The Robots of Dawn trs-3

by Isaac Asimov

  “Good news. I treasure every day of companionship with Daneel. And you, Giskard? Will you accompany us?”

  “No, sir. I am instructed to remain on Aurora. However, Daneel will serve you well, even in my absence.”

  “I am sure of that, Giskard, but I will miss you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Giskard and retreated as rapidly as he had come. Baley gazed after him speculatively for a moment or so.—No, first things first. He had to see Gladia.

  82

  She advanced to greet him—and what a world of change had taken place in two days. She was not joyous, she was not dancing, she was not bubbling; there was still the grave look of one who had suffered a shock and a loss—but the troubled aura around her was gone. There was a kind of serenity now, as though she had grown aware of the fact that life continued after all and might even, on occasion, be sweet.

  She managed a smile, warm and friendly, as she advanced to him and held out her hand.

  “Oh, take it, take it, Elijah,” she said when he hesitated. “It’s ridiculous for you to hang back and pretend you don’t want to touch me after last night. You see, I still remember it and I haven’t come to regret it. Quite the contrary.”

  Baley performed the unusual operation (for him) of smiling in return. “I remember it, too, Gladia. And I don’t regret it either. I would even like to do it again, but I have come to say good-bye.”

  A shade fell across her face. “Then you’ll be going back, to Earth. Yet the report I got by way of the robot network that always operates between Fastolfe’s establishment and my own is that all went well. You can’t have failed.”

  “I did not fail. Dr. Fastolfe, has, in fact, won completely. I don’t believe there, will be, any suggestion at all that he was in any way involved in Jander’s death.”

  “Because of what you had to say, Elijah?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I knew it.” There was a tinge of self-satisfaction to that. “I knew you would do it when I told them to get you on the case.—But then why are you being sent home?”

  “Precisely because the case is solved. If I remain here longer, I will be a foreign irritant in the body politic, apparently.”

  She looked at him dubiously for a moment and said, “I’m not sure what you mean by that. It sounds like an Earth expression to me. But never mind. Were you able to find out who killed Jander? That is the important part.”

  Baley looked around. Giskard was standing in one niche, one of Gladia’s robots in another.

  Gladia interpreted the look without trouble. She said, “Now, Elijah, you must learn to stop worrying about robots. You don’t worry about the presence of the chair, do you, or of these drapes?”

  Baley nodded. “Well, then, Gladia, I’m sorry—I’m terribly sorry—but I had to tell them of the fact that Jander was your husband.”

  Her eyes opened wide and he hastened on. “I had to. It was essential to the case, but I promise it won’t affect your status on Aurora.” As briefly as he might, he summarized the events of the confrontation and concluded, “So, you see, no one killed Jander. The immobilization was the result of a chance change in his positronic pathways, though the probabilities of that chance change may have been enhanced by what had been going on.”

  “And I never knew,” she moaned. “I never knew. I connived at this Amadiro’s foul plan.—And he is the one responsible just as much, as though he had deliberately hacked away at him with a sledgehammer.”

  “Gladia,” said Baley earnestly, “that is uncharitable. He had no intention of doing harm to Jander and what he was doing was, in his own eyes, for the good of Aurora. As it is, he is punished. He is defeated, his plans are in shambles, and the Robotics Institute wilt come under the domination of Dr. Fastolfe. You yourself could not work out a more suitable punishment, no matter how you I tried.”

  She said, “I’ll think about that.—But what do I do with Santirix Gremionis, this good-looking young lackey whose job it was to lure me away? No wonder he appeared to cling to hope despite my repeated refusal. Well, he’ll come here again and I will have the pleasure of—”

  Baley shook his head violently. “Gladia, no. I have interviewed him and I assure you he had no knowledge of what was going on. He was as much deceived as you were. In fact, you have it reversed. He was not persistent because it was important to lure you away. He was useful to Amadiro because he was so persistent—and that persistence was out of regard or you. Out of love, if the word means on Aurora what it means on Earth.”

