by Isaac Asimov
Daneel said, “Would you care to eat now, Partner Elijah?”
Dinner was an unexpected ordeal. Robots appeared. One set the table. One brought in the food.
“How many are there in the house, Daneel?” Baley asked.
“About fifty, Partner Elijah.”
“Will they stay here while we eat?” (One had backed into a corner, his glossy, glowing-eyed face turned toward Baley.)
“It is the usual practice,” said Daneel, “for one to do so in case its service is called upon. If you do not wish that, you have only to order it to leave.”
Baley shrugged. “Let it stay!”
Under normal conditions Baley might have found the food delicious. Now he ate mechanically. He noted abstractedly that Daneel ate also, with a kind of unimpassioned efficiency. Later on, of course, he would empty the fluorocarbon sac within him into which the “eaten” food was now being stored. Meanwhile Daneel maintained his masquerade.
“Is it night outside?” asked Baley.
“It is,” replied Daneel.
Baley stared somberly at the bed. It was too large. The whole bedroom was too large. There were no blankets to burrow under, only sheets. They would make a poor enclosure.
Everything was difficult! He had already gone through the Unnerving experience of showering in a stall that actually adjoined the bedroom. It was the height of luxury in a way, yet, on the other hand, it seemed an unsanitary arrangement.
He said abruptly, “How is the light put out?” The headboard of the bed gleamed with a soft light. Perhaps that was to facilitate book viewing before sleeping, but Baley was in no mood for that.
“It will be taken care of once you’re in bed, if you compose yourself for sleep.”
“The robots watch, do they?”
“It is their job.”
“Jehoshaphat! What do these Solarians do for themselves?” Baley muttered. “I wonder now why a robot didn’t scrub my back in the shower.”
With no trace of humor Daneel said, “One would have, had you required it. As for the Solarians, they do what they choose. No robot performs his duty if ordered not to, except, of course, where the performance is necessary to the well-being of the human.”
“Well, good night, Daneel.”
“I will be in another bedroom, Partner Elijah. If, at any time during the night, you need anything–”
“I know. The robots will come.”
“There is a contact patch on the side table. You have only to touch it. I will come too.”
Sleep eluded Baley. He kept picturing the house he was in, balanced precariously at the outer skin of the world, with emptiness waiting just outside like a monster.
On Earth his apartment–his snug, comfortable, crowded apartment–sat nestled beneath many others. There were dozens of Levels and thousands of people between himself and the rim of Earth.
Even on Earth, he tried to tell himself, there were people on the topmost Level. They would be immediately adjacent to the outside. Sure! But that’s what made those apartments low-rent.
Then he thought of Jessie, a thousand light-years away.
He wanted terribly to get out of bed right now, dress, and walk to her. His thoughts grew mistier. If there were only a tunnel, a nice, safe tunnel burrowing its way through safe, solid rock and metal from Solaria to Earth, he would walk and walk and walk...
He would walk back to Earth, back to Jessie, back to comfort and security.
Security.
Baley’s eyes opened. His arms grew rigid and he rose up on his elbow, scarcely aware that he was doing so.
Security! This man, Hannis Gruer, was head of Solarian security. So Daneel had said. What did “security” mean? If it meant the same as it meant on Earth, and surely it must, this man Gruer was responsible for the protection of Solaria against invasion from without and subversion from within.
Why was he interested in a murder case? Was it because there were no police on Solaria and the Department of Security would come the closest to knowing what to do about a murder?
Gruer had seemed at ease with Baley, yet there had been those furtive glances, again and again, in the direction of Daneel.
Did Gruer suspect the motives of Daneel? Baley, himself, had been ordered to keep his eyes open and Daneel might very likely have received similar instructions.
It would be natural for Gruer to suspect that espionage was possible. His job made it necessary for him to suspect that in any case where it was conceivable. And he would not fear Baley overmuch, an Earthman, representative of the least formidable world in the
Galaxy. But Daneel was a native of Aurora, the oldest and largest and strongest of the Outer Worlds. That would be different.
Gruer, as Baley now remembered, had not addressed one word to Daneel.
For that matter, why should Daneel pretend so thoroughly to be a man? The earlier explanation that Baley had posed for himself, that it was a vainglorious game on the part of Daneel’s Auroran designers, seemed trivial. It seemed obvious now that the masquerade was something more serious.
A man could be expected to receive diplomatic immunity; a certain courtesy and gentleness of treatment. A robot could not. But then why did not Aurora send a real man in the first place. Why gamble so desperately on a fake? The answer suggested itself instantly to Baley. A real man of Aurora, a real Spacer, would not care to associate too closely or for too long a time with an Earthman.
But if all this were true, why should Solaria find a single murder so important that it must allow an Earthman and an Auroran to come to their planet?
Baley felt trapped.
He was trapped on Solaria by the necessities of his assignment.
He was trapped by Earth’s danger, trapped in an environment he could scarcely endure, trapped by a responsibility he could not shirk.
And, to add to all this, he was trapped somehow in the midst of a Spacer conflict the nature of which he did not understand.
