by Isaac Asimov
“No no, don't go,” said Gremionis desperately, in what was almost a squeak. “This won't take a second. Please!”
It was only that Baley now wanted, just as desperately, to talk to Gremionis and did not want to do anything that might offend the other and make him unwilling to talk; otherwise he would not have been willing to accede to the request.
He kept his back turned and squinted his eyes nearly shut in a sort of horrified reflex. It was only when Gremionis came up around him, his hands kneading a fluffy towel of his own, that Baley could relax again, after a fashion.
“Why do you want to speak to me?” he said again.
“Gladia—the woman from Solaria—” Gremionis looked dubious and stopped.
“I know Gladia,” said Baley coldly.
“Gladia viewed me—trimensionally, you know—and told me you had asked about me. And she asked me if I had, in any way, mistreated a robot she owned—a human-looking robot like one of those outside—”
“Well, did you, Mr. Gremionis?”
“No! I didn't even know she owned a robot like that, until—-Did you tell her I did?”
“I was only asking questions, Mr. Gremionis.”
Gremionis had made a fist of his right hand and was grinding it nervously into his left. He said intensely, “I don't want to be falsely accused of anything—and especially where such a false accusation would affect my relationship with Gladia.”
Baley said, “How did you find me?”
Gremionis said, “She asked me about that robot and said you had asked about me. I had heard you had been called to Aurora by Dr. Fastolfe to solve this—puzzle— about the robot. It was on the hyperwave news. And—” The words ground out as though they were emerging from him with the utmost difficulty.
“Go on,” said Baley.
“I had to talk to you and explain that I had had nothing to do with that robot. Nothing! Gladia didn't know where you were, but I thought Dr. Fastolfe would know.”
“So you called him?”
“Oh no, I—I don't think I'd have the nerve to— He's such an important scientist. But Gladia called him for me. She's—that kind of person. He told her you had gone to see his daughter, Dr. Vasilia Aliena. That was good because I know her.”
“Yes, I know you do,” said Baley.
Gremionis looked uneasy. “How did you— Did you ask her about me, too?” His uneasiness seemed to be degenerating to misery. “I finally called Dr. Vasilia and she said you had just left and I'd probably find you at some Community Personal—and this one is the closest to her establishment. I was sure there would be no reason for you to delay in order to find a farther one. I mean why should you?”
“You reason quite correctly, but how is it you got here so quickly?”
“I work at the Robotics Institute and my establishment is on the Institute grounds. My scooter brought me here in minutes.”
“Did you come here alone?”
“Yes! With only one robot. The scooter is a two-seater, you see.”
“And your robot is waiting outside?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me again why you want to see me.”
“I've got to make sure you don't think I've had anything to do with that robot. I never even heard of him till this whole thing exploded in the news. So can I talk to you now}”
“Yes, but not here,” said Baley firmly. “Let's get out.”
How strange it was, thought Baley, that he was so pleased to get out from behind walls and into the Outside. There was something more totally alien to this Personal than anything else he had encountered on either Aurora or Solaria. Even more disconcerting than the fact of planet-wide indiscriminate use had been the horror of being openly and casually addressed—of behavior that drew no distinction between this place and its purpose and any other place and purpose.
The book-films he had viewed had said nothing of this. Clearly, as Fastolfe had pointed out, they were not written for Earthpeople but for Aurorans and, to a lesser extent, for possible tourists from the other forty-nine Spacer worlds, Earthpeople, after all, almost never went to the Spacer worlds, least of all to Aurora. They were not welcome there. Why, then, should they be addressed?
And why should the book-films expand on what everyone knew? Should they make a fuss over the fact that Aurora was spherical in shape, or that water was wet, or that one man might address another freely in a Personal?
Yet did that not make a mockery of the very name of the structure? Yet Baley found himself unable to avoid thinking of the Women's Personals on Earth where, as Jessie had frequently told him, women chattered incessantly and felt no discomfort about it. Why women, but not men? Baley had never thought seriously about it before, but had accepted it merely as custom—as unbreakable custom—but if women, why not men?
It didn't matter. The thought only affected his intellect and not whatever it was about his mind that made him feel overwhelming and ineradicable distaste for the whole idea. He repeated, “Let's get out.”
Gremionis protested, “But your robots are out there.”
“So they are. What of it?”
“But this is something I want to talk about privately, man to m-man.” He stumbled over the phrase.
“I suppose you mean Spacer to Earthman.”
