Isaac Asimov - The Robots of Dawn

He wanted to close off the vision, contract his fist upon the control-edge, but nothing happened. His nerve-endings had so abnormalized that the automatic contraction at an effort of will did not work. He had no will. Eyes would not close, fist would not contract. He was caught and hypnotized by terror, frightened into immobility.

All he sensed before him were clouds, white—not, quite white—off-white—a slight golden—orange cast—

And all turned to gray—and he was drowning. He could not breathe. He struggled desperately to open his clogged throat, to call to—Daneel for help—

He could make no sound…

Baley was breathing as though he had just breasted the tape at the end of a long race. The room was askew and there was a hard surface under his left elbow.

He realized he was on the floor.

Giskard was on his knees beside him, his robot’s hand (firm but somewhat cold) closed on Baley’s right fist. The door to the cabin, visible to Baley just beyond Giskard’s shoulder, stood ajar.

Baley knew, without asking, what had happened. Giskard had seized that helpless, human hand and clenched it upon the control-edge to end the astrosimulation. Otherwise Daneel was there, as well, his face close to Baley’s, with a look on it that might well have been pain.

He said, “You said nothing, Partner Elijah. Had I been more quickly aware of your discomfort—”

Baley tried to gesture, that he understood that it did not matter. He was still unable to speak.

The two robots waited until Bailey made a feeble movement to get up. Arms were under him at once, lifting him. He was placed in a chair and the control was gently taken away from him by Giskard.

Giskard said, “We will be landing soon. You will have no further need of the astrosimulator, I believe.”

Daneel added gravely, “It would be best to remove it, in any case.”

Baley said, “Wait!” His voice was a hoarse whisper and he was not sure the word could be made out. He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat feebly, and said again, “Wait!”—and then, “Giskard.”

Giskard turned back. “Sir?”

Baley did not speak at once. Now that Giskard knew he was wanted, he would wait a lengthy interval, perhaps indefinitely. Baley tried to gather his scattered wits. Agoraphobia or not, there still remained his uncertainty about their destination. That had existed first and it might well have intensified the agoraphobia.

He had to find out. Giskard would not lie. A robot could not lie—unless very carefully instructed to do so. And why instruct Giskard? It was Daneel who was his companion, who was to be in his company at all times. If there was lying to be done, that would be Daneel’s job. Giskard was merely a fetcher and carrier, a guard at the door. Surely there was no need to undergo the task of carefully instructing him in the web of lies.

“Giskard!” said Baley, almost normally now.

“We are about to land, are we?”

“In a little less than two hours, sir.”

That was two metric hours, thought Baley. More than two real hours? Less? It didn’t matter. It would only confuse. Forget it.

Baley said, as, sharply as he could manage, “Tell me right now the name of the planet we are about to land on.”

A human being, if he had answered at all, would have done so only after a pause—and then with an air of considerable surprise.

Giskard answered at once, with a flat and uninflected assertion, “It is Aurora, sir.”

“How do you know?”

“It is our destination. Then, too, it could not be Earth, for instance, since Aurora’s sun, Tau Ceti, is only ninety percent the mass of Earth’s sun. Tau Ceti is a little cooler, therefore, and its light has a distinct orange tinge to fresh and unaccustomed Earth eyes. You may have already seen the characteristic color of Aurora’s sun in the reflection upon the upper surface of the cloud bank. You will certainly see it in the appearance of the landscape—until your eyes grow accustomed to it.”

Baley’s eyes left Giskard’s impassive face. He had noticed the color difference, Baley thought, and had attached no importance to it. A bad effort.

“You may go, Giskard.”

“Yes, sir.”

Baley turned bitterly to Daneel. “I’ve made a fool of myself, Daneel.”

“I gather you wondered if perhaps we were deceiving you and taking you somewhere that was not Aurora. Did you have a reason for suspecting this, Partner Elijah?”

“None. It may have been the result of the uneasiness that arose from subliminal agoraphobia. Staring at seemingly motionless space, I felt no perceptible illness, but it may have lain just under the surface, creating a gathering uneasiness.”

“The fault was ours, Partner Elijah. Knowing of your dislike for open spaces, it was wrong to subject you to astrosimulation or, having done so, to subject you to no closer supervision.”

Baley shook his head in annoyance. “Don’t say that, Daneel. I have supervision enough. The question in my mind is how closely I am to be supervised on Aurora itself.”

Daneel said, “Partner Elijah, it seems to me it will be difficult to allow you free access to Aurora and Aurorans.”

“That is just what I must be allowed, nevertheless. If I’m to get to the truth of this case of roboticide, I must be free to seek information directly on the site—and from the people involved.”

Baley was, by now, feeling quite himself though a bit weary. Embarrassingly enough, the intense experience he had passed through left him with a keen desire for a pipe of tobacco something he thought he had done away with altogether better than a year before. He could feel the taste and odor of the tobacco smoke making its way through his throat and nose.

He would, he knew, have to make do with the memory. On Aurora, he would on no account be allowed to smoke. There was no tobacco on any of the Spacer worlds and, if he had had any on him to begin with, it would have been removed and destroyed.

Daneel said, “Partner Elijah, this must be discussed with Dr. Fastolfe once we land. I have no power to make any decisions in this matter.”

“I’m aware of that, Daneel, but how do I speak to Fastolfe? Through the equivalent of an astrosimulator? With controls in my hand?”

“Not at all, Partner Elijah. You will speak face-to-face. He plans—to meet you at the spaceport.”

Baley listened for the noises of landing. He did not know what they might be, of course. He did not know the mechanism of the ship, how many men and women it carried, what they would have to do in the process of landing, what in the way of noise would be involved.

Shouts? Rumbles? A dilla vibration?

He heard nothing.

Daneel said, “You seem to be under tension, Partner Elijah. I would prefer that you did not wait to tell me of any discomfort you might feel. I must help you at the very moment you are, for any reason, unhappy.”

There was a faint stress on the word “must.”

Baley thought absently: The First Law drives him. He surely suffered as much in his way as I suffered in mine when I collapsed and he did not foresee it in time. A forbidden imbalance of positronic potentials may have no meaning to me, but it may, produce in him the—same discomfort and the same reaction as acute pain would to me.

He thought further: How can I tell what exists inside the pseudoskin and pseudoconsciousness of a robot, any more than Daneel can tell what exists inside me.

And then, feeling remorse at having thought of Daneel as a robot, Baley looked into the other’s gentle eyes (when did he start thinking of their expression as gentle?) and said, “I would tell you of any discomfort at once. There is none. I am merely trying to hear any noise that might tell me of the progress of the landing procedure, Partner Daneel.”