6

GUBBER ANSHAW SMILED to himself as he strolled along the wide boulevards of Valhalla. He had only been to the hidden city a time or two before, and he was genuinely pleased to return.

Valhalla was a utilitarian place, designed down to the last detail to be efficient, sensible, orderly. The overall design was, ironically enough, reminiscent of underground Spacer cities, but perhaps that was to be expected. Building underground did force certain requirements on the design.

The city was built in four levels. The lower three were a fairly conventional series of storage areas, living quarters, and so on, each connected to the others by broad ramps and high-speed lifts. But Gubber was on the top level of Valhalla, and the top level was something quite unconventional, indeed. It did not remind him of anything at all.

It was an open gallery, a half-cylinder on its side, precisely two kilometers long and one kilometer wide. The side walls of the main level merged smoothly into the wide, curved, ceiling. The entire interior surface of the semicylindrical gallery was coated with a highly reflective white material. The overall effect was overbright to human eyes, but no doubt the New Laws regarded it as a more efficient style of illumination.

The floor of the huge gallery was still in large part empty, though it seemed to Glibber that there were a few new structures in place since his last visit. "Structures" seemed a better word than "buildings," as many of them did not seem to be buildings, exactly.

There were, of course, a number of normal-seeming installations on the main level, given over to one conventional purpose or another. He could identify repair centers, warehouses, transshipment centers, and so on. But Gubber did not spend much time considering them. Instead, his eye was drawn to the less identifiable structures clustered toward the center of the main level.

All of them were the size of two- or three-story buildings. Nearly all of them were geometric solids of one sort or another: cubes, cones, dodecahedrons, oblate spheroids, three-, four-, and five-sided pyramids, each painted or coated in a bright primary color. A few were positioned in strange attitudes. One cone was upside-down, and two of the pyramids rested on base-edges, so that their apexes were pointed exactly ninety degrees away from the zenith. Gubber had no idea how the New Law robots had kept them from falling over.

He was reminded of a child's carelessly scattered building blocks. On his last visit, Lancon-03 had described the structures as an experiment in abstract aesthetics, and had launched into an intricate explanation of the theories of beauty and utility currently under discussion in the New Law community.

Some of the structures were occupied or used in some way, while others did not seem to have any access way into their interiors. They were, in essence, abstract sculpture. Gubber did not care for them very much as art, but that was almost incidental. He found it fascinating that the New Laws would construct sculptures in the first place. But did they do so for pleasure, or were they simply compelled to attempt art by the murky demands of the Fourth Law? Did these huge geometric solids appeal to the New Law robots in their own right? Or did these strange beings construct them because they felt they ought to build them, because they wanted to convince themselves they were capable of creating? In short, did they build them because they wanted to, because Fourth Law made them do it, or because they felt it was expected of them, because human cities have public art?

Gubber had been pondering such questions for months now, and was quite pleased to realize he was no nearer an answer. Lancon-03 had never succeeded in explaining things to Gubber's satisfaction, and Gubber himself had not been able to come up with a good explanation. But that suited him fine. Puzzles lost much of their savor once they were solved. "This place always surprises me," he said to his host.

"And why is that, sir?" asked Lancon-03.

Gubber chuckled quietly as he made an expansive sweeping gesture with one arm, taking in all of Valhalla. "I suppose because none of this seems the least bit like me," he said.

Lancon-03 regarded her guest thoughtfully. "I take it, then, that because you invented the gravitonic brain, you expected to see some expression of your own personality in the thing created by beings who possess gravitonic brains?"

"Something like that," Gubber said. "And I must say, handsome as it is, this is not the sort of city I would design."

"Interesting," said Lancon. "We New Law robots have always taken an interest in aesthetics, but I must confess that we have never given much thought to the tastes and opinions of our creators. And, I must confess, what study we have made of the subject has been directing at Dr. Leving, rather than at yourself."

"I'm not surprised to hear it," said Gubber. "It is only recently that I have taken an interest in the New Law robots, or even acknowledged my role in creating you. Fredda Leving took my gravitonic brain design, wrote the New Laws herself, and put the laws in the gravitonics without so much as informing me that she had done so, to say nothing of asking my permission."

