Isaac Asimov - The Robots of Dawn

Giskard noiselessly drifted backward toward him and said, “Would you prefer to wait, sir? Would the darkness suit you better? We ourselves will not be discommoded.”

Baley became aware of other robots, farther off, on every side. Had Gladia marked off her field robots for guard duty or had Fastolfe sent his?

It accentuated the way they were all caring for him and, perversely, he would not admit to weakness. He said, “No, we’ll go now,” and struck off at a brisk walk toward Fastolfe’s establishment, which could just see through the distant trees.

Let the robots follow or not, as they wished, he thought boldly. He knew that, if he let himself think about it, there would be something within him that would still quail at the thought of himself on the outer skin of a planet with no protection but air between himself and the great void, but he would not think of it.

It was the exhilaration at being free of the fear that made his jaws tremble and his teeth click. Or it was—the cool wind of evening that did it—and that also—set the gooseflesh to appearing on his arms.

It was not the Outside.

It was not.

He said, trying to unclench his teeth, “How well did you know Jander, Daneel?”

Daneel said, “We were together for some time. From the time of friend Jander’s construction, till he passed into the establishment of Miss Gladia, we were together steadily.”

“Did it bother you, Daneel, that Jander resembled you so closely?”

“No, sir. He and I each knew ourselves apart, Partner Elijah, and Dr. Fastolfe did not mistake us either. We were, therefore, two individuals.”

“And could you tell them apart, too, Giskard?” They were closer to him now, perhaps because the other robots had taken over the long-distance duties.

Giskard said, “There was no occasion, as I recall, on which it was important that I do so.”

“And if there had been, Giskard?”

“Then I could have done so.”

“What was your opinion of Jander, Daneel?”

Daneel said, “My opinion, Partner Elijah? Concerning what aspect of Jander do you wish my opinion?”

“Did he do his work well, for instance?”

“Certainly.”

“Was he satisfactory in every way?”

“In every way, to my knowledge.”

“How about you, Giskard? What is your opinion?”

Giskard said, “I was never as close to friend Jander as friend Daneel was and it would not be proper for me to state an opinion. I can say that, to my knowledge, Dr. Fastolfe was uniformly pleased with friend Jander. He seemed equally pleased with friend Jander and with friend Daneel. However, I do not think my programming is such as to allow me to offer certainty in such matters.”

Baley said, “What about the period after Jander entered the household of Miss Gladia? Did you know him then, Daneel?”

“No, Partner Elijah. Miss Gladia kept him at her establishment. On those occasions when she visited Dr. Fastolfe, he was never with her, as far as I was aware. On occasions when I accompanied Dr. Fastolfe on a visit to Miss Gladia’s establishment, I did not see friend Jander.”

Baley felt a little surprised at that. He turned to Giskard in order to ask the same question, paused, and then shrugged. He was not really getting anywhere and, as Dr. Fastolfe had indicated earlier, there is not really much use in cross-examining a robot. They would not knowingly say anything that would harm a human being, nor could they be badgered, bribed, or cajoled into it. They would not openly lie, but they would remain stubbornly—if politely—insistent on giving useless answers.

And—perhaps—it no longer mattered.

They were at Fastolfe’s doorstep now and Baley felt his breath quickening. The trembling of his arms and lower lip, he was confident, was, indeed, only because of the cool wind.

The sun had gone now, a few stars were visible, the sky was darkening to an odd greenish-purple that made it seem bruised, and he passed through the door into the warmth of the glowing walls.

He was safe.

Fastolfe greeted him. “You are back in good time, Mr. Baley. Was your session with Gladia fruitful?”

Baley said, “Quite fruitful, Dr. Fastolfe. It is even possible that I hold the key to the answer in my hand.”

Fastolfe merely smiled politely, in a way that signaled neither surprise, elation, nor disbelief. He led the way into what was obviously a dining room, a smaller and friendlier one than the one in which they had had lunch.

“You and I, my dear Mr. Baley,” said Fastolfe pleasantly, “will eat an informal dinner alone. Merely the two of us. We will even have the robots absent if that will please you. Nor shall we talk business unless you desperately want to.”

Baley said nothing, but paused to look at the walls in astonishment. They were wavering, luminous green, with differences in brightness and in tint that were slowly progressive from bottom to top. There was a hint of fronds of deeper green and shadowy flickers this way and that. The walls made the room appear to be a well-lit grotto at the bottom of a shallow arm of the sea. The effect was vertiginous—at least, Baley found it so.

Fastolfe had no trouble interpreting Baley’s expression. He said, “It’s an acquired taste, Mr. Baley, I admit.—Giskard, subdue the wall illumination.—Thank you.”

Baley drew a breath of relief. “And thank you, Dr. Fastolfe. May I visit the Personal, sir?”

“But of course.”

Baley hesitated. “Could you—”

Fastolfe chuckled. “You’ll find it perfectly normal, Mr. Baley. You will have no complaints.”

Baley bent his head. “Thank you very much.”

Without the intolerable make-believe, the Personal—he believed it to be the same one he had used earlier in the day was merely what it was, a much more luxurious and hospitable one than he had ever seen. It was incredibly different from those on Earth, which were rows of identical units stretching indefinitely, each ticked off for use by one—and only one individual at a time.

It gleamed somehow with hygienic cleanliness. Its outermost molecular layer might have been peeled off after every use and a new layer laid on. Obscurely, Baley felt that, if he stayed on Aurora long enough, he would find it difficult to readjust himself to Earth’s crowds, which forced hygiene and cleanliness into the background—something to pay a distant obeisance to—a not quite attainable ideal.

Baley, standing there surrounded by conveniences of ivory and gold (not real ivory, no doubt, nor real gold), gleaming and smooth, suddenly found himself shuddering at Earth’s casual exchange of bacteria and wincing at its richness in infectivity. Was that not what the Spacers felt? Could he blame them?

He washed his hands thoughtfully, playing with the tiny touches here and there along the control-strip in order to change the temperature. And yet these Aurorans were so unnecessarily garish in their interior decorations, so insistent in pretending they were living in a state of nature when they had tamed nature and broken it.—Or was that only Fastolfe?

After all, Gladia’s establishment had been far more austere.—Or was that only because she had been brought up on Solaria?

The dinner that followed was an unalloyed delight. Again, as at lunch, there was the distinct feeling of being closer to nature. The dishes were numerous—each different, each in small portions—and, in a number of cases, it was possible to see that they had once been part of plants and animals. He was beginning to look upon the inconveniences—the occasional small bone, bit of gristle, strand of fiber, which might have repelled him earlier—as a bit of adventure.

The first course was a little fish—a little fish that one ate whole, with whatever internal organs it might have—and that struck him, at first sight, as another foolish way of rubbing one’s nose in Nature with a capital “N.” But he swallowed the little fish anyway, as Fastolfe did, and the taste converted him at once. He had never experienced anything like it. It was as though taste buds had suddenly been invented and inserted in his tongue.