He was overwhelmed by the gusts of rain that soaked his face and hands. After a short while, his wet clothes were clinging to his body and he was shivering with cold.
There was a piercing splitting of the sky—too quick for him to close his eyes against—and then a sharp hammering that stiffened him in terror and made him clap his hands over his ears.
Had the storm returned? Or did it sound louder only because he was out in the open?
He had to move. He had to move away from the car, so that the pursuers would not find him too easily. He must not waver and remain in its vicinity or he might as well have stayed inside—and dry.
He tried to wipe his face with the handkerchief, but it was as wet as his face was and he let it go. It was useless.
He moved on, hands outstretched. Was there a moon that circled Aurora? He seemed to recall there had been mention of such a thing and he would have welcomed its light. —But what did it matter? Even if it existed and were in the sky now, the clouds would obscure it.
He felt something. He could not see what it was, but he knew it to be the rough bark of a tree. Undoubtedly a tree. Even a City man would know that much.
And then he remembered that lightning might hit trees and might kill people. He could not remember that he had ever read a description of how it felt to be hit by lightning or if there were any measures to prevent it. He knew of no one on Earth who had been hit by lightning.
He felt his way about the tree and was in an agony of apprehension and fear. How much was halfway around, so that he would end up moving in the same direction?
Onward !
The underbrush was thick now and hard to get through. It was like bony, clutching fingers holding him. He pulled petulantly and he heard the tearing of cloth.
Onward!
His teeth were chattering and he was trembling.
Another flash. Not a bad one. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of his surroundings.
Trees! A number of them. He was in a grove of trees. Were many trees more dangerous than one tree where lightning was concerned?
He didn't know.
Would it help if he didn't actually touch a tree?
He didn't know that, either. Death by lightning simply wasn't a factor in the Cities and the historical novels (and sometimes histories) that mentioned it never went into detail.
He looked up at the dark sky and felt the wetness coming down. He wiped at his wet eyes with his wet hands.
He stumbled onward, trying to step high. At one point, he splashed through a narrow stream of water, sliding over the pebbles underlaying it.
How strange! It made him no wetter than he was.
He went on again. The robots would not find him. Would Giskard?
He didn't know where he was. Or where he was going. Or how far he was from anything.
If he wanted to return to the car, he couldn't.
If he was trying to find himself, he couldn't.
And the storm would continue forever and he would finally dissolve and pour down in a little stream of Baley and no one would ever find him again.
And his dissolved molecules would float down to the ocean.
Was there an ocean on Aurora?
Of course there was! It was larger than Earth's, but there was more ice at the Auroran poles.
Ah, he would float to the ice and freeze there, glistening in the cold orange sun.
His hands were touching a tree again—wet hands— wet tree—rumble of thunder—funny he didn't see the flash of lightning—lightning came first—was he hit?
He didn't feel anything—except the ground.
The ground was under him because his fingers were scrabbling into cold mud. He turned his head so he could breathe. It was rather comfortable. He didn't have to walk anymore. He could wait. Giskard would find him.
He was suddenly very sure of it. Giskard would have to find him because—
No, he had forgotten the because. It was the second time he had forgotten something. Before he went to sleep— Was it the same thing he had forgotten each time?— The same thing?—
It didn't matter.
It would be all right—all—
And he lay there, alone and unconscious, in the rain at the base of a tree, while the storm beat on.
16. AGAIN GLADIA
66
Afterward, looking back and estimating times, it would appear that Baley had remained unconscious not less than ten minutes and not more than twenty.
At the time, though, it might have been anything from zero to infinity. He was conscious of a voice. He could not hear the words it spoke, just a voice. He puzzled over the fact that it sounded odd and solved the matter to his satisfaction by recognizing it as a woman's voice.
There were arms around him, lifting him, heaving him. One arm—his arm—dangled. His head lolled.
He tried feebly to straighten out, but nothing happened. The woman's voice again.
He opened his eyes wearily. He was aware of being cold and wet and suddenly realized that water was not striking him. And it was not dark, not entirely. There was a dim suffusing of light and, by it, he saw a robot's face.
He recognized it. “Giskard,” he whispered and with that he remembered the storm and the flight. And Giskard had reached him first; he had found him before the other robots had.
Baley thought contentedly: I knew he would.
He let his eyes close again and felt himself moving rapidly but with the slight—yet definite—unevenness that meant he was being carried by someone who was walking. Then a stop and a slow adjustment until he was resting on something quite warm and comfortable. He knew it was the seat of a car covered, perhaps, with toweling, but did not question how he knew.
Then there was the sensation of smooth motion through the air and the feeling of soft absorbent fabric over his face and hands, the tearing open of his blouse, cold air upon his chest, and then the drying and blotting again.
After that, the sensations crowded in upon him.
He was in an establishment. There were flashes of walls, of illumination, of objects (miscellaneous shapes of furnishings) which he saw now and then when he opened his eyes.
