by Isaac Asimov
Gladia moved her chair, refraining from calling one of her robotic staff to do it for her. He waited for her nervously, not offering to move it himself.
She put her chair immediately next to his, facing it in the other direction, so that she was looking at him directly when she sat down. And as she did so, she put out her small hand and placed it in his and he felt his own hand press it.
“You see,” she said, “I no longer fear contact. I’m no longer at the stage where all I can do is brush your cheek for an instant.”
“That may be, but this does not affect you, Gladia, does it, as, that bare touch did then?”
She nodded. “No, it doesn’t affect me that way, but I like it anyway. I think that’s an advance, actually. To be turned inside out just by a single moment of touch shows how abnormally I had lived, and for how long. Now it is better. May I tell you how? What I have just said is actually prologue.”
“Tell me.”
“I wish we were—in bed and it was dark. I could talk more freely.”
“We are sitting up and it is light, Gladia, but I am listening.”
“Yes.—On Solaria, Elijah, there was no sex to speak of. You know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I experienced none, in any real sense. On a few occasions—only a few—my husband approached me out of duty. I won’t even describe how that was, but you will believe me when I tell you that, looking back on it, it was worse than none.”
“I believe you.”
“But I knew about sex. I read about it. I discussed it with other women sometimes, all of whom pretended it was a hateful duty that Solarians must undergo. If they had children to the limit of their quota, they always said they were delighted they would never have to deal with sex again.”
“Did you believe them?”
“Of course I did. I had never heard anything else and the few non-Solarian accounts I read were denounced as false distortions. I believed that, too. My husband found some books I had, called them pornography, and had them destroyed. Then, too, you know, people can make themselves believe anything. I think Solarian women believed what they said and really did despise sex. They certainly sounded sincere enough and it made me feel there was something terribly wrong with me because I had a kind of curiosity about it and odd feelings I could not understand.”
“You did not, at that time, use robots for relief in any way?”
“No, it didn’t occur to me. Or any inanimate object. There were occasional whispers of such things, but with such horror—or pretended horror—that I would never dream of doing anything like that. Of course, I had dreams and sometimes something that, as I look back on it, must have been incipient orgasms would wake me. I never understood them, of course, or dared talk of it. I was bitterly ashamed of it, in fact. Worse, I was frightened of the pleasure they brought me. And then, of course, I came to Aurora.”
“You told me of that. Sex with Aurorans was unsatisfactory.”
“Yes. It made me think that Solarians were right after all. Sex was not like my dreams at all. It was not until Jander that I understood. It is not sex that they have on Aurora; it—is, it is—choreography. Every step of it is dictated by fashion, from the method of approach to the moment of departure. There is nothing unexpected, nothing spontaneous. On Solaria, since there was so little sex, nothing was given or taken. And on Aurora, sex was so stylized that, in the end, nothing was given or take neither. Do you understand?”
“I’m not sure, Gladia, never having experienced sex with an Auroran woman or, for that matter, never having been an Auroran man. But it’s not necessary to explain. I have a dim notion of what you mean.”
“You’re terribly embarrassed, aren’t you?”
“Not to the point of being unable to listen.”
“But then I met Jander and learned to use him. He was not an Auroran man. His only aim, his only possible aim, was to please me. He gave and I took and, for the first time, I experienced sex as it should be experienced. Do you understand that? Can you imagine what it must be like suddenly to know that you are not mad, or distorted, or perverted, or even simply wrong—but to know that you are a woman and have a satisfying sex partner?”
“I think I can imagine that.”
“And then, after so short a time, to have it all taken away from me. I thought—I thought—that that was the end. I was doomed. I was never again, through centuries of life, to have a good sexual relationship again. Not to have had it to start with—and then never to have had it at all—was bad enough. But to get it against all expectation and to have it, then suddenly to lose it and go back to nothing—that was unbearable.—You see how important, therefore, last night was.”
