Isaac Asimov - The Robots of Dawn

Giskard said, “My information is to the effect that Dr. Amadiro’s office is in the Administration Building. If, by some chance, he is not at his office but is in his establishment, that is nearby.”

Again, Baley found himself crammed into the front seat between the two robots. He welcomed Daneel particularly, with his humanlike body warmth. Although Giskard’s textile like outermost layer was insulating and not as cold to the touch as bare metal would have been, he was the less attractive of the two in Baley’s current chilly state.

Baley caught himself on the verge of putting an arm around Daneel’s shoulder, with the intention of finding comfort by drawing him even closer. He brought his arm down to his lap in confusion.

He said, “I don’t like the way it looks out there.”

Daneel, perhaps in an effort to take Baley’s mind off the appearance Outside, said, “Partner Elijah, how is it you knew that Dr. Vasilia had encouraged Mr. Gremionis’ interest in Miss Gladia? I did not see that you had received any evidence to that effect.”

“I didn’t,” said Baley. “I’ve been desperate enough to play long shots—that is, to gamble on events of low probability. Gladia told me that Gremionis was the one person sufficiently interested in her to offer himself repeatedly. I thought he might have killed Jander out of jealousy. I didn’t think he could possibly know enough about robotics to do it, but then I heard that Fastolfe’s daughter Vasilia was a roboticist and resembled Gladia physically. I wondered if Gremionis, having been fascinated by Gladia, might not have been fascinated by Vasilia earlier—and if the killing might possibly have been the result of a conspiracy between the two. It was by hinting obscurely at the existence of such a conspiracy that I was able to persuade Vasilia to see me.”

Daneel said, “But there was no conspiracy, Partner Elijah, at least as far as the destruction of Jander was concerned. Vasilia and Gremionis could not have engineered that destruction, even if they had worked together.”

“Granted—and yet Vasilia had been made nervous by the suggestion of having had a connection with Gremionis. Why? When Gremionis told us of having been attracted to Vasilia first, and then to Gladia, I wondered if the connection between the two had been more indirect, if Vasilia might have encouraged the transfer for some reason more distantly connected but connected nevertheless—to Jander’s death. After all, there had to be some connection between the two; Vasilia’s reaction to the original suggestion showed that.

“My suspicion was correct. Vasilia had engineered Gremionis’ switch from one woman to the other. Gremionis was astonished at my knowing this and that, too, was useful, for if the matter were something completely innocent, there would have been no reason to make a secret of it—and a secret it obviously was. You remember that Vasilia mentioned nothing of urging Gremionis to turn to Gladia. When I told her that Gremionis had offered himself to Gladia, she acted as though that was the first time she had heard of it.”

“But, Partner Elijah, of what importance is this?”

“We may find out. It seemed to me that there was no importance in it to either Gremionis or Vasilia. Therefore, if it had any importance at all, it might be that a third person was involved. If it had anything to do with the Jander affair, then it ought to be a roboticist still more skillful than Vasilia—and that might be Amadiro. So I hinted to him of the existence of a conspiracy by deliberately pointing out I had been questioning Gremionis and was calling from his establishment—and that worked, too.”

“Yet I still don’t know what it all means, Partner Elijah.”

“Nor I—except for some speculations. But perhaps we’ll find out at Amadiro’s. Our situation is so bad, you see, we have nothing to lose by guessing and gambling.”

During this exchange, the airfoil has risen on its air-jets, and had moved to a moderate height. It cleared a line of bushes and was now once again speeding along over grassy areas and graveled roads. Baley noticed that, where the grass was taller, it was swept to one side by the wind as though an invisible and much larger airfoil were passing over it.

Baley said, “Giskard, you have been recording the conversations which have taken place in your presence, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And can reproduce them at need?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And can easily locate—and reproduce—some particular statement made by some given person?”

“Yes, sir. You would not have to listen to the entire recording.”

“And could you, at need, serve as a witness in a courtroom?”

“I, sir? No, sir.” Giskard’s eyes were fixed firmly on the road. “Since a robot can be directed to lie by a skillful enough command and not all the exhortations or threats of a judge might help, the law wisely considers a robot an incompetent witness.”

“But, in that case, of what use are your recordings?”

“That, sir, is a different thing. A recording, once made, cannot be altered on simple command, though it might be erased. Such a recording can, therefore, be admitted as evidence. There are no firm precedents, however, and whether it is—or is not—admitted depends on the individual case and on the individual judge.”

Baley could not tell whether that statement was depressing in itself or whether he was influenced by the unpleasant livid light that bathed the landscape. Baley said, “Can you see well enough to drive, Giskard?”

“Certainly, sir, but I do not need to. The airfoil is equipped with a computerized radar that would enable it to avoid obstacles on its own, even if I were, unaccountably, to fail in my task. It was this that was in operation yesterday morning when we traveled comfortably though all the windows were opacified.”

“Partner Elijah,” said Daneel, again veering the conversation away from Baley’s uncomfortable awareness of the coming storm, “do you have hope that Dr. Amadiro might indeed be helpful?”

Giskard brought the airfoil to rest on a wide lawn before a broad but not very high building, with an intricately-carved facade that was clearly new and yet gave the impression of imitating something quite old.

Baley knew it was the Administration Building without being told. He said, “No, Daneel, I suspect that Amadiro may be far too intelligent to give us the least handle to grasp him by.”

“And if that is so, what do you plan to do next?”

“I don’t know,” said Baley, with, a grim feeling of deje vu, “but I’ll try to think of something.”

When Baley entered the Administration Building, his first feeling was one of relief at removing himself from the unnatural lighting Outside. The second was one of wry amusement.

Here on Aurora, the establishments—the private dwelling places—were all strictly Auroran. He couldn’t, for a moment, while sitting in Gladia’s living room, or breakfasting in Fastolfe’s dining room, or talking in Vasilia’s work room, or making use of Gremionis’ trimensional viewing device, have thought himself on Earth. All four were distinct from each other, but all fell within a certain genus, widely different from that of the underground apartments on Earth.

The Administration Building, however, breathed officialdom and that, apparently, transcended ordinary human variety. It did not belong to the same genus as the dwelling places on Aurora, any more than an official building in Baley’s home City resembled an apartment in the dwelling Sectors—but the two official buildings on the two worlds of such widely different natures strangely resembled each other.

This was the first place on Aurora where, for an instant, Baley might have imagined himself on Earth. Here were the same long cold bare corridors, the same lowest common denominator of design and decoration, with even light source designed so as to irritate as few people as possible and to please just as few.