Daneel Olivaw 3 - The Robots of Dawn, Page 2

  He knew very well why that wasn't done. Any accident involving a robot-driven car would set off another antirobot riot.

  He did not slacken his pace. There were two kilometers to walk before they even got to the City wall and, thereafter, they would have to reach Headquarters through heavy traffic.

  Aurora? What kind of crisis was brewing now?

  2

  It took half an hour for Baley to reach the entranceway into the City and he stiffened himself for what he suspected ahead. Perhaps—perhaps—it wouldn't happen this time.

  He reached the dividing plane between Outside and City, the wall that marked off chaos from civilization. He placed his hand over the signal patch and an opening appeared. As usual, he didn't wait for the opening to be completed, but slipped in as soon as it was wide enough. R. Geronimo followed.

  The police sentry on duty looked startled, as he always did when someone came in from Outside. Each time there, was the same look of disbelief, the same coming to attention, the same sudden hand upon the blaster, the same frown of uncertainty.

  Baley presented his identity card with a scowl and the sentry saluted. The door closed behind him—and it happened.

  Baley was inside the City. The walls closed around him and the City became the Universe. He was again immersed in the endless, eternal hum and odor of people and machinery that would soon fade below the threshold of consciousness; in the soft, indirect artificial light that was nothing at all like the partial and varying glare of the Outside, with its green and brown and blue and white and its interruptions of red and yellow. Here there was no erratic wind, no heat, no cold, no threat of rain; here there was instead the quiet permanence of unfelt air currents that kept everything fresh. Here was a designed combination of temperature and humidity so perfectly adjusted to humans it remained unsensed.

  Baley felt his breath drawn in tremulously and he gladdened in the realization that he was home and safe with the known and knowable.

  That was what always happened. Again he had accepted the City as the womb and moved back into it with glad relief. He knew that such a womb was something from which humanity must emerge and be born. Why did he always sink back this way?

  And would that always be? Would it really be that, though he might lead countless numbers out of the City and off the Earth and out to the stars, he would not, in the end, be able to go himself? Would he always feel at home only in the City?

  He clenched his teeth—but there was no use thinking about it.

  He said to the robot, “Were you brought to this point by car, boy?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I do not know, master.”

  Baley turned to the sentry. “Officer, this robot was brought to this spot two hours ago. What has happened to the car that brought him?”

  “Sir, I went on duty less than an hour ago.”

  Actually, it was foolish to ask. Those in the car did not know how long it would take the robot to find him, so they would not wait. Baley had a brief impulse to call in, but they would tell him to take the Expressway; it would be quicker.

  The only reason he hesitated was the presence of R. Geronimo. He didn't want its company on the Expressway and yet he could not expect the robot to make its way back to Headquarters through hostile crowds.

  Not that he had a choice. Undoubtedly, the Commissioner was not eager to make this easy for him. He would be annoyed at not having had him on call, free time or not.

  Baley said, “This way, boy.”

  The City covered over five thousand square kilometers and contained over four hundred kilometers of Expressway, plus hundreds of kilometers of Feederway, to serve its well over twenty million people. The intricate net of movement existed on eight levels and there were hundreds of interchanges of varying degrees of complexity.

  As a plainclothesman, Baley was expected to know them all—and he did. Put him down blindfolded in any corner of the City, whip off the blindfold, and he could make his way flawlessly to any other designated portion.

  There was no question then but that he knew how to get to Headquarters. There were eight reasonable routes he could follow, however, and for a moment he hesitated over which might be least crowded at this time.

  Only for a moment. Then he decided and said, “Come with me, boy.” The robot followed docilely at his heels.

  They swung onto a passing Feeder and Baley seized one of the vertical poles: white, warm, and textured to give a good grip. Baley did not want to sit down; they would not be on for long. The robot had waited for Baley's quick gesture before placing its hand upon the same pole. It might as well have remained standing without a grip—it would not have been difficult to maintain balance—but Baley wanted to take no chance of being separated. He was responsible for the robot and did not wish to risk being asked to replace the financial loss to the City should anything happen to R. Geronimo.

  The Feeder had a few other people on board and the eyes of each turned curiously—and inevitably—to the robot. One by one, Baley caught those glances. Baley had the look of one used to authority and the eyes he caught turned uneasily away.

  Baley gestured again as he swung off the Feeder. It had reached the strips now and was moving at the same speed as the nearest strip, so that there was no necessity for it to slow down. Baley stepped onto that nearest strip and felt the whipping of air once they were no longer protected by plastic enclosure.

  He leaned into the wind with the ease of long practice, lifting one arm to break the force at eye level. He ran the strips downward to the intersection with the Expressway and then began the run upward to the speed-strip that bordered the Expressway.

  He heard the teenage cry of “Robot!” (he had been a teenager himself once) and knew exactly what would happen. A group of them—two or three or half a dozen— would swarm up or down the strips and somehow the robot would be tripped and would go clanging down. Then, if it ever came before a magistrate, any teenager taken into custody would claim the robot had collided with him and was a menace on the strips—and would undoubtedly be let go.

