Daneel Olivaw 2 - The Naked Sun

by Isaac Asimov

  “Of course not. Medical doctors. You don’t think Dr. Delmarre would ever stoop to——Well, never mind.”

  “Why can’t robots be used?”

  “Robots in surgery? First Law makes that very difficult, Plainclothesman. A robot might perform an appendectomy to save a human life, if he knew how, but I doubt that he’d be usable after that without major repairs. Cutting human flesh would be quite a traumatic experience for a positronic brain. Human doctors can manage to get hardened to it. Even to the personal presence required.”

  Baley said, “I notice that robots tend the fetuses, though. Do you and Dr. Delmarre ever interfere?”

  “We have to, sometimes, when things go wrong. If a fetus has developmental trouble, for instance. Robots can’t be trusted to judge the situation accurately when human life is involved.”

  Baley nodded. “Too much risk of a misjudgment and a life lost, I suppose.”

  “Not at all. Too much risk of overvaluing a life and saving one improperly.” The woman looked stern. “As fetal engineers, Baley, we see to it that healthy children are born; healthy ones. Even the best gene analysis of parents can’t assure that all gene permutations and combinations will be favorable, to say nothing of the possibility of mutations. That’s our big concern, the unexpected mutation. We’ve got the rate of those down to less than one in a thousand, but that means that, on the average, once a decade, we have trouble.”

  She motioned him along the balcony and he followed her.

  She said, “I’ll show you the infants’ nurseries and the youngsters’ dormitories. They’re much more a problem than the fetuses are. With them, we can rely on robot labor only to a limited extent.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You would know, Baley, if you ever tried to teach a robot the importance of discipline. First Law makes them almost impervious to that fact. And don’t think youngsters don’t learn that about as soon as they can talk. I’ve seen a three-year-old holding a dozen robots motionless by yelling, ‘You’ll hurt me. I’m hurt.’ It takes an extremely advanced robot to understand that a child might be deliberately lying.”

  “Could Delmarre handle the children?”

  “Usually.”

  “How did he do that? Did he get out among them and shake sense into them?”

  “Dr. Delmarre? Touch them? Skies above! Of course not! But he could talk to them. And he could give a robot specific orders. I’ve seen him viewing a child for fifteen minutes, and keeping a robot in spanking position all that time, getting it to spank—spank—spank. A few like that and the child would risk fooling with the boss no more. And the boss was skillful enough about it so that usually the robot didn’t need more than a routine readjustment afterward.”

  “How about you? Do you get out among the children?”

  “I’m afraid I have to sometimes. I’m not like the boss. Maybe someday I’ll be able to handle the long-distance stuff, but right now if I tried, I’d just ruin robots. There’s an art to handling robots really well, you know. When I think of it, though. Getting out among the children. Little animals!”

  She looked back at him suddenly. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind seeing them.”

  “It wouldn’t bother me.”

  She shrugged and stared at him with amusement. “Earthman!” She walked on again. “What’s this all about, anyway? You’ll have to end up with Gladia Delmarre as murderess. You’ll have to.”

  “I’m not quite sure of that,” said Baley.

  “How could you be anything else but sure? Who else could it possibly be?”

  “There are possibilities, ma’am.”

  “Who, for instance?”

  “Well, you, for instance!”

  And Klorissa’s reaction to that quite surprised Baley.

  12

  A TARGET IS MISSED

  She laughed.

  The laughter grew and fed on itself till she was gasping for breath and her plump face had reddened almost to purple. She leaned against the wall and gasped for breath.

  “No, don’t come—closer,” she begged. “I’m all right.”

  Baley said gravely, “Is the possibility that humorous?”

  She tried to answer and laughed again. Then, in a whisper, she said, “Oh, you are an Earthman! How could it ever be me?”

  “You knew him well,” said Baley. “You knew his habits. You could have planned it.”

  “And you think I would see him? That I would get close enough to bash him over the head with something? You just don’t know anything at all about it, Baley.”

