by Isaac Asimov
He did not help and, when he did respond with heightened excitement and climax, it was only out of helplessness to do otherwise.
She seemed tireless and he did not want her to stop. Aside from the sensuality of sexual response, he felt again what he had felt earlier, the total luxury of the infant’s passivity.
And, finally, he could respond no more and, it seemed, she could do no more and she lay with her head in the hollow where his left shoulder met his chest and her left arm lay across his ribs, her fingers stroking the short, curling hairs tenderly.
He seemed to hear her murmuring, “Thank you – Thank you –”
For what? he wondered.
He was scarcely conscious of her now, for this utterly soft end of a hard day was as soporific as the fabled nepenthe and he could feel himself slipping away, as though his fingertips were relaxing from the edge of the cliff of harsh reality in order that he might drop – drop – through the soft clouds of gathering sleep into the slowly swaying ocean of dreams.
And as he did so, what had not come on call came of itself. For the third time, the curtain was lifted and all the events since he had left Earth shuffled once more into hard focus. Again, it was all clear. He struggled to speak, to hear the words he needed to hear, to fix them and make them part of his thought processes, but though he clutched at them with every tendril of his mind, they slipped past and through and were gone.
So that, in this respect, Baley’s second day on Aurora ended very much as his first had.
17: The Chairman
70.
WHEN BALEY OPENED his eyes, it was to find sunlight streaming through the window and he welcomed it. To his still – sleepy surprise, he welcomed it.
It meant the storm was over and it was as though the storm had never happened. Sunlight – when viewed only as an alternative to the smooth, soft, warm, controlled light of the Cities – could only be considered harsh and uncertain. But compare it with the storm and it was the promise of peace itself. Everything, Baley thought, is relative and he knew he would never think of sunshine as entirely evil again.
“Partner Elijah?” Daneel was standing at the side of the bed. A little behind him stood Giskard.
Baley’s long face dissolved in a rare smile of pure pleasure. He held out his hands, one to each. “Jehoshaphat, men” – and he was totally unaware, at the moment, of any inappropriateness in the word –” when I last saw you two together, I wasn’t in the least sure I would ever see either of you again.”
“Surely,” said Daneel softly, “none of us would have been harmed under any circumstances.”
“With the sunlight coming in, I see that,” said Baley. “But last night, I felt as though the storm would kill me and I was certain you were in deadly danger, Daneel. It even seemed possible that Giskard might be damaged in some way, trying to defend me against overwhelming odds. Melodramatic, I admit, but I wasn’t quite myself, you know.”
“We were aware of that, sir,” said Giskard. “That was what made it difficult for us to leave you, despite your urgent order. We trust that this is not a source of displeasure for you at present.”
“Not at all, Giskard.”
“And,” said Daneel, “we also know that you have been well cared for since we left you.”
It was only then that Baley remembered the events of the night before.
Gladia!
He looked about in sudden astonishment. She was not anywhere in the room. Had he imagined – No, of course not. That would be impossible. And then he looked at Daneel with a frown, as though suspecting his remark to bear a libidinous character.
But no, that would be impossible, too. A robot, however humaniform, would not be designed to take lubricious delight in innuendo.
He said, “Quite well cared for. But what I need at the moment is to be shown to the Personal.”
“We are here, sir,” said Giskard, “to direct you and help you through the morning. Miss Gladia felt you would be more comfortable with us than with any of her own staff and she stressed that we were to leave nothing wanting for your comfort.”
Baley looked doubtful. “How far did she instruct you to go? I feel pretty well now, so I don’t have to have anyone wash and dry me. I can take care of myself. She does understand that, I hope.”
“You need fear no embarrassment, Partner Elijah,” said Dan – eel, with the small smile that (it seemed to Baley) came at those moments when, in a human being, it might be judged that a feeling of affection would have arisen. “We are merely to see to your comfort. If, at any time, you are most comfortable in privacy, we will wait at some distance.”
