Foundation and Earth (57 page)

Trevize kept his face expressionless. He said, “No, as a matter of fact. I’ve changed my mind. We’re going to the moon—which is the name of the satellite, according to Janov.”

“The satellite? Because it’s the nearest world at hand? I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Nor I. Nor would anyone have thought of it. Nowhere in the Galaxy is there a satellite worth thinking about—but this satellite, in being large, is unique. What’s more, Earth’s anonymity covers it as well. Anyone who can’t find the Earth can’t find the moon, either.”

“Is it habitable?”

“Not on the surface, but it is not radioactive, not at all, so it isn’t absolutely uninhabitable. It may have life—it may be teeming with life, in fact—under the surface. And, of course, you’ll be able to tell if that’s so, once we get close enough.”

Bliss shrugged. “I’ll try. —But, then, what made you suddenly think of trying the satellite?”

Trevize said quietly, “Something Fallom did when she was at the controls.”

Bliss waited, as though expecting more, then shrugged again. “Whatever it was, I suspect you wouldn’t have gotten the inspiration if you had followed your own impulse and killed her.”

“I had no intention of killing her, Bliss.”

Bliss waved her hand. “All right. Let it be. Are we moving toward the moon now?”

“Yes. As a matter of caution, I’m not going too fast, but if all goes well, we’ll be in its vicinity in thirty hours.”

THE MOON WAS A WASTELAND. TREVIZE WATCHED the bright daylit portion drifting past them below. It was a monotonous panorama of crater rings and mountainous areas, and of shadows black against the sunlight. There were subtle color changes in the soil and occasional sizable stretches of flatness, broken by small craters.

As they approached the nightside, the shadows grew longer and finally fused together. For a while, behind them, peaks glittered in the sun, like fat stars, far outshining their brethren in the sky. Then they disappeared and below was only the fainter light of the Earth in the sky, a large bluish-white sphere, a little more than half full. The ship finally outran the Earth, too, which sank beneath the horizon so that under them was unrelieved blackness, and above only the
faint powdering of stars, which, to Trevize, who had been brought up on the starless world of Terminus, was always miracle enough.

Then, new bright stars appeared ahead, first just one or two, then others, expanding and thickening and finally coalescing. And at once they passed the terminator into the daylit side. The sun rose with infernal splendor, while the viewscreen shifted away from it at once and polarized the glare of the ground beneath.

Trevize could see quite well that it was useless to hope to find any way into the inhabited interior (if that existed) by mere eye inspection of this perfectly enormous world.

He turned to look at Bliss, who sat beside him. She did not look at the viewscreen; indeed, she kept her eyes closed. She seemed to have collapsed into the chair rather than to be sitting in it.

Trevize, wondering if she were asleep, said softly, “Do you detect anything else?”

Bliss shook her head very slightly. “No,” she whispered. “There was just that faint whiff. You’d better take me back there. Do you know where that region was?”

“The computer knows.”

It was like zeroing in on a target, shifting this way and that and then finding it. The area in question was still deep in the nightside and, except that the Earth shone fairly low in the sky and gave the surface a ghostly ashen glow between the shadows, there was nothing to make out, even though the light in the pilot-room had been blacked out for better viewing.

Pelorat had approached and was standing anxiously in the doorway. “Have we found anything?” he asked, in a husky whisper.

Trevize held up his hand for silence. He was watching Bliss. He knew it would be days before sunlight would return to this spot on the moon, but he also knew that for what Bliss was trying to sense, light of any kind was irrelevant.

She said, “It’s there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s the only spot?”

“It’s the only spot I’ve detected. Have you been over every part of the moon’s surface?”

“We’ve been over a respectable fraction of it.”

“Well, then, in that respectable fraction, this is all I have detected. It’s stronger now, as though
it
has detected
us
and it doesn’t seem dangerous. The feeling I get is a welcoming one.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s the feeling I get.”

Pelorat said, “Could it be faking the feeling?”

Bliss said, with a trace of hauteur, “I would detect a fake, I assure you.”