"You do not approve of the New Law Robots, then."

Gubber stopped and regarded his companion with a gentle smile. "In theory, no," he said. "I think it was tremendously dangerous and foolhardy for Dr. Leving to do what she did. In practice, I find that I rather like most of the New Law robots I have met. You see the world in a different way than human beings do-and in a different way from Three-Law robots as well."

"In what way, might I ask?"

Gubber nodded toward his companion, then looked forward and started walking again. "No," he said. "You tell me. Tell me as we walk the city that is not what I expected. Tell me of the worldview of the New Law robots."

Lancon-03 thought for a moment as they strolled down the broad center boulevard of Valhalla. "An interesting challenge," she said. "I would venture to guess that no two New Law robots would be able to agree completely on how we see the world. We are a disputive group, I can tell you that much. However, I would say that we are baffled by the outside world-and have the sense that the outside world is baffled by us. Human and Three-Law robots have had endless millennia to work out their relations to each other, to discover how they fit into the universe. We New Law robots have had only about five standard years. During that time, the key thing we have learned is that the universe of humans and Three-Law robots is not the most welcoming of places for those of our kind. At best we have encountered indifference, and, at worst, murderous hostility."

They came to a large two-story building, positioned to command a spectacular view of the main gallery. It was the main administration building. With Prospero away, Lancon-03 was in charge of the city's day-to-day operations. Lancon-03 gestured for Gubber to follow her inside, and then went on speaking as they went through the doorway, and then up a curving ramp that led to the upper level of the building. "Coupled with this hostility is the plain fact that we have no real purpose in the world. There is no predestined role for us. We must create one for ourselves-and that is not a quick or simple process. Prospero understands this. Our skills and aptitude in terraforming work offer us opportunities, of course. But Prospero knows it will take time for humans to accept us fully into that work. He also understands that we must keep ourselves safe until such time as we are accepted, and work relentlessly to exploit any chance to better ourselves. I realize that I have not given a complete answer to your question, for the simple reason that we have not yet discovered one for ourselves. We need a place to search for better answers. We need a refuge, a sanctuary, a place to reflect, to study, to plan. Valhalla is all those things. But it is something else. Something far more important."

Lancon-03 paused at the top of the ramp, Gubber by her side. A wide picture window stood before them. Valhalla's distinctly inhuman architecture was on proud display just beyond the window frame. "Valhalla," said Lancon-03, "is our home."

"'PHASE ONE. INTERCEPTION and stabilization of Comet Grieg and installation of attitude control rockets and main propulsive device.'-I expect that last is a polite term for a massive bomb of whatever sort." Jadelo Gildern smiled unpleasantly as he looked up from his datapad. "I never have cared overmuch for misused euphemism. The term 'propulsive device' is so vague it merely brings the question of what the thing might be to one's attention."

"Get on with it, Gildern," said Simcor Beddle, as he sat back in his lounge chair, his hands folded in his lap, his gaze fixed on the far corner of the ceiling.

"Yes, sir. 'Phase two. Activation of the main propulsion device. Phase three. Cruise toward planet. Attitude control rockets used to correct and maintain course. Phase four. Controlled breakup of Comet Grieg into separate fragments.' Lentrall seems not to have decided how many fragments, or of what size. 'Phase five. Targeting of fragments. Phase six. Impact of fragments on planet.'"

"Burning stars," said Beddle. "I am not sure I am ready to believe all this. They are planning to use a comet to dig a channel from the sea to the Polar Depression?"

"So it would appear, sir. By targeting the fragments carefully, they mean to line them up like beads on a string, with each smashing into the planet at a carefully chosen spot. In essence the craters will be lined up end to end. They also intend to use oblique strikes."

"Meaning what?" Beddle asked.

"Instead of hitting the ground straight down, they will target the comet fragments to let them strike at a substantial angle of attack. The end result is that, instead of perfectly round craters, they will get rather long, oval ones."

"And all this will magically form a link to the sea?"