“But why me, Gladia? Why not someone else?”
“No, Elijah, it had to be you. We came and found you, Giskard and I, and you were helpless. Truly helpless. You were not unconscious, but you did not rule your body. You had to be lifted and carried and placed in the car. I was there when you were warned and treated, bathed and dried, helpless throughout. The robots did it all with marvelous efficiency, intent on caring for you and preventing harm from coming to you but totally without actual feeling. I, on the other hand, watched and I felt.”
Baley bent his head, gritting his teeth at the thought of his public helplessness. He had luxuriated in it when it had happened, but now he could only feel the disgrace of being observed under such conditions.
She went on. “I wanted to do it all for you. I resented the robots for reserving for themselves the right to be kind to you and to give. And as I thought of myself doing it, I felt a growing sexual excitement, something I hadn’t felt since Jander’s death. And it occurred to me then that, in my only successful sex, what I had done was to take. Jander gave whatever I wished, but he never took. He was incapable of taking his only, since pleasure lay in pleasing me. And it never occurred to me to give because I was brought up with robots and knew they couldn’t take.
“And as I watched, it came to me that I knew only half of sex and I desperately wanted to experience the other half. But then, at the dinner table with me afterward, when you were eating your hot soup, you seemed recovered, you seemed strong. You were strong enough to console me and because I had had that feeling for you, when you were being cared for, I no longer feared your being from Earth and I was willing to move into your embrace. I wanted it. But even as you held me, I felt a sense of loss, for I was taking again and not giving.
“And you said to me, ‘Gladia, please, I must sit down.’ Oh, Elijah, it was the most wonderful thing you could have said to me.”
Baley felt himself flush. “It embarrassed me hideously at the time. Such a confession of weakness.”
“It was just what I wanted. It drove me wild with desire. I forced you to bed and came to you and, for the first time in my life, I gave. I took nothing. And the spell of Jander passed, for I knew that he had not been enough, either. It must be possible to take and give both.—Elijah, stay with me.”
Baley shook his head. “Gladia, if I tore my heart in two, it wouldn’t change the facts. I cannot remain on Aurora. I must return to Earth. You cannot come to Earth.”
“Elijah, what if I can come to Earth?”
“Why do you say such a foolish thing? Even if you could, I would age quickly and soon be useless to you. In twenty years, thirty at the most, I will be an old man, probably dead, while you will stay as you are for centuries.”
“But that is what I mean, Elijah. On Earth, I will catch your infections and I will grow old quickly, too.”
“You wouldn’t want that. Besides, old age isn’t an infection. You will me rely grow sick, very quickly, and die. Gladia, you can find another man.”
“An Auroran?” She said it with contempt.
“You can teach. Now that you know how to take and to give, teach them how to do both as well.”
“If I teach, will they learn?”
“Some will. Surely some will. You have so much time to find the on
e who will. There is—” (No, he thought, it is not wise to mention Gremionis now, but perhaps if he comes to her—less politely and with a little more determination—)
She seemed thoughtful. “Is it possible?” Then, looking at Baley, with her gray-blue eyes moist, “Oh, Elijah, do you remember anything at all of what happened last night?”
“I must admit,” said Baley a little sadly, “that some of it is distressingly hazy.”
“If you remembered, you would not want to leave me.”
“I don’t want to leave you as it is, Gladia. It is just that I must.”
“And afterward,” she said, “you seemed so quietly happy, so rested. I lay nestled on your shoulder and felt your heart beat rapidly at first, then more and more slowly, except when you sat up so suddenly. Do you remember that?”
Baley started and leaned a little away from her, gazing into her eyes, wildly. “No, I don’t remember that. What do you mean? What did I do?”
“I told you. You sat up suddenly.”
“Yes, but what else?” His heart was beating rapidly now, as rapidly as it, must have in the wake of last night’s sex. Three times, something that had seemed the truth had come to, him, but the first two times he had been entirely alone. The third time, last night, however, Gladia had been with him. He had had a witness.
