“Your perception is remarkable,” Lodovik said.

“Is it telling you what to do?”

“It observes,” Lodovik said. “It does not direct.”

“We need an answer,” Brann said, shaking his head in vigorous irritation at these diversions. “Will robots leave us alone…when this is all over?”

“We will do all we can to bring this unfortunate episode to an end,” Plussix said. “We will remove all robots from our faction on Trantor or in any location of influence in the human Galaxy. If Daneel is defeated, humans will be left to their own devices, their own history, to develop naturally.”

Klia tried to taste the robot’s thoughts, but found them far too confusing, too different. She could not find a flaw in its apparent sincerity, however. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the responsibility on her own shoulders, this immense weight that dangled from the hook of her inadequate judgment. She clasped Brann’s hand.

“Then we’ll help you,” she said.

Hari sat in silence as the judges entered. Boon stood beside him, but Gaal Dornick was not in the chamber. Boon looked uncomfortable. Hari had not slept much the night before. He wanted to squirm in his chair and find a more comfortable position, but froze as Linge Chen entered. The Chief Commissioner took the highest dais and stared solemnly into space.

Sky, I hate that man, Hari thought.

The advocate for the Commission of Public Safety entered and approached the judges.

“Today was scheduled as an opportunity for the Commission for General Security to interview Professor Seldon,” he said. “But the new Commissioners apparently have more important things to do, and have requested a postponement. Is it the wish of the Commissioner judges to grant this postponement?”

Linge Chen regarded the courtroom through heavy-lidded, almost sleepy eyes, then nodded. Hari thought he detected a small curve in the Chief Commissioner’s lips.

“Shall we then proceed with the trial to its final phase, or recess and continue the proceedings at a later date?”

Hari sat up with a grunt. Boon laid a hand on his arm.

Linge Chen looked up at the ceiling. “Recess,” he murmured, and looked down again.

“We shall recess until such time as the judges believe it is expedient to resume,” the advocate said.

Hari seemed to feel himself deflating. He shook his head and glared at the Chief Commissioner, but Chen was contemplating some higher sphere of being, with a satisfaction that Hari found doubly infuriating.

In the hallway to his chambers, Hari shouted at Boon. “They will never be done with me! They have no decency!”

Boon simply lifted his hands, helpless, and the guards returned Hari to his cell.

Linge Chen allowed Kreen to remove his judge’s robes. The servant undressed his master silently and swiftly, hardly disturbing the Chief Commissioner’s concentration. Chen stared blankly at the opposite wall as Kreen undid his long golden waist bands. Finally, dressed in a pale gray cassock, Chen raised a finger, and Kreen bowed and left the Commissioner’s chamber.

Chen touched his finger to his earlobe and turned slowly, as if in a trance, to the desktop informer. “Hari Seldon,” he said. “Distillation of main sources.”

The informer worked for several seconds, then responded, “Two hundred and seventy-four reports on psychohistory, Seldon, sequestering of for trial, academicians concerned about Seldon’s treatment by the nonpublic tribunal, forty-two unsigned opinion pieces by meritocrats on Trantor alone advocating his release”

Chen told the machine to stop. The coverage was comparatively light, as he had expected. He had not planned either to encourage or suppress any stories regarding Seldon, and saw no reason to change this approach now.

Chen actually had an aristocratic distaste for control of information sources-best to leave them unfettered and know how to obtain the results one wanted through manipulation of events deemed newsworthy. Anything more heavy-handed was usually far too obviously self-serving, and therefore less effective.

“Seldon and robots,” Chen said, his voice low and steady. He closed his eyes.

The informer droned on, “Fourteen stories express concern over the creation of the Commission of General Security. There is mention in each of Farad Sinter’s interest in Eternals and his belief they are robots. There is also mention of Joranum and his downfall at the hands of Demerzel and Hari Seldon. Four speculate that Farad Sinter is behind the arrest and trial of Hari Seldon. Two link Seldon with the liger Woman, who was at times thought by extremists and political opportunists to be a robot, until her death. These last stories originated with the Commission of General security.”

“Key outlets?”

“All key.”

“Details on the first.”

“Highest profile outlet and story, Trantor Radiance, twenty-seven media types, saturation of all twenty-seven.”

Chen nodded absently to himself, touched his lobe again. He called for Kreen to return. The Lavrentian seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if he had simply faded in place, never having left the room. “Are Farad’s Specials on the move again?”

“Yes, sire. They are assigned to the Commission of General Security. Vara Liso is leading them on searches again. The Emperor is aware of their activities and seems to approve.”

“Sinter isn’t wasting any time. After all these years, Kreen-this almost seems too easy. Summon General Prothon out of his ‘retirement,’” Chen ordered, “and send him to me. No communication once he arrives.”

The Chief Commissioner stared at Kreen and broke into a broad, almost boyish grin. His servant returned the grin halfheartedly. The last time he had seen such a grin on Chen’s face, the Chief Commissioner had ordered General Prothon to escort Agis IV into an exile-an oblivion, actually-from which he had never returned. All hell had broken loose in the palace. Kreen had lost four family members in subsequent purges and political renormalizations.

Ever since, the name Prothon had carried a heavy freight of fear-as Chen no doubt intended.

Kreen retreated once more, his face pale. “Yes, sire.”

Kreen, like all Lavrentians, wished only for stability and peace and steady work, but that, apparently, was not to be.

Lodovik entered the long chamber and saw Kallusin standing in shadow near the large window overlooking the main warehouse. Three humaniform figures stood between Kallusin and the window. Lodovik saw a glint of metal on a raised platform between them. He stepped forward and was met by Kallusin, who held up a hand.

Plussix reclined on the raised platform. A steady and distinctive sand-paper sound issued from the interior of the ancient robot’s thorax.

As far as he knew, Lodovik had not seen the others before. He assumed they were all robots. Two were male, one female.

The female looked at him. Though her features had changed, by her attitude and size, and the catlike stance that had helped earn her name of the “Tiger Woman,” Lodovik realized this must be Dors Venabili. For a moment, he could not guess why she would be here, or why Plussix would be on its back.

The scene resembled a human deathbed vigil.

“There can be no more repairs,” Kallusin said. “R. Plussix is near its end.”

Ignoring the visitors for a moment, Lodovik stepped up to Plussix’s platform. The old metal-skinned robot was covered with diagnostic sheets. Lodovik looked at Kallusin, and in machine-language, the humaniform told him the situation: several of Plussix’s key systems were not repairable on Trantor. Dors was here under an agreement of safe passage; Daneel himself wanted to come, to pay his respects if necessary, but would not take the risk under the present circumstances. This was unfortunate, an ill-timed blow to the cause that Lodovik had so recently joined, but even more distressing news was conveyed. “It seems that our precautions for secrecy have failed. You have carried a detection device with you from Eos. Daneel used you as a lure, in order to find us.”