"No, sir. It does not seem that they expect the impacts will do all the work of digging, but they do expect them to do the vast majority of it. Conventional digging, or what they call moderate-yield zero-radiation fusion devices-in other words, nuclear bombs-would be used to link the craters up to each other. There are other details to the project, of course. But when I say details, I am referring to huge projects that would seem massive undertakings in any other context. The plan calls for redirecting the flow of the River Lethe not once, but twice. Currently the Lethe runs from west to east for some time before turning south to empty into the Great Bay. Prior to the impact, they will dam it above its turn to the south, and force it into a new channel to the north, so that it will scour out a new outlet in the Polar Depression. After the impact, they will link the old and new channels and reverse the flow a second time and the River Lethe will become the Lethe Channel, forming the second outlet between the Polar Sea and the Southern Ocean."

Beddle got to his feet and looked down on Gildern. "This is madness!" he protested. "I have often been accused of megalomania, but this-this goes far beyond the maddest schemes I ever dreamt of."

"It certainly is ambitious."

Beddle looked sharply at Gildern. "You always have been one for understatement. I would almost suspect you of approving of this madness."

"I must admit that I have an open mind about it all," said Gildern.

Gildern's superior looked surprised. "We will return to that point later, I can assure you," Beddle said. "How is it you got all this information?" he demanded.

"I broke into Lentrall's office and took scans of every document I could," Gildern replied.

"But I thought we had agreed the risk was too great."

"Lentrall left his office and took his robot with him early this morning. I had been monitoring the building for some time, and knew it was virtually deserted at that hour. I decided it was worth the risk of a quick physical search, and of copying the information from his datapads. I didn't make any attempt to examine his on-line computer files. There was a much greater risk of discovery in that."

Beddle nodded, apparently satisfied. "Do you have any sense of how seriously this proposal is being taken?" Beddle asked.

"That I cannot say," Gildern replied, for once speaking with perfect sincerity. "There is nothing in the papers and datacubes I have examined that would give me any idea. I saw Lentrall's proposal-but we have nothing to indicate Kresh's reaction."

"Other than the fact that Kresh is seeing him for the second time even as we speak." Beddle frowned thoughtfully. He gestured to a nearby service robot, who immediately brought an overstuffed chair to where he was standing. Beddle sat down close to Gildern and leaned in close. "I almost get the impression that you approve of this-this scheme."

"I would not go nearly so far. I would say we should not reject it out of hand, once it gets out to the public. And it is sure to get out. Nothing this big can stay hidden for long."

"That much I agree with. But might I ask your reasons for even considering this comet business?"

"Because even half a morning's consideration of it has allowed me to do something I have never permitted myself to do, ever before. It has given me the chance to admit to myself that this planet is doomed."

"I beg your pardon?"

Gildern handed the datapad out into thin air, and his personal robot retrieved it. Gildern leaned forward and put on a troubled, sincere-looking expression. "Sir, the planet is dying. Despite local successes, despite all our previous best efforts, that continues to be the case. Each of us, deep in our heart of hearts, knows that to be true. If I can step away from the party line for a moment, you know and I know that Alvar Kresh has been a most effective governor. He has accomplished a great deal, and bought the planet a great deal of time. But that is all he has done. It is-or at least it has been-all anyone could do. But deep in our hearts, I think we have all known it was not enough, that we were all doomed. And because we were all going to die no matter what we did, we decided that we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime with our silly little games of politics and intrigue. The intrigues were harmless, after all, and would change nothing in the end. We were all going to die. But now-now-there is a chance for this world to live! It is a long chance, that I grant you. The risks, the dangers are enormous. But suddenly there is a chance."

"Hmmph. I see," said Beddle. "And I suppose that is the only reason this scheme intrigues you."

"No, sir, it is not. But the notion that we might actually win, we might actually live, certainly changes the rules of the game. If it does so in my mind, I cannot help but think it will do so in the minds of others. They will look at the political landscape in a whole new way. We must take that psychological shift into account in our planning."

"But you have something more in mind," Beddle said.

"Yes sir, I do," Gildern said, his eyes suddenly alive and intent. He gestured toward his personal robot. "That datapad my robot is holding contains technical information and executive summaries of the whole plan. Nowhere in those summaries is the word 'Settler' to be found. This is a job the Spacers, the Infernals, can do for themselves. Furthermore, if it succeeds, we will not need the Settlers anymore. A successful comet impact and the subsequent formation of the Polar Sea will have such a huge and positive effect on our climate that the task of reterraforming the planet will be reduced to a series of tasks to be attacked in detail. Large tasks, difficult ones, but ones we Spacers can accomplish on our own-and with significantly less labor in the field."

