by Isaac Asimov
Then, too, no one went out when it was actually snowing, as opposed to having the material merely lying about on the ground. Baley told himself, at this point, that the one thing everyone agreed on was that it only snowed when it was very cold. It was not very cold now; it was merely cool. Those clouds did not mean it was going to snow. —Somehow, he felt only minimally consoled.
This was not like the cloudy days on Earth, which he had seen. On Earth, the clouds were lighter; he was sure of that. They were grayish-white, even when they covered the sky solidly. Here, the light—what there was of it—was rather bilious, a ghastly yellowish-slate.
Was that because Aurora's sun was more orange than Earth's was?
He said, “Is the color of the sky—unusual?”
Daneel looked up at the sky. “No, Partner Elijah. It is a storm.”
“Do you often have storms like this?”
“At this time of year, yes. Occasional thunderstorms. This is no surprise. It was predicted in the weather forecast yesterday and again this morning. It will be over well before daybreak and the fields can use the water. We've been a bit subnormal in rainfall lately.”
“And it gets this cold, too? Is that normal, too?”
“Oh yes. —But let us get into the airfoil, Partner Elijah. It can be heated.”
Baley nodded and walked toward the airfoil, which lay on the grassy plot where it had been brought to rest before lunch. He paused.
“Wait. I did not ask Gremionis for directions to Amadiro's establishment—or office.”
“No need, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel immediately, his hand in the crook of Baley's elbow, propelling him gently but unmistakably onward. “Friend Giskard has the map of the Institute clearly in his memory banks and he will take us to the Administration Building. It is very likely that Dr. Amadiro has his office there.”
Giskard said, “My information is to the effect that Dr. Amadiro's office is in the Administration Building. If, by some chance, he is not at his office but is in his establishment, that is nearby.”
Again, Baley found himself crammed into the front seat between the two robots. He welcomed Daneel particularly, with his humanlike body warmth. Although Giskard's textilelike outermost layer was insulating and not as cold to the touch as bare metal would have been, he was the less attractive of the two in Baley's current chilly state.
Baley caught himself on the verge of putting an arm around DaneePs shoulder, with the intention of finding comfort by drawing him even closer. He brought his arm down to his lap in confusion.
He said, “I don't like the way it looks out there.”
Daneel, perhaps in an effort to take Baley's mind off the appearance Outside, said, “Partner Elijah, how is it you knew that Dr. Vasilia had encouraged Mr. Gremionis’ interest in Miss Gladia? I did not see that you had received any evidence to that effect.”
“I didn't,” said Baley. “I've been desperate enough to play long shots—that is, to gamble on events of low probability. Gladia told me that Gremionis was the one person sufficiently interested in her to offer himself repeatedly. I thought he might have killed Jander out of jealousy. I didn't think he could possibly know enough about robotics to do it, but then I heard that Fastolfe's daughter Vasilia was a roboticist and resembled Gladia physically. I wondered if Gremionis, having been fascinated by Gladia, might not have been fascinated by Vasilia earlier—and if the killing might possibly have been the result of a conspiracy between the two. It was by hinting obscurely at the existence of such a conspiracy that I was able to persuade Vasilia to see me.”
Daneel said, “But there was no conspiracy, Partner Elijah—at least as far as the destruction of Jander was concerned. Vasilia and Gremionis could not have engineered that destruction, even if they had worked together.”
“Granted—and yet Vasilia had been made nervous by the suggestion of having had a connection with Gremionis. Why? When Gremionis told us of having been attracted to Vasilia first, and then to Gladia, I wondered if the connection between the two had been more indirect, if Vasilia might have encouraged the transfer for some reason more distantly connected—but connected nevertheless—to Jander's death. After all, there had to be some connection between the two; Vasilia's reaction to the original suggestion showed that.
