The Robots of Dawn

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 Daneel, 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 bow knot.—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 forth with 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 pancake-like 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 Solatian 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 it, 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.)

She must have thought so, for she reached out to him and stroked his hand. “I won’t hate you, Elijah. Why should I? You did nothing to me that I can object to. I did it to you and I’ll be glad for the rest of my life that I did. You freed me by a touch two years ago, Elijah, and last night you freed me again. I needed to know, two years ago, that I could feel desire—and last night I needed to know that I could feel desire again after Jander. Elijah—stay with me. It would be—”

He cut her off earnestly. “How can that be, Gladia? I must go back to my own world. I have duties and goals there and you cannot come with me. You could not live the kind of life that is lived on Earth. You would die of Earthly diseases—if the crowds and enclosure did not kill you first. Surely you understand.”

“I understand about Earth,” said Gladia with a sigh, “but surely you needn’t leave immediately.”

“Before the morning is over, I may be ordered off the planet by the Chairman.”

“You won’t be,” said Gladia energetically. “You won’t let yourself be.—And if you are, we can go to another Spacer world. There are dozens we can choose from. Does Earth mean so much to you that you wouldn’t live on a Spacer world?”

Baley said, “I could be evasive, Gladia, and point out that no other Spacer world would let me make my home there permanently—and you know that’s so. The greater truth is, though, that even if some Spacer world would accept me, Earth means so much to me that I would have to return.—Even if it meant leaving you.”

“And never visiting Aurora again? Never seeing me again?”

“If I could see you again, I would,” Baley said, wishing. “Over and over again, believe me. But what’s the use of saying so? You know I’m not likely to be invited back. And you know I can’t return without an invitation.”

Gladia said in a low voice, “I don’t want to believe that, Elijah.”

Baley said, “Gladia, don’t make yourself unhappy. Something wonderful happened between us, but there are other wonderful things that will happen to you, too many of them, of all kinds, but not the same wonderful thing. Look forward to the others.”

She was silent.

“Gladia,” he said urgently, “need anyone know what has happened between us?”

She looked up at him, a pained expression on her face. “Are you that ashamed?”

“Of what happened, certainly not. But even though I am not ashamed, there could be consequences that would be discomforting. The matter would be talked about. Thanks to that hateful hyperwave drama, which included a distorted view of our relationship, we are news. The Earthman and the Solarian woman. If there is the slightest reason to suspect that there is—love between us, it will get back to Earth at the speed of hyperspatial drive.”

Gladia lifted her eyebrows with a touch of hauteur. “And Earth will consider you demeaned? You will have indulged in sex with someone beneath your station?”

“No, of course not,” said Baley uneasily, for he knew that that would certainly be the view of billions of Earthpeople. “Has it occurred to you that my wife would hear of it? I’m married.”

“And if she does? What of it?”

Baley took a deep breath. “You don’t understand. Earth ways are not Spacer ways. We have had times in our history when sexual mores were fairly loose, at least in some places and for some classes. This is not one of those times. Earthmen live crowded together and it takes a puritan ethic to keep the family system stable under such conditions.”

“Everyone has one partner, you mean, and no other?”

“No,” said Baley. “To be honest, that’s not so. But care is taken to keep irregularities sufficiently quiet, so that everyone can—can—”

“Pretend they don’t know?”

“Well, yes, but in this case—”

“It will all be so public that no one could pretend not to know—and your wife will be angry with you and will strike you.”

“No, she won’t strike me, but she will be shamed, which is worse. I will be shamed as well and so will my son. My social position will suffer and—Gladia, if you don’t understand, you don’t understand, but tell me that you will not speak freely of this thing as Aurorans do.” He was conscious of making a rather miserable show of himself.

Gladia said thoughtfully, “I do not mean to tease you, Elijah. You have been kind to me and I would not be unkind to you, but”—she threw her arms up hopelessly—“your Earth ways are so nonsensical.”

“Undoubtedly. Yet I must live with them—as you have lived with Solarian ways.”

“Yes.” Her expression darkened with memory. Then, “Forgive me, Elijah. Really and honestly, I apologize. I want what I can’t have and I take it out on you.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not all right. Please, Elijah, I must explain some thing to you. I don’t think you understand what happened last night. Will you be all the more embarrassed if I do?”

Baley wondered how Jessie would feel and what she would do if she could hear this conversation. Baley was quite aware that his mind should be on the confrontation with the Chairman that was looming immediately up ahead and not on his own personal marital dilemma. He should be thinking of Earth’s danger and not of his wife’s, but, in actual fact, he was thinking of Jessie.

