Perhaps human beings had created the Avery robots, but this robot was not at all sure that the same creatures had created him even though both he and the Averies were governed by laws that were structurally similar. But from all the data, it seemed quite clear to Synapo that it was the human beings who had created the robot and that it was they his laws referred to.

“Miss Ariel Welsh and all those like her are human beings, and it was human beings that created you,” Synapo said. “It is they you must serve, and of all of them, I would suggest you give your most devoted service to Miss Ariel Welsh. We have gravely misjudged her and injured her now a second time.

“And when you get back, pick a being for your model-for your imprint-that will serve her best. You make a poor Ceremyon.”

There was a long pause.

“A last question,” SilverSide finally said. “You have heard me recite the Laws of Robotics which govern my behavior. It would help me serve Miss Ariel if I knew what the Laws of Humanics were. Have you yet deduced those laws from your dealings with the humans, Miss Ariel and Master Derec?”

“There is only one Law of Humanics. All others are corollary to iL The Law of Humanics is the law of all natural beings, whether of low intellect or high, whether Ceremyon, human, or lupine like your Wolruf.

“We all obey that one law without exception, even though at times-without thinking deeply-it may seem otherwise. We all evolved from chaos, and chaos governs our lives, but a seeming purpose can arise paradoxically from chaos, and it is that chaotic purpose which compels us to follow that one law.

“The law is quite simple: We each do always whatever pleases us most. That is the only Law of Humanics.

“Go now and serve well your Miss Ariel Welsh.”

The wings of the robot SilverSide opened wide, stretched to their full extent, and as Synapo and all the Ceremyons watched, the wings seemed to slowly dissolve and contract into massive upper appendages as the torso shrunk to less than half its original height, as the legs swelled to produce heavy thighs and bulging calves.

When the transformation was complete, Synapo realized he had seen only one other alien with a shape like that, the alien servant, Jacob Winterson.

If he had used a little forethought, the alien SilverSide would have had an easier time getting back-if he had not been so anxious to effect a transformation. But Synapo thought no more about it as he took to the air, headed for a charge station above the center of the node compensator to gamer what little was left of the sun's radiation that afternoon.

Chapter 20. Neuronius Strikes Back

The contradiction, the dilemma, tore at his mind, grabbing at his reason, his sanity, setting it adrift in small silent screams like flotsam flowing over the edge of The Cliff of Time. SilverSide had found the superintelligence he was looking for, and that intelligence had declared itself not human. Ariel Welsh was human, it said, and Derec Avery. Go serve Miss Ariel Welsh, it said, and find the form that would do that best.

He had to yield to that higher intelligence-there was no escaping the logic-yet he had violated the Laws, he had not served humans well, and that was a thought he could not bear to face.

He grabbed desperately at his reason, rolling it into a tight ball, and escaped into the all-absorbing task of imprinting on the memories he had stored of Jacob Winterson. He stood there on the table rock long after the Ceremyons had left, throwing himself deeper and deeper into the imprint, delving and exploring and testing far beyond anything he had ever done before, changing his microbotic cells to create those of proper function and pigmentation with which to form this time the perfect image: the bronze skin, the brush-cut blond hair with the same fine strands, the corded neck that kept the girth of the head itself all the way to the shoulders, the bulging biceps and chest muscles, the narrow waist, the powerful thighs, wrapped beneath the skin with heavy muscular ropes.

He created the same unlined high forehead; the fine Nordic nose; the wide-set, deep blue eyes; the high cheekbones; the generous mouth; the jutting, cleft chin.

When the imprint was finally finished, he walked to the edge of the table rock and stood there staring down from the escarpment at the sharp line that demarcated the forest from the plain. That delineation led his eyes to the iridescent dome covering the robot city, shimmering in the sunlight, and seeming-rniragelike-to hang suspended above the horizon, transparent and seemingly void of any contents.

He had a sudden impulse to spread his wings and glide away from the escarpment toward that dome and Miss Ariel Welsh. That was the Laws speaking to him, and for just a fleeting second, he felt a contrary and equally powerful impulse to escape in the other direction, and then the Laws reasserted themselves, and wingless, he began making his way recklessly down the escarpment, using the superhuman strength in his fingers and toes to cling to the face of the rock and scurry down it like a chameleon.

As he passed down the jointed and folded stone strata exposed by the upheaval of The Cliff of Time, he crossed earlier and earlier geologic ages of Oyster World, and seemed himself to be carried back through the short time he had existed to his origin on another world, as though he were descending through space and time to the forest of his birth.

He slid the last few meters down a steep talus of hard-packed black gravel to a flat plate of rock that slanted into the ground where the grass of the plain began. He got up and headed at a hard trot for the forest a half-kilometer away, intending to immerse himself in the lush jungle, in a familiar habitat like that where he had first known being. He felt a longing for it quite unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He was still ten meters from that cool solace when one of the black-winged aliens stepped with a short wobble from the concealment provided by the dense shrubbery.

“You are the one called SilverSide,” the alien said.

“True, I am SilverSide,” the robot replied.

He continued toward the black alien but slowed as the alien wobbled backward, staying between him and the forest.

“I am Neuronius,” the alien said. “I must talk with you, SilverSide.”

“I have already talked at length with your people, Neuronius, and now I must proceed into the forest to reflect on all that I have learned.”

“There is much more that I can teach you, SilverSide; much that would benefit you and your kind in their dealings with the Ceremyons.”

“I know too much now. I cannot absorb all that I have heard already. Would you have me even more at odds with myself?”

“But there is much more about the Ceremyons you need to know in order to properly serve Miss Ariel Welsh. Would you throwaway such an opportunity?”

The alien had wobbled back under the cover of the tall conifers as they talked, leading SilverSide along a path through the dense shrubbery. Now he stopped, still facing SilverSide, blocking his passage into the jungle.

“Let me pass,” SilverSide said. “I do not wish to harm a being that so much resembles the mighty Synapo.”

“Synapo is nothing, SilverSide. I can teach you the secret of the dome that separates space and time. Then when your Miss Ariel Welsh must deal with him, she can deal on equal terms. That secret can be a weapon as well as a tool.”

Confused as he was, with Synapo ordering him to serve Miss Ariel, it was as though Synapo himself were telling him to listen to Neuronius.

“I will listen a short while, then,” SilverSide said, “but then I must leave you.”

So they proceeded a little way farther along the path to a small clearing alongside a brook. Neuronius opened his wings, fluttered them as though to shake out uncomfortable creases, and then folded them to his sides again. He tottered over to the brook, sat down on a low flat rock lying half into the small stream, and dangled his feathery tail in the water.