The Robots of Dawn trs-3

by Isaac Asimov

  “And you hated him for that?”

  “No. Not at first. Not for years. Even though my sexual development was stunted and distorted, with effects I feel to this day, I did not blame him. I did not know enough. I found excuses for him. He was busy. He had others. He needed older women. You would be astonished at the ingenuity with which I uncovered reasons for his refusal. It was only years later that I became aware that something was wrong and I managed to bring it out openly, face-to-face. ‘Why did you refuse me?’ I asked. Obliging me might have put me on the right track, solved everything.”

  She paused, swallowing, and for a moment covered her eyes. Baley waited, frozen with embarrassment. The robots were expressionless (incapable, for all Baley knew, of experiencing any balance or imbalance of the positronic pathways that would produce a sensation in any way analogous to human embarrassment).

  She said, calmer, “He avoided the question for as long as he could, but I faced him with it over and over. ‘Why did you refuse me?’ ‘Why did you refuse me?’ He had no hesitation in engaging in sex. I knew of several occasions—I remember wondering if he simply preferred men. Where children are not involved, personal preference in such things is not of any importance and some men can find women distasteful or, for that matter, vice versa. It was not so with this man you call my father, however. He enjoyed women—sometimes young women—as young as I was when I first offered myself. ‘Why did you refuse me?’ He finally answered me—and you are welcome to guess what that answer was.”

  She paused and waited sardonically.

  Baley stirred uneasily and said in a mumble, “He didn’t want to make love to his daughter?”

  “Oh, don’t be a fool. What difference does that make? Considering that hardly any man on Aurora knows who his daughter is, any man making love to any woman a few decades younger might be—But never mind, it’s self-evident.—What he answered—and oh, how I remember the words—was ‘You great fool! If I involved myself with you in that manner, how could I maintain my objectivity—and of what use would my continuing study of you be?’

  “By that time, you see, I knew of his interest in the human brain. I was even following in his footsteps and becoming a roboticist in my own right. I worked with Giskard in this direction and experimented with his programming. I did it very well, too, didn’t I, Giskard?”

  Giskard said, “So you did, Little Miss.”

  “But I could see that this man whom you call my father did not view me as a human being. He was willing to see me distorted for life, rather than risk his objectivity. His observations meant more to him than my nonnality. From that time on, I knew what I was and what he was—and I left him.”

  The silence hung heavy in the air.

  Baley’s head was throbbing slightly. He wanted to ask: could you not take into account the self-centeredness of a great scientist? The importance of a great problem? Could you make no allowances for something spoken perhaps in irritation at being forced to discuss what one did not want to discuss? Was not Vasilia’s own anger just now much the same thing? Did not Vasilia’s concentration on her own “normality” (whatever she meant by that) to the exclusion of perhaps the two most important problems facing humanity—the nature of the human brain and the settling of the Galaxy—represent an equal self–centeredness with much less excuse?

  But he could ask none of those things. He did not know how to put it so that it would make real sense to this woman, nor was he sure he would understand her if she answered.

  What was he doing on this world? He could not understand their ways, no matter how they explained. Nor could they understand his.

  He said wearily, “I am sorry, Dr. Vasilia. I understand that you are angry, but if you would dismiss your anger for a moment and consider, instead, the matter of Dr. Fastolfe and the murdered robot, could you not see that we are dealing with two different things? Dr. Fastolfe might have wanted to observe you in a detached and objective way, even at the cost of your unhappiness, and yet be light-years removed from the desire to destroy an advanced humaniform robot.”

  Vasilia reddened. She shouted, “Don’t you understand what I’m telling you, Earthman? Do you think I have told you what I have just told you because I think you—or anyone—would be interested in the sad story of my life? For that matter, do you think I enjoy revealing myself in this manner?

  “I’m telling you this only to show you that Dr. Han Fastolfe—my biological father, as you never tire of pointing out—did destroy Jander. Of course he did. I have refrained from saying so because no one—until you—was idiot enough to ask me and because of some foolish remnant of consideration I have for that man. But now that you have asked me, I say so and, by Aurora, I will continue to say so—to anyone and everyone. Publicly, if necessary.

  “Dr. Han Fastolfe did destroy Jander Panell. I am certain of it. Does that satisfy you?”

  42

  Baley stared at the distraught woman in horror.

  He stuttered and began again. “I don’t understand at all, Dr. Vasilia. Please quiet down and consider. Why should Dr. Fastolfe destroy the robot? What has that to do with his treatment of you? Do you imagine it is some kind of retaliation against you?”

  Vasilia was breathing rapidly (Baley noted absently and without conscious intention that, although Vasilia was as smallboned as Gladia was, her breasts were larger) and she seemed to wrench at her voice to keep it under control.

  She said, “I told you, Earthman, did I not, that Han Fastolfe was interested in observing the human brain? He did not hesitate to put it under stress in order to observe the results. And he preferred brains that were out of the ordinary—that of an infant, for instance—so that he might watch their development. Any brain but a commonplace one.”

  “But what has that to do—”

  “Ask yourself, then, why he gained this interest in the foreign woman.”

