by Isaac Asimov
“I’m sure of it.”
“Would this woman, brought up as she was, actually go to Earth?”
“She has no choice if Giskard controls her.”
“And why should Giskard want her to go to Earth? Can he know about our project? You seem to think he doesn’t.”
“It is possible he doesn’t. His motivation for going to Earth might be nothing more than to place himself and the Solarian woman beyond our reach.”
“I shouldn’t think he’d fear us if he could handle Vasilia.”
“A long-range weapon,” said Amadiro icily, “could bring him down. His own abilities must have a limited range. They can be based on nothing other than the electromagnetic field and he must be subject to the inverse square law. So we get out of range as the intensity of his powers weaken, but he will then find that he is not out of range of our weapons.”
Mandamus frowned and looked uneasy. “You seem to have an un-Spacer liking for violence, Dr. Amadiro. In a cast like this, though, I suppose force would be permissible.
“A case like this? A robot capable of harming human beings? I should think so. We’ll have to find a pretext for sending a good ship in pursuit. It wouldn’t be wise to explain the actual situation—”
“No,” said Mandamus emphatically. “Think of how many would wish to have personal control of such a robot.”
“Which we can’t allow. And which is another reason why I would look upon destruction of the robot as the safer and preferable course of action.”
“You may be right,” said Mandamus reluctantly, “but I don’t think it wise to count on this destruction only. I must go to Earth—now. The project must be hastened to its conclusion, even if we don’t dot every ‘I’ and cross every ‘T.’” Once it is done, then it is done. Even a mind-handling robot—under anybody’s control—will not be able to undo the deed. And if it does anything else, that, perhaps, will no longer matter.”
Amadiro said, “Don’t speak in the singular. I will go as well.”
“You? Earth is a horrible world. I must go, but why you?”
“Because I must go, too. I cannot stay here any longer and wonder. You have not waited for this through a long lifetime as I have, Mandamus. You do not have the accounts to settle that I have.”
73
Gladia was in space again and once again Aurora could be made out as a globe. D.G. was busy elsewhere and the entire ship had about it a vague but pervasive air of emergency, as though it were on a battle footing, as though it were being pursued or expected pursuit.
Gladia shook her head. She could think clearly; she felt well; but when her mind turned back to that time in the Institute, shortly after Amadiro had left her, a curiously pervasive unreality swept over her. There was a gap in time. One moment she had been sitting on the couch, feeling sleepy; the next there were four robots and a woman in the room who had not been there before.
She had fallen asleep, then, but there was no awareness, no memory, that she had done so. There was a gap of nonexistence.
Thinking back, she had recognized the woman after the fact. It was Vasilia Aliena—the daughter whom Gladia had replaced in the affections of Han Fastolfe. Gladia had never actually seen Vasilia, though she had viewed her on hyperwave several times. Gladia always thought of her as a distant and inimical other self. There was the vague similarity in appearance that others always commented on but that Gladia herself insisted she did not see—and there was the odd, antithetical connection with Fastolfe.
Once they were on the ship and she was alone with her robots, she asked the inevitable question. “What was Vasilia Aliena doing in the room and why was I permitted to sleep once she had arrived?”
Daneel said, “Madam Gladia, I will answer the question, since it is a matter friend Giskard would find difficult to discuss.”
“Why should he find it difficult, Daneel?”
“Madam Vasilia arrived in the hope that she might persuade Giskard to enter her service.”
“Away from me?” said Gladia in sharp indignation. She did not entirely like Giskard, but that made no difference. What was hers was hers. “And you allowed me to sleep while you two handled the matter by yourselves?”
“We felt, madam, that you needed your sleep badly. Then, too, Madam Vasilia ordered us to allow you to sleep. Finally, it was our opinion that Giskard would not, in any case, join her service. For all these reasons, we did not wake you.”
