Isaac Asimov - The Naked Sun

For a moment he thought of pointing the blaster at his own temple. Open the car top or I’ll kill myself. Oppose one application of the First Law by a greater and more immediate one.

Baley knew he couldn’t do it. Too undignified. He disliked the picture conjured up by the thought.

He said wearily, “Would you ask the driver how close in miles we are to destination?”

“Certainly, Partner Elijah.”

Daneel bent forward and pushed the toggle switch. But as he did so, Baley leaned forward too, crying out, “Driver! Lower the top of the car!”

And it was the human hand that moved quickly to the toggle switch and closed it again. The human hand held its place firmly thereafter.

Panting a bit, Baley stared at Daneel.

For a second Daneel was motionless, as though his positronic paths were momentarily out of stability in their effort to adjust to the new situation. But that passed quickly and then the robot’s hand was moving.

Baley had anticipated that. Daneel would remove the human hand from the switch (gently, not hurting it), reactivate the transmitter, and countermand the order.

Baley said, “You won’t get my hand away without hurting me. I warn you. You will probably have to break my finger.”

That was not so. Baley knew that. But Daneel’s movements stopped. Harm against harm. The positronic brain had to weigh probabilities and translate them into opposing potentials. It meant just a bit more hesitation.

Baley said, “It’s too late.”

His race was won. The top was sliding back and pouring into the car, flow open, was the harsh white light of Solaria’s sun.

Baley wanted to shut his eyes in initial terror, but fought the sensation. He faced the enormous wash of blue and green, incredible quantities of it. He could feel the undisciplined rush of air against his face, but could make out no details of anything. A moving something flashed past. It might have been a robot or an animal or an unliving something caught in a puff of air. He couldn’t tell. The car went past it too quickly.

Blue, green, air, noise, motion—and over it all, beating down, furiously, relentlessly, frighteningly, was the white light that came from a ball in the sky.

For one fleeting split moment he bent his head back and stared directly at Solaria’s sun. He stared at it, unprotected by the diffusing glass of the Cities’ uppermost-level sun-porches. He stared at the naked sun.

And at the very moment he felt Daneel’s hands clamping down upon his shoulders. His mind crowded with thought during that unreal, whirling moment. He had to see! He had to see all he could. And Daneel must be there with him to keep him from seeing.

But surely a robot would not dare use violence on a man. That thought was dominant. Daneel could not prevent him forcibly, and yet Baley felt the robot’s hands forcing him down.

Baley lifted his arms to force those fleshless hands away and lost all sensation.

Baley was back in the safety of enclosure. Daneel’s face wavered before his eyes, and it was splotched with dark spots that turned to red when he blinked.

Baley said, “What happened?”

“I regret,” said Daneel, “that you have suffered harm despite my presence. The direct rays of the sun are damaging to the human eye, but I believe that the damage from the short exposure you suffered will not be permanent. When you looked up, I was forced to pull you down and you lost consciousness.”

Baley grimaced. That left the question open as to whether he had fainted out of over excitement (or fright?) or had been knocked unconscious. He felt his jaw and head and found no pain. He forbore asking the question direct. In a way he didn’t want to know.

He said, “It wasn’t so bad.”

“From your reactions, Partner Elijah, I should judge you had found it unpleasant.”

“Not at all,” said Baley stubbornly. The splotches before his eyes were fading and they weren’t tearing so. “I’m only sorry I saw so little. We were moving too fast. Did we pass a robot?”

“We passed a number of them. We are traveling across the Kinbald estate, which is given over to fruit orchards.”

“I’ll have to try again,” said Baley.

“You must not, in my presence,” said Daneel. “Meanwhile, I have done as you requested.”

“As I requested?”

“You will remember, Partner Elijah, that before you ordered the

driver to lower the top of the car, you had ordered me to ask the driver how close in miles we were to destination. We are ten miles away now and shall be there in some six minutes.”

Baley felt the impulse to ask Daneel if he were angry at having been outwitted if only to see that perfect face become imperfect, but he repressed it. Of course Daneel would simply answer no, without rancor or annoyance. He would sit there as calm and as grave as ever, unperturbed and imperturbable.

Baley said quietly, “Just the same, Daneel, I’ll have to get used to it, you know.”

The robot regarded his human partner. “To what is it that you refer?”

“Jehoshaphat! To the—the outdoors. It’s all this planet is made of.”

“There will be no necessity for facing the outdoors,” said Daneel. Then, as though that disposed of the subject, he said, “We are slowing down, Partner Elijah. I believe we have arrived. It will be necessary to wait now for the connection of another air-tube leading to the dwelling that will serve as our base of operations.”

“An air-tube is unnecessary, Daneel. If I am to be working outdoors, there is no point in delaying the indoctrination.”

“There will be no reason for you to work outdoors, Partner Elijah.” The robot started to say more, but Baley waved him quiet with a peremptory motion of the hand.

At the moment he was not in the mood for Daneel’s careful consolations, for soothings, for assurances that all would be well and that he would be taken care of.

What he really wanted was an inner knowledge that he could take care of himself and fulfill his assignment. The sight and feel of the open had been hard to take. It might be that when the time came he would lack the hardihood to dare face it again, at the cost of his self-respect and, conceivably, of Earth’s safety. All over a small matter of emptiness.

His face grew grim even at the glancing touch of that thought. He would face air, sun, and empty space yet!

Elijah Baley felt like an inhabitant of one of the smaller Cities, say Helsinki, visiting New York and counting the Levels in awe. He had thought of a “dwelling” as something like an apartment unit, but this was nothing like it at all. He passed from room to room endlessly. Panoramic windows were shrouded closely, allowing no hint of disturbing day to enter. Lights came to life noiselessly from hidden sources as they stepped into a room and died again as quietly when they left.

“So many rooms,” said Baley with wonder. “So many. It’s like a very tiny City, Daneel.”

“It would seem so, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel with equanimity. It seemed strange to the Earthman. Why was it necessary to crowd so many Spacers together with him in close quarters? He said, “How many will be living here with me?”

Daneel said, “There will be myself, of course, and a number of robots.”

Baley thought: He ought to have said, a number of other robots. Again he found it obvious that Daneel had the intention of playing the man thoroughly even for no other audience than Baley, who knew the truth so well.

And then that thought popped into nothing under the force of a second, more urgent one. He cried, “Robots? How many humans?”

“None, Partner Elijah.”

They had just stepped into a room, crowded from floor to ceiling with book films. Three fixed viewers with large twenty-four-inch viewing panels set vertically were in three corners of the room. The fourth contained an animation screen.