Trevize muttered something about overconfidence, then said, “What you detect is intelligence, I hope.”

“I detect strong intelligence. Except—” And an odd note entered her voice.

“Except what?”

“Ssh. Don’t disturb me. Let me concentrate.” The last word was a mere motion of her lips.

Then she said, in faint elated surprise, “It’s not human.”

“Not human,” said Trevize, in much stronger surprise. “Are we dealing with robots again? As on Solaria?”

“No.” Bliss was smiling. “It’s not quite robotic, either.”

“It has to be one or the other.”

“Neither.” She actually chuckled. “It’s not human, and yet it’s not like any robot I’ve detected before.”

Pelorat said, “I would like to see that.” He nodded his head vigorously, his eyes wide with pleasure. “It would be exciting. Something new.”

“Something new,” muttered Trevize with a sudden lift of his own spirits—and a flash of unexpected insight seemed to illuminate the interior of his skull.

DOWN THEY SANK TO THE MOON’S SURFACE, IN what was almost jubilation. Even Fallom had joined them now and, with the abandonment of a youngster, was hugging herself with unbearable joy as though she were truly returning to Solaria.

As for Trevize, he felt within himself a touch of sanity telling him that it was strange that Earth—or whatever of Earth was on the moon—which had taken such measures to keep off all others, should now be taking measures to draw them in. Could the purpose be the same in either way? Was it a case of “If you can’t make them avoid you, draw them in and destroy them?” Either way, would not Earth’s secret remain untouched?

But that thought faded and drowned in the flood of joy that deepened steadily as they came closer to the moon’s surface. Yet over and beyond that, he managed to cling to the moment of illumination that had reached him just before they had begun their gliding dive to the surface of the Earth’s satellite.

He seemed to have no doubt as to where the ship was going. They were just above the tops of the rolling hills now, and Trevize, at the computer, felt no need to do anything. It was as though he and the computer, both, were being guided, and he felt only an enormous euphoria at having the weight of responsibility taken away from him.

They were sliding parallel to the ground, toward a cliff that raised its menacing height as a barrier against them; a barrier glistening faintly in Earth-shine and in the light-beam of the
Far Star
. The approach of certain collision seemed to mean nothing to Trevize, and it was with no surprise whatever that he became aware that the section of cliff directly ahead had fallen away and that a corridor, gleaming in artificial light, had opened before them.

The ship slowed to a crawl, apparently of its own
accord, and fitted neatly into the opening—entering—sliding along—The opening closed behind it, and another then opened before it. Through the second opening went the ship, into a gigantic hall that seemed the hollowed interior of a mountain.

The ship halted and all aboard rushed to the airlock eagerly. It occurred to none of them, not even to Trevize, to check whether there might be a breathable atmosphere outside—or any atmosphere at all.

There
was
air, however. It was breathable and it was comfortable. They looked about themselves with the pleased air of people who had somehow come home and it was only after a while that they became aware of a man who was waiting politely for them to approach.

He was tall, and his expression was grave. His hair was bronze in color, and cut short. His cheekbones were broad, his eyes were bright, and his clothing was rather after the fashion one saw in ancient history books. Although he seemed sturdy and vigorous there was, just the same, an air of weariness about him—not in anything that one could see, but rather in something appealing to no recognizable sense.

It was Fallom who reacted first. With a loud, whistling scream, she ran toward the man, waving her arms and crying, “Jemby! Jemby!” in a breathless fashion.

She never slackened her pace, and when she was close enough, the man stooped and lifted her high in the air. She threw her arms about his neck, sobbing, and still gasping, “Jemby!”

The others approached more soberly and Trevize said, slowly and distinctly (could this man understand Galactic?), “We ask pardon, sir. This child has lost her protector and is searching for it desperately. How it came to fasten on you is a puzzle to us, since it is seeking a robot; a mechanical—”

The man spoke for the first time. His voice was utilitarian rather than musical, and there was a faint air
of archaism clinging to it, but he spoke Galactic with perfect ease.