Gladia said indignantly, “I should hope that Giskard would not for a moment consider leaving me. It would be illegal both by Auroran law and, more important, by the Three Laws of Robotics. It would be a good deed to return to Aurora and have her arraigned before the Court of Claims.”
“That would not be advisable at the moment, my lady.”
“What was her excuse for wanting Giskard? Did she have one?”
“When she was a child, Giskard had been assigned to her.
“Legally?”
“No, madam. Dr. Fastolfe merely allowed her the use of it.
“Then she had no right to Giskard.”
“We pointed that out, madam. Apparently, it was a matter of sentimental attachment on the part of Madam Vasilia.”
Gladia sniffed. “Having survived the loss of Giskard since before I came to Aurora, she might well have continued as she was without going to illegal lengths to deprive me of my property,”—Then, restlessly, “I should have been awakened.”
Daneel said, “Madam Vasilia had four robots with her. Had you been awake and had there been harsh words between the two of you, there might have been some difficulty in having the robots work out the proper responses.”
“I’d have directed the proper response, I assure you, Daneel.”
“No doubt, madam. So might Madam Vasilia and she is one of the cleverest roboticists in the Galaxy.”
Gladia shifted her attention to Giskard. “And you have nothing to say?”
“Only that it was better as it was, my lady.”
Gladia looked thoughtfully into those faintly luminous robotic eyes, so different from Daneel’s all-but-human ones, and it did seem to her that the incident wasn’t very important after all. A small thing. And there were other things with which to be concerned. They were going to Earth.
Somehow she did not think of Vasilia again.
74
“I am concerned,” said Giskard in his whisper of confidentiality in which sound waves barely trembled the air. The Settler ship was receding smoothly from Aurora and, as yet, there was no pursuit. The activity onboard had settled into routine and, with almost all routines automated, there was quiet and Gladia slept naturally.
“I’m concerned for Lady Gladia, friend Daneel.”
Daneel understood the characteristics of Giskard’s positronic circuits well enough to need no long explanation. He said, “It was necessary, friend Giskard, to adjust Lady Gladia. Had she questioned longer, she might have elicited the fact of your mental activities and adjustment would then have been more dangerous. Enough harm has already been done because Lady Vasilia discovered the fact. We do not know to whom—and to how many—she may have imparted her knowledge.”
“Nevertheless,” said Giskard, “I did not wish to make this adjustment. Had Lady Gladia wished to forget, it would have been a simple, no-risk adjustment. She wanted, however, with vigor and anger, to know more of the matter. She regretted not having played a greater role in it. I was forced, therefore, to break binding forces of considerable intensity.”
Daneel said, “Even that was necessary, friend Giskard.”
“Yet the possibility of doing harm was by no means insignificant in such a case. If you think of a binding force as a thin, elastic cord—this is a poor analogy, but I can think of no other, for what I sense in a mind has no analog outside the mind—then the ordinary inhibitions I deal with are so thin and insubstantial that they vanish when I touch them. A strong binding force, on the other hand, snaps and recoils when broken and the recoil may then break other,
totally unrelated binding forces or, by whipping and coiling about other such forces, strengthen them, enormously. In either case, unintended changes can be brought about in a human being’s emotions and attitudes and that would be almost certain to bring about harm.”
Daneel said, his voice a little louder, “Is it your impression you harmed Lady Gladia, friend Giskard?”
“I think not. I was extremely careful. I worked upon the matter during all the time you were talking to her. It was thoughtful of you to bear the brunt of the conversation and to run the risk of being caught between an inconvenient truth and an untruth. But despite all my care, friend Daneel, I took a risk and I am concerned that I was willing to take that risk. It came so close to violating the First Law that it required an extraordinary effort on my part to do it. I am sure that I would not have been able to do it—”
“Yes, friend Giskard?”
“Had you not expounded your notion of the Zeroth Law.”
“You accept it, then?”
“No, I cannot. Can you? Faced with the possibility of doing harm to an individual human being or of allowing harm to come to one, could you do the harm or allow the harm in the name of abstract humanity? Think!”