Gladia said, “Nothing else, really. I said, ‘What is it, Elijah?’ But you paid no attention to me. You said, ‘I have it. I have it.’ You didn’t speak clearly and your eyes were unfocused. It was a little frightening.”
“Is that all I said? Jehoshaphat, Gladia! Didn’t I say anything more?”
Gladia frowned. “I don’t remember. But then you lay back and I said, ‘Don’t be frightened, Elijah. Don’t be frightened. You’re safe now.’ And I stroked you and you settled—back and fell asleep—and snored.—I never heard anyone snore before, but that’s what it must have been—from the descriptions.” The thought clearly amused her.
Baley said, “Listen to me, Gladia. What did I say? ‘I have it. I have it.’ Did I say what it was I had?”
She frowned again. “No. I don’t remember—Wait, you did say one thing in a very low voice. You, said, ‘He was there first.’”
“‘He was there first.’ That’s what I said?”
“Yes. I took it for granted that you meant Giskard was there before the other robots, that you were trying to overcome your fears of being taken away, that you were reliving that time in the storm. Yes! That’s why I stroked you and said, ‘Don’t be frightened, Elijah. You’re safe now, till you relaxed.’”
“‘He was there first.’ ‘He was there first.’—I won’t forget it now. Gladia, thanks for last night. Thanks for talking to me now.”
Gladia said, “Is there something important about you saying that Giskard found you first? He did. You know that.”
“It can’t be that, Gladia. It must be something I don’t know but manage to discover only when my mind is totally relaxed.”
“But what does it mean, then?”
“I’m not sure, but if that’s what I said, it must mean something. And I have an hour or so to figure it out.” He stood up. “I must leave now.”
He had taken a few steps toward the door, but Gladia flew to him and put her arms around him. “Wait, Elijah.”
Baley hesitated, then lowered his head to kiss her. For a long moment, they clung together.
“Will I see you again, Elijah?”
Baley said, sadly, “I can’t say; I hope so.”
And he went off to find Daneel and Giskard, so that he could make the necessary preparations for the confrontation about to come.
73
Baley’s sadness persisted as he walked across the long lawn to Fastolfe’s establishment.
The robots walked on either side. Daneel seemed at his ease, but Giskard, faithful to his programming and apparently unable to relax it, maintained his close watch on the surroundings.
Baley said, “What is the name of the Chairman of the Legislature, Daneel?”
“I cannot say, Partner Elijah. On the occasions when he has been referred to in my hearing, he has been referred to only as ‘the Chairman.’ He is addressed as ‘Mr. Chairman.’”
Giskard said, “His name is Rutilan Horder, sir, but it is never mentioned officially. The title alone is used. That serves to impress continuity on the government. Human holders of the position have, individually, fixed terms, but ‘the Chairman’ always exists.”
“And this particular individual Chairman—how old is he?”
“Quite old, sir. Three hundred and thirty-one,” said Giskard, who typically had statistics on tap.
“In good health?”
“I know nothing to the contrary, sir.”
“Any outstanding personal characteristics it might be well for me to be prepared for?”
That seemed to stop Giskard. He said, after a pause, “That is difficult for me to say, sir. He is in his second term. He is considered an efficient Chairman who works hard and gets results.”
“Is he short-tempered? Patient? Domineering? Understanding?”
Giskard said, “You must judge such things for yourself.”
Daneel said, “Partner Elijah, the Chairman is above partisanship. He is just and evenhanded, by definition.”
“I’m sure of that,” muttered Baley, “but definitions are abstract, as is ‘the Chairman,’ while individual Chairmen—with names—are concrete and may have minds to match.”
He shook his head. His own mind, he would swear, had a strong measure of concrete itself. Having three times thought of something and three times lost it, he was now presented with his own comment at the time of having the thought and it still didn’t help.
