelling places large and small, open to the air. They were something like the Spacer’s Domes, only much different, of course. These huddles (the largest barely reached ten million in population and most never reached one million) were scattered all over Earth by the thousands. By modern standards, they had been completely inefficient, economically.

Efficiency had been forced on Earth with increasing population. Two billion people, three billion, even five billion could be supported by the planet by progressive lowering of the standard of living. When the population reaches eight billion, however, semistarvation becomes too much like the real thing. A radical change had to take place in man’s culture, particularly when it turned out that the Outer Worlds (which had merely been Earth’s colonies a thousand years before) were tremendously serious in their immigration restrictions.

The radical change had been the gradual formation of the Cities over a thousand years of Earth’s history. Efficiency implied bigness. Even in Medieval times that had been realized, perhaps unconsciously. Home industry gave way to factories and factories to continental industries.

Think of the inefficiency of a hundred thousand houses for a hundred thousand families as compared with a hundred-thousand-unit Section; a book-film collection in each house as compared with a Section film concentrate; independent video for each family as compared with video-piping systems.

For that matter, take the simple folly of endless duplication of kitchens and bathrooms as compared with the thoroughly efficient diners and shower rooms made possible by City culture.

More and more the villages, towns, and “cities” of Earth died and were swallowed by the Cities. Even the early prospects of atomic war only slowed the trend. With the invention of the force shield, the trend became a headlong race.

City culture meant optimum distribution of food, increasing utilization of yeasts and hydroponics. New York City spread over two thousand square miles and at the last census its population was well over twenty million. There were some eight hundred Cities on Earth, average population, ten million.

Each City became a semiautonomous unit, economically all but self-sufficient. It could roof itself in, gird itself about, burrow itself under. It became a steel cave, a tremendous, self-contained cave of steel and concrete.

It could lay itself out scientifically. At the center was the enormous complex of administrative offices. In careful orientation to one another and to the whole were the large residential Sections connected and interlaced by the expressway and the localways. Toward the outskirts were the factories, the hydroponic plants, the yeast-culture vats, the power plants. Through all the melee were the water pipes and sewage ducts, schools, prisons and shops, power lines and communication beams.

There was no doubt about it: the City was the culmination of man’s mastery over the environment. Not space travel, not the fifty colonized worlds that were now so haughtily independent, but the City.

Practically none of Earth’s population lived outside the Cities. Outside was the wilderness, the open sky that few men could face with anything like equanimity. To be sure, the open space was necessary. It held the water that men must have, the coal and the wood that were the ultimate raw materials for plastics and for the eternally growing yeast. (Petroleum had long since gone, but oil-rich strains of yeast were an adequate substitute.) The land between the Cities still held the mines, and was still used to a larger extent than most men realized for growing food and grazing stock. It was inefficient, but beef, pork, and grain always found a luxury market and could be used for export purposes.

But few humans were required to run the mines and ranches, to exploit the farms and pipe the water, and these supervised at long distance. Robots did the work better and required less.

Robots! That was the one huge irony. It was on Earth that the positronic brain was invented and on Earth that robots had first been put to productive use.

Not on the Outer Worlds. Of course, the Outer Worlds always acted as though robots had been born of their culture.

In a way, of course, the culmination of robot economy had taken place on the Outer Worlds. Here on Earth, robots had always been restricted to the mines and farmlands. Only in the last quarter century, under the urgings of the Spacers, had robots filtered their slow way into the Cities.

The Cities were good. Everyone but the Medievalists knew that there was no substitute, no reasonable substitute. The only trouble was that they wouldn’t stay good. Earth’s population was still rising. Some day, with all that the Cities could do, the available calories per person would simply fall below basic subsistence level.

It was all the worse because of the existence of the Spacers, the descendants of the early emigrants from Earth, living in luxury on their underpopulated robot-ridden worlds out in space. They were coolly determined to keep the comfort that grew out of the emptiness of their worlds and for that purpose they kept their birth rate down and immigrants from teeming Earth out. And this – Spacetown coming up!

A nudge at Baley’s unconscious warned him that he was approaching the Newark Section. If he stayed where he was much longer, he’d find himself speeding southwestward to the Trenton Section turning of the way, through the heart of the warm and musty-odored yeast country.

It was a matter of timing. It took so long to shinny down the ramp, so long to squirm through the grunting standees, so long to slip along the railing and out an opening, so long to hop across the decelerating strips.

When he was done, he was precisely at the off-shooting of the proper stationary. At no time did he time his steps consciously. If he had, he would probably have missed.

Baley found himself in unusual semi-isolation. Only a policeman was with him inside the stationary and, except for the whirring of the expressway, there was an almost uncomfortable silence.

The policeman approached, and Baley flashed his badge impatiently. The policeman lifted his hand in permission to pass on.

The passage narrowed and curved sharply three or four times. That was obviously purposeful. Mobs of Earthmen couldn’t gather in it with any degree of comfort and direct charges were impossible.

Baley was thankful that the arrangements were for him to meet his partner this side of Spacetown. He didn’t like the thought of a medical examination any better for its reputed politeness.

A Spacer was standing at the point where a series of doors marked the openings to the open air and the domes of Spacetown. He was dressed in the Earth fashion, trousers tight at the waist, loose at the ankle, and color-striped down the seam of each leg. He wore an ordinary Textron shirt, open collar, seam-zipped, and ruffled at the wrist, but he was a Spacer. There was something about the way he stood, the way he held his head, the calm and unemotional lines of his broad, high-cheekboned face, the careful set of his short, bronze hair lying flatly backward and without a part, that marked him off from the native Earthman.

Baley approached woodenly and said in a monotone, “I am Plainclothes Man Elijah Baley, Police Department, City of New York, Rating C-5.”

He showed his credentials and went on, “I have been instructed to meet R. Daneel Olivaw at Spacetown Approachway.” He looked at his watch. “I am a little early. May I request the announcement of my presence?”

He felt more than a little cold inside. He was used, after a fashion, to the Earth-model robots. The Spacer models would be different. He had never met one, but there was nothing more common on Earth than the horrid whispered stories about the tremendous and formidable robots that worked in superhuman fashion on the far-off, glittering Outer Worlds. He found himself gritting his teeth.

The Spacer, who had listened politely, said, “It will not be necessary. I have been waiting for you.”

Baley’s hand went up automatically, then dropped. So did his long chin, looking longer in the process. He didn’t quite manage to say anything. The words froze.

The Spacer said, “I shall introduce myself. I am R. Daneel Olivaw.”

“Yes? Am I making a mistake? I thought the first initial –”

“Quite so. I am a robot. Were you not told?”

“I was told.” Baley put a damp hand to his hair and smoothed it back unnecessarily. Then he held it out. “I’m sorry, Mr. Olivaw. I don’t know what I was thinking of. Good day. I am Elijah Baley, your partner.”

“Good.” The robot’s hand closed on his with a smoothly increasing pressure that reached a comfortably friendly peak, then declined. “Yet I seem to detect disturbance. May I ask that you be frank with me? It is best to have as many relevant facts as possible in a relationship such as ours. And it is customary on my world for partners to call one another by the familiar name. I trust that that is not counter to your own customs.”

“It’s just, you see, that you don’t look like a robot,” said Baley, desperately.

“And that disturbs you?”

“It shouldn’t, I suppose, Da – Daneel. Are they all like you on your world?”

“There are individual differences, Elijah, as with men.”

“Our own robots... Well, you can tell they’re robots, you understand. You look like a Spacer.”

“Oh, I see. You expected a rather crude model and were surprised. Yet it is only logical that our people use a robot of pronounced humanoid characteristics in this case if we expected to avoid unpleasantness. Is that not so?”

It was certainly so. An obvious robot roaming the City would be in quick trouble.

Baley said, “Yes.”

“Then let us leave now, Elijah.”

They made their way back to the expressway. R. Daneel caught the purpose of the accelerating strips and maneuvered along them with a quick proficiency. Baley, who had begun by moderating his speed, ended by hastening it in annoyance.

The robot kept pace. He showed no awareness of any difficulty. Baley wondered if R. Daneel were not deliberately moving slower than he might. He reached the endless cars of expressway and scrambled aboard with what amounted to outright recklessness. The robot followed easily.

Baley was red. He swallowed twice and said, “I’ll stay down here with you.”

“Down here?” The robot, apparently oblivious to both the noise and the rhythmic swaying of the platform said, “Is my information wrong? I was told that a rating of C-5 entitled one to a seat on the upper level under certain conditions.”

“You’re right. I can go up there, but you can’t.”

“Why can I not go up with you?”

“It takes a C-5, Daneel.”

“I am aware of that.”

“You’re not a C-5.” Talking was difficult. The hiss of frictioning air was louder on the less shielded lower level and Baley was understandably anxious to keep his voice low.

R. Daneel said, “Why should I not be a C-5? I am your partner and, consequently, of equal rank. I was given this.”

From an inner shirt pocket he produced a rectangular credential card, quite genuine. The name given was Daneel Olivaw, without the all-important initial. The rating was C-5.

“Come on up,” said Baley, woodenly.

Baley looked straight ahead, once seated, angry with himself, very conscious of the robot sitting next to him. He had been caught twice. First he had not recognized R. Daneel as a robot; secondly, he had not guessed the logic that demanded R. Daneel be given C-5 rating.

The trouble was, of course, that he was not the plain-clothes man of popular myth. He was not incapable of surprise, imperturbable of appearance, infinite of adaptability, and lightning of mental grasp. He had never supposed he was, but he had never regretted the lack before.

What made him regret it was that, to all appearances, R. Daneel Olivaw was that very myth, embodied.

He had to be. He was a robot.

Baley began to find excuses for himself. He was accustomed to the robots like R. Sammy at the office. He had expected a creature with a skin of a hard and glossy plastic, nearly dead white in color. He had expected an expression fixed at an unreal level of inane good humor. He had expected jerky, faintly uncertain motions.

R. Daneel was none of it.

Baley risked a quick side glance at the robot. R. Daneel turned simultaneously to meet his eye and nod gravely. His lips had moved naturally when he had spoken and did not simply remain parted as those of Earth robots did. There had been glimpses of an articulating tongue.

Baley thought: ‘Why does he have to sit there so calmly? This must be something completely new to him. Noise, lights, crowds!

Baley got up, brushed past R. Daneel, and said, “Follow me!”

Off the expressway, down the decelerating strips.

Baley thought: Good Lord, what do I tell Jessie, anyway?

The coming of the robot had rattled that thought out of his head, but it was coming back with sickening urgency now that they were heading down the localway that led into the very jaws of the Lower Bronx Section.

He said, “This is all one building, you know, Daneel; everything you see, the whole City. Twenty million people live in it. The expressways go continuously, night and day, at sixty miles an hour. There are two hundred and fifty miles of it altogether and hundreds of miles of localways.”

Any minute now, Baley thought, I’ll be figuring out how many tons of yeast product New York eats per day and how many cubic feet of water we drink and how many megawatts of power the atomic piles deliver per hour.

Daneel said, “I was informed of this and other similar data in my briefing.”

Baley thought: Well, that covers the food, drink, and power situation, too, I suppose. Why try to impress a robot?

They were at East 182nd Street and in not more than two hundred yards they would be at the elevator banks that fed those steel and concrete layers of apartments that included his own.

He was on the point of saying, “This way,” when he was stopped by a knot of people gathering outside the brilliantly lighted force door of one of the many retail departments that lined the ground levels solidly in this Section.

He asked of the nearest person in an automatic tone of authority, “What’s going on?”

The man he addressed, who was standing on tiptoe, said, “Damned if I know. I just got here.”

Someone else said, excitedly, “They got those lousy R’s in there. I think maybe they’ll throw them out here. Boy, I’d like to take them apart.”

Baley looked nervously at Daneel, but, if the latter caught the significance of the words or even heard them, he did not show it by any outward sign.

Baley plunged into the crowd. “Let me through. Let me through. Police!”

They made way. Baley caught words behind him.

“... take them apart. Nut by nut. Split them down the seams slowlike...” And someone else laughed.

Baley turned a little cold. The City was the acme of efficiency, but it made demands of its inhabitants. It asked them to live in a tight routine and order their lives under a strict and scientific control. Occasionally, built-up inhibitions exploded.

He remembered the Barrier Riots.

Reasons for anti-robot rioting certainly existed. Men who found themselves faced with the prospect of the desperate minimum involved in declassification, after half a lifetime of effort, could not decide cold-bloodedly that individual robots were not to blame. Individual robots could at least be struck at.

One could not strike at something called “governmental policy” or at a slogan like “Higher production with robot labor.”

The government called it growing pains. It shook its collective head sorrowfully and assured everyone that after a necessary period of adjustment, a new and better life would exist for all.

But the Medievalist movement expanded along with the declassification process. Men grew desperate and the border between bitter frustration and wild destruction is sometimes easily crossed.

At this moment, minutes could be separating the pent-up hostility of the crowd from a flashing orgy of blood and smash.

Baley writhed his way desperately to the force door.

3: Incident at a Shoe Counter

THE INTERIOR OF the store was emptier than the street outside. The manager, with commendable foresight, had thrown the force door early in the game, preventing potential troublemakers from entering. It also kept the principles in the argument from leaving, but that was minor.

Baley got through the force door by using his officer’s neutralizer. Unexpectedly, he found R. Daneel still behind him. The robot was pocketing a neutralizer of his own, a slim one, smaller and neater than the standard police model.

The manager ran to them instantly, talking loudly. “Officers, my clerks have been assigned me by the City. I am perfectly within my rights.”

There were three robots standing rodlike at the rear of the department. Six humans were standing near the force door. They were all women.

“All right, now,” said Baley, crisply. “What’s going on? ‘What’s all the fuss about?”

One of the women said, shrilly, “I came in for shoes. Why can’t I have a decent clerk? Ain’t I respectable?” Her clothing, especially her hat, were just sufficiently extreme to make it more than a rhetorical question. The angry flush that covered her face masked imperfectly her overdone makeup.

The manager said, “I’ll wait on her myself if I have to, but I can’t wait on all of them, Officer. There’s nothing wrong with my men. They’re registered clerks. I have their spec charts and guarantee slips –”

“Spec charts,” screamed the woman. She laughed shrilly, turning to the rest. “Listen to him. He calls them men! What’s the matter with you anyway? They ain’t men. They’re ro-bots!” She stretched out the syllables. “And I tell you what they do, in case you don’t know. They steal jobs from men. That’s why the government always protects them. They work for nothin’ and, on account o’ that, families gotta live out in the barracks and eat raw yeast mush. Decent hard-working families. We’d smash up all the ro-bots, if I was boss. I tell you that!”

The others talked confusedly and there was always the growing rumble from the crowd just beyond the force door.

Baley was conscious, brutally conscious, of R. Daneel Olivaw standing at his elbow. He looked at the clerks. They were Earthmade, and even on that scale, relatively inexpensive models. They were just robots made to know a few simple things. They would know all the style numbers, their prices, the sizes available in each. They could keep track of stock fluctuations, probably better than humans could, since they would have no outside interests. They could compute the proper orders for the next week. They could measure the customer’s foot.

In themselves, harmless. As a group, incredibly dangerous.

Baley could sympathize with the woman more deeply than he would have believed possible the day before. No, two hours before. He could feel R. Daneel’s nearness and he wondered if R. Daneel could not replace an ordinary plain-clothes man C-5. He could see the barracks, as he thought that. He could taste the yeast mush. He could remember his father.

His father had been a nuclear physicist, with a rating that had put him in the top percentile of the City. There had been an accident at the power plant and his father had borne the blame. He had been declassified. Baley did not know the details; it had happened when he was a year old.

But he remembered the barracks of his childhood; the grinding communal existence just this side of the edge of bearability. He remembered his mother not at all; she had not survived long. His father he recalled well, a sodden man, morose and lost, speaking sometimes of the past in hoarse, broken sentences.

His father died, still declassified, when Lije was eight. Young Baley and his two older sisters moved into the Section orphanage. Children’s Level, they called it. His mother’s brother, Uncle Boris, was himself too poor to prevent that.

So it continued hard. And it was hard going through school, with no father-derived status privileges to smooth the way.

And now he had to stand in the middle of a growing riot and beat down men and women who, after all, only feared declassification for themselves and those they loved, as he himself did.

Tonelessly, he said to the woman who had already spoken, “Let’s not have any trouble, lady. The clerks aren’t doing you any harm.”

“Sure they ain’t done me no harm,” sopranoed the woman. “They ain’t gonna, either. Think I’ll let their cold, greasy fingers touch me? I came in here expecting to get treated like a human being. I’m a citizen. I got a right to have human beings wait on me. And listen, I got two kids waiting for supper. They can’t go to the Section kitchen without me, like they was orphans. I gotta get out of here.”

“Well, now,” said Baley, feeling his temper slipping, “if you had let yourself be waited on, you’d have been out of here by now. You’re just making trouble for nothing. Come on now.”

“Well!” The woman registered shock. “Maybe you think you can talk to me like I was dirt. Maybe it’s time the guv’min’ reelized robots ain’t the only things on Earth. I’m a hard-working woman and I’ve got rights.” She went on and on and on.

Baley felt harassed and caught. The situation was out of hand. Even if the woman would consent to be waited on, the waiting crowd was ugly enough for anything.

There must be a hundred crammed outside the display window now. In the few minutes since the plain-clothes men had entered the store, the crowd had doubled.

