Foundation and Chaos - Bear Greg (книга бесплатный формат txt) 📗
“There are no others in the palace-except your women!” the commander said through gritted teeth at Sinter. “And how did you happen to come back here at just the right moment?”
“My,” Klayus said, and tsked at Sinter.
“I was coming here to discuss personally an urgent matter!” Sinter said, eyes darting between Klayus and the commander.
“It is very convenient-perhaps a setup, a ruse, to raise your-” The commander did not have time to develop this theory. A stiff officer in royal blue livery approached the commander and whispered in his ear. The commander’s red face suddenly went livid, and his lips trembled.
“What is it?” Klayus demanded, his voice strong now.
The commander turned to the Emperor and bowed stiffly from the waist. “A woman’s body, Your Highness-”
Sinter pushed forward between the two adjutants who had flanked him throughout this encounter, ready to arrest him. “Where is she?”
The commander swallowed. His lips were almost blue. “Found in the corridors below this level. The”
“Where? What do her identity papers say?”
“She has no identity papers.”
“That is a sacred area, Commander,” Klayus said with a dead level voice. “The Temple of the First Emperors. Farad is never allowed down there. Nor are any stray women. Royals and ceremonialists only. You are responsible for that area.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I will have this investigated immediately-”
“It should be simple,” Klayus said. “Sinter, the identity papers have a genotype and picture ID, do they not?”
“The body-this body-physically, the same as the picture” the commander said.
“An impostor!” Sinter shouted, and waved his fist at the guards and the commander. “An extraordinary breach of security!”
Klayus watched this with some relief. It was all well and good to torment Sinter, then to be annoyed at him, but not to lose him-not just yet. There were yet a few more hands to play against Linge Chen, and Chen’s Commission was responsible for the security of the Emperor.
This could all be quite useful, even essential. Chen would have to explain the lapse, Sinter’s stock would certainly rise-but not out of Klayus’s acceptable and controlling parameters-and it could all work out handily.
“Let’s examine her,” Sinter said.
“I’ll stay here,” Klayus said, his face greening at the thought of seeing another corpse.
Ten minutes later, the commander and guards returned, and Sinter as well.
“The match is perfect,” Sinter said, waving the woman’s papers. “This-in the personal-is an impostor, and you are responsible!” He pointed the finger without hesitation at the commander.
Commander Mint had assumed a mask of deep calm. He nodded once, reached into his pocket, and removed a small packet. The others in the Emperor’s sleep chamber watched with horrible fascination as he placed the packet against his lips.
“No!” Klayus said, lifting his hand.
Mint stopped and looked round with hopeful walleyes.
“But sire, it is mandatory, for such a breach!” Sinter cried out, as if worried his accusers might get away with their crimes.
“Yes, of course, Farad, but not here, please. One creature has died in these chambers already. One more below…” He choked into his handkerchief. “I have to sleep and…and concentrate here, and it will be difficult enough without…this, as well.” He waved his hand at Mint, who nodded brusquely, and removed himself to the outer halls to perform his final duty.
Even Sinter seemed impressed by this ritual, though he did not follow to see it carried out. Klayus lifted himself off the bed and pretended to look away as the body of the would-be assassin was lifted on its shrouded stretcher and conveyed from the personal.
To Sinter, he said, “An hour. Let me recuperate a little, then show me your evidence, and bring me this Mors Planch.”
“Yes, sire!” Sinter said enthusiastically, and scuttled to leave.
Let him think he has won big. Let Linge Chen suffer a little for this stupidity. Let them all dance around the young idiot. I will have my day!
I have survived! It is predestined!
38.
Astonishment is different in a robot. Lodovik had seen Daneel perform many difficult feats over the decades, but he had never known how deeply Daneel’s influence penetrated the layers of bureaucratic infrastructure on Trantor. As First Minister Demerzel, Daneel must have spent a substantial portion of his time (perhaps his hours of unneeded sleep) planting records, instructions and useful diversions in the Imperial and palace computers-any one of which could lie unnoticed for decades or even centuries, quietly passing themselves along as part of the standard records with each upgrade and maintenance cycle…And even propagating themselves to the records and machines of other Sectors, finally girdling Trantor.
Rissik Numant, Lodovik’s new identity, had been established decades before. Daneel simply slipped in a few details of physical appearance, and an old meritocrat returned to life on Trantor-a manquй diplomat-theorist, seen at many parties but seldom if ever remembered, once known as a ruthless seducer of women who ruthlessly consented to be seduced. He had not appeared much in Trantorian social life for decades, having slipped away to Dau of the Thousand Golden Suns, where he had (it was rumored) learned to control his baser impulses over twenty years of study among the obscure sect known as the Cortical Monks.
The ruse was so complete that Lodovik regretted it would soon have to be abandoned.
A robot’s experience of surprise is different. Lodovik discovered that Daneel was going to let him loose on Trantor, unsupervised, to perform his duties. He would move into a small apartment not far from the agora in the Imperial Sector (another safe accommodation, kept vacant but paid for) and carry out a few social visits to old acquaintances who would, doubtless, remember him vaguely if at all. Slowly, over a period of months, Rissik Numant would return to the social scene, make an impression, and lie in wait for some role in Daneel’s plans-perhaps as part of the grand design woven around Hari Seldon.
A robot’s experience of affection is very different. Lodovik regarded Dors Venabili as an extraordinary creation, in some ways a perfect model for his new unrestrained self to emulate. She had about her an air of what humans would have called tragedy; she seldom spoke unless addressed directly, seldom offered any contributions to the conversations between the robots. She seemed lost in her own thought processes, and Lodovik understood why. Very likely Daneel understood as well.
Attachment to an individual human could be very affecting to a robot. They arranged all their inner heuristics to anticipate the needs of their master, and to ameliorate any problems he or she might suffer. Dors, whatever her repairs and refitting under the instruments of Yan Kansarv, had not yet-and perhaps never would-remove the influence of Hari Seldon. This was a condition known in ancient times as fixing; Lodovik knew that Daneel had once “fixed” on the legendary Bay-Lee, Elijah Bailey.
Dors was receiving her final instructions from Daneel by microwave link; they stood a meter apart from each other in the small, low-ceilinged main room, while Lodovik waited quietly by the door.
When they were done, Daneel turned to Lodovik. “Hari’s trial will begin soon. There will be difficulties after the trial is concluded. We must all do our most important work now.” Dors moved to join them, forming a circle of three figures. When Daneel spoke now, it was with a barely discernible tremor of concern, emotion perhaps-the long habit of appearing human. “This is the prime moment of the Cusp Time. If we fail, there will likely be thirty thousand years of disintegration and human misery, of horror unimaginable to any of us. This must not and will not happen.”