“In that case, Daneel, we’re all set.” Baley scrambled out of bed. It pleased him to see that he felt quite steady on his legs. The night’s rest and the treatment when he was brought back (whatever it might have been) had done marvels. – And Gladia, too.
71.
STILL NUDE AND just damp enough from his shower to feel thoroughly fresh, Baley, having brushed his hair, studied the result critically. It seemed natural that he would have breakfast with Gladia and he wasn’t certain how he might be received. It might be best, perhaps, to take the attitude that nothing had happened and to be guided by her attitude. And somehow, he thought, it might help if he looked reasonably good – provided that was within the realm of the possible. He made a dissatisfied face at his reflection in the mirror.
“Daneel!” he called.
“Yes, Partner Elijah.”
Speaking through and around toothpaste, Baley said, “Those are new clothes you are wearing, it seems.”
“Not mine originally, Partner Elijah. They had been friend Jander’s.”
Baley’s eyebrows climbed. “She let you have Jander’s?”
“Miss Gladia did not wish me to be unclothed while waiting for my storm – drenched items to be washed and to dry. Those are ready now, but Miss Gladia says I may keep these.”
“When did she say that?”
“This morning, Partner Elijah.”
“She’s awake, then?”
“Indeed. And you will be joining her at breakfast when you are ready.”
Baley’s lips tightened. It was odd that, at the moment, he was more concerned with having to face Gladia than, a little later on, the Chairman. The matter of the Chairman was, after all, in the lap of the Fates. He had decided on his strategy and it would either work or it would not work. As for Gladia – he simply had no strategy.
Well, he would have to face her.
He said, with as careful an air of indifference as he might manage, “And how is Miss Gladia this morning?”
Daneel said, “She seems well.”
“Cheerful? Depressed?”
Daneel hesitated. “It is difficult to judge the inner attitude of a human being. There is nothing in her behavior to indicate internal turmoil.”
Baley cast a quick eye on Daneel and again he wondered if he were referring to the events of last night. – And again he dismissed the possibility.
Nor did it do any good to study Daneel’s face. One could not stare at a robot to guess thoughts from expression, for there were no thoughts in the human sense.
He stepped out into the bedroom and looked at the clothes that had been laid out for him, considering them thoughtfully and wondering if he could put them on without error and without requiring robotic help. The storm and the night were over and he wanted to assume the mantle of adulthood and independence once again.
He said, “What is this?” He held up a long sash covered with an intricately colored arabesque.
“It is a pajama sash,” said Daneel. “It is purely ornamental. It passes over the left shoulder and is tied at the right side of the waist. It is traditionally worn at breakfast on some Spacer worlds but is not very popular on Aurora.”
“Then why should I wear it?”
“Miss Gladia thought it would become you, Partner Elijah. The method of tieing is rather intricate and I will be glad to help you.”
; Jehoshaphat, thought Baley ruefully, she wants me to be pretty. What does she have in mind?
Don’t think about it!
Baley said, “Never mind. I’ll manage with a simple bowknot. – But listen, Daneel, after breakfast I will be going over to Fastolfe’s, where I will meet with him, with Amadiro, and with the Chairman of the Legislature. I don’t know if there will be any others present.”
“Yes, Partner Elijah. I am aware of that. I don’t think there will be others present.”
“Well, then,” said Baley, beginning to put on his undergarments and doing it slowly so as to make no mistake and thus find it unnecessary to appeal for help to Daneel, “tell me about the Chairman. I know from my reading that he is the nearest thing to an executive officer that there is on Aurora, but I gathered from that same reading that the position is purely honorary. He has no power, I take it.”
Daneel said, “I am afraid, Partner Elijah –”
Giskard interrupted. “Sir, I am more aware of the political situation on Aurora than friend Daneel is. I have been in operation for much longer. Would you be willing to have me answer the question?”
“Why, certainly, Giskard. Go ahead.”
