Except that he had to make sure that Daneel got away—safely away. But how?
Everything was unreal and he was not going to be able to explain anything to these robots. The situation was so clear to him, but how was he to transfer this understanding to these robots, to these nonmen, who understood nothing but their Three Laws and who would let all of Earth and, in the long run, all of humanity go to hell because they could only be concerned with the one man under their noses?
Why had robots ever been invented?
And then, oddly enough, Giskard, the lesser of the two, came to his aid.
He said in his contentless voice, “Friend Daneel, I cannot keep this airfoil in motion much longer. Perhaps it will be more suitable to do as Mr. Baley suggests. He has given you a very strong order.”
“Can I leave him when he is unwell, friend Giskard?” said Daneel, perplexed.
“You cannot take him out into the storm with you, friend Daneel. Moreover, he seems so anxious for you to leave that it may do him harm for you to stay.”
Baley felt himself reviving. “Yes—yes—” he managed to croak out. “As Giskard says. Giskard, you go with him, hide him, make sure he doesn't return—then come back for me.”
Daneel said forcefully, “That cannot be, Partner Elijah. We cannot leave you alone, untended, unguarded.”
“No danger—I am in no danger. Do as I say—”
Giskard said, “Those following are probably robots. Human beings would hesitate to come out in the storm. And robots would not harm Mr. Baley.”
Daneel said, “They might take him away.”
“Not into the storm, friend Daneel, since that would work obvious harm to him. I will bring the airfoil to a halt now, friend Daneel. You must be ready to do as Mr. Baley orders. I, too.”
“Good!” whispered Baley. “Good!” He was grateful for the simpler brain that could more easily be impressed and that lacked the ability to get lost and uncertain in ever-expanding refinements.
Vaguely, he thought of Daneel trapped between his perception of Baley's ill-being and the urgency of the order—and of his brain snapping under the conflict.
Baley thought: No no, Daneel. Just do as I say and don't question it.
He lacked the strength, almost the will, to articulate it and he let the order remain a thought.
The airfoil came down with a bump and a short, harsh, scraping noise.
The doors flew open, one on either side, and then closed with a soft, sighing noise. At once, the robots were gone. Having come to their decision, there was no hesitation and they moved with a speed that human beings could not duplicate.
Baley took a deep breath and shuddered. The airfoil was rock-steady now. It was part of the ground.
He was suddenly aware of how much of his misery had been the result of the swaying and bucking of the vehicle, the feeling of insubstantiality, of not being connected to the Universe but of being at the mercy of inanimate, uncaring forces.
Now, however, it was still and he opened his eyes.
He had not been aware that they had been closed.
There was still lightning on the horizon and the thunder was a subdued mutter, while the wind, meeting a more resistant and less yielding object now than it had hitherto, keened a higher note than before.
It was dark. Baley's eyes were no more than human and he saw no light of any kind, other than the occasional blip of lightning. The sun must surely have set and the clouds were thick.
And for the first time since Baley had left Earth, he was alone!
64
Alone!
He had been too ill, too beside himself, to make proper sense. Even now, he found himself struggling to understand what it was he should have done and would have done—if he had had room in his tottering mind for more than the one thought that Daneei must leave.
For instance, he had not asked where he now was, what he was near, where Daneei and Giskard were planning to go. He did not know how any portion of the grounded airfoil worked. He could not, of course, make it move, but he might have had it supply heat if he felt cold or turn off the heat if there were too much—except that he did not know how to direct the machine to do either.
He did not know how to opacify the windows if he wanted to be enclosed or how to open a door if he wanted to leave.
The only thing he could do now was to wait for Giskard to come back for him. Surely that was what Giskard would expect him to do. The orders to him had simply been: Come back for me.
There had been no indication that Baley would change position in any way and Giskard's clear and uncluttered mind would surely interpret the “C0ome back” with the assumption that he was to come back to the airfoil.
Baley tried to adjust himself to that. In a way, it was a relief merely to wait, to have to make no decisions for a while, because there were no decisions he could possibly make. It was a relief to be steady and to feel at rest and to be rid of the terrible light flashes and the disturbing crashes of sound.
Perhaps he might even allow himself to go to sleep.
And then he stiffened. —Dare he do that?
They were being pursued. They were under observation. The airfoil, while parked and waiting for them outside the Administration Building of the Robotics Institute, had been tampered with and no doubt the tamperers would soon be upon him.
He was waiting for them, too, and not for Giskard only.
Had he thought it out clearly in the midst of his misery? The machine had been tampered with outside the Administration Building. That might have been done by anyone, but most likely by someone who knew it was there—and who would know that better than Amadiro?
Amadiro had intended delay until the storm. That was obvious. He was to travel in the storm and he was to break down in the storm. Amadiro had studied Earth and its population; he boasted of that. He would know quite clearly just what difficulty Earthpeople would have with the Outside generally and with a thunderstorm in particular.
