The Robots of Dawn

  He was somehow aware that Amadiro was gone. He said, “Amadiro delayed me deliberately—by ushering me into the Personal, by his senseless talk, by his preventing you or Giskard from interrupting and warning me about the storm. He would even have tried to persuade me to tour the building or dine with him. He desisted only at the sound of the storm. That was what he was waiting for.”

  “It would seem so. If the storm now keeps you here, that may be what he was waiting for.”

  Baley drew a deep breath. “You are right. I must leave—somehow.”

  Reluctantly, he took a step toward the door, which was still open, still filled with a dark gray vista of whipping rain. Another step. And still another—leaning heavily on Daneel.

  Giskard was waiting quietly at the door.

  Baley paused and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said in a low voice, to himself rather than to Daneel, “I must do it,” and moved forward again.

  61

  “Are you well, sir?” asked Giskard.

  It was a foolish question, dictated by the programming of the robot, thought Baley, though, at that, it was no worse than the questions asked by human beings, sometimes with wild inappropriatenesSj out of the programming of etiquette.

  “Yes,” said Bailey in a voice he tried—and failed—to raise above a husky whisper. It was a useless answer to the foolish question, for Giskard, robot though he was, could surely see that Baley was unwell and that Baley's answer was a palpable lie.

  The answer was, however, given and accepted and that freed Giskard for the next step. He said, “I will now leave to get the airfoil and bring it to the door.”

  “Will it work—in all this—this water, Giskard?”

  “Yes, sir. This is not an uncommon rain.”

  He left, moving steadily into the downpour. The lightning was flickering almost continuously and the thunder was a muted growl that rose to a louder crescendo every few minutes.

  For the first time in his life, Baley found himself envying a robot. Imagine being able to walk through that; to be indifferent to water, to sight, to sound; to be able to ignore surroundings and to have a pseudo-life that was absolutely courageous; to know no fear of pain or of death, because there was no pain or death.

  And yet to be incapable of originality of thought, to be incapable of unpredictable leaps of intuition—

  Were such gifts worth what humanity paid for them?

  At the moment, Baley could not say. He knew that, once he no longer felt terror, he would know that no price was too high to pay for being human. But now that he experienced nothing but the pounding of his heart and the collapse of his will, he could not help but wonder of what use it might be to be a human being if one could not overcome these deep-seated terrors, this intense agoraphobia.

  Yet he had been in the open for much of two days and had managed to be almost comfortable.

  But the fear had not been conquered. He knew that now. He had suppressed it by thinking intensely of other things, but the storm overrode all intensity of thought.

  He could not allow this. If all else failed—thought, pride, will—then he would have to fall back on shame. He could not collapse under the impersonal, superior gaze of the robots. Shame would have to be stronger than fear.

  He felt Daneel's steady arm about his waist and shame prevented him from doing what, at the moment, he most wanted to do—to turn and hide his face against the robotic chest. He might have been unable to resist if Daneel had been human—

  He had lost contact with reality, for he was becoming aware of Daneel's voice as though it were reaching him from a long distance. It sounded as though Daneel was feeling something akin to panic.

  “Partner Elijah, do you hear me?”

  Giskard's voice, from an equal distance, said, “We must carry him.”

  “No,” mumbled Baley. “Let me walk.”

  Perhaps they did not hear him. Perhaps he did not really speak, but merely thought he did. He felt himself lifted from the ground. His left arm dangled helplessly and he strove to lift it, to push it against someone's shoulder, to lift himself upright again from the waist, to grope for the floor with his feet and stand upright.

  But his left arm continued to dangle helplessly and his striving went for nothing.

  He was somehow aware that he was moving through the air and he felt a wash of spray against his face. Not actually water but the sifting of damp air. Then there was the pressure of a hard surface against his left side, a more resilient one against his right side.

  He was in the airfoil, wedged in once more between Giskard and Daneel What he was most conscious of was that Giskard was very wet.

