The Robots of Dawn

by Isaac Asimov

  Gremionis said, “That's something new I just picked up. Disposable, you see, but I don't know if I like it yet. Some people say it will clog the disposal vent after a while and others worry about pollution because they say some of it will surely get in your lungs. The manufacturer says not, but—”

  Baley realized suddenly that he had said not a word during the meal and that this was the first time either of them had spoken since the short exchange on Daneel before the meal had been served. —And there was no use in small talk about napkins.

  Baley said, rather gruffly, “Are you a barber, Mr. Gremionis?”

  Gremionis flushed, his light skin reddening to the hairline. He said in a choked voice, “Who told you that?”

  Baley said, “If that is an impolite way of referring to your profession, I apologize. It is a common way of speaking on Earth and is no insult there.”

  Gremionis said, “I am a hair designer and a clothing designer. It is a recognized branch of art. I am, in fact, a personnel artist.” His finger went to his mustache again.

  Baley said gravely, “I notice your mustache. Is it common to grow them on Aurora?”

  “No, it is not. I hope it will become so. You take your masculine face— A great many of them can be strengthened and improved by the artful design of facial hair. Everything is in the design—that's part of my profession. You can go too far, of course. On the world of Pallas, facial hair is common, but it is the practice there to indulge in parti-colored dying. Each individual hair is separately dyed to produce some sort of mixture. —Now, that's foolish. It doesn't last, the colors change with time, and it looks terrible. But even so, it's better than facial baldness in some ways. Nothing is less attractive than a facial desert. —That's my own phrase. I use it in my personal talks with potential clients and it's very effective. Females can get by with no facial hair because they make up for it in other ways. On the world of Smitheus—”

  There was a hypnotic quality to his quiet, rapid words and his earnest expression, the way in which his eyes widened and remained fixed on Baley with an intense sincerity. Baley had to shake loose with an almost physical force.

  He said, “Are you a roboticist, Mr. Gremionis?”

  Gremionis looked startled and a little confused at being interrupted in midflow. “A roboticist?”

  “Yes. A roboticist.”

  “No, not at all. I use robots as everyone does, but I don't know whit's inside them. —Don't care really.”

  “But you live here on the grounds of the Robotics Institute. How is that?”

  “Why shouldn't I?” Gremionis’ voice was measurably more hostile.

  “If you're not a roboticist—”

  Gremionis grimaced. “That's stupid! The Institute, when it was designed some years ago, was intended to be a self-contained community. We have our own transport vehicle repair shops, our own personal robot maintenance shops, our own physicians, our own structuralists. Our personnel live here and, if they have use for a personnel artist, that's Santirix Gremionis and I live here, too. —Is there something wrong with my profession that I should not?”

  “I haven't said that.”

  Gremionis turned away with a residual petulance that Baley's hasty disclaimer had not allayed. He pressed a button, then, after studying a varicolored rectangular strip, did something that was remarkably like drumming his fingers briefly.

  A sphere dropped gently from the ceiling and remained suspended a meter or so above their heads. It opened as though it were an orange that was unsegmenting and a play of colors began within it, together with a soft wash of sound. The two melted together so skillfully that Baley, watching with astonishment, discovered that, after a short while, it was hard to distinguish one from the other.

  The windows opacified and the segments grew brighter.

  “Too bright?” asked Gremionis.

  “No,” said Baley, after some hesitation.

  “It's meant for background and I've picked a soothing combination that will make it easier for us to talk in a civilized way, you know.” Then he said briskly, “Shall we get to the point?”

  Baley withdrew his attention from the—whatever it was (Gremionis had not given it a name)—with some difficulty and said, “If you please. I would like to.”

  “Have you been accusing me of having anything to do with the immobilization of that robot Jander?”

  “I've been inquiring into the circumstances of the robot's ending.”

  “But you've mentioned me m connection with that ending. —In fact, just a little while ago, you asked me if I were a roboticist. I know what you had in mind. You were trying to get me to admit I knew something about robotics, so that you could build up a case against me as the—as the—ender of the robot.”

  “You might say killer.”

  “The killer? You can't kill a robot. —In any case, I didn't end it, or kill it^ or anything you want to call it. I told you, I'm not a roboticist. I know nothing about robotics. How can you even think that—”

  “I must investigate all connections, Mr. Gremionis. Jander belonged to Gladia—the Solarian woman—and you were friendly with her. That's a connection.”

  “There could be any number of people friendly with her. That's no connection.”

  “Are you willing to state that you never saw Jander in all the times you may have been in Gladia's establishment?”

  “Never! Not once!”

  “You never knew she had a humaniform robot?”

  “No!”

  “She never mentioned him.”

  “She had robots all over the place. All ordinary robots. She said nothing about having anything else,”

  Baley shrugged. “Very well. I have no reason—so far—to suppose that that is not the truth.”

  “Then say so to Gladia. That is why I wanted to see you. To ask you to do that. To insist.”

  “Has Gladia any reason to think otherwise?”

