by Isaac Asimov
Daneel said, “I did not think, friend Giskard, that Lady Gladia, with her long-sustained way of life, could face thousands with equanimity. I did not think she would be able to speak at all. When it turned out that she could, I assumed you had adjusted her and that you had discovered that it could be done without harming her. Was that your discovery?”
Giskard said, “Friend Daneel, actually all I dared do was loosen a very few strands of inhibition, only enough to allow her to speak a few words, so that she might be heard.”
“But she did far more than that.”
“After this microscopic adjustment, I turned to the multiplicity of minds I faced in the audience. I had never experienced so many, any more than Lady Gladia had, and I was as taken aback as she was. I found, at first, that I could do nothing in the vast mental interlockingness that beat in upon me. I felt helpless.
“And then I noted small friendlinesses, curiosities, interests – I cannot describe them in words – with a color of sympathy for Lady Gladia about them. I played with what I could find that had this color of sympathy, tightening and thickening them just slightly. I wanted some small response in Lady Gladia’s favor that might encourage her, that might make it unnecessary for me to be tempted to tamper further with Lady Gladia’s mind. That was all I did. I do not know how many threads of the proper color I handled. Not many.”
Daneel said, “And what then, friend Giskard?”
“I found, friend Daneel, that I had begun something that was autocatalytic. Each thread I strengthened, strengthened a nearby thread of the same kind and the two together strengthened several others nearby. I had to do nothing further. Small stirs, small sounds, and small glances that seemed to approve of what Lady Gladia said encouraged still others.
“Then I found something stranger yet. All these little indications of approval, which I could detect only because the minds were open to me, Lady Gladia must have also detected in some manner, for further inhibitions in her mind fell without my touching them. She began to speak faster, more confidently, and the audience responded better than ever – without my doing anything. And in the end, there was hysteria, a storm, a tempest of mental thunder and lightning so intense that I had to close my mind to it or it would have overloaded my circuits.
“Never, in all my existence, had I encountered anything like that and yet it started with no more modification introduced by me in all that crowd than I have, in the past, introduced among a mere handful of people. I suspect, in fact, that the effect spread beyond the audience sensible to my mind – to the greater audience reached via hyperwave.”
Daneel said, “I do not see how this can be, friend Giskard.”
“Nor I, friend Daneel. I am not human. I do not directly experience the possession of a human mind with all its complexities and contradictions, so I do not grasp the mechanisms by which they respond. But, apparently, crowds are more easily managed than individuals. It seems paradoxical. Much weight takes more effort to move than little weight. Much energy takes more effort to counter than little energy. Much distance takes longer to traverse than little distance. Why, then, should many people be easier to sway than few? You think like a human being, friend Daneel. Can you explain?”
Daneel said, “You yourself, friend Giskard, said that it was an autocatalytic effect, a matter of contagion. A single spark of flame may end by burning down a forest.”
Giskard paused and seemed deep in thought. Then he said, “It is not reason that is contagious but emotion. Madam Gladia chose arguments she felt would move her audience’s feelings. She did not attempt to reason with them. It may be, then, that the larger the crowd, the more easily they are swayed by emotion rather than by reason.
“Since emotions are few and reasons are many, the behavior of a crowd can be more easily predicted than the behavior of one person can. And that, in turn, means that if laws are to be developed that enable the current of history to be predicted, then one must deal with large populations, the larger the better. That might itself be the First Law of Psychohistory, the key to the study of Humanics. Yet –”
“Yes?”
“It strikes me that it has taken me so long to understand this only because I am not a human being. A human being would, perhaps, instinctively understand his own mind well enough to know how to handle others like himself. Madam Gladia, with no experience at all in addressing huge crowds, carried off the matter expertly. How much better off we would be if we had someone like Elijah Baley with us. Friend Daneel, are you not thinking of him?”
Daneel said, “Can you see his image in my mind? That is surprising, friend Giskard.”
“I do not see him, friend Daneel. I cannot receive your thoughts. But I can sense emotions and mood – and your mind has a texture which, by past experience, I know to be associated with Elijah Baley.”
“Madam Gladia made mention of the fact that I was the last to see Partner Elijah alive, so I listen again, in memory, to that moment. I think again of what he said.”
“Why, friend Daneel?”
“I search for the meaning. I feel it was important.”
“How could what he said have meaning beyond the import of the words? Had there been hidden meaning, Elijah Baley would have expressed it.”
“Perhaps,” said Daneel slowly, “Partner Elijah did not himself understand the significance of what he was saying.”
10. After The Speech
37.
MEMORY!
IT LAY in Daneel’s mind like a closed book of infinite detail, always available for his use. Some passages were called upon frequently for their information, but only a very few were called upon merely because Daneel wished to feel their texture. Those very few were, for the most part, those that contained Elijah Baley.