“What is the usual procedure in such a case?” asked R. Daneel Olivaw, suddenly.

Baley nearly jumped. He said, “This is an unusual case in the first place.”

“What is the law?”

“The R’s have been duly assigned here. They’re registered clerks. There’s nothing illegal about that.”

They were speaking in whispers. Baley tried to look official and threatening. Olivaw’s expression, as always, meant nothing at all.

“In that case,” said R. Daneel, “order the woman to let herself be waited on or to leave.”

Baley lifted a corner of his lip briefly. “It’s a mob we have to deal with, not a woman. There’s nothing to do but call a riot squad.”

“It should not be necessary for citizens to require more than one officer of the law to direct what should be done,” said Daneel.

He turned his broad face to the store manager. “Open the force door, sir.”

Baley’s arm shot forward to seize R. Daneel’s shoulder, swing him about. He arrested the motion. If, at this moment, two law men quarreled openly, it would mean the end of all chance for a peaceful solution.

The manager protested, looked at Baley. Baley did not meet his eye.

R. Daneel said, unmoved, “I order you with the authority of the law.”

The manager bleated, “I’ll hold the City responsible for any damage to the goods or fixtures. I serve notice that I’m doing this under orders.”

The barrier went down; men and women crowded in. There was a happy roar from them. They sensed victory.

Baley had heard of similar riots. He had even witnessed one. He had seen robots being lifted by a dozen hands, their heavy unresisting bodies carried backward from straining arm to straining arm. Men yanked and twisted at the metal mimicry of men. They used hammers, force knives, needle guns. They finally reduced the miserable objects to shredded metal and wire. Expensive positronic brains, the most intricate creation of the human mind, were thrown from hand to hand like footballs and mashed to uselessness in a trifle of time.

Then, with the genius of destruction so merrily let loose, the mobs turned on anything else that could be taken apart.

The robot clerks could have no knowledge of any of this, but they squealed as the crowd flooded inward and lifted their arms before their faces as though in a primitive effort at hiding. The woman who had started the fuss, frightened at seeing it grow suddenly so far beyond what she had expected, gasped, “Here, now. Here, now.”

Her hat was shoved down over her face and her voice became only a meaningless shrillness.

The manager was shrieking, “Stop them, Officer. Stop them!”

R. Daneel spoke. Without apparent effort, his voice was suddenly decibels higher than a human’s voice had a right to be. Of course, thought Baley for the tenth time, he’s not –

R. Daneel said, “The next man who moves will be shot.”

Someone well in the back yelled, “Get him!”

But for a moment, no one moved.

R. Daneel stepped nimbly upon a chair and from that to the top of a Transtex display case. The colored fluorescence gleaming through the slits of polarized molecular film turned his cool, smooth face into something unearthly.

Unearthly, thought Baley.

The tableau held as R. Daneel waited, a quietly formidable person.

R. Daneel said crisply, “You are saying, This man is holding a neuronic whip, or a tickler. If we all rush forward, we will bear him down and at most one or two of us will be hurt and even they will recover. Meanwhile, we will do just as we wish and to space with law and order.”

His voice was neither harsh nor angry, but it carried authority. It had the tone of confident command. He went on, “You are mistaken. What I hold is not a neuronic whip, nor is it a tickler. It is a blaster and very deadly. I will use it and I will not aim over your heads. I will kill many of you before you seize me, perhaps most of you. I am serious. I look serious, do I not?”

There was motion at the outskirts, but the crowd no longer grew. If newcomers still stopped out of curiosity, others were hurrying away. Those nearest R. Daneel were holding their breath, trying desperately not to sway forward in response to the mass pressure of the bodies behind them.

The woman with the hat broke the spell. In a sudden whirlpool of sobbing, she yelled, “He’s gonna kill us. I ain’t done nothing. Oh, lemme outta here.”

She turned, but faced an immovable wall of crammed men and women. She sank to her knees. The backward motion in the silent crowd grew more pronounced.

R. Daneel jumped down from the display counter and said, “I will now walk to the door. I will shoot the man or woman who touches me.

When I reach the door, I will shoot any man or woman who is not moving about his business. This woman here –”

“No, no,” yelled the woman with the hat, “I tell ya I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t mean no harm. I don’t want no shoes. I just wanta go home.”

“This woman here,” went on Daneel, “will remain. She will be waited on.”

He stepped forward.

The mob faced him dumbly. Baley closed his eyes. It wasn’t his fault, he thought desperately. There’ll be murder done and the worst mess in the world, but they forced a robot on me as partner. They gave him equal status.

It wouldn’t do. He didn’t believe himself. He might have stopped R. Daneel at the start. He might at any moment have put in the call for a squad car. He had let R. Daneel take responsibility, instead, and had felt a cowardly relief. When he tried to tell himself that R. Daneel’s personality simply dominated the situation, he was filled with a sudden self-loathing. A robot dominating...

There was no unusual noise, no shouting and cursing, no groans, no yells. He opened his eyes.

They were dispersing.

The manager of the store was cooling down, adjusting his twisted jacket, smoothing his hair, muttering angry threats at the vanishing crowd.

The smooth, fading whistle of a squad car came to a halt just outside. Baley thought: Sure, when it’s all over.

The manager plucked his sleeve. “Let’s have no more trouble, Officer.”

Baley said, “There won’t be any trouble.”

It was easy to get rid of the squad-car police. They had come in response to reports of a crowd in the street. They knew no details and could see for themselves that the street was clear. R. Daneel stepped aside and showed no sign of interest as Baley explained to the men in the squad car, minimizing the event and completely burying R. Daneel’s part in it.

Afterward, he pulled R. Daneel to one side, against the steel and concrete of one of the building shafts.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m not trying to steal your show, you understand.”

“Steal my show? Is it one of your Earth idioms?”

“I didn’t report your part in this.”

“I do not know all your customs. On my world, a complete report is usual, but perhaps it is not so on your world. In any case, civil rebellion was averted. That is the important thing, is it not?”

“Is it? Now you look here.” Baley tried to sound as forceful as possible under the necessity of speaking in an angry whisper. “Don’t you ever do it again.”

“Never again insist on the observance of law? If I am not to do that, what then is my purpose?”

“Don’t ever threaten a human being with a blaster again.”

“I would not have fired under any circumstances, Elijah, as you know very well. I am incapable of hurting a human. But, as you see, I did not have to fire. I did not expect to have to.”

“That was the purest luck, your not having to fire. Don’t take that kind of chance again. I could have pulled the grandstand stunt you did –”

“Grandstand stunt? What is that?”

“Never mind. Get the sense from what I’m saying. I could have pulled a blaster on the crowd myself. I had the blaster to do it with. But it isn’t the kind of gamble I am justified in taking, or you, either. It was safer to call squad cars to the scene than to try one-man heroics.”

R. Daneel considered. He shook his head. “I think you are wrong, partner Elijah. My briefing on human characteristics here among the people of Earth includes the information that, unlike the men of the Outer Worlds, they are trained from birth to accept authority. Apparently this is the result of your way of living. One man, representing authority firmly enough, was quite sufficient, as I proved. Your own desire for a squad car was only an expression, really, of your almost instinctive wish for superior authority to take responsibility out of your hands. On my own world, I admit that what I did would have been most unjustified.”

Baley’s long face was red with anger. “If they had recognized you as a robot –”

“I was sure they wouldn’t.”

“In any case, remember that you are a robot. Nothing more than a robot. Just a robot. Like those clerks in the shoe store.”

“But this is obvious.”

“And you’re not human.” Baley felt himself being driven into cruelty against his will.

R. Daneel seemed to consider that. He said, “The division between human and robot is perhaps not as significant as that between intelligence and nonintelligence.”

“Maybe on your world,” said Baley, “but not on Earth.”

He looked at his watch and could scarcely make out that he was an hour and a quarter late. His throat was dry and raw with the thought that R. Daneel had won the first round, had won when he himself had stood by helpless.

He thought of the youngster, Vince Barrett, the teen-ager whom R. Sammy had replaced. And of himself, Elijah Baley, whom R. Daneel could replace. Jehoshaphat, at least his father had been thrown out because of an accident that had done damage, that had killed people. Maybe it was his fault; Baley didn’t know. Suppose he had been eased out to make room for a mechanical physicist. Just for that. For no other reason. Nothing he could do about it.

He said, curtly, “Let’s go now. I’ve got to get you home.”

R. Daneel said, “You see, it is not proper to make any distinction of lesser meaning than the fact of intel –”

Baley’s voice rose. “All right. The subject is closed. Jessie is waiting for us.” He walked in the direction of the nearest intrasection communo-tube. “I’d better call and tell her we’re on our way up.”

“Jessie?”

“My wife.”

Jehoshaphat, thought Baley, I’m in a fine mood to face Jessie.

4: Introduction to a Family

IT HAD BEEN her name that had first made Elijah Baley really conscious of Jessie. He had met her at the Section Christmas party back in ’02, over a bowl of punch. He had just finished his schooling, just taken his first job with the City, just moved into the Section. He was living in one of the bachelor alcoves of Common Room 122A. Not bad for a bachelor alcove.

She was handing out the punch. “I’m Jessie,” she said. “Jessie Navodny. I don’t know you.”

“Baley,” he said, “Lije Baley. I’ve just moved into the Section.”

He took his glass of punch and smiled mechanically. She impressed him as a cheerful and friendly person, so he stayed near her. He was new and it is a lonely feeling to be at a party where you find yourself watching people standing about in cliques of which you aren’t a part. Later, when enough alcohol had trickled down throats, it might be better.

Meanwhile, he remained at the punch bowl, watching the folks come and go and sipping thoughtfully.

“I helped make the punch.” The girl’s voice broke in upon him. “I can guarantee it. Do you want more?”

Baley realized his little glass was empty. He smiled and said, “Yes.”

The girl’s face was oval and not precisely pretty, mostly because of a slightly overlarge nose. Her dress was demure and she wore her light brown hair in a series of ringlets over her forehead.

She joined him in the next punch and he felt better.

“Jessie,” he said, feeling the name with his tongue. “It’s nice. Do you mind if I use it when I’m talking to you?”

“Certainly. If you want to. Do you know what it’s short for?”

“Jessica?”

“You’ll never guess.”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

She laughed and said archly, “My full name is Jezebel.”

That was when his interest flared. He put his punch glass down and said, intently, “No, really?”

“Honestly. I’m not kidding. Jezebel. It’s my real-for-true name on all my records. My parents liked the sound of it.”

She was quite proud of it, even though there was never a less likely Jezebel in the world.

Baley said, seriously, “My name is Elijah, you know. My full name, I mean.”

It didn’t register with her.

He said, “Elijah was Jezebel’s great enemy.”

“He was?”

“Why, sure. In the Bible.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that. Now isn’t that funny? I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll have to be my enemy in real life.”

From the very beginning there was no question of that. It was the coincidence of names at first that made her more than just a pleasant girl at the punch bowl. But afterward he had grown to find her cheerful, tender-hearted, and, finally, even pretty. He appreciated her cheerfulness particularly. His own sardonic view of life needed the antidote.

But Jessie never seemed to mind his long grave face.

“Oh, goodness,” she said, “what if you do look like an awful lemon? I know you’re not really, and I guess if you were always grinning away like clockwork, the way I do, we’d just explode when we got together. You stay the way you are, Lije, and keep me from floating away.”

And she kept Lije Baley from sinking down. He applied for a small Couples apartment and got a contingent admission pending marriage. He showed it to her and said, “Will you fix it so I can get out of

Bachelor’s, Jessie? I don’t like it there.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic proposal in the world, but Jessie liked it.

Baley could only remember one occasion on which Jessie’s habitual cheer deserted her completely and that, too, had involved her name. It was in their first year of marriage, and their baby had not yet come.

In fact, it had been the very month in which Bentley was conceived. (Their I. Q. rating, Genetic Values status, and his position in the Department entitled him to two children, of which the first might be conceived during the first year.) Maybe, as Baley thought back upon it, Bentley’s beginnings might explain part of her unusual skittishness.

Jessie had been drooping a bit because of Baley’s consistent overtime.

She said, “It’s embarrassing to eat alone at the kitchen every night.”

Baley was tired and out of sorts. He said, “Why should it be? You can meet some nice single fellows there.”

And of course she promptly fired up. “Do you think I can’t make an impression on them, Lije Baley?”

Maybe it was just because he was tired; maybe because Julius Enderby, a classmate of his, had moved up another notch on the C-scale rating while he himself had not. Maybe it was simply because he was a little tired of having her try to act up to the name she bore when she was nothing of the sort and never could be anything of the sort.

In any case, he said bitingly, “I suppose you can, but I don’t think you’ll try. I wish you’d forget your name and be yourself.”

“I’ll be just what I please.”

“Trying to be Jezebel won’t get you anywhere. If you must know the truth, the name doesn’t mean what you think, anyway. The Jezebel of the Bible was a faithful wife and a good one according to her lights. She had no lovers that we know of, cut no high jinks, and took no moral liberties at all.”

Jessie stared angrily at him. “That isn’t so. I’ve heard the phrase, ‘a painted Jezebel.’ I know what that means.”

“Maybe you think you do, but listen. After Jezebel’s husband, King Ahab died, her son, Jehoram, became king. One of the captains of his army, Jehu, rebelled against him and assassinated him. Jehu then rode to Jezreel where the old queen-mother, Jezebel, was residing. Jezebel heard of his coming and knew that he could only mean to kill her. In her pride and courage, she painted her face and dressed herself in her best clothes so that she could meet him as a haughty and defiant queen. He had her thrown from the window of the palace and killed, but she made a good end, according to my notions. And that’s what people refer to when they speak of ‘a painted Jezebel,’ whether they know it or not.”

The next evening Jessie said in a small voice, “I’ve been reading the Bible, Lije.”

“What?” For a moment, Baley was honestly bewildered.

“The parts about Jezebel.”

“Oh! Jessie, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I was being childish.”

“No. No.” She pushed his hand from her waist and sat on the couch, cool and upright, with a definite space between them. “It’s good to know the truth. I don’t want to be fooled by not knowing. So I read about her. She was a wicked woman, Lije.”

“Well, her enemies wrote those chapters. We don’t know her side.”

“She killed all the prophets of the Lord she could lay her hands on.”

“So they say she did.” Baley felt about in his pocket for a stick of chewing gum. (In later years he abandoned that habit because Jessie said that with his long face and sad, brown eyes, it made him look like an old cow stuck with an unpleasant wad of grass it couldn’t swallow and wouldn’t spit out.) He said, “If you want her side, I could think of some arguments for you. She valued the religion of her ancestors who had been in the land long before the Hebrews came. The Hebrews had their own God, and, what’s more, it was an exclusive God. They weren’t content to worship Him themselves; they wanted everyone in reach to worship Him as well.

“Jezebel was a conservative, sticking to the old beliefs against the new ones. After all, if the new beliefs had a higher moral content, the old ones were more emotionally satisfying. The fact that she killed priests just marks her as a child of her times. It was the usual method of proselytization in those days. If you read I Kings, you must remember that Elijah (my namesake this time) had a contest with 850 prophets of Baal to see which could bring down fire from heaven. Elijah won and promptly ordered the crowd of onlookers to kill the 850 Baalites. And they did.”

Jessie bit her lip. “What about Naboth’s vineyard, Lije. Here was this Naboth not bothering anybody, except that he refused to sell the King his vineyard. So Jezebel arranged to have people perjure themselves and say that Naboth had committed blasphemy or something.”

“He was supposed to have ‘blasphemed God and the king,” said Baley.

“Yes. So they confiscated his property after they executed him.”

“That was wrong. Of course, in modern times, Naboth would have been handled quite easily. If the City wanted his property or even if one of the Medieval nations had wanted his property, the courts would have ordered him off, had him removed by force if necessary, and paid him whatever they considered a fair price. King Ahab didn’t have that way out. Still, Jezebel’s solution was wrong. The only excuse for her is that Ahab was sick and unhappy over the situation and she felt that her love for her husband came ahead of Naboth’s welfare. I keep telling you, she was the model of a faithful wi –”

Jessie flung herself away from him, red-faced and angry. “I think you’re mean and spiteful.”

He looked at her with complete dismay. “What have I done? What’s the matter with you?”

She left the apartment without answering and spent the evening and half the night at the subetheric video levels, traveling petulantly from showing to showing and using up a two-month supply of her quota allowance (and her husband’s, to boot).

When she came back to a still wakeful Lije Baley, she had nothing further to say to him.

It occurred to Baley later, much later, that he had utterly smashed an important part of Jessie’s life. Her name had signified something intriguingly wicked to her. It was a delightful makeweight for her prim, overrespectable past. It gave her an aroma of licentiousness, and she adored that.

But it was gone. She never mentioned her full name again, not to Lije, not to her friends, and maybe, for all Baley knew, not even to herself. She was Jessie and took to signing her name so.

As the days passed she began speaking to him again, and after a week or so their relationship was on the old footing and, with all subsequent quarrels, nothing ever reached that one bad spot of intensity.

Only once was there even an indirect reference to the matter. It was in her eighth month of pregnancy. She had left her own position as dietitian’s assistant in Section Kitchen A-23 and with unaccustomed time on her hands was amusing herself in speculation and preparation for the baby’s birth.

She said, one evening, “What about Bentley?”

