Isaac Asimov - The Robots of Dawn

Baley frowned. “It doesn’t taste like coffee and—Pardon me, Dr. Fastolfe, I don’t want to begin to sound paranoid, but Daneel and I have just had a half-joking exchange on the possibility of violence against me—half-joking on my part, of course, not on Daneel’s—and it is in my mind that one way they might get at me is—”

His voice trailed away.

Fastolfe’s eyebrows moved upward. He reached for Baley’s coffee with a murmur of apology and smelled it. He then ladled out a small portion by spoon and tasted it. He said, “Perfectly normal, Mr. Baley. This is not an attempt at poisoning.”

Baley said, “I’m sorry to behave so foolishly, since I know this has been prepared by your own robots—but are you certain?”

Fastolfe smiled. “Robots have been tampered with before now.—However, there has been no tampering this time. It is just that coffee, although universally popular on the various worlds, comes in different strains. It is notorious that each human being prefers the coffee of his own world. I’m sorry, Mr. Baley, I have no Earth strain to give you. Would you prefer milk? That is relatively constant from world to world. Fruit juice? Aurora’s grape juice is considered superior throughout the worlds, generally. There are some who hint, darkly, that we allow it to ferment somewhat, but that, of course, is not true. Water?”

“I’ll try your grape juice.” Baley looked at the coffee dubiously. “I suppose I ought to try to get used to this.”

“Not at all,” said Fastolfe. “Why seek out the unpleasant if that is unnecessary?—And so”—his smile seemed a bit strained as he returned to his earlier remark—“night and sleep have brought no useful reflection to you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Baley. Then, frowning at a dim memory, “Although—”

“Yes?”

“I have the impression that just before falling asleep, in the free-association limbo between sleep and waking, it seemed to me that I had something.”

“Indeed? What?”

“I don’t know. The thought drove me into wakefulness but didn’t follow me there. Or else some imagined sound distracted me. I don’t remember. I snatched at the thought, but didn’t retrieve it. It’s gone. I think that this sort of thing is not uncommon.”

Fastolfe looked thoughtful. “Are you sure of this?”

“Not really. The thought grew so tenuous so rapidly I couldn’t even be sure that I had actually had it. And even if I had, it may have seemed to make sense to me only because I was half asleep. If it were repeated to me now in broad daylight, it might make no sense at all.”

“But whatever it was and, however fugitive, it would have left a trace, surely.”

“I imagine so, Dr. Fastolfe. In which case, it will come to me again. I’m confident of that.”

“Ought we to wait?”

“What else can we do?”

“There’s such a thing as a Psychic Probe.”

Baley sat, back in his chair and stared at Fastolfe for a moment. He said, “I’ve heard of it, but it isn’t used in police work on Earth.”

“We’re not on Earth, Mr. Baley,” said Fastolfe softly.

“It can do brain damage. Am I not right?”

“Not likely, in the proper hands.”

“Not impossible, even in the proper hands,” said Baley. “It’s my understanding that it cannot be used on Aurora except under sharply defined conditions. Those it is used on must be guilty of a major crime or must—”

“Yes, Mr. Baley, but that refers to Aurorans. You are not an Auroran.”

“You mean because I’m an Earthman I’m to be treated as inhuman?”

Fastolfe smiled and spread his hands. “Come, Mr. Baley. It was just a thought. Last night you were desperate enough to suggest trying to solve our dilemma by placing Gladia in a horrible and tragic position. I was wondering if you were desperate enough to risk yourself?”

Baley rubbed his eyes and, for a minute or so, remained silent. Then, in an altered voice, he said, “I was wrong last night—I admitted it. As for this matter now, there is no assurance that what I thought of, when half-asleep, had any relevance to the problem. It may have been pure fantasy—illogical nonsense. There may have been no thought at all. Nothing. Would you consider it wise, for so small a likelihood of gain, to risk damage to my brain, when it is upon that for which you say you depend for a solution to the problem?”

Fastolfe nodded. “You plead your case eloquently—and I was not really serious.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fastolfe.”

“But, where are we to go from here?”

“For one thing, I wish to speak to Gladia again. There are points concerning which I need clarification.”

“You should have taken them up last night.”

“So I should, but I had more than I could properly absorb last night and there were points that escaped me. I am an investigator and not an infallible computer.”

Fastolfe said, “I was not imputing blame. It’s just that I hate to see Gladia unnecessarily disturbed. In view of what you told me last night, I can only assume she must be in a state of deep distress.”

“Undoubtedly. But she is also desperately anxious to find out what happened—who, if anyone, killed the one she viewed as her husband. That’s understandable, too. I’m sure she’ll be willing to help me. And I wish to speak to another person as well.”

“To whom?”

“To your daughter Vasilia.”

“To Vasilia? Why? What purpose will that serve?”

“She is a roboticist. I would like to talk to a roboticist other than yourself.”

“I do not wish that, Mr. Baley.”

They had finished eating. Baley stood up. “Dr. Fastolfe, once again I must remind you that I am here at your request. I have no formal authority to do police work. I have no connection with any Auroran authorities. The only chance I have of getting to the bottom of this miserable mess is to hope that various people will voluntarily cooperate with me and answer my questions.

“If you stop me from attempting this, then it is clear that I can get no farther than I am right now, which is nowhere. It will also look extremely bad for you—and therefore for Earth so I urge you not to stand in my way. If you make it possible for me to interview anyone I wish—or even simply try to make it possible by interceding on my behalf—then the people of Aurora will surely consider that to be a sign of self-conscious innocence on your part. If you hamper my investigation, on the other hand, to what conclusion can they come but that you are guilty and fear exposure?”

Fastolfe said, with poorly suppressed annoyance, “I understand that, Mr. Baley. But why Vasilia? There are other roboticists.”

“Vasilia is your daughter. She knows you. She might have strong opinions concerning the likelihood of your destroying a robot. Since she is a member of the Robotics Institute and on the side of your political enemies, any favorable evidence she may give would be persuasive.”

“And if she testifies against me?”

“We’ll face that when it comes. Would you get in touch with her and ask her to receive me?”

Fastolfe said resignedly, “I will oblige you, but you are mistaken if you think I can easily persuade her to see you. She may be too busy—or think she is. She may be away from Aurora. She may simply not wish to be involved. I tried to explain last night that she has reason—thinks she has reason to be hostile to me. My asking her to see you may indeed impel her to refuse, merely as a sign of her displeasure with me.”

“Would you try, Dr. Fastolfe?”

Fastolfe sighed. “I will try while you are at Gladia’s. I presume you wish to see her directly? I might point out that a trimensional viewing would do. The image is high enough in quality so that you will not be able to tell it from personal presence.