by Isaac Asimov
It could not possibly have convinced an ordinary robot, but this one had been so intensified in connection with Daneel (obviously) that he accepted it. He said, “Where have the robots gone, sir?”
“Back to the Robotics Institute.”
“To the Institute? Why, sir?”
“They were called by Master Roboticist Amadiro and he ordered them to return. I am waiting for them.”
“But why did you not go with them, sir?”
“Master Roboticist Amadiro did not wish me to be exposed to the storm. He ordered me to wait here. I am following Master Roboticist Amadiro’s orders.”
He hoped the repetition of the prestige – filled name with the inclusion of the honorific, together with the repetition of the word “order,” would have its effect on the robot and persuade him to leave Baley where he was.
On the other hand, if they had been instructed, with particular care, to bring back Daneel, and if they were convinced that Daneel was already on his way back to the Institute, there would be a decline in the intensity of their need in connection with that robot. They would have time to think of Baley again. They would say – The robot said, “But it appears you are not well, sir.”
Baley felt another twinge of satisfaction. He said, “I am well.”
Behind the robot, he could vaguely see a crowding of several other robots – he could not count them – with their faces gleaming in the occasional lightning flash. As Baley’s eyes adapted to the return of darkness, he could see the dim shine of their eyes.
He turned his head. There were robots at the left door, too, though that remained closed.
How many had Amadiro sent? Were they to have been returned by force, if necessary?
He said, “Master Roboticist Amadiro’s orders were that my robots were to return to the Institute and I was to wait. You see that they are returning and that I am waiting. If you were sent to help, if you have a vehicle, find the robots, who are on their way back, and transport them. This airfoil is no longer operative.” He tried to say it all without hesitation and firmly, as a well man would. He did not entirely succeed.
“They have returned on foot, sir?”
Baley said, “Find them. Your orders are clear.”
There was hesitation. Clear hesitation.
Baley finally remembered to move his right foot – he hoped properly. He should have done it before, but his physical body was not responding properly to his thoughts.
Still the robots hesitated and Baley grieved over that. He was not a Spacer. He did not know the proper words, the proper tone, the proper air with which to handle robots with the proper efficiency. A skilled roboticist could, with a gesture, a lift of an eyebrow, direct a robot as though it were a marionette of which he held the strings. – Especially if the robot were of his own design.
But Baley was only an Earthman.
He frowned – that was easy to do in his misery – and whispered a weary “Go!” and motioned with his hands.
Perhaps that added the last small and necessary quantity of weight to his order – or perhaps an end had simply been reached to the time it took for the robots’ positronic pathways to determine, by voltage and counter – voltage, how to sort out their instructions according to the Three Laws.
Either way, they had made up their minds and, after that, there was no further hesitation. They moved back to their vehicle, whatever and wherever it was, with such determined speed that they seemed simply to disappear.
The door the robot had held open now closed of its own accord. Baley had moved his foot in order to place it in the pathway of the closing door. He wondered distantly if his foot would be cut off cleanly or if its bones would be crushed, but he didn’t move it. Surely no vehicle would be designed to make such a misadventure possible.
He was alone again. He had forced robots to leave a patently unwell human being by playing on the force of the orders given them by a competent robot master who had been intent on strengthening the Second Law for his own purposes – and had done it to the point where Baley’s own quite apparent lies had subordinated the First Law to it.
How well he had done it, Baley thought with distant self – satisfaction – and became aware that the door which had swung shut was still ajar, held so by his foot, and that that foot had not been the least bit damaged as a result.
65.
BALEY FELT COOL air curling about his foot and a sprinkle of cool water. It was a frighteningly abnormal thing to sense, yet he could not allow the door to close, for he would then not know how to open it. (How did the robots open those doors? Undoubtedly, it was no puzzle to members of the culture, but in his reading on Auroran life, there was no careful instruction of just how one opens the door of a standard airfoil. Everything of importance is taken for granted. You’re supposed to know, even though you are, in theory, being informed.)
He was groping in his pockets as he thought this and even the pockets were not easy to find. They were not in the right places and they were sealed, so that they had to be opened by fumbles till he found the precise motion that caused the seal to part. He pulled out a handkerchief, balled it, and placed it between the door and jamb so that the door would not entirely close. He then removed his foot.
Now to think – if he could. There was no point to keeping the door open unless he meant to get out. Was there, however, any purpose in getting out?
If he waited where he was, Giskard would eventually come back for him and, presumably, lead him to safety.
Dare he wait?
He did not know how long it would take Giskard to see Daneel to safety and then return.
But neither did he know how long it would take the pursuing robots to decide they would not find Daneel and Giskard on any road leading back to the Institute. (Surely it was impossible that Daneel and Giskard had actually moved backward toward the Institute in search of sanctuary. Baley had not actually ordered them not to – but what if that were the only feasible route? – No! Impossible!)
Baley shook his head in silent denial of the possibility and felt it ache in response. He put his hands to it and gritted his teeth.
