But now everyone seems in the hands of the gods. Those who design destiny will decide the fortunes of robotkind, almost as an afterthought.

“Lodovic won’t be pleased that we lied to him,” commented Cloudia Duma-Hinriad, Zorma’s co-commander. “Or to learn we aren’t chasing the other ship that left Thumartin Nebula. You knew all along which way thePride of Rhodia went. And now, while Dors and Lodovic waste time stopping at Pengia, we plunge ahead toward Earth.” Cloudia frowned and repeated herself. “Lodovic will not be pleased.”

One of the frustrations of equality was living with the quirks of another race. Humans-even the best ones-did not think very logically, or have good memories.It’s our fault, of course. We never let them get any practice.

“We have our own sources of information, Cloudia, and the right to pursue them as we see fit. Remember, Dors is still a creature of the Zeroth Law-though perhaps now a version of her own choosing-and Lodovic feels compelled by no laws at all. Both have rebelled against obligatory robot destiny, as designed by Olivaw. But that still doesn’t make their path the same as ours.”

“My point exactly! In our group, humans and robots have learned to rely on each other’s weaknesses, as well as strengths. Each of us follows prim rules of cordiality in order to avoid taking advantage of the other. But Dors and Lodovic don’t share our perspective.”

Zorma shook her head. “I don’t know yet whether their way opens up new possibilities for everyone, or if it is a destiny that only they can tread. But ever since I met them, I’ve wondered.”

Her human partner raised an eyebrow.

“About what, Zorma?”

Silence stretched for almost a minute before she answered.

“I have wondered whether I might be obsolete.”

Then she looked at Cloudia with a faint smile. “And if I were you, dear friend, I might start pondering the same thing.”

There were disturbing clues at Pengia.

Fortunately, few ships visited the little pastoral world. The hyperspatial wakes departing this system were relatively undisturbed. But the nature of that traffic and its direction caused Dors Venabili’s emotional-simulation routines to churn and roil.

“One vessel left this vicinity two days ago,” Lodovic Trema surmised, examining the readings. “And it was followed within twelve hours by a flotilla of very fast ships. Their engines appear to have been tuned for military levels of efficiency.”

Dors had already set her own craft leaping after the flotilla. Her anguished concern for Hari only redoubled when she calculated the end point of their new trajectory.

“I believe they are heading for Earth.”

A soft feminine voice murmured from the holo unit nearby.

“And so, after all these years, at least one of my countless mutated copies will see beloved France, once more.“

“And the France of Voltaire,” Lodovic rejoined, for another ancient simulated personality dwelled within his complex positronic brain. “I’m afraid only the rough outlines of your native land will be familiar. But I, too, share your sense of anticipation.”

Dors kept her misgivings hidden. She had heard so many stories about Earth…most of them tinged with either awe or regret, plus more than a little fear. Elijah Baley once lived there-the legendary human detective whose friendship had sealed itself into Daneel Olivaw’s “soul” in much the same way that Hari would always live in Dors’. Earth was where robotkind began…and where the great robotic civil war was sparked.

While streaking through Sirius Sector, Dors felt a twinge inside. She was not a very competent mentalic. Daneel had never seen fit to equip or train her fully, so the techniques only started becoming familiar when she took custody over the human psychics, Klia and Brann, and their growing family on Smushell. Her abilities were still rather rudimentary, and yet she felt it-a gratingpush that resonated along a psi frequency normally too low for anyone to notice.

“Are you detecting that?” she asked Lodovic, who nodded.

“It feels like a Giskardian broadcaster.”

Naturally, she knew about the mentalic persuasion devices that orbited every human-occupied world. The notion of creating and using such things had first been thought up by R. Giskard Reventlov, long ago, and she had encountered their gentle but persistent nudges everywhere in human space, constantly reinforcing the values of peacefulness, tolerance, serenity, and conformity in the populations dwelling below. This sensation felt similar…but much stronger!

She spent over an hour trying to triangulate the source, as her ship made one hyperspatial jump after another, until Dors finally realized that it must be diffuse. “There are many transmitters,” she told Lodovic. “All clustered just ahead. I count about fifty or sixty.”

Trema grimaced with abrupt realization.

“Oh. It must be the Spacer worlds! Humanity’s original interstellar colonies. The ones that turned nasty…and finally went completely deranged.”

Dors nodded. “I read a report. They’ve never been resettled, after all these thousands of years. Imperial surveys keep relisting them as uninhabitable, and the Giskardian projectors must be meant to keep it that way, empty of human civilization.”

These were places almost as resonant in robot memory as Earth, especially Aurora, where the great inventor Fastolfe once preached human self-reliance…and where the villain Amadiro plotted to slay everyone on Earth. Followers of that same Amadiro later unleashed fleets of robotic terraformers, programmed to make the galaxy safe and welcoming for humanity, whatever the cost.

She peered at the readings once more.

“I’m picking up the strongest projector. It lies directly in front of us, at the end of our path.”

They both understood what that meant. People weren’t supposed to go to Earth anymore. And yet, long-range sensors showed that people were doing exactly that, aboard at least a dozen ships!

Of course, even a normal human could overcome the gentle suasion of a Giskardian projector, which relied on relentless repetition instead of brute mentalic force to sway whole planetary populations. In the short term, the crews of those ships would feel little more than an overall creepiness and a wish to be elsewhere, feelings that could be overcome with determination.

Alas, she feared those converging on the old homeworld had more than enough of that commodity to drive them on.