“My suspicion was correct. Vasilia had engineered Gremionis’ switch from one woman to the other. Gremionis was astonished at my knowing this and that, too, was useful, for if the matter were something completely innocent, there would have been no reason to make a secret of it—and a secret it obviously was. You remember that Vasilia mentioned nothing of urging Gremionis to turn to Gladia. When I told her that Gremionis had offered himself to Gladia, she acted as though that was the first time she had heard of it.”
“But, Partner Elijah, of what importance is this?”
“We may find out. It seemed to me that there was no importance in it to either Gremionis or Vasilia. Therefore, if it had any importance at all, it might be that a third person was involved. If it had anything to do with the Jander affair, then it ought to be a roboticist still more skillful than Vasilia—and that might be Amadiro. So I hinted to him of the existence of a conspiracy by deliberately pointing out I had been questioning Gremionis and was calling from his establishment—and that worked, too.”
“Yet I still don't know what it all means, Partner Elijah.”
“Nor I—except for some speculations. But perhaps we'll find out at Amadiro's. Our situation is so bad, you see, we have nothing to lose by guessing and gambling.”
During this exchange, the airfoil has risen on its air-jets, and had moved to a moderate height. It cleared a line of bushes and was now once again speeding along over grassy areas and graveled roads. Baley noticed that, where the grass was taller, it was swept to one side by the wind as though an invisible—and much larger—airfoil were passing over it.
Baley said, “Giskard, you have been recording the conversations which have taken place in your presence, haven't you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And can reproduce them at need?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And can easily locate—and reproduce—some particular statement made by some given person?”
“Yes, sir. You would not have to listen to the entire recording.”
“And could you, at need, serve as a witness in a courtroom?”
“I, sir? No, sir.” Giskard's eyes were fixed firmly on the road. “Since a robot can be directed to lie by a skillful enough command and not all the exhortations or threats of a judge might help, the law wisely considers a robot an incompetent witness.”
“But, in that case, of what use are your recordings?”
“That, sir, is a different thing. A recording, once made, cannot be altered on simple command, though it might be erased. Such a recording can, therefore, be admitted as evidence. There are no firm precedents, however, and whether it is—or is not—admitted depends on the individual case and on the individual judge.”
Baley could not tell whether that statement was depressing in itself or whether he was influenced by the unpleasant livid light that bathed the landscape. He said, “Can you see well enough to drive, Giskard?”
“Certainly, sir, but I do not need to. The airfoil is equipped with a computerized radar that would enable it to avoid obstacles on its own, even if I were, unaccountably, to fail in my task. It was this that was in operation yesterday morning when we traveled comfortably though all the windows were opacified.”
“Partner Elijah,” said Daneel, again veering the conversation away from Baley's uncomfortable awareness of the coming storm, “do you have hope that Dr. Amadiro might indeed be helpful?”
Giskard brought the airfoil to rest on a wide lawn before a broad but not very high building, with an intricately-carved facade that was clearly new and yet gave the impression of imitating something quite old.
Baley knew it was the Administration Building without being told. He said, “No, Daneel, I sus
pect that Amadiro may be far too intelligent to give us the least handle to grasp him by.”
“And if that is so, what do you plan to do next?”
“I don't know,” said Baley, with a grim feeling of deja vu, “but I'll try to think of something.”
54
When Baley entered the Administration Building, his first feeling was one of relief at removing himself from the unnatural lighting Outside. The second was one of wry amusement.
Here on Aurora, the establishments—the private dwelling places—were all strictly Auroran. He couldn't, for a moment, while sitting in Gladia's living room, or breakfasting in Fastolfe's dining room, or talking in Vasilia's work room, or making use of Gremionis’ trimensional viewing device, have thought himself on Earth. All four were distinct from each other, but all fell within a certain genus, widely different from that of the underground apartments on Earth.
The Administration Building, however, breathed officialdom and that, apparently, transcended ordinary human variety. It did not belong to the same genus as the dwelling places on Aurora, any more than an official building in Baley's home City resembled an apartment in the dwelling Sectors—but the two official buildings on the two worlds of such widely different natures strangely resembled each other.
