Asimov’s Future History Volume 4

by Isaac Asimov

  The sudden realization that he was very far from Earth and very close to Aurora filled Baley with a desire to see the Spacer world.

  Partly, it was the desire to see somewhere people lived. Partly, it was a natural curiosity to see something that had been filling his thoughts as a result of the book-films he had been viewing.

  Giskard entered just then with the middle meal between waking and sleeping (call it “lunch”) and said, “We are approaching Aurora, sir, but it will not be possible for you to observe it from the bridge. There would, in any case, be nothing to see. Aurora’s sun is merely a bright star and it will be several days before we are near enough to Aurora itself to see any detail.” Then he added, as though in afterthought, “It will not be possible for you to observe it from the bridge at that time, either.”

  Baley felt strangely abashed. Apparently, it was assumed he would want to observe and that want was simply squashed. His presence as a viewer was not desired.

  He said, “Very well, Giskard,” and the robot left.

  Baley looked after him somberly. How many other constraints would be placed on him? Improbable as successful completion of his task was, he wondered in how many different ways Aurorans would conspire to make it impossible.

  3: Giskard

  9.

  BALEY TURNED AND said to Daneel, “It annoys me, Daneel, that I must remain a prisoner here because the Aurorans on board this ship fear me as a source of infection. This is pure superstition. I have been treated.”

  Daneel said, “It is not because of Auroran fears that you are being asked to remain in your cabin, Partner Elijah.”

  “No? What other reason?”

  “Perhaps you remember that, when we first met on this ship, you asked me my reasons for being sent to escort you. I said it was to give you something familiar as an anchor and to please me. I was then about to tell you the third reason, when Giskard interrupted us with your viewer and viewing material–and thereafter we launched into a discussion of roboticide.”

  “And you never told me the third reason. What is it?”

  “Why, Partner Elijah, it is merely that I might help protect you.”

  “Against what?”

  “Unusual passions have been stirred by the incident we have agreed to call roboticide. You are being called to Aurora to help demonstrate Dr. Fastolfe’s innocence. And the hyperwave drama–”

  “Jehoshaphat, Daneel,” said Baley in outrage. “Have they seen that thing on Aurora, too?”

  “They have seen it throughout the Spacer worlds, Partner Elijah. It was a most popular program and has made it quite plain that you are a most extraordinary investigator.”

  “So that whoever might be behind the roboticide may well have exaggerated fears of what I might accomplish and might therefore risk a great deal to prevent my arrival–or to kill me.”

  “Dr. Fastolfe,” said Daneel calmly, “is quite convinced that no one is behind the roboticide, since no human being other than himself could have carried it through. It was a purely fortuitous occurrence, in Dr. Fastolfe’s view. However, there are those who are trying to capitalize on the occurrence and it would be to their interest to keep you from proving that. For that reason, you must be protected.”

  Baley took a few hasty steps to one wall of the room and then back to the other, as though to speed his thought processes by physical example. Somehow he did not feel any sense of personal danger.

  He said, “Daneel, how many humaniform robots are there all together on Aurora?”

  “Do you mean now that Jander no longer functions?”

  “Yes, now that Jander is dead.”

  “One, Partner Elijah.”

  Baley stared at Daneel in shock. Soundlessly, he mouthed the word: One?

  Finally, he said, “Let me understand this, Daneel. You are the only humaniform robot on Aurora?”

  “Or on any world, Partner Elijah. I thought you were aware of this. I was the prototype and then Jander was constructed. Since then, Dr. Fastolfe has refused to construct any more and no one else has the skill to do it.”

  “But in that case, since of two humaniform robots, one has been killed, does it not occur to Dr. Fastolfe that the remaining humaniform–you, Daneel–might be in danger.”

  “He recognizes the possibility. But the chance that the fantastically unlikely occurrence of mental freeze-out would take place a second time is remote. He doesn’t take it seriously. He feels, however, that there might be a chance of other misadventure. That, I think, played some small part in his sending me to Earth to get you. It kept me away from Aurora for a week or so.”

