“We do not really understand why the life-bearing planets that human beings have encountered have been so feebly life bearing, why only Earth itself has been overflowing with madly tenacious varieties of life filling every environmental niche, and why only Earth has developed any sign of intelligence whatever.”

Baley said, “Maybe it is coincidence, the accident of incomplete exploration. We know so few planets so far.”

“I admit,” said Fastolfe, “that that is the most likely explanation. Somewhere there may be an ecological balance as complex as that of Earth. Somewhere there may be intelligent life and a technological civilization. Yet Earth’s life and intelligence has spread outward for parsecs in every direction. If there is life and intelligence elsewhere, why have they not spread out as well—and why have we not encountered each other?”

“That might happen tomorrow, for all we know.”

“It might. And if such an encounter is imminent, all the more reason why we should not be passively waiting. For we are growing passive, Mr. Baley. No new Spacer world has been settled in two and a half centuries. Our worlds are so tame, so delightful, we do not wish to leave them. This world was originally settled, you see, because Earth had grown so unpleasant that the risks and dangers of new and empty, worlds seemed preferable by comparison. By the time our fifty Spacer worlds were developed—Solaria last of all—there was no longer any push, any need to move out elsewhere. And Earth itself had retreated to its underground caves of steel. The End. Finis.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“If we stay as we are? If we remain placid and comfortable and unmoving? Yes, I do mean that. Humanity must expand its range somehow if it is to continue to flourish. One method of expansion is through space, through a constant pioneering reach toward other worlds. If we fail in this, some other civilization that is undergoing such expansion will reach us and we will not be able to stand against its dynamism.”

“You expect a space war — like a hyperwave shoot ’em up.”

“No, I doubt that that would be necessary. A civilization that is expanding through space will not need our few worlds and will probably be too intellectually advanced to feel the need to batter its way into hegemony here. If, however, we are surrounded by a more lively, a more vibrant civilization, we will wither away by the mere force of the comparison; we will die of the realization of what we have become and of the potential we have wasted. Of course, we might substitute other expansions—an expansion of scientific understanding or of cultural vigor, for instance. I fear, however, that these expansions are not separable. To fade in one is to, fade in all. Certainly, we are fading in all. We live too long. We are too comfortable.”

Baley said, “On Earth, we think of Spacers as all-powerful, as totally self-confident. I cannot believe I’m hearing this from one of you.”

“You won’t from any other Spacer. My views are unfashionable. Others would find, them intolerable and I don’t often speak of such things to Aurorans. Instead, I simply talk about a new drive for further settlement, without expressing my fears of the catastrophes which will result if we abandon colonization. In that, at least, I have been winning. Aurora has been seriously—even enthusiastically—considering a new era of exploration and settlement.”

“You say that,” said Baley, “without any noticeable enthusiasm. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that we are approaching my motive for the destruction of Jander Panell.”

Fastolfe paused, shook his head, and continued, “I wish, Mr. Baley, I could understand human beings better. I have spent six decades in studying the intricacies of the positronic brain and I expect to spend fifteen to twenty more on the problem. In this time, I have barely brushed against the problem of the human brain, which is enormously more intricate. Are there Laws of Humanics as there are Laws of Robotics? How many Laws of Humanics might there be and how can they be expressed mathematically? I don’t know.

“Perhaps, though, there may come a day when someone will work out the Laws of Humanics and then be able to predict the broad strokes of the future, and know what might be in store for humanity, instead of merely guessing as I do, and know what to do to make things better, instead of merely speculating. I dream sometimes of founding a mathematical science which I think of as ‘psychohistory,’ but I know—I can’t and I fear no one ever will.”

He faded to a halt.

Baley waited, then said softly, “And your motive for the destruction of Jander Panell, Dr. Fastolfe?”

Fastolfe did not seem to hear the question. At any rate, he did not respond. He said, instead, “Daneel and Giskard are again, signaling that all is clear. Tell me, Mr. Baley, would you consider walking with me farther afield?”

“Where?” asked Baley cautiously.

“Toward a neighboring establishment. In that direction, across the lawn. Would the openness disturb you?”

Baley pressed his lips together and looked in that, direction, as though attempting to measure its effect. “I believe I could endure it. I anticipate no trouble.”

Giskard, who was close enough to hear, now approached still closer, his, eyes showing no glow in the daylight. If his voice was without human emotion, his words marked his concern. “Sir, may I remind you that on the journey here you suffered serious discomfort on the descent to the planet?”

Baley turned to face him. However he might feel toward Daneel, whatever warmth of past association might paper over his attitude toward robots, there was none here. He found the more primitive Giskard distinctly repellent. He labored to fight down the touch of anger he felt and said, “I was incautious aboard ship, boy, because I was overly curious. I faced a vision I had never experienced before and I had no time for adjustment. This is different.”

“Sir, do you feel discomfort now? May—I be assured of that?”

“Whether I do or not,” said Baley firmly (reminding himself that the robot was helplessly in the grip of the First Law and trying to be polite to a lump of metal who, after all, had Baley’s welfare as his only care) “doesn’t matter. I have my duty to perform and that cannot be done if I am to hide in enclosures.”

“Your duty?” Giskard said it as though he had not been programmed to understand the word.

Baley looked quickly in Fastolfe’s direction, but Fastolfe stood quietly in his place and made no move to intervene. He seemed to be listening with abstracted interest, as though weighing the reaction of a robot of a given type to a new situation and comparing it, with relationships, variables, constants, and differential equations only he understood.

Or so Baley thought. He felt annoyed at being part of an observation of that type and said (perhaps too sharply, he knew), “Do you know what ‘duty’ means?”

“That which should be done, sir,” said Giskard.

“Your duty is to obey the Laws of Robotics. And human beings have their laws, too—as your master, Dr. Fastolfe, was only this moment saying—which must be obeyed. I must do that which I have been assigned to do. It is important.”

“But to go into the open when you are not—”

“It must be done, nevertheless. My son may someday go to another planet, one much less comfortable than this one, and expose himself to the Outside for the rest of his life. And if I could, I would go with him.”

“But why would you do that?”

“I have told you. I consider it my duty.”

“Sir—I cannot disobey the Laws. Can you disobey yours? For I must urge you to—”

“I can choose not to do my duty, but I do not choose to and that is sometimes the stronger compulsion, Giskard.”

There was silence for a moment and then Giskard said, “Would it do you harm if I were to succeed in persuading you not to walk into the open?”