  “On Aurora, it is choreography. Jander was a robot and you are an Earthman. It is different with the Aurorans.”

  “So you have explained. But Gladia, you learned from Jander to take; you learned from me—not that I meant it—to give. If you benefit by learning, is it not only right and fair that you should teach in your turn. Gremionis is sufficiently attracted to you to be willing to learn. He already defies Auroran convention by persisting in the face of your refusal. He will defy more. You can teach him to give and take and you will learn to do both in alternation or together, in company with him.”

  Gladia looked searchingly into his eyes. “Elijah, are you trying to get rid of me?”

  Slowly, Baley nodded. “Yes, Gladia, I am. It’s your happiness I want at this moment, more than I have ever wanted anything for myself or for Earth. I can’t give you happiness, but if Gremionis can give it to you, I will be as happy—almost as happy as if it were I myself who were making the gift.

  “Gladia, he may surprise you with how eagerly he will break through the choreography when you show him how. And the word will somehow spread, so that others will come to swoon at your feet—and Gremionis may find it possible to teach other women. Gladia, it may be that you will revolutionize Auroran sex before you are through. You will have three centuries in which to do so.”

  Gladia stared at him and then broke into a laugh. “You are teasing. You are being—I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Elijah. You always look so long-faced and grave. Jehoshaphat!” (And, with the last word, she tried to imitate his somber baritone.)

  Baley said, “Perhaps I’m teasing a little, but I mean it in essence. Promise me that you will give Gremionis his chance.”

  She came closer to him and, without hesitation, he put his arm around her. She placed her finger on his lips and he made a small kissing motion. She said softly, “Wouldn’t you rather have me for yourself, Elijah?”

  He said, just as softly (and unable to become unaware of the robots in the room), “Yes, I would, Gladia. I am ashamed to say that at this moment I would be content to have the Earth fall to pieces if I could have you—but I can’t. In a few hours, I’ll be off Aurora, and there’s no way you will be allowed to go with me. Nor do I think I will ever be allowed to come back to Aurora, nor is it possible that you will ever visit Earth.

  “I will never see you again, Gladia, but I will never forget you, either. I will die in a few decades and when I do you will be as young as you are now, so we would have to say goodbye soon whatever we could imagine as happening.”

  She put her head, against his chest. “Oh, Elijah, twice you came into my life, each time for just a few hours. Twice you’ve done so much for me and then said good-bye. The first time all I could do was—touch your face, but what a difference that made. The second time, I did so much more—and again what a difference that made. I’ll never forget you, Elijah, if I live more centuries than I can count.”

  Baley said, “Then let it not be the kind of memory that cuts you off from happiness. Accept Gremionis and make him happy—and let him make you happy as well. And remember, there is nothing to prevent you from sending me letters. The hyperpost between Aurora and Earth exists.”

  “I will, Elijah. And you will write to me as well?”

  “I will, Gladia.”

  Then there was silence and, reluctantly, they moved apart. She remained standing in the middle of the room and when he went to the door and turned back, she was still sta
nding there with a little smile. His lips shaped: Good-bye. And then because there was no sound—he could not have done it with sound he added, my love.

  And her lips moved, too. Good-bye, my dearest love.

  And he, turned and walked away, knew he would never see her in tangible form, never touch her again.

  83

  It was a while before Elijah could bring himself to consider the task that still lay before him. He had walked in silence perhaps half the distance back to Fastolfe’s establishment before he stopped and lifted his arm.

  The observant Giskard was at his side in a moment.

  Baley said, “How much time before I must leave for the spaceport, Giskard?”

  “Three hours and ten minutes, sir.”

  Baley thought a moment, “I would like to walk over to that tree there and sit down with my back against the trunk and spend some time there alone. With you, of course, but away from other human beings.”