“When the government of Aurora was first set up, sir,” began Giskard in a didactic way, as though an information reel within him were methodically spinning, “it was intended that the executive officer fulfill only ceremonial duties. He was to greet dignitaries from other worlds, open all meetings of the Legislature, preside over its deliberations, and vote only to break a tie. After the River Controversy, however –”
“Yes, I read about that,” said Baley. It had been a particularly dull episode in Auroran history, in which impenetrable arguments over the proper division of hydroelectric power had led to the nearest approach to civil war the planet had ever seen. “You needn’t go into details.”
“No, sir,” said Giskard. “After the River Controversy, however, there was a general determination never to allow controversy to endanger Auroran society again. It has become customary, therefore, to settle all disputes in a private and peaceable manner outside the Legislature. When the legislators finally vote, it is in an agreed – upon fashion, so that there is always a large majority on one side or the other.
“The key figure in the settlement of disputes is the Chairman of the Legislature. He is held to be above the struggle and his power – which, although nil in theory, is considerable in practice – only holds as long as he is seen to be so. The Chairman therefore jealously guards his objectivity and, as long as he succeeds in this, it is he who usually makes the decision that settles any controversy in one direction or another.”
Baley said, “You mean that the Chairman will listen to me, to Fastolfe, and to Amadiro, and then come to a decision?”
“Possibly. On the other hand, sir, he may remain uncertain and require further testimony, further thought – or both.”
“And if the Chairman does come to a decision, will Amadiro bow to it if it is against him – or will Fastolfe bow if it is against him?”
“That is not an absolute necessity. There are almost always some who will not accept the Chairman’s decision and both Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Fastolfe are headstrong and obstinate individuals – if one may judge from their actions. Most of the legislators, however, will go along with the Chairman’s decision, whatever that might be. Dr. Fastolfe or Dr. Amadiro – whichever it may be who will be decided against by the Chairman – will then be sure to find himself in a small minority when the vote is taken.”
“How sure, Giskard?”
“Almost sure. The Chairman’s term of office is ordinarily thirty years, with the opportunity for reelection by the Legislature for another thirty years. If, however, a vote were to go against the Chairman’s recommendation, the Chairman would be forced to resign forthwith and there would be a governmental crisis while the Legislature tried to find another Chairman under conditions of bitter dispute. Few legislators are willing to risk that and the chance of getting a majority to vote against the Chairman, when that is the consequence, is almost nil.”
“Then,” said Baley ruefully, “everything depends on this morning’s conference.”
“That is very likely.”
“Thank you, Giskard.”
Gloomily, Baley arranged and rearranged his line of thought.
It seemed hopeful to him, but he did not have any idea what
Amadiro might say or what the Chairman might be like. It was Amadiro who had initiated the meeting and he must feel confident, sure of himself.
It was then that Baley remembered that once again, when he was falling asleep, with Gladia in his arms, he had seen – or thought he had seen – or imagined he had seen – the meaning of all the events on Aurora. Everything had seemed clear – obvious – certain. And once more, for the third time, it was gone as though it had never been.
And with that thought, his hopes seemed to go, too.
72.
DANEEL LED BALEY into the room where breakfast was being served – it seemed more intimate than an ordinary dining room. It was small and plain, with no more in the way of furnishings than a table and two chairs and when Daneel retired, he did not move into a niche. In fact, there were no niches and, for a moment, Baley found himself alone – entirely alone – in the room.
That he was not really alone, he was certain. There would be robots on instant call. Still, it was a room for two – a no – robots room – a room (Baley hesitated at the thought) for lovers.
On the table there were two stacks of pancakelike objects that did not smell like pancakes but smelled good. Two containers of what looked like melted butter (but might not be) flanked them. There was a pot of the hot drink (which Baley had tried and had not liked very much) that substituted for coffee.
Gladia walked in, dressed in rather prim fashion and with her hair glistening, as though freshly conditioned. She paused a moment, her face wearing a half – smile. “Elijah?”
Baley, caught a little by surprise at the sudden appearance, jumped to his feet. “How are you, Gladia?” He stuttered a bit.