“Pardon me, dear?” said Baley, looking up from a sheaf of work he

had brought home with him. (With an additional mouth soon to feed and Jessie’s pay stopped and his own promotions to the nonclerical levels as far off, seemingly, as ever, extra work was necessary.)

“I mean if the baby’s a boy. What about Bentley as a name?”

Baley pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Bentley Baley? Don’t you think the names are too similar?”

“I don’t know. It has a swing, I think. Besides, the child can always pick out a middle name to suit himself when he gets older.”

“Well, it’s all right with me.”

“Are you sure? I mean... Maybe you wanted him to be named Elijah?”

“And be called Junior? I don’t think that’s a good idea. He can name his son Elijah, if he wants to.”

Then Jessie said, “There’s just one thing,” and stopped.

After an interval, he looked up. “What one thing?”

She did not quite meet his eye, but she said, forcefully enough, “Bentley isn’t a Bible name, is it?”

“No,” said Baley, “I’m quite sure it isn’t.”

“All right, then. I don’t want any Bible names.”

And that was the only harking back that took place from that time to the day when Elijah Baley was coming home with Robot Daneel Olivaw, when he had been married for more than eighteen years and when his son Bentley Baley (middle name still unchosen) was past sixteen.

Baley paused before the large double door on which there glowed in large letters PERSONAL – MEN. In smaller letters were written SUBSECTIONS 1A-1E. In still smaller letters, just above the key slit, it stated: “In case of loss of key, communicate at once with 27-101-51.”

A man inched past them, inserted an aluminum sliver into the key slit, and walked in. He closed the door behind him, making no attempt to hold it open for Baley. Had he done so, Baley would have been seriously offended. By strong custom men disregarded one another’s presence entirely either within or just outside the Personals. Baley remembered one of the more interesting marital confidences to have been Jessie’s telling him that the situation was quite different at Women’s Personals.

She was always saying, “I met Josephine Greely at Personal and she said...”

It was one of the penalties of civic advancement that when the Baleys were granted permission for the activation of the small washbowl in their bedroom, Jessie’s social life suffered.

Baley said, without completely masking his embarrassment, “Please wait out here, Daneel.”

“Do you intend washing?” asked R. Daneel.

Baley squirmed and thought: Damned robot! If they were briefing him on everything under steel, why didn’t they teach him manners? I’ll be responsible if he ever says anything like this to anyone else.

He said, “I’ll shower. It gets crowded evenings. I’ll lose time then. If I get it done now we’ll have the whole evening before us.”

R. Daneel’s face maintained its repose. “Is it part of the social custom that I wait outside?”

Baley’s embarrassment deepened. “Why need you go in for – for no purpose.”

“Oh, I understand you. Yes, of course. Nevertheless, Elijah, my hands grow dirty, too, and I will wash them.”

He indicated his palms, holding them out before him. They were pink and plump, with the proper creases. They bore every mark of excellent and meticulous workmanship and were as clean as need be.

Baley said, “We have a washbasin in the apartment, you know.” He said it casually. Snobbery would be lost on a robot.

“Thank you for your kindness. On the whole, however, I think it would be preferable to make use of this place. If I am to live with you men of Earth, it is best that I adopt as many of your customs and attitudes as I can.”

“Come on in, then.”

The bright cheerfulness of the interior was a sharp contrast to the busy utilitarianism of most of the rest of the City, but this time the effect was lost on Baley’s consciousness.

He whispered to Daneel, “I may take up to half an hour or so. Wait for me.” He started away, then returned to add, “And listen, don’t talk to anybody and don’t look at anybody. Not a word, not a glance! It’s a custom.”

He looked hurriedly about to make certain that his own small conversation had not been noted, was not being met by shocked glances. Nobody, fortunately, was in the antecorridor, and after all it was only the antecorridor.

He hurried down it, feeling vaguely dirty, past the common chambers to the private stalls. It had been five years now since he had been awarded one large enough to contain a shower, a small laundry, and other necessities. It even had a small projector that could be keyed in for the news films.

“A home away from home,” he had joked when it was first made available to him. But now, he often wondered how he would bear the adjustment back to the more Spartan existence of the common chambers if his stall privileges were ever canceled.

He pressed the button that activated the laundry and the smooth face of the meter lighted.

R. Daneel was waiting patiently when Baley returned with a scrubbed body, clean underwear, a freshened shirt, and, generally, a feeling of greater comfort.

“No trouble?” Baley asked, when they were well outside the door and able to talk.

“None at all, Elijah,” said R. Daneel.

Jessie was at the door, smiling nervously. Baley kissed her.

“Jessie,” he mumbled, “this is my new partner, Daneel Olivaw.”

Jessie held out a hand, which R. Daneel took and released. She turned to her husband, then looked timidly at R. Daneel.

She said, “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Olivaw? I must talk to my husband on family matters. It’ll take just a minute. I hope you won’t mind.”

Her hand was on Baley’s sleeve. He followed her into the next room.

She said, in a hurried whisper, “You aren’t hurt, are you? I’ve been so worried ever since the broadcast.”

“What broadcast?”

“It came through nearly an hour ago. About the riot at the shoe counter. They said two plain-clothes men stopped it. I knew you were coming home with a partner and this was right in our subsection and right when you were coming home and I thought they were making it better than it was and you were –”

“Please, Jessie. You see I’m perfectly all right.”

Jessie caught hold of herself with an effort. She said, shakily, “Your partner isn’t from your division, is he?”

“No,” replied Baley miserably. “He’s – a complete stranger.”

“How do I treat him?”

“Like anybody else. He’s just my partner, that’s all.”

He said it so unconvincingly, that Jessie’s quick eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Come, let’s go back into the living room. It’ll begin to look queer.”

Lije Baley felt a little uncertain about the apartment now. Until this very moment, he had felt no qualms. In fact, he had always been proud of it. It had three large rooms; the living room, for instance, was an ample fifteen feet by eighteen. There was a closet in each room. One of the main ventilation ducts passed directly by. It meant a little rumbling noise on rare occasions, but, on the other hand, assured first-rate temperature control and well-conditioned air. Nor was it too far from either Personal, which was a prime convenience.

But with the creature from worlds beyond space sitting in the midst of it, Baley was suddenly uncertain. The apartment seemed mean and cramped.

Jessie said, with a gaiety that was slightly synthetic, “Have you and Mr. Olivaw eaten, Lije?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Baley, quickly, “Daneel will not be eating with us. I’ll eat, though.”

Jessie accepted the situation without trouble. With food supplies so narrowly controlled and rationing tighter than ever, it was good form to refuse another’s hospitality.

She said, “I hope you won’t mind our eating, Mr. Olivaw. Lije, Bentley, and I generally eat at the Community kitchen. It’s much more convenient and there’s more variety, you see, and just between you and me, bigger helpings, too. But then, Lije and I do have permission to eat in our apartment three times a week if we want to – Lije is quite successful at the Bureau and we have very nice status – and I thought that just for this occasion, if you wanted to join us, we would have a little private feast of our own, though I do think that people who overdo their privacy privileges are just a bit anti-social, you know.”

R. Daneel listened politely.

Baley said, with an undercover “shushing” wiggle of his fingers, “Jessie, I’m hungry.”

R. Daneel said, “Would I be breaking a custom, Mrs. Baley, if I addressed you by your given name?”

“Why, no, of course not.” Jessie folded a table out of the wall and plugged the plate warmer into the central depression on the table top. “You just go right ahead and call me Jessie all you feel like – uh – Daneel.” She giggled.

Baley felt savage. The situation was getting rapidly more uncomfortable. Jessie thought R. Daneel a man. The thing would be someone to boast of and talk about in Women’s Personal. He was good-looking in a wooden way, too, and Jessie was pleased with his deference. Anyone could see that.

Baley wondered about R. Daneel’s impression of Jessie. She hadn’t changed much in eighteen years, or at least not to Lije Baley. She was heavier, of course, and her figure had lost much of its youthful vigor. There were lines at the angles of the mouth and a trace of heaviness about her cheeks. Her hair was more conservatively styled and a dimmer brown than it had once been.

But that’s all beside the point, thought Baley, somberly. On the Outer Worlds the women were tall and as slim and regal as the men. Or, at least, the book-films had them so and that must be the kind of women R. Daneel was used to.

But R. Daneel seemed quite unperturbed by Jessie’s conversation, her appearance, or her appropriation of his name. He said, “Are you sure that is proper? The name, Jessie, seems to be a diminutive. Perhaps its use is restricted to members of your immediate circle and I would be more proper if I used your full given name.”

Jessie, who was breaking open the insulating wrapper surrounding the dinner ration, bent her head over the task in sudden concentration.

“Just Jessie,” she said, tightly. “Everyone calls me that. There’s nothing else.”

“Very well, Jessie.”

The door opened and a youngster entered cautiously. His eyes found R. Daneel almost at once.

“Dad?” said the boy, uncertainly.

“My son, Bentley,” said Baley, in a low voice. “This is Mr. Olivaw, Ben.”

“He’s your partner, huh, Dad? How d’ya do, Mr. Olivaw.” Ben’s eyes grew large and luminous. “Say, Dad, what happened down in the shoe place? The newscast said –”

“Don’t ask any questions now, Ben,” interposed Baley sharply.

Bentley’s face fell and he looked toward his mother, who motioned him to a seat.

“Did you do what I told you, Bentley?” she asked, when he sat down. Her hands moved caressingly over his hair. It was as dark as his father’s and he was going to have his father’s height, but all the rest of him was hers. He had Jessie’s oval face, her hazel eyes, her light-hearted way of looking at life.

“Sure, Mom,” said Bentley, hitching himself forward a bit to look into the double dish from which savory vapors were already rising. “What we got to eat? Not zymoveal again, Mom? Huh, Mom?”

“There’s nothing wrong with zymoveal,” said Jessie, her lips pressing together. “Now, you just eat what’s put before you and let’s not have any comments.”

It was quite obvious they were having zymoveal.

Baley took his own seat. He himself would have preferred something other than zymoveal, with its sharp flavor and definite aftertaste, but Jessie had explained her problem before this.

“Well, I just can’t, Lije,” she had said. “I live right here on these levels all day and I can’t make enemies or life wouldn’t be bearable. They know I used to be assistant dietitian and if I just walked off with steak or chicken every other week when there’s hardly anyone else on the floor that has private eating privileges even on Sunday, they’d say it was pull or friends in the prep room. It would be talk, talk, talk, and I wouldn’t be able to put my nose out the door or visit Personal in peace. As it is, zymoveal and protoveg are very good. They’re well-balanced nourishment with no waste and, as a matter of fact, they’re full of vitamins and minerals and everything anyone needs and we can have all the chicken we want when we eat in Community on the chicken Tuesdays.”

Baley gave in easily. It was as Jessie said; the first problem of living is to minimize friction with the crowds that surround you on all sides. Bentley was a little harder to convince.

On this occasion, he said, “Gee, Mom, why can’t I use Dad’s ticket and eat in Community myself? I’d just as soon.”

Jessie shook her head in annoyance and said, “I’m surprised at you, Bentley. What would people say if they saw you eating by yourself as though your own family weren’t good enough for you or had thrown you out of the apartment?”

“Well, gosh, it’s none of people’s business.”

Baley said, with a nervous edge in his voice, “Do as your mother tells you, Bentley.”

Bentley shrugged, unhappily.

R. Daneel said, suddenly; from the other side of the room, “Have I the family’s permission to view these book-films during your meal?”

“Oh, sure,” said Bentley, slipping away from the table, a look of instant interest upon his face. “They’re mine. I got them from the library on special school permit. I’ll get you my viewer. It’s a pretty good one. Dad gave it to me for my last birthday.”

He brought it to R. Daneel and said, “Are you interested in robots, Mr. Olivaw?”

Baley dropped his spoon and bent to pick it up.

R. Daneel said, “Yes, Bentley. I am quite interested.”

“Then you’ll like these. They’re all about robots. I’ve got to write an essay on them for school, so I’m doing research. It’s quite a complicated subject,” he said importantly. “I’m against them myself.”

“Sit down, Bentley,” said Baley, desperately, “and don’t bother Mr. Olivaw.”

“He’s not bothering me, Elijah. I’d like to talk to you about the problem, Bentley, another time. Your father and I will be very busy tonight.”

“Thanks, Mr. Olivaw.” Bentley took his seat and, with a look of distaste in his mother’s direction, broke off a portion of the crumbly pink zymoveal with his fork.

Baley thought: Busy tonight?

Then, with a resounding shock, he remembered his job. He thought of a Spacer lying dead in Spacetown and realized that for hours he had been so involved with his own dilemma that he had forgotten the cold fact of murder.

5: Analysis of a Murder

JESSIE SAID GOOD-by to them. She was wearing a formal hat and a little jacket of keratofiber as she said, “I hope you’ll excuse me, Mr. Olivaw. I know you have a great deal to discuss with Lije.”

She pushed her son ahead of her as she opened the door.

“When will you be back, Jessie?” asked Baley.

She paused. “When do you want me to be back?”

“Well... No use staying out all night. Why don’t you come back your usual time? Midnight or so.” He looked doubtfully at R. Daneel.

R. Daneel nodded. “I regret having to drive you from your home.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Olivaw. You’re not driving me out at all. This is my usual evening out with the girls anyway. Come on, Ben.”

The youngster was rebellious. “Aw, why the dickens do I have to go, anyway. I’m not going to bother them. Nuts!”

“Now, do as I say.”

“Well, why can’t I go to the etherics along with you?”

“Because I’m going with some friends and you’ve got other things –” The door closed behind them.

And now the moment had come. Baley had put it off in his mind. He had thought: First let’s meet the robot and see what he’s like. Then it was: Let’s get him home. And then: Let’s eat.

But now it was all over and there was no room for further delay. It was down at last to the question of murder, of interstellar complications, of possible raises in ratings, of possible disgrace. And he had no way of even beginning except to turn to the robot for help.

His fingernails moved aimlessly on the table, which had not been returned to its wall recess.

R. Daneel said, “How secure are we against being overheard?”

Baley looked up, surprised. “No one would listen to what’s proceeding in another man’s apartment.”

“It is not your custom to eavesdrop?”

“It just isn’t done, Daneel. You might as well suppose they’d – I don’t know – that they’d look in your plate while you’re eating.”

“Or that they would commit murder?”

“What?”

“It is against your customs to kill, is it not, Elijah?”

Baley felt anger rising. “See here, if we’re going to be partners, don’t try to imitate Spacer arrogance. There’s no room for it in you, R. Daneel.” He could not resist emphasizing the “R.”

“I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings, Elijah. My intention was only to indicate that, since human beings are occasionally capable of murder in defiance of custom, they may be able to violate custom for the smaller impropriety of eavesdropping.”

“The apartment is adequately insulated,” said Baley, still frowning. “You haven’t heard anything from the apartments on any side of us, have you? Well, they won’t hear us, either. Besides, why should anyone think anything of importance is going on here?”

“Let us not underestimate the enemy.”

Baley shrugged. “Let’s get started. My information is sketchy, so I can spread out my hand without much trouble. I know that a man named Roj Nemennuh Sarton, a citizen of the planet Aurora, and a resident of Spacetown, has been murdered by person or persons unknown. I understand that it is the opinion of the Spacers that this is not an isolated event. Am I right?”

“You are quite right, Elijah.”

“They tie it up with recent attempts to sabotage the Spacer-sponsored project of converting us to an integrated human/robot society on the model of the Outer Worlds, and assume the murder was the product of a well-organized terrorist group.”

“Yes.”

“All right. Then to begin with, is this Spacer assumption necessarily true? Why can’t the murder have been the work of an isolated fanatic? There is strong anti-robot sentiment on Earth, but there are no organized parties advocating violence of this sort.”

“Not openly, perhaps. No.”

“Even a secret organization dedicated to the destruction of robots and robot factories would have the common sense to realize that the worst thing they could do would be to murder a Spacer. It seems much more likely to have been the work of an unbalanced mind.”

R. Daneel listened carefully, then said, “I think the weight of probability is against the ‘fanatic’ theory. The person killed was too well chosen and the time of the murder too appropriate for anything but deliberate planning on the part of an organized group.”

“Well, then, you’ve got more information than I have. Spill it!”

“Your phraseology is obscure, but I think I understand. I will have to explain some of the background to you. As seen from Spacetown, Elijah, relations with Earth are unsatisfactory.”

“Tough,” muttered Baley.

“I have been told that when Spacetown was first established, it was taken for granted by most of our people that Earth would be willing to adopt the integrated society that has worked so well on the Outer Worlds. Even after the first riots, we thought that it was only a matter of your people getting over the first shock of novelty.

“That has not proven to be the case. Even with the co-operation of the Terrestrial government and of most of the various City governments, resistance has been continuous and progress has been very slow. Naturally, this has been a matter of great concern to our people.”

“Out of altruism, I suppose,” said Baley.

“Not entirely,” said R. Daneel, “although it is good of you to attribute worthy motives to them. It is our common belief that a healthy and modernized Earth would be of great benefit to the whole Galaxy. At least, it is the common belief among our people at Spacetown. I must admit that there are strong elements opposed to them on the Outer Worlds.”

“What? Disagreement among the Spacers?”

“Certainly. There are some who think that a modernized Earth will be a dangerous and an imperialistic Earth. This is particularly true among the populations of those older worlds which are closer to Earth and have greater reason to remember the first few centuries of interstellar travel when their worlds were controlled, politically and economically, by Earth.”