  “And you are now as much a prisoner as I am, aren’t you, Daneel?’

  “I am a prisoner,” said Daneel gravely, “only in the sense, Partner Elijah, that I am expected not to leave this room.”

  “In what other sense is one a prisoner?”

  “In the sense that the person so restricted in his movements resents the restriction. A true imprisonment has the implication of being involuntary. I quite understand the reason for being here and I concur in the necessity.”

  “You do,” grumbled Baley. “I do not. I am a prisoner in the full sense. And what keeps us safe here, anyway?’

  “For one thing, Partner Elijah, Giskard is on duty outside.”

  “Is he intelligent enough for the job?”

  “He understands his orders entirely. He is rugged and strong and quite realizes the importance of his task.”

  “You mean he is prepared to be destroyed to protect the two of us?’

  “Yes, of course, just as I am prepared to be destroyed to protect you.”

  Baley felt abashed. He said, “You do not resent the situation in which you may be forced to give up your existence for me?”

  “It is my programming, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel in a voice that seemed to soften, “yet somehow it seems to me that, even were it not for my programming, saving you makes the loss of my own existence seem quite trivial in comparison.”

  Baley could not resist this. He held out his hand and closed it on Daneel’s with a fierce grip. “Thank you, Partner Daneel, but please do not allow it to happen. I do not wish the loss of your existence. The preservation of my own would be inadequate compensation, it seems to me.”

  And Baley was amazed to discover that he really meant it. He was faintly horrified to realize that he would be ready to risk his life for a robot.–No, not for a robot. For Daneel.

  10

  GISKARD ENTERED WITHOUT signaling. Baley had come to accept that. The robot, as his guard, had to be able to come and go as he pleased. And Giskard was only a robot, in Baley’s eyes, however much he might be a “he” and however much one did not mention the “R.” If Baley were scratching himself, picking his nose, engaged in any messy biological function, it seemed to him that Giskard would be indifferent, nonjudgmental, incapable of reacting in any way, but coldly recording the observation in some inner memory bank.

  It made Giskard simply a piece of mobile furniture and Baley felt no embarrassment in his presence.–Not that Giskard had ever intruded on him at an inconvenient moment, Baley thought idly.

  Giskard brought a small cubicle with him. “Sir, I suspect that you still wish to observe Aurora from space.”

  Baley started. No doubt, Daneel had noted Baley’s irritation and had deduced its cause and taken this way of dealing with it. To have Giskard do it and present it as an idea of his simpleminded own was a touch of delicacy on Daneel’s part. It would free Baley of the necessity of expressing gratitude. Or so Daneel would think.

  Baley had, as a matter of fact, been more irritated at being, to his way of thinking, needlessly kept from the view of Aurora than at being kept imprisoned generally. He had been fretting over the loss of the view during the two days since the Jump.

  –So he turned and said to Daneel, “Thank you, my friend.”

  “It was Giskard’s idea,” said Daneel.

  “Yes, of course,” said Baley with a sm
all smile. “I thank him, too. What is this, Giskard?”

  “It is an astrosimulator, sir. It works essentially like a trimensional receiver and is connected to the viewroom. If I might add–”

  “Yes?”

  “You will not find the view particularly exciting, sir. I would not wish you to be unnecessarily disappointed.”

  “I will try not to expect too much, Giskard. In any case, I will not hold you responsible for any disappointment I might feel.”

  “Thank you, sir. I must return to my post, but Daneel will be able to help you with the instrument if any problem arises.”

  He left and Baley turned to Daneel with approval. “Giskard handled that very well, I thought. He may be a simple model, but he’s well-designed.”

  “He, too, is a Fastolfe robot, Partner Elijah.–This astrosimulator is self-contained and self-adjusted. Since it is already focused on Aurora, it is only necessary to touch the control-edge. That will put it in operation and you need do nothing more. Would you care to set it going yourself?”