  “In the open, sir?” The robot’s voice was unable to express surprise and shock, but somehow Baley had the feeling that, if Giskard were human, those words would express those feelings.

  “Yes,” said Baley. “I have to think and, after last night, a calm day like this—sunny, cloudless, mild scarcely seems dangerous. I’ll go indoors if I get agoraphobic. I promise. So will you join me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Baley led the way. They reached the tree and Baley touched the trunk gingerly and then stared at his finger, which remained perfectly clean. Reassured that, leaning against the trunk would not dirty him, he inspected the ground and then sat down carefully and rested his back against the tree.

  It was not nearly as comfortable as the back of a chair would have been, but there was a feeling of peace (oddly, enough) that perhaps he would not have had inside a room.

  Giskard remained standing and Baley said, “Won’t you sit down—too?”

  “I am as comfortable standing, sir.”

  “I know that, Giskard, but I will think better if I don’t have to look up at you.”

  “I could not guard you against possible harm as efficiently if I were seated, sir.”

  “I know that, too, Giskard, but there is no reasonable danger at the moment. My mission is over, the case is solved, Dr. Fastolfe’s position is secure. You can risk being seated and I order you to sit down.”

  Giskard at once sat down, facing Baley, but his eyes continued to wander in, this direction and that and were ever alert.

  Baley looked at the sky, through the leaves of the tree green against blue, listened to the susurration of insects and to the sudden call of a bird, noted a disturbance of grass nearby that might have meant a small animal passing by, and again thought—how oddly peaceful it how different this peacefulness was from the clamor of the City. This was a quiet unhurried peace.

  For the first time, Baley caught a faint suggestion of how it might be to prefer Outside to the City. He caught himself being thankful to his experiences on Aurora, to the storm most of all—for he knew now that he would be able to leave Earth and face the conditions, of whatever new world he might settle on, he and Ben—and perhaps Jessie.

  He said, “Last night, in the darkness of the storm, I wondered if I might have seen Aurora’s satellite were it not for the clouds. It has a satellite, if I recall my reading correctly.”

  “Two, actually, sir. The larger is Tithonus, but it is still so small that it appears only as a moderately bright star. The smaller is not visible at all to the unaided eye and is simply called Tithonus, when it is referred to at all.”

  “Thank you.—And thank you, Giskard, for rescuing me last night.” He looked at the robot. “I don’t know the proper way of thanking you.”

  “It is not necessary to thank me at all. I was merely following the dictates of the First Law. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “Nevertheless, I may even owe you my life and it is important that you know I understand this.—And now, Giskard, what ought I to do.”

  “Concerning what matter, sir?”

  “My mission is over. Dr. Fastolfe’s views are secure. Earth’s future may be assured. It would seem I have nothing more to do and yet there is the matter of Jander.”

  “I do not understand, sir.”

  “Well, it seems settled that he died by a chance shift of positronic potential in his brain, but Fastolfe admits the chance of that is infinitesimally small. Even with Amadiro’s activities, the chance, though possibly greater, would remain infinitesimally small. At least, so Fastolfe thinks. It continues to seem to me, then, that Jander’s death was one of deliberate roboticide. Yet I don’t dare raise this point now. I don’t want to unsettle matters that have been brought to such a satisfactory conclusion. I don’t want to put Fastolfe in jeopardy again. I don’t want to make Gladia unhappy. I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk to a human being about this, so I’m talking to you, Giskard.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can always order you to erase whatever I have said and to remember it no more.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In your opinion, what ought I to do?”

  Giskard said, “If there is a roboticide, sir, there must be someone, capable of committing the act. Only Dr. Fastolfe is capable, of committing it and he says he did not do it.”

  “Yes we started with that situation. I believe Dr. Fastolfe and am quite certain he did not do it.”

  “Then how could there have been a roboticide, sir?”

  “Suppose that someone else knew as much about robots as Dr. Fastolfe does, Giskard.”