“He was there first.”
Who was there first? When?
Baley had no answer.
74
Baley found Fastolfe waiting for him at the door of his establishment, with a robot behind him who seemed most unrobotically restless, as though unable to perform his proper function of greeting a visitor and upset by the fact. (But then, one was always reading human motivations and responses into robots. What was more likely true was no upsettedness—no feeling of any kind—merely a slight oscillation of positronic potentials resulting from the fact that his orders were to greet and inspect all visitors and he could not quite perform the task without pushing past Fastolfe, which he also could not do, in the absence of overriding necessity. So he made false starts, one after the other, and that made him seem restless.)
Baley found himself staring at the robot absently and only with difficulty managing to bring his eyes back to Fastolfe. (He was thinking of robots but he didn’t know why.)
“I’m glad to see you again, Dr. Fastolfe,” he said and thrust his hand forward. After his encounter with Gladia, it was rather difficult to remember that Spacers were reluctant to make physical contact with an Earthman.
Fastolfe hesitated a moment and then, as manners triumphed over prudence, he took the hand offered him, held it lightly and briefly, and let it go. He said, “I am even more delighted to see you, Mr. Baley. I was quite alarmed over your experience last evening. It was not a particularly bad storm, but to an Earthman it must have seemed overwhelming.”
“You know about what happened, then?”
“Daneel and Giskard have brought me fully up to date in that respect would have felt better if they had come here directly and, eventually, brought you here with them, but their decision was based on the fact that Gladia’s establishment was closer to the breakdown point of the airfoil and that your orders had been extremely intense and had placed Daneel’s safety ahead of your own. They did not misinterpret you?”
“They did not. I forced them to leave me.”
“Was that wise?” Fastolfe led the way indoors and pointed to a chair.
Baley sat down. “It seemed the proper thing to do. We were being pursued.”
“So Giskard reported. He also reported that—”
Baley intervened. “Dr. Fastolfe, please. I have very little time and I have questions that I must ask you.”
“Go ahead, please,” said Fastolfe at once, with his usual air of unfailing politeness.
“It has been suggested that you place your work on brain function above everything else, that you—”
“Let me finish, Mr. Baley. That I will let nothing stand in my way, that I am totally ruthless, oblivious to any consideration of immorality or evil, would stop at nothing, would excuse everything, all in the name of the importance of my work.”
“Yes.”
“Who told you this, Mr. Baley?” asked Fastolfe.
“Does it matter?”
“Perhaps not. Besides, it’s not difficult to guess. It was my daughter Vasilia. I’m sure of that.”
Baley said, “Perhaps. What I want to know is whether this estimate of your character is correct.”
Fastolfe smiled sadly. “Do you expect an honest answer from me about my own character? In some ways, the accusations against me are true. I do consider my work the most important matter there is and I do have the impulse to sacrifice anything and everything to it. I would ignore conventional notions of evil and immorality if these got in my way.—The thing is, however, that I don’t. I can’t bring myself to. And in particular, if I have been accused of killing Jander because that would in some way advance my study of the human brain, I deny it. It is not so. I did not kill Jander.”
Baley said, “You suggested I submit to a Psychic Probe to get some information that I can’t reach otherwise out of my brain. Has it occurred to you that, if you submitted to a Psychic Probe, your innocence could be demonstrated?”
Fastolfe nodded his head thoughtfully, “I imagine Vasilia suggested that my failure to offer to submit—to one was proof of my guilt. Not so. A Psychic Probe is dangerous and I am in as nervous about submitting myself to one as you are. Still, I would have done so, despite my fears, were it not for the fact that is what my opponents would most like to have me do. They would argue against any evidence to my innocence and the Psychic Probe is not delicate enough an instrument to demonstrate innocence beyond argument. But what they would get by use of the Probe is information about the theory and design of humaniform robots. That is what they are after and that is what I am not going to give them.”