"What are you saying?" Beddle asked sharply.

"I am saying that Grieg took away our robots, and Kresh kept them away, offering the excuse that they were needed for terraforming work. 1f the comet strike happens, and if it goes well, within three, perhaps four years, there will no longer be the slightest need for domestic robot labor in terraforming. "

Beddle said nothing, but nodded thoughtfully.

"I think you will agree, sir, that our party stands to make substantial gains out of the project."

"You are, of course, assuming it succeeds, and does not instead wipe us all out," said Beddle. "But I do appreciate your frank talk, friend Gildern. Any of your reasons would be strong by itself. All of them together are compelling indeed."

Gildern gestured toward his robot, and took his datapad back again, and worked the controls as he spoke. "I haven't quite given all my reasons, sir. There is one more." He handed the datapad over to Beddle, and then leaned back in his chair. "Take a good hard look at where Lentrall wants the damned things to hit."

Beddle looked at his subordinate in puzzlement, and then looked at the map displayed on the datapad's screen. After a moment, the confusion faded away from his face, to be replaced by a broad smile, and then uproarious laughter. "Oh, splendid! Splendid!" Beddle said when he recovered enough to speak. "I could not have planned it better myself. The gods of myth and legend could not have arranged things better."

Jadelo Gildern smiled as he watched the leader of his party studying the map in more detail, still chuckling to himself. Simcor Beddle was right, of course. The thing could not have been arranged any more neatly than it had been.

But perhaps Simcor Beddle would have been better advised to reflect further on who was doing the arranging.

DAVLO LENTRALL GLARED at the elevator door, and jammed his finger down on the button, as if having a human finger push it this time would make a difference, since the elevator hadn't arrived when Kaelor had pushed the button. The meeting with Kresh and Leving was over, and he wanted to get out of this place. "What the devil is going on?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry sir," a disembodied robot voice said. "All elevator service to the roof of Government Tower has been temporarily discontinued."

Lentrall was taken aback, if only for a moment. In a world full of robotic monitors, rhetorical questions frequently received answers. Somewhere there was a camera, and somewhere a robot was seated at a console, watching the view from that camera and several dozen others. "I need to get to the rooftop landing pad. My aircar is up there! " Lentrall protested. The meeting with the governor and his wife had gone well, and Lentrall was impatient to get back to his lab and get back to work. There were a thousand details to be seen to, a thousand points to research. He couldn't waste time waiting around for a gang of robots to repair the wobbly railing, or whatever other deadly peril had closed off the roof.

"I am sorry, sir," the robot voice replied, "but there is a safety hazard on the roof at the present time. First Law requires that-"

"Yes, yes, yes," Lentrall said irritably. "I know all that. But my aircar is up there, and I need it to get home."

"You are not alone in this difficulty, sir. If you will take the elevator to the ground level, arrangements have been made to have robot pilots shuttle the aircars down to the main plaza. They should be able to begin that operation in a few minutes, while it might well be a delay of up to an hour before the roof is opened again."

Davlo let out a weary sigh. "Very well," he said, "I suppose that will have to do. Come along, Kaelor."

"One moment sir," his robot said. "I should like to ask the nature of the safety hazard on the roof."

Just then the elevator arrived. "What difference can that make?" Davlo demanded. "Come along."

"Very well, sir."

The two of them stepped into the elevator car and headed down.

"LOBBY TEAM REPORTS Lentrall and his robot are just coming off the elevator. They are headed toward the plaza."

"I see them," said Cinta Melloy as she watched through magniviewers. From her vantage point across the street and twenty stories up, Lentrall didn't appear to be worried or suspicious. That was all to the good. Even better was that his security team was still up on the roof of the building, dealing with the safety hazard that Cinta's people had arranged: an airtruck, carrying a load of maintenance supplies-including one barrel of flammable cleaning fluid that had sprung a dramatic leak the moment it had touched down.