  Baley drew up his knees and clasped his hands around them. He did not look at Giskard and seemed lost in thought.

  “Who might that be, sir?” asked Giskard.

  And finally, Baley reached the crucial point.

  He said, “You, Giskard.”

  84

  If Giskard had been human, he might have simply stared, silent and stunned; or he might have raged angrily; or shrunk back in terror; or had any of a dozen responses. Because he was a robot, he showed no sign of any emotion whatever and simply said, “Why do you say so, sir?”

  Baley said, “I am quite certain, Giskard, that you know exactly how I have come to this conclusion, but you will do me a favor if you allow me, in this quiet place and in this bit of time before I must leave, to explain the matter for my own benefit. I would like to hear myself talk about it. And I would like you to correct me where I am wrong.”

  “By all means, sir.”

  “I suppose my initial mistake was to suppose that you are a less complicated and more primitive robot than Daneel is, simply because you look less human. A human being will always suppose that, the more human a robot is, the more advanced, complicated, and intelligent he will be. To be sure, a robot like you is easily designed and one like Daneel is a great problem for men like Amadiro and can be handled only by a robotics genius such as Fastolfe. However, the difficulty in designing Daneel lies, I suspect, in reproducing all the human aspects such as facial expression, intonation of voice, gestures and movements that are extraordinarily intricate but have nothing really to do with complexity of mind. Am I right?”

  “Quite right, sir.”

  “So I automatically underestimated you, as does everyone. Yet you gave yourself away even before we landed on Aurora. You remember, perhaps, that during the landing, I was overcome by an agoraphobic spasm and was, for a moment, even more helpless than I was last night in the storm.”

  “I do, sir.”

  “At the time, Daneel was in the cabin with me, while you were outside the door. I was falling into a kind of catatonic state, noiselessly, and he was, perhaps, not looking at me and so knew nothing of it. You were outside the cabin and yet it was you who dashed in and turned off the viewer I was holding. You got there first, ahead of Daneel, though his reflexes are as fast as yours, I’m sure—as he demonstrated when he prevented Dr. Fastolfe from striking me.”

  “Surely it cannot be that Dr.
Fastolfe was striking you.”

  “He wasn’t. He was merely demonstrating Daneel’s reflexes.—And yet, as I say, in the cabin you got there first. I was scarcely in condition to observe that fact, but I have been trained to observe and I am not put entirely out of action even by agoraphobic terror, as I showed last night. I did notice you were there first though. I tended to forget the fact. There is, of course, only one logical solution.”

  Baley paused, as though expecting Giskard to agree, but the robot said nothing.

  (In later years, this was what Baley pictured first when thinking of his stay on Aurora. Not the storm. Not even Gladia. It was, rather, the quiet time under the tree, with the green leaves against the blue sky, the mild breeze, the soft sound of animals, and Giskard opposite him with faintly glowing eyes.)

  Baley said, “It would seem that you could somehow detect my state of mind and, even through the closed door, tell that I was having a seizure of some sort. Or, to put it briefly and perhaps simplistically, you can read minds.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Giskard quietly.

  “And you can somehow influence minds, too. I believe you noted that I had detected this and you obscured it in my mind, so that I somehow did not remember or did not see the significance—if I did casually recall the situation. Yet you did not do that entirely efficiently, perhaps because your powers are limited—”

  Giskard said, “Sir, the First Law is paramount. I had to come to your rescue, although I quite realized that would give me away. And I had to obscure your mind minimally, in order not to damage it in any way.”

  Baley nodded. “You have your difficulties, I see. Obscured minimally—so I did remember it when my mind was sufficiently relaxed and could think by free association. Just before I lost consciousness in the storm, I knew you would find me first, as you had on the ship. You may have found me by infrared radiation, but every mammal and bird was radiating as well and that might be confusing—but you could also detect mental activity, even if I were unconscious, and that would help you to find me.”