  Baley felt himself redden. “Why couldn’t you get close enough to him, ma’am? You’ve had practice—uh—mingling.”

  “With the children.”

  “One thing leads to another. You seem to be able to stand my presence.”

  “At twenty feet,” she said contemptuously.

  “I’ve just visited a man who nearly collapsed because he had to endure my presence for a while.”

  Klorissa sobered and said, “A difference in degree.”

  “I suggest that a difference in degree is all that is necessary. The habit of seeing children makes it possible to endure seeing Delmarre just long enough.”

  “I would like to point out, Mr. Baley,” said Klorissa, no longer appearing the least amused, “that it doesn’t matter a speck what I can endure. Dr. Delmarre was the finicky one. He was almost as bad as Leebig himself. Almost. Even if I could endure seeing him, he would never endure seeing me. Mrs. Delmarre is the only one he could possibly have allowed within seeing distance.”

  Baley said, “Who’s this Leebig you mentioned?”

  Klorissa shrugged. “One of these odd-genius types, if you know what I mean. He’d done work with the boss on robots.”

  Baley checked that off mentally and returned to the matter at hand. He said, “It could also be said you had a motive.”

  “What motive?”

  “His death put you in charge of this establishment, gave you position.”

  “You call that a motive? Skies above, who could want this position? Who on Solaria? This is a motive for keeping him alive. It’s a motive for hovering over him and protecting him. You’ll have to do better than that, Earthman.”

  Baley scratched his neck uncertainly with one finger. He saw the justice of that.

  Klorissa said, “Did you notice my ring, Mr. Baley?”

  For a moment it seemed she was about to strip the glove from her right hand, but she refrained.

  “I noticed it,” said Baley.

  “You don’t know its significance, I suppose?”

  “I don’t.” (He would never have done with ignorance, he thought bitterly.)

  “Do you mind a small lecture, then?”

  “If it will help me make sense of this damned world,” blurted out Baley, “by all means.”

  “Skies above!” Klorissa smiled. “I suppose we seem to you as Earth would seem to us. Imagine. Say, here’s an empty chamber. Come in here and we’ll sit down—no, the room’s not big enough. Tell you what, though. You take a seat in there and I’ll stand out here.”

  She stepped farther down the corridor, giving him space to enter the room, then returned, taking up her stand against the opposite wall at a point where she could see him.

  Baley took his seat with only the slightest quiver of chivalry countering it. He thought rebelliously: Why not? Let the Spacer woman stand.

  Klorissa folded her muscular arms across her chest and said, “Gene analysis is the key to our society. We don’t analyze for genes directly, of course. Each gene, however, governs one enzyme, and we can analyze for enzymes. Know the enzymes, know the body chemistry. Know the body chemistry, know the human being. You see all that?”

  “I understand the theory,” said Baley. “I don’t know how it’s applied.”

  “That part’s done here. Blood samples are taken while the infant is still in the late fetal stage. That gives us our rough first approximation. Ideally, we should catch all
mutations at that point and judge whether birth can be risked. In actual fact, we still don’t quite know enough to eliminate all possibility of mistake. Someday, maybe. Anyway, we continue testing after birth; biopsies as well as body fluids. In any case, long before adulthood, we know exactly what our little boys and girls are made of.”

  (Sugar and spice … A nonsense phrase went unbidden through Baley’s mind.)

  “We wear coded rings to indicate our gene constitution,” said Klorissa. “It’s an old custom, a bit of the primitive left behind from the days when Solarians had not yet been weeded eugenically. Nowadays, we’re all healthy.”

  Baley said, “But you still wear yours. Why?”

  “Because I’m exceptional,” she said with an unembarrassed, unblunted pride. “Dr. Delmarre spent a long time searching for an assistant. He needed someone exceptional. Brains, ingenuity, industry, stability. Most of all, stability. Someone who could learn to mingle with children and not break down.”

