Isaac Asimov - Robots and Empire

D.G. turned his eyes on her sharply. “Make no jokes of that sort, my lady, while you are with Settlers—not even with me. Earth is no joking matter.”

Gladia said, “I’m sorry, D.G. I meant no disrespect.”

“You didn’t know. But now you know. Come, let’s get out.”

The side door of the car slid open noiselessly and D.G. turned in his seat and stepped out. He then held out one hand to help Gladia and said, “You’ll be addressing the Planetary Congress, you know, and every government official who can squeeze in will do so.”

Gladia, who had stretched out her hand to seize D.G.’s and who already felt—painfully—the cold wind on her face, shrank back suddenly. “I must make an address? I hadn’t been told that.”

D.G. looked surprised. “I rather thought you would take something of the sort for granted.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I can’t make an address. I’ve never done such a thing.”

“You must. It’s nothing terrible. It’s just a matter of saying a few words after some long and boring speeches of welcome.”

“But what can I possibly say?”

“Nothing fancy, I assure you. Just peace and love and blah—Give them half a minute’s worth. I’ll scrawl out something for you if you wish.”

And Gladia stepped out of the car and her robots followed her. Her mind was in a whirl.

As they walked into the building, they removed their coveralls and handed them to attendants. Daneel and Giskard removed theirs, too, and the attendants cast sharp glances at the latter, approaching him gingerly.

Gladia adjusted her nose plugs nervously. She had never before been in the presence of large crowds of short-lived human beings—short-lived in part, she knew (or had always been told), because they carried in their bodies chronic infections and hordes of parasites.

She whispered, “Will I get back my own coverall?”

“You will wear no one else’s,” said D.G. “They will be kept safe and radiation-sterilized.”

Gladia looked about cautiously. Somehow she felt that even optical contact might be dangerous.

“Who are those people?” She indicated several people who wore brightly colored clothing and were obviously armed.

“Security guards, madam,” said D.G.

“Even here? In a government building?”

“Absolutely. And when we’re on the platform, there will be a force-field curtain dividing us from the audience.”

“Don’t you trust your own legislature?”

D.G. half-smiled. “Not entirely. This is a raw world still and we go our own ways. We haven’t had all the edges knocked off and we don’t have robots watching over us. Then, too, we’ve got militant minority parties; we’ve got our war hawks.”

“What are war hawks?”

Most of the Baleyworlders had their coveralls removed now and were helping themselves to drinks. There was a buzz of conversation in the air and many people stared at Gladia, but no one came over to speak to her. Indeed, it was clear to Gladia that there was a circle of avoidance about her.

D.G. noticed her glance from side to side and interpreted it correctly. “They’ve been told,” he said, “that you would appreciate a little elbow room. I think they understand your fear of infection.”

“They don’t find it insulting, I hope.”

“They may, but you’ve got something that is clearly a robot with you and most Baleyworlders don’t want that kind of infection. The war hawks, particularly.”

“You haven’t told me what they are.”

“I will if there’s time. You and I and others on the platform will have to move in a little while.—Most Settlers think that, in time, the Galaxy will be theirs, that the Spacers cannot and will not compete successfully in the race for expansion. We also know it will take time. We won’t see it. Our children probably won’t. It may take a thousand years, for all we know. The war hawks don’t want to wait. They want it settled now.”

“They want war?”

“They don’t say that, precisely. And they don’t call themselves war hawks. That’s what we sensible people call them. They call themselves Earth Supremacists. After all, it’s hard to argue with people who announce they are in favor of Earth being supreme. We all favor that, but most of us don’t necessarily expect it to happen tomorrow and are not ferociously upset that it won’t.”

“And these war hawks may attack me? Physically?”

D.G. gestured for her to move forward. “I think we’ll have to get moving, madam. They’re getting us into line. No, I don’t think you’ll really be attacked, but it’s always best to be cautious.”

Gladia held back as D.G. indicated her place in line.

“Not without Daneel and Giskard, D.G. I’m still not going anywhere without them. Not even onto the platform. Not after what you just told me about the war hawks.”

“You’re asking a lot, my lady.”

“On the contrary, D.G. I’m not asking for anything. Take me home right now—with my robots.”

Gladia watched tensely as D.G. approached a small group of officials. He made a half-bow, arms in downward pointing diagonals. It was what Gladia suspected to be a Baleyworlder gesture of respect.

She did not hear what D.G. was saying, but a painful and quite involuntary fantasy passed through her mind. If there was any attempt to separate her from her robots against her will, Daneel and Giskard would surely do what they could to prevent it. They would move too quickly and precisely to really hurt anyone—but the security guards would use their weapons at once. “

She would have to prevent that at all costs—pretend she was separating from Daneel and Giskard voluntarily and ask them to wait behind for her. How could she do that? She had never been entirely without robots in her life. How could she feel safe without them? And yet what other way out of the dilemma offered itself?

D.G. returned. “Your status as heroine, my lady, is a useful bargaining chip. And, of course, I am a persuasive fellow. Your robots may go with you. They will sit on the platform behind you, but there will be no spotlight upon them. And, for the sake of the Ancestor, my lady, don’t call attention to them. Don’t even look at them.”

Gladia sighed with relief. “You’re a good fellow, D.G.,” she said shakily. “Thank you.”

She took her place near the head of the line, D.G. at her left, Daneel and Giskard behind her, and behind them a long tail of officials of both sexes.

A woman Settler, carrying a staff that seemed to be a symbol of office, having surveyed the line carefully, nodded, moved forward to the head of the line, then walked on. Everyone followed.

Gladia became aware of music in simple and rather repetitive march rhythm up ahead and wondered if she were supposed to march in some choreographed fashion. (Customs vary infinitely and irrationally from world to world, she told herself.)

Looking out of the corner of her eye, she noticed D.G. ambling forward in an indifferent way. He was almost slouching. She pursed her lips disapprovingly and walked rhythmically, head erect, spine stiff. In the absence of direction, she was going to march the way she wanted to.

They came out upon a stage and, as they did so, chairs rose smoothly from recesses in the floor. The line split up, but D.G. caught her sleeve lightly and she accompanied him. The two robots followed her.

She stood in front of the seat that D.G. quietly pointed to. The music grew loud, but the light was not quite as bright as it had been. And then, after what seemed an almost interminable wait, she felt D.G.’s touch pressing lightly downward. She sat and so did they all.

She was aware of the faint shimmer of the force-field curtain and beyond that an audience of several thousand. Every seat was filled in an amphitheater that sloped steeply upward. All were dressed in dull colors, browns and blacks, both sexes alike (as nearly as she could tell them apart). The security guards in the aisles stood out in their green and crimson uniforms. No doubt it lent them instant recognition. (Though, Gladia thought, it must make them instant targets as well.)