The robot said, "But it appears you are not well, sir."
Baley felt another twinge of satisfaction. He said, "I am well."
Behind the robot, he could vaguely see a crowding of several other robots - he could not count them - with their faces gleaming in the occasional lightning flash. As Baley's eyes adapted to the return of darkness, he could see the dim shine of their eyes.
He turned his head. There were robots at the left door, too, though that remained closed.
How many had Amadiro sent? Were they to have been returned, by force, if necessary?
He said, "Master Roboticist Amadiro's orders were that my robots were to return to the Institute and I was to wait. You see that they are returning and that I am waiting. If you were sent to help, if you have a vehicle, find the robots, who are on their way back, and transport them. This airfoil is no longer operative." He tried to say it all without hesitation and firmly, as a well man would. He did not entirely succeed.
"They have returned on foot, sir?"
Baley said, "Find them. Your orders are clear."
There was hesitation. Clear hesitation.
Baley finally remembered to move his right foot - he hoped properly. He should have done it before, but his physical body was not responding properly to his thoughts.
Still the robots hesitated and Baley grieved over that. He was not a Spacer. He did not know the proper words, the proper tone, the proper air with which to handle robots with the proper efficiency. A skilled roboticist could, with a gesture, a lift of an eyebrow, direct a robot as though it were a marionette of which he held the strings. - Especially if the robot were of his own design.
But Baley was only an Earthman.
He frowned - that was easy to do in his misery - and whispered a weary "Go!" and motioned with his hands.
Perhaps that added the last small and necessary quantity of weight to his order - or perhaps an end had simply been reached, to the time it took for the robots' positronic pathways to determine, by voltage and counter-voltage, how to sort out their instructions according to the Three Laws.
Either way, they had made up their minds and, after that, there was no further hesitation. They moved back to their vehicle, whatever and wherever it was, with such determined speed that they seemed simply to disappear.
The door the robot had held open now closed of its own accord. Baley had moved his foot in order to place it in the pathway of the closing door. He wondered distantly if his foot would be cut off cleanly or if its bones would be crushed, but he didn't move it. Surely no vehicle would be designed to make such a misadventure possible.
He was alone again. He had forced robots to leave a patently unwell human being by playing on the force of the orders given them by a competent robot master who had been intent on strengthening the Second Law for his own purposes - and had done it to the point - where Baley's own quite apparent lies had subordinated the First Law to it.
How well he had done it, Baley thought with distant self-satisfaction - and became aware that the door which had swung shut was still ajar, held so by his foot, and that that foot had not been the least bit damaged as a result.
65
Baley felt cool air curling about his foot and a sprinkle of cool water. It was a frighteningly abnormal thing to sense, yet he could not allow the door to close, for he would then not know how to open it. (How did the robots open those doors? Undoubtedly, it was no puzzle to members of the culture, but in his reading on Auroran life, there was no careful instruction of just how one opens the door of a standard airfoil. Everything of importance is taken for granted. You're supposed to know, even though you are, in theory, being informed.)
He was groping in his pockets as he thought this and even the pockets were not easy to find. They were not in the right places and they were sealed, so that they had to be opened by fumbles till he found the precise motion that caused the seal to part. He pulled out a handkerchief, balled it, and placed it between the door and jamb so that the door would not entirely close. He then removed his foot.
Now to think - if he could. There was no point to keeping the door open unless he meant to get out. Was there, however, any, purpose in getting out?
If he waited where he was, Giskard would eventually come back for him and, presumably, lead him to safety.
Dare he wait?
He did not know how long it would take Giskard to see Daneel to safety and then return.
But neither did he know how long it would take the pursuing robots to decide they would not find Daneel and Giskard on any road leading back to the Institute. (Surely it was impossible that Daneel and Giskard had actually moved backward toward the Institute in search of sanctuary. Baley had not actually ordered them not to - but what if that were the only feasible route? - No! Impossible!)
Baley shook his head in silent denial of the possibility and felt it ache in response. He put his hands to it and gritted his teeth.
How long would the pursuing robots continue to search before they would decide that Baley had misled them - or had been himself misled? Would they then return and take him in custody, very politely and with great care not to harm him? Could he hold them off by telling them he would die if exposed to the storm?
Would they believe that? Would they call the Institute to report? Surely they would do that. And would human beings then arrive? They would not be overly concerned about his welfare.
If Baley got out of the car and found some hiding place in the surrounding trees, it would be that much harder for the pursuing robots to locate him - and that would gain him time.
It would also be harder for Giskard to locate him, but Giskard would be under a much more intense instruction to guard Baley than the pursuing robots were to find him. The primary task of the former would be to locate Baley - and of the latter, to locate Daneel.