Isaac Asimov - The Naked Sun

“Boys!” said Baley. “Do you see this creature whom you thought a master?”

Six ruddy eyes had turned solemnly on Daneel. They said in unison, We see him, master.

Baley said, “Do you also see that this so called master is actually a robot like yourself since it is metal within. It is only designed to look like a man.”

“Yes, master.”

“You are not required to obey any order it gives you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, master.”

“I, on the other hand,” said Baley, “am a true man.”

For a moment the robots hesitated. Baley wondered if, having had it shown to them that a thing might seem a man yet be a robot, they would accept anything in human appearance as a man, anything at all.

But then one robot said, “You are a man, master,” and Baley drew breath again.

He said, “Very well, Daneel. You may relax.”

Daneel moved into a more natural position and said calmly, “Your expressed doubt as to my identity, then, was merely a feint designed to exhibit my nature to these others, I take it.”

“So it was,” said Baley, and looked away. He thought: The thing is a machine, not a man. You can’t double cross a machine.

And yet he couldn’t entirely repress a feeling of shame. Even as Daneel stood there, chest open, there seemed something so human about him, something capable of being betrayed.

Baley said, “Close your chest, Daneel, and listen to me. Physically, you are no match for three robots. You see that, don’t you?”

“That is clear, Partner Elijah.”

“Good!… Now you boys,” and he turned to the other robots again. “You are to tell no one, human or master, that this creature is a robot. Never at any time, without further instructions from myself and myself alone.”

“I thank you,” interposed Daneel softly.

“However,” Baley went on, “this manlike robot is not to be allowed to interfere with my actions in any way. If it attempts any such interference, you will restrain it by force, taking care not to damage it unless absolutely necessary. Do not allow it to establish contact with humans other than myself, or with robots other than yourselves, either by seeing or by viewing. And do not leave it at any time. Keep it in this room and remain here yourselves. Your other duties are suspended until further notice. Is all this clear?”

“Yes, master,” they chorused.

Baley turned to Daneel again. “There is nothing you can do now, so don’t try to stop me.”

Daneel’s arms hung loosely at his side. He said, “I may not, through inaction, allow you to come to harm, Partner Elijah. Yet under the circumstances, nothing but inaction is possible. The logic is unassailable. I shall do nothing. I trust you will remain safe and in good health.”

There it was, thought Baley. Logic was logic and robots had nothing else. Logic told Daneel he was completely stymied. Reason might have told him that all factors are rarely predictable, that the opposition might make a mistake.

None of that. A robot is logical only, not reasonable.

Again Baley felt a twinge of shame and could not forbear an attempt at consolation. He said, “Look, Daneel, even if I were walking into danger, which I’m not” (he added that hurriedly, with a quick glance at the other robots) “it would only be my job. It is what I’m paid to do. It is as much my job to prevent harm to mankind as a whole as yours is to prevent harm to man as an individual. Do you see?”

“I do not, Partner Elijah.”

“Then that is because you’re not made to see. Take my word for it that if you were a man, you would see.”

Daneel bowed his head in acquiescence and remained standing, motionless, while Baley walked slowly toward the door of the room. The three robots parted to make room for him and kept their photoelectric eyes fixed firmly on Daneel.

Baley was walking to a kind of freedom and his heart beat rapidly in anticipation of the fact, then skipped a beat. Another robot was approaching the door from the other side.

Had something gone wrong?

“What is it, boy?” he snapped.

“A message has been forwarded to you, master, from the office of Acting Head of Security Attlebish.”

Baley took the personal capsule handed to him and it opened at once. A finely inscribed strip of paper unrolled. (He wasn’t startled. Solaria would have his fingerprints on file and the capsule would be adjusted to open at the touch of his particular convolutions.)

He read the message and his long face mirrored satisfaction. It was his official permission to arrange “seeing” interviews, subject to the wishes of the interviewees, who were nevertheless urged to give “Agents Baley and Olivaw” every possible cooperation.

Attlebish had capitulated, even to the extent of putting the Earthman’s name first. It was an excellent omen with which to begin, finally, an investigation conducted as it should be conducted.

Baley was in an airborne vessel again, as he had been on that trip from New York to Washington. This time, however, there was a difference. The vessel was not closed in. The windows were left transparent.

It was a clear, bright day and from where Baley sat the windows were so many patches of blue. Unrelieved, featureless. He tried not to huddle. He buried his head in his knees only when he could absolutely no longer help it.

The ordeal was of his own choosing. His state of triumph, his unusual sense of freedom at having beaten down first Attlebish and then Daneel, his feeling of having asserted the dignity of Earth against the Spacers, almost demanded it.

He had begun by stepping across open ground to the waiting plane with a kind of lightheaded dizziness that was almost enjoyable, and he had ordered the windows left unblanked in a kind of manic self confidence.

I have to get used to it, he thought, and stared at the blue until his heart beat rapidly and the lump in his throat swelled beyond endurance.

He had to close his eyes and bury his head under the protective cover of his arms at shortening intervals. Slowly his confidence trickled away and even the touch of the holster of his freshly recharged blaster could not reverse the flow.

He tried to keep his mind on his plan of attack. First, learn the ways of the planet. Sketch in the background against which everything must be placed or fail to make sense.

See a sociologist!

He had asked a robot for the name of the Solarian most eminent as a sociologist. And there was that comfort about robots; they asked no questions.

The robot gave the name and vital statistics, and paused to remark that the sociologist would most probably be at lunch and would, therefore, possibly ask to delay contact.

“Lunch!” said Baley sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not noon by two hours.”

The robot said, “I am using local time, master.”

Baley stared, then understood. On Earth, with its buried Cities, day and night, waking and sleeping, were man made periods, adjusted to suit the needs of the community and the planet. On a planet such as this one, exposed nakedly to the sun, day and night were not a matter of choice at all, but were imposed on man willyfilly.

Baley tried to picture a world as a sphere being lit and unlit as it turned. He found it hard to do and felt scornful of the so superior Spacers who let such an essential thing as time be dictated to them by the vagaries of planetary movements.

He said, “Contact him anyway.”

Robots were there to meet the plane when it landed and Baley, stepping out into the open again, found himself trembling badly.

He muttered to the nearest of the robots, “Let me hold your arm, boy.”

The sociologist waited for him down the length of a hall, smiling tightly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Baley.”