Baley sighed. “Ancient history. Are they really worried? Are they still kicking at us for things that happened a thousand years ago?”

“Humans,” said R. Daneel, “have their own peculiar makeup. They are not as reasonable, in many ways, as we robots, since their circuits are not as preplanned. I am told that this, too, has its advantages.”

“Perhaps it may,” said Baley, dryly.

“You are in a better position to know,” said R. Daneel. “In any case, continuing failure on Earth has strengthened the Nationalist parties on the Outer Worlds. They say that it is obvious that Earthmen are different from Spacers and cannot be fitted into the same traditions. They say that if we imposed robots on Earth by superior force, we would be loosing destruction on the Galaxy. One thing they never forget, you see, is that Earth’s population is eight billions, while the total population of the fifty Outer Worlds combined is scarcely more than five and a half billions. Our people here, particularly Dr. Sarton –”

“He was a doctor?”

“A Doctor of Sociology, specializing in robotics, and a very brilliant man.”

“I see. Go on.”

“As I said, Dr. Sarton and the others realized that Spacetown and all it meant would not exist much longer if such sentiments on the Outer Worlds were allowed to grow by feeding on our continued failure. Dr. Sarton felt that the time had come to make a supreme effort to understand the psychology of the Earthman. It is easy to say that the Earth people are innately conservative and to speak tritely of ‘the unchanging Earth’ and ‘the inscrutable Terrestrial mind,’ but that is only evading the problem.

“Dr. Sarton said it was ignorance speaking and that we could not dismiss the Earthman with a proverb or a bromide. He said the Spacers who were trying to remake Earth must abandon the isolation of Spacetown and mingle with Earthmen. They must live as they, think as they, be as they.”

Baley said, “The Spacers? Impossible.”

“You are quite right,” said R. Daneel. “Despite his views, Dr. Sarton himself could not have brought himself to enter any of the Cities, and he knew it. He would have been unable to bear the hugeness and the crowds. Even if he had been forced inside at the point of a blaster, the externals would have weighed him down so that he could never have penetrated the inner truths for which he sought.”

“What about the way they’re always worrying about disease?” demanded Baley. “Don’t forget that. I don’t think there’s one of them that would risk entering a City on that account alone.”

“There is that, too. Disease in the Earthly sense is unknown on the Outer Worlds and the fear of the unknown is always morbid. Dr. Sarton appreciated all of this, but, nevertheless, he insisted on the necessity of growing to know the Earthman and his way of life intimately.”

“He seems to have worked himself into a corner.”

“Not quite. The objections to entering the City hold for human Spacers. Robot Spacers are another thing entirely.”

Baley thought: I keep forgetting, damn it. Aloud, he said, “Oh?”

“Yes,” said R. Daneel. “We are more flexible, naturally. At least in this respect. We can be designed for adaptation to an Earthly life. By being built into a particularly close similarity to the human externals, we could be accepted by Earthmen and allowed a closer view of their life.”

“And you yourself –” began Baley in sudden enlightenment.

“Am just such a robot. For a year, Dr. Sarton had been working upon the design and construction of such robots. I was the first of his robots and so far the only one. Unfortunately, my education is not yet complete. I have been hurried into my role prematurely as a result of the murder.”

“Then not all Spacer robots are like you? I mean, some look more like robots and less like humans. Right?”

“Why, naturally. The outward appearance is dependent on a robot’s function. My own function requires a very manlike appearance, and I have it. Others are different, although all are humanoid. Certainly they are more humanoid than the distressingly primitive models I saw at the shoe counter. Are all your robots like that?”

“More or less,” said Baley. “You don’t approve?”

“Of course not. It is difficult to accept a gross parody of the human form as an intellectual equal. Can your factories do no better?”

“I’m sure they can, Daneel. I think we just prefer to know when we’re dealing with a robot and when we’re not.” He stared directly

into the robot’s eyes as he said that. They were bright and moist, as a human’s would be, but it seemed to Baley that their gaze was steady and did not flicker slightly from point to point as a man’s would.

R. Daneel said, “I am hopeful that in time I will grow to understand that point of view.”

For a moment, Baley thought there was sarcasm in the sentence, then dismissed the possibility.

“In any case,” said R. Daneel, “Dr. Sarton saw clearly the fact that it was a case for C/Fe.”

“See fee? What’s that?”

“Just the chemical symbols for the elements carbon and iron, Elijah. Carbon is the basis of human life and iron of robot life. It becomes easy to speak of C/Fe when you wish to express a culture that combines the best of the two on an equal but parallel basis.”

“See fee. Do you write it with a hyphen? Or how?”

“No, Elijah. A diagonal line between the two is the accepted way. It symbolizes neither one nor the other, but a mixture of the two, without priority.”

Against his will, Baley found himself interested. Formal education on Earth included virtually no information on Outer World history or sociology after the Great Rebellion that made them independent of the mother planet. The popular book-film romances, to be sure, had their stock Outer World characters: the visiting tycoon, choleric and eccentric; the beautiful heiress, invariably smitten by the Earthman’s charms and drowning disdain in love; the arrogant Spacer rival, wicked and forever beaten. These were worthless pictures, since they denied even the most elementary and well-known truths: that Spacers never entered Cities and Spacer women virtually never visited Earth.

For the first time in his life, Baley was stirred by an odd curiosity. What was Spacer life really like?

He brought his mind back to the issue at hand with something of an effort. He said, “I think I get what you’re driving at. Your Dr. Sarton was attacking the problem of Earth’s conversion to C/Fe from a new and promising angle. Our conservative groups or Medievalists, as they call themselves, were perturbed. They were afraid he might succeed. So they killed him. That’s the motivation that makes it an organized plot and not an isolated outrage. Right?”

“I would put it about like that, Elijah. Yes.”

Baley whistled thoughtfully under his breath. His long fingers tapped lightly against the table. Then he shook his head. “It won’t wash. It won’t wash at all.”

“Pardon me. I do not understand you.”

“I’m trying to get the picture. An Earthman walks into Spacetown, walks up to Dr. Sarton, blasts him, and walks out. I just don’t see it. Surely the entrance to Spacetown is guarded.”

R. Daneel nodded. “I think it is safe to say that no Earthman can possibly have passed through the entrance illegally.”

“Then where does that leave you?”

“It would leave us in a confusing position, Elijah, if the entrance were the only way of reaching Spacetown from New York City.”

Baley watched his partner thoughtfully. “I don’t get you. It’s the only connection between the two.”

“Directly between the two, yes.” R. Daneel waited a moment, then said, “You do not follow me. Is that not so?”

“That is so. I don’t get you at all.”

“Well, if it will not offend you, I will try to explain myself. May I have a piece of paper and a writer? Thank you. Look here, partner Elijah. I will draw a big circle and label it ‘New York City.’ Now, tangent to it, I will draw a small circle and label it ‘Spacetown.’ Here, where they touch, I draw an arrowhead and label it ‘Barrier.’ Now do you see no other connection?”

Baley said, “Of course not. There is no other connection.”

“In a way,” said the robot, “I am glad to hear you say this. It is in accordance with what I have been taught about Terrestrial ways of thinking. The barrier is the only direct connection. But both the City and Spacetown are open to the countryside in all directions. It is possible for a Terrestrial to leave the City at any of numerous exits and strike out cross country to Spacetown, where no barrier will stop him.”

The tip of Baley’s tongue touched his upper lip and for a moment stayed there. Then he said, “Cross country?”

“Yes.”

“Cross country! Alone?”

“Why not?”

“Walking?”

“Undoubtedly walking. Walking would offer the least chance of detection. The murder took place early in the working day and the trip was undoubtedly negotiated in the hours before dawn.”

“Impossible! There isn’t a man in the City who would do it. Leave the City? Alone?”

“Ordinarily, it would seem unlikely. Yes. We Spacers know that. It is why we guard only the entrance. Even in the Great Riot, your people attacked only at the barrier that then protected the entrance. Not one left the City.”

“Well, then?”

“But now we are dealing with an unusual situation. It is not the blind attack of a mob following the line of least resistance, but the organized attempt of a small group to strike, deliberately, at the unguarded point. It explains why, as you say, a Terrestrial could enter Spacetown, walk up to his victim, kill him, and walk away. The man attacked through a complete blind spot on our part.”

Baley shook his head. “It’s too unlikely. Have your people done anything to check that theory?”

“Yes, we have. Your Commissioner of Police was present almost at the time of the murder –”

“I know. He told me so.”

“That, Elijah, is another example of the timeliness of the murder. Your Commissioner has co-operated with Dr. Sarton in the past and he was the Earthman with whom Dr. Sarton planned to make initial arrangements concerning the infiltration of your city by R’s such as myself. The appointment for that morning was to concern that. The murder, of course, stopped those plans, at least temporarily, and the fact that it happened when your own Commissioner of Police was actually within Spacetown made the entire situation more difficult and embarrassing for Earth, and for our own people, too.

“But that is not what I started to say. Your Commissioner was present. We said to him, ‘The man must have come cross country.’ Like you, he said, ‘Impossible,’ or perhaps, ‘Unthinkable.’ He was quite disturbed, of course, and perhaps that may have made it difficult for him to see the essential point. Nevertheless, we forced him to begin checking that possibility almost at once.”

Baley thought of the Commissioner’s broken glasses and, even in the middle of somber thoughts, a corner of his mouth twitched. Poor Julius! Yes, he would be disturbed. Of course, there would be no way for Enderby to have explained the situation to the lofty Spacers, who looked upon physical disability as a peculiarly disgusting attribute of the non-genetically selected Earthmen. At least, he couldn’t without losing face, and face was valuable to Police Commissioner Julius Enderby. Well, Earthmen had to stick together in some respects. The robot would never find out about Enderby’s nearsightedness from Baley.

R. Daneel continued, “One by one, the various exit points from the City were investigated. Do you know how many there are, Elijah?”

Baley shook his head, then hazarded, “Twenty?”

“Five hundred and two.”

“What?”

“Originally, there were many more. Five hundred and two are all that remain functional. Your City represents a slow growth, Elijah. It was once open to the sky and people crossed from City to country freely.”

“Of course. I know that.”

“Well, when it was first enclosed, there were many exits left. Five hundred and two still remain. The rest are built over or blocked up. We are not counting, of course, the entrance points for air freight.”

“Well, what of the exit points?”

“It was hopeless. They are unguarded. We could find no official who was in charge or who considered them under his jurisdiction. It seemed as though no one even knew they existed. A man could have walked out of any of them at any time and returned at will. He would never have been detected.”

“Anything else? The weapon was gone, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Any clues of any sort?”

“None. We have investigated the grounds surrounding Spacetown thoroughly. The robots on the truck farms were quite useless as possible witnesses. They are little more than automatic farm machinery, scarcely humanoid. And there were no humans.”

“Uh-huh. What next?”

“Having failed, so far, at one end, Spacetown, we will work at the other, New York City. It will be our duty to track down all possible subversive groups, to sift all dissident organizations –”

“How much time do you intend to spend?” interrupted Baley.

“As little as possible, as much as necessary.”

“Well,” said Baley, thoughtfully, “I wish you had another partner in this mess.”

“I do not,” said R. Daneel. “The Commissioner spoke very highly of your loyalty and ability.”

“It was nice of him,” said Baley sardonically. He thought: Poor Julius. I’m on his conscience and he tries hard.

“We didn’t rely entirely on him,” said R. Daneel. “We checked your records. You have expressed yourself openly against the use of robots in your department.”

“Oh? Do you object?”

“Not at all. Your opinions are, obviously, your own. But it made it necessary for us to check your psychological profile very closely. We know that, although you dislike R’s intensely, you will work with one if you conceive it to be your duty. You have an extraordinarily high loyalty aptitude and a respect for legitimate authority. It is what we need. Commissioner Enderby judged you well.”

“You have no personal resentment toward my anti-robot sentiments?”

R. Daneel said, “If they do not prevent you from working with me and helping me do what is required of me, how can they matter?”

Baley felt stopped. He said, belligerently, “Well, then, if I pass the test, how about you? What makes you a detective?”

“I do not understand you.”

“You were designed as an information-gathering machine. A man-imitation to record the facts of human life for the Spacers.”

“That is a good beginning for an investigator, is it not? To be an information-gathering machine?”

“A beginning, maybe. But it’s not all there is, by a long shot.”

“To be sure, there has been a final adjustment of my circuits.”

“I’d be curious to hear the details of that, Daneel.”

“That is easy enough. A particularly strong drive has been inserted into my motivation banks; a desire for justice.”

“Justice!” cried Baley. The irony faded from his face and was replaced by a look of the most earnest distrust.

But R. Daneel turned swiftly in his chair and stared at the door. “Someone is out there.”

Someone was. The door opened and Jessie, pale and thin-lipped, walked in.

Baley was startled. “Why, Jessie! Is anything wrong?”

She stood there, eyes not meeting his. “I’m sorry. I had to.. Her voice trailed off.

“Where’s Bentley?”

“He’s to stay the night in the Youth Hall.”

Baley said, “Why? I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“You said your partner would stay the night. I felt he would need Bentley’s room.”

R. Daneel said, “There was no necessity, Jessie.”

Jessie lifted her eyes to R. Daneel’s face, staring at it earnestly.

Baley looked at his fingertips, sick at what might follow, somehow unable to interpose. The momentary silence pressed thickly on his eardrums and then, far away, as though through folds of plastex, he heard his wife say, “I think you are a robot, Daneel.”

And R. Daneel replied, in a voice as calm as ever, “I am.”

6: Whispers in a Bedroom

ON THE UPPERMOST levels of some of the wealthiest subsections of the City are the natural Solariums, where a partition of quartz with a movable metal shield excludes the air but lets in the sunlight. There the wives and daughters of the City’s highest administrators and executives may tan themselves. There a unique thing happens every evening.

Night falls.

In the rest of the City (including the UV-Solariums, where the millions, in strict sequence of allotted time, may occasionally expose themselves to the artificial wavelengths of arc lights) there are only the arbitrary cycles of hours.

The business of the City might easily continue in three eight-hour or four six-hour shifts, by “day” and “night” alike. Light and work could easily proceed endlessly. There are always civic reformers who periodically suggest such a thing in the interests of economy and efficiency.

The notion is never accepted.

Much of the earlier habits of Earthly society have been given up in the interests of that same economy and efficiency: space, privacy, even much of free will. They are the products of civilization, however, and not more than ten thousand years old.

The adjustment of sleep to night, however, is as old as man: a million years. The habit is not easy to give up. Although the evening is unseen, apartment lights dim as the hours of darkness pass and the City’s pulse sinks. Though no one can tell noon from midnight by any cosmic phenomenon along the enclosed avenues of the City, mankind follows the mute partitionings of the hour hand.

The expressways empty, the noise of life sinks, the moving mob among the colossal alleys melts away; New York City lies in Earth’s unnoticed shadow, and its population sleeps.

Elijah Baley did not sleep. He lay in bed and there was no light in his apartment, but that was as far as it went.

Jessie lay next to him, motionless in the darkness. He had not felt nor heard her move.

On the other side of the wall sat, stood, lay (Baley wondered which) R. Daneel Olivaw.

Baley whispered, “Jessie!” Then again, “Jessie!”

The dark figure beside him stirred slightly under the sheet. “What do you want?”

“Jessie, don’t make it worse for me.”

“You might have told me.”

“How could I? I was planning to, when I could think of a way. Jehoshaphat, Jessie –”

“Sh!”

Baley’s voice returned to its whisper. “How did you find out? Won’t you tell me?”

Jessie turned toward him. He could sense her eyes looking through the darkness at him.

“Lije.” Her voice was scarcely more than a stirring of air. “Can he hear us? That thing?”

“Not if we whisper.”

“How do you know? Maybe he has special ears to pick up tiny sounds. Spacer robots can do all sorts of things.”

Baley knew that. The prorobot propaganda was forever stressing the miraculous feats of the Spacer robots, their endurance, their extra senses, their service to humanity in a hundred novel ways. Personally, he thought that approach defeated itself. Earthmen hated the robots all the more for their superiority.

He whispered, “Not Daneel. They made him human-type on purpose. They wanted him to be accepted as a human being, so he must have only human senses.”

“How do you know?”

“If he had extra senses, there would be too much danger of his giving himself away as non-human by accident. He would do too much, know too much.”

“Well, maybe.”

Silence fell again.

A minute passed and Baley tried a second time. “Jessie, if you’ll just let things be until – until... Look, dear, it’s unfair of you to be angry.”

“Angry? Oh, Lije, you fool. I’m not angry. I’m scared; I’m scared clean to death.”

She made a gulping sound and clutched at the neck of his pajamas. For a while, they clung together, and Baley’s growing sense of injury evaporated into a troubled concern.

“Why, Jessie? There’s nothing to be worried about. He’s harmless. I swear he is.”

“Can’t you get rid of him, Lije?”

“You know I can’t. It’s Department business. How can I?”

“What kind of business, Lije? Tell me.”

“Now, Jessie, I’m surprised at you.” He groped for her cheek in the darkness and patted it. It was wet. Using his pajama sleeve, he carefully wiped her eyes.

“Now, look,” he said tenderly, “you’re being a baby.”

“Tell them at the Department to have someone else do it, whatever it is. Please, Lije.”