He would be quite certain that Baley would be reduced to complete helplessness.
But why should he want that?
To bring Baley back to the Institute? He had already had him, but he had had a Baley in the full possession of his faculties and along with him he had had two robots perfectly capable of defending Baley physically. It would be different now!
If the airfoil were disabled in a storm, Baley would be disabled emotionally. He would even be unconscious, perhaps, and would certainly not be able to resist being brought back. Nor would the two robots object. With Baley clearly ill, their only appropriate reaction would be to assist Amadiro's robots in rescuing him.
In fact, the two robots would have to come along with Baley and would do so helplessly.
And if anyone ever questioned Amadiro's action, he could say that he had feared for Baley in the storm; that he had tried to keep him at the Institute and failed; that he had sent his robots to trail him and assure his safety; and that, when the airfoil came to grief in the storm, those robots brought Baley back to haven. Unless people understood that it had been Amadiro who had ordered the airfoil tampered with (and who would believe that— and how could one prove it?), the only possible public reaction would be to praise Amadiro for his humanitarian feelings—all the more astonishing for having been expressed toward a subhuman Earthman.
And what would Amadiro do with Baley then?
Nothing, except to keep him quiet and helpless for a time. Baley was not himself the quarry. That was the point.
Amadiro would also have two robots and they would now be helpless. Their instructions forced them, in the strongest manner, to guard Baley and, if Baley were ill and being cared for, they could only follow Amadiro's orders if those orders were clearly and apparently for Baley's benefit. Nor would Baley be (perhaps) sufficiently himself to protect them with further orders—certainly not if he were kept under sedation.
It was clear! It was clear! Amadiro had had Baley, Daneel, and Giskard—but in unusable fashion. H
e had sent them out into the storm in order to bring them back and have them again—in usable fashion. Especially Daneel! It was Daneel who was the key.
To be sure, Fastolfe would be searching for them eventually and would find them, too, and retrieve them, but by then it would be too late, wouldn't it?
And what did Amadiro want with Daneel?
Baley, his head aching, was sure he knew—but how could he possibly prove it?
He could think no more. —If he could opacify the windows, he could make a little interior world again, enclosed and motionless, and then maybe he could continue his thoughts.
But he did not know how to opacify the windows. He could only sit there and look at the flagging storm beyond those windows, hear the whip of rain against the windows, watch the fading lightning, and listen to the muttering thunder.
He closed his eyes tightly. The eyelids made a wall, too, but he dared not sleep.
The car door on his right opened. He heard the sighing noise it made. He felt the cool, damp breeze enter, the temperature drop, the sharp smell of things green and wet enter and drown out the faint and friendly smell of oil and upholstery that reminded him somehow of the City that he wondered if he would ever see again.
He opened his eyes and there was the odd sensation of a robotic face staring at him—and drifting sideways, yet not really moving. Baley felt dizzy.
The robot, seen as a darker shadow against the darkness, seemed a large one. He had, somehow, an air of capability about him. He said, “Your pardon, sir. Did you not have the company of two robots?”
“Gone,” muttered Baley, acting as ill as he could and aware that it did not require acting. A brighter flash of the heavens made its way through the eyelids that were now half-open.
“Gone! Gone where, sir?” And then, as he waited for an answer, he said, “Are you ill, sir?”
Baley felt a distant twinge of satisfaction within the inner scrap of himself that was still capable of thinking. If the robot had been without special instruction, he would have responded to Baley's clear signs of illness before doing anything else. To have asked first about the robots implied hard and close-pressed directions as to their importance.
It fit.
He tried to assume a strength and normality he did not possess and said, “I am well. Don't concern yourself with me.”
It could not possibly have convinced an ordinary robot, but this one had been so intensified in connection with Daneel (obviously) that he accepted it. He said, “Where have the robots gone, sir?”
“Back to the Robotics Institute.”
“To the Institute? Why, sir?”
“They were called by Master Roboticist Amadiro and he ordered them to return. I am watching for them.”
“But why did you not go with them, sir?”
“Master Roboticist Amadiro did not wish me to be exposed to the storm. He ordered me to wait here. I am following Master Roboticist Amadiro's orders.”
He hoped the repetition of the prestige-filled name with the inclusion of the honorific, together with the repetition of the word “order,” would have its effect on the robot and persuade him to leave Baley where he was.
On the other hand, if they had been instructed, with particular care, to bring back Daneel, and if they were convinced that Daneel was already on his way back to the Institute, there would be a decline in the intensity of their need in connection with that robot. They would have time to think of Baley again. They would say—
The robot said, “But it appears you are not well, sir.”
Baley felt another twinge of satisfaction. He said, “I am well.”
Behind the robot, he could vaguely see a crowding of several other robots—he could not count them—-with their faces gleaming in the occasional lightning flash. As Baley's eyes adapted to the return of darkness, he could see the dim shine of their eyes.