  The robot could neither defend itself in the first instance, nor testify in the second.

  Baley moved rapidly and was between the first of the teenagers and the robot. He sidestepped onto a faster strip, brought his arm higher, as though to adjust to the increase in wind speed, and somehow the young man was nudged off course and onto a slower strip for which he was not prepared. He called out wildly, ‘Hey!” as he went sprawling. The others stopped, assessed the situation quickly, and veered away.

  Baley said, “Onto the Expressway, boy.”

  The robot hesitated briefly. Robots were not allowed, unaccompanied, on the Expressway. Baley's order had been a firm one, however, and it moved aboard. Baley followed, which relieved the pressure on the robot.

  Baley moved brusquely through the crowd of standees, forcing R. Geronimo ahead of him, making his way up to the less crowded upper level. He held on to a pole and kept one foot firmly on the robot's, again glaring down all eye contact.

  Fifteen and a half kilometers brought him to the close-point for the Police Headquarters and he was off. R. Geronimo came off with him. It hadn't been touched, not a scuff. Baley delivered it at the door and accepted a receipt. He carefully checked the date, the time, and the robot's serial number, then placed the receipt in his wallet. Before the day was over, he would check and make certain that the transaction had been computer-registered.

  Now he was going to see the Commissioner—and he knew the Commissioner. Any failing on Baley's part would be suitable cause for demotion. He was a harsh man, the Commissioner. He considered Baley's past triumphs a personal offense.

  3

  The Commissioner was Wilson Roth. He had held the post for two and a half years, since Julius Enderby had resigned once the furor roused by the murder of a Spacer had subsided and the resignation could be safely offered. Baley had never quite reconciled himself to the change. Juli
us, with all his shortcomings, had been a friend as well as a superior; Roth was merely a superior.

  He was not even City-bred. Not this City. He had been brought in from outside.

  Roth was neither unusually tall nor unusually fat. His head was large, though, and seemed to be set on a neck that slanted slightly forward from his torso. It made him appear heavy: heavy-bodied and heavy-headed. He even had heavy lids half-obscuring his eyes.

  Anyone would think him sleepy, but he never missed anything. Baley had found that out very soon after Roth had taken over the office. He was under no illusion that Roth liked him. He was under less illusion that he liked Roth.

  Roth did not sound petulant—he never did—but his words did not exude pleasure, either. “Baley, why is it so hard to find you?” he said.

  Baley said in a carefully respectful voice, “It is my afternoon off, Commissioner.”

  “Yes, your C-7 privilege. You've heard of a Waver, haven't you? Something that receives official messages? You are subject to recall, even on your off-time.”

  “I know that very well, Commissioner, but there are no longer any regulations concerning the wearing of a Waver. We can be reached without one.”

  “Inside the City, yes, but you were Outside—or am I mistaken?”

  “You are not mistaken, Commissioner. I was Outside. The regulations do not state that, in such a case, I am to wear a Waver.”

  “You hide behind the letter of the statute, do you?”

  “Yes, Commissioner,” said Baley calmly.

  The Commissioner rose, a powerful and vaguely threatening man, and sat on the desk. The window to the Outside, which Enderby had installed, had long been closed off and painted over. In the closed-in room (warmer and more comfortable for that), the Commissioner seemed the larger.

  He said, without raising his voice, “You rely, Baley, on Earth's gratitude, I think.”

  “I rely on doing my job, Commissioner, as best I can and in accord with the regulations.”

  “And on Earth's gratitude when you bend the spirit of those regulations.”

  Baley said nothing to that.

  The Commissioner said, “You are considered as having done well in the Sarton murder case three years ago.”

  “Thank you, Commissioner,” said Baley. “The dismantling of Spacetown was a consequence, I believe.”

  “It was—and that was something applauded by all Earth. You are also considered as having done well on Solaria two years ago and, before you remind me, the result was a revision in the terms of the trade treaties with the Spacer worlds, to the considerable advantage of Earth.”

  “I believe that is on record, sir.”

  “And you are very much the hero as a result.”

  “I make no such claim.”

  “You have received two promotions, one in the aftermath of each affair. There has even been a hyperwave drama based on the events on Solaria.”

  “Which was produced without my permission and against my will, Commissioner.”

  “Which nevertheless made you a kind of hero.”

  Baley shrugged.

  The Commissioner, having waited for a spoken comment for a few seconds, went on, “But you have done nothing of importance in nearly two years.”

  “It is natural for Earth to ask what I have done for it lately.”

  “Exactly. It probably does ask. It knows that you are a leader in this new fad of venturing Outside, in fiddling with the soil, and in pretending to be a robot.”

  “It is permitted.”

  “Not all that is permitted is admired. It is possible that more people think of you as peculiar than as heroic.”

  “That is, perhaps, in accord with my own opinion of myself,” said Baley.