  “In Gladia? I asked him and he told me. She reminded him of you and the resemblance is indeed distinct.”

  “And when you told me this earlier, I was amused and asked if you believed him? I ask again. Do you believe him?”

  “Why shouldn’t I believe him?”

  “Because it’s not true. The resemblance may have attracted his attention, but the real key to his interest is that the foreign woman is—foreign. She had been brought up in Solaria, under assumptions and social axioms not like those on Aurora. He could therefore study a brain that was differently molded from ours and could gain an interesting perspective. Don’t you understand that?—For that matter, why is he interested in you, Earthman? Is he silly enough to imagine that you can solve an Auroran problem when you know nothing about Aurora?”

  Daneel suddenly intervened again and Baley started at the sound of the other’s voice. Daneel said, “Dr. Vasilia, Partner Elijah solved a problem on Solaria, though he knew nothing of Solaria.”

  “Yes,” said Vasilia sourly, “so all the worlds noted on that hyperwave program. And lightning may strike, too, but I don’t think that Han Fastolfe is confident it will strike twice in the same place in rapid succession. No, Earthman, he was attracted to you, in the first place, because you are an Earthman. You possess another alien brain he can study and manipulate.”

  “Surely you cannot believe, Dr. Vasilia, that he would risk matters of vital importance to Aurora and call in someone he knew to be useless, merely to study an unusual brain.”

  “Of course he would. Isn’t that the whole point of what I am telling you? There is no crisis that could face Aurora that he would believe, for a single moment, to be as important as solving the problem of the brain. I can tell you exactly what he would say if you were to ask him. Aurora might rise or fall; flourish or decay, and that would all be of little concern compared to the problem of the brain, for if human beings really understood the brain, all that might have been lost in the course of a millennium of neglect or wrong decisions would be regained in a decade of cleverly directed human development guided by his dream of ‘psycho
history.’ He would use the same argument to justify anything—lies, cruelty, anything—by merely saying that it is all intended to serve the purpose of advancing the knowledge of the brain.”

  “I can’t imagine that Dr. Fastolfe would be cruel. He is the gentlest of men.”

  “Is he? How long have you been with him?”

  Baley said, “A few hours on Earth three years ago. A day, now, here on Aurora.”

  “A whole day. A whole day. I was with him for thirty years almost constantly and I have followed his career from a distance with some attention ever since. And you have been with him a whole day, Earthman? Well, on that one day, has he done nothing that frightened or humiliated you?”

  Baley kept silent. He thought of the sudden attack with the spicer from which Daneel had rescued him; of the Personal that presented him with such difficulty, thanks to its masked nature; the extended walk Outside designed to test his ability to adapt to the open.

  Vasilia said, “I see he did. Your face, Earthman, is not quite the mask of disguise you may think it is. Did he threaten you with a Psychic Probe?”

  Baley said, “It was mentioned.”

  “One day—and it was already mentioned. I assume it made you feel uneasy?”

  “It did.”

  “And that there was no reason to mention it?”

  “Oh, but there was,” said Baley quickly. “I had said that, for a moment, I had a thought which I then lost and it was certainly legitimate to suggest that a Psychic Probe might help me relocate that thought.”

  Vasilia said, “No, it wasn’t. The Psychic Probe cannot be used with sufficient delicacy of touch for that—and, if it were attempted, the chances would be considerable that there would be permanent brain damage.”

  “Surely not if it were wielded by an expert—by Dr. Fastolfe, for instance.”

  “By him? He doesn’t know one end of the Probe from the other. He is a theoretician, not a technician.”

  “By someone else, then. He did not, in actual fact, specify himself.”

  “No, Earthman. By no one. Think! Think! If the Psychic Probe could be used on human beings safely by anyone, and if Han Fastolfe were so concerned about the problem of the inactivation of the robot, then why didn’t he suggest the Psychic Probe be used on himself?”

  “On himself?”

  “Don’t tell me this hasn’t occurred to you? Any thinking person would come to the conclusion that Fastolfe is guilty. The only point in favor of his innocence is that he himself insists he is innocent. Well, then, why does he not offer to prove his innocence by being psychically probed and showing that no trace of guilt can be dredged up from the recesses of his brain? Has he suggested such a thing, Earthman?”

  “No, he hasn’t. At least, not to me.”

  “Because he knows very well that it is deadly dangerous. Yet he does not hesitate to suggest it in your case, merely to observe how your brain works under pressure, how you react to fright. Or perhaps it occurs to him that, however dangerous the Probe is to you, it may come up with some interesting data for him, as far as the details of your Earth-molded brain are concerned. Tell me, then, isn’t that cruel?”

  Baley brushed it aside with a tight gesture of his right arm. “How does this apply to the actual case—to the roboticide?”

