The Naked Sun

“Of course, a robot could be told that the opposing spaceship had no humans aboard. It could be told that it was an uninhabited planet that was being bombarded. That would be difficult to manage. A robot could see that its own ship carried humans; it would know its own world held humans. It would assume that the same was true of enemy ships and worlds. It would take a real expert in robotics, such as you, Dr. Leebig, to handle them properly in that case, and there are very few suck experts.

“But a spaceship that was equipped with its own positronic brain would cheerfully attack any ship it was directed to attack, it seems to me. It would naturally assume all other ships were unma

The last question was shot at Dr. Leebig, who had risen from his seat and was standing, rigid, almost cataleptic with—what? Anger? Horror?

There was no answer. No answer could have been heard. Something tore loose and the others were yelling madly. Klorissa had the face of a Fury and even Gladia was on her feet, her small fist beating the air threateningly.

And all had turned on Leebig.

Baley relaxed and closed his eyes. He tried for just a few moments to unknot his muscles, unfreeze his tendons.

It had worked. He had pressed the right button at last. Quemot had made an analogy between the Solarian robots and the Spartan Helots. He said the robots could not revolt so that the Solarians could relax.

But what if some human threatened to teach the robots how to harm humans; to make them, in other words, capable of revolting?

Would that not be the ultimate crime? On a world such as Solaria would not every last inhabitant turn fiercely against anyone even suspected of making a robot capable of harming a human; on Solaria, where robots outnumbered humans by twenty thousand to one?

Attlebish cried, “You are under arrest. You are absolutely forbidden to touch your books or records until the government has a chance to inspect them—” He went on, almost incoherent, scarcely heard in the pandemonium.

A robot approached Baley. “A message, master, from the master Olivaw.”

Baley took the message gravely, turned, and cried, “One moment.” His voice had an almost magical effect. All turned to look at him solemnly and in no face (outside Leebig’s frozen glare) was there any sign of anything but the most painful attention to the Earthman.

Baley said, “It is foolish to expect Dr. Leebig to leave his records untouched while waiting for some official to reach them. So even before this interview began, my partner, Daneel Olivaw, left for Dr. Leebig’s estate. I have just heard from him. He is on the grounds now and will be with Dr. Leebig in a moment in order that he may be put under restraint.”

“Restraint!” howled Leebig in an almost animal terror, His eyes widened into staring holes in his head. “Someone coming here? Personal presence? No! No!” The second “No” was a shriek.

“You will not be harmed,” said Baley coldly, “if you co-operate.”

“But I won’t see him. I can’t see him.” The roboticist fell to his knees without seeming aware of the motion. He put his hands together in a desperate clasped gesture of appeal. “What do you want? Do you want a confession? Delmarre’s robot had detachable limbs. Yes. Yes. Yes. I arranged Gruer’s poisoning. I arranged the arrow meant for you. I even pla

He was babbling.

Baley nodded. Another right button. The threat of personal presence would do more to induce confession than any physical torture.

But then, at some noise or movement outside the field of sound or vision of any of the others, Leebig’s head twisted and his mouth opened. He lifted a pair of hands, holding something off.

“Away,” he begged. “Go away. Don’t come. Please don’t come. Please—”

He scrambled away on hands and knees, then his hand went suddenly to a pocket in his jacket. It came out with something and moved rapidly to his mouth. Swaying twice, he fell prone.

Baley wanted to cry: You fool, it isn’t a human that’s approaching; only one of the robots you love.

Daneel Olivaw darted into the field of vision and for a moment stared down at the crumpled figure.

Baley held his breath. If Daneel should realize it was his own pseudo humanity that had killed Leebig, the effect on his First Law enslaved brain might be drastic.

But Daneel only knelt and his delicate fingers touched Leebig here and there. Then he lifted Leebig’s head as though it were infinitely precious to him, cradling it, caressing it.

His beautifully chiseled face stared out at the others and he whispered, “A human is dead!”

Baley was expecting her; she had asked for a last interview; but his eyes widened when she appeared.

He said, “I’m seeing you.”

“Yes,” said Gladia, “how can you tell?”

“You’re wearing gloves.”

“Oh.” She looked at her hands in confusion. Then, softly, “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not. But why have you decided to see, rather than view?”

“Well”—she smiled weakly—“I’ve got to get used to it, don’t I, Elijah? I mean, if I’m going to Aurora.”

“Then it’s all arranged?”

“Mr. Olivaw seems to have influence. It’s all arranged. I’ll never come back.”

“Good. You’ll be happier, Gladia. I know you will.”

“I’m a little afraid.”

“I know. It will mean seeing all the time and, you won’t have all the comforts you had on Solaria. But you’ll get used to it and, what’s more, you’ll forget all the terror you’ve been through.”

“I don’t want to forget everything,” said Gladia softly.

“You will.” Baley looked at the slim girl who stood before him and said, not without a momentary pang, “And you will be married someday, too. Really married, I mean.”

“Somehow,” she said mournfully, “that doesn’t seem so attractive to me—right now.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

And they stood there, looking at each other for a wordless moment.

Gladia said, “I’ve never thanked you.”

Baley said, “It was only my job.”

“You’ll be going back to Earth now, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll never see you again.”

“Probably not. But don’t feel badly about that. In forty years at most, I’ll be dead and you won’t look a bit different from the way you do now.”

Her face twisted. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

She said rapidly, as though forced to change the subject, “It’s all true about Jothan Leebig, you know.”

“I know. Other roboticists went over his records and found experiments toward unma

Gladia shuddered, “Why did he do such a horrible thing, do you suppose?”

“He was afraid of people. He killed himself to avoid personal presence and he was ready to kill other worlds to make sure that Solaria and its personal—presence taboo would never be touched.”

“How could he feel so,” she murmured, “when personal presence can be so very—”

Again a silent moment while they faced each other at ten paces. Then Gladia cried suddenly, “Oh, Elijah, you’ll think it abandoned of me.”

“Think what abandoned?”

“May I touch you? I’ll never see you again, Elijah.”

“If you want to.”

Step by step, she came closer, her eyes glowing, yet looking apprehensive, too. She stopped three feet away, then slowly, as though in a trance, she began to remove the glove on her right hand.