The Robots of Dawn

by Isaac Asimov

  “Dr. Fastolfe, let us refer to that no more,” said Baley. “What I have now to offer is a possible solution to the mystery.”

  Fastolfe breathed deeply and sat back in his chair. “You hinted as much when you returned from Gladia's.” He looked at Baley with a hint of savagery in his eyes. “Could you not have told me this ‘key’ you have at the start? Need we have gone through all—this?”

  “I'm sorry, Dr. Fastolfe. The key makes no sense without all—this.”

  “Well, then. Get on with it.”

  “I will. Jander was in a position that you, the greatest robotics theoretician in all the world, did not foresee, by your own admission. He was pleasing Gladia so well that she was deeply in love with him and considered him her husband. What if it turns out that, in pleasing her, he was also displeasing her?”

  “I'm not sure as to your meaning.”

  “Well, see here, Dr. Fastolfe. She was rather secretive about the matter. I gather that on Aurora sexual matters are not something one hides at all costs.”

  “We don't broadcast it over the hyperwave,” said Fastolfe dryly, “but we don't make a greater secret of it than we do of any other strictly personal matter. We generally know who's been whose latest partner and, if one is dealing with friends, we often get an idea of how good, or how enthusiastic, or how much the reverse one or the other partner—or both—might be. It's a matter of small talk on occasion.”

  “Yes, but you knew nothing of Gladia's connection with Jander.”

  “I suspected—”

  “Not the same thing. She told you nothing. You saw nothing. Nor could any robots report anything. She kept it secret even from you, her best friend on Aurora. Clearly, her robots were given careful instructions never to discuss Jander and Jander himself must have been thoroughly instructed to give nothing away.”

  “I suppose that's a fair conclusion.”

  “Why should she do that, Dr. Fastolfe?”

  “A Solarian sense of privacy about sex?”

  “Isn't that the same as saying she was ashamed of it?”

  “She had no cause to be, although the matter of considering Jander a husband would have made her a laughingstock.”

  “She might have concealed that portion very easily without concealing everything. Suppose, in her Solarian way, she was ashamed.”

  “Well, then?”

  “No one enjoys being ashamed—and she might have blamed Jander for it, in the rather unreasonable way people have of seeking to attribute to others the blame for unpleasantness that is clearly their own fault.”

  “Yes?”

  “There might have been times when Gladia, who has a shortfused temper, might have burst into tears, let us say, and upbraided Jander for being the source of her shame and her misery. It might not have lasted long and she might have shifted quickly to apologies and caresses, but would not Jander have clearly gotten the idea that he was actually the source of her shame and her misery?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And might this not have meant to Jander that if he continued the relationship, he would make her miserable, and that if he ended the relationship, he would make her miserable. Whatever he did, he would be breaking the First Law and, unable to act in any way without such a violation, he could only find refuge in not acting at all— and so went into mental freeze-out. —Do you remember the story you told me earlier today of the legendary mind-reading robot who was driven into stasis by that robotics pioneer?”

  “By Susan Galvin, yes. I see! You model your scenario on that old legend. Very ingenious, Mr. Baley, but it won't work.”

  “Why not? When you said only you could bring about a mental freeze-out in Jander, you did not have the faintest idea that he was involved so deeply in so unexpected a situation. It runs exactly parallel to the Susan Calvin situation.”

  “Let's suppose that the story about Susan Calvin and the mind-reading robot is not merely a totally fictitious legend. Let's take it seriously. There would still be no parallel between that story and the Jander situation. In the case of Susan Galvin, we would be dealing with an incredibly primitive robot, one that today would not even achieve the status of a toy. It could deal only qualitatively with such matters: A creates misery; not-A creates misery; therefore mental freeze-out.”

  Baley said, “And Jander?”

  “Any modern robot—any robot of the last century— would weigh such matters quantitatively. Which of the two situations, A or not-A, would create the most misery? The robot would come to a rapid decision and opt for minimum misery. The chance that he would judge the two mutually exclusive alternatives to produce precisely equal quantities of misery is small and, even if that should turn out to be the case, the modern robot is supplied with a randomization factor. If A and not-A are precisely equal misery-producers according to his judgment, he chooses one or tke other in a completely unpredictable way and then follows that unquestioningly. He does not go into mental freeze-out.”

  “Are you saying it is impossible for Jander to go into mental freeze-out? You have been saying you could have produced it.”

  “In the case of the humaniform positronic brain, there is a way of sidetracking the randomization factor that depends entirely on the way in which that brain is constructed. Even if you know the basic theory, it is a very difficult and long-sustained process to so lead the robot down the garden path, so to speak, by a skillful succession of questions and orders as to finally induce the mental freeze-out. It is unthinkable that it be done by accident and the mere existence of an apparent contradiction as that produced by simultaneous love and shame could not do the trick without the most careful quantitative adjustment under the most unusual conditions. —Which leaves us, as I keep saying, with indeterministic chance as the only possible way in which it happened.”

  “But your enemies will insist that your own guilt is the more likely. —Could we not, in our turn, insist that Jander was brought to mental freeze-out by the conflict brought on by Gladia's love and shame? Would this not sound plausible? And would it not win public opinion to your side?”