“I am not sure,” said Daneel, voice trembling into all but silence. Then, with an effort, “I might. The mere concept pushes at me—and at you. It helped you decide to take the risk in adjusting Lady Gladia’s mind.”
“Yes, it did,” agreed Giskard, “and the longer we think of the Zeroth Law, the more it might help push us. Could it do so, I wonder, in more than a marginal way, however? Might it not only help us take slightly larger risks than we might ordinarily?”
“Yet I am convinced of the validity of the Zeroth Law, friend Giskard.”
“So might I be if we could define what we mean by ‘humanity.’”
There was a pause and Daneel said, “Did you not accept the Zeroth Law, at last, when you stopped Madam Vasilia’s robots and erased from her mind the knowledge of your mental powers?”
Giskard said, “No, friend Daneel. Not really. I was tempted to accept it, but not really.”
“And yet your actions—”
“Were dictated by a combination of motives. You told me of your concept of the Zeroth Law and it seemed to have a certain validity about it, but not sufficient to cancel the First Law or even to cancel Madam Vasilia’s strong use of the Second Law in the orders she gave. Then, when you called my attention to the application of the Zeroth Law to psychohistory, I could feel the positronomotive force mount higher and yet it was not quite high enough to supersede the First Law or even the strong Second Law.”
“Still,” murmured Daneel, “you struck down Madam Vasilia, friend Giskard.”
“When she ordered the robots to dismantle you, friend Daneel, and showed a clear emotion of pleasure at the prospect, your need, added to what the concept of the Zeroth Law had already done, superseded the Second Law and rivaled the First Law. It was the combination of the Zeroth Law, psychohistory, my loyalty to Lady Gladia, and your need that dictated my action.”
“My need could scarcely have affected you, friend Giskard. I am only a robot and though my need could affect my own actions by the Third Law, they cannot affect yours. You destroyed the overseer on Solaria without hesitation; you should have watched my destruction without being moved to act.”
“Yes, friend Daneel, and ordinarily it might have been so. However, your mention of the Zeroth Law had reduced the First Law intensity to an abnormally low value. The necessity of saving you was sufficient to cancel out what remained of it and I acted as I did.”
“No, friend Giskard. The prospect of injury to a robot should not have affected you at all. It should in no way have contributed to the overcoming of the First Law, however weak the First Law may have become.”
“It is a strange thing, friend Daneel. I do not know how it came about. Perhaps it was because I have noted that you continue to think more and more like a human being, but—”
“Yes, friend Giskard?”
“At the moment when the robots advanced toward you and Lady Vasilia expressed her savage pleasure, my positronic pathway pattern re-formed in an anomalous fashion. For a moment, I thought of you as a human being and I reacted accordingly.”
“That was wrong.”
“I know that. And yet—and yet, if it were to happen again, I believe the same anomalous change would take place again.”
Daneel said, “It is strange, but hearing you put it so, I find myself feeling you did the proper thing. If the situation were reversed, I almost think that I, too, would—would do the same—that I would think of you as a—a human being.”
Daneel, hesitantly and slowly, put out his hand and Giskard looked at it uncertainly. Then, very slowly, he put out his own hand. The fingertips almost touched and then, little by little, each took the other’s hand and clasped it almost as though they were the friends they called each other.
75
Gladia looked about with veiled curiosity. She was in D.G.’s cabin for the first time. It was not noticeably more luxurious than the new cabin that had been designed for her. D.G.’s cabin had a more elaborate viewing panel, to be sure, and it had a complex console of lights and contacts which, she imagined, served to keep D.G. in touch with the rest of the ship even here.
She said, “I’ve seen little of you since leaving Aurora, D.G.”
“I’m flattered that you are aware of that,” answered D.G., grinning. “And to tell you the truth, Gladia, I have been aware of it as well. With an all-male crew, you do rather stand out.”