This was the first place on Aurora where, for an instant, Baley might have imagined himself on Earth. Here were the same long cold bare corridors, the same lowest common denominator of design and decoration, with every light source designed so as to irritate as few people as possible and to please just as few.
There were some touches here that would have been absent on Eartli—the occasional suspended pots of plants, for instance, flourishing in the light and outfitted with devices (Baley guessed) for controlled and automatic watering. That natural touch was absent on Earth and its presence did not delight him. Might such pots not sometimes fall? Might they not attract insects? Might not the water drip?
There were some things missing here, too. On Earth, when one was within a City, there was always the vast, warm hum of people and machinery—even in the most coldly official of administrative structures. It was the “Busy Buzz of Brotherhood,” to use the phrase popular among Earth's politicians and journalists.
Here, on the other hand, it was quiet. Baley had not particularly noticed the quiet in the establishments he had visited that day and the day before, since everything had seemed so unnatural there that one more oddity escaped his notice. Indeed, he had been more aware of the soft susurration of insect life outside or of the wind through the vegetation than of the absence of the steady “Hum of Humanity” (another popular phrase).
Here, however, where there seemed a touch of Earth, the absence of the “Hum” was as disconcerting as was the distinct orange touch to the artificial light—which was far more noticeable against the blank off-white of the walls here than among the busy decoration that marked the Auroran establishments.
Baley's reverie did not last long. They were standing just inside the main entrance and Daneel had held out his arm to stop the other two. Some thirty seconds passed before Baley, speaking in an automatic whisper in view of the silence everywhere, said, “Why are we waiting?”
“Because it is advisable to do so, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel. “There is a tingle field ahead.”
“A what?”
“A tingle field, Partner Elijah. Actually, the name is a euphemism. It stimulates the nerve endings and produces a rather sharp pain. Robots can pass, but human beings cannot. Any breach, of course, whether by human or robot, will set off an alarm.”
Baley said, “How can you tell there's a tingle field?”
“It can be seen, Partner Elijah, if you know what to look for. The air seems to twinkle a bit and the wall beyond that region has a faint greenish tinge as compared to the wall in front of it.”
“I'm not at all sure I see it,” said Baley indignantly. “What's to prevent me—or any innocent outsider—from walking into it and experiencing agony?”
Daneel said, “Those who are members of the Institute carry a neutralizing device; those who are visitors are almost always attended by one or more robots who will surely detect the tingle field.”
A robot was approaching down the corridor on the other side of the field. (The twinkling of the field was more easily noted against the muted smoothness of his metallic surface.) He seemed to ignore Giskard, but, for a moment, he hesitated as he looked from Baley to Daneel and back. And then, having made a decision, he addressed Baley. (Perhaps, thought Baley, Daneel looks too human to be human.)
The robot said, “Your name, sir?”
Baley said, “I am Plainclothesman Elijah Baley from Earth. I am accompanied by two robots of the establishment of Dr. Han Fastolfe—Daneel Olivaw and Giskard Reventlov.”
“Identification, sir?”
Giskard's serial number flared out in soft phosphorescence on the left side of his chest. “I vouch for the other two, friend,” he said.
The robot studied the number a moment, as though comparing it with a file in his memory banks. Then he nodded and said, “Serial number accepted. You may pass.”
Daneel and Giskard moved forward at once, but Baley found himself edging ahead slowly. He put out one arm as a way of testing the coming of pain.
Daneel said, “The field is gone, Partner Elijah. It will be restored after we have passed through.”
Better safe than sorry, thought Baley, and continued his shuffle till he was well past the point where the barrier of the field might have existed.
The robots, showing no sign of impatience or condemnation, waited for Baley's reluctant steps to catch up with them.
