The Robots of Dawn

by Isaac Asimov

  “You, however, are different. I am here at your request and I am trying to save your career as well as mine and, according to your own account of matters, I am trying to save Aurora as well as Earth. Therefore, I expect you to answer my questions fully and truthfully. Please don't indulge in stalemating tactics, such as asking me why not when I ask why. Now, once again—and for the last time: Why?”

  Fastolfe thrust out his lips and looked grim. “My apologies, Mr. Baley. If I hesitated to answer, it is because, looking back on it, it seems there is no very dramatic reason. Gladia Delmarre—no, she doesn't want her surname used—Gladia is a stranger on this planet; she has undergone traumatic experiences on her home world, as you know, and traumatic experiences on this one, as perhaps you don't know—”

  “I do know. Please be more direct.”

  “Well, then, I was sorry for her. She was alone and Jander, I thought, would make her feel less alone.”

  “Sorry for her? Just that. Are you lovers? Have you been?”

  “No, not at all. I did not offer. Nor did she. —Why? Did she tell you we were lovers?”

  “No, she did not, but I need independent confirmation, in any case. I'll let you know when there is a contradiction; you needn't concern yourself about that. How is it that with you sympathizing so with her and—from what I gather from Gladia, she feeling so grateful to you—that neither of you offered yourself? I gather that on Aurora offering sex is about on a par with commenting upon the weather.”

  Fastolfe frowned. “You know nothing about it, Mr, Baley. Don't judge us by the standards of your own world. Sex is not a matter of great importance to us, but we are careful as to how we use it. It may not seem so to you, but none of us offer it lightly. Gladia, unused to our ways and sexually frustrated on Solaria, perhaps did offer it lightly—or desperately might be the better word—and it may not be surprising, therefore, that she did not enjoy the results.”

  “Didn't you try to improve matters?”

  “By offering myself? I am not what she needs and, for that matter, she is not what I need. I was sorry for her. I like her. I admire her artistic talent. And I want her to be happy. —After all, Mr. Baley, surely you'll agree that the sympathy of one human being for another need not rest on sexual desire or on anything but decent human feeling. Have you never felt sympathy for anyone? Have you never wanted to help someone for no reason other than the good feeling it gave you to relieve another's misery? What kind of planet do you come from?”

  Baley said, “What you say is justified, Dr. Fastolfe. I do not question the fact that you are a decent human being. Still, bear with me. When I first asked you why you had given Jander to Gladia, you did not tell me then what you have told me just now—and with considerable emotion, too, I might add. Your first impulse was to duck, to hesitate, to play for time by asking why not.

  “Granted that what you finally told me is so, what is it about the question that embarrassed you at first? What reason—that you did not want to admit—came to you before you settled on the reason you did want to admit? Forgive me for insisting, but I must know—and not out of personal curiosity, I assure you. If what you tell me is of no use in this sorry business, then you may consider it thrown into a black hole.”

  Fastolfe said in a low voice, “In all honesty, I am not sure why I parried your question. You surprised me into something that, perhaps, I don't want to face. Let me think, Mr. Baley.”

  They sat there together quiedy. The server cleared the table and left the room. Daneel and Giskard were elsewhere (presumably, they were guarding the house). Baley and Fastolfe were at last alone in a robot-free room.

  Finally, Fastolfe said, “I don't know what I ought to tell you, but let me go back some decades. I have two daughters. Perhaps you know that. They are by two different mothers—”

  “Would you rather have had sons, Dr. Fastolfe?”

  Fastolfe looked genuinely surprised. “No. Not at all. The mother of my second daughter wanted a son, I believe, but I wouldn't give my consent to artificial ^insemination with selected sperm—not even with my own sperm—but insisted on the natural throw of the genetic dice. Before you ask why, it is because I prefer a certain operation of chance in life and because I think, on the whole, I wanted a chance to have a daughter. I would have accepted a son, you understand, but I didn't want to abandon the chance of a daughter. I approve of daughters, somehow. Well, my second proved a daughter and that may have been one of the reasons that the mother dissolved the marriage soon after the birth. On the other hand, a sizable percentage of marriages are dissolved after a birth in any case, so perhaps I needn't look for special reasons.”