She ignored that. She seemed cheerful, carefree. She said, “If you’re worried about Daneel not being in sight, don’t be. He’s completely safe and he’ll stay so. As for us –” She came to him, standing close, and put a hand slowly to his cheek, as once, long ago, she had done in Solaria.
She laughed lightly. “That was all I did then, Elijah. Do you remember?”
Elijah nodded silently.
“Did you sleep well, Elijah? – Sit down, dear.”
He sat down. “Very well. – Thank you, Gladia.” He hesitated before deciding not to return the endearment in kind.
She said, “Don’t thank me. I’ve had my best night’s sleep in weeks and I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t gotten out of bed after I was sure you were sleeping soundly. If I had stayed – as I wanted to – I would have been annoying you before the night was over and you would not have gotten your rest.”
He recognized the need for gallantry. “There are some things more important than r – rest, Gladia,” he said, but with such formality that she laughed again.
“Poor Elijah,” she said. “You’re embarrassed.”
The fact that she recognized that embarrassed him even more. Baley had been prepared for contrition, disgust, shame, affected indifference, tears – everything but the frankly erotic attitude she had assumed.
She said, “Well, don’t suffer so. You’re hungry. You hardly ate last night. Get some calories inside you and you’ll feel more carnal.”
Baley looked doubtfully at the pancakes that weren’t.
Gladia said, “Oh! You’ve probably never seen these. They’re Solarian delicacies. Pachinkas! I had to reprogram my chef before he could make them properly. In the first place, you have to use imported Solarian grain. It won’t work with the Auroran varieties. And they’re stuffed. Actually, there are a thousand stuffings you can use, but this is my favorite and I know you’ll like i
t, too. I won’t tell you what’s in it, except for chestnut puree and a touch of honey, but try it and tell me what you think. You can eat it with your fingers, but be careful how you bite into it.”
She picked one up, holding it daintily between the thumb and middle finger of each hand, then took a small bite, slowly, and licked at the golden, semiliquid filling that flowed out.
Baley imitated her action. The pachinka was hard to the touch and not too hot to hold. He put one end cautiously in his mouth and found it resisted biting. He put more muscle into it and the pachinka cracked and he found the contents flowing over his hands.
“The bite was too large and too forceful,” said Gladia, rushing to him with a napkin. “Now lick at it. No one eats a pachinka neatly. There’s no such thing. You’re supposed to wallow in it. Ideally, you’re supposed to eat it in the nude, then take a shower.”
Baley tried a hesitant lick and his expression was clear enough.
“You like it, don’t you?” said Gladia.
“It’s delicious,” said Baley and he bit away at it slowly and gently. It wasn’t too sweet and it seemed to soften and melt in the mouth. It scarcely required swallowing.
He ate three pachinkas and it was only shame that kept him from asking for more. He licked at his fingers without urging and eschewed the use of napkins, for he wanted none of it to be wasted on an inanimate object.
“Dip your fingers and hands in the cleanser, Elijah,” and she showed him. The “melted butter” was a finger bowl, obviously.
Baley did as he was shown and then dried his hands. He sniffed at them and there was no odor whatever.
She said, “Are you embarrassed about last night, Elijah? Is that all you feel?”
What did one say? Baley wondered.
Finally, he nodded. “I’m afraid I am, Gladia. It’s not all I feel, by twenty kilometers or more, but I am embarrassed. Stop and think. I’m an Earthman and you know that, but for the time being you’re repressing it and ‘Earthman’ is only a meaningless disyllabic sound to you. Last night you were sorry for me, concerned over my problem with the storm, feeling toward me as you would toward a child, and – sympathizing with me, perhaps, out of the vulnerability produced in you by your own loss – you came to me. But that feeling will pass – I’m surprised it hasn’t passed already – and then you will remember that I am an Earthman and you will feel ashamed, demeaned, and dirtied. You will hate me for what I have done for you and I don’t want to be hated. – I don’t want to be hated, Gladia.” (If he looked as unhappy as he felt, he looked unhappy indeed.)