They then stepped onto a helical ramp that was only two people wide. The robot was first, by himself; Baley and Daneel stood side by side behind him (Daneel's hand rested lightly, but almost possessively, on Baley's elbow); and Giskard brought up the rear.
Baley was conscious of his shoes pointing upward just a bit uncomfortably and felt vaguely that it would be a little tiresome mounting this too-steep ramp and having to lean forward in order to avoid a clumsy slip. Either the soles of his shoes or the surface of the ramp—or both— ought to be ridged. In fact, neither was.
The robot in the lead said, “Mr. Baley,” as though warning of something, and the robot's hand then visibly tightened on the railing that it held.
At once, the ramp divided into sections that slid against each other to form steps. Immediately thereafter, the whole ramp began to move upward. It made a complete turn, passing up through the ceiling, a section of which had retracted, and, when it came to a halt, they were on what was (presumably) the second floor. The steps disappeared and the four stepped off.
Baley looked back curiously. “I suppose it will service those who want to go down as well, but what if there is a period where more people want to go up than down? It would end up sticking half a kilometer into the sky—or into the ground, in reverse.”
“That is an up-helix,” said Daneel in a low voice. “There are separate down-helices.”
‘But it has to get down again, doesn't it?”
“It collapses at the top—or the bottom—depending on which we're speaking of, Partner Elijah, and, in periods of nonuse, it unwinds, so to speak. This up-helix is descending now.”
Baley looked back. The smooth surface might be sliding downward, but it showed no irregularity or mark whose motion he could notice.
“And if someone should want to use it when it has moved up as far as it can?”
“Then one must wait for the unwinding, which would take less than a minute. —There are ordinary flights of stairs as well, Partner Elijah, and most Aurorans are not reluctant to use them. Robots almost always use the stairs. Since you are a visitor, you are being offered the courtesy of the helix.”
They were walking down a corridor again, toward a door more ornate than the others. “They are offering me courtesy, then,” said Baley. “A hopeful sign.”
It was perhaps
another hopeful sign that an Auroran now appeared in the ornate doorway. He was tall, at least eight centimeters taller than Daneel, who was some five centimeters taller than Baley. The man in the doorway was broad as well, somewhat heavyset, with a round face, a somewhat bulbous nose, curly dark hair, a swarthy complexion, and a smile.
It was the smile that was most noticeable. Wide and apparently unforced, it revealed prominent teeth that were white and well-shaped.
He said, “Ah, it is Mr. Baley, the famous investigator from Earth, who has come to our little planet to show that I am a dreadful villain. Come in, come in. You are welcome. I am sorry if my able aide, Roboticist Maloon Cicis, gave you the impression that I would be unavailable, but he is a cautious fellow and is a great deal more concerned about my time than I myself am.”
He stepped to one side as Baley walked in and tapped him lightly with the flat of his hand on the shoulder blade as he passed. It seemed to be a gesture of friendship of a kind that Baley had not yet experienced on Aurora.
Baley said, cautiously (was he assuming too much?), “I take it you are Master Roboticist Kelden Amadiro?”
“Exactly. Exactly. The man who intends to destroy Dr. Han Fastolfe as a political force upon this planet—but that, as I hope to persuade you, does not really make me a villain. After all, I am not trying to prove that it is Fastolfe who is a villain simply because of the foolish vandalism he committed on the structure of his own creation—poor Jander. Let us say only that I will demonstrate that Fastolfe is—mistaken.”
He gestured lightly and the robot who had guided them in stepped forward and into a niche.
As the door closed, Amadiro gestured Baley jovially to a well-upholstered armchair and, with admirable economy, indicated, with his other arm, wall niches for Daneel and Giskard as well.
Baley noticed that Amadiro stared with a moment's hunger at Daneel and that, for that moment, his smile disappeared and a look that was almost predatory appeared on his face. It was gone quickly and he was smiling again. Baley was left to wonder if, perhaps, that momentary change of expression was an invention of his own imagination.