  Fastolfe frowned. “Mr. Baley, you are too eager. Think about it seriously. If we were to try to get out of our dilemma in this rather dishonest fashion, what would be the consequence? I say nothing of the shame and misery it would bring to Gladia, who would suffer not only the loss of Jander but the feeling that she herself had brought about that loss if, in fact, she had really felt and had somehow revealed her shame. I would not want to do that, but let us put that to one side, if we can. Consider, instead, that my enemies would say that I had loaned her Jander precisely to bring about what had happened. I would have done it, they would say, in order to develop a method for mental freeze-out in humaniform robots while escaping all apparent responsibility myself. We would be worse off than we are now, for I would not only be accused of being an underhanded intriguer; as I am now, but, in addition, of having behaved monstrously toward an unsuspecting woman whom I had pretended to befriend, something I have so far been spared.”

  Baley was staggered. He felt his jaw drop and his voice degenerate to a stutter. “Surely they would not—”

  “But they would. You yourself were at least half-inclined to think so not very many minutes ago.”

  “Merely as a remote—”

  “My enemies would not find it remote and they would not publicize it as remote.”

  Baley knew he had reddened. He felt the wave of heat and found he could not look Fastolfe in the face. He cleared his throat and said, “You are right. I jumped for a way out without thinking and I can only ask your pardon. I am deeply ashamed. —There's no way out, I suppose, but the truth—if we can find it.”

  Fastolfe said, “Don't despair. You have already uncovered events in connection with Jander that I never dreamed of. You may uncover more and, eventually, what seems altogether a mystery to us now may unfold and become plain. What do you plan to do next?”

  But Baley could think of nothing through the shame of hi
s fiasco. He said, “I don't really know.”

  “Well, then, it was unfair of me to ask. You have had a long day and not an easy one. It is not surprising that your brain is a bit sluggish now. Why not rest, view a film, go to sleep? You will be better off in the morning.”

  Baley nodded and mumbled, “Perhaps you're right.”

  But, at the moment, he didn't think he'd be any better off in the morning at all.

  30

  The bedroom was cold, both in temperature and ambience. Baley shivered slightly. So low a temperature within a room gave it the unpleasant feeling of being Outside. The walls were faintly off-white and (unusual for Fastolfe's establishment) were not decorated. The floor seemed to the sight to be of smooth ivory, but to the bare feet it felt carpeted. The bed was white and the smooth blanket was cold to the touch.

  He sat down at the edge of the mattress and found it yielded very slightly to the pressure of his weight.

  He said to Daneel, who had entered with him, “Daneel, does it disturb you when a human being tells a lie?”

  “I am aware that human beings lie on occasion, Partner Elijah. Sometimes, a lie might be useful or even mandatory. My feeling about a lie depends upon the liar, the occasion, and the reason.”

  “Can you always tell when a human being lies?”

  “No, Partner Elijah.”

  “Does it seem to you that Dr. Fastolfe often lies?”

  “It has never seemed to me that Dr. Fastolfe has told a lie.”

  “Even in connection with Jander's death?”

  “As far as I can tell, he tells the truth in every respect.”

  “Perhaps he has instructed you to say that—were I to ask?”

  “He has not, Partner Elijah.”

  “But perhaps he instructed you to say that, too—”

  He paused. Again—of what use was it to cross-examine a robot? And in this particular case, he was inviting infinite regression.

  He was suddenly aware that that mattress had been yielding slowly under him until it now half-enfolded his hips. He rose suddenly and said, “Is there any way of warming the room, Daneel?”

  “It will feel warmer when you are under the cover with the light out, Partner Elijah.”

  “Ah.” He looked about suspiciously. “Would you put the light out, Daneel, and remain in the room when you have done so?”

  The light went out almost at once and Baley realized that his supposition that this room at least, was underrated was totally wrong. As soon as it was dark, he felt he was Outside. There was the soft sound of wind in trees and the small, sleepy mutters of distant life-forms. There was also the illusion of stars overhead, with an occasional drifting cloud that was just barely visible.

  “Put the light back on, Daneel!”

  The room flooded with light.

  “Daneel,” said Baley. “I don't want any of that. I want no stars, no clouds, no sounds, no trees, no wind—no scents, either. I want darkness—-featureless darkness. Could you arrange that?”

  “Certainly, Partner Elijah.”

  “Then do so. And show me how I may myself put out the light when I am ready to sleep.”

  “I am here to protect you, Partner Elijah.”

  Baley said grumpily, “You can do that, I am sure, from just the other side of the door. Giskard, I imagine, will be just outside the windows, if, indeed, there are windows beyond the draperies.”

  “There are. —If you cross that threshold, Partner Elijah, you will find a Personal reserved for yourself. That section of the wall is not material and you will move easily through it. The light will turn on as you enter and it will go out as you leave—and there are no decorations. You will be able to shower, if you wish, or do anything else that you care to before retiring or after waking.”

  Baley turned in the indicated direction. He saw no break in the wall, but the floor molding in that spot did show a thickening as though it were a threshold.

  “How do I see it in the dark, Daneel?” he asked.

