The Robots of Dawn (Robot #3)

by Isaac Asimov

He was a harsh man, the Commissioner. He considered Baley’s past triumphs a personal offense.

“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.

Daneel said, “Why should a difference in a word make any difference to the thing described?” “ ‘That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ Is that it, Daneel?” Daneel paused, then said, “I am not certain what is meant by the smell of a rose, but if a rose on Earth is the common flower that is called a rose on Aurora, and if by its ‘smell’ you mean a property that can be detected, sensed, or measured by human beings, then surely calling a rose by another sound-combination—and holding all else equal—would not affect the smell or any other of its intrinsic properties.” “True. And yet changes in name do result in changes in perception where human beings are concerned.” “I do not see why, Partner Elijah.” “Because human beings are often illogical, Daneel. It is not an admirable characteristic.”

To Baley, it seemed not that the Aurorans were growing more humane in their attitude out of a liking for the humane, but that they were denying the robotic nature of the objects in order to remove the discomfort of having to recognize the fact that the human beings were dependent upon objects of artificial intelligence.

There was no question but that the history he was viewing grew less interesting as it went along; it became almost soporific. For those living through it, this had to be good. History was interesting to the extent that it was catastrophic and, while that might make absorbing viewing, it made horrible living.

It bothered Baley that the books he viewed made none of this clear. But then, from his own knowledge of Earth’s history, he knew that, at one time, the lunar month had been the key to the calendar and that there had come a time when, for ease of chronometry, the lunar month came to be ignored and was never missed. Yet if he had given books on Earth to some stranger, that stranger would have very likely found no mention of the lunar month or any historical change in calendars. Dates would have been given without explanation. What else would be given without explanation? How far could he rely, then, on the knowledge he was gaining? He would have to ask questions constantly, take nothing for granted. There would be so many opportunities to miss the obvious, so many chances to misunderstand, so many ways of taking the wrong path.

One of the tables was set with dishes, cups, and elaborate cutlery, not all of which were familiar to Baley. In the center was a tall, somewhat tapering cylinder that looked as though it might be a gigantic chess pawn made out of a gray rocky material. Baley, as he sat down, could not resist reaching toward it and touching it with a finger. Fastolfe smiled, “It’s a spicer. It possesses simple controls that allows one to use it to deliver a fixed amount of any of a dozen different condiments on any portion of a dish. To do it properly, one picks it up and performs rather intricate evolutions that are meaningless in themselves but that are much valued by fashionable Aurorans as symbols of the grace and delicacy with which meals should be served. When I was younger, I could, with my thumb and two fingers, do the triple genuflection and produce salt as the spicer struck my palm. Now if I tried it, I’d run a good risk of braining my guest. I trust you won’t mind if I do not try.” “I urge you not to try, Dr. Fastolfe.”

(The human tendency to personify was irrepressible.)

I grow grandiose, which is a good sign I should become prosaic.

“Oh? Do you believe in coincidences? It is my feeling that any time at which a development as revolutionary as the humaniform robot came into being, some task that would require its use would present itself. Similar tasks had probably been presenting themselves regularly in all the years that Daneel did not exist—and because Daneel did not exist, other solutions and devices had to be used.”

“You lift your arm whenever you want something and the robots always know what it is. How did this one know you wanted tea served?” “It’s not difficult. Every time I lift my arm, it distorts a small electromagnetic field that is maintained continuously across the room. Slightly different positions of my hand and fingers produce different distortions and my robots can interpret these distortions as orders. I only use it for simple orders: Come here! Bring tea! and so on.”

Baley eyed the robot with some interest, aware that he had only glanced at him before. Familiarity was quickly breeding indifference. Another day and he would not notice robots at all. They would flutter about him unseen and chores would appear to do themselves. Nevertheless, he did not want to fail to notice them. He wanted them to fail to be there.

He had long known that it was easier to see another’s follies than one’s own.

Aurora, it turned out, was, in its way, as bad as Solaria. In Solaria, sex was wrong. It was hated and we all turned away from it. We could not love for the hatred that sex aroused. “In Aurora, sex was boring. It was accepted calmly, easily—as easily as breathing. If one felt the impulse, one reached out toward anyone who seemed suitable and, if that suitable person was not at the moment engaged in something that could not be put aside, sex followed in any fashion that was convenient. Like breathing. —But where is the ecstasy in breathing? If one were choking, then perhaps the first shuddering breath that followed upon deprivation might be an overwhelming delight and relief. But if one never choked?

Baley stopped to gather his thoughts. Gladia and he were not at cross-purposes; they were running down parallel tracks.

“In that case,” said Baley, “I’m ready for breakfast, though it does take the edge off my appetite to be told that the alternative to failure is attempted assassination.”

“But how do you spend time together? Sex is out, obviously, and you don’t talk robotics. What do you do?” “Is that all there is to companionship—sex and robotics?