“I greet you all in friendship,” he said—and he seemed unmistakably friendly, even though his face continued to remain fixed in its expression of gravity. “As for this child,” he went on, “she shows perhaps a greater perceptivity than you think, for I am a robot. My name is Daneel Olivaw.”

TREVIZE FOUND HIMSELF IN A COMPLETE STATE OF disbelief. He had recovered from the odd euphoria he had felt just before and after the landing on the moon—a euphoria, he now suspected, that had been imposed on him by this self-styled robot who now stood before him.

Trevize was still staring, and in his now perfectly sane and untouched mind, he remained lost in astonishment. He had talked in astonishment, made conversation in astonishment, scarcely understood what he said or heard as he searched for something in the appearance of this apparent man, in his behavior, in his manner of speaking, that bespoke the robot.

No wonder, thought Trevize, that Bliss had detected something that was neither human nor robot, but, that was, in Pelorat’s words, “something new.” Just as well, of course, for it had turned Trevize’s thoughts into another and more enlightening channel—but even that was now crowded into the back of his mind.

Bliss and Fallom had wandered off to explore the grounds. It had been Bliss’s suggestion, but it seemed to Trevize that it came after a lightning-quick glance had been exchanged between herself and Daneel.
When Fallom refused and asked to stay with the being she persisted in calling Jemby, a grave word from Daneel and a lift of the finger was enough to cause her to trot off at once. Trevize and Pelorat remained.

“They are not Foundationers, sirs,” said the robot, as though that explained it all. “One is Gaia and one is a Spacer.”

Trevize remained silent while they were led to simply designed chairs under a tree. They seated themselves, at a gesture from the robot, and when he sat down, too, in a perfectly human movement, Trevize said, “Are you truly a robot?”

“Truly, sir,” said Daneel.

Pelorat’s face seemed to shine with joy. He said, “There are references to a robot named Daneel in the old legends. Are you named in his honor?”

“I am that robot,” said Daneel. “It is not a legend.”

“Oh no,” said Pelorat. “If you are that robot, you would have to be thousands of years old.”

“Twenty thousand,” said Daneel quietly.

Pelorat seemed abashed at that, and glanced at Trevize, who said, with a touch of anger, “If you are a robot, I order you to speak truthfully.”

“I do not need to be told to speak truthfully, sir. I
must
do so. You are faced then, sir, with three alternatives. Either I am a man who is lying to you; or I am a robot who has been programmed to believe that it is twenty thousand years old but, in fact, is not; or I am a robot who
is
twenty thousand years old. You must decide which alternative to accept.”

“The matter may decide itself with continued conversation,” said Trevize dryly. “For that matter, it is hard to believe that this is the interior of the moon. Neither the light”—he looked up as he said that, for the light was precisely that of soft, diffuse sunlight, though no sun was in the sky, and, for that matter, no sky was clearly visible—“nor the gravity seems credible. This world should have a surface gravity of less than 0.2g.”

“The normal surface gravity would be 0.16g actually,
sir. It is built up, however, by the same forces that give you, on your ship, the sensation of normal gravity, even when you are in free fall, or under acceleration. Other energy needs, including the light, are also met gravitically, though we use solar energy where that is convenient. Our material needs are all supplied by the moon’s soil, except for the light elements—hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen—which the moon does not possess. We obtain those by capturing an occasional comet. One such capture a century is more than enough to supply our needs.”

“I take it Earth is useless as a source of supply.”

“Unfortunately, that is so, sir. Our positronic brains are as sensitive to radioactivity as human proteins are.”

“You use the plural, and this mansion before us seems, large, beautiful, and elaborate—at least as seen from the outside. There are then other beings on the moon. Humans? Robots?”

“Yes, sir. We have a complete ecology on the moon and a vast and complex hollow within which that ecology exists. The intelligent beings are all robots, however, more or less like myself. You will see none of them, however. As for this mansion, it is used by myself only and it is an establishment that is modeled exactly on one I used to live in twenty thousand years ago.”

“Which you remember in detail, do you?”