  “She took the child with her, I take it.”

  Fastolfe bent a puzzled glance at Baley. “Why should she do that?—But I forget. You're from Earth. No, of course not. The child would have been brought up in a nursery, where she could be properly cared for, of course. Actually, though“—he wrinkled his nose as though in sudden embarrassment over a peculiar memory—”she wasn't put there. I decided to bring her up myself. It was legal to do so but very unusual. I was quite young, of course, not yet having attained the century mark, but already I had made my mark in robotics.”

  “Did you manage?”

  “You mean to bring her up successfully? Oh yes. I grew quite fond of her. I named her Vasilia. It was my mother's name, you see.“ He chuckled reminiscently. “I get these odd streaks of sentiment—like my affection for my robots. I never met my mother, of course, but her name was on my charts. And she's still alive, as far as I know, so I could see her—but I think there's something queasy about meeting someone in whose womb you once were.—Where was I?”

  “You named your daughter Vasilia.”

  “Yes—and I did bring her up and actually grew fond of her. Very fond of her. I could see where the attraction lay in doing something like that, but, of course, I was an embarrassment to my friends and I had to keep her out of their way when there was contact to be made, either social or professional. I remember once—” He paused.

  “Yes?”

  “It's something I haven't thought of for decades. She came running out, weeping for some reason, and threw herself into my arms when Dr. Sarton was with me, discussing one of the very earliest design programs for humaniform robots. She was only seven years old, I think and, of course, I hugged her, and kissed her, and ignored the business at hand, which was quite unforgivable of me. Sarton left, coughing and choking—and most indignant. It was a full week before I could renew contact with him and resume deliberation. Children shouldn't have that effect on people, I suppose, but there are so few children and they are so rarely encountered.”

  “And your daughter—Vasilia—was fond of you?”

  “Oh yes—at least, until —She was very fond of me. I saw to her schooling and made sure her mind was allowed to expand to the fullest.”

  “You said she was fond of you until—something. You did not finish the sentence. There came a time, then, when she was no longer fond of you. When was that?”

  “She wanted to have her own establishment once she grew old enough. It was only natural.”

  “And you did not want it?”

  “What do you mean I did not want it? Of course, I wanted it. You keep assuming I'm a monster, Mr. Baley.”

  “Am I to assume, instead, that once she reached the age when she was to have her own establishment, she no longer felt the same affection for you that she naturally had when she was actively your daughter, living in your establishment as a dependent?”

  “Not quite that simple. In fact, it was rather complicated. You see—” Fastolfe seemed embarrassed. “I refused her when she offered herself to me.”

  “She offered herself to yow?” said Baley, horrified.

  “That part was only natural,” said Fastolfe indifferently. “She knew me best. I had instructed her in sex, encouraged her experimentation, taken her to the Games of Eros, done my best for her. It was something to be expected and I was
foolish for not expecting it and letting myself be caught.”

  “But incest}”

  Fastolfe said, “Incest? Oh yes, an Earthly term. On Aurora, there's no such thing, Mr. Baley. Very few Aurorans know their immediate family. Naturally, if marriage is in question and children are applied for, there is a genealogical search, but what has that to do with social sex? No no, the unnatural thing is that I refused my own daughter.” He reddened—his large ears most of all.

  “I should hope so,” muttered Baley.

  “I had no decent reasons for it, either—at least none that I could explain to Vasilia. It was criminal of me not to foresee the matter and prepare a foundation for a rational rejection of one so young and inexperienced, if that were necessary, that would not wound her and subject her to a fearful humiliation. I am really unbearably ashamed that I took the unusual responsibility of bringing up a child, only to subject her to such an unpalatable experience. It seemed to me that we could continue our relationship as father and daughter—as friend and friend—but she did not give up. Whenever I rejected her, no matter how affectionately I tried to do so, matters grew worse between us.”