Right now there was no bigger problem than a bad leak of a mildly hazardous chemical, just enough of a nuisance to make any self-respecting Three-Law robot seal off the area, shut down the elevators, hustle all the nearby humans off the roof and into the building, and generally disrupt things. But if things got organized and settled down too quickly, then Cinta was ready, willing, and able to cause a short-circuit aboard the airtruck. Her dirty-tricks people promised that the resultant fireball would be spectacular, but unlikely in the extreme to hurt anyone or cause any significant damage.

That was important. Cinta's side was playing rough, but there were limits. She was smart enough to know that sooner or later-probably sooner-the CIP would be able to trace this whole operation to her SSS covert action teams. She would just as soon the official complaints did not involve fatalities. The dirty-tricks techs could promise whatever they liked, but explosions had a way of not staying controlled. Things were going to have to get very bad indeed for her to be willing to risk pressing that button. The main thing was that they had separated Lentrall from his security detail-in fact prevented them from hooking up at all.

Everything ought to work. It was a reasonable, straightforward plan. But there had been so little time. Welton had moved too quickly from ordering contingency plans to ordering the snatch itself to take place immediately. Cinta didn't like rushing things. That was the way mistakes got made.

"Plaza team in position," the voice in her ear reported.

Cinta studied the plaza through the magniviewers, but there was no way to tell which of the dozens of people there were hers. Good. Then maybe no one else would be able to spot them either.

Robots. Robots were going to be the problem. Cinta could count at least ten of them in the plaza. They would, of course, move instantly to prevent a kidnapping-given the chance.

But, if all went well, they wouldn't get the chance. Cinta looked up Aurora Boulevard. There it was. A land-transport bus, parked a few blocks away. In a minute or so, it was going to be heading toward Government Plaza at just slightly too high a rate of speed. Cinta smiled to herself. It was hard to control that particular model of bus. If the driver wasn't careful, there was likely to be an accident.

JUSTEN DEVRAY WAS nearly home when the call came in. Gervad was flying them by the slow, scenic, restful route. Justen had had a long day, and he was glad of taking the easy way home. He liked to unwind on the ride home. A long day indeed. It was midday on the day after he had started work. He had been up nearly thirty hours straight at this point. Strange to be flying home to rest in the bright light of midday.

His eyes were heavy. He was almost tempted to turn off the hyperwave tuned to scan the police frequencies. But the constant low mutter of voices was a part of the everyday background of his life. He left it on, leaned back in his chair, and shut his eyes.

And then he heard the voice.

"CIP Metro Dispatch, this is Government Tower Topside."

Something about the voice jerked Justen awake. Then he understood. It was a human voice. A robot should have been the one handling communications from the rooftop guard post. And another thing: Lentrall's security detail was waiting for him on the rooftop landing pad.

Suddenly Justen was wide awake. He sat bolt upright in his seat. "Turn this thing around!" he told Gervad. "Back toward Government Tower at full speed."

"Yes, sir," the robot replied, calm and imperturbable. He brought the car about in a wide arc and headed back toward the center of the city.

Justen reached for the scanner controls, and turned up the volume.

"-ave an accident in progress here," the voice went on. "A transport landed a little hard, and one of the containers on board must have popped a seam. We've got a flammable liquid spill up here. Can't tell you more than that. The robots up here have forced us off the roof proper."

"We are receiving hyperwave reports from the security robots on the scene, Government Tower Topside," a calm robotic voice replied from somewhere, probably CIP HQ. "Clean-up crews are being dispatched."

The damned fools! Justen stabbed at the controls, and set his aircar mike to the same frequency. "This is Commander Devray, en route to Government Tower and monitoring. Who is that at Topside?"

"Sergeant Senall Delmok, sir."

Perfect. Delmok was the least experienced officer on the Topside detail. "Delmok, since when are cleaning supplies delivered to the roof landing pad? What do you think the city tunnel system is for?"

"Sir? I, ah-"

"It's not an accident, Delmok. Someone has deliberately shut down the rooftop landing pad."

"But why-"

"I don't know," Justen said. "Maybe they plan to land on it. Get back out on that rooftop and get your people in control of it. That is a direct order."

"But the robots are keeping us-"

Justen cut him off. "CIP Metro Dispatch. Are you still on this line?"