  “He couldn’t, could he? Was that a measure of his instability?”

  Klorissa said, “In a way, it was, but at least it was a desirable type of instability under most circumstances. You wash your hands, don’t you?”

  Baley’s eyes dropped to his hands. They were as clean as need be. “Yes,” he said.

  “All right. I suppose it’s a measure of instability to feel such revulsion at dirty hands as to be unable to clean an oily mechanism by hand even in an emergency. Still, in the ordinary course of living, the revulsion keeps you clean, which is good.”

  “I see. Go ahead.”

  “There’s nothing more. My genic health is the third-highest ever recorded on Solaria, so I wear my ring. It’s a record I enjoy carrying with me.”

  “I congratulate you.”

  “You needn’t sneer. It may not be my doing. It may be the blind permutation of parental genes, but it’s a proud thing to own, anyway. And no one would believe me capable of so seriously psychotic an act as murder. Not with my gene makeup. So don’t waste accusations on me.”

  Baley shrugged and said nothing. The woman seemed to confuse gene makeup and evidence and presumably the rest of Solaria would do the same.

  Klorissa said, “Do you want to see the youngsters now?”

  “Thank you. Yes.”

  The corridors seemed to go on forever. The building was obviously a tremendous one. Nothing like the huge banks of apartments in the Cities of Earth, of course, but for a single building clinging to the outside skin of a planet it must be a mountainous structure.

  There were hundreds of cribs, with pink babies squalling, or sleeping, or feeding. Then there were playrooms for the crawlers.

  “They’re not too bad even at this age,” said Klorissa grudgingly, “though they take up a tremendous sum of robots. It’s practically a robot per baby till walking age.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They sicken if they don’t get individual attention.”

  Baley nodded. “Yes, I suppose the requirement for affection is something that can’t be done away with.”

  Klorissa frowned and said brusquely, “Babies require attention.”

  Baley said, “I am a little surprised that robots can fulfill the need for affection.”

  She whirled toward him, the distance between them not sufficing to hide her displeasure. “See here, Baley, if you’re trying to shock me by using unpleasant terms, you won’t succeed. Skies above, don’t be childish.”

  “Shock you?”

  “I can use the word too. Affection! Do you want a short word, a good four-letter word? I can say that, too. Love! Love! Now if it’s out of your system, behave yourself.”

  Baley did not trouble to dispute the matter of obscenity. He said, “Can robots really give the necessary attention, then?”

  “Obviously, or this farm would not be the success it is. They fool with the child. They nuzzle it and snuggle it. The child doesn’t care that it’s only a robot. But then, things grow more difficult between three and ten.”

  “Oh?”

  “During that interval, the children insist on playing with one another. Quite indiscriminately.”

  “I take it you let them.”

  “We have to, but we never forget our obligation to teach them the requirements of adulthood. Each has a separate room that can be closed off. Even from the first, they must sleep alone. We insist on that. And then we have an isolation time every day and that increases with the years. By the time a child reaches ten, he is able to restrict himself to viewing for a week at a time. Of course, the viewing arrangements are elaborate. They can view outdoors, under mobile conditions, and can keep it up all day.”

  Baley said, “I’m surprised you can counter an instinct so thoroughly. You do counter it; I see that. Still, it surprises me.”

  “What instinct?” demanded Klorissa.

  “The instinct of gregariousness. There is one. You say yourself that as children they insist on playing with each other.”

  Klorissa shrugged. “Do you call that instinct? But then, what if it is? Skies above, a child has an instinctive fear of falling, but adults can be trained to work in high places even where there is constant danger of falling. Haven’t you ever seen gymnastic exhibitions on high wires? There are some worlds where people live in tall buildings. And children have instinctive fear of loud noises, too, but are you afraid of them?”

  “Not within reason,” said Baley.