How long would the pursuing robots continue to search before they would decide that Baley had misled them – or had been himself misled? Would they then return and take him in custody, very politely and with great care not to harm him? Could he hold them off by telling them he would die if exposed to the storm?
Would they believe that? Would they call the Institute to report? Surely they would do that. And would human beings then arrive? They would not be overly concerned about his welfare.
If Baley got out of the car and found some hiding place in the surrounding trees, it would be that much harder for the pursuing robots to locate him – and that would gain him time.
It would also be harder for Giskard to locate him, but Giskard would be under a much more intense instruction to guard Baley than the pursuing robots were to find him. The primary task of the former would be to locate Baley – and of the latter, to locate Daneel.
Besides, Giskard was programmed by Fastolfe himself and Amadiro, however skillful, was no match for Fastolfe.
Surely, then, all things being equal, Giskard would be back before the other robots could possibly be.
But would all things be equal? With a faint attempt at cynicism, Baley thought: I’m worn – out and can’t really think. I’m merely seizing desperately at whatever will console me.
Still, what could he do but play the odds, as he conceived the odds to be?
He leaned against the door and was out into the open. The handkerchief fell out into the wet, rank grass and he automatically bent down to pick it up, holding it in his hands as he staggered away from the car.
He was overwhelmed by the gusts of rain that soaked his face and hands. After a short while, his wet clothes were clinging to his body and he was shivering with cold.
There was a piercing splitting of the sky – too quick for him to close his eyes against – and then
a sharp hammering that stiffened him in terror and made him clap his hands over his ears.
Had the storm returned? Or did it sound louder only because he was out in the open?
He had to move. He had to move away from the car, so that the pursuers would not find him too easily. He must not waver and remain in its vicinity or he might as well have stayed inside – and dry.
He tried to wipe his face with the handkerchief, but it was as wet as his face was and he let it go. It was useless.
He moved on, hands outstretched. Was there a moon that circled Aurora? He seemed to recall there had been mention of such a thing and he would have welcomed its light. – But what did it matter? Even if it existed and were in the sky now, the clouds would obscure it.
He felt something. He could not see what it was, but he knew it to be the rough bark of a tree. Undoubtedly a tree. Even a City man would know that much.
And then he remembered that lightning might hit trees and might kill people. He could not remember that he had ever read a description of how it felt to be hit by lightning or if there were any measures to prevent it. He knew of no one on Earth who had been hit by lightning.
He felt his way about the tree and was in an agony of apprehension and fear. How much was halfway around, so that he would end up moving in the same direction?
Onward!
The underbrush was thick now and hard to get through. It was like bony, clutching fingers holding him. He pulled petulantly and he heard the tearing of cloth.
Onward!
His teeth were chattering and he was trembling.
Another flash. Not a bad one. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of his surroundings.
Trees! A number of them. He was in a grove of trees. Were many trees more dangerous than one tree where lightning was concerned?
He didn’t know.
Would it help if he didn’t actually touch a tree?
He didn’t know that, either. Death by lightning simply wasn’t a factor in the Cities and the historical novels (and sometimes histories) that mentioned it never went into detail.
He looked up at the dark sky and felt the wetness coming down. He wiped at his wet eyes with his wet hands.
He stumbled onward, trying to step high. At one point, he splashed through a narrow stream of water, sliding over the pebbles underlaying it.
How strange! It made him no wetter than he was.
He went on again. The robots would not find him. Would Giskard?
He didn’t know where he was. Or where he was going. Or how far he was from anything.
If he wanted to return to the car, he couldn’t.
If he was trying to find himself, he couldn’t.
And the storm would continue forever and he would finally dissolve and pour down in a little stream of Baley and no one would ever find him again.
And his dissolved molecules would float down to the ocean.
Was there an ocean on Aurora?
Of course there was! It was larger than Earth’s, but there was more ice at the Auroran poles.
Ah, he would float to the ice and freeze there, glistening in the cold orange sun.
His hands were touching a tree again – wet hands – wet tree – rumble of thunder – funny he didn’t see the flash of lightning – lightning came first – was he hit?
He didn’t feel anything – except the ground.
The ground was under him because his fingers were scrabbling into cold mud. He turned his head so he could breathe. It was rather comfortable. He didn’t have to walk anymore. He could wait. Giskard would find him.
He was suddenly very sure of it. Giskard would have to find him because – No, he had forgotten the because. It was the second time he had forgotten something. Before he went to sleep – Was it the same thing he had forgotten each time? – The same thing? – It didn’t matter.
It would be all right – all – And he lay there, alone and unconscious, in the rain at the base of a tree, while the storm beat on.
16: Again Gladia
66.
AFTERWARD, LOOKING BACK and estimating times, it would appear that Baley had remained unconscious not less than ten minutes and not more than twenty.
At the time, though, it might have been anything from zero to infinity. He was conscious of a voice. He could not hear the words it spoke, just a voice. He puzzled over the fact that it sounded odd and solved the matter to his satisfaction by recognizing it as a woman’s voice.