  Baley shrugged. “No need. You may do it.”

  “Very well.”

  Daneel had placed the cubicle upon the table on which Baley had done his book-film viewing.

  “This,” he said, indicating a small rectangle in his hand, “is the control, Partner Elijah. You need only hold it by the edges in this manner and then exert a small inward pressure to turn the mechanism on–and then another to turn it off.”

  Daneel pressed the control-edge and Baley shouted in a strangled way.

  Baley had expected the cubicle to light up and to display within itself a holographic representation of a star field. That was not what happened. Instead, Baley found himself in space–in space–with bright, unblinking stars in all directions.

  It lasted for only a moment and then everything was back as it was: the room and, within it, Baley, Daneel, and the cubicle.

  “My regrets, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel. “I turned it off as soon as I understood your discomfort. I did not realize you were not prepared for the event.”

  “Then prepare me. What happened?”

  “The astrosimulator works directly on the visual center of the human brain. There is no way of distinguishing the impression it leaves from three-dimensional reality. It is a comparatively recent device and so far it has been used only for astronomical scenes which are, after all, low in detail.”

  “Did you see it, too, Daneel?”

  “Yes, but very poorly and without the realism a human being experiences. I see the dim outline of a scene superimposed upon the still-clear contents of the room, but it has been explained to me that human beings see the scene only. Undoubtedly, when the brains of those such as myself arc still more finely tuned and adjusted–”

  Baley had recovered his equilibrium. “The point is, Daneel, that I was aware of nothing else. I was not aware of myself. I did not see my hands or sense where they were. I felt as though

  I were a disembodied spirit or–er–as I imagine I would feel if

  I were dead but were consciously existing in some sort of immaterial afterlife.”

  “I see now why you would find that rather disturbing.”

  “Actually, I found it very disturbing.”

  “My regrets, Partner Elijah. I shall have Giskard take this away.”

  “No. I’m prepared now. Let me have that cube.–Will I be able to turn it off, even though I am not conscious of the existence of my hands?”

  “It will cling to your hand, so that you will not drop it, Partner Elijah. I have been told by Dr. Fastolfe, who has experienced this phenomenon, that the pressure is automatically applied when the human being holding it wills an end. It is an automatic phenomenon based on nerve manipulation, as the vision itself is. At least, that is how it works with Aurorans and I imagine–”

  “That Earthmen are sufficiently similar to Aurorans, physiologically, for it to work with us as well.–Very well, give me the control and I will try.”

  With a slight internal wince, Baley squeezed the control-edge and was in space again. He was expecting it this time and, once he found he could breathe without difficulty and did not feel in any way as though he were immersed in a vacuum, he labored to accept it all as a visual illusion. Breathing rather stertorously (perhaps to convince himself he was actually breathing), he stared about curiously in all directions.

  Suddenly aware he was hearing his breath rasp in his nose, he said, “Can you hear me, Daneel?”

  He heard his own voice–a little distant, a little artificial–but he heard it.

  And then he heard Daneel’s, different enough to be distinguishable.

  “Yes, I can,” said Daneel. “And you should be able to hear me, Partner Elijah. The visual and kinesthetic senses arc interfered with for the sake of a greater illusion of reality, but the auditory sense remains untouched. Largely so, at any rate.”

  “Well, I see only stars–ordinary stars, that is. Aurora has a sun. We are close enough to Aurora, I imagine, to make the star that is its sun considerably brighter than the others.”

  “Entirely too bright,. Partner Elijah. It is blanked out or you might suffer retina! damage.”

  “Then where is the planet Aurora?”

  “Do you see the constellation of Orion?”

  “Yes, I do.–Do you mean we still see the constellations as we see them in Earth’s sky, as in the City planetarium?”