Baley’s voice hardened a bit. “Jessie, you’ve been a policeman’s wife long enough to know an assignment is an assignment.”

“Well, why did it have to be you?”

“Julius Enderby –”

She stiffened in his arms. “I might have known. Why can’t you tell Julius Enderby to have someone else do the dirty work just once. You stand for too much, Lije, and this is just –”

“All right, all right,” he said, soothingly.

She subsided, quivering.

Baley thought: She’ll never understand.

Julius Enderby had been a fighting word with them since their engagement. Enderby had been two classes ahead of Baley at the City School of Administrative Studies. They had been friends. When Baley had taken his battery of aptitude tests and neuroanalysis and found himself in line for the police force, he found Enderby there ahead of him. Enderby had already moved into the plain-clothes division.

Baley followed Enderby, but at a continually greater distance. It was no one’s fault, precisely. Baley was capable enough, efficient enough, but he lacked something that Enderby had. Enderby fit the administrative machine perfectly. He was one of those persons who was born for a hierarchy, who was just naturally comfortable in a bureaucracy.

The Commissioner wasn’t a great brain, and Baley knew it. He had his childish peculiarities, his intermittent rash of ostentatious Medievalism, for instance. But he was smooth with others; he offended no one; he took orders gracefully; he gave them with the proper mixture of gentleness and firmness. He even got along with the Spacers. He was perhaps overobsequious to them (Baley himself could never have dealt with them for half a day without getting into a state of bristle; he was sure of that, even though he had never really spoken to a Spacer), but they trusted him, and that made him extremely useful to the City.

So, in a Civil Service where smooth and sociable performance was more useful than an individualistic competence, Enderby went up the scale quickly, and was at the Commissioner level when Baley himself was nothing more than a C-5. Baley did not resent the contrast, though he was human enough to regret it. Enderby did not forget their earlier friendship and, in his queer way, tried to make up for his success by doing what he could for Baley.

The assignment of partnership with R. Daneel was an example of it.

It was tough and unpleasant, but there was no question that it carried within it the germs of tremendous advance. The Commissioner might have given the chance to someone else. His own talk, that morning, of needing a favor masked but did not hide that fact.

Jessie never saw things that way. On similar occasions in the past, she had said, “It’s your silly loyalty index. I’m so tired of hearing everyone praise you for being so full of a sense of duty. Think of yourself once in a while. I notice the ones on top don’t bring up the topic of their own loyalty index.”

Baley lay in bed in a state of stiff wakefulness, letting Jessie calm down. He had to think. He had to be certain of his suspicions. Little things chased one another and fitted together in his mind. Slowly, they were building into a pattern.

He felt the mattress give as Jessie stirred.

“Lije?” Her lips were at his ear.

“What?”

“Why don’t you resign?”

“Don’t be crazy.”

“Why not?” She was suddenly almost eager. “You can get rid of that horrible robot that way. Just walk in and tell Enderby you’re through.”

Baley said coldly, “I can’t resign in the middle of an important case. I can’t throw the whole thing down the disposal tube just any time I feel like it. A trick like that means declassification for cause.”

“Even so. You can work your way up again. You can do it, Lije. There are a dozen places where you’d fit into Service.”

“Civil Service doesn’t take men who are declassified for cause. Manual labor is the only thing I can do; the only thing you could do. Bentley would lose all inherited status. For Cod’s sake, Jessie, you don’t know what it’s like.”

“I’ve read about it. I’m not afraid of it,” she mumbled.

“You’re crazy. You’re plain crazy.” Baley could feel himself trembling. There was a familiar, flashing picture of his father in his mind’s eye. His father, moldering away toward death.

Jessie sighed heavily.

Baley’s mind turned savagely away from her. In desperation, it returned to the pattern it was constructing.

He said, tightly, “Jessie, you’ve got to tell me. How did you find out Daneel was a robot? What made you decide that?”

She began, “Well...” and just ran down. It was the third time she had begun to explain and failed.

He crushed her hand in his, willing her to speak. “Please, Jessie. What’s frightening you?”

She said, “I just guessed he was a robot, Lije.”

He said, “There wasn’t anything to make you guess that, Jessie. You didn’t think he was a robot before you left, now did you?”

“No-o, but I got to thinking..

“Come on, Jessie. What was it?”

“Well... Look, Lije, the girls were talking in the Personal. You know how they are. Just talking about everything.”

Women! thought Baley.

“Anyway,” said Jessie. “The rumor is all over town. It must be.”

“All over town?” Baley felt a quick and savage touch of triumph, or nearly that. Another piece in place!

“It was the way they sounded. They said there was talk about a Spacer robot loose in the City. He was supposed to look just like a man and to be working with the police. They even asked me about it. They laughed and said, ‘Does your Lije know anything about it, Jessie?’ and I laughed, and said, ‘Don’t be silly!’

“Then we went to the etherics and I got to thinking about your new partner. Do you remember those pictures you brought home, the ones Julius Enderby took in Spacetown, to show me what Spacers looked like? Well, I got to thinking that’s what your partner looked like. It just came to me that that’s what he looked like and I said to myself, oh, my God, someone must’ve recognized him in the shoe department and he’s with Lije and I just said I had a headache and I ran –”

Baley said, “Now, Jessie, stop, stop. Get hold of yourself. Now why are you afraid? You’re not afraid of Daneel himself. You faced up to him when you came home. You faced up to him fine. So –”

He stopped speaking. He sat up in bed, eyes uselessly wide in the darkness.

He felt his wife move against his side. His hand leaped, found her lips and pressed against them. She heaved against his grip, her hands grasping his wrist and wrenching, but he leaned down against her the more heavily.

Then, suddenly, he released her. She whimpered.

He said, huskily, “Sorry, Jessie. I was listening.”

He was getting out of bed, pulling warm Plastofilm over the soles of his feet.

“Lije, where are you going? Don’t leave me.”

“It’s all right. I’m just going to the door.”

The Plastofilm made a soft, shuffling noise as he circled the bed. He cracked the door to the living room and waited a long moment. Nothing happened. It was so quiet, he could hear the thin whistle of Jessie’s breath from their bed. He could hear the dull rhythm of blood in his ears.

Baley’s hand crept through the opening of the door, snaking out to the spot he needed no light to find. His fingers closed upon the knob that controlled the ceiling illumination. He exerted the smallest pressure he could and the ceiling gleamed dimly, so dimly that the lower half of the living room remained in semidusk.

He saw enough, however. The main door was closed and the living room lay lifeless and quiet.

He turned the knob back into the off position and moved back to bed.

It was all he needed. The pieces fit. The pattern was complete. Jessie pleaded with him. “Lije, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Jessie. Everything’s all right. He’s not here.”

“The robot? Do you mean he’s gone? For good?”

“No, no. He’ll be back. And before he does, answer my question.”

“What question?”

“What are you afraid of?”

Jessie said nothing.

Baley grew more insistent. “You said you were scared to death.”

“Of him.”

“No, we went through that. You weren’t afraid of him and, besides, you know quite well a robot cannot hurt a human being.”

Her words came slowly. “I thought if everyone knew he was a robot there might be a riot. We’d be killed.”

“Why kill us?”

“You know what riots are like.”

“They don’t even know where the robot is, do they?”

“They might find out.”

“And that’s what you’re afraid of, a riot?”

“Well –”

“Sh!” He pressed Jessie down to the pillow.

Then he put his lips to her ear. “He’s come back. Now listen and don’t say a word. Everything’s fine. He’ll be gone in the morning and he won’t be back. There’ll be no riot, nothing.”

He was almost contented as he said that, almost completely contented. He felt he could sleep.

He thought again: No riot, nothing. And no declassification.

And just before he actually fell asleep, he thought: Not even a murder investigation. Not even that. The whole thing’s solved...

He slept.

7: Excursion Into Spacetown

POLICE COMMISSIONER JULIUS Enderby polished his glasses with exquisite care and placed them upon the bridge of his nose.

Baley thought: It’s a good trick. Keeps you busy while you’re thinking what to say, and it doesn’t cost money the way lighting up a pipe does.

And because the thought had entered his mind, he drew out his pipe and dipped into his pinched store of rough-cut. One of the few luxury crops still grown on Earth was tobacco, and its end was visibly approaching. Prices had gone up, never down, in Baley’s lifetime; quotas down, never up.

Enderby, having adjusted his glasses, felt for the switch at one end of his desk and flicked his door into one-way transparency for a moment. “Where is he now, by the way?”

“He told me he wanted to be shown through the Department, and I let Jack Tobin do the honors.” Baley lit his pipe and tightened its baffle carefully. The Commissioner, like most non-indulgers, was petty about tobacco smoke.

“I hope you didn’t tell him Daneel was a robot.”

“Of course I didn’t.”

The Commissioner did not relax. One hand remained aimlessly busy with the automatic calendar on his desk.

“How is it?” he asked, without looking at Baley.

“Middling rough.”

“I’m sorry, Lije.”

Baley said, firmly, “You might have warned me that he looked completely human.”

The Commissioner looked surprised. “I didn’t?” Then, with sudden petulance, “Damn it, you should have known. I wouldn’t have asked you to have him stay at your house if he looked like R. Sammy. Now would I?”

“I know, Commissioner, but I’d never seen a robot like that and you had. I didn’t even know such things were possible. I just wish you’d mentioned it, that’s all.”

“Look, Lije, I’m sorry. I should have told you. You’re right. It’s just that this job, this whole deal, has me so on edge that half the time I’m just snapping at people for no reason. He, I mean this Daneel thing, is a new-type robot. It’s still in the experimental stage.”

“So he explained himself.”

“Oh. Well, that’s it, then.”

Baley tensed a little. This was it, now. He said, casually, teeth clenched on pipestem. “R. Daneel has arranged a trip to Spacetown for me.”

“To Spacetown!” Enderby looked up with instant indignation.

“Yes. It’s the logical next move, Commissioner. I’d like to see the scene of the crime, ask a few questions.”

Enderby shook his head decidedly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lije. We’ve gone over the ground. I doubt there’s anything new to be learned. And they’re strange people. Kid gloves! They’ve got to be handled with kid gloves. You don’t have the experience.”

He put a plump hand to his forehead and added, with unexpected fervor, “I hate them.”

Baley inserted hostility into his voice. “Damn it, the robot came here and I should go there. It’s bad enough sharing a front seat with a robot; I hate to take a back seat. Of course, if you don’t think I’m capable of running this investigation, Commissioner –”

“It isn’t that, Lije. It’s not you, it’s the Spacers. You don’t know what they’re like.”

Baley deepened his frown. “Well, then, Commissioner, suppose you come along.” His right hand rested on his knee, and two of his fingers crossed automatically as he said that.

The Commissioner’s eyes widened. “No, Lije. I won’t go there. Don’t ask me to.” He seemed visibly to catch hold of his runaway words. More quietly, he said, with an unconvincing smile, “Lots of work here, you know. I’m days behind.”

Baley regarded him thoughtfully. “I tell you what, then. ‘Why not get into it by trimension later on. Just for a while, you understand. In case I need help.”

“Well, yes. I suppose I can do that.” He sounded unenthusiastic.

“Good.” Baley looked at the wall clock, nodded, and got up. “I’ll be in touch with you.”

Baley looked back as he left the office, keeping the door open for part of an additional second. He saw the Commissioner’s head begin bending down toward the crook of one elbow as it rested on the desk. The plain-clothes man could almost swear he heard a sob.

Jehoshaphat! he thought, in outright shock.

He paused in the common room and sat on the corner of a nearby desk, ignoring its occupant, who looked up, murmured a casual greeting, and returned to his work.

Baley unclipped the baffle from the bowl of the pipe and blew into it. He inverted the pipe itself over the desk’s small ash vacuum and let the powdery white tobacco ash vanish. He looked regretfully at the empty pipe, readjusted the baffle, and put it away. Another pipeful gone forever!

He reconsidered what had just taken place. In one way, Enderby had not surprised him. He had expected resistance to any attempt on his own part to enter Spacetown. He had heard the Commissioner talk often enough about the difficulties of dealing with Spacers, about the dangers of allowing any but experienced negotiators to have anything to do with them, even over trifles.

He had not expected, however, to have the Commissioner give in so easily. He had supposed, at the very least, that Enderby would have insisted on accompanying him. The pressure of other work was meaningless in the face of the importance of this problem.

And that was not what Baley wanted. He wanted exactly what he had gotten. He wanted the Commissioner to be present by trimensional personification so that he could witness the proceedings from a point of safety.

Safety was the key word. Baley would need a witness that could not be put out of the way immediately. He needed that much as the minimum guarantee of his own safety.

The Commissioner had agreed to that at once. Baley remembered the parting sob, or ghost of one, and thought: Jehoshaphat, the man’s into this past his depth.

A cheerful, slurring voice sounded just at Baley’s shoulder and Baley started.

“What the devil do you want?” he demanded savagely.

The smile on R. Sammy’s face remained foolishly fixed. “Jack says to tell you Daneel is ready, Lije.”

“All right. Now get out of here.”

He frowned at the robot’s departing back. There was nothing so irritating as having that clumsy metal contraption forever making free with your front name. He’d complained about that when R. Sammy first arrived and the Commissioner had shrugged his shoulders and said, “You can’t have it both ways, Lije. The public insists that City robots be built with a strong friendship circuit. All right, then. He is drawn to you. He calls you by the friendliest name he knows.”

Friendship circuit! No robot built, of any type, could possibly hurt a human being. That was the First Law of Robotics:

“A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.”

No positronic brain was ever built without that injunction driven so deeply into its basic circuits that no conceivable derangement could displace it. There was no need for specialized friendship circuits.

Yet the Commissioner was right. The Earthman’s distrust for robots was something quite irrational and friendship circuits had to be incorporated, just as all robots had to be made smiling. On Earth, at any rate.

R. Daneel, now, never smiled.

Sighing, Baley rose to his feet. He thought: Spacetown, next stop – or, maybe, last stop!

The police forces of the City, as well as certain high officials, could still make use of individual squad cars along the corridors of the City and even along the ancient underground motorways that were barred to foot traffic. There were perennial demands on the part of the Liberals that these motorways be converted to children’s playgrounds, to new shopping areas, or to expressway or localway extensions.

The strong pleas of “Civic safety!” remained unvanquished, however. In cases of fires too large to be handled by local devices, in cases of massive breakdowns in power lines or ventilators, most of all in cases of serious riot, there had to be some means whereby the forces of the City could be mobilized at the stricken point in a hurry. No substitute for the motorways existed or could exist.

Baley had traveled along a motorway several times before in his life, but its indecent emptiness always depressed him. It seemed a million miles from the warm, living pulsation of the City. It stretched out like a blind and hollow worm before his eyes as he sat at the controls of the squad car. It opened continuously into new stretches as he moved around this gentle curve or that. Behind him, he knew without looking, another blind and hollow worm continually contracted and closed. The motorway was well lit, but lighting was meaningless in the silence and emptiness.

R. Daneel did nothing to break that silence or fill that emptiness. He looked straight ahead, as unimpressed by the empty motorway as by the bulging expressway.

In one sounding moment, to the tune of a wild whine of the squad car’s siren, they popped out of the motorway and curved gradually into the vehicular lane of a City corridor.

The vehicular lanes were still conscientiously marked down each major corridor in reverence for one vestigial portion of the past. There were no vehicles any longer, except for squad cars, fire engines, and maintenance trucks, and pedestrians used the lanes in complete self-assurance. They scattered in indignant hurry before the advance of Baley’s squealing car.

Baley, himself, drew a freer breath as noise surged in about him, but it was an interval only. In less than two hundred yards they turned into the subdued corridors that led to Spacetown Entrance.

They were expected. The guards obviously knew R. Daneel by sight and, although themselves human, nodded to him without the least self-consciousness.

One approached Baley and saluted with perfect, if frigid, military courtesy. He was tall and grave, though not the perfect specimen of Spacer physique that R. Daneel was.

He said, “Your identification card, if you please, sir.”

It was inspected quickly but #thoroughly. Baley noticed that the guard wore flesh-colored gloves and had an all but unnoticeable filter in each nostril.

The guard saluted again and returned the card. He said, “There is a small Men’s Personal here which we would be pleased to have you use if you wish to shower.”

It was in Baley’s mind to deny the necessity, but R. Daneel plucked gently at his sleeve, as the guard stepped back to his place.

R. Daneel said, “It is customary, partner Elijah, for City dwellers to shower before entering Spacetown. I tell you this since I know you have no desire, through lack of information on this matter, to render yourself or ourselves uncomfortable. It is also advisable for you to attend to any matters of personal hygiene you may think advisable. There will be no facilities within Spacetown for that purpose.”

“No facilities!” said Baley, strenuously. “But that’s impossible.”

“I mean, of course,” said R. Daneel, “none for use by City dwellers.”

Baley’s face filled with a clearly hostile astonishment.

R. Daneel said, “I regret the situation, but it is a matter of custom.”

Wordlessly, Baley entered the Personal. He felt, rather than saw, R. Daneel entering behind him.

He thought: Checking on me? Making sure I wash the City dust off myself?

For a furious moment, he reveled in the thought of the shock he was preparing for Spacetown. It seemed to him suddenly minor that he might, in effect, be pointing a blaster at his own chest.

The Personal was small, but it was well appointed and antiseptic in its cleanliness. There was a trace of sharpness in the air. Baley sniffed at it, momentarily puzzled.