He said, “I’ll probably be embarrassed, but explain it anyway.”

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 one 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.”

Baley said, “Very well. Thank you, Dr. Fastolfe.”

Fastolfe said, “You are welcome. And now, if I may get back to what I was saying, Giskard reported that, after you were left alone in the airfoil, you were accosted by strange robots. At least, you spoke of strange robots, rather disjointedly, after you were found unconscious and exposed—to the storm.”

“The strange robots did accost me, Dr. Fastolfe. I managed to deflect them and send them away, but I thought it wise to leave the airfoil rather than await their return. I may not have been thinking clearly when I reached that decision. Giskard said I was not.”

Fastolfe smiled. “Giskard has a simplistic view of the Universe. Have you any idea whose robots they were?”

Baley moved about restlessly and seemed to find no way of adjusting himself to the seat in a comfortable manner. He said, “Has the Chairman arrived yet?”

“No, but he will be here momentarily. So will Amadiro, the head of the Institute, whom, the robots told me, you met yesterday. I am not sure that was wise. You irritated him.”

“I had to see him, Dr. Fastolfe, and he did not seem irritate.”

“That is no guide with Amadiro. As a result of what he calls your slanders and your unbearable sullying of professional reputation, he has forced the Chairman’s hand.”

“In what way?”

“It is the Chairman’s job to encourage the meting of contending parties and to work for a compromise. If Amadiro wishes to meet with me, the Chairman could not, by definition, discourage it, much less forbid it. He must hold the meeting and, if Amadiro can find enough evidence against you—and it is easy to find evidence against an Earthman—that will end the investigation.

“Perhaps, Dr. Fastolfe, you should not have called on an Earthman to help, considering how vulnerable we are.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Baley, but I could think of nothing else to do—I still can’t, so I must leave it up to you to persuade the Chairman to our point of view—if you can.”

“The responsibility is mine?” said Baley glumly.

“Entirely yours,” said Fastolfe smoothly.

Baley said, “Are we four to be the only ones present?”

Fastolfe said, “Actually, we three: the Chairman, Amadiro, and myself. We are the two principals and the compromising agent, so to speak. You will be there as a fourth party, Mr. Baley, only on sufferance. The Chairman can order you to leave at will, so I hope you will not do anything to upset him.”

“I’ll try not to, Dr. Fastolfe.”

“For instance, Mr. Baley, do not offer him your hand, if you will forgive my rudeness.”

Baley felt himself grow warm with retroactive embarrassment at his earlier gesture. “I will not.”

“And be unfailingly polite. Make no angry accusations. Do not insist on statements for which there is no support—”

“You mean don’t try to stampede anyone into betraying himself. Amadiro, for instance.”

“Yes, do not do so. You will be committing slander and it will be counterproductive. Therefore, be polite! If the politeness masks an attack, we won’t quarrel with that. And try not to speak unless you are spoken to.”

Baley said, “How is it, Dr. Fastolfe, that you are so full of careful advice now and yet you never warned me about the dangers of slander earlier.”

“The fault is indeed mine,” said Dr. Fastolfe. “It was a matter of such basic knowledge to me that it never occurred to me that it had to be explained.”

Baley grunted. “Yes, I thought so.”

Fastolfe raised his head suddenly. “I hear an airfoil outside. More than that, I can hear the steps of one of my staff, heading for the entrance. I presume the Chairman and Amadiro are at hand.”

“Together?” asked Baley.

“Undoubtedly. You see, Amadiro suggested my establishment as the meeting place, thus granting me the advantage of home ground. He will therefore have the chance of offering, out of apparent politeness, to call for the Chairman and bring him here. After all, they must both come here. This will give him a few minutes to talk privately with the Chairman and push his point of view.”

“That is scarcely fair,” said Baley. “Could you have stopped that?”

“I didn’t want to. Amadiro takes a calculated risk. He may say something that will irritate the Chairman.”

“Is the Chairman particularly irritable by nature?”

“No. No more so than any Chairman in the fifth decade of his term of office. Still, the necessity of strict adherence to protocol, the further necessity of never taking sides, and the actuality of arbitrary power all combine toward making a certain irritability inevitable. And Amadiro is not always wise. His jovial smile, his white teeth, his exuding bonhomie can be extremely irritating when those upon whom he lavishes it are not in a good mood, for some reason.—But I must go meet them, Mr. Baley, and supply what I hope will be a more substantial version of charm. Please stay here and don’t move from that chair.”

Baley could do nothing but wait now. He thought, irrelevantly, that he had been on Aurora for just a bit short of fifty standard hours.