  “Until finally—”

  “Finally, she wanted her own establishment. I opposed it at first, not because I didn't want her to have one, but because I wanted to reestablish our loving relationship before she left. Nothing I did helped. It was, perhaps, the most trying time of my life. Eventually, she simply— and rather violently—insisted on leaving and I could hold out no longer. She was a professional roboticist by then—I am grateful that she didn't abandon the profession out of distaste for me—and she was able to found an establishment without any help from me. She did so, in fact, and since then there has been little contact between us.”

  Baley said, “It might be, Dr. Fastolfe, that, since she did not abandon robotics, she does not feel wholly estranged.”

  “It is what she does best and is most interested in. It has nothing to do with me. I know that, for to begin with, I thought as you did and I made friendly overtures, but they were not received.”

  “Do you miss her, Dr. Fastolfe?”

  “Of course I miss her, Mr. Baley. —That is an example of the mistake of bringing up a child. You give into an irrational impulse—an atavistic desire—and it leads to inspiring the child with the strongest possible feeling of love and then subjecting yourself to the possibility of having to refuse that same child's first offer of herself and scarring her emotionally for life. And, to add to that, you subject yourself to this thoroughly irrational feeling of regret-of-absence. It's something I never felt before and have never felt since. She and I both suffered needlessly and the fault is entirely mine.”

  Fastolfe fell into a kind of rumination and Baley said gently, “And what has all this to do with Gladia?”

  Fastolfe started. “Oh! I had forgotten. Well, it's rather simple. Everything I've said about Gladia is true. I liked her, I sympathized with her. I admired her talent. But, in addition, she resembles Vasilia. I noticed the similarity when I saw the first hyperwave account of her arrival from Solaria. It was quite startling and it made me take an interest.” He sighed. “When I realized that she, like Vasilia, had been sex-scarred, it was more than I could endure. I arranged to have her established near me, as you see. I have been her friend and done my best to cushion the difficulties of adapting to a strange world.”

  “She is a daughter-substitute, then.”

  “After a fashion, yes, I suppose you could call it that, Mr. Baley. —And you have no idea how glad I am she never took it into her head to offer herself to me. To have rejected her would have been to relive my rejection of Vasilia. To have accepted her out of an inability to repeat the rejection would have embittered my life, for then I would have felt that I was doing for this stranger—this faint reflection of my daughter—what I would not do for my daughter herself. Either way— But, never mind, you can see now why I hesitated to answer you at first. Somehow, thinking about it led my mind back to this tragedy in my life.”

  “And your other daughter?”

  “Lumen?” said Fastolfe indifferently. “I never had any contact with her, though I hear of her from time to time.”

  “She's running for political office, I understand.”

  “A local one. On the Globalist ticket.”

  “What is that?”

  “The Globalists? They favor Aurora alone—just our own globe, you see. Aurorans are to take the lead in settling the Galaxy. Others are to be barred, as far as possible, particularly Earthmen. ‘Enlightened self-interest’ they call it.”

  “This is not your view, of course.”

  “Of course not. I am heading the Humanist party, which believes that all human beings have a right to share in the Galaxy. When I refer to ‘my enemies,’ I mean the Globalists.”

  “Lumen, then, is one of your enemies.”

  “Vasilia is one, also. She is, indeed, a member of the Robotics Institute of Aurora—the RIA—that was founded a few years ago and which is run by roboticists who view me as a demon to be defeated at all costs. As far as I know, however, my various ex-wives are apolitical, perhaps even Humanist.” He smiled wryly and said, “Well, Mr. Baley, have you asked all the questions you wanted to ask?”

  Baley's hands aimlessly searched for pockets in his smooth, loose Auroran breeches—something he had been doing periodically since he had begun wearing them on the ship—and found none. He compromised, as he sometimes did, by folding his arms across his chest.