  “The public has a notoriously short memory. The heroic is vanishing rapidly behind the peculiar in your case, so that if you make a mistake you will be in serious trouble. The reputation you rely on—”

  “With respect, Commissioner, I do not rely on it.”

  “The reputation the Police Department feels you rely on will not save you and I will not be able to save you.”

  The shadow of a smile seemed to pass for one moment over Baley's dour features. “I would not want you, Commissioner, to risk your position in a wild attempt to save me.”

  The Commissioner shrugged and produced a smile precisely as shadowy and fleeting. “You need not worry about that.”

  “Then why are you telling me all this, Commissioner?”

  “To warn you. I am not trying to destroy you, you understand, so I am warning you once. You are going to be involved in a very delicate matter, in which you may easily make a mistake, and I am warning you that you must not make one.” Here his face relaxed into an unmistakable smile.

  Baley did not respond to the smile. He said, “Can you tell me what the very delicate matter is?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Does it involve Aurora?”

  “R. Geronimo was instructed to tell you that it did, if it had to, but I know nothing about it.”

  “Then how can you tell, Commissioner, that it is a very delicate matter?”

  “Come, Baley, you are an investigator of mysteries. What brings a member of the Terrestrial Department of Justice to the City, when you might easily have been asked to go to Washington, as you did two years ago in connection with the Solaria incident? And what makes the person from Justice frown and seem ill-tempered and grow impatient at the fact that you were not reached instantly? Your decision to make yourself unavailable was a mistake, one that was in no way my responsibility. It is perhaps not fatal in itself, but you are off on the wrong foot, I believe.”

  “You are delaying me further, however,” said Baley, frowning.

  “Not really. The official from Justice is having some light refreshment—you know the perks that the Terries allow themselves. We will be joined when that is done. The news of your arrival has been transmitted, so just continue to wait, as I am doing.”

  Baley waited. He had known, at the time, that the hyperwave drama, forced upon him against his will, however it might have helped Earth's position, had ruined him in the Department. It had cast him in three-dimensional relief against the two-dimensional flatness of the organization and had made him a marked man.

  He had risen to higher rank and greater privileges, but that, too, had increased Department hostility against him. And the higher he rose, the more easily he would shatter in case of a fall.

  If he made a mistake—

  4

  The official from Justice entered, looked about casually, walked to the other side of Roth's desk, and took the seat. As highest-classified individual, the official behaved properly. Roth calmly took a secondary seat.

  Baley remained standing, laboring to keep his face unsurprised.

  Roth might have warned him, but he had not. He had clearly chosen his words deliberately, in order to give no sign.

  The official was a woman.

  There was no reason for this not to be. Any official might be a woman. The Secretary-General might be a woman. There were women on the police force, even a woman with the rank of captain.

  It was just that, without warning, one didn't expect it in any given case. There were times in history when women entered administrative posts in considerable numbers. Baley knew that; he knew history well. But this wasn't one of those times.

  She was quite tall and sat stiffly upright in the chair. Her uniform was not very different from that of a man, nor was her hair styling or facial adornment. What gave her sex away immediately were her breasts, the prominence of which she made no attempt to hide.

  She was fortyish, her facial features regular and cleanly chiseled. She had middle-aged attractively, with, as yet, no visible gray in her dark hair.

  She said, “You are Plainclothesman Elijah Baley, Classification C-7.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, ma'am,” Baley answered, nevertheless.

  “I am Undersecretary L
avinia Demacheck. You don't look very much as you did in that hyperwave drama concerning you.”

  Baley had been told that often. “They couldn't very well portray me as I am and collect much of an audience, ma'am,” said Baley dryly.

  “I'm not sure of that. You look stronger than the baby-faced actor they used.”

  Baley hesitated a second or so and decided to take the chance—or perhaps felt he couldn't resist taking it. Solemnly, he said, “You have a cultivated taste, ma'am.”

  She laughed and Baley let out his breath very gently. She said, “I like to think I have. —Now what do you mean by keeping me waiting?”

  “I was not informed you would come, ma'am, and it was off-time for me.”

  “Which you spent Outside, I understand.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “You are one of those cranks, as I would say were my taste not a cultivated one. Let me ask, instead, if you are one of those enthusiasts.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “You expect to emigrate some day and found new worlds in the wilderness of the Galaxy?”

  “Perhaps not I, ma'am. I may prove to be too old, but—”

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-five, ma'am.”

  “Well, you look it. I am forty-five also, as it happens.”

  “You do not look it, ma'am.”

  “Older or younger?” She broke into laughter again, then said, “But let's not play games. Do you imply I am too old to be a pioneer?”

  “No one can be a pioneer in our society, without training Outside. The training works best with the young. My son, I hope, will someday stand on another world.”

  “Indeed? You know, of course, that the Galaxy belongs to the Spacer worlds.”

  “There are only fifty of them, ma'am. There are millions of worlds in the Galaxy that are habitable—or can be made habitable—and that probably do not possess indigenous intelligent life.”

  “Yes, but not one ship can leave Earth without Spacer permission.”