4: A Woman Is Viewed
HE SLEPT AT last. He did not remember when he actually made the transition to sleep. There was just a period when his thoughts grew more erratic and then the headboard of his bed was shining and the ceiling was alight with a cool, daytime glow. He looked at his watch.
Hours had passed. The robots who ran the house had decided it was time for him to wake up and had acted accordingly.
He wondered if Daneel were awake and at once realized the illogic of the thought. Daneel could not sleep. Baley wondered if he had counterfeited sleep as part of the role he was playing. Had he undressed and put on nightclothes?
As though on cue Daneel entered. “Good morning, Partner Elijah.”
The robot was completely dressed and his face was in perfect repose. He said, “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” said Baley dryly, “did you?”
He got out of bed and tramped into the bathroom for a shave and for the remainder of the morning ritual. He shouted, “If a robot comes in to shave me, send him out again. They get on my nerves. Even if I don’t see them, they get on my nerves.”
He stared at his own face as he shaved, marveling a bit that it looked so like the mirrored face he saw on Earth. If only the image were another Earthman with whom he could consult instead of only the light-mimicry of himself. If he could go over what he had already learned, small as it was..
“Too small! Get more,” he muttered to the mirror.
He came out, mopping his face, and pulled trousers over fresh shorts. (Robots supplied everything, damn them.)
He said, “Would you answer a few questions, Daneel?”
“As you know, Partner Elijah, I answer all questions to the best of my knowledge.”
Or to the letter of your instructions, thought Baley. He said, “Why are there only twenty thousand people on Solaria?”
“That is a mere fact,” said Daneel. “A datum. A figure that is the result of a counting process.”
“Yes, but you’re evading the matter. The planet can support
millions; why, then, only twenty thousand? You said the Solarians consider twenty thousand optimum. Why?”
“It is their way of life.”
“You mean they practice birth control?”
“Yes.”
“And leave the planet empty?” Baley wasn’t sure why he was pounding away at this one point, but the planet’s population was one of the few hard facts he had learned about it and there was little else he could ask about.
Daneel said, “The planet is not empty. It is parceled out into estates, each of which is supervised by a Solarian.”
“You mean each lives on his estate. Twenty thousand estates, each with a Solarian.”
“Fewer estates than those, Partner Elijah. Wives share the estate.”
“No Cities?” Baley felt cold.
“None at all, Partner Elijah. They live completely apart and never see one another except under the most extraordinary circumstances.”
“Hermits?”
“In a way, yes. In a way, no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Agent Gruer visited you yesterday by trimensional image. Solarians visit one another freely that way and in no other way.”
Baley stared at Daneel. He said, “Does that include us? Are we expected to live that way?”
“It is the custom of the world.”
“Then how do I investigate this case? If I want to see someone–”
“From this house, Partner Elijah, you can obtain a trimensional view of anyone on the planet. There will be no problem. In fact, it will save you the annoyance of leaving this house. It was why I said when we arrived that there would be no occasion for you to feel it necessary to grow accustomed to facing the outdoors. And that is well. Any other arrangement would be most distasteful to you.”
“I’ll judge what’s distasteful to me,” said Baley. “First thing today, Daneel, I get in touch with the Gladia woman, the wife of the murdered man. If the trimensional business is unsatisfactory, I will go out to her place, personally. It’s a matter for my decision.”
“We shall see what is best and most feasible, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel noncommittally. “I shall arrange for breakfast.” He turned to leave.
Baley stared at the broad robotic back and was almost amused. Daneel Olivaw acted the master. If his instructions had been to keep Baley from learning any more than was absolutely necessary, a trump card had been left in Baley’s hand.
The other was only R. Daneel Olivaw, after all. All that was necessary was to tell Gruer, or any Solarian, that Daneel was a robot and not a man.
And yet, on the other hand, Daneel’s pseudo humanity could be of great use, too. A trump card need not be played at once. Sometimes it was more useful in the hand.
Wait and see, he thought, and followed Daneel out to breakfast.
Baley said, “Now how does one go about establishing trimensional contact?”
“It is done for us, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel, and his finger sought out one of the contact patches that summoned robots.
A robot entered at once.
Where do they come from, Baley wondered. As one wandered aimlessly about the uninhabited maze that constituted the mansion, not one robot was ever visible. Did they scramble out of the way as humans approached? Did they send messages to one another and clear the path?
Yet whenever a call went out, one appeared without delay.
Baley stared at the robotic newcomer. It was sleek, but not glossy. Its surface had a muted, grayish finish, with a checkerboard pattern on the right shoulder as the only bit of color. Squares in white and yellow (silver and gold, really, from the metallic luster) were placed in what seemed an aimless pattern.
Daneel said, “Take us to the conversation room.” The robot bowed and turned, but said nothing. Baley said, “Wait, boy. What’s your name?”
The robot faced Baley. It spoke in clear tones and without hesitation. “I have no name, master. My serial number”–and a metal finger lifted and rested on the shoulder patch–” is ACX-2745.”
