Isaac Asimov - Robots and Empire

And Gladia, who had been weeping, said, “Why not?”

“He does not wish it, madam, and I must respect his wishes.”

“I cannot believe that, Mr. Baley.”

“I have a handwritten note and I have a voice recording, madam. I do not know if you can recognize his handwriting or his voice, but you have my word of honor these are his and that no untoward influence was used upon him to produce—”

She went into her own cabin to read and listen alone. Then she emerged—with an air of defeat about her—but she managed to say firmly, “Daneel, you are to go down alone to see him. It is his wish. But you are to report to me everything that is done and said.”

“Yes, madam,” Daneel said.

Daneel went down, in Bentley’s ship and Bentley said to him, “Robots are not allowed on this world, Daneel, but an exception is being made in your case because it is my father’s wish and because he is highly revered here. I have no personal animus against you, you understand, but your presence here must be an entirely limited one. You will be taken directly to my father. When he is done with you, you will be taken back into orbit at once. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir. How is your father?”

“He is dying,” Bentley said with perhaps conscious brutality.

“I understand that, too,” said Daneel, his voice quivering noticeably, not out of ordinary emotion but because the consciousness of the death of a human being, however unavoidable, disordered his positronic brain paths. “I mean, how much longer before he must die?”

“He should have died some time ago. He is tied to life because he refuses to go, until he sees you.”

They landed. It was a large world, but the inhabited portion—if this were all—was small and shabby. It was a cloudy day and it had rained recently. The wide, straight streets were empty, as though what population existed there was in no mood to assemble in order to stare at a robot.

The ground-car took them through the emptiness and brought them to a house somewhat larger and more impressive than most. Together they entered. At an inner door, Bentley halted.

“My father is in there,” he said sadly. “You are to go in alone. He will not have me there with you. Go in. You might not recognize him.”

Daneel went into the gloom of the room. His eyes adjusted rapidly and he was aware of a body covered by a sheet inside a transparent cocoon that was made visible only by its faint glitter. The light within the room brightened a bit and Daneel could then see the face clearly.

Bentley had been right. Daneel saw nothing of his old partner in it. It was gaunt and bony. The eyes were closed and it seemed to Daneel that what he saw was a dead body. He had never seen a dead human being and when this thought struck him, he staggered and it seemed to him that his legs would not hold him up.

But the old-man’s eyes opened and Daneel recovered his equilibrium, though he continued to feel an unaccustomed weakness just the same.

The eyes looked at him and a small, faint smile curved the pale, cracked lips.

“Daneel. My old friend Daneel.”

There was the faint timbre of Elijah Baley’s remembered voice in that whispered sound. An arm emerged slowly from under the sheet and it seemed to Daneel that he recognized Elijah after all.

“Partner Elijah,” he said softly.

“Thank you—thank you for coming.”

“It was important for me to come, Partner Elijah.”

“I was afraid they might not allow it. They—the others—even my son—think of you as a robot.”

“I am a robot.”

“Not to me, Daneel. You haven’t changed, have you? I don’t see you clearly, but it seems to me you are exactly the same as I remember. When did I last see you? Twenty-nine years ago?”

“Yes—and in all that time, Partner Elijah, I have not changed, so you see, I am a robot.”

“I have changed, though, and a great deal. I should not have let you see me like this, but I was too weak to resist my desire to see you once again.” Baley’s voice seemed to have grown a bit stronger, as though it had been fortified by the sight of Daneel.

“I am pleased to see you, Partner Elijah, however you have changed.”

“And Lady Gladia? How is she?”

“She is well. She came with me.”

“She is not—” A touch of painful alarm came into his voice as he tried to look about.

“She is not on this world, but is still in orbit. It was explained to her that you did not wish to see her—and she understood.”

“That is wrong. I do wish to see her, but I have been able to withstand that temptation. She has not changed, has she?”

“She still has the appearance she had when you last saw her.

“Good.—But I couldn’t let her see me like this . I could not have this be her last memory of me. With you, it is different.”

“That is because I am a robot, Partner Elijah.”

“Stop insisting on that, “ said the dying man peevishly. “You could not mean more to me, Daneel, if you were a man.”

He lay silently in his bed for a while, then he said, “All these years, I have never hypervised, never written to her. I could not allow myself to interfere with her life.—Is Gladia still married to Gremionis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And happy?”

“I cannot judge that. She does not behave in a fashion that might be interpreted as unhappy.”

“Children?”

“The permitted two.”

“She has not been angry that I have not communicated?”

“It is my belief she understood your motives.”

“Does she ever—mention me?”

“Almost never, but it is Giskard’s opinion that she often thinks of you.”

“How is Giskard?”

“He functions properly—in the manner that you know.”

“You know, then—of his abilities.”

“He has told me, Partner Elijah.”

Again Baley lay there silently. Then he stiffed and said, “Daneel, I wanted you here out of a selfish desire to see you, to see for myself that you haven’t changed, that there is a breath of the great days of my life still existing, that you remember me and will continue to remember me.—But I also want to tell you something.

“I will be dead soon, Daneel, and I knew the word would reach you. Even if you weren’t here, even if you were on Aurora, the word would come to you. My death will be Galactic news.” His chest heaved in a weak and silent laugh. “Who would have thought it once?”

He said, “Gladia would hear of it as well, of course, but Gladia knows I must die and she will accept the fact, how ever sadly. “I feared the effect on you, however, since you are—as you insist and I deny—a robot. For old time’s sake you may feel it is incumbent upon you to keep me from dying and the fact that you cannot do so may perhaps have a permanently deleterious effect on you. Let me, then, argue with you about that.”

Baley’s voice was growing weaker. Though Daneel sat motionless, his face was in the unusual condition of reflecting emotion. It was set in an expression of concern and sorrow. Baley’s eyes were closed and he could not see that.

“My death, Daneel,” he said, “is not important. No individual death among human beings is important. Someone who dies leaves his work behind and that does not entirely die. It never entirely dies as long as humanity exists.—Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Daneel said, “Yes, Partner Elijah.”

“The work of each individual contributes to a totality and so becomes an undying part of the totality. That totality of human lives—past and present and to come—forms a tapestry that has been in existence now for many tens of thousands of years and has been growing more elaborate and, on the whole, more beautiful in all that time. Even the Spacers are an offshoot of the tapestry and they, too, add to the elaborateness and beauty of the pattern. An individual life is one thread in the tapestry and what is one thread compared to the whole?