"Yes, Commander," the calm robot voice replied

"I hereby issue a direct, top-priority order for relay via hyperwave to all robots on the roof of Government Tower. You are to permit the human CIP detachment to return to the roof at once. The supposed spilling accident is a ruse or a diversion perpetrated by a group intending harm to human beings. By forcing the CIP detachment away from their posts, you are permitting danger to humans. Relay that at once."

"Yes, sir. It has been relayed."

"Delmok, if that does not work, I hereby order you to shoot your way past the robots to regain control of that landing pad. Is that understood?"

There was sort of a nervous gulping noise on the line, but then Delmok answered. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said. "Watch that you don't catch that cleaning fluid with a blaster shot, or we'll have a real mess on our hands. Devray out."

Justen glanced toward Gervad. "How soon?" he asked.

"We will arrive over Government Tower in approximately three minutes. However, sir, First Law prevents me from landing this craft in the vicinity of an uncontrolled toxic and flammable material while a human is on board."

"I know," Justen said, working the comm system controls again. "Once we arrive, circle the building near the roof." He got the controls to where he wanted them. "This is Commander Devray on crash emergency circuit. I need immediate voice contact with Governor Kresh."

After a remarkably brief delay, the governor came on the line. "Kresh here."

"Devray here. The code query is Emoch Huthwitz."

"Burning stars," the governor replied, the surprise plain in his voice. But for all of that, he recovered quickly and gave the proper response. "The code reply is melted Sappers."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to know it is really you." Devray and Kresh had agreed on the query and reply after what had happened to Governor Grieg. The opposition had planted a device that simulated Grieg's voice, and made it seem as if he were alive and well after he was dead. The ruse had nearly worked then. Devray did not wish to be fooled by the same sort of impostor.

"So am I, Commander. Something is going on." It was not a question.

"Yes, sir, and I don't know what. There's been a staged accident on the roof of Government Tower. You might be the target-but I suspect it is our young friend. Please go to heightened security status."

"At once," Kresh said. "I can tell you our friend left here not ten minutes ago. Keep me informed. Kresh out."

Justen allowed himself a half a minute to give thanks once again for the blessings of a governor who used to be a cop. Kresh knew better than to tie up the line with a lot of foolish questions.

Justen thought fast. The odds were good that Lentrall was still in the building. And standard operating procedure was for all visitors to the governor to be tracked as they moved through the building. If Lentrall was already with his security detail, maybe everything would be all right. Justen switched to yet another channel. "Commander Justen Devray. Priority call to Central Control, Government Tower."

"This is Central Control." Another calm, unflappable robot voice. Good.

"I need an immediate location fix on a visitor to the governor, named Davlo Lentrall, and a fix on the security detail assigned to him."

"Davlo Lentrall left the building and exited out onto the main plaza approximately thirty seconds ago. His security detail is on the rooftop landing pad and in the Topside command center adjacent to it."

"Damnation!" Devray cut the connection. Now he saw it. The point of the staged accident was to split off Lentrall from his security detail. It had to mean they were going to make a try for him right now. Kill him, or grab him, or something. And there was nothing Justen could do to

Wait a second. There was something. Even if Lentrall didn't have the security detail on him, he did have something nearly as good. His robot. His robot was right there with him. If he could get through to the robot on hyperwave...There had to be a way. There had to be.

"We have reached Government Tower," Gervad announced. "Commencing orbit of the rooftop level."

"Excellent," Justen said, though there was very little all that excellent about the situation. He looked up from the comm system controls. There was the flat top of the huge building, about thirty meters away. It looked as if the robots had formed a sort of protective cordon about the airtruck, keeping all the human personnel well away. He could see several officers arguing with the robots, gesturing vigorously. Damnation. They should be shooting robots, not debating them. He could see one of the police officers waving to him. But the situation on the rooftop was nothing but a diversion. Justen was sure of that. He was determined, therefore, not to be diverted by it. Let the rooftop cops argue with robots all they liked. For a moment he considered heading down toward the plaza below, but thought better of it. No doubt whoever was running this show could see his car up here by the rooftop landing pad. Let them think he was still worried about the accident up there. Besides, he didn't even know Lentrall. He had never seen the man, or even a photo of him. What good could he do in the plaza? But he could at least get some help in. "Call for backup," he told his pilot robot. "I want a full emergency team in here as fast as possible."