  “Just about. As stellar distances go, we are not far from Earth and the Solar System of which it is part, so that they have the starview in common. Aurora’s sun is known as Tau Ceti on Earth and is only 3.67 parsecs from there.–Now if you’ll imagine a line from Betelgeuse to the middle star of Orion’s belt and continue it for an equal length and a bit more, the middling-bright star you see is actually the planet Aurora. It will become increasingly unmistakable over the next few days, as we approach it rapidly.”

  Baley regarded it gravely. It was just a bright starlike object. There was no luminous arrow, going on and off, pointing to it. There was no carefully lettered inscription arced over it.

  He said, “Where’s the sun? Earth’s star, I mean.”

  “It’s in the constellation Virgo, as seen from Aurora. It is a second-magnitude star. Unfortunately, the astrosimulator we have is not properly computerized and it would not be easy to point it out to you. It would, in any case, just appear to be a star, quite an ordinary one.”

  “Never mind,” said Baley. “I am going to turn off this thing now. If I have trouble–help out.”

  He didn’t have trouble. It flicked off just as he thought of doing so and he sat blinking in the suddenly harsh light of the room.

  It was only then, when he had returned to his normal senses, that it occurred to him that for some minutes he had seemed to himself to have been out in space, without a protecting wall of any kind, and yet his Earthly agoraphobia had not been activated. He had been perfectly comfortable, once he had accepted his own nonexistence.

  The thought puzzled him and distracted him from his bookfilm viewing for a while.

  Periodically, he returned to the astrosimulator and took another look at space as seen from a vantage point just outside the spaceship, with himself nowhere present (apparently). Sometimes it was just for a moment, to reassure himself that he was still not made uneasy by the infinite void. Sometimes he found himself lost in the pattern of the stars and he began lazily counting them or forming geometrical figures, rather luxuriating in the ability to do something which, on Earth, he would never have been able to do because the mounting agoraphobic uneasiness would quickly have overwhelmed everything else.

  Eventually, it grew quite obvious that Aurora was brightening. It soon became easy to detect among the other dots of light, then unmistakable, and finally unavoidable. It began as a tiny sliver of light and, thereafter, it enlarged rapidly and began to show phases.

  It was almost precisely a half-circle of light when Baley became aware of the existence of phases.


  Baley inquired and Daneel said, “We are approaching from outside the orbital plane, Partner Elijah. Aurora’s south pole is more or less in the center of its disk, somewhat into the lighted half. It is spring in the southern hemisphere.”

  Baley said, “According to the material I have been reading, Aurora’s axis is tipped sixteen degrees.” He had glanced over the physical description of the planet with insufficient attention in his anxiety to get to the Aurorans, but he remembered that.

  “Yes, Partner Elijah. Eventually, we will move into orbit about Aurora and the phases will then change rapidly. Aurora revolves more rapidly than Earth does–”

  “It has a 22-hour day. Yes.”

  “A day of 22.3 traditional hours. The Auroran day is divided into 10 Auroran hours, with each hour divided into 100 Auroran minutes, which are, in turn, divided into 100 Auroran seconds. An Auroran second is thus roughly equal to o. 8 Earth seconds.”

  “Is that what the books mean when they refer to metric hours, metric minutes, and so on?”

  “Yes. It was difficult to persuade the Aurorans, at first, to abandon the time units to which they were accustomed and both systems–the standard and the metric–were in use. Eventually, of course, the metric won out. At present we speak only of hours, minutes, and seconds, but the decimalized versions are invariably meant. The same system has been adopted throughout the Spacer worlds, even though, on the other worlds, it does not tie in with the natural rotation of the planet. Each planet also uses a local system, of course.”

  “As Earth does.”

  “Yes, Partner Elijah, but Earth uses only the original standard time units. That inconveniences the Spacer worlds where trade is concerned, but they allow Earth to go its way in this.”

  “Not out of friendliness, I imagine. I suspect they wish to emphasize Earth’s difference.–How does decimalization fit in with the year? After all, Aurora must have a natural period of revolution about its sun that controls the cycle of its seasons. How is that measured?’