“If you like.”
“My robots are necessary. They are my partners in my investigation.”
“But this has nothing to do with the investigation. That's what Fm trying to tell you.”
“I'll be the judge of that,” said Baley firmly, walking out of the Personal.
Gremionis hesitated and then followed.
47
Daneel and Giskard were waiting—impassive, expressionless, patient. On DaneePs face, Baley thought he could make out a trace of concern, but, on the other hand, he might merely be reading that emotion into those inhumanly human features. Giskard, the less human-looking, showed nothing, of course, even to the most willing per-sonifier.
A third robot waited as well—presumably that of Gremionis. He was simpler in appearance even than Giskard and had an air of shabbiness about him. It was clear that Gremionis was not very well-to-do.
Daneel said, with what Baley automatically assumed to be the warmth of relief, “I am pleased that you are well, Partner Elijah.”
“Entirely well. I am curious, however, about something. If you had heard me call out in alarm from within, would you have come in?”
“At once, sir,” said Giskard.
“Even though you are programmed not to enter Personals?”
“The need to protect a human being—-you, in particular—would be paramount, sir.”
“That is so, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel.
“I'm glad to hear that,” said Baley. “This person is Santirix Gremionis. Mr. Gremionis, this is Daneel and this is Giskard.”
Each robot bent his head solemnly. Gremionis merely glanced at them and lifted one hand in indifferent acknowledgment. He made no effort to introduce his own robot.
Baley looked around. The light was distinctly dimmer, the wind was brisker, the air was cooler, the sun was completely hidden by clouds. There was a gloom to the surroundings that did not seem to affect Baley, who continued to be delighted at having escaped from the Personal. It lifted his spirits amazingly that he was actually experiencing the feeling of being pleased at being Outside. It was a special case, he knew, but it was a beginning and he could not help but consider it a triumph.
Baley was about to turn to Gremionis to resume the conversation, when his eye caught movement. Walking across the lawn came a woman with an accompanying robot. She was coming toward them but seemed totally oblivious to them. She was clearly making for the Personal.
Baley put out his arm in the direction of the woman, as though to stop her, even though she was still thirty meters away, and muttered, “Doesn't she know that's a Men's Personal?”
“What?” said Gremionis.
The woman continued to approach, while B
aley watched in total puzzlement. Finally, the woman's robot stepped to one side to wait and the woman entered the structure.
Baley said helplessly, “But she can't go in there.”
Gremionis said, “Why not? It's communal.”
“But it's for men.”
“It's for people,” said Gremionis. He seemed utterly confused.
“Either sex? Surely you can't mean that.”
“Any human being. Of course I mean it! How would you want it to be? I don't understand.”
Baley turned away. It had not been many minutes before that he had thought that open conversation in a Personal was the acme in bad taste, of Things Not Done.
If he had tried to think of something worse yet, he would have completely failed to dredge up the possibility of encountering a woman in a Personal. Convention on Earth required him to ignore the presence of others in the large Community Personals on that world, but not all the conventions ever invented would have prevented him from knowing whether a person passing him was a man or a woman.
What if, while he had been in the Personal, a woman had entered—casually, indifferently—as this one had just done? Or, worse still, what if he had entered a Personal and found a woman already there?
He could not estimate his reaction. He had never weighed the possibility, let alone met with such a situation, but he found the thought totally intolerable.
And the book-films had told him nothing about that, either;
He had viewed those films in order that he might not approach the investigation in total ignorance of the Auroran way of life—and they had left him in total ignorance of all that was important.
Then how could he handle this triply knotted puzzle of Jander's death, when at every step he found himself lost in ignorance?
A moment before he had felt triumph at a small conquest over the terrors of Outside, but now he was faced with the feeling of being ignorant of everything, ignorant even of the nature of his ignorance.
It was now, while fighting not to picture the woman passing through the airspace lately occupied by himself, that he came near to utter despair.
48
Again Giskard said (and in a way that made it possible to read concern into his words—if not into the tone), “Are you unwell, sir? Do you need help?”
Baley muttered, “No no. Pm all right. —But let's move away. We’ re in tke path of people wishing to use that structure.”
He walked rapidly toward the airfoil that was resting in the open stretch beyond the gravel path. On the other side was a small two-wheeled vehicle, with two seats, one behind the other. Baley assumed it to be Gremionis’ scooter.
His feeling of depression and misery, Baley realized, was accentuated by the fact that he felt hungry. It was clearly past lunchtime and he had not eaten.
