David Brin - Foundation’s Triumph

Sybyl and Planch are wondering when their turn will come, Hari thought. They must be striving to come up with some plan to avoid it, or else to leave a secret message for their friends. I know because it is what I would do in their place.

Antic and Maserd seemed less concerned, perhaps relying on the protection of Hari’s friendship, or because they were more trustworthy. Neither of them was likely to support anything that could cause chaos. Still, Hari wondered.

R. Gornon acts in many ways as if he has the same agenda as Daneel. And yet, he slaughtered one of Daneel’s agents, and clearly is fleeing as fast as he can to escape being caught by the Immortal Servant.

Clearly there were complexities involved that Hari didn’t yet grasp. So Biron and Horis might be relying too much on friendship and trust to preserve their memory of recent events.

Planch and Sybyl reached a conclusion. They walked toward Hari, a grim set to their jaws.

“We are ready to acknowledge that you’ve won again, Seldon,” the woman from Ktlina said. “So let’s strike a deal.”

Hari shook his head. “It is exaggeration to say that I’ve won anything. In fact, these recent victories cost me more than you’d ever imagine. Besides, what makes you think I am in a position to strike a bargain, let alone enforce one?”

Sybyl grimaced in frustration, but Planch, the space trader, looked unperturbed.

“We don’t understand everything that’s happened, but clearly our options are limited. Even if you can’t command that thing”-he nodded toward R. Gornon-”you clearly have some influence. These tiktok machines value you highly.”

They value what use they can make of me, Hari thought, somewhat bitterly. Of course that was unfair. Apparently all robots, even Daneel’s enemies, revered Hari for one reason above all others. He was as close to a fully aware and knowledgeable master as had existed in the human universe for thousands of years.

For all the good that’s going to do me, he thought wryly. And for all the good that will do humanity.

“What’s your proposition?” he asked Mors Planch.

The trader captain eagerly got down to business.

“The way I see it, this mentalic tiktok could disable any of us, knock us out, inject drugs, and wipe our brains. But that course of action has two disadvantages! First, old Gornon here won’t like doing that, on account of that First Law of theirs. Oh, he might rationalize that it’s for some greater good, but I figure our tin man would prefer finding some other way to keep us from blabbing, wouldn’t he?”

Hari was impressed with this reasoning. Planch caught on pretty well.

“Go on.”

“Besides, wherever we show up with a gap in our memory, it will be a big fat clue to all our friends, or to anybody who ever knew us. There are people back on Ktlina who knew our plans. No matter what the robot does to our minds, those savvy folks just might be able to use some new renaissance technologies to undo the damage. Gornon would have to wipe us almost blank and dump us into a hole, in order to make sure that won’t happen.”

Hari felt Biron Maserd step closer to participate in the conversation.

“You are assuming that your beloved chaos revolution still reigns on Ktlina,” the nobleman said. “Even if the sickness is still raging there, will it last long enough for your scenario to play out? Especially now that the ancient archives have been taken away from you?”

“Perhaps you underestimate how many weapons this particular renaissance has in its arsenal. Ktlina is no sitting duck, like Sark was. Nor is it overly trusting, like Madder Loss. And even if it fails like the others, a growing network of collaborators and sympathizers stands ready to help the next world to try and break out of the ancient trap.”

Hari could not help but admire the dedication and intensity of this man. He and Planch differed only in their basic assumptions-what it was possible for humans to achieve. I would be on his side, a willing co-conspirator, if only the underlying facts were different.

But psychohistory showed that the old empire would collapse well before Planch’s critical threshold was reached. Once the Imperium’s gentle network of trade, services, and mutual support broke down, local populations on every planet would have far more serious concerns than aspiring to be the next renaissance. Matters of survival would come foremost. The gentry class would step in, as it always did in times of crisis, creating either benevolent or despotic tyrannies. The chaos plague would be stopped in its tracks by something equally terrible. A collapse of civilization itself.

“Go on, Planch,” Hari urged. “I assume you have some alternative to offer?”

The trader captain nodded. “You can’t let us go entirely free-we can see that. And yet it would be preferable not to kill us or wipe our minds completely. So we’d like to suggest an alternative.

“Take us back with you to Trantor.”

Mors Planch might have explained further, but just then a shrill shout cut in.

“No!”

Everyone turned to see young Jeni Cuicet raising herself on both elbows, trying to step out of the levitation chair.

“I won’t go back there. They’ll ship me off to Terminus, along with my parents. This damned brain fever will just make things worse. They’ll say it means I’m a blasted genius! They’ll be even more eager to drag me off to that horrible rock, and there I’ll rot!”

Sybyl went over to Jeni, distracted for a moment by her pain, attempting to offer the girl some more chemical relief. Mors Planch and Hari shared a look.

Planch doesn’t have to go into more detail, Hari thought. No sense in upsetting the girl. Besides, I know what he’s suggesting. There are age-old methods that emperors have used, in order to keep people in safe “exile” right there in the capital. It’s a risky option. Perhaps Planch thinks he can escape from such confinement, even though imperial hostages have tested the constraints for thousands of years.

Or else, maybe he’d just rather live comfortably in a cosmopolitan place, as an alternative to having his memory wiped.

Any further discussion of the matter was forestalled when R. Gornon shouted over his shoulder, “Everyone get belted in! They don’t have a sophisticated guide beam here, so it may be rougher than you are used to.”

No one thought of disobeying. Gornon’s power had been amply demonstrated. As the passengers watched Pengia’s rustic spaceport loom ahead, everyone knew there were matters left unsettled. Each of them would meet a point of decision on Pengia. A shifting of destiny.

They were met at the edge of the landing field by half a dozen sturdy-looking men. Hari had an unmistakable feeling that they were robots-doubtless members of Gornon’s small Calvinian cult.

Three large vehicles came alongside the ship, which had settled down next to a hangar. Into one car went Biron Maserd’s crewmen and those who had served aboard Mors Planch’s raider ship. The second took aboard Horis, Sybyl, Planch, and Maserd, with Jeni’s levitation chair gently loaded in back. Their immediate stop would be a local hospital, where doctors were familiar with brain fever and had facilities to help the young woman.

Gornon showed no concern that she might talk about what she had seen. Brain fever victims often had extravagant hallucinations, and no one would take her wild stories seriously. Besides, Hari noted that the ship’s motivators had been left running on idle. The Calvinians didn’t plan to stay long-a few days at most.

Even that may be too long, if Daneel’s organization is as efficient as ever. Hari wondered what could possibly drive these robot heretics to take such a risk.