  “The Solarian woman, Gladia, caught my onetime father’s eye. She had an interesting brain—for his purposes. He therefore gave her the robot, Jander, to see what would happen if a woman not raised on Aurora were faced with a robot that seemed human in every particular. He knew that an Auroran woman would very likely make use of the robot for sex immediately and have no trouble doing so. I myself would have some trouble, I admit, because I was not brought up normally, but no ordinary Auroran would. The Solarian woman, on the other hand, would have a great deal of trouble because she was brought up on an extremely robotic world and had unusually rigid mental attitudes toward robots. The difference, you see, might be very instructive to my father, who tried, out of these variations, to build his theory of brain functioning. Han Fastolfe waited half a year for the Solarian woman to get to the point where she could perhaps begin making the first experimental approaches—”

  Baley interrupted. “Your father knew nothing at all about the relationship between Gladia and Jander.”

  “Who told you that, Earthman? My father? Gladia? If the former, he was naturally lying; if the latter, she simply didn’t know, very likely. You may be sure Fastolfe knew what was going on; he had to, for it must have been part of his study of how a human brain was bent under Solarian conditions.

  “And then he thought—and I am as sure of this as I would be if I could read his thoughts—what would happen now, at the point where the woman is just beginning to rely on Jander, if, suddenly, without reason, she lost him. He knew what an Auroran woman would do. She would feel some disappointment and then seek out some substitute, but what would a Solarian woman do? So he arranged to put Jander out of commission—”

  “Destroy an immensely valuable robot just to satisfy a trivial curiosity?”

  “Monstrous, isn’t it? But that’s what Han Fastolfe would do. So go back to him, Earthman, and tell him that his little game is over. If the planet, generally, doesn’t believe him to be guilty now, they most certainly will after I have had my say.”

  43

  For a long moment, Baley sat there stunned, while Vasilia looked at him with a kind of grim delight, her face looking harsh and totally unlike that of Gladia.

  There seemed nothing to do—Baley got to his feet, feeling old—much older than his forty-five standard years (a child’s age to these Aurorans). So far everything he had done had led to nothing. To worse than nothing, for at every one of his moves, the ropes seemed to tighten about Fastolfe.

  He looked upward at the transparent ceiling. The sun was quite high, but perhaps it had passed its zenith, as it was dimmer than ever. Lines of thin clouds obscured it intermittently.

  Vasilia seemed to become aware of this from his upward glance. Her arm moved on the section of the long bench near which she was sitting and the transparency of the ceiling vanished. At the same time, a brilliant light suffused the room, bearing the same faint orange tinge that the sun itself had.

  She said, “I think the interview is over. I shall have no reason to see you again, Earthman—or you me. Perhaps you had better leave Aurora. You have done”—she smiled humorlessly and said the next words almost savagely—“my father enough damage, though scarcely as much as he deserves.”

  Baley took a step toward the door and his two robots closed in on him. Giskard said in a low voice, “Are you well, sir?”

  Baley shrugged. What was there to answer to that? Vasilia called out, “Giskard! When Dr. Fastolfe finds he has no further use for you, come join my staff?”

  Giskard looked at her calmly. “If Dr. Fastolfe permits, I will do so, Little Miss.”

  Her smile grew warm. “Please do so, Giskard. I’ve never stopped missing you.”

  “I often think of you, Little Miss.”

  Baley turned at the door. “Dr. Vasilia, would you have a Personal I might use?”

  Vasilia’s eyes widened. “Of course not, Earthman. There are Community Personals here and there at the Institute. Your robots should be able to guide you.”

  He stared at her and shook his head. It was not surprising that she wanted no Earthman infecting her rooms and yet it angered him just the same.

  He said out of anger, rather than out of any rational judgment, “Dr. Vasilia, I would not, were I you, speak of the guilt of Dr. Fastolfe.”

  “What is there to stop me?”

  “The danger of the general uncovering of your dealings with Gremionis. The danger to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You have admitted there was no conspiracy between myself and Gremionis.”

  “Not really. I agreed there seemed reason to conclude there was no direct conspiracy between you and Gremionis to destroy Jander. There remains the possibility
of an indirect conspiracy.”

  “You are mad. What is an indirect conspiracy?”

  “I am not ready to discuss that in front of Dr. Fastolfe’s robots—unless you insist. And why should you? You know very well what I mean.” There was no reason why Baley should think she would accept this bluff. It might simply worsen the situation still further.

  But it didn’t! Vasilia seemed to shrink within herself, frowning.

  Baley thought: There is then an indirect conspiracy, whatever it might be, and this might hold her till she sees through my bluff.

  Baley said, his spirits rising a little, “I repeat, say nothing about Dr. Fastolfe.”

  But, of course, he didn’t know how much time he had bought—perhaps very little.

  PART 11.

  GREMIONIS

  44

  They were sitting in the airfoil again—all three in the front, with Baley once more in the middle and feeling the pressure on either side. Baley was grateful to them for the care they unfailingly gave him, even though they were only machines, helpless to disobey instructions.

  And then he thought: Why dismiss them with a word machines? They’re good machines in a Universe of sometimes evil people. I have no right to favor the machines vs. people sub-categorization over the good vs. evil one. And Daneel, at least, I cannot think of as a machine.

  Giskard said, “I must ask again, sir. Do you feel well?”