Then he thought: Ozone! They’ve got ultraviolet radiation flooding the place.

A little sign blinked on and off several times, then remained steadily lit. It said, “Visitor will please remove all clothing, including shoes, and place it in the receptacle below.”

Baley acquiesced. He unhitched his blaster and blaster strap and recircled it about his naked waist. It felt heavy and uncomfortable.

The receptacle closed and his clothing was gone. The lighted sign blanked out. A new sign flashed ahead.

It said: “Visitor will please tend to personal needs, then make use of the shower indicated by arrow.”

Baley felt like a machine tool being shaped by long-distance force edges on an assembly line.

His first act upon entering the small shower cubicle was to draw up the moisture-proof flap on his blaster holster and clip it down firmly all about. He knew by long-standing test that he could still draw and use it in less than five seconds.

There was no knob or hook on which to hang his blaster. There was not even a visible shower head. He placed it in a corner away from the cubicle’s entrance door.

Another sign flashed: “Visitor will please hold arms directly out from his body and stand in the central circle with feet in the indicated positions.”

As he placed his feet in the small depressions allowed for them, the sign blanked out. As it did so, a stinging, foaming spray hit him from ceiling, floor, and four walls. He felt the water welling up even beneath the soles of his feet. For a full minute it lasted, his skin reddening under the combined force of the heat and pressure and his lungs gasping for air in the warm dampness. There followed another minute of cool, low-pressure spray, and then finally a minute of warm air that left him dry and refreshed.

He picked up his blaster and blaster strap and found that they, too, were dry and warm. He strapped them on and stepped out of the cubicle in time to see R. Daneel emerge from a neighboring shower. Of course! R. Daneel was not a City dweller, but he had accumulated City dust.

Quite automatically, Baley looked away. Then, with the thought that, after all, R. Daneel’s customs were not City customs, he forced his unwilling eyes back for one moment. His lips quirked in a tiny smile. R. Daneel’s resemblance to humanity was not restricted to his face and hands but had been carried out with painstaking accuracy over the entire body.

Baley stepped forward in the direction he had been traveling continuously since entering the Personal. He found his clothes waiting for him, neatly folded. They had a warm, clean odor to them.

A sign said, “Visitor will please resume his clothing and place his hand in the indicated depression.”

Baley did so. He felt a definite tingling in the ball of his middle finger as he laid it down upon the clean, milky surface. He lifted his hand hastily and found a little drop of blood oozing out. As he watched, it stopped flowing.

He shook it off and pinched the finger. No more blood was flowing even then.

Obviously, they were analyzing his blood. He felt a definite pang of anxiety. His own yearly routine examination by Department doctors, he felt sure, was not carried on with the thoroughness or, perhaps, with the knowledge of these cold robot-makers from outer space. He was not sure he wanted too probing an inquiry into the state of his health.

The time of waiting seemed long to Baley, but when the light flashed again, it said simply, “Visitor will proceed.”

Baley drew a long breath of relief. He walked onward and stepped through an archway. Two metal rods closed in before him and, written in luminous air, were the words: “Visitor is warned to proceed no further.”

“What the devil –” called out Baley, forgetting in his anger the fact that he was still in the Personal.

R. Daneel’s voice was in his ear. “The sniffers have detected a power source, I imagine. Are you carrying your blaster, Elijah?”

Baley whirled, his face a deep crimson. He tried twice, then managed to croak out, “A police officer has his blaster on him or in easy reach at all times, on duty and off.”

It was the first time he had spoken in a Personal, proper, since he was ten years old. That had been in his uncle Boris’s presence and had merely been an automatic complaint when he stubbed his toe. Uncle Boris had beaten him well when he reached home and had lectured him strongly on the necessities of public decency.

R. Daneel said, “No visitor may be armed. It is our custom, Elijah. Even your Commissioner leaves his blaster behind on all visits.”

Under almost any other circumstances, Baley would have turned on his heel and walked away, away from Spacetown and away from that robot. Now, however, he was almost mad with desire to go through with his exact plan and have his revenge to the brim in that way.

This, he thought, was the unobtrusive medical examination that had replaced the more detailed one of the early days. He could well understand, he could understand to overflowing, the indignation and anger that had led to the Barrier Riots of his youth.

In black anger, Baley unhitched his blaster belt. R. Daneel took it from him and placed it within a recess in the wall. A thin metal plate slithered across it.

“If you will put your thumb in the depression,” said R. Daneel, “only your thumb will open it later on.”

Baley felt undressed, far more so, in fact, than he had felt in the shower. He stepped across the point at which the rods had lately barred him, and, finally, out of the Personal.

He was back in a corridor again, but there was an element of strangeness about it. Up ahead, the light had an unfamiliar quality to it. He felt a whiff of air against his face and, automatically, he thought a squad car had passed.

R. Daneel must have read his uneasiness in his face. He said, “You are essentially in open air now, Elijah. It is unconditioned.”

Baley felt faintly sick. How could the Spacers be so rigidly careful of a human body, merely because it came from the City, and then breathe the dirty air of the open fields? He tightened his nostrils, as though by pulling them together he could the more effectively screen the ingoing air.

R. Daneel said, “I believe you will find that open air is not deleterious to human health.”

“All right,” said Baley, faintly.

The air currents hit annoyingly against his face. They were gentle enough, but they were erratic. That bothered him.

Worse came. The corridor opened into blueness and as they approached its end, strong white light washed down. Baley had seen sunlight. He had been in a natural Solarium once in the line of duty. But there, protecting glass had enclosed the place and the sun’s own image had been refracted into a generalized glow. Here, all was open.

Automatically, he looked up at the sun, then turned away. His dazzled eyes blinked and watered.

A Spacer was approaching. A moment of misgiving struck Baley.

R. Daneel, however, stepped forward td greet the approaching man with a handshake. The Spacer turned to Baley and said, “Won’t you come with me, sir? I am Dr. Han Fastolfe.”

Things were better inside one of the domes. Baley found himself goggling at the size of the rooms and the way in which space was so carelessly distributed, but was thankful for the feel of the conditioned air.

Fastolfe said, sitting down and crossing his long legs, “I’m assuming that you prefer conditioning to unobstructed wind.”

He seemed friendly enough. There were fine wrinkles on his forehead and a certain flabbiness to the skin below his eyes and just under his chin. His hair was thinning, but showed no signs of gray. His large ears stood away from his head, giving him a humorous and homely appearance that comforted Baley.

Early that morning, Baley had looked once again at those pictures of Spacetown that Enderby had taken. R. Daneel had just arranged the Spacetown appointment and Baley was absorbing the notion that he was to meet Spacers in the flesh. Somehow that was considerably different from speaking to them across miles of carrier wave, as he had done on several occasions before.

The Spacers in those pictures had been, generally speaking, like those that were occasionally featured in the book-films: tall, redheaded, grave, coldly handsome. Like R. Daneel Olivaw, for instance.

R. Daneel named the Spacers for Baley and when Baley suddenly pointed and said, in surprise, “That isn’t you, is it?” R. Daneel answered, “No, Elijah, that is my designer, Dr. Sarton.”

He said it unemotionally.

“You were made in your maker’s image?” asked Baley, sardonically, but there was no answer to that and, in truth, Baley scarcely expected one. The Bible, as he knew, circulated only to the most limited extent on the Outer Worlds.

And now Baley looked at Han Fastolfe, a man who deviated very noticeably from the Spacer norm in looks, and the Earthman felt a pronounced gratitude for that fact.

“Won’t you accept food?” asked Fastolfe.

He indicated the table that separated himself and R. Daneel from the Earthman. It bore nothing but a bowl of varicolored spheroids. Baley felt vaguely startled. He had taken them for table decorations.

R. Daneel explained. “These are the fruits of natural plant life grown on Aurora. I suggest you try this kind. It is called an apple and is reputed to be pleasant.”

Fastolfe smiled. “R. Daneel does not know this by personal experience, of course, but he is quite right.”

Baley brought an apple to his mouth. Its surface was red and green. It was cool to the touch and had a faint but pleasant odor. With an effort, he bit into it and the unexpected tartness of the pulpy contents hurt his teeth.

He chewed it gingerly. City dwellers ate natural food, of course, whenever rations allowed it. He himself had eaten natural meat and bread often. But such food had always been processed in some way. It had been cooked or ground, blended or compounded. Fruit, now, properly speaking, should come in the form of sauce or preserve. ‘What he was holding now must have come straight from the dirt of a planet’s soil.

He thought: I hope they’ve washed it at least.

Again he wondered at the spottiness of Spacer notions concerning cleanliness.

Fastolfe said, “Let me introduce myself a bit more specifically. I am in charge of the investigation of the murder of Dr. Sarton at the Spacetown end as Commissioner Enderby is at the City end. If I can help you in any way, I stand ready to do so. We are as eager for a quiet solution of the affair and prevention of future incidents of the sort as any of you City men can be.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fastolfe,” said Baley. “Your attitude is appreciated.”

So much, he thought, for the amenities. He bit into the center of the apple and hard, dark little ovoids popped into his mouth. He spat automatically. They flew out and fell to the ground. One would have struck Fastolfe’s leg had not the Spacer moved it hastily.

Baley reddened, started to bend.

Fastolfe said, pleasantly, “It is quite all right, Mr. Baley. Just leave them, please.”

Baley straightened again. He put the apple down gingerly. He had the uncomfortable feeling that once he was gone, the lost little objects would be found and picked up by suction; the bowl of fruit would be burnt or discarded far from Spacetown; the very room they were sitting in would be sprayed with viricide.

He covered his embarrassment with brusqueness. He said, “I would like to ask permission to have Commissioner Enderby join our conference by trimensional personification.”

Fastolfe’s eyebrows raised. “Certainly, if you wish it. Daneel, would you make the connection?”

Baley sat in stiff discomfort until the shiny surface of the large parallelepiped in one corner of the room dissolved away to show Commissioner Julius Enderby and part of his desk. At that moment, the discomfort eased and Baley felt nothing short of love for that familiar figure, and a longing to be safely back in that office with him, or anywhere in the City, for that matter. Even in the least prepossessing portion of the Jersey yeast-vat districts.

Now that he had his witness, Baley saw no reason for delay. He said, “I believe I have penetrated the mystery surrounding the death of Dr. Sarton.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Enderby springing to his feet and grabbing wildly (and successfully) at his flying spectacles. By standing, the Commissioner thrust his head out of the limits of the trimensic receiver and was forced to sit down again, red-faced and speechless.

In a much quieter way, Dr. Fastolfe, head inclined to one side, was as startled. Only R. Daneel was unmoved.

“Do you mean,” said Fastolfe, “that you know the murderer?”

“No,” said Baley, “I mean there was no murder.”

“What!” screamed Enderby.

“One moment, Commissioner Enderby,” said Fastolfe, raising a hand. His eyes held Baley’s and he said, “Do you mean that Dr. Sarton is alive?”

“Yes, sir, and I believe I know where he is.”

“Where?”

“Right there,” said Baley, and pointed firmly at R. Daneel Olivaw.

8: Debate Over A Robot

AT THE MOMENT, BALEY was most conscious of the thud of his own pulse. He seemed to be living in a moment of suspended time. R. Daneel’s expression was, as always, empty of emotion. Han Fastolfe wore a look of well-bred astonishment on his face and nothing more.

It was Commissioner Julius Enderby’s reaction that most concerned Baley, however. The trimensic receiver out of which his face stared did not allow of perfect reproduction. There was always that tiny flicker and that not-quite-ideal resolution. Through that imperfection and through the further masking of the Commissioner’s spectacles, Enderby’s eyes were unreadable.

Baley thought: Don’t go to pieces on me, Julius. I need you.

He didn’t really think that Fastolfe would act in haste or under emotional impulse. He had read somewhere once that Spacers had no religion, but substituted, instead, a cold and phlegmatic intellectualism raised to the heights of a philosophy. He believed that and counted on it. They would make a point of acting slowly and then only on the basis of reason.

If he were alone among them and had said what he had said, he was certain that he would never have returned to the City. Cold reason would have dictated that. The Spacers’ plans were worth more to them, many times over, than the life of a City dweller. There would be some excuse made to Julius Enderby. Maybe they would present his corpse to the Commissioner, shake their heads, and speak of an Earthman conspiracy having struck again. The Commissioner would believe them. It was the way he was built. If he hated Spacers, it was a hatred based on fear. He wouldn’t dare disbelieve them.

That was why he had to be an actual witness of events, a witness, moreover, safely out of reach of the Spacers’ calculated safety measures.

The Commissioner said, chokingly, “Lije, you’re all wrong. I saw Dr. Sarton’s corpse.”

“You saw the charred remnants of something you were told was Dr. Sarton’s corpse,” retorted Baley, boldly. He thought grimly of the Commissioner’s broken glasses. That had been an unexpected favor for the Spacers.

“No, no, Lije. I knew Dr. Sarton well and his head was undamaged. It was he.” The Commissioner put his hand to his glasses uneasily, as though he, too, remembered, and added, “I looked at him closely, very closely.”

“How about this one, Commissioner?” asked Baley, pointing to R. Daneel again. “Doesn’t he resemble Dr. Sarton?”

“Yes, the way a statue would.”

“An expressionless attitude can be assumed, Commissioner. Suppose that were a robot you had seen blasted to death. You say you looked closely. Did you look closely enough to see whether the charred surface at the edge of the blast was really decomposed organic tissue or a deliberately introduced layer of carbonization over fused metal.”

The Commissioner looked revolted. He said, “You’re being ridiculous.”

Baley turned to the Spacer. “Are you willing to have the body exhumed for examination, Dr. Fastolfe?”

Dr. Fastolfe smiled. “Ordinarily, I would have no objection, Mr. Baley, but I’m afraid we do not bury our dead. Cremation is a universal custom among us.”

“Very convenient,” said Baley.

“Tell me, Mr. Baley,” said Dr. Fastolfe, “just how did you arrive at this very extraordinary conclusion of yours?”

Baley thought: He isn’t giving up. He’ll brazen it out, if he can.

He said, “It wasn’t difficult. There’s more to imitating a robot than just putting on a frozen expression and adopting a stilted style of conversation. The trouble with you men of the Outer Worlds is that you’re too used to robots. You’ve gotten to accept them almost as human beings. You’ve grown blind to the differences. On Earth, it’s different. We’re very conscious of what a robot is.

“Now in the first place, R. Daneel is too good a human to be a robot. My first impression of him was that he was a Spacer. It was quite an effort for me to adjust myself to his statement that he was a robot. And of course, the reason for that was that he was a Spacer and wasn’t a robot.”

R. Daneel interrupted, without any sign of self-consciousness at being himself so intimately the topic of debate. He said, “As I told you, partner Elijah, I was designed to take a temporary place in a human society. The resemblance to humanity is purposeful.”

“Even,” asked Baley, “down to the painstaking duplication of those portions of the body which, in the ordinary course of events, would always be covered by clothes? Even to the duplication of organs which, in a robot, would have no conceivable function?”

Enderby said suddenly, “How did you find that out?”

Baley reddened. “I couldn’t help noticing in the – in the Personal.”

Enderby looked shocked.

Fastolfe said, “Surely you understand that a resemblance must be complete if it is to be useful. For our purposes, half measures are as bad as nothing at all.”

Baley asked abruptly, “May I smoke?”

Three pipefuls in one day was a ridiculous extravagance, but he was riding a rolling torrent of recklessness and needed the release of tobacco. After all, he was talking back to Spacers. He was going to force their lies down their own throats.

Fastolfe said, “I’m sorry, but I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

It was a “preference” that had the force of a command. Baley felt that. He thrust back the pipe, the bowl of which he had already taken into his hand in anticipation of automatic permission.

Of course not, he thought bitterly. Enderby didn’t warn me, because he doesn’t smoke himself, but it’s obvious. It follows. They don’t smoke on their hygienic Outer Worlds, or drink, or have any human vices. No wonder they accept robots in their damned – what did R. Daneel call it? – C/Fe society? No wonder R. Daneel can play the robot as well as he does. They’re all robots out there to begin with.

He said, “The too complete resemblance is just one point out of a number. There was a near riot in my section as I was taking him home.” (He had to point. He could not bring himself to say either R. Daneel or Dr. Sarton.) “It was he that stopped the trouble and he did it by pointing a blaster at the potential rioters.”

“Good Lord,” said Enderby, energetically, “the report stated that it was you –”

“I know, Commissioner,” said Baley. “The report was based on information that I gave. I didn’t want to have it on the record that a robot had threatened to blast men and women.”

“No, no. Of course not.” Enderby was quite obviously horrified. He leaned forward to look at something that was out of the range of the trimensic receiver.

Baley could guess what it was. The Commissioner was checking the power gauge to see if the transmitter were being tapped.

“Is that a point in your argument?” asked Fastolfe.

“It certainly is. The First Law of Robotics states that a robot cannot harm a human being.”

“But R. Daneel did no harm;”

“True. He even stated afterward that he wouldn’t have fired under any circumstances. Still, no robot I ever heard of could have violated the spirit of the First Law to the extent of threatening to blast a man, even if he really had no intention to do so.”

“I see. Are you a robotics expert, Mr. Baley?”

“No, sir. But I’ve had a course in general robotics and in positronic analysis. I’m not completely ignorant.”