He turned to Gremionis. “Let's talk—but if you don't mind, let's do it over lunch. That is, if you haven't already eaten—and if you don't mind eating with me.”
“Where are you going to eat?”
“I don't know. Where does one eat at the Institute?”
Gremionis said, “Not at the Community Diner. We can't talk there.”
“Is there an alternative?”
“Come to my establishment,” said Gremionis at once. “It isn't one of the fancier ones here. I'm not one of your high executives. Still, I have a few serviceable robots and we can set a decent table. —I tell you what. I'll get on my scooter with Brundij—my robot, you know—and you follow me. You'll have to go slowly, but I'm only a little over a kilometer away. It will just take two or three minutes.”
He moved away at an eager half-run. Baley watched him and thought there seemed to be a kind of gangly youthfulness about him. There was no easy way of actually judging his age, of course; Spacers didn't show age and Gremionis might easily be fifty. But he acted young, almost what an Earthman would consider teenage young. Baley wasn't sure exactly what there was about him that gave that impression.
Baley turned suddenly to Daneel. “Do you know Gremionis, Daneel?”
“I have never met him before, Partner Elijah.”
“You, Giskard?”
“I have met him once, sir, but only in passing.”
“Do you know anything about him, Giskard?”
“Nothing that is not apparent on the surface, sir.”
“His age? His personality?”
“No, sir.”
Gremionis shouted, “Ready?” His scooter was humming rather roughly. It was clear that it was not air-jet assisted. The wheels would not leave the ground. Brundij sat behind Gremionis.
Giskard, Daneel, and Baley moved quickly into their airfoil once again.
Gremionis moved outward in a loose circle. Gremionis’ hair flew backward in the wind and Baley had a sudden sensation of how the wind must feel when one traveled in an open vehicle such as a scooter. He was thankful he was totally enclosed in an airfoil—which suddenly seemed to him a much more civilized way of traveling.
The scooter straightened out and darted off with a muted roar, Gremionis waving one hand in a follow-me gesture. The robot behind him maintained his balance with almost negligent ease and did not hold on to Gremionis’ waist, as Baley was certain a human being would have needed to.
The airfoil followed. Although the scooter's smooth forward progression seemed high-speed, that was apparently the illusion of its small size. The airfoil had some difficulty maintaining a speed low enough to avoid running it down.
“Just the same,” said Baley thoughtfully, “one thing puzzles me.”
“What is that, Partner Elijah?” asked Daneel.
“Vasilia referred to this Gremionis disparagingly as a ‘barber.’ Apparently, he deals with hair, clothes, and other matters of personal human adornment. How is it, then, that he has an establishment on the grounds of the Robotics Institute?”
12. Again Gremionis
49
It took only a few minutes before Baley found himself in the fourth Auroran establishment he had seen since his arrival on the planet a day and a half before: Fastolfe's, Gladia's, Vasilia's, and now Gremionis'.
Gremionis’ establishment appeared smaller and drabber than the others, even though it showed, to Baley's un-practiced eye in Auroran matters, signs of recent construction. The distinctive mark of the Auroran establishment—the robotic niches—were, however, present, On entering, Giskard and Daneel moved quickly into two that were empty and faced the room, unmoving and silent. Gremionis’ robot, Brundij, moved into a third niche almost as quickly.
There was no sign of any difficulty in making their choices or of any tendency for any one niche to be the target of two robots, however briefly. Baley wondered how the robots avoided conflict and decided there must be signal communication among them of a kind that was subliminal to human beings. It was something (provided he remembered to do so) concerning which he might consult Daneel.
Gremionis was studying the niches also, Baley noticed.
Gremionis’ hand had gone to his upper lip and, for a moment, his forefinger stroked the small mustache. He said, a bit uncertainly, “Your robot, the human-looking one, doesn't seem right in the niche. That's Daneel Olivaw, isn't it? Dt. Fastolfe's robot?”
“Yes,” said Baley. “He was in the hyperwave drama, too. Or at least an actor was—one who better fit the part.”
“Yes, I remember.”
Baley noted that Gremionis—like Vasilia and even like Gladia and Fastolfe—kept a certain distance. There seemed to be a repulsion field—unseen, unfelt, unsensed in any way—around Baley that kept these Spacers from approaching too closely, that sent them into a gentle curve of avoidance when they passed him.
Baley wondered if Gremionis was aware of