Isaac Asimov - The Robots of Dawn

Not quite the same, to be sure. In the City, the speed of the strips was a fixed quantity. What wind there was blew in absolutely predictable fashion, since it was only the result of the movement of the strips. Here in the storm however, the wind had a mind of its own or, rather, it depended on so many variables (Baley was deliberately striving for rationality) that it seemed to have a mind of its own—and Giskard had to allow for that. That was all. Otherwise, it was just running the strips with an added complication. The strips were moving at variable—and sharply changing-speeds.

Baley muttered, “What if we blow into a tree?”

“Very unlikely, Partner Elijah. Giskard is far too skillful for that. And we are only very slightly above the ground, so that the jets are particularly powerful.”

“Then we’ll hit a rock. It will cave us in underneath.”

“We will not hit a rock, Partner Elijah.”

“Why not? How on Earth can Giskard see where he’s going, anyway?” Baley stared at the darkness ahead.

“It is just about sunset,” said Daneel, “and some light is making its way through the clouds. It is—enough for us to see by with the help of our headlights. And as it grows darker, Giskard will brighten the headlights.”

“What headlights?” asked Baley rebelliously.

“You do not see them very well because they have a strong infrared component, to which Giskard’s eyes are sensitive but yours are not. What’s more, the infrared is more penetrating than shorter wave light is and, for that reason, is more effective in rain, mist, and fog.”

Baley managed to feel some curiosity, even amid his uneasiness. “And your eyes, Daneel?”

“My eyes, Partner Elijah, are designed to be as similar to those of human beings as possible. That is regrettable, perhaps, at this moment.”

The airfoil trembled and Baley found himself holding his breath again. He said in a whisper, “Spacer eyes are still adapted to Earth’s sun, even if robot eyes aren’t. A good thing, too, if it helps—remind them they’re descended from Earthpeople.”

His voice faded out. It was getting darker. He could see nothing at all now and the intermittent flashes lighted nothing, either. They were merely blinding. He closed his eyes and that didn’t help. He was the more conscious of the angry, threatening thunder.

Should they not stop? Should they not wait for the worst of the storm to pass?

Giskard suddenly said, “The vehicle is not reacting properly.”

Baley felt the ride become ragged as though the machine was on wheels and was rolling over ridges.

Daneel said, “Can it be storm damage, friend Giskard?”

“It does not have the feel of that, friend Daneel. Nor does it seem likely that this machine would suffer from this kind of damage in this or any other storm.”

Baley absorbed the exchange with difficulty. “Damage?” he muttered. “What kind of damage?”

Giskard said, “I should judge the compressor to be leaking, sir, but slowly. It’s not the result of an ordinary puncture.”

“How did it happen, then?” Baley asked.

“Deliberate damage, perhaps, while it was outside the Administration Building. I have known, now, for some little time that we are being followed and carefully not being overtaken.”

“Why, Giskard?”

“A possibility, sir, is that they are waiting for us to break down completely.” The airfoil’s motion was becoming more ragged.

“Can you make it to Dr. Fastolfe’s?”

“It would not seem so, sir.”

Baley tried to fling his reeling mind into action. “In that case, I’ve completely misjudged Amadiro’s reason for delaying us. He was keeping us there to have one or more of his robots damage the airfoil in such a way as to bring us down in the midst of desolation and lightning,”

“But why should he do that?” said Daneel, sounding shocked. “To get you?—In a way, he already had you.”

“He doesn’t want me. No one wants me,” said Baley with a somewhat feeble anger. “The danger is to you, Daneel.”

“To me, Partner Elijah?”

“Yes, you! Daneel. Giskard, choose a safe place to come down and, as, soon as you do, Daneel must get out of the car and be off to a place of safety.”

Daneel said, “That is impossible, Partner Elijah. I could not leave you when you are feeling ill—and most especially if there are those who pursue us and might do you harm.”

Baley said, “Daneel, they’re pursuing you. You must leave. As for me, I will stay in the airfoil. I am in no danger.”

“How can I believe that?”

“Please! Please! How can I explain the whole thing with everything spinning—Daneel”—Baley’s voice grew desperately calm—“you are the most important individual here, far more important than Giskard and I put together. It’s not just that I care for you and want no harm to come to you. All of humanity depends on you. Don’t worry about me; I’m one man; worry about billions. Daneel—please—”

Baley could feel himself rocking back and forth. Or was it the airfoil? Was it breaking up altogether? Or was Giskard losing control? Or was he taking evasive action?

Baley didn’t care. He didn’t care! Let the airfoil crash. Let it smash to bits. He would welcome oblivion. Anything to get rid of this terrible fright, this total inability to come to terms with the Universe.

Except that he had to make sure that Daneel got away safely away. But how?

Everything was unreal and he was not going to be able to explain anything to these robots. The situation was so clear to him, but how was he to transfer this understanding to these robots, to these nonmen, who understood nothing but their Three Laws and who would let all of Earth and, in the long run, all of humanity go to hell because they could only be concerned with the one man under their noses?

Why had robots ever been invented?

And then, oddly enough,—Giskard, the lesser of the two, came to his aid.

He said in his contentless voice, “Friend Daneel, I cannot keep this airfoil in motion much longer. Perhaps it will be more suitable to do as Mr. Baley suggests. He has given you a very strong order.”

“Can I leave him when he is unwell, friend Giskard?” said Daneel, perplexed.

“You cannot take him out into the storm with you, friend Daneel. Moreover, he seems so anxious for you to leave that it may do him harm for you to stay.”

Baley felt himself reviving. “Yes—yes—” he managed to croak out. “As Giskard says. Giskard, you go with him, hide him, make sure he doesn’t return—then come back for me.”

Daneel said forcefully, “That cannot be, Partner Elijah. We cannot leave you alone, untended, unguarded.”

“No danger—I am in no danger. Do as I say—”

Giskard said, “Those following are probably robots. Human beings I would hesitate to come out in the storm. And robots would not harm Mr. Baley.”

Daneel said, “They might take him away.”

“Not into the storm, friend Daneel, since that would work obvious harm to him. I will bring the airfoil to a halt now, friend Daneel. You must be ready to do as Mr. Baley orders. I, too.”

“Good!” whispered Baley. “Good!” He was grateful for the simpler brain that could more easily be impressed and that lacked the ability to get lost and uncertain in ever-expanding refinements.

Vaguely, he thought of Daneel trapped between his perception of Baley’s ill-being and the urgency of the order—and of his brain snapping under the conflict.

Baley thought: No, no, Daneel. Just do as I say and don’t question it.

He lacked the strength, almost the will, to articulate it and he let the order remain a thought.

The airfoil came down with a bump and a short, harsh, scraping noise.