“That’s nice,” said Fastolfe, agreeably, “but you see, I am a robotics expert, and I assure you that the essence of the robot mind lies in a completely literal interpretation of the universe. It recognizes no spirit in the First Law, only the letter. The simple models you have on Earth may have their First Law so overlaid with additional safeguards that, to be sure, they may well be incapable of threatening a human. An advanced model such as R. Daneel is another matter. If I gather the situation correctly, Daneel’s threat was necessary to prevent a riot. It was intended then to prevent harm to human beings. He was obeying the First Law, not defying it.”

Baley squirmed inwardly, but maintained a tight external calm. It would go hard, but he would match this Spacer at his own game.

He said, “You may counter each point separately, but they add up just the same. Last evening in our discussion of the so-called murder, this alleged robot claimed that he had been converted into a detective by the installation of a new drive into his positronic circuits. A drive, if you please, for justice.”

“I’ll vouch for that,” said Fastolfe. “It was done to him three days ago under my own supervision.”

“A drive for justice? Justice, Dr. Fastolfe, is an abstraction. Only a human being can use the term.”

“If you define ‘justice’ in such a way that it is an abstraction, if you say that it is the rendering of each man his due, that it is adhering to the right, or anything of the sort, I grant you your argument, Mr. Baley. A human understanding of abstractions cannot be built into a positronic brain in the present state of our knowledge.”

“You admit that, then – as an expert in robotics?”

“Certainly. The question is, what did R. Daneel mean by using the term ‘justice’?”

“From the context of our conversation, he meant what you and I and any human being would mean, but what no robot could mean.”

“Why don’t you ask him, Mr. Baley, to define the term?”

Baley felt a certain loss of confidence. He turned to R. Daneel. “Well?”

“Yes, Elijah?”

“What is your definition of justice?”

“Justice, Elijah, is that which exists when all the laws are enforced.”

Fastolfe nodded. “A good definition, Mr. Baley, for a robot. The desire to see all laws enforced has been built into R. Daneel, now. Justice is a very concrete term to him since it is based on law enforcement, which is in turn based upon the existence of specific and definite laws. There is nothing abstract about it. A human being can recognize the fact that, on the basis of an abstract moral code, some laws may be bad ones and their enforcement unjust. ‘What do you say, R. Daneel?”

“An unjust law,” said R. Daneel evenly, “is a contradiction in terms.”

“To a robot it is, Mr. Baley. So you see, you mustn’t confuse your justice and R. Daneel’s.”

Baley turned to R. Daneel sharply and said, “You left my apartment last night.”

R. Daneel replied, “I did. If my leaving disturbed your sleep, I am sorry.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the Men’s Personal.”

For a moment, Baley was staggered. It was the answer he had already decided was the truth, but he had not expected it to be the answer R. Daneel would give. He felt a little more of his certainty oozing away, yet he held firmly on his track. The Commissioner was watching, his lensed eyes flicking from one to the other as they spoke. Baley couldn’t back down now, no matter what sophistries they used against him. He had to hold to his point.

He said, “On reaching my section, he insisted on entering Personal with me. His excuse was a poor one. During the night, he left to visit Personal again as he has just admitted. If he were a man, I’d say he had every reason and right to do so. Obviously. As a robot, however, the trip was meaningless. The conclusion can only be that he is a man.”

Fastolfe nodded. He seemed not in the least put out. He said, “This is most interesting. Suppose we ask Daneel why he made his trip to Personal last night.”

Commissioner Enderby leaned forward. “Please, Dr. Fastolfe,” he muttered, “it is not proper to –”

“You need not be concerned, Commissioner,” said Fastolfe, his thin lips curving back in something that looked like a smile but wasn’t, “I am certain that Daneel’s answer will not offend your sensibilities or those of Mr. Baley. Won’t you tell us, Daneel?”

R. Daneel said, “Elijah’s wife, Jessie, left the apartment last night on friendly terms with me. It was quite obvious that she had no reason for thinking me to be other than human. She returned to the apartment knowing I was a robot. The obvious conclusion is that the information to that effect exists outside the apartment. It followed that my conversation with Elijah last night had been overheard. In no other way could the secret of my true nature have become common knowledge.

“Elijah told me that the apartments were well insulated. We spoke together in low voices. Ordinary eavesdropping would not do. Still, it was known that Elijah is a policeman. If a conspiracy exists within the City sufficiently well organized to have planned the murder of Dr. Sarton, they may well have been aware that Elijah had been placed in charge of the murder investigation. It would fall within the realm of possibility then, even of probability, that his apartment had been spybeamed.

“I searched the apartment as well as I could after Elijah and Jessie had gone to bed, but could find no transmitter. This complicated matters. A focused duo-beam could do the trick even in the absence of a transmitter, but that requires rather elaborate equipment.

“Analysis of the situation led to the following conclusion. The one place where a City dweller can do almost anything without being disturbed or questioned is in the Personals. He could even set up a duo-beam. The custom of absolute privacy in the Personals is very strong and other men would not even look at him. The Section Personal is quite close to Elijah’s apartment, so that the distance factor is not important. A suitcase model could be used. I went to the Personal to investigate.”

“And what did you find?” asked Baley quickly.

“Nothing, Elijah. No sign of a duo-beam.”

Dr. Fastolfe said, “Well, Mr. Baley, does this sound reasonable to you?”

But Baley’s uncertainty was gone, now. He said, “Reasonable as far as it goes, perhaps, but it stops short of perfection by a hell of a way. What he doesn’t know is that my wife told me where she got the information and when. She learned he was a robot shortly after she left the house. Even then, the rumor had been circulating for hours. So the fact that he was a robot could not have leaked out through spying on our last evening’s conversation.”

“Nevertheless,” said Dr. Fastolfe, “his action last night of going to the Personal stands explained, I think.”

“But something is brought up that is not explained,” retorted Baley, heatedly. “When, where, and how was the leak? How did the news get about that there was a Spacer robot in the City? As far as I know, only two of us knew about the deal, Commissioner Enderby and myself, and we told no one. – Commissioner, did anyone else in the Department know?”

“No,” said Enderby, anxiously. “Not even the Mayor. Only we, and Dr. Fastolfe.”

“And he,” added Baley, pointing.

“I?” asked R. Daneel.

“Why not?”

“I was with you at all times, Elijah.”

“You were not,” cried Baley, fiercely. “I was in Personal for half an hour or more before we went to my apartment. During that time, we two were completely out of contact with one another. It was then that you got in touch with your group in the City.”

“What group?” asked Fastolfe.

And “What group?” echoed Commissioner Enderby almost simultaneously.

Baley rose from his chair and turned to the trimensic receiver. “Commissioner, I want you to listen closely to this. Tell me if it doesn’t all fall into a pattern. A murder is reported and by a curious coincidence it happens just as you are entering Spacetown to keep an appointment with the murdered man. You are shown the corpse of something supposed to be human, but the corpse has since been disposed of and is not available for close examination.

“The Spacers insist an Earthman did the killing, even though the only way they can make such an accusation stick is to suppose that a City man had left the City and cut cross country to Spacetown alone and at night. You know damn well how unlikely that is.

“Next they send a supposed robot into the City; in fact, they insist on sending him. The first thing the robot does is to threaten a crowd of human beings with a blaster. The second is to set in motion the rumor that there is a Spacer robot in the City. In fact, the rumor is so specific that Jessie told me it was known that he was working with the police. That means that before long it will be known that it was the robot who handled the blaster. Maybe even now the rumor is spreading across the yeast-vat country and down the Long Island hydroponic plants that there’s a killer robot on the loose.”

“This is impossible. Impossible!” groaned Enderby.

“No, it isn’t. It’s exactly what’s happening, Commissioner. Don’t you see it? There’s a conspiracy in the City, all right, but it’s run from Spacetown. The Spacers want to be able to report a murder. They want riots. They want an assault on Spacetown. The worse things get, the better the incident – and Spacer ships come down and occupy the Cities of Earth.”

Fastolfe said, mildly, “We had an excuse in the Barrier Riots of twenty-five years ago.”

“You weren’t ready then. You are now.” Baley’s heart was pounding madly.

“This is quite a complicated plot you’re attributing to us, Mr. Baley. If we wanted to occupy Earth, we could do so in much simpler fashion.

“Maybe not, Dr. Fastolfe. Your so-called robot told me that public opinion concerning Earth is by no means unified on your Outer Worlds. I think he was telling the truth at that time, anyway. Maybe an outright occupation wouldn’t sit well with the people at home. Maybe an incident is an absolute necessity. A good shocking incident.”

“Like a murder, eh? Is that it? You’ll admit it would have to be a pretended murder. You won’t suggest, I hope, that we’d really kill one of ourselves for the sake of an incident.”

“You built a robot to look like Dr. Sarton, blasted the robot, and showed the remains to Commissioner Enderby.”

“And then,” said Dr. Fastolfe, “having used R. Daneel to impersonate Dr. Sarton in the false murder, we have to use Dr. Sarton to impersonate R. Daneel in the false investigation of the false murder.”

“Exactly. I am telling you this in the presence of a witness who is not here in the flesh and whom you cannot blast out of existence and who is important enough to be believed by the City government and by Washington itself. We will be prepared for you and we know what your intentions are. If necessary, our government will report directly to your people, expose the situation for exactly what it is. I doubt if this sort of interstellar rape will be tolerated.”

Fastolfe shook his head. “Please, Mr. Baley, you are being unreasonable. Really, you have the most astonishing notions. Suppose now, just quietly suppose, that R. Daneel is really R. Daneel. Suppose he is actually a robot. Wouldn’t it follow that the corpse Commissioner Enderby saw was really Dr. Sarton? It would be scarcely reasonable to believe that the corpse were still another robot. Commissioner Enderby witnessed R. Daneel under construction and can vouch for the fact that only one existed.”

“If it comes to that,” said Baley, stubbornly, “the Commissioner is not a robotics expert. You might have had a dozen such robots.”

“Stick to the point, Mr. Baley. What if R. Daneel is really R. Daneel? Would not the entire structure of your reasoning fall to the ground? Would you have any further basis for your belief in this completely melodramatic and implausible interstellar plot you have constructed?”

“If he is a robot! I say he is human.”

“Yet you haven’t really investigated the problem, Mr. Baley,” said Fastolfe. “To differentiate a robot, even a very humanoid robot, from a human being, it isn’t necessary to make elaborately shaky deductions from little things he says and does. For instance, have you tried sticking a pin into R. Daneel?”

“What?” Baley’s mouth fell open.

“It’s a simple experiment. There are others perhaps not quite so simple. His skin and hair look real, but have you tried looking at them under adequate magnification. Then again, he seems to breathe, particularly when he is using air to talk, but have you noticed that his breathing is irregular, that minutes may go by during which he has no breath at all. You might even have trapped some of his expired air and measured the carbon dioxide content. You might have tried to draw a sample of blood. You might have tried to detect a pulse in his wrist, or a heartbeat under his shirt. Do you see what I mean, Mr. Baley?”

“That’s just talk,” said Baley, uneasily. “I’m not going to be bluffed. I might have tried any of those things, but do you suppose this alleged robot would have let me bring a hypodermic to him, or a stethoscope or a microscope?”

“Of course. I see your point,” said Fastolfe. He looked at R. Daneel and gestured slightly.

R. Daneel touched the cuff of his right shirt sleeve and the diamagnetic seam fell apart the entire length of his arm. A smooth, sinewy, and apparently entirely human limb lay exposed. Its short, bronze hairs, both in quantity and distribution, were exactly what one would expect of a human being.

Baley said, “So?”

R. Daneel pinched the ball of his right middle finger with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Exactly what the details of the manipulation that followed were, Baley could not see.

But, just as the fabric of the sleeve had fallen in two when the diamagnetic field of its seam had been interrupted, so now the arm itself fell in two.

There, under a thin layer of fleshlike material, was the dull blue gray of stainless steel rods, cords, and joints.

“Would you care to examine Daneel’s workings more closely, Mr. Baley?” asked Dr. Fastolfe politely.

Baley could scarcely hear the remark for the buzzing in his ears and for the sudden jarring of the Commissioner’s high-pitched and hysterical laughter.

9: Elucidation by a Spacer

THE MINUTES PASSED and the buzzing grew louder and drowned out the laughter. The dome and all it contained wavered and Baley’s time sense wavered, too.

At least, he found himself sitting in an unchanged position but with a definite feeling of lost time. The Commissioner was gone; the trimensic receiver was milky and opaque; and R. Daneel sat at his side, pinching up the skin of Baley’s bared upper arm. Baley could see, just beneath the skin, the small thin darkness of a hypo-sliver. It vanished as he watched, soaking and spreading away into the intercellular fluid, from that into the blood stream and the neighboring cells, from that into all the cells of his body.

His grip on reality heightened.

“Do you feel better, partner Elijah?” asked R. Daneel.

Baley did. He pulled at his arm and the robot let him take it away. He rolled down his sleeve and looked about. Dr. Fastolfe sat where he had been, a small smile softening the homeliness of his face.

Baley said, “Did I black out?”

Dr. Fastolfe said, “In a way, yes. You received a sizable shock, I’m afraid.”

It came back to Baley quite clearly. He seized R. Daneel’s nearer arm quickly, forcing up the sleeve as far as it would go, exposing the wrist. The robot’s flesh felt soft to his fingers, but underneath was the hardness of something more than bone.

R. Daneel let his arm rest easily in the plain-clothes man’s grip. Baley stared at it, pinching the skin along the median line. Was there a faint Seam?

It was logical, of course, that there should be. A robot, covered with synthetic skin, and deliberately made to look human, could not be repaired in the ordinary fashion. A chest plate could not be unriveted for the purpose. A skull could not be hinged up and outward. Instead, the various parts of the mechanical body would have to be put together along a line of micromagnetic fields. An arm, a head, an entire body, must fall in two at the proper touch, then come together again at a contrary touch.

Baley looked up. “Where’s the Commissioner?” he mumbled, hot with mortification.

“Pressing business,” said Dr. Fastolfe. “I encouraged him to leave, I’m afraid. I assured him we would take care of you.”

“You’ve taken care of me quite nicely already, thank you,” said Baley, grimly. “I think our business is done.”

He lifted himself erect on tired joints. He felt an old man, very suddenly. Too old to start over again. He needed no deep insight to foresee that future.

The Commissioner would be half frightened and half furious. He would face Baley whitely, taking his glasses off to wipe them every fifteen seconds. His soft voice (Julius Enderby almost never shouted) would explain carefully that the Spacers had been mortally offended.

“You can’t talk to Spacers that way, Lije. They won’t take it.” (Baley could hear Enderby’s voice very plainly down to the finest shade of intonation.) “I warned you. No saying how much damage you’ve done. I can see your point, mind you. I see what you were trying to do. If they were Earthmen, it would be different. I’d say yes, chance it. Run the risk. Smoke them out. But Spacers! You might have told me, Lije. You might have consulted me. I know them. I know them inside and out.”

And what would Baley be able to say? That Enderby was exactly the man he couldn’t tell. That the project was one of tremendous risk and Enderby a man of tremendous caution. That it had been Enderby himself who had pointed up the supreme dangers of either outright failure or of the wrong kind of success. That the one way of defeating declassification was to show that guilt lay in Spacetown itself...

Enderby would say, “There’ll have to be a report on this, Lije. There’ll be all sorts of repercussions. I know the Spacers. They’ll demand your removal from the case, and it’ll have to be that way. You understand that, Lije, don’t you? I’ll try to make it easy on you. You can count on that. I’ll protect you as far as I can, Lije.”

Baley knew that would be exactly true. The Commissioner would protect him, but only as far as he could, not to the point, for instance, of infuriating further an angry Mayor.

He could hear the Mayor, too. “Damn it, Enderby, what is all this? Why wasn’t I consulted? ‘Who’s running the City? Why was an unauthorized robot allowed inside the City? And just what the devil did this Baley...”

If it came to a choice between Baley’s future in the Department and the Commissioner’s own, what possible result could Baley expect? He could find no reasonable way of blaming Enderby.

The least he could expect was demotion, and that was bad enough. The mere act of living in a modern City insured the bare possibility of existence, even for those entirely declassified. How bare that possibility was he knew only too well.

It was the addition of status that brought the little things: a more comfortable seat here, a better cut of meat there, a shorter wait in line at the other place. To the philosophical mind, these items might seem scarcely worth any great trouble to acquire.

Yet no one, however philosophical, could give up those privileges, once acquired, without a pang. That was the point.

What a trifling addition to the convenience of the apartment an activated washbasin was when for thirty years previously the trip to Personal had been an automatic and unregarded one. How useless it was even as a device to prove “status” when it was considered the height of ill form to parade “status.” Yet were the washbasin to be deactivated, how humiliating and unbearable would each added trip to Personal be! How yearningly attractive the memory of the bedroom shave! How filled with a sense of lost luxury!

It was fashionable for modern political writers to look back with a smug disapproval at the “fiscalism” of Medieval times, when economy was based on money. The competitive struggle for existence, they said, was brutal. No truly complex society could be maintained because of the strains introduced by the eternal “fight-for-the-buck.” (Scholars had varying interpretations of the word “buck,” but there was no dispute over the meaning as a whole.) By contrast, modern “civism” was praised highly as efficient and enlightened.

Maybe so. There were historical novels both in the romantic and the sensational tradition, and the Medievalists thought “fiscalism” had bred such things as individualism and initiative.