He felt his clothes being stripped off methodically and made a few feeble and useless attempts to cooperate, then he felt warm water and vigorous scrubbing. It went on and on and he didn't want it to stop.
At one point, a thought occurred to him and he seized the arm that was holding him. “Giskard! Giskard!”
He heard Giskard's voice, “I am here, sir.”
“Giskard, is Daneel safe?”
“He is quite safe, sir.”
“Good.” Baley closed his eyes again and made no effort whatever in connection with the drying. He felt himself turned over and over in the stream of dry air and then he was being dressed again in something like a warm robe.
Luxury! Nothing like this had happened to him since he was an infant and he was suddenly sorry for the babies for whom everything was done and who were not sufficiently conscious of it to enjoy it.
Or did they? Was the hidden memory of that infant luxury a determinant of adult behavior? Was his own feeling now just an expression of the delight of being an infant again?
And he had heard a woman's voice. Mother?
No, that couldn't possibly be.
—Mamma?
He was sitting in a chair now. He could sense as much and he could also feel, somehow, that the short, happy period of renewed infancy was coming to an end. He had to return to the sad world of self-consciousness and self-help.
But there had been a woman's voice. —What woman?
Baley opened his eyes. “Gladia?”
67
It was a question, a surprised question, but deep within himself he was not really surprised. Thinking back, he had, of course, recognized her voice.
He looked around. Giskard was standing in his alcove, but he ignored him. First things first.
He said, “Where's Daneel?”
Gladia said, “He has cleaned and dried himself in the robot's quarters and he has dry clothing. He is surrounded by my household staff and they have their instructions. I can tell you that no outsider will approach within fifty meters of my establishment in any direction without our all knowing it at once. —Giskard is cleaned and dried as well.”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Baley. He was not concerned with Giskard, only with Daneel. He was relieved that Gladia seemed to accept the necessity of guarding Daneel and that he would not have to face the complications of explaining the matter.
Yet there was one breach in the wall of security and a note of querulousness entered in his voice as he said, “Why did you leave him, Gladia? With you gone, there was no human being in the house to stop the approach of a band of outside robots. Daneel could have been taken by force.”
“Nonsense,” said Gladia with spirit. “We were not gone long and Dr. Fastolfe had been informed. Many of his robots had joined mine and he could be on the spot in minutes if needed—and I'd like to see any band of outside robots withstand him.”
“Have you seen Daneel since you returned, Gladia?”
“Of course! He's safe, I tell you.”
“Thank you!” Baley relaxed and closed his eyes. Oddly enough, he thought: It wasn't so bad.
Of course it wasn't. He had survived, hadn't he? When he thought that, something inside himself grinned and was happy.
He had survived, hadn't he?
He opened his eyes and said, “How did you find me, Gladia?”
“It was Giskard. They had come here—both of them—and Giskard explained the situation to me quickly. I set right about securing Daneel, but he wouldn't budge until I had promised to order Giskard out after you. He was very eloquent. His responses with respect to you are very intense, Elijah.
“Daneel remained behind, of course. It made him very unhappy, but Giskard insisted that I order him to stay at the very top of my voice. You must have given Giskard some mighty strict orders. Then we got in touch with Dr. Fastolfe and, after that, we took my personal airfoil.”
Baley shook his head wearily. “You should not have come along, Gladia. Your place was here, making sure Daneel was safe.”
Gladia's face twisted into scorn. “And leave you dying in the storm, for all we knew? Or being taken up by Dr. Fastolfe's enemies? I have a little holograph of myself letting that happen. No, Elijah, I might have been needed to keep the other robots away from you if they had gotten to you first. I may not be much good in most ways, but any Solarian can handle a mob of robots, let me tell you. We're used to it.”
“But how did you find me?”
“It wasn't so terribly hard. Actually, your airfoil wasn't far away, so that we could have walked it, except for the storm. We—”
Baley said, “You mean we had almost made it to Fastolfe's?”
“Yes,” said Gladia. “Either your airfoil, in being damaged, wasn't damaged sufficiently to force you to a standstill sooner or Giskard's skill kept it going for longer than the vandals had anticipated. Which is a good thing. If you had come down closer to the Institute, they might have gotten you all. Anyway, we took my airfoil to where yours had come down. Giskard knew where it was, of course, and we got out—”
“And you got all wet, didn't you, Gladia?”
“Not a bit,” she replied. “I had a large rain shade and a light sphere, too. My shoes got muddy and my feet got a little damp because I didn't have time to spray on Latex, but there's no harm in that. —Anyway, we were back at your airfoil less than half an hour after Giskard and Daneel had left you and, of course, you weren't there.”
“I had tried—” began Baley.
“Yes, we know. I thought they—the others—had taken you away because Giskard said you were being followed. But Giskard found your handkerchief about fifty meters from the airfoil and he said that you must have wandered off in that direction. Giskard said it was an illogical thing to do, but that human beings were often illogical, so that we should search for you. —So we looked—both of us—using the lightsphere, but it was he who found you. He said he saw the infrared glimmer of your body heat at the base of the tree and we brought you back.”