  “That section of the wall—which is not a wall—will glow faintly. As for the room light, there is this depression in the headboard of your bed which, if you place your finger within it, will darken the room if light—or lighten it if dark.”

  “Thank you. You may leave now.”

  Half an hour later, he was through with the Personal and found himself huddling beneath the blanket, with the light out, enveloped by a warm spirit-hugging darkness.

  As Fastolfe had said, it had been a long day. It was almost unbelievable that it had been only that morning that he had arrived on Aurora. He had learned a great deal and yet none of it had done him any good.

  He lay in the dark and went over the events of the day in quiet succession, hoping that something might occur to him that had eluded him before—but nothing like that happened.

  So much for the quietly thoughtful, keen-eyed, subtle-brained Elijah Baley of the hyperwave drama.

  The mattress was again half-enfolding him and it was like a warm enclosure. He moved slightly and it straightened beneath him, then slowly molded itself to fit his new position.

  There was no point in trying, with his worn, sleep-seeking mind, to go over the day again, but he could not help trying a second time, following his own footsteps on this, his first day on Aurora—from the spaceport to Fastolfe's establishment, then to Gladia's, then back to Fastolfe.

  Gladia—more beautiful than he remembered but hard—something hard about her—or has she just grown a protective shell—poor woman. He thought warmly of her reaction to the touch of her hand against his cheek—if he could have remained with her, he could have taught her— stupid Aurorans—disgustingly casual attitude toward sex—anything goes—which means nothing really goes— not worthwhile—stupid—to Fastolfe, to Gladia, back to Fastolfe—back to Fastolfe.

  He moved a little and then abstractedly felt the mattress remold again. Back to Fastolfe. What happened on the way back to Fastolfe? Something said? Something not said? And on the ship before he ever got to Aurora— something that fit in—

  Baley was in the never-never world of half-sleep, when the mind is liberated and follows a law of its own. It is like the body flying, soaring through the air and liberated of gravity.

  Of its own accord, it was taking the events—little aspects he had not noted—putting them together—one thing adding to another—clicking into place—forming a web—a fabric—

  And then, it seemed to him, he heard a sound and he roused himself to a level of wakefulness. He listened, heard nothing, and sank once more into the half-sleep to take up the line of thought—and it eluded him.

  It was like a work of art sinking into a morass. He could still see its outlines, the masses of color. They got dimmer, but he still knew it was there. And even as he scrambled desperately for it, it was gone altogether and he remembered nothing of it. Nothing at all.

  Had he actually thought of anything or was the memory of having done so itself an illusion born of some drifting nonsense in a mind asleep? And he was, indeed, asleep.

  When he woke briefly during the night, he thought to himself: I had an idea. An important idea.

  But he remembered nothing, except that something had been there.

  He remained awake a while, staring into the darkness. If, in fact, something had been there—it would come back in time.

  Or it might not! (Jehoshaphat!)

  —And he slept again.

  8. Fastolfe and Vasilia

  31

  Baley woke with a start and drew in his breath with sharp suspicion. There was a faint and unrecognizable odor in the air that vanished by his second breath.

  Daneel stood gravely at the side of the bed. He said, “I trust, Partner Elijah, that you have slept well.”

  Baley looked around. The drapes were still closed, but it was clearly daylight Outside. Giskard was laying out clothing, totally different, from shoes to jacket, from anything he had worn the day before.

  He said, “Quite well, Daneel
. Did something awaken me?”

  “There was an injection of antisomnin in the room's air circulation, Partner Elijah. It activates the arousal system. We used a smaller than normal amount, since we were uncertain of your reaction. Perhaps we should have used a smaller amount still.”

  Baley said, “It did seem to be rather like a paddle over the rear. What time is it?”

  Daneel said, “It is 0705, by Auroran measure. Physiologically, breakfast will be ready in half an hour.” He said it without a trace of humor, though a human being might have found a smile appropriate.

  Giskard said, his voice stiffer and a trifle less intoned than Daneel's, “Sir, friend Daneel and I may not enter the Personal. If you will do so and let us know if there is anything you will need, we will supply it at once.”

  “Yes, of course.” Baley raised himself, swung around, and got out of bed.

  Giskard began stripping the bed at once. “May I have your pajamas, sir?”

  Baley hesitated for a moment only. It was a robot who asked, nothing more. He disrobed and handed the garment to Giskard, who took it with a small, grave nod of acceptance.

  Baley looked at himself with distaste. He was suddenly conscious of a middle-aged body that was very likely in less good condition than Fastolfe's, which was nearly three times as old.

  Automatically, he looked for his slippers and found there were none. Presumably, he needed none. The floor seemed warm and soft to his feet.

  He stepped into the Personal and called out for instructions. From the other side of the illusory section of the wall, Giskard solemnly explained the working of the shaver, of the toothpaste dispenser, explained how to put the flushing device on automatic, how to control the temperature of the shower.

  Everything was on a grander and more elaborate scale than anything Earth had to offer and there were no partitions on the other side of which he could hear the movements and involuntary sounds of someone else, something he had to ignore rigidly to maintain the illusion of privacy.