by Isaac Asimov
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Baley was conscious of a thin whine, which he imagined to be the wind curling around the body of the airfoil as it cut its way through the protesting atmosphere. Then the airfoil lurched and Baley, who could not for his life have helped it, seized Daneel in a desperate grip around the neck.
Daneel waited a moment. When Baley had caught his breath and his grip grew less rigid, Daneel released himself easily from the other’s embrace, while somewhat tightening the pressure of his own arm around Baley.
He said, “In order to maintain course, Partner Elijah, Giskard must counter the wind by an asymmetric ordering of the airfoil’s jets. They are sent to one side so as to cause the airfoil to lean into the wind and these jets have to be adjusted in force and direction as the wind itself changes force and direction. There are none better at this than Giskard, but, even so, there are occasional jiggles and lurches. You must excuse Giskard, then, if he does not participate in our conversation. His attention is fully on the airfoil.”
“Is it – it safe?” Baley felt his stomach contract at the thought of playing with the wind in this fashion. He was devoutly glad he had not eaten for some hours. He could not – dared not – be sick in the close confines of the airfoil. The very thought unsettled him further and he tried to concentrate on something else.
He thought of running the strips back on Earth, of racing from one moving strip to its neighboring faster strip, and then to its neighboring still faster strip, and then back down into the slower regions, leaning expertly into the wind either way; in one direction as one fastered (an odd word used by no one but stripracers) and in the other direction, as one slowered. In his younger days, Daneel could do it without pause and without error.
Daneel had adjusted to the need without trouble and, the one time they had run the strips together, Daneel had done it perfectly. Well, this was just the same! The airfoil was running strips. Absolutely! It was the same!
Not quite the same, to be sure. In the City, the speed of the strips was a fixed quantity. What wind there was blew in absolutely predictable fashion, since it was only the result of the movement of the strips. Here in the storm, however, the wind had a mind of its own or, rather, it depended on so many variables (Baley was deliberately striving for rationality) that it seemed to have a mind of its own – and Giskard had to allow for that. That was all. Otherwise, it was just running the strips with an added complication. The strips were moving at variable – and sharply changing – speeds.
Baley muttered, “What if we blow into a tree?”
“Very unlikely, Partner Elijah. Giskard is far too skillful for that. And we are only very slightly above the ground, so that the jets are particularly powerful.”
“Then we’ll hit a rock. It will cave us in underneath.”
“We will not hit a rock, Partner Elijah.”
“Why not? How on Earth can Giskard see where he’s going, anyway?” Baley stared at the darkness ahead.
“It is just about sunset,” said Daneel, “and some light is making its way through the clouds. It is enough for us to see by with the help of our headlights. And as it grows darker, Giskard will brighten the headlights.”
“What headlights?” asked Baley rebelliously.
“You do not see them very well because they have a strong infrared component, to which Giskard’s eyes are sensitive but yours are not. What’s more, the infrared is more penetrating than shorter wave light is and, for that reason, is more effective in rain, mist, and fog.”
Baley managed to feel some curiosity, even amid his uneasiness. “And your eyes, Daneel?”
“My eyes, Partner Elijah, are designed to be as similar to those of human beings as possible. That is regrettable, perhaps, at this moment.”
The airfoil trembled and Baley found himself holding his breath again. He said in a whisper, “Spacer eyes are still adapted to Earth’s sun, even if robot eyes aren’t. A good thing, too, if it helps remind them they’re descended from Earthpeople.”
His voice faded out. It was getting darker. He could see nothing at all now and the intermittent flashes lighted nothing, either. They were merely blinding. He closed his eyes and that didn’t help. He was the more conscious of the angry, threatening thunder.
Should they not stop? Should they not wait for the worst of the storm to pass?
Giskard suddenly said, “The vehicle is not reacting properly.”
Baley felt the ride become ragged as though the machine was on wheels and was rolling over ridges.
Daneel said, “Can it be storm damage, friend Giskard?”
“It does not have the feel of that, friend Daneel. Nor does it seem likely that this machine would suffer from this kind of damage in this or any other storm.”
Baley absorbed the exchange with difficulty. “Damage?” he muttered. “What kind of damage?”
Giskard said, “I should judge the compressor to be leaking, sir, but slowly. It’s not the result of an ordinary puncture.”
“How did it happen, then?” Baley asked.
“Deliberate damage, perhaps, while it was outside the Administration Building. I have known, now, for some little time that we are being followed and carefully not being overtaken.”
“Why, Giskard?”
“A possibility, sir, is that they are waiting for us to break down completely.” The airfoil’s motion was becoming more ragged.
“Can you make it to Dr. Fastolfe’s?”
“It would not seem so, sir.”
Baley tried to fling his reeling mind into action. “In that case, I’ve completely misjudged Amadiro’s reason for delaying us. He was keeping us there to have one or more of his robots damage the airfoil in such a way as to bring us down in the midst of desolation and lightning.”