  “I’m willing to bet that Earth people couldn’t sleep if things were really quiet. Skies above, there isn’t an instinct around that can’t give way to a good, persistent education. Not in human beings, where instincts are weak anyway. In fact, if you go about it right, education gets easier with each generation. It’s a matter of evolution.”

  Baley said, “How is that?”

  “Don’t you see? Each individual repeats his own evolutionary history as he develops. Those fetuses back there have gills and a tail for a time. Can’t skip those steps. The youngster has to go through the social-animal stage in the same way. But just as a fetus can get through in one month a stage that evolution took a hundred million years to get through, so our children can hurry through the social-animal stage. Dr. Delmarre was of the opinion that with the generations, we’d get through that stage faster and faster.”

  “Is that so?”

  “In three thousand years, he estimated, at the present rate of progress, we’d have children who’d take to viewing at once. The boss had other notions, too. He was interested in improving robots to the point of making them capable of disciplining children without becoming mentally unstable. Why not? Discipline today for a better life tomorrow is a true expression of First Law if robots could only be made to see it.”

  “Have such robots been developed yet?”

  Klorissa shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Dr. Delmarre and Leebig had been working hard on some experimental models.”

  “Did Dr. Delmarre have some of the models sent out to his estate? Was he a good enough roboticist to conduct tests himself?”

  “Oh yes. He tested robots frequently.”

  “Do you know that he had a robot with him when he was murdered?”

  “I’ve been told so.”

  “Do you know what kind of a model it was?”

  “You’ll have to ask Leebig. As I told you, he’s the roboticist who worked with Dr. Delmarre.”

  “You know nothing about it?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “If you think of anything, let me know.”

  “I will. And don’t think new robot models are all that Dr. Delmarre was interested in. Dr. Delmarre used to say the time would come when unfertilized ova would be stored in banks at liquid-air temperatures and utilized for artificial insemination. In that way, eugenic principles could be truly applied and we could get rid of the last vestige of any need for seeing. I’m not sure that I quite go along with him so far, but he was a man of advanced notions; a very good Solarian.”

  She adde
d quickly, “Do you want to go outside? The five-through-eight group are encouraged to take part in outdoor play and you could see them in action.”

  Baley said cautiously, “I’ll try that. I may have to come back inside on rather short notice.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot. Maybe you’d rather not go out at all?”

  “No.” Baley forced a smile. “I’m trying to grow accustomed to the outdoors.”

  The wind was hard to bear. It made breathing difficult. It wasn’t cold, in a direct physical sense, but the feel of it, the feel of his clothes moving against his body, gave Baley a kind of chill.

  His teeth chattered when he tried to talk and he had to force his words out in little bits. It hurt his eyes to look so far at a horizon so hazy green and blue and there was only limited relief when he looked at the pathway immediately before his toes. Above all, he avoided looking up at the empty blue, empty, that is, but for the piled-up white of occasional clouds and the glare of the naked sun.

  And yet he could fight off the urge to run, to return to enclosure.

  He passed a tree, following Klorissa by some ten paces, and he reached out a cautious hand to touch it. It was rough and hard to the touch. Frondy leaves moved and rustled overhead, but he did not raise his eyes to look at them. A living tree!

  Klorissa called out. “How do you feel?”

  “All right.”

  “You can see a group of youngsters from here,” she said. “They’re involved in some kind of game. The robots organize the games and see to it that the little animals don’t kick each other’s eyes out. With personal presence you can do just that, you know.”

  Baley raised his eyes slowly, running his glance along the cement of the pathway out to the grass and down the slope, farther and farther out—very carefully—ready to snap back to his toes if he grew frightened—feeling with his eyes …

  There were the small figures of boys and girls racing madly about, uncaring that they raced at the very outer rim of a world with nothing but air and space above them. The glitter of an occasional robot moved nimbly among them. The noise of the children was a far-off incoherent squeaking in the air.

  “They love it,” said Klorissa. “Pushing and pulling and squabbling and falling down and getting up and just generally contacting. Skies above! How do children ever manage to grow up?”