  He said, “Actually, Dr. Fastolfe. Fm not at all sure you have yet answered the first question. It seems to me that you never tire of evading that. Why did you give Jander to Gladiaf Let's get all of it into the open, so that we may be able to see light in what now seems darkness.”

  29

  Fastolfe reddened again. It might have been anger this time, but he continued to speak softly.

  He said, “Do not bully me, Mr. Baley. I have given you your answer. I was sorry for Gladia and I thought Jander would be company for her. I have spoken more frankly to you than I would to anyone else, partly because of the position I am in and partly because you are not an Auroran. In return, I demand a reasonable respect.”

  Baley bit his lower lip. He was not on Earth. He had no official authority behind him and he had more at stake than his professional pride.

  He said, “I apologize, Dr. Fastolfe, if I have hurt your feelings. I do not mean to imply you are being untruthful or uncooperative. Nevertheless, I cannot operate without the whole truth. Let me suggest the possible answer I am looking for and you can then tell me if I am correct, or nearly correct, or totally wrong. Can it be that you have given Jander to Gladia, in order that he might serve as a focus for her sexual drive and so that she might not have occasion to offer herself to you} Perhaps that was not your conscious reason, but think about it now. Is it possible that such a feeling contributed to the gift?”

  Fastolfe's hand picked up a light and transparent ornament that had been resting on the dining room table. He turned it over and over, over and over. Except for that motion, Fastolfe seemed frozen. Finally, he said, “That might be so, Mr. Baley. Certainly, after I loaned her Jander—it was never an outright gift, incidentally—I was less concerned about her offering herself to me.”

  “Do you know whether Gladia made use of Jander for sexual purposes?”

  “Did you ask Gladia if she made use of him, Mr. Baley?”

  “That has nothing to do with my question. Do you know? Did you witness any overt sexual actions between them? Did any of your robots inform you of such? Did she herself tell you?”

  “The answer to all those questions, Mr. Baley, is no. If I stop to think about it, there is nothing particularly unusual about the use of robots for sexual purposes by either men or women. Ordinary robots are not particularly adapted to it, but human beings are ingenious in this respect. As for Jander, he is adapted to it because he is as humaniform as we could make him—”

  �
��So that he might take part in sex.”

  “No, that was never in our minds. It was the abstract problem of building a totally humaniform robot that exercised the late Dr. Sarton and myself.”

  “But such humaniform robots are ideally designed for sex, are they not?”

  “I suppose they are and, now that I allow myself to think of it—and I admit I may have had it hidden in my mind from the start—Gladia might well have used Jander so. If she did, I hope the process gave her pleasure. I would consider my loan to her a good deed, if it had.”

  “Could it have been more of a good deed than you counted upon?”

  “In what way?”

  “What would you say if I told you that Gladia and Jander were wife and husband?”

  Fastolfe's hand, still holding the ornament, closed convulsively upon it, held it tightly for a moment, then let it drop. “What? That's ridiculous. It is legally impossible. There is no question of children, so there can't conceivably be an application for any. Without the intention of such an application, there can be no marriage.”

  “This is not a matter of legality, Dr. Fastolfe. Gladia is a, Solarian, remember, and doesn't have the Auroran outlook. It is a matter of emotion. Gladia herself told me that she considered Jander to have been her husband. I think she considers herself now his widow and that she has had another sexual trauma—and a very severe one. If, in any way, you knowingly contributed to this event—”

  “By all the stars,” said Fastolfe with unwonted emotion, “I didn't. Whatever else was in my mind, I never imagined that Gladia could fantasize marriage to a robot, however humaniform he might be. No Auroran could have imagined that.”

  Baley nodded and raised his hand. “I believe you. I don't think you are actor enough to be drowning me in a faked sincerity. But I had to know. It was, after all, just possible that—”

  “No, it was not. Possible that I foresaw this situation? That I deliberately created this abominable widowhood, for some reason? Never. It was not conceivable, so I did not conceive it. Mr. Baley, whatever I meant in placing Jander in her establishment, I meant well. I did not mean this. Meaning well is a poor defense, I know, but it is all that I have to offer.”