There were arms around him, lifting him, heaving him. One arm – his arm – dangled. His head lolled.
He tried feebly to straighten out, but nothing happened. The woman’s voice again.
He opened his eyes wearily. He was aware of being cold and wet and suddenly realized that water was not striking him. And it was not dark, not entirely. There was a dim suffusing of light and, by it, he saw a robot’s face.
He recognized it. “Giskard,” he whispered and with that he remembered the storm and the flight. And Giskard had reached him first; he had found him before the other robots had.
Baley thought contentedly: I knew he would.
He let his eyes close again and felt himself moving rapidly but with the slight – yet definite – unevenness that meant he was being carried by someone who was walking. Then a stop and a slow adjustment until he was resting on something quite warm and comfortable. He knew it was the seat of a car covered, perhaps, with toweling, but did not question how he knew.
Then there was the sensation of smooth motion through the air and the feeling of soft absorbent fabric over his face and hands, the tearing open of his blouse, cold air upon his chest, and then the drying and blotting again.
After that, the sensations crowded in upon him.
He was in an establishment. There were flashes of walls, of illumination, of objects (miscellaneous shapes of furnishings) which he saw now and then when he opened his eyes.
He felt his clothes being stripped off methodically and made a few feeble and useless attempts to cooperate, then he felt warm water and vigorous scrubbing. It went on and on and he didn’t want it to stop.
At one point, a thought occurred to him and he seized the arm that was holding him. “Giskard! Giskard!”
He heard Giskard’s voice, “I am here, sir.”
“Giskard, is Daneel safe?”
“He is quite safe, sir.”
“Good.” Baley closed his eyes again and made no effort whatever in connection with the drying. He felt himself turned over and over in the stream of dry air and then he was being dressed again in something like a warm robe.
Luxury! Nothing like this had happened to him since he was an infant and he was suddenly sorry for the babies for whom everything was done and who were not sufficiently conscious of it to enjoy it.
Or did they? Was the hidden memory of that infant luxury a determinant of adult behavior? Was his own feeling now just an expression of the delight of being an infant again?
And he had heard a woman’s voice. Mother?
No, that couldn’t possibly be. Mamma?
He was sitting in a chair now. He could sense as much and he could also feel, somehow, that the short, happy period of renewed infancy was coming to an end. He had to return to the sad world of self – consciousness and self – help.
But there had been a woman’s voice. – What woman?
Baley opened his eyes. “Gladia?”
67.
IT WAS A question, a surprised question, but deep within himself he was not really surprised. Thinking back, he had, of course, recognized her voice.
He looked around. Giskard was standing in his alcove, but he ignored him. First things first.
He said, “Where’s Daneel?”
Gladia said, “He has cleaned and dried himself in the robot’s quarters and he has dry clothing. He is surrounded by my household staff and they have their instructions. I can tell you that no outsider will approach within fifty meters of my establishment in any direction without our all knowing
it at once. – Giskard is cleaned and dried as well.”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Baley. He was not concerned with Giskard, only with Daneel. He was relieved that Gladia seemed to accept the necessity of guarding Daneel and that he would not have to face the complications of explaining the matter.
Yet there was one breach in the wall of security and a note of querulousness entered in his voice as he said, “Why did you leave him, Gladia? With you gone, there was no human being in the house to stop the approach of a band of outside robots. Daneel could have been taken by force.”
“Nonsense,” said Gladia with spirit. “We were not gone long and Dr. Fastolfe had been informed. Many of his robots had joined mine and he could be on the spot in minutes if needed – and I’d like to see any band of outside robots withstand him.”
“Have you seen Daneel since you returned, Gladia?”
“Of course! He’s safe, I tell you.”
“Thank you!” Baley relaxed and closed his eyes. Oddly enough, he thought: It wasn’t so bad.
Of course it wasn’t. He had survived, hadn’t he? When he thought that, something inside himself grinned and was happy.
He had survived, hadn’t he?
He opened his eyes and said, “How did you find me, Gladia?”
“It was Giskard. They had come here – both of them – and Giskard explained the situation to me quickly. I set right about securing Daneel, but he wouldn’t budge until I had promised to order Giskard out after you. He was very eloquent. His responses with respect to you are very intense, Elijah.
“Daneel remained behind, of course. It made him very unhappy, but Giskard insisted that I order him to stay at the very top of my voice. You must have given Giskard some mighty strict orders. Then we got in touch with Dr. Fastolfe and, after that, we took my personal airfoil.”
Baley shook his head wearily. “You should not have come along, Gladia. Your place was here, making sure Daneel was safe.”
Gladia’s face twisted into scorn. “And leave you dying in the storm, for all we knew? Or being taken up by Dr. Fastolfe’s enemies? I have a little holograph of myself letting that happen. No, Elijah, I might have been needed to keep the other robots away from you if they had gotten to you first. I may not be much good in most ways, but any Solarian can handle a mob of robots, let me tell you. We’re used to it.”
