by Isaac Asimov
"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 stiffed 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.
Why shouldn't Morler have been a great Director, then? He had had nothing to do.
And, in the future, ruling would again be simple. As the Spacers continued to degenerate (every schoolchild was told that they would, that they must drown in the contradictions of their society—though Pandaral wondered, sometimes, whether this was really certain) and as the Settlers continued to increase in numbers and strength, the time would soon come when life would be again secure. The Settlers would live in peace and develop their own technology to the utmost.
As Baleyworld filled, it would assume the proportion and ways of another Earth, as would all the worlds, while new ones would spring up here and there in ever greater numbers, finally making up the great Galactic Empire to come. And surely Baleyworld, as the oldest and most populous of the Settler worlds, would always have a prime place in that Empire, under the benign and perpetual rule of Mother Earth.
But it was not in the past that Pandaral was Senior Director. Nor was it in the future. It was now.
Han Fastolfe was dead now, but Kelden Amadiro was alive. Amadiro had held out against Earth being allowed to send out Settlers twenty decades ago and he was still alive now to make trouble. The Spacers were still too strong to be disregarded; the Settlers were still not quite strong enough to move forward with confidence. Somehow the Settlers had to hold off the Spacers till the balance had shifted sufficiently.
And the task of keeping the Spacers quiet and the Settlers at once resolute and yet sensible fell more upon Pandaral's shoulders than on anyone else's—and it was a task he neither liked nor wanted.
Now it was morning, a cold, gray morning with more snow coming—though that was no surprise—and he made his way through the hotel alone. He wanted no retinue.
The security guards, out in force, snapped to attention as he passed and he acknowledged them wearily. He spoke to the captain of the guard when the latter advanced to meet him. "Any trouble, Captain?"
"None, Director. All is quiet."
Pandaral nodded. "In which room has Baley been put? —Ah. —And the Spacer woman and her robots are under strict guard? —Good."
He passed on. On the whole, D.G.
had behaved well. Solaria, abandoned, could be used by Traders as an almost endless supply of robots and as a source of large profits though profits were not to be taken as the natural equivalent of world security, Pandaral thought morosely. But Solaria, booby-trapped, had best be left alone. It was not worth a war. D.G. had done well to leave at once.
And to take the nuclear intensifier with him. So far, such devices were so overwhelmingly massive that they could be used only in huge and expensive installations designed to destroy invading ships—and even these had never gotten beyond the planning stage, Too expensive. Smaller and cheaper versions were absolutely necessary, so D.G. was right in feeling that bringing home a Solarian intensifier was more important than all the robots on that world put together. That intensifier should help the scientists of Baleyworld enormously.
And yet if one Spacer world had a portable intensifier, why not others? Why not Aurora? If those weapons grew small enough to place on warships, a Spacer fleet could wipe out any number of Settler ships without trouble. How far toward that development were they? And how fast could Baleyworld progress in the same direction with the help of the intensifier D.G. had brought back?
He signaled at D.G.'s hotel room door, then entered without quite waiting for a response and sat down without quite waiting for an invitation. There were some useful perquisites that went along with being Senior Director.
D.G. looked out of the bathroom and said through the towel with which he was giving his hair a first dry, "I would have liked to greet your Directorial Excellence in a properly imposing manner, but you catch me at a disadvantage, since I am in the extremely undignified predicament of having just emerged from my shower."
"Oh, shut up," said Pandaral pettishly.
Ordinarily, he enjoyed D.G.'s irrepressible breeziness, but not now. In some ways, he never really understood D.G. at all. D.G. was a Baley, a lineal descendant of the great Elijah and the Founder, Bentley. That made D.G. a natural for a Director's post, especially since he had the kind of bonhomie that endeared him to the public. Yet he chose to be a Trader, which was a difficult life—and a dangerous one. It might make you rich, but it was much more likely to kill you or—what was worse—prematurely age you.
What's more, D.G.'s life as a Trader took him away from Baleyworld for months at a time and Pandaral preferred his advice to those of most of his department heads. One couldn't always tell when D.G. was serious, but, allowing for that, he was worth listening to.
Pandaral said heavily, "I don't think that that woman's speech was the best thing that could have happened to us."
D.G., mostly dressed, shrugged his shoulders, "Who could have foretold it?"
"You might have. You must have looked up her background—if you had made up your mind to carry her off."
"I did look up her background, Director. She spent over three decades on Solaria. It was Solaria that formed her and she lived there entirely with robots. She saw human beings only by holographic images, except for her husband and he didn't visit her often. She had a difficult adjustment to make when she came to Aurora and even there she lived mostly with robots. At no time in twenty-three decades would she have faced as many as twenty people all together, let alone four thousand. I assumed she wouldn't be able to speak more than a few words—if that. I had no way of knowing she was a rabble-rouser."
"You might have stopped her, once you found out she was. You were sitting right next to her."
"Did you want a riot? The people were enjoying her. You were there. You know they were. If I had forced her down, they would have mobbed the stage. After all, Director, you didn't try to stop her."
Pandaral cleared his throat. "I had that in mind, actually, but each time I looked back, I'd catch the eye of her robot—the one who looks like a robot."
"Giskard. Yes, but what of it? He wouldn't harm you."
"I know. Still, he made me nervous and it put me off somehow."