Baley said, with a spark of annoyance, “Why was my leaving an illogical thing to do?”
“He didn't say, Elijah. Do you wish to ask him?” She gestured toward Giskard.
Baley said, “Giskard, what's this?”
Giskard's impassivity was disrupted at once and his eyes focused on Baley. He said, “I felt that you had exposed yourself to the storm unnecessarily. If you had waited, we would have brought you here sooner.”
“The other robots might have gotten to me first.”
“They did—but you had sent them away, sir.”
“How do you know that?”
“There were many robotic footprints around the doors on either side, sir, but there was no sign of dampness within the airfoil, as there would have been if wet arms had reached in to lift you out. I judged you would not have gotten out of the airfoil of your own accord in order to join them, sir. And, having sent them away, you need not have feared they would return very quickly, since it was Daneel they were after—by your own estimate of the situation—and not you. In addition, you might have been certain that I would have been back quickly.”
Baley muttered, “I reasoned precisely in that manner but I felt that confusing the issue might help further. I did what seemed best to me and you did find me, even so.”
“Yes, sir.”
Baley said, “But why bring me here? If we were close to Gladia's establishment, we were just as close, perhaps closer, to Dr. Fastolfe's.”
“Not quite, sir. This residence was somewhat closer and I judged, from the urgency of your orders, that every moment counted in securing Daneel's safety. Daneel concurred in this, though he was most reluctant to leave you. Once he was here, I felt you would want to be here, too, so that you could, if you desired, assure yourself of his safety firsthand.”
Baley nodded and said grumpily (he was still annoyed at that remark concerning his illogicality), “You did well, Giskard.”
Gladia said, “Is it important that you see Dr. Fastolfe, Elijah? I can have him summoned here. Or you can view him trimensionally.”
Baley leaned back in his chair again. He had leisure to realize that his thought processes were blunted and that he was very tired. It would do him no good to face Fastolfe now. He said, “No. I'll see him tomorrow after breakfast. Time enough. And then I think I'll be seeing this man, Kelden Amadiro, the head of the Robotics Institute. And a high official—what d'you call him?—the Chairman. He will be there, too, I suppose.”
“You look terribly tired, Elijah,” said Gladia. “Of course, we don't have those microorganisms—those germs and viruses—that you have on Earth and you've been cleaned out, so you won't get any of the diseases they have all over your planet, but you're clearly tired.”
Baley thought: After all that, no cold? No flu? No pneumonia? —There was something to being on a Spacer world at that.
He said, “I admit I'm tired, but that can be cured by a bit of rest.”
“Are you hungry? It's dinnertime.”
Baley made a face. “I don't feel like eating.”
“I'm not sure that's wise. You don't want a heavy meal, perhaps, but how about some hot soup. It will do you good.”
Baley felt the urge to smile. She might be Solarian, but given the proper circumstances she sounded exactly like an Earth-woman. He suspected that this would be true of Aurorans as well. There are some things that differences in culture don't touch.
He said, “Do you have soup available? I don't want to be a problem.”
“How can you be a problem? I have a staff—not a large one, as on Solaria, but enough to prepare any reasonable item of food on short order. —Now you just sit there and tell me what kind of soup you would like. It will all be taken care of.”
Baley couldn't resist. “Chicken soup?”
r /> “Of course.” Then innocently, “Just what I would have suggested—and with lumps of chicken, so that it will be substantial.”
The bowl was put before him with surprising speed. He said, “Aren't you going to eat, Gladia?”
“I've eaten already, while you were being bathed and treated.”
“Treated?”
“Only routine biochemical adjustment, Elijah. You had been rather psychic-damaged and we wanted no repercussions. —Do eat!”
Baley lifted an experimental spoonful to his lips. It was not bad chicken soup, though it had the queer tendency of Auroran food to be rather spicier than Baley would prefer. Or perhaps it was prepared with different spices than those he was used to.
He remembered his mother suddenly—a sharp thrust of memory that made her appear younger than he himself was right now. He remembered her standing over him when he rebelled at eating his “nice soup.”
She would say to him, “Come, Lije. This is real chicken and very expensive. Even the Spacers don't have anything better.”
They didn't. He called to her in his mind across the years: They don't, Mom!
Really! If he could trust memory and allow for the power of youthful taste buds, his mother's chicken soup, when it wasn't dulled by repetition, was far superior.
He sipped again and again—and when he finished, he muttered in a shamefaced way, “Would there be a little more?”
“As much as you want, Elijah.”
“Just a little more.”
Gladia said to him, as he was finishing, “Elijah, this meeting tomorrow morning—”
“Yes, Gladia?”
“Does it mean that your investigation is over? Do you know what happened to Jander?”
Baley said judiciously, “I have an idea as to what might have happened to Jander. I don't think I can necessarily persuade anyone that I am right.”
“Then why are you having the conference?”
“It's not my idea, Gladia. It's Master Roboticist Amadiro's idea. He objects to the investigation and he's going to try to have me sent back to Earth.”