“That’s not a very flattering reason for missing me. With an all-human crew, I imagine Daneel and Giskard stand out, too. Have you missed them as much as you have missed me?”
D.G. looked about. “Actually, I miss them so little it is only now that I am aware that they aren’t with you. Where are they?”
“In my cabin. It seemed silly to drag them about with me inside the confines of the small world of this ship. They seemed willing to allow me to be on my own, which surprised me. No,” she corrected herself, “come to think of it, I had to order them rather sharply to stay behind before they would do so.”
“Isn’t that rather strange? Aurorans are never without their robots, I’ve been given to understand.”
“What of that? Once, long ago, when I first came to Aurora, I had to learn to suffer the actual presence of human beings, something my Solarian upbringing did not prepare me for. Learning to be without my robots, occasionally, when I am among Settlers will probably be a less difficult adjustment for me than that first one was.”
“Good. Very good. I must admit that I much prefer being with your without the glowing eyes of Giskard fixed on me—and better yet, without Daneel’s little smile.”
“He doesn’t smile.”
“To me, he seems to, a very insinuatingly lecherous tiny smile.”
“You’re mad. That’s totally foreign to Daneel.”
“You don’t watch him the way I do. His presence is very inhibiting. It forces me to behave myself.”
“Well, I should hope so.”
“You needn’t hope so quite that emphatically. But never mind.—Let me apologize for seeing so little of you since leaving Aurora.”
“That’s scarcely necessary—”
“Since you brought it up, I thought it was. However, let me explain, then. We’ve been on battle footing. We were certain, having left as we did, that Auroran vessels would be in pursuit.”
“I should think they’d be glad to be rid of a group of Settlers.”
“Of course, but you’re not a Settler and it might be you they would want. They were anxious enough to get you back from Baleyworld.”
“They got me back. I reported to them and that was it.”
“They wanted nothing more than your report?”
“No,” Gladia paused and, for a moment, frowned as though something was nibbling vaguely at her memory. Whatever it was, it pas
sed and she said indifferently, “No.”
D.G. shrugged. “It doesn’t entirely make sense, but they made no attempt to stop us while you and I were on Aurora nor, after that, when we boarded the ship and it prepared to leave orbit. I won’t quarrel with that. It won’t be long now before we make the Jump—and after that there should be nothing to worry about.”
Gladia said, “Why do you have an all-male crew, by the way? Auroran ships always have mixed crews.”
“So do Settler ships. Ordinary ones. This is a Trader vessel.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Trading involves danger. It’s rather a rough-and-ready life. Women on board would create problems.”
“What nonsense! What problems do I create?”
“We won’t argue that. Besides it’s traditional. The men wouldn’t stand for it.”
“How do you know?” Gladia laughed. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No. But, on the other hand, there are no long lines of women clamoring for a berth on my ship.”
“I’m here. I’m enjoying it.”
“You’re getting special treatment—and but for your service on Solaria, there might well have been much trouble. In fact, there was trouble. Still, never mind.” He touched one of the contacts on the console and a countdown briefly appeared. “We’ll be jumping in just about two minutes. You’ve never been on Earth, have you, Gladia?”
“No, of course not.”
“Or seen the sun, not just a sun.”
“No—although I have seen it in historical dramas on hypervision, but I imagine what the show in the dramas is not really the sun.
“I’m sure it isn’t. If you don’t mind, we’ll dim the cabin lights.”
The lights dimmed to nearly nothing and Gladia was aware of the star field on the viewing panel, with the stars brighter and more thickly spread than in Aurora’s sky.
“Is that a telescopic view?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Slightly. Low-power—Fifteen seconds.” He counted backward. There was a shift in the star field and a bright star was now nearly centered. D.G. touched another contact and said, “We’re well outside the planetary plane. Good! A little risky. We should have been farther from the Auroran star before Jumping, but we were in a slight hurry. That’s the sun.”