Many decades ago, Daneel had come to Baleyworld while Elijah Baley was still alive. Madam Gladia had come with him, but after they entered into orbit about Baleyworld, Bentley Baley soared upward in his small ship to meet them and was brought aboard. By then, he was a rather gnarled man of middle age.
He looked at Gladia with faintly hostile eyes and said, “You cannot see him, madam.”
And Gladia, who had been weeping, said, “Why not?”
“He does not wish it, madam, and I must respect his wishes.”
“I cannot believe that, Mr. Baley.”
“I have a handwritten note and I have a voice recording, madam. I do not know if you can recognize his handwriting or his voice, but you have my word of honor these are his and that no untoward influence was used upon him to produce them.”
She went into her own cabin to read and listen alone. Then she emerged – with an air of defeat about her – but she managed to say firmly, “Daneel, you are to go down alone to see him. It is his wish. But you are to report to me everything that is done and said.”
“Yes, madam,” Daneel said.
Daneel went down in Bentley’s ship and Bentley said to him, “Robots are not allowed on this world, Daneel, but an exception is being made in your case because it is my father’s wish and because he is highly revered here. I have no personal animus against you, you understand, but your presence here must be an entirely limited one. You will be taken directly to my father. When he is done with you, you will be taken back into orbit at once. Do you understand?”
“I understand, sir. How is your father?”
“He is dying,” Bentley said with perhaps conscious brutality.
“I understand that, too,” said Daneel, his voice quivering noticeably, not out of ordinary emotion but because the consciousness of the death of a human being, however unavoidable, disordered his positronic brain paths. “I mean, how much longer before he must die?”
“He should have died some time ago. He is tied to life because he refuses to go until he sees you.”
They landed. It was a large world, but the inhabited portion – if this were all – was small and shabby. It was a cloudy day and it had rained recently. The wide, straight streets were empty, as tho
ugh what population existed there was in no mood to assemble in order to stare at a robot.
The ground-car took them through the emptiness and brought them to a house somewhat larger and more impressive than most. Together they entered. At an inner door, Bentley halted.
“My father is in there,” he said sadly. “You are to go in alone. He will not have me there with you. Go in. You might not recognize him.”
Daneel went into the gloom of the room. His eyes adjusted rapidly and he was aware of a body covered by a sheet inside a transparent cocoon that was made visible only by its faint glitter. The light within the room brightened a bit and Daneel could then see the face clearly.
Bentley had been right. Daneel saw nothing of his old partner in it. It was gaunt and bony. The eyes were closed and it seemed to Daneel that what he saw was a dead body. He had never seen a dead human being and when this thought struck him, he staggered and it seemed to him that his legs would not hold him up.
But the old man’s eyes opened and Daneel recovered his equilibrium, though he continued to feel an unaccustomed weakness just the same.
The eyes looked at him and a small, faint smile curved the pale, cracked lips.
“Daneel. My old friend Daneel.”
There was the faint timbre of Elijah Baley’s remembered voice in that whispered sound. An arm emerged slowly from under the sheet and it seemed to Daneel that he recognized Elijah after all.
“Partner Elijah,” he said softly.
“Thank you – thank you for coming.”
“It was important for me to come, Partner Elijah.”
“I was afraid they might not allow it. They – the others – even my son – think of you as a robot.”
“I am a robot.”
“Not to me, Daneel. You haven’t changed, have you? I don’t see you clearly, but it seems to me you are exactly the same as I remember. When did I last see you? Twenty-nine years ago?”
“Yes – and in all that time, Partner Elijah, I have not changed, so you see, I am a robot.”
“I have changed, though, and a great deal. I should not have let you see me like this, but I was too weak to resist my desire to see you once again.” Baley’s voice seemed to have grown a bit stronger, as though it had been fortified by the sight of Daneel.
“I am pleased to see you, Partner Elijah, however you have changed.”
“And Lady Gladia? How is she?”
“She is well. She came with me.”
“She is not –” A touch of painful alarm came into his voice as he tried to look about.
“She is not on this world, but is still in orbit. It was explained to her that you did not wish to see her – and she understood.”
“That is wrong. I do wish to see her, but I have been able to withstand that temptation. She has not changed, has she?”
“She still has the appearance she had when you last saw her.”
“Good. – but I couldn’t let her see me like this. I could not have this be her last memory of me. With you, it is different.”
“That is because I am a robot, Partner Elijah.”
“Stop insisting on that,” said the dying man peevishly. “You could not mean more to me, Daneel, if you were a man.”
He lay silently in his bed for a while, then he said, “All these years, I have never hypervised, never written to her. I could not allow myself to interfere with her life. – Is Gladia still married to Gremionis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And happy?”
“I cannot judge that. She does not behave in a fashion that might be interpreted as unhappy.”
“Children?”
“The permitted two.”
“She has not been angry that I have not communicated?”
“It is my belief she understood your motives.”
“Does she ever – mention me?”
“Almost never, but it is Giskard’s opinion that she often thinks of you.”
