Copyright © 1999, by David Brin. All rights reserved. No duplication or resale without permission.

4.

     Ten minutes before landing on Panucopia, Dors retreated to her shielded cabin. She reached into her shirt and unfolded a piece of dark fabric. It lay on the small table, creaseless and passive, until her positronic brain sent a coded microwave burst. Then the surface flickered and a human face suddenly shimmered to life, resembling a young woman with close-cropped hair, stern-visaged and experienced beyond her apparent years. Blue eyes scanned Dors, evaluating, before the image finally spoke.
     "Months have passed since you last summoned me, Dors Venabili. Does my presence make you so uncomfortable?"
     "You are a synthetically-resurrected human sim, Joan, and therefore contraband. Against the law."
     "Against human law. But angels may see what men cannot."
     "I've told you before, I'm a robot, not an angel."
     The youthful figure shrugged. Links of chain armor rustled.
     "You are immortal, Dors. You think of nothing but service to fallen humanity, restoring opportunities that have been thrown away by obstinate men and women. You are the embodiment of faith in ultimate redemption. All of that seems to support my interpretation."
     "But my faith is not the same as yours."
     The ersatz Joan of Arc smiled.
     "That would have mattered to me earlier, when I was first revived -- or artificially simulated -- into this strange new era. But the time I spent linked to Voltaire's sim changed me. Not as much as he hoped! But enough to learn a certain amount of prag-mat-ism."
     She enunciated the final word with a soft grimace.
     "My beloved France is now a poisoned wasteland on a ruined world, and Christianity is long forgotten, so I will settle for the closest thing.
     "After getting to know Daneel Olivaw, I came to recognize a true apostle of chaste goodness and saintly self-sacrifice. His followers wield righteousness, for the sake of countless suffering human souls.
     "And so I ask, dear angel, what can I do for you?"
     Dors pondered. This was just one copy of the Joan sim. Millions had been dispersed into the interstellar medium -- along with just as many Voltaires and a collection of ancient meme-creatures -- to be blown out of the galaxy by supernova winds, as part of a deal that Hari struck forty years earlier to get the cybernetic entities away from Trantor. Until they were successfully banished, the software beings could have become a wild card in human affairs, potentially spoiling the Seldon Plan.
     Despite all that effort to get rid of them, a few duplicates remained "stuck" in the real world. Though she took precautions to keep this one isolated, Dors felt unavoidable sympathy for Joan. Anyway, the approaching rendezvous with Lodovic created an overwhelming need to talk to somebody.
     Maybe it's from all those years when I could tell everything to Hari. The one man in the cosmos who knew all about robots and considered us his closest friends. For a few brief decades I got used to the idea of consulting a human. It felt natural and right.
     I know Joan is no more human than I am. But she feels and acts so much like one! So filled with conflicts, yet so tempestuously sure of her opinions.
     Dors admitted, part of her attraction might come from envy. Joan had no body, no physical sensation. No power in the real world. Still, she would always consider herself a passionate, authentic woman.
     "I face a quandary of duty," Dors finally told the sim. "An enemy has invited me to a meeting."
     "Ah," Joan nodded. "A parley-of-war. And you fear it is a trap?"
     "I know it's a trap. He's offered me a 'gift.' One that I has to be dangerous. Lodovic wants to snare me in some way."
     "A test of faith!" Joan clapped her hands. "Of course, I am familiar with such. My years entwined with Voltaire exposed me to many.
     "In that case, the answer to your question is obvious, Dors."
     "But you haven't heard any details!"
     "I don't have to. You must confront this challenge. Set forth and prevail over your doubts.
     "Go, sweet angel, and trust your faith in God."
     Dors shook her head.
     "I told you before --"
     But the sim raised a hand before Dors could finish, cutting her off.
     "Yes, of course. The God I worship is only a superstition.
     "In that case, dear robot... go forth and trust your faith in the Zeroth Law of Robotics."

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