“But why should he do that?” said Daneel, sounding shocked. “To get you? – In a way, he already had you.”
“He doesn’t want me. No one wants me,” said Baley with a somewhat feeble anger. “The danger is to you, Daneel.”
“To me, Partner Elijah?”
“Yes, you! Daneel. – Giskard, choose a safe place to come down and, as soon as you do, Daneel must get out of the car and be off to a place of safety.”
Daneel said, “That is impossible, Partner Elijah. I could not leave you when you are feeling ill – and most especially if there are those who pursue us and might do you harm.”
Baley said, “Daneel, they’re pursuing you. You must leave. As for me, I will stay in the airfoil. I am in no danger.”
“How can I believe that?”
“Please! Please! How can I explain the whole thing with everything spinning – Daneel” – Baley’s voice grew desperately calm –” you are the most important individual here, far more important than Giskard and I put together. It’s not just that I care for you and want no harm to come to you. All of humanity depends on you. Don’t worry about me; I’m one man; worry about billions. Daneel – please –”
63.
BALEY COULD FEEL himself rocking back and forth. Or was it the airfoil? Was it breaking up altogether? Or was Giskard losing control? Or was he taking evasive action?
Baley didn’t care. He didn’t care! Let the airfoil crash. Let it smash to bits. He would welcome oblivion. Anything to get rid of this terrible fright, this total inability to come to terms with the Universe.
Except that he had to make sure that Daneel got away – safely away. But how?
Everything was unreal and he was not going to be able to explain anything to these robots. The situation was so clear to him, but how was he to transfer this understanding to these robots, to these nonmen, who understood nothing but their Three Laws and who would let all of Earth and, in the long run, all of humanity go to hell because they could only be concerned with the one man under their noses?
Why had robots ever been invented?
And then, oddly enough, Giskard, the lesser of the two, came to his aid.
He said in his contentless voice, “Frien
d Daneel, I cannot keep this airfoil in motion much longer. Perhaps it will be more suitable to do as Mr. Baley suggests. He has given you a very strong order.”
“Can I leave him when he is unwell, friend Giskard?” said Daneel, perplexed.
“You cannot take him out into the storm with you, friend Daneel. Moreover, he seems so anxious for you to leave that it may do him harm for you to stay.”
Baley felt himself reviving. “Yes – yes –” he managed to croak out. “As Giskard says. Giskard, you go with him, hide him, make sure he doesn’t return – then come back for me.”
Daneel said forcefully, “That cannot be, Partner Elijah. We cannot leave you alone, untended, unguarded.”
“No danger – I am in no danger. Do as I say –”
Giskard said, “Those following are probably robots. Human beings would hesitate to come out in the storm. And robots would not harm Mr. Baley.”
Daneel said, “They might take him away.”
“Not into the storm, friend Daneel, since that would work obvious harm to him. I will bring the airfoil to a halt now, friend Daneel. You must be ready to do as Mr. Baley orders. I, too.”
“Good!” whispered Baley. “Good!” He was grateful for the simpler brain that could more easily be impressed and that lacked the ability to get lost and uncertain in ever – expanding refinements.
Vaguely, he thought of Daneel trapped between his perception of Baley’s ill – being and the urgency of the order – and of his brain snapping under the conflict.
Baley thought: No no, Daneel. Just do as I say and don’t question it.
He lacked the strength, almost the will, to articulate it and he let the order remain a thought.
The airfoil came down with a bump and a short, harsh, scraping noise.
The doors flew open, one on either side, and then closed with a soft, sighing noise. At once, the robots were gone. Having come to their decision, there was no hesitation and they moved with a speed that human beings could not duplicate.
Baley took a deep breath and shuddered. The airfoil was rock – steady now. It was part of the ground.
He was suddenly aware of how much of his misery had been the result of the swaying and bucking of the vehicle, the feeling of insubstantiality, of not being connected to the Universe but of being at the mercy of inanimate, uncaring forces.
Now, however, it was still and he opened his eyes.
He had not been aware that they had been closed.
There was still lightning on the horizon and the thunder was a subdued mutter, while the wind, meeting a more resistant and less yielding object now than it had hitherto, keened a higher note than before.
It was dark. Baley’s eyes were no more than human and he saw no light of any kind, other than the occasional blip of lightning. The sun must surely have set and the clouds were thick.
And for the first time since Baley had left Earth, he was alone!
64.
ALONE!
He had been too ill, too beside himself, to make proper sense. Even now, he found himself struggling to understand what it was he should have done and would have done – if he had had room in his tottering mind for more than the one thought that Daneel must leave.
For instance, he had not asked where he now was, what he was near, where Daneel and Giskard were planning to go. He did not know how any portion of the grounded airfoil worked. He could not, of course, make it move, but he might have had it supply heat if he felt cold or turn off the heat if there were too much – except that he did not know how to direct the machine to do either.
He did not know how to opacify the windows if he wanted to be enclosed or how to open a door if he wanted to leave.