  “Of course. You poisoned her mind. You questioned her about me in that connection and she assumed—she was made uncertain— The fact is, she called this morning and asked me if I had anything to do with it. I told you that.”

  “And you denied it?”

  “Of course I denied it and very strenuously, too, because I didn't have anything to do with it. But it's not convincing if I do the denying. I want you to do it. I want you to tell her that, in your opinion, I had nothing to do with the whole business. You just said I didn't and you can't, without any evidence at all, destroy my reputation. I can report you.”

  “To whom?”

  “To the Committee on Personal Defense. To the Legislature. The head of this Institute is a close personal friend of the Chairman himself and I've already sent a full report to him on this matter. I'm not waiting, you understand. I'm taking action.”

  Gremionis shook his head with an attitude that might have been intended for fierceness but that did not entirely carry conviction, considering the mildness of his face. “Look,” he said, “this isn't Earth. We are protected here. Your planet, with its overpopulation, makes your people exist in so many beehives, so many anthills. You push against each other, suffocate each other—and it doesn't matter. One life or a million lives—it doesn't matter.”

  Baley, fighting to keep contempt from showing in his voice, said, “You've been reading historical novels.”

  “Of course I have—and they describe it as it is. You can't have billions of people on a single world without its being so. —On Aurora, we are each a valuable life. We are protected physically, each of us, by our robots, so that there is never an assault, let alone murder, on Aurora.”

  “Except for Jander.”

  “That's not murder^ it's only a robot. And we are protected from the kinds of harm more subtle than assault by our Legislature. The Committee on Personal Defense takes a dim view—a very dim view—of any action that unfairly damages the reputation or the social status of any individual citizen. An Auroran, acting as you did, would be in trouble enough. As for
an Earthman—well—”

  Baley said, “I am carrying on an investigation at the invitation, I presume, of the Legislature. I don't suppose Dr. Fastolfe could have brought me here without Legislative permission.”

  “Maybe so, but that wouldn't give you the right to overstep the limits of fair investigation.”

  “Are you going to put this up to the Legislature, then?”

  “I'm going to have the Institute head—”

  “What is his name, by the way?”

  “Kelden Amadiro. Pm going to ask him to put it up to the Legislature—and he's in the Legislature, you know—he's one of the leaders of the Globalist party. So I think you had better make it plain to Gladia that I am completely innocent.”

  “I would like to, Mr. Gremionis, because I suspect that you are innocent, but how can I change suspicion to certainty, unless you will allow me to ask you some questions?”

  Gremionis hesitated. Then, with an air of defiance, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck, the picture of a man utterly failing to appear at ease. He said, “Ask away. I have nothing to hide. And after you're done, you'll have to call Gladia, right on that trimensional transmitter behind you and say your piece—or you will be in more trouble than you can imagine.”

  “I understand. But first— How long have you known Dr. Vasilia Fastolfe, Mr. Gremionis? Or Dr. Vasilia Aliena, if you know her by that name?”

  Gremionis hesitated, then said in a tense voice, “Why do you ask that? What does that have to do with it?”

  Baley sighed and his dour face seemed to sadden further. “I remind you, Mr. Gremionis, that you have nothing to hide and that you want to convince me of your innocence, so that I can convince Gladia of the same. Just tell me how long you have known her. If you have not known her, just say so—but before you do, it is only fair to tell you that Dr. Vasilia has stated that you knew her well—well enough, at least, to offer yourself to her.”

  Gremionis looked chagrined. He said in a shaky voice, “I don't know why people have to make a big thing out of it. An offer is a perfectly natural social interaction that concerns no one else. —-Of course, you're an Earth-man, so you'd make a fuss about it.”

  “I understand she didn't accept your offer.”

  Gremionis brought his hands down upon his lap, fists clenched. “Accepting or rejecting is entirely up to her. There've been people who've offered themselves to me and whom I've rejected. It's no large matter.”

  “Well, then. How long have you known her?”

  “For some years. About fifteen.”

  “Did you know her when she was still living with Dr. Fastolfe?”

  “I was just a boy then,” he said, flushing.

  “How did you get to know her?”

  “When I finished my training as a personnel artist, I mwas called in to design a wardrobe for her. It gave her pleasure and after that she used my services—in that respect—exclusively.”

  “Was it on her recommendation, then, that you received your present position as—might we say—official personnel artist for the members of the Robotics Institute?”

  “She recognized my qualifications. I was tested, along with others, and won the position on my merits.”

  “But she did recommend you?”

  Briefly and with annoyance, Gremionis said, “Yes.”

  “And you felt the only decent return you could make was to offer yourself to her.”

  Gremionis grimaced and drew his tongue across his lips, as though tasting something unpleasant. “That—is— disgusting! I suppose an Earthman would think in such a way. My offer meant only that it pleased me to do so.”

  “Because she is attractive and has a warm personality?”

  Gremionis hesitated. “Well, I wouldn't say she has a warm personality,” he said cautiously, “but certainly she's attractive.”

  “I've been told that you offer yourself to everybody— without distinction.”

  “That is a lie.”

  “What is a lie? That you offer yourself to everybody or that I have been told so?”