  He felt a jet of warm air cascading over him. Between the near-darkness outside and the film of trickling water upon the glass, they might as well have been opacified—or so Baley thought till opacihcation actually took place and total darkness descended. The soft noise of the jet, as the airfoil rose above the grass and swayed, muted the thunder and seemed to draw its teeth.

  Giskard said, “I regret the discomfort of my wet surface, sir. I will dry quickly. We will wait here a short while till you recover.”

  Baley was breathing more easily. He felt wonderfully and comfortably enclosed. He thought: Give me back my City. Wipe out all the Universe and let the Spacers colonize it. Earth is all we need.

  And even as he thought it, he knew it was his madness that believed it, not he.

  He felt the need to keep his mind busy.

  He said weakly, “Daneel.”

  “Yes, Partner Elijah?”

  “About the Chairman. Is it your opinion that Amadiro was judging the situation correctly in supposing that the Chairman would put an end to the investigation or was he perhaps allowing his wishes to do his thinking for him?”

  “It may be, Partner Elijah, that the Chairman will indeed interview Dr. Fastolfe and Amadiro on the matter. It would be a standard procedure for settling a dispute of this nature. There are ample precedents.”

  “But why?” asked Baley weakly. “If Amadiro was so persuasive, why should not the Chairman simply order the investigation stopped?”

  “The Chairman,” said Daneel, “is in a difficult political situation. He agreed originally to allow you to be brought to Aurora at Dr. Fastolfe's urging and he cannot so sharply reverse himself so soon without making himself look weak and irresolute—and without angering Dr. Fastolfe, who is still a very influential figure in the Legislature.”

  “Then why did he not simply turn down Amadiro's request?”

  “Dr. Amadiro is also influential, Partner Elijah, and likely to grow even more so. The Chairman must temporize by hearing both sides and by giving at least the appearance of deliberation before coming to a decision.”

  “Based on what?”

  “On the merits of the case, we must presume.”

  “Then by tomorrow morning, I must come up with something that will persuade the Chairman to side with Fastolfe, rather than against him. If I do that, will that mean victory?”

  Daneel said, “The Chairman is not all-powerful, but his influence is great. If he comes out strongly on Dr. Fastolfe's side, then, under the present political conditions, Dr. Fastolfe will probably win the backing of the Legislature.”

  Baley found himself beginning to think clearly again. “That would seem explanation enough for Amadiro's attempt to delay us. He might have reasoned that I had nothing yet to offer the Chairman and he needed only to delay to keep me from getting anything in the time that remained to me.”

  “So it would seem, Partner Elijah.”

  “And he let me go only when he thought he could rely on the storm continuing to keep me.”

  “Perhaps so, Partner Elijah.”

  “In that case, we cannot allow the storm to stop us.”

  Giskard said calmly, “Where do you wish to be taken, sir?”

  “Back to the establishment of Dr. Fastolfe.”

  Daneel said, “May we have one moment's more pause, Partner El
ijah? Do you plan to tell Dr. Fastolfe that you cannot continue the investigation?”

  Baley said sharply, “Why do you say that?” It was a measure of his recovery that his voice was loud and angry.

  Daneel said, “It is merely that I fear you might have forgotten for a moment that Dr. Amadiro urged you to do so for the sake of Earth's welfare.”

  “I have not forgotten,” said Baley grimly, “and I am surprised, Daneel, that you should think that that would influence me. Fastolfe must be exonerated and Earth must send its settlers outward into the Galaxy. If there is danger in that from the Globalists, that danger must be chanced.”

  “But, in that case, Partner Elijah, why go back to Dr. Fastolfe? It doesn't seem to me that we have anything of moment to report to him. Is there no direction in which we can further continue our investigation before reporting to Dr. Fastolfe?”

  Baley sat up in his seat and placed his hand on Giskard, who was now entirely dry. He said, in quite a normal voice, “I am satisfied with the progress I have already made, Daneel. Let's get moving, Giskard. Proceed to Fastolfe's establishment.”

  And then, tightening his fists and stiffening his body, Baley added, “What's more, Giskard, clear the windows. I want to look out into the face of the storm.”

  62

  Baley held his breath in preparation for transparency. The small box of the airfoil would no longer be entirely enclosed; it would no longer have unbroken walls.

  As the windows clarified, there was a flash of light that came and went too quickly to do anything but darken the world by contrast.

  Baley could not prevent his cringe as he tried to steel himself for the thunder which, after a moment or two, rolled and grumbled.

  Daneel said pacifyingly, “The storm will get no worse and soon enough it will recede.”

  “I don't care whether it recedes or not,” said Baley through trembling lips. “Come on. Let's go.” He was trying, for his own sake, to maintain the illusion of a human being in charge of robots.

  The airfoil rose slightly in the air and at once underwent a sideways movement that tilted it so that Baley felt himself pushing hard against Giskard.

  Baley cried out (gasped out, rather), “Straighten the vehicle, Giskard!”

  Daneel placed his arm around Baley's shoulder and pulled him gently back. His other arm was braced about a hand-grip attached to the frame of the airfoil.

  “That cannot be done, Partner Elijah,” Daneel said. “There is a fairly strong wind.”

  Baley felt his hair bristle. “You mean—we're going to be blown away?”

  “No, of course not,” said Daneel. “If the car were antigrav—a form of technology that does not, of course, exist—and if its mass and inertia were eliminated, then it would be blown like a feather high into the air. However, we retain our full mass even when our jets lift us and poise us in the air, so our inertia resists the wind. Nevertheless, the wind makes us sway, even though the car remains completely under Giskard's control.”

  “It doesn't feel like it.” Bailey was conscious of a thin whine, which he imagined to be the wind curling around the body of the airfoil as it cut its way through the protesting atmosphere. Then the airfoil lurched and Baley, who could not for his life have helped it, seized Daneel in a desperate grip around the neck.

  Daneel waited a moment. When Batey had caught his breath and his grip grew less rigid, Daneel released himself easily from the other's embrace, while somewhat tightening the pressure of his own arm around Baley.

  He said, “In order to maintain course, Partner Elijah, Giskard must counter the wind by an asymmetric ordering of the airfoil's jets. They are sent to one side so as to cause the airfoil to lean into the wind and these jets have to be adjusted in force and direction as the wind itself changes force and direction. There are none better at this than Giskard, but, even so, there are occasional jiggles and lurches. You must excuse Giskard, then, if he does not participate in our conversation. His attention is fully on the airfoil.”

  “Is it—it safe?” Baley felt his stomach contract at the thought of playing with the wind in this fashion. He was devoutly glad he had not eaten for some hours. He could not—dared not—be sick in the close confines of the airfoil. The very thought unsettled him further and he tried to concentrate on something else.

  He thought of running the strips back on Earth, of racing from one moving strip to its neighboring faster strip, and then to its neighboring still faster strip, and then back down into the slower regions, leaning expertly into the wind either way; in one direction as one fastered (an odd word used by no one but strip-racers) and in the other direction, as one slowered. In his younger days, Daneel could do it without pause and without error.

  Daneel had adjusted to the need without trouble and, the one time they had run the strips together, Daneel had done it perfectly. Well, this was just the same! The airfoil was running strips. Absolutely! It was the same!

  Not quite the same, to be sure. In the City, the speed of the strips was a fixed quantity. What wind there was blew in absolutely predictable fashion, since it was only the result of the movement of the strips. Here in the storm, however, the wind had a mind of its own or, rather, it depended on so many variables (Baley was deliberately striving for rationality) that it seemed to have a mind of its own—and Giskard had to allow for that. That was all. Otherwise, it was just running the strips with an added complication. The strips were moving at variable—and sharply changing—speeds.

  Baley muttered, “What if we blow into a tree?”

  “Very unlikely, Partner Elijah. Giskard is far too skillful for that. And we are only very slightly above the ground, so that the jets are particularly powerful.”

  “Then we'll hit a rock. It will cave us in underneath.”

  “We will not hit a rock, Partner Elijah.”

  “Why not? How on Earth can Giskard see where he's going, anyway?” Baley stared at the darkness ahead.

  “It is just about sunset,” said Daneel, “and some light is making its way through the clouds. It is enough for us to see by with the help of our headlights. And as it grows darker, Giskard will brighten the headlights.”

  “What headlights?” asked Baley rebelliously.

  “You do not see them very well because they have a strong infrared component, to which Giskard's eyes are sensitive but yours are not. What's more, the infrared is more penetrating than shorter wave light is and, for that reason, is more effective in rain, mist, and fog.”

  Baley managed to feel some curiosity, even amid his uneasiness. “And your eyes, Daneel?”

  “My eyes, Partner Elijah, are designed to be as similar to those of human beings as possible. That is regrettable, perhaps, at this moment.”

  The airfoil trembled and Baley found himself holding his breath again. He said in a whisper, “Spacer eyes are still adapted to Earth's sun, even if robot eyes aren't. A good thing, too, if it helps remind them they're descended from Earthpeople.”

  His voice faded out. It was getting darker. He could see nothing at all now and the intermittent flashes lighted nothing, either. They were merely blinding. He closed his eyes and that didn't help. He was the more conscious of the angry, threatening thunder.

  Should they not stop? Should they not wait for the worst of the storm to pass?

  Giskard suddenly said, “The vehicle is not reacting properly.”

  Baley felt the ride become ragged as though the machine was on wheels and was rolling over ridges.

  Daneel said, “Can it be storm damage, friend Giskard?”

  “It does not have the feel of that, friend Daneel. Nor does it seem likely that this machine would suffer from this kind of damage in this or any other storm.”

  Baley absorbed the exchange with difficulty. “Damage?” he muttered. “What kind of damage?”

  Giskard said, “I should judge the compressor to be leaking, sir, but slowly. It's not the result of an ordinary puncture.”

  “How did it happen, then??
?? Baley asked.

  “Deliberate damage, perhaps, while it was outside the Administration Building. I have known, now, for some little time that we are being followed and carefully not being overtaken.”

  “Why, Giskard?”

  “A possibility, sir, is that they are waiting for us to break down completely.” The airfoil's motion was becoming more ragged.

  “Can you make it to Dr. Fastolfe's?”

  “It would not seem so, sir.”

  Baley tried to fling his reeling mind into action. “In that case, I've completely misjudged Amadiro's reason for delaying us. He was keeping us there to have one or more of his robots damage the airfoil in such a way as to bring us down in the midst of desolation and lightning.”

  “But why should he do that?” said Daneel, sounding shocked. “To get you? —In a way, he already had you.”

  “He doesn't want me. No one wants me” said Baley with a somewhat feeble anger. “The danger is to you, Daneel.”

  “To me, Partner Elijah?”

  “Yes, youl Daneel. —Giskard, choose a safe place to come down and, as soon as you do, Daneel must get out of the car and be off to a place of safety.”

  Daneel said, “That is impossible, Partner Elijah. I could not leave you when you are feeling ill—and most especially if there are those who pursue us and might do you harm.”

  Baley said, “Daneel, they're pursuing you. You must leave. As for me, I will stay in the airfoil. I am in no danger.”

  “How can I believe that?”

  “Please! Please! How can I explain the whole thing with everything spinning— Daneel“—Baley's voice grew desperately calm—”you are the most important individual here, far more important than Giskard and I put together. It's not just that I care for you and want no harm to come to you. All of humanity depends on you. Don't worry about me; I'm one man; worry about billions. Daneel— please—”

  63

  Baley could feel himself rocking back and forth. Or was it the airfoil? Was it breaking up altogether? Or was Giskard losing control? Or was he taking evasive action? Baley didn't care. He didn't carel Let the airfoil crash. Let it smash to bits. He would welcome oblivion. Anything to get rid of this terrible fright, this total inability to come to terms with the Universe.