The Robots of Dawn

She came closer to him and, without hesitation, he put his arm around her. She placed her finger on his lips and he made a small kissing motion. She said softly, “Wouldn’t you rather have me for yourself, Elijah?”

He said, just as softly (and unable to become unaware of the robots in the room), “Yes, I would, Gladia. I am ashamed to say that at this moment I would be content to have the Earth fall to pieces if I could have you—but I can’t. In a few hours, I’ll be off Aurora, and there’s no way you will be allowed to go with me. Nor do I think I will ever be allowed to come back to Aurora, nor is it possible that you will ever visit Earth.

“I will never see you again, Gladia, but I will never forget you, either. I will die in a few decades and when I do you will be as young as you are now, so we would have to say goodbye soon whatever we could imagine as happening.”

She put her head, against his chest. “Oh, Elijah, twice you came into my life, each time for just a few hours. Twice you’ve done so much for me and then said good-bye. The first time all I could do was—touch your face, but what a difference that made. The second time, I did so much more—and again what a difference that made. I’ll never forget you, Elijah, if I live more centuries than I can count.”

Baley said, “Then let it not be the kind of memory that cuts you off from happiness. Accept Gremionis and make him happy—and let him make you happy as well. And remember, there is nothing to prevent you from sending me letters. The hyperpost between Aurora and Earth exists.”

“I will, Elijah. And you will write to me as well?”

“I will, Gladia.”

Then there was silence and, reluctantly, they moved apart. She remained standing in the middle of the room and when he went to the door and turned back, she was still standing there with a little smile. His lips shaped: Good-bye. And then because there was no sound—he could not have done it with sound he added, my love.

And her lips moved, too. Good-bye, my dearest love.

And he, turned and walked away, knew he would never see her in tangible form, never touch her again.

83

It was a while before Elijah could bring himself to consider the task that still lay before him. He had walked in silence perhaps half the distance back to Fastolfe’s establishment before he stopped and lifted his arm.

The observant Giskard was at his side in a moment.

Baley said, “How much time before I must leave for the spaceport, Giskard?”

“Three hours and ten minutes, sir.”

Baley thought a moment, “I would like to walk over to that tree there and sit down with my back against the trunk and spend some time there alone. With you, of course, but away from other human beings.”

“In the open, sir?” The robot’s voice was unable to express surprise and shock, but somehow Baley had the feeling that, if Giskard were human, those words would express those feelings.

“Yes,” said Baley. “I have to think and, after last night, a calm day like this—su

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Baley led the way. They reached the tree and Baley touched the trunk gingerly and then stared at his finger, which remained perfectly clean. Reassured that, leaning against the trunk would not dirty him, he inspected the ground and then sat down carefully and rested his back against the tree.

It was not nearly as comfortable as the back of a chair would have been, but there was a feeling of peace (oddly, enough) that perhaps he would not have had inside a room.

Giskard remained standing and Baley said, “Won’t you sit down—too?”

“I am as comfortable standing, sir.”

“I know that, Giskard, but I will think better if I don’t have to look up at you.”

“I could not guard you against possible harm as efficiently if I were seated, sir.”

“I know that, too, Giskard, but there is no reasonable danger at the moment. My mission is over, the case is solved, Dr. Fastolfe’s position is secure. You can risk being seated and I order you to sit down.”

Giskard at once sat down, facing Baley, but his eyes continued to wander in, this direction and that and were ever alert.

Baley looked at the sky, through the leaves of the tree green against blue, listened to the susurration of insects and to the sudden call of a bird, noted a disturbance of grass nearby that might have meant a small animal passing by, and again thought—how oddly peaceful it how different this peacefulness was from the clamor of the City. This was a quiet unhurried peace.

For the first time, Baley caught a faint suggestion of how it might be to prefer Outside to the City. He caught himself being thankful to his experiences on Aurora, to the storm most of all—for he knew now that he would be able to leave Earth and face the conditions, of whatever new world he might settle on, he and Ben—and perhaps Jessie.

He said, “Last night, in the darkness of the storm, I wondered if I might have seen Aurora’s satellite were it not for the clouds. It has a satellite, if I recall my reading correctly.”

“Two, actually, sir. The larger is Tithonus, but it is still so small that it appears only as a moderately bright star. The smaller is not visible at all to the unaided eye and is simply called Tithonus, when it is referred to at all.”

“Thank you.—And thank you, Giskard, for rescuing me last night.” He looked at the robot. “I don’t know the proper way of thanking you.”

“It is not necessary to thank me at all. I was merely following the dictates of the First Law. I had no choice in the matter.”

“Nevertheless, I may even owe you my life and it is important that you know I understand this.—And now, Giskard, what ought I to do.”

“Concerning what matter, sir?”

“My mission is over. Dr. Fastolfe’s views are secure. Earth’s future may be assured. It would seem I have nothing more to do and yet there is the matter of Jander.”

“I do not understand, sir.”

“Well, it seems settled that he died by a chance shift of positronic potential in his brain, but Fastolfe admits the chance of that is infinitesimally small. Even with Amadiro’s activities, the chance, though possibly greater, would remain infinitesimally small. At least, so Fastolfe thinks. It continues to seem to me, then, that Jander’s death was one of deliberate roboticide. Yet I don’t dare raise this point now. I don’t want to unsettle matters that have been brought to such a satisfactory conclusion. I don’t want to put Fastolfe in jeopardy again. I don’t want to make Gladia unhappy. I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk to a human being about this, so I’m talking to you, Giskard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can always order you to erase whatever I have said and to remember it no more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In your opinion, what ought I to do?”

Giskard said, “If there is a roboticide, sir, there must be someone, capable of committing the act. Only Dr. Fastolfe is capable, of committing it and he says he did not do it.”

“Yes we started with that situation. I believe Dr. Fastolfe and am quite certain he did not do it.”

“Then how could there have been a roboticide, sir?”

“Suppose that someone else knew as much about robots as Dr. Fastolfe does, Giskard.”

Baley drew up his knees and clasped his hands around them. He did not look at Giskard and seemed lost in thought.

“Who might that be, sir?” asked Giskard.

And finally, Baley reached the crucial point.

He said, “You, Giskard.”