“How is Giskard?”
“He functions properly – in the manner that you know.”
“You know, then – of his abilities.”
“He has told me, Partner Elijah.”
Again Baley lay there silently. Then he stirred and said, “Daneel, I wanted you here out of a selfish desire to see you, to see for myself that you haven’t changed, that there is a breath of the great days of my life still existing, that you remember me and will continue to remember me. – but I also want to tell you something.
“I will be dead soon, Daneel, and I knew the word would reach you. Even if you weren’t here, even if you were on Aurora, the word would come to you. My death will be Galactic news. “His chest heaved in a weak and silent laugh. “Who would have thought it once?”
He said, “Gladia would hear of it as well, of course, but Gladia knows I must die and she will accept the fact, however sadly. I feared the effect on you, however, since you are – as you insist and I deny – a robot. For old times’ sake you may feel it is incumbent upon you to keep me from dying and the fact that you cannot do so may perhaps have a permanently deleterious effect on you. Let me, then, argue with you about that.”
Baley’s voice was growing weaker. Though Daneel sat motionless, his face was in the unusual condition of reflecting emotion. It was set in an expression of concern and sorrow. Baley’s eyes were closed and he could not see that.
“My death, Daneel,” he said, “is not important. No individual death among human beings is important. Someone who dies leaves his work behind and that does not entirely die. It never entirely dies as long as humanity exists. – Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Daneel said, “Yes, Partner Elijah.”
“The work of each individual contributes to a totality and so becomes an undying part of the totality. That totality of human lives – past and present and to come – forms a tapestry that has been in existence now for many tens of thousands of years and has been growing more elaborate and, on the whole, more beautiful in all that time. Even the Spacers are an offshoot of the tapestry and they, too, add to the elaborateness and beauty of the pattern. An individual life is one thread in the tapestry and what is one thread compared to the whole?
“Daneel, keep your mind fixed firmly on the tapestry and do not let the trailing off of a single thread affect you. There are so many other threads, each valuable, each contributing –”
Baley stopped speaking, but Daneel waited patiently.
Baley’s eyes opened and, looking at Daneel, he frowned slightly.
“You are still here? It is time for you to go. I have told you what I meant to tell you.”
“I do not wish to go, Partner Elijah.”
“You must. I cannot hold off death any longer. I am tired – desperately tired. I want to die. It is time.”
“May I not wait while you live?”
“I don’t wish it. If I die while you watch, it may affect you badly despite all my words. Go now. That is an – order. I will allow you to be a robot if you wish but, in that case, you must follow my orders. You cannot save my life by anything you can do, so there is nothing to come ahead of Second Law. Go!”
Baley’s finger pointed feebly and he said, “Good-bye, friend Daneel.”
Daneel turned slowly, following Baley’s orders with unprecedented difficulty. “Good-bye, Partner –” He paused and then said, with a faint hoarseness, “Good-bye, friend Elijah.”
Bentley confronted Daneel in the next room. “Is he still alive?”
“He was alive when I left.”
Bentley went in and came out almost at once. “He isn’t now. He saw you and then – let go.”
Daneel found he had to lean against the wall. It was some time before he could stand upright.
Bentley, eyes averted, waited and then together they returned to the small ship and moved back up into orbit where Gladia waited.
And she, too, asked if Elijah Baley was still alive and when they told her gently that he was not, she turned away, dry-eyed, and
went into her own cabin to weep.
37A.
Daneel continued his thought as though the sharp memory of Baley’s death in all its details had not momentarily intervened. “And yet I may understand something more of what Partner Elijah was saying now in the light of Madam Gladia’s speech.”
“In what way?”
“I am not yet sure. It is very difficult to think in the direction I am trying to think.”
“I will wait for as long as is necessary,” said Giskard.
38.
Genovus Pandaral was tall and not, as yet, very old for all his thick shock of white hair which, together with his fluffy white sideburns, gave him a look of dignity and distinction. His general air of looking like a leader had helped his advancement through the ranks, but as he himself knew very well, his appearance was much stronger than his inner fiber.
Once he had been elected to the Directory, he had gotten over the initial elation rather rapidly. He was in beyond his depth and, each year, as he was automatically pushed up a notch, he knew that more clearly. Now he was Senior Director.
Of all the times to be Senior Director!
In the old days, the task of ruling had been nothing. In the time of Nephi Morler, eight decades before, the same Morler who was always being held up to the schoolchildren as the greatest of all Directors, it had been nothing. What had Baleyworld been then? A small world, a trickle of farms, a handful of towns clustered along natural lines of communication. The total population had been no more than five million and its most important exports had been raw wool and some titanium.
The Spacers had ignored them completely under the more or less benign influence of Han Fastolfe of Aurora and life was simple. People could always make trips back to Earth – if they wanted a breath of culture or the feel of technology and there was a steady flow of Earthpeople arriving as immigrants. Earth’s mighty population was inexhaustible.