"Well, never mind, Director," said D.G. He was fully clothed now and he shoved the breakfast tray toward the other. "The coffee is still warm. Help yourself to the buns and jams if you want any. —It will pass. I don't think the public will really overflow with love for the Spacers and spoil our policy. It might even serve a purpose. If the Spacers hear of it, it might strengthen the Fastolfe party. Fastolfe may be dead, but his party isn't—not altogether—and we need to encourage their policy of moderation."
"What I'm thinking of," said Pandaral, "is the All-Settler Congress that's coming up in five months. I'm going to have to listen to any number of sarcastic references to Baleyworld appeasement and to Baleyworlders being Spacer lovers. —I tell you," he added gloomily, "the smaller the world, the more war hawkish it is."
"Then tell them that," said D.G. "Be very statesmanlike in public, but when you get them to one side, look them right in the eye—unofficially—and say that there's freedom of expression on Baleyworld and we intend to keep it that way. Tell them Baleyworld has the interests of Earth at heart, but that if any world wishes to prove its greater devotion to Earth by declaring war on the Spacers, Baleyworld will watch with interest but nothing more. That would shut them up."
"Oh, no," said Pandaral with alarm. "A remark like that would leak out. It would create an impossible stink."
D.G. said, "You're right, which is a pity. But think it and don't let those big mouthed small brains get to you."
Pandaral sighed. "I suppose we'll manage, but last night upset our plans to end on a high note. That's what I really regret."
"What high note?"
Pandaral said, "When you left Aurora for Solaria, two Auroran warships went to Solaria as well. Did you know that?"
"No, but it was something I expected," said D.G. indifferently. "It was for that reason I took the trouble of going to Solaria by way of an evasive path."
"One of the Auroran ships landed on Solaria, thousands of kilometers away from you—so it didn't seem to be making any effort to keep tabs on you—and the second remained in orbit."
"Sensible. It's what I would have done if I had had a second ship at my disposal."
"The Auroran ship that landed was destroyed in a matter of hours. The ship in orbit reported the fact and was ordered to return. —A Trader monitoring station picked up the report and it was sent to us."
"Was the report uncoded?"
"Of course not, but it was in one of the codes we've broken."
D.G. nodded his head thoughtfully, then said, "Very interesting. I take it they didn't have anyone who could speak Solarian."
"Obviously," said Pandaral weightily. "Unless someone can find where the Solarians went, this woman of yours is the only available Solarian in the Galaxy."
"And they let me have her, didn't they? Tough on the Aurorans."
"At any rate, I was going to announce the destruction of the Auroran ship last night. In a matter-of-fact way—no gloating. Just the same, it would have excited every Settler in the Galaxy. I mean, we got away and the Aurorans didn't."
"We had a Solarian," said D.G. dryly. "The Aurorans, didn't."
"Very well. It would make you and the woman look good, too. —But it all came to nothing. After what the woman did, anything else would have come as anticlimax, even the news of the destruction of an Auroran warship."
D.G. said, "To say nothing of the fact that once everyone has finished applauding kinship and love, it would go against the grain—for the next half hour anyway—to applaud the death of a couple of hundred of the Auroran kin."
I suppose so. So that's an enormous psychological blow that we've lost."
D.G. was frowning. "Forget that, Director. You can always work the propaganda at some other, more appropriate time. The important thing is what it all means. —An Auroran ship was blown up. That means they weren't expecting a nuclear intensifier to be used. The other ship was ordered away and that may mean it wasn't equipped with a defense against it—and maybe they don't even have a defense. I should judge from this that the portable intensifier—or semiport
able one, anyway—is a Solarian development specifically and not a Spacer development generally. That's good news for us—if it's true. For the moment, let's not worry about propaganda brownie points but concentrate on squeezing every bit of information we can out of that intensifier. We want to be ahead of the Spacers in this—if possible."
Pandaral munched away at a bun and said, "Maybe you're right. But in that case, how do we fit in the other bit of news."
D.G. said, "What other bit of news? Director, are you going to give me the information I need to make intelligent conversation or do you intend to toss them into the air one by one and make me jump for them?"
"Don't get huffy, D.G. There"s no point in talking with you if I can't be informal. Do you know what it's like at a Directory meeting? Do you want my job? You can have it, you know."
"No, thank you, I don't want it. What I want is your bit of news."
"We have a message from Aurora. An actual message. They actually deigned to communicate directly with us instead of sending it by way of Earth."
"We might consider it an important message, then—to them. What do they want?"
"They want the Solarian woman back again."
"Obviously, then, they know our ship got away from Solaria and has come to Baleyworld. They have their monitoring stations, too, and eavesdrop on our communications as we eavesdrop on theirs."
"Absolutely," said Pandaral with considerable irritation. "They break our codes as fast as we break theirs. My own feeling is we ought to come to an agreement that we both send messages in the clear. Neither of us would be worse off."
"Did they say why they want the woman?"
"Of course not. Spacers don't give reasons; they give orders."
"Have they found out exactly what it was that the woman accomplished on Solaria? Since she's the only person who speaks authentic Solarian, do they want her to clear the planet of its overseers?"
"I don't see how they could have found out, D.G. We only announced her role last night. The message from Aurora was received well before that. —But it doesn't matter why they want her. The question is: What do we do? If we don't return her, we may have a crisis with Aurora that I don't want. If we do return her, it will look bad to the Baleyworlders and Old Man Bistervan will have a field day pointing out that we're crawling to the Spacers."