Daneel and Baley followed into a large room, which Baley recognized as having held Gruer and his chair the day before.
Another robot was waiting for them with the eternal, patient nonboredom of the machine. The first bowed and left.
Baley compared shoulder patches of the two as the first bowed and started out. The pattern of silver and gold was different. The checkerboard was made up of a six-by-six square. The number of possible arrangements would be 236 then, or seventy billion. More than enough.
Baley said, “Apparently, there is one robot for everything. One to show us here. One to run the viewer.”
Daneel said, “There is much robotic specialization in Solaria, Partner Elijah.”
“With so many of them, I can understand why.” Baley looked at the second robot. Except for the shoulder patch, and, presumably, for the invisible positronic patterns within its spongy platinum iridium brain it was the duplicate of the first. He said, “And your serial number?”
“ACC-1129, master.”
“I’ll just call you boy. Now I want to speak to a Mrs. Gladia Delmarre, wife of the late Rikaine Delmarre–Daneel, is there an address, some way of pin-pointing her location?”
Daneel said gently, “I do not believe any further information is necessary. If I may question the robot–”
“Let me do that,” Baley said. “All right, boy, do you know how the lady is to be reached?”
“Yes, master. I have knowledge of the connection pattern of all masters.” This was said without pride. It was a mere fact, as though it were saying: I am made of metal, master.
Daneel interposed, “That is not surprising, Partner Elijah. There are less than ten thousand connections that need be fed into the memory circuits, and that is a small number.”
Baley nodded. “Is there more than one Gladia Delmarre, by any chance? There might be that chance of confusion.”
“Master?” After the question the robot remained blankly silent.
“I believe,” said Daneel, “that this robot does not understand your question. It is my belief that duplicate names do not occur on Solaria. Names are registered at birth and no name may be adopted unless it is unoccupied at the time.”
“All right,” said Baley, “we learn something every minute. Now see here, boy, you tell me how to work whatever it is I am supposed to work; give me the connection pattern, or whatever you call it, and then step out.”
There was a perceptible pause before the robot answered. It said, “Do you wish to make contact yourself, sir?”
“That’s right.”
Daneel touched Baley’s sleeve gently. “One moment, Partner Elijah.”
“Now what is it?”
“It is my belief that the robot could make the necessary contact with greater ease. It is his specialization.”
Baley said grimly, “I’m sure he can do it better than I can. Doing it myself, I may make a mess of it.” He stared levelly at the impassive Daneel. “Just the same, I prefer to make contact myself. Do I give the orders or don’t I?”
Daneel said, “You give the orders, Partner Elijah, and your orders, where First Law permits, will be obeyed. However, with your permission, I would like to give you what pertinent information I have concerning the Solarian robots. Far more than on any other world, the robots on Solaria are specialized. Although Solarian robots are physically capable of many things, they are heavily equipped mentally for one particular type of job. To perform functions outside their specialty requires the high potentials produced by direct application of one of the Three Laws. Again, for them not to perform the duty for which they are equipped also requires the direct application of the Three Laws.”
“Well, then, a direct order from me brings the Second Law into play, doesn’t it?”
“True. Yet the potential set up by it is ‘unpleasant’ to the robot. Ordinarily, the matter would not come up, since almost never does a Solarian interfere with the day-to-day workings of a rob
ot. For one thing, he would not care to do a robot’s work; for another, he would feel no need to.”
“Are you trying to tell me, Daneel, that it hurts the robot to have me do its work?”
“As you know, Partner Elijah, pain in the human sense is not applicable to robotic reactions.”
Baley shrugged. “Then?”
“Nevertheless,” went on Daneel, “the experience which the robot undergoes is as upsetting to it as pain is to a human, as nearly as I can judge.”
“And yet,” said Baley, “I’m not a Solarian. I’m an Earthman. I don’t like robots doing what I want to do.”
“Consider, too,” said Daneel, “that to cause distress to a robot might be considered on the part of our hosts to be an act of impoliteness since in a society such as this there must be a number of more or less rigid beliefs concerning how it is proper to treat a robot and how it is not. To offend our hosts would scarcely make our task easier.”
“All right,” said Baley. “Let the robot do its job.”
He settled back. The incident had not been without its uses. It was an educational example of how remorseless a robotic society could be. Once brought into existence, robots were not so easily removed, and a human who wished to dispense with them even temporarily found he could not.
His eyes half closed, he watched the robot approach the wall. Let the sociologists on Earth consider what had just occurred and draw their conclusions. He was beginning to have certain notions of his own.
Half a wall slid aside and the control panel that was revealed would have done justice to a City Section power station.
Baley longed for his pipe. He had been briefed that smoking on non-smoking Solaria would be a terrible breach of decorum, so he had not even been allowed to take his fixings. He sighed. There were moments when the feel of pipe stem between teeth and a warm bowl in his hand would have been infinitely comforting.
The robot was working quickly, adjusting variable resistances a trifle here and there and intensifying field-forces in proper pattern by quick finger pressures.
