Greg Bear - Foundation and Chaos

Prothon had neglected to use the form of address. Kallusin weighed the situation carefully. He had no hope of escape, and there was no profit in discussing anything more with General Prothon. But before he shut himself down, permanently, he was himself curious-about Prothon’s knowledge.

“I will answer your question if you will answer mine,” Kallusin said.

“I’ll try.” Prothon seemed amused by this remarkable dialog.

“How do you know about robots?”

“Personally, suspicions, only suspicions, all these years of service to the Empire. Found a dysfunctional robot on a distant planet once-destroyed during an invasion. Haven’t seen one since.”

“How do you know the forms of address?”

“Linge Chen gave me instructions, told me to speak directly with any robots, also told me there was no danger addressing the robots we would find here.”

“Thank you,” Kallusin said. Suspicions, only suspicions, Daneel. “My answer is, I am here to serve my owner.” He reached into the box and pressed a hidden comer switch. The box began to heat. He placed it on the floor. Within several seconds, Plussix’s head would be cooked, useless. Then Kallusin stood tall. He could not deactivate himself just yet. The threat had to be immediate.

Prothon looked at the box, now glowing a dull red and crackling slightly against the tiles on the floor. He made a small grimace and called for his troops to enter.

That was enough. The threat of capture and interrogation became very real. Kallusin would become a danger to his owner.

He collapsed on the floor before anyone of the troops could reach him.

Prothon observed this with an air of profound respect. He had seen many human soldiers do precisely the same thing. It was time-honored, and actually, more than he had expected from a robot-but then, he had only known this one robot for a few minutes, and was in no position to judge.

He left the chamber and ordered it to be searched by a party of the Commissioner’s engineers.

Klia could feel the troops a few hundred meters above and behind them, intent on the search. Lodovik led them deeper beneath the warehouse district, until they came to a small round hatch almost completely blocked by debris from an ancient flood. Klia took hold of Brann’s arm and stepped back as Lodovik cleared the debris. Brann smiled down on her, barely visible in the dim light of the maintenance globes, pulled her hand loose, and went to help Lodovik. With a sigh, Klia also pitched in, and in less than a minute, they had the hatchway cleared.

Klia could not hear or otherwise sense anybody in the tunnel behind them, but she felt deeply uneasy nonetheless. The flood debris, the years of corrosion on the hatchway, the difficulty they had prying it open-it would not get any easier from this point on.

They were heading into the depths of the ancient hydraulic system for Trantor’s earliest cities. Beyond the hatchway, they could see even less-globes were spaced at thirty meter intervals, and seemed even dimmer. That they stayed illuminated at all was evidence of the skill of the early engineers and architects on Trantor, who realized that this deep infrastructure must be far more reliable, and persistent, than even the cities that would rise, be demolished, and rise again, far above.

“We go for about three kilometers this way,” Lodovik said, “then we start to climb again. There may be pedways, escalators, elevators-and there may not. Kallusin hasn’t explored these ways in decades.”

Klia said nothing, simply remained at Brann’s side as the robot led them deeper, until she could sense no humans whatsoever. She had never been this far from crowds. She wondered what it would be like, to have an entire planet to oneself, with no responsibilities, no guilt, no talents and no need for talents…

Lodovik’s footfalls ahead took them into murky darkness, and soon they were up to their ankles in stagnant water. From somewhere to their left came the sound of huge pumps, thumping into action, then cutting off with distant swallowing roars. Trantor’s heartbeat.

Brann looked down at her and helped her climb over a pile of eroded plastic parts, like blockage in an ancient artery.

“I can see fairly well now,” Lodovik said, “though I suspect you cannot. Please just stay close behind me. We’re much better off down here, following this route, than we would be up there.”

Klia suddenly felt something loud in her head, but very distant, like the report from a shell. She listened for it again as she walked beside Brann, and it came once more, more muddied, but she was ready for it, and she could almost taste its odd signature.

Vara Liso. Thousands of meters above and in front of them. Perhaps in the Palace.

“That woman,” Klia said to Brann.

“Yeah,” Brann said. “What’s she doing?”

“Feels like she’s exploding,” Klia said.

“Please stay close behind me,” Lodovik insisted. There was a lift shaft ahead, according to Kallusin-and soon he would have a chance to try his codes to gain entrance to the foundations of the Imperial Courts Building.

Major Namm held the neural whip in an unsteady hand. Sweat streaked his face. He stumbled slightly as he tried to turn away from the diminutive woman in her special emerald green gown. Vara Liso wore a quizzical expression, eyes turned up, as if she did not really need to look at the major to control him.

She seemed to be inspecting the ceiling over his head.

The major whimpered, and the whip fell from his hand.

She was so tired. She walked around the major. She would need something sweet to drink very soon, and something to eat, but first she had to go through the door and see Farad Sinter, make her final report to the man she had hoped someday to marry. Foolish dreams, absurd hopes.

Vara Liso entered the anteroom of Sinter’s new office and saw the new furnishings, the banks of special Imperial-grade informers that would have hooked him directly to the orbiting receivers and processors. This would have been his command center. Sinter. She smiled crookedly. Heating without melting, dry at the center, a pile of sand, no man, no success, no fault, she had thrown the wands in the ancient game of Bioka, always resorted to when she was at her wit’s end, and the wands said no fault, correction in order, all is not right at the Sinter.

Beyond the immense bronze doors she could hear shouting and even wailing. She leaned her shoulder against the door. Nothing. Then she turned her full attention to the major, bade him come forward and give his code to the door. He got off his knees, face contorted and dripping sweat. He punched in the code and applied his palm.

The door swung open, and the major fell back. Vara Liso entered the office.

Farad stood there in full ceremonial outfit, conferring with two advisors and an advocate; no matter, his Commission was at an end. He saw her and frowned. “I need to get things in order-Vara, please leave.”

Vara spotted a tray full of delicate sweets on the expansive desk, beside the most powerful informer/processor she had ever beheld, perhaps able to distill information from ten thousand systems. It was not functioning now. Access to the Empire denied. Power gone. She lifted a handful of the sweets and chewed on them.

Sinter stared at her. “Please,” he said softly. He sensed her distress but could not know its cause. “They’re melting down our robot. Seldon is being released. I’m trying to reach the Emperor now. This is very important.”

“Nobody will see us,” she said, her finger stirring the candies in the tray.

“It isn’t that bad,” Sinter insisted, his face pale. “How did you get in?” The major-her major-had been released by Prothon to inform Sinter of the situation. He had then been posted in the anteroom to keep her out. So much was obvious without even tasting their thoughts.