Isaac Asimov - Robots and Empire

On everything Auroran (on everything Spacer, one might almost say, though Aurora was the most advanced in that respect), everything existed in layers. Functionality was at the bottom—one could not entirely rid one’s self of that, except in what was pure ornament—but overlying that there was always something to satisfy the eyes and the senses, generally; and overlying that, something to satisfy the spirit.

How much better that was!—Or did it represent such an exuberance of human creativity that Spacers could no longer live with the unadorned Universe—and was that bad? Was the future to belong to these from-here-to-there geometrizers? Or was it just that the Settlers had not yet learned the sweetnesses of life?

But then, if life had so many sweetnesses to it, why had she found so few for herself?

She had nothing really to do on board this ship but to ponder and reponder such questions. This D.G., this Elijah descended barbarian, had put it into her head, with his calm assumption that the Spacer worlds were dying, even though he could see all about him even during the shortest stay on Aurora (surely, he would have to) that it was deeply embedded in wealth and security.

She had tried to escape her own thoughts by staring at the holofilms she had been supplied with and watching, with moderate curiosity, the images flickering and capering on the projection surface, as the adventure story (all were adventure stories) hastened from—event to event with little time left for conversation and none for thought—or enjoyment, either. Very like their furniture.

D.G. stepped in when she was in the middle of one of the films, but had stopped really paying attention. She was not caught by surprise. Her robots, who guarded her doorway, signaled his coming in ample time and would not have allowed him to enter if she were not in a position to receive him. Daneel entered with him.

D.G. said, “How are you doing?” Then, as her hand touched a contact and the images faded, shriveled, and were gone. He said, “You don’t have to turn it off. I’ll watch it with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I’ve had enough.”

“Are you—comfortable?”

“Not entirely. I am—isolated.”

“Sorry! But then, I was isolated on Aurora. They would allow none of my men to come with me.”

“Are you having your revenge?”

“Not at all. For one thing, I allowed you two robots of your choice to accompany you. For another, it is not I but my crew who enforce this. They don’t like either Spacers or robots. But why do you mind? Doesn’t this isolation lessen your fear of infection?”

Gladia’s eyes were haughty, but her voice sounded weary. “I wonder if I haven’t grown too old to fear infection. In many ways, I think I have lived long enough. Then, too, I have my gloves, my nose filters, and—if necessary—my mask. And besides, I doubt that you will trouble to touch me.”

“Nor will anyone else,” said D.G. with a sudden edge of grimness to his voice, as his hand wandered to the object at the right side of his hip.

Her eyes followed the motion. “What is that?” she asked.

D.G. smiled and his beard seemed to glitter in the light. There were occasional reddish hairs among the brown. “A weapon,” he said and drew it. He held it by a molded hilt that bulged above his hand as though the force of his grip were squeezing it upward. In front, facing Gladia, a thin cylinder stretched some fifteen centimeters forward. There was no opening visible.

“Does that kill people?” Gladia extended her hand toward it.

D.G. moved it quickly away. “Never reach for someone’s weapon, my lady. That is worse than bad manners, for any Settler is trained to react violently to such a move and you may be hurt.”

Gladia, eyes wide, withdrew her hand and placed both behind her back. She said, “Don’t threaten harm. Daneel has no sense of humor in that respect. On Aurora, no one is barbarous enough to carry weapons.”

“Well,” said D.G., unmoved by the adjective, “we don’t have robots to protect us.—And this is not a killing device. It is, in some ways, worse. It emits a kind of vibration that stimulates those nerve endings responsible for the sensation of pain. It hurts a good deal worse than anything you can imagine. No one would willingly endure it twice and someone carrying this weapon rarely has to use it. We call it a neuronic whip.”

Gladia frowned. “Disgusting! We have our robots, but they never hurt anyone except in unavoidable emergency and then minimally.”

D.G. shrugged. “That sounds very civilized, but a bit of pain—a bit of killing, even—is better than the decay of spirit brought about by robots. Besides, a neuronic whip is not intended to kill and your people have weapons on their spaceships that can bring about wholesale death and destruction.

“That’s because we’ve fought wars early in our history, when our Earth heritage was still strong, but we’ve learned better.”

“You used those weapons on Earth even after you supposedly learned better.”

“That’s—” she began and closed her mouth as though to bite off what she was about to say next.

D.G. nodded. “I know. You were about to say ‘That’s different.’ Think of that, my lady, if you should catch yourself wondering why my crew doesn’t like Spacers. Or why I don’t.—But you are going to be useful to me, my lady, and I won’t let my emotions get in the way.”

“How am I going to be useful to you?”

“You are a Solarian.”

“You keep saying that. More than twenty decades have passed. I don’t know what Solaria is like now. I know nothing about it. What was Baleyworld like twenty decades ago?”

“It didn’t exist twenty decades ago, but Solaria did and I shall gamble that you will remember something useful.”

He stood up, bowed his head briefly in, a gesture of politeness that was almost mocking, and was gone.

Gladia maintained a thoughtful and troubled silence for a while and then she said, “He wasn’t at all polite, was he?”

Daneel said, “Madam Gladia, the Settler is clearly under tension. He is heading toward a world on which two ships like his have been destroyed and their crews killed. He is going, into great danger, as is his crew.”

“You always defend any human being, Daneel,” said Gladia resentfully. “The danger exists for me, too, and I am not facing it voluntarily, but that does not force me into rudeness.”

Daneel said nothing.

Gladia said, “Well, maybe it does. I have been a little rude, haven’t I?”

“I don’t think the Settler minded,” said Daneel. “Might I suggest, madam, that you prepare yourself for bed. It is quite late.”

“Very well. I’ll prepare myself for bed, but I don’t think I feel relaxed enough to sleep, Daneel.”

“Friend Giskard assures me you will, madam, and he is usually right about such things.”

And she did sleep.

Daneel and Giskard stood in the darkness of Gladia’s cabin.

Giskard said, “She will sleep soundly, friend Daneel, and she needs the rest. She faces a dangerous trip.”

“It seemed to me, friend Giskard,” said Daneel, “that you influenced her to agree to go. I presume you had a reason.”

“Friend Daneel, we know so little about the nature of the crisis that is now facing the Galaxy that we cannot safely refuse any action that might increase our knowledge. We must know what is taking place on Solaria and the only way we can do so is to go there—and the only way we can go is for us to arrange for Madam Gladia to go. As for influencing her, that required scarcely a touch. Despite her loud statements to the contrary, she was eager to go. There was an overwhelming desire within her to see Solaria. It was a pain within her that would not cease until she went.”