Asimov's Future History Volume 4 (76 page)

“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?”

“Net 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 frying 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.”

“I’m aware of that, Dr. Fastolfe, but Gladia is a Solarian and has unpleasant associations with trimensional viewing. And, in any case, I am of the opinion that there is an intangible additional effectiveness in being within touching distance. The present situation is too delicate and the difficulties too great for me to want to give up that additional effectiveness.”

“Well, I’ll alert Gladia.” He turned away, hesitated, and turned back. “But, Mr. Baley–”

“Yes, Dr. Fastolfe?”

“Last night you told me that the situation was serious enough for you to disregard any convenience it might cause Gladia. There were, you pointed out, greater things at stake.”

“That’s so, but you can rely on me not to disturb her if I can help it.”

“I am not talking about Gladia now. I merely warn you that this essentially proper view of yours should be extended to myself. I don’t expect you to worry about my convenience or pride if you should get a chance to talk to Vasilia. I don’t look forward to the results, but if you do talk to her, I will have to endure any ensuing embarrassment and you must not seek to spare me. Do you understand?”

“To be perfectly honest, Dr. Fastolfe, it was never my attention to spare you. If I have to weigh your embarrassment or shame against the welfare of your policies and against the welfare of my world, I would not hesitate a moment to shame you.”

“Good!–And Mr. Baley, we must extend that attitude also to yourself.
Your
convenience must not be allowed to stand in the way.”

“It wasn’t allowed to do so when you decided to have me brought here without consulting me.”

“Fm referring to something else. If, after a reasonable time–not a long time, but a reasonable time–you make no progress toward a solution, we will have to consider the possibilities of psychic-probing, after all. Our last chance might be to find out what it is your mind knows that you do not know it knows.”

“It may know nothing, Dr. Fastolfe.”

Fastolfe looked at Baley sadly. “Agreed. But, as you said concerning the possibility of Vasilia testifying against me–we’ll face that when it comes.”

He turned away again and walked out of the room.

Baley looked after him thoughtfully. It seemed to him now that if he made progress he would face physical reprisals of an unknown–but possibly dangerous–kind. And if he did not make progress, he would face the Psychic Probe, which could scarcely be better.

“Jehoshaphat!” he muttered softly to himself.

33.

T
HE
WALK
TO
Gladia’s seemed shorter than it had on the day before. The day was sunlit and pleasant again, but the vista looked not at all the same. The sunlight slanted from the opposite direction, of course, and the coloring seemed slightly different.

It could be that the plant life looked a bit different in the morning than in the evening–or smelled different. Baley had, on occasion, thought that of Earth’s plant life as well, he remembered.

Daneel and Giskard accompanied him again, but they traveled more closely to him and seemed less intensely alert.

Baley said idly, “Does the sun shine here all the time?”

“It does not, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel. “Were it to do so, that would be disastrous for the plant world and, therefore, for humanity. The prediction is, in fact, for the sky to cloud over in the course of the day.”

“What was that?” asked Baley, startled. A small and gray-brown animal was crouched in the grass. Seeing them, it hopped away in leisurely fashion.

“A rabbit, sir,” said Giskard.

Baley relaxed. He had seen them in the fields of Earth, too.

Gladia was not waiting for them at the door this time, but she was clearly expecting them. When a robot ushered them in, she did not stand up, but said, with something between crossness and weariness, “Dr. Fastolfe told me you had to see me again. What now?”

She was wearing a robe that clung tightly to her body and was clearly wearing nothing underneath. Her hair was pulled back shapelessly and her face was pallid. She looked more drawn than she had the day before and it was clear that she had had little sleep.

Daneel, remembering what had happened the day before, did not enter the room. Giskard entered, however, glanced keenly about, then retired to a wall niche. One of Gladia’s robots stood in another niche.

Baley said, “I’m terribly sorry, Gladia, to have to bother you again.”

Gladia said, “I forgot to tell you last night that, after Jander is torched, he will, of course, be recycled for use in the robot factories again. It will be amusing, I suppose, to know that each time I see a newly formed robot, I can take time to realize that many of Jander’s atoms form part of him.”

Baley said, “We ourselves, when we die, are recycled–and who knows what atoms of whom are in you and me right now or in whom ours will someday be.”

“You are very right, Elijah. And you remind me how easy it is to philosophize over the sorrows of others.”

“That is right, too, Gladia, but I did not come to philosophize.”

“Do what you came to do, then.”

“I must ask questions.”

“Weren’t yesterday’s enough? Have you spent the time since then in thinking up new ones?”

“In part, yes, Gladia.–Yesterday, you said that even after you were with Jander–as wife and husband–there were men who offered themselves to you and that you refused. It is that which I must question you about.”

“Why?”

Baley ignored the question. “Tell me,” he said, “how many men offered themselves to you during the time you were married to Jander?”

“I don’t keep records, Elijah. Three or four.”

“‘Were any of them persistent? Did anyone offer himself more than once?”

Gladia, who had been avoiding his eyes, now looked at him full and said, “Have you talked to others about this?”

Baley shook his head. “I have talked on this subject to no one but you. From your question, however, I suspect that there was at least one who was persistent.”

“One. Santirix Gremionis.” She sighed. “Aurorans have such peculiar names and he
was
peculiar–for an Auroran. I had never met one as repetitious in the matter as he. He was always polite, always accepted my refusal with a small smile and a stately bow, and then, as like as not, he would try again the next week or even the next day. The mere repetition was a small discourtesy. A decent Auroran would accept a refusal permanently unless the prospective partner made it reasonably plain there was a change of mind.”

“Tell me again–Did those who offered themselves to you know of your relationship with Jander?”

“It was not something I mentioned in casual conversation.”

“Well, then, consider this Gremionis, specifically. Did
he
know that Jander was your husband?”

“I never told him so.”

“Don’t dismiss it like that, Gladia. It’s not a matter of his being told. Unlike the others, he offered himself repeatedly. How often would you say, by the way? Three times? Four? How many?”

“I did not count,” said Gladia wearily. “It might have been a dozen times or more. If he weren’t a likable person otherwise, I would have had my robots bar the establishment to him.”

“Ah, but you didn’t. And it takes time to make multiple offerings. He came to see you. He encountered you. He had time to note Jander’s presence and how you behaved to him. Might he not have guessed at the relationship?”

Gladia shook her head. “I don’t think so. Jander never intruded when I was with any human being.”

“Were those your instructions? I presume they must have been.”

“They were. And before you suggest I was ashamed of the relationship, it was merely an attempt to avoid bothersome complications. I have retained some instinct of privacy about sex that Aurorans don’t have.”

“Think again. Might he have guessed? Here he is, a man in love–”

“In love!” The sound she made was almost a snort. “What do Aurorans know of love?”

“A man who considers himself in love. You are not responsive. Might he not, with the sensitivity and suspicion of a disappointed lover, have guessed? Consider! Did he ever make any roundabout reference to Jander? Anything to cause you the slightest suspicion–”