Baley wouldn’t commit himself, but now he wondered sickly if ever a man fought harder for that buck, whatever it was, or felt its loss more deeply, than a City dweller fought to keep from losing his Sunday night option on a chicken drumstick – a real-flesh drumstick from a once-living bird.

Baley thought: Not me so much. There’s Jessie and Ben.

Dr. Fastolfe’s voice broke in upon his thoughts. “Mr. Baley, do you hear me?”

Baley blinked. “Yes?” How long had he been standing there like a frozen fool?

“Won’t you sit down, sir? Having taken care of the matter on your mind, you may now be interested in some films we have taken of the scene of the crime and of the events immediately following.”

“No, thank you. I have business in the City.”

“Surely the case of Dr. Sarton comes first.”

“Not with me. I imagine I’m off the case already.” Suddenly, he boiled over. “Damn it, if you could prove R. Daneel was a robot, why didn’t you do it at once? Why did you make such a farce of it all?”

“My dear Mr. Baley, I was very interested in your deductions. As for being off the case, I doubt it. Before the Commissioner left, I made a special point of asking that you be retained. I believe he will co-operate.”

Baley sat down, not entirely voluntarily. He said, sharply, “Why?”

Dr. Fastolfe crossed his legs and sighed. “Mr. Baley, in general I have met two kinds of City dwellers, rioters and politicians. Your Commissioner is useful to us, but he is a politician. He tells us what we want to hear. He handles us, if you know what I mean. Now you came here and boldly accused us of tremendous crimes and tried to prove your case. I enjoyed the process. I found it a hopeful development.”

“How hopeful?” asked Baley sardonically.

“Hopeful enough. You are someone I can deal with frankly. Last night, Mr. Baley, R. Daneel reported to me by shielded subether. Some things about you interested me very much. For instance, there was the point concerning the nature of the book-films in your apartment.”

“What about them?”

“A good many dealt with historical and archaeological subjects. It makes it appear that you are interested in human society and that you know a little about its evolution.”

“Even policemen can spend their free time on book-films, if they so choose.”

“Quite. I’m glad of your choice in viewing matter. It will help me in what I am trying to do. In the first place, I want to explain, or try to, the exclusivism of the men of the Outer Worlds. We live here in Spacetown; we don’t enter the City; we mingle with you City dwellers only in a very rigidly limited fashion. We breathe the open air, but when we do, we wear filters. I sit here now with filters in my nostrils, gloves on my hands, and a fixed determination to come no closer to you than I can help. ‘Why do you suppose that is?”

Baley said, “There’s no point in guessing.” Let him talk now.

“If you guessed as some of your people do, you would say that it was because we despised the men of Earth and refused to lose caste by allowing their shadow to fall upon us. That is not so. The true answer is really quite obvious. The medical examination you went through, as well as the cleansing procedures, were not matters of ritual. They were dictated by necessity.”

“Disease?”

“Yes, disease. My dear Mr. Baley, the Earthmen who colonized the Outer Worlds found themselves on planets entirely free of Terrestrial bacteria and viruses. They brought in their own, of course, but they also brought with them the latest medical and microbiological techniques. They had a small community of micro-organisms to deal with and no intermediate hosts. There were no mosquitoes to spread malana, no snails to spread schistosomiasis. Disease agents were wiped out and symbiotic bacteria allowed to grow. Gradually, the Outer Worlds became disease-free. Naturally, as time went on, entrance requirements for immigrant Earthmen were made more and more rigorous, since less and less could the Outer Worlds endure the possible introduction of disease.”

“You’ve never been sick, Dr. Fastolfe?”

“Not with a parasitic disease, Mr. Baley. We are all liable to degenerative diseases such as atheroschlerosis, of course, but I have never had what you would call a cold. If I were to contract one, I might die of it. I’ve built up no resistance to it whatsoever. That’s what’s wrong with us here in Spacetown. Those of us who come here run a definite risk. Earth is riddled with diseases to which we have no defense, no natural defense. You yourself are carrying the germs of almost every known disease. You are not aware of it, since you keep them all under control at almost all times through the antibodies your body has developed over the years. I, myself, lack the antibodies. Do you wonder that I come no closer to you? Believe me, Mr. Baley, I act aloof only in self-defense.”

Baley said, “If this is so, why isn’t the fact made known on Earth? I mean, that it is not just queasiness on your part, but a defense against an actual physical danger.”

The Spacer shook his head. “We are few, Mr. Baley, and are disliked as foreigners anyway. We maintain our own safety on the basis of a rather shaky prestige as a superior class of being. We cannot afford to lose face by admitting that we are afraid to approach an Earthman. Not at least until there is a better understanding between Earthmen and Spacers.”

“There won’t be, on present terms. It’s your supposed superiority that we – they hate you for.”

“It is a dilemma. Don’t think we aren’t aware of it.”

“Does the Commissioner know of this?”

“We have never explained it to him flatly, as I have just done to you. He may guess it, however. He is quite an intelligent man.”

“If he guessed it, he might have told me,” Baley said reflectively.

Dr. Fastolfe lifted his eyebrows. “If he had, then you wouldn’t have considered the possibility of R. Daneel being a human Spacer. Is that it?”

Baley shrugged slightly, tossing the matter to one side.

But Dr. Fastolfe went on, “That’s quite true, you know. Putting the psychological difficulties to one side, the terrible effect of the noise and crowds upon us, the fact remains that for one of us to enter the City is the equivalent of a death sentence. It is why Dr. Sarton initiated his project of humanoid robots. They were substitute men, designed to enter the City instead of us –”

“Yes. R. Daneel explained this to me.”

“Do you disapprove?”

“Look,” said Baley, “since we’re talking to one another so freely, let me ask a question in simple words. Why have you Spacers come to Earth anyway? ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?”

Dr. Fastolfe said, with obvious surprise, “Are you satisfied with life on Earth?”

“We get along.”

“Yes, but for how long will that continue? Your population goes up continuously; the available calories meet the needs only as a result of greater and greater effort. Earth is in a blind alley, man.”

“We get along,” repeated Baley stubbornly.

“Barely. A City like New York must spend every ounce of effort getting water in and waste out. The nuclear power plants are kept going by uranium supplies that are constantly more difficult to obtain even from the other planets of the system, and the supply needed goes up steadily. The life of the City depends every moment on the arrival of wood pulp for the yeast vats and minerals for the hydroponic plants. Air must be circulated unceasingly. The balance is a very delicate one in a hundred directions, and growing more delicate each year. What would happen to New York if the tremendous flow of input and outgo were to be interrupted for even a single hour?”

“It never has been.”

“Which is no security for the future. In primitive times, individual population centers were virtually self-supporting, living on the produce of neighboring farms. Nothing but immediate disaster, a flood or a pestilence or crop failure, could harm them. As the centers grew and technology improved, localized disasters could be overcome by drawing on help from distant centers, but at the cost of making ever larger areas interdependent. In Medieval times, the open cities, even the largest, could subsist on food stores and on emergency supplies of all sorts for a week at least. When New York first became a City, it could have lived on itself for a day. Now it cannot do so for an hour. A disaster that would have been uncomfortable ten thousand years ago, merely serious a thousand years ago, and acute a hundred years ago would now be surely fatal.”

Baley moved restlessly in his chair. “I’ve heard all this before. The Medievalists want an end to Cities. They want us to get back to the soil and to natural agriculture. Well, they’re mad; we can’t. There are too many of us and you can’t go backward in history, only forward. Of course, if emigration to the Outer Worlds were not restricted –”

“You know why it must be restricted.”

“Then what is there to do? You’re tapping a dead power line.”

“What about emigration to new worlds? There are a hundred billion stars in the Galaxy. It is estimated that there are a hundred million planets that are inhabitable or can be made inhabitable.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” asked Dr. Fastolfe, with vehemence. “Why is the suggestion ridiculous? Earthmen have colonized planets in the past. Over thirty of the fifty Outer Worlds, including my native Aurora, were directly colonized by Earthmen. Is colonization no longer possible?”

“Well....”

“No answer? Let me suggest that if it is no longer possible, it is because of the development of City culture on Earth. Before the Cities, human life on Earth wasn’t so specialized that they couldn’t break loose and start all over on a raw world. They did it thirty times. But now, Earthmen are all so coddled, so enwombed in their imprisoning caves of steel, that they are caught forever. You, Mr. Baley, won’t even believe that a City dweller is capable of crossing country to get to Spacetown. Crossing space to get to a new world must represent impossibility squared to you. Civism is ruining Earth, sir.”

Baley said angrily, “And if it does? How does it concern you people? It’s our problem. We’ll solve it. If not, it’s our own particular road to hell.”

“Better your own road to hell than another’s road to heaven, eh? I know how you must feel. It is not pleasant to listen to the preaching of a stranger. Yet I wish your people could preach to us, for we, too, have a problem, one that is quite analogous to yours.”

Baley smiled crookedly. “Overpopulation?”

“Analogous, not identical. Ours is underpopulation. How old would you say I was?”

The Earthman considered for a moment and then deliberately overestimated. “Sixty, I’d say.”

“A hundred and sixty, you should say.”

“What!”

“A hundred and sixty-three next birthday, to be exact. There’s no trick to that. I’m using the Standard Earth year as the unit. If I’m fortunate, if I take care of myself, most of all, if I catch no disease on Earth, I may double that age. Men on Aurora have been known to live over three hundred and fifty years. And life expectancy is still increasing.”

Baley looked to R. Daneel (who throughout the conversation had been listening in stolid silence), as though he were seeking confirmation.

He said, “How is that possible?”

“In an underpopulated society, it is practical to concentrate study on gerontology, to do research on the aging process. In a world such as yours, a lengthened life expectancy would be disastrous. You couldn’t afford the resulting rise in population. On Aurora, there is room for tricentenarians. Then, of course, a long life becomes doubly and triply precious.

“If you were to die now, you would lose perhaps forty years of your life, probably less. If I were to die, I would lose a hundred fifty years, probably more. In a culture such as ours, then, individual life is of prime importance. Our birth rate is low and population increase is rigidly controlled. We maintain a definite robot/man ratio designed to maintain the individual in the greatest comfort. Logically, developing children are carefully screened for physical and mental defects before being allowed to mature.”

Baley interrupted. “You mean you kill them if they don’t –”

“If they don’t measure up. Quite painlessly, I assure you. The notion shocks you, just as the Earthman’s uncontrolled breeding shocks us.”

“We’re controlled, Dr. Fastolfe. Each family is allowed so many children.”

Dr. Fastolfe smiled tolerantly. “So many of any kind of children; not so many healthy children. And even so, there are many illegitimates and your population increases.”

“Who’s to judge which children should live?”

“That’s rather complicated and not to be answered in a sentence. Some day we may talk it out in detail.”

“Well, where’s your problem? You sound satisfied with your society.”

“It is stable. That’s the trouble. It is too stable.”

Baley said, “Nothing pleases you. Our civilization is at the ragged edge of chaos, according to you, and your own is too stable.”

“It is possible to be too stable. No Outer World has colonized a new planet in two and a half centuries. There is no prospect for colonization in the future. Our lives in the Outer Worlds are too long to risk and too comfortable to upset.”

“I don’t know about that, Dr. Fastolfe. You’ve come to Earth. You risk disease.”

“Yes, I do. There are some of us, Mr. Baley, who feel that the future of the human race is even worth the possible loss of an extended lifetime. Too few of us, I am sorry to say.”

“All right. We’re coming to the point. How is Spacetown helping matters?”

“In trying to introduce robots here on Earth, we’re doing our best to upset the balance of your City economy.”

“That’s your way of helping?” Baley’s lips quivered. “You mean you’re creating a growing group of displaced and declassified men on purpose?”

“Not out of cruelty or callousness, believe me. A group of displaced men, as you call them, are what we need to serve as a nucleus for colonization. Your ancient America was discovered by ships fitted out with men from the prisons. Don’t you see that the City’s womb has failed the displaced man. He has nothing to lose and worlds to gain by leaving Earth.”

“But it isn’t working.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Dr. Fastolfe, sadly. “There is something wrong. The resentment of the Earthman for the robot blocks things. Yet those very robots can accompany humans, smooth the difficulties of initial adjustment to a raw world, make colonization practical.”

“Then what? More Outer Worlds?”

“No. The Outer Worlds were established before Civism had spread over Earth, before the Cities. The new colonies will be built by humans who have the City background plus the beginnings of a C/Fe culture. It will be a synthesis, a crossbreeding. As it stands now, Earth’s own structure must go ricketing down in the near future, the Outer Worlds will slowly degenerate and decay in a somewhat further future, but the new colonies will be a new and healthy strain, combining the best of both cultures. By their reaction upon the older worlds, including Earth, we ourselves may gain new life.”

“I don’t know. It’s all misty, Dr. Fastolfe.”

“It’s a dream, yes. Think about it.” Abruptly the Spacer rose to his feet. “I have spent more time with you than I intended. In fact, more time than our health ordinances allow. You will excuse me?”

Baley and R. Daneel left the dome. Sunlight, at a different angle, somewhat yellower, washed down upon them once again. In Baley, there was a vague wonder whether sunlight might not seem different on another world. Less harsh and brazen perhaps. More acceptable.

Another world? The ugly Spacer with the prominent ears had filled his mind with queer imaginings. Did the doctors of Aurora once look at the child Fastolfe and wonder if he ought to be allowed to mature? Wasn’t he too ugly? Or did their criteria include physical appearance at all? When did ugliness become a deformity and what deformities...

But when the sunlight vanished and they entered the first door that led to the Personal, the mood became harder to maintain.

Baley shook his head with exasperation. It was all ridiculous. Forcing Earthmen to emigrate, to set up a new society! It was nonsense! What were these Spacers really after?

He thought about it and came to no conclusion.

Slowly, their squad car rolled down the vehicular lane. Reality was surging all about Baley. His blaster was a warm and comfortable weight against his hip. The noise and vibrant life of the City was just as warm, just as comfortable.

For a moment, as the City closed in, his nose tingled to a slight and fugitive pungence.

He thought wonderingly: The City smells.

He thought of the twenty million human beings crammed into the steel walls of the great cave and for the first time in his life he smelled them with nostrils that had been washed clean by outdoor air.

He thought: Would it be different on another world? Less people and more air – cleaner?

But the afternoon roar of the City was all around them, the smell faded and was gone, and he felt a little ashamed of himself.

He let the drive rod in slowly and tapped a larger share of the beamed power. The squad car accelerated sharply as it slanted down into the empty motorway.

“Daneel,” he said.

“Yes, Elijah.”

“Why was Dr. Fastolfe telling me all he did?”

“It seems probable to me, Elijah, that he wished to impress you with the importance of the investigation. We are not here just to solve a murder, but to save Spacetown and with it, the future of’ the human race.”

Baley said dryly, “I think he’d have been better off if he’d let me see the scene of the crime and interview the men who first found the body.”

“I doubt if you could have added anything, Elijah. We have been quite thorough.”

“Have you? You’ve got nothing. Not a clue. Not a suspect.”

“No, you are right. The answer must be in the City. To be accurate, though, we did have one suspect.”

“What? You said nothing of this before.”

“I did not feel it to be necessary, Elijah. Surely it is obvious to you that one suspect automatically existed.”

“Who? In the devil’s name, who?”

“The one Earthman who was on the scene. Commissioner Julius Enderby.”

... Continued in Volume IV

Sources of dates

(For Volume 3)

AD = Anno Domini

GE = Galactic Era

FE = Foundational Era

Robots in Time (Emporer and Invader in this volume) Stated in volume 1, Predator.

“Light Verse” Features a robot that is capable of original artistic expression (as was Andrew Martin), at a time when robot servants are accepted (as was Andrew Martin). These both suggest that the story takes place near the beginning of “The Bicentennial Man”.

“Too Bad!” Sometime in the 22nd century, before the creation of the simplified robots in “That Thou Art Mindful of Him”.

“That Thou Art Mindful of Him” Takes place about two hundred years after US Robots is founded (i.e. circa 2182). Mentions that the Machines phased themselves out of existence a hundred years earlier (circa 2082).

“Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie” The combination of interstellar exploration and robots places this story at the time of the settlement of the Spacer worlds.

“The Bicentennial Man” Andrew Martin is about a hundred years old “nearly two centuries” after Susan Calvin’s death in 2064.

“Mother Earth” Takes place at the end of “the first few centuries of interstellar travel” when the Outer Worlds “were controlled, politically and economically, by Earth.” (quotations from The Caves of Steel, Chapter 5).

The Caves of Steel Takes place a thousand years after emigration to the Outer Worlds ends. It also takes place 19 years after Elijah Baley first meets Jessie Navodny “back in ’02.”

Table of Contents

Title page

Copyright

Table of Contents

Emperor

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Invader

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

Light Verse

Too Bad!

... That Thou Art Mindful of Him

1

1a

2

2a

3

3a

4

4a

5

5a

6

6a

7

7a

8

8a

Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie

The Bicentennial Man

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

1. (Reprise)

21

22

23

Mother Earth

The Caves of Steel

1: Conversation With A Commissioner

2: Round Trip on an Expressway

3: Incident at a Shoe Counter

4: Introduction to a Family

5: Analysis of a Murder

6: Whispers in a Bedroom

7: Excursion Into Spacetown

8: Debate Over A Robot

9: Elucidation by a Spacer

Sources of dates