Isaac Asimov - The Robots of Dawn

“You mean that my anxiety to be considered the best would make me willingly put myself in a position where everyone would be forced to conclude I had mentally frozen Jander?”

“I picture you, somehow, as content to have your political and social status destroyed, provided your scientific reputation remained intact.”

“I see. You have an interesting way of thinking, Mr. Baley. This would not have occurred to me. Given a choice between admitting I was second-best and admitting I was guilty of, to use your phrase, a roboticide, you are of the opinion I would knowingly accept the latter.”

“No, I Dr. Fastolfe, I do not wish to present the matter quite so simplistically. Might it not be that you deceive yourself into thinking you are the greatest of all roboticists and that you are completely unrivaled, clinging to that at all costs, because you unconsciously—unconsciously, Dr. Fastolfe—realize that, in fact, you are, being overtaken—or have even already been overtaken—by others.”

Fastolfe laughed, but there was an edge of annoyance in it. “Not so, Mr. Baley. Quite wrong.”

“Think, Dr. Fastolfe! Are you certain that none of your roboticist colleagues can approach you in brilliance?”

“There are only a few who are capable of dealing at all with humaniform robots. Daneel’s construction created virtually a new profession for which there is not even a name—humaniformicists, perhaps. Of the theoretical roboticists on Aurora, not one, except for myself, understands the workings of Daneel’s positronic brain. Dr. Sarton did, but he is dead—and he did not understand it as well as I do. The basic theory is mine.”

“It may have been yours to be in with, but surely you can’t expect to maintain exclusive ownership. Has no one learned the theory?”

Fastolfe shook his head firmly. “Not one. I have taught no one and I defy any other living roboticist to have developed the theory on his own.”

Baley said, with a touch of irritation, “Might there not be a bright young man, fresh out of the university, who is cleverer than anyone yet realizes, who—”

“No, Mr. Baley, no. I would have known such a young man. He would have passed through my laboratories. He would have worked with me. At the moment, no such young man exists. Eventually, one will; perhaps many will. At the moment, none!”

“If you died, then, the new science dies with you?”

“I am only a hundred and sixty-five years old. That’s metric years, of course, so it I is only a hundred and twenty-four of your Earth years, more or less. I am still quite young by Auroran standards and there is no medical reason why my life should be considered even half over. It is not entirely unusual to reach an age of four hundred years—metric years. There is yet plenty of time to teach.”

They had finished eating, but neither man made any move to leave the table. Nor did any robot approach to clear it. It was as though they were transfixed into immobility by the intensity of the back and forth flow of talk.

Baley’s eyes narrowed. He said, “Dr. Fastolfe, two years ago I was on Solaria. There I was given the clear impression that the Solarians, were, on the whole, the most skilled roboticists in all the worlds.”

“On the whole, that’s probably true.”

“And not one of them could have done the deed?”

“Not one, Mr. Baley. Their skill is with robots who are, at best, no more advanced than my poor, reliable Giskard. The Solarians know nothing of the construction of humaniform robots.

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Since you were on Solaria, Mr. Baley, you know very well that Solarians can approach each other with only the greatest of difficulty, that they interact by trimensional viewing—except where sexual contact is absolutely required. Do you think that any of them would dream of designing a robot so human in appearance that it would activate their neuroses? They would so avoid the possibility of approaching him, since he would look so human, that they could make no reasonable use of him.”

“Might not a Solarian here or there display a surprising tolerance for the human body? How can you be sure?”

“Even if a Solarian could, which I do not deny, there are no Solarian nationals on Aurora this year.”

“None?”

“None! They do not like to be thrown into contact even with Aurorans and, except on the most urgent business, none will come here—or to any other world. Even in the case of urgent business, they will come no closer than orbit and then they deal with us only by electronic communication.”

Baley said, “In that case, if you are—literally and actually—the only person in all the worlds who could have done it, did you kill Jander?”

Fastolfe said, “I cannot believe that Daneel did not tell you I have denied this deed.”

“He did tell me so, but I want to hear it from you.”

Fastolfe crossed his arms and frowned. He said, through clenched teeth, “Then I’ll tell you so. I did not do it.”

Baley shook his head. “I believe you believe that statement.”

“I do. And most sincerely. I am telling the truth. I did not kill Jander.”

“But if you did not do it, and if no one,—else can possibly have done it, then—But wait. I am, perhaps, making an unwarranted assumption. Is Jander really dead or have I been brought here under false pretenses?”

“The robot is really destroyed. It will be quite possible to show him to you, if the Legislature does not bar my access to him before the day is over—which I don’t think they will do.”

“In that case, if you did not do it, and if no one else could possibly have done it, and if the robot is actually dead—who committed the crime?”

Fastolfe sighed. “I’m sure Daneel told you what I have maintained at the inquiry—but you want to hear it from my own lips.”

“That is right, Dr. Fastolfe.”

“Well, then, no one committed the crime. It was a spontaneous event in the positronic flow along the brain paths that set up the mental freeze-out in Jander.”

“Is that likely?”

“No, it is not. It is extremely unlikely—but if I did not do it, then that is the only thing that can have happened.”

“Might it not be argued that there is a greater chance that you are lying than that a spontaneous mental freeze-out took place.”

“Many do so argue. But I happen to know that I did not do it and that leaves only the spontaneous event as a possibility.”

“And you have had me brought here to demonstrate—to prove—that the spontaneous event did,—in fact, take place?”

“Yes.”

“But how does one go about proving the spontaneous event? Only by proving it, it seems, can I save you, Earth, and myself.”

“In order of increasing importance, Mr. Baley?”

Baley looked annoyed. “Well, then, you, me, and Earth.”

“I’m afraid,” said Fastolfe, “that after considerable thought, I have come to the conclusion that there is no way of obtaining such a proof.”

Baley stared at Fastolfe in horror. “No way?”

“No way. None.” And then, in a sudden fit of apparent abstraction, he seized the spicer and said, “You know, I am curious to see if I can still do the triple genuflection.”

He tossed the spicer into the air with a calculated flip of the wrist. It somersaulted and, as it came down, Fastolfe caught the narrow end on the side of his right palm (his thumb tucked down). It went up slightly and swayed and was caught on the side of the left palm. It went up again in reverse and was caught on the side of the right palm and then again on the left palm. After this third genuflection, it was lifted with sufficient force to produce a flip. Fastolfe caught it in his right fist, with his left hand nearby, palm upward. Once the spicer was caught, Fastolfe displayed his left hand and there was a fine sprinkling of salt in it.