The only thing he could do now was to wait for Giskard to come back for him. Surely that was what Giskard would expect him to do. The orders to him had simply been: Come back for me.
There had been no indication that Baley would change position in any way and Giskard’s clear and uncluttered mind would surely interpret the “Come back” with the assumption that he was to come back to the airfoil.
Baley tried to adjust himself to that. In a way, it was a relief merely to wait, to have to make no decisions for a while, because there were no decisions he could possibly make. It was a relief to be steady and to feel at rest and to be rid of the terrible light flashes and the disturbing crashes of sound.
Perhaps he might even allow himself to go to sleep.
And then he stiffened. – Dare he do that?
They were being pursued. They were under observation. The airfoil, while parked and waiting for them outside the Administration Building of the Robotics Institute, had been tampered with and no doubt the tamperers would soon be upon him.
He was waiting for them, too, and not for Giskard only.
Had he thought it out clearly in the midst of his misery? The machine had been tampered with outside the Administration Building. That might have been done by anyone, but most likely by someone who knew it was there – and who would know that better than Amadiro?
Amadiro had intended delay until the storm. That was obvious. He was to travel in the storm and he was to break down in the storm. Amadiro had studied Earth and its population; he boasted of that. He would know quite clearly just what difficulty Earthpeople would have with the Outside generally and with a thunderstorm in particular.
He would be quite certain that Baley would be reduced to complete helplessness.
But why should he want that?
To bring Baley back to the Institute? He had already had him, but he had had a Baley in the full possession of his faculties and along with him he had had two robots perfectly capable of defending Baley physically. It would be different now!
If the airfoil were disabled in a storm, Baley would be disabled emotionally. He would even be unconscious, perhaps, and would certainly not be able to resist being brought back. Nor would the two robots object. With Baley clearly in, their only appropriate reaction would be to assist Amadiro’s robots in rescuing him.
In fact, the two robots would have to come along with Baley and would do so helplessly.
And if anyone ever questioned Amadiro’s action, he could say that he had feared for Baley in the storm; that he had tried to keep him at the Institute and failed; that he had sent his robots to trail him and assure his safety; and that, when the airfoil came to grief in the storm, those robots brought Baley back to haven. Unless people understood that it had been Amadiro who had ordered the airfoil tampered with (and who would believe that – and how could one prove it?), the only possible public reaction would be to praise Amadiro for his humanitarian feelings – all the more astonishing for having been expressed toward a subhuman Earthman.
And what would Amadiro do with Baley then?
Nothing, except to keep him quiet and helpless for a time. Baley was not himself the quarry. That was the point.
Amadiro would also have two robots and they would now be helpless. Their instructions forced them, in the strongest manner, to guard Baley and, if Baley were ill and being cared for, they could only follow Amadiro’s orders if those orders were clearly and apparently for Baley’s benefit. Nor would Baley be (perhaps) sufficiently himself to protect them with further orders – certainly not if he were kept under sedation.
It was clear! It was clear! Amadiro had had Baley, Daneel, and Giskard – but in unusable fashion. He had sent them out into the storm in order to bring them back and have them again – in usable fashion. Especially Daneel! It was Daneel who was the key.
To be sure, Fastolfe would be searching for them eventually and would find them, too, and retrieve them, but by then it would be too late, wouldn’t it?
And what did Amadiro want with Daneel?
Baley, his head aching, was sure he knew – but how could he possibly prove it?
He could think no more. – If he could opacify the windows, he could make a little interior world again, enclosed and motionless, and then maybe he could continue his
thoughts.
But he did not know how to opacify the windows. He could only sit there and look at the flagging storm beyond those windows, hear the whip of rain against the windows, watch the fading lightning, and listen to the muttering thunder.
He closed his eyes tightly. The eyelids made a wall, too, but he dared not sleep.
The car door on his right opened. He heard the sighing noise it made. He felt the cool, damp breeze enter, the temperature drop, the sharp smell of things green and wet enter and drown out the faint and friendly smell of oil and upholstery that reminded him somehow of the City that he wondered if he would ever see again.
He opened his eyes and there was the odd sensation of a robotic face staring at him – and drifting sideways, yet not really moving. Baley felt dizzy.
The robot, seen as a darker shadow against the darkness, seemed a large one. He had, somehow, an air of capability about him. He said, “Your pardon, sir. Did you not have the company of two robots?”
“Gone,” muttered Baley, acting as ill as he could and aware that it did not require acting. A brighter flash of the heavens made its way through the eyelids that were now half – open.
“Gone! Gone where, sir?” And then, as he waited for an answer, he said, “Are you ill, sir?”
Baley felt a distant twinge of satisfaction within the inner scrap of himself that was still capable of thinking. If the robot had been without special instruction, he would have responded to Baley’s clear signs of illness before doing anything else. To have asked first about the robots implied hard and close – pressed directions as to their importance.
It fit.
He tried to assume a strength and normality he did not possess and said, “I am well. Don’t concern yourself with me.”