  “That I offer myself to everybody. Who said that?”

  “I don't know that it would serve any purpose to answer that question. Would you expect me to quote you as a source of embarrassing information? Would you speak freely to me if you thought I would?”

  “Well, whoever said it is a liar.”

  “Perhaps it was merely dramatic exaggeration. Had you offered yourself to others before you offered yourself to Dr. Vasilia?”

  Gremionis looked away. “Once or twice. Never seriously.”

  “But Dr. Vasilia was someone you were serious about?”

  “Well—”

  “It is my understanding you offered yourself to her repeatedly, which is quite against Auroran custom.”

  “Oh, Auroran custom—” Gremionis began furiously. Then he pressed his lips together firmly and his forehead furrowed. “See here, Mr. Baley, can I speak to you confidentially?”

  “Yes. All my questions are intended to satisfy myself that you had nothing to do with Jander's death. Once I am satisfied of that, you may be sure I'll keep your remarks in confidence.”

  “Very well, then. It's nothing wrong—it's nothing I'm ashamed of, you understand. It's just that I have a strong sense of privacy and I have a right to that if I wish, don't I?”

  “Absolutely,” said Baley consolingly.

  “You see, I feel that social sex is best when there is a profound love and affection between partners.”

  “I imagine that's very true.”

  “And then there's no need for others, wouldn't you say?”

  “It sounds—plausible.”

  “I've always dreamed of finding the perfect partner and never seeking anyone else. They call it monogamy. It doesn't exist on Aurora, but on some worlds it does—and they have it on Earth don't they, Mr. Baley?”

  “In theory, Mr. Gremionis.”

  “It's what I want. I've looked for it for years. When I experimented with sex sometimes, I could tell something was missing. Then I met Dr. Vasilia and she told me— well, people get confidential with their personnel artists because it's very personal work—and this is the really confidential part—”

  “Well, go on.”

  Gremionis licked his lips. “If what I say now gets out, I'm ruined. She'll do her best to see to it that I get no further commissions. Are you sure this has something to do with the case?”

  “I assure you with as much force as I can, Mr. Gremionis, that this can be totally important.”

  “Well, then“—Gremionis did not look quite convinced—”the fact is, that I gathered from what Dr. Vasilia told me, in bits and pieces, that she is“—his voice dropped to a whisper—”a virgin.”

  “I see,” said Baley quietly (remembering Vasilia's certainty that her father's refusal had distorted her life and getting a firmer understanding of her hatred of her father).

  “That excited me. It seemed to me I could have her all to myself and I would be the only one that she would ever have. I can't explain how much that meant to me. It made her look gloriously beautiful in my eyes and I just wanted her so much.”

  “So you offered yourself to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Repeatedly. You weren't discouraged by her refusals?”

  “It just reinforced her virginity, so to speak, and made me more eager. It was more exciting that it wasn't easy. I can't explain and I don't expect you to understand.”

  “Actually, Mr. Gremionis, I do understand. —But there came a time when you stopped offering yourself to Dr. Vasilia?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And began offering yourself to Gladia?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Repeatedly?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Why? Why the change?”

  Gremionis said, “Dr. Vasilia finally made it clear that there was no chance and then Gladia came along and she looked like Dr. Vasilia and—and—that
was it.”

  Baley said, “But Gladia is no virgin. She was married on Solaria and she experimented rather widely on Aurora, I am told.”

  “I knew about that, but she—stopped. You see, she's a Solarian by birth, not an Auroran, and she didn't quite understand Auroran customs. But she stopped because she doesn't like what she calls ‘promiscuity.’ ”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes. Monogamy is the custom on Solaria. She wasn't happily married, but it is still the custom she's used to, so she never enjoyed the Auroran way when she tried it—and monogamy is what I want, too. Do you see?”

  “I see. But how did you meet her in the first place?”

  “I just met her. She was on the hyperwave when she arrived in Aurora, a romantic refugee from Solaria. And she played a part in that hyperwave drama—”

  “Yes yes, but there was something else, wasn't there?”

  “I don't know what else you want.”

  “Well, let me guess. Didn't there come a point when Dr. Vasilia said she was rejecting you forever—and didn't she suggest an alternative to you?”

  Gremionis, in sudden fury, shouted, “Did Dr. Vasilia tell you that}”

  “Not in so many words, but I think I know what happened, even so. Did she not tell you that it might be advantageous if you looked up a new arrival on the planet, a young lady from Solaria who was a ward or protegee of Dr. Fastolfe—who you know is Dr. Vasilia's father? Did Dr. Vasilia perhaps not tell you that people thought this young lady, Gladia, rather resembled herself, but that she was younger and had a warmer personality? Did Dr. Vasilia not, in short, encourage you to transfer your attentions from herself to Gladia?”

  Gremionis was visibly suffering. His eyes flicked to those of Baley and away again. It was the first time that Baley saw in the eyes of any Spacer a look of fright—or was it awe? (Baley shook his head slightly. He must not take too much satisfaction at having overawed a Spacer. It could damage his objectivity.)