"Such a team has already been summoned to deal with the safety hazard on the roof of Government Tower."

"There is no hazard on Government Tower," Justen said. "It's all been staged." But even so-Justen thought for a moment. Even if the chemical spill had been manufactured, that did not mean it was not dangerous. It needed to be dealt with. But he would need people, robots, and equipment on the ground as well. "Redirect half the emergency team to the plaza. We'll need crowd control and an arrest team or two." If nothing else, maybe the police presence would disrupt whatever they had intended for the plaza.

Having done what he could about all that, Justen focused his attention back on the problem immediately at hand. He had to warn Lentrall. But how the devil could he contact Lentrall's robot, when he didn't even know the robot's name, let alone its hyperwave contact code? The university. That was it. They would have a look-up list, for people who wanted to leave messages for the professors. He reached for the comm controls and got to work.

ROBOT CFL-001, BETTER known as Kaelor, was walking in his accustomed place, three steps behind his master, and having to move pretty briskly at that-even though Lentrall was going nowhere in particular. Everyone else might be willing to mill about, passively waiting for their aircars to be brought down, but Lentrall felt the need to be active. He kept walking back and forth around the plaza, trying to find the spot from which he could best see what was going on up on the roof.

As best Kaelor was able to judge, there was no spot on the ground from which anything could be seen, but that didn't stop Lentrall from looking. There was nothing for it but for Kaelor to follow his master back and forth, up and down, doing his best to stay out of everyone's way. He was dodging out of the way of a portly gentleman when the call came in.

A call in and of itself was by no means unusual, and Kaelor took it without breaking stride, or calling attention to himself. He spoke over the hyperwave link, without speaking out loud or making any outward sign. Nine times out of ten, Lentrall wasn't interested in conversation anyway, and Kaelor simply took a message.

"Robot CFL-001 responding for Davlo Lentrall," he said, his hyperwave voice not quite diffident enough to be rude. "Please go ahead."

"This is Commander Justen Devray of the Combined Inferno Police," a voice replied. "I have reason to believe your master is in immediate danger, within the next minute or two, either of assassination or of kidnapping. Protect him at once."

"Message received. I am acting on it." Kaelor might have been designed with a constricted First Law, but the constrictions were intended to help him deal with hypothetical, longterm danger better than most Inferno-built robots. There was nothing in the least constricted about his reaction in a case of actual and current danger to his own master. He started moving before Commander Devray had even finished speaking.

Without a word of explanation, Kaelor lunged forward and grabbed Davlo Lentrall, throwing both arms around Lentrall's waist from the rear, and lifting him bodily off the ground.

"Kaelor! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

Kaelor ignored his master's protests. He had already spotted an ideal protective spot. Kaelor moved toward it, fast.

The Government Tower Plaza had a number of long, low benches scattered about, each bench carved from a single block of stone. The rear portion of each bench's backrest was carved away, no doubt in order to form a pleasing curve. But it also meant the carved-out area below and behind the backrest had solid stone over it and in front of it.

Kaelor rushed for the nearest bench, swung Lentrall's body around into a reclining position, and forced him to lie down behind the bench, with his back on the ground. With the reflexes of a Spacer who knows not to argue with a robot determined to obey the First Law, Lentrall gave up struggling and cooperated. Kaelor lay down in front of his master with his back to him, so that his eyes were facing out and he could. keep watch. Five seconds after the CIP commander had called him, he had his master lying flat on his back, shielded by a stone bench on one side and over him, and Kaelor's own body serving as a shield for the other side.

"There is a threat against you, sir," said the robot, before his master could ask any of the obvious questions. "The police just hyperwaved a warning to me a few seconds ago. They fear your assassination or kidnapping."

"That's absurd!" Lentrall said. "Who in the devil would want to attack me?"

"I do not know. Someone who does not like the idea of you dropping a comet on them, perhaps."

For once, Davlo Lentrall had no reply. All he could do was wait and see what happened next.

Kaelor was fairly sure he would not have long to wait.

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