He turned his head. There were robots at the left door, too, though that remained closed.
How many had Amadiro sent? Were they to have been returned by force, if necessary?
He said, “Master Roboticist Amadiro's orders were that my robots were to return to the Institute and I was to wait. You see that they are returning and that I am waiting. If you were sent to help, if you have a vehicle, find the robots, who are on their way back, and transport them. This airfoil is no longer operative.” He tried to say it all without hesitation and firmly, as a well man would. He did not entirely succeed.
“They have returned on foot, sir?”
Baley said, “Find them. Your orders are clear.”
There was hesitation. Clear hesitation.
Baley finally remembered to move his right foot—he hoped properly. He should have done it before, but his physical body was not responding properly to his thoughts.
Still the robots hesitated and Baley grieved over that. He was not a Spacer. He did not know the proper words, the proper tone, the proper air with which to handle robots with the proper efficiency. A skilled roboticist could, with a gesture, a lift of an eyebrow, direct a robot as though it were a marionette of which he held the strings. —Especially if the robot were of his own design.
But Baley was only an Earthman.
He frowned—that was easy to do in his misery—and whispered a weary “Go!” and motioned with his hands.
Perhaps that added the last small and necessary quantity of weight to his order—or perhaps an end had simply been reached to the time it took for the robots’ positronic pathways to determine, by voltage and counter-voltage, how to sort out their instructions according to the Three Laws.
Either way, they had made up their minds and, after that, there was no further hesitation. They moved back to their vehicle, whatever and wherever it was, with such determined speed that they seemed simply to disappear.
The door the robot had held open now closed of its own accord. Baley had moved his foot in order to place it in the pathway of the closing door. He wondered distantly if his foot would be cut off cleanly or if its bones would be crushed, but he didn't move it. Surely no vehicle would be designed to make such a misadventure possible.
He was alone again. He had forced robots to leave a patently unwell human being by playing on the force of the orders given them by a competent robot master who had been intent on strengthening the Second Law for his own purposes—and had done it to the point where Baley's own quite apparent lies had subordinated the First Law to it.
How well he had done it, Baley thought with distant self-satisfaction—and became aware that the door which had swung shut was still ajar, held so by his foot, and that that foot had not been the least bit damaged as a result.
65
Baley felt cool air curling about his foot and a sprinkle of cool water. It was a frighteningly abnormal thing to sense, yet he could not allow the door to close, for he would then not know how to open it. (How did the robots open those doors? Undoubtedly, it was no puzzle to members of the culture, but in his reading on Auroran life, there was no careful instruction of just how one opens the door of a standard airfoil. Everything of importance is taken for granted. You're supposed to know, even though you are, in theory, being informed.)
He was groping in his pockets as he thought this and even the pockets were not easy to find. They were not in the right places and they were sealed, so that they had to be opened by fumbles till he found the precise motion that caused the seal to part. He pulled out a handkerchief, balled it, and placed it between the door and jamb so that the door would not entirely close. He then removed his foot.
Now to think—if he could. There was no point to keeping the door open unless he meant to get out. Was there, however, any purpose in getting out?
If he waited where he was, Giskard would eventually come back for him and, presumably, lead him to safety.
Dare he wait?
He did not know how long it would take Giskard to see Daneel to safety and then return.
But neither did he know how long it would take the pur
suing robots to decide they would not find Daneel and Giskard on any road leading back to the Institute. (Surely it was impossible that Daneel and Giskard had actually moved backward toward the Institute in search of sanctuary. Baley had not actually ordered them not to—but what if that were the only feasible route? —No! Impossible!)
Baley shook his head in silent denial of the possibility and felt it ache in response. He put his hands to it and gritted his teeth.
How long would the pursuing robots continue to search before they would decide that Baley had misled them—or had been himself misled? Would they then return and take him in custody, very politely and with great care not to harm him? Could he hold them off by telling them he would die if exposed to the storm?
Would they believe that? Would they call the Institute to report? Surely they would do that. And would human beings then arrive? They would not be overly concerned about his welfare.
If Baley got out of the car and found some hiding place in the surrounding trees, it would be that much harder for the pursuing robots to locate him—and that would gain him time.
It would also be harder for Giskard to locate him, but Giskard would be under a much more intense instruction to guard Baley than the pursuing robots were to find him. The primary task of the former would be to locate Baley—and of the latter, to locate Daneel.
Besides, Giskard was programmed by Fastolfe himself and Amadiro, however skillful, was no match for Fastolfe.
Surely, then, all things being equal, Giskard would be back before the other robots could possibly be.
But would all things be equal? With a faint attempt at cynicism, Baley thought: I'm worn-out and can't really think. I'm merely seizing desperately at whatever will console me.
Still, what could he do but play the odds, as he conceived the odds to be?
He leaned against the door and was out into the open. The handkerchief fell out into the wet, rank grass and he automatically bent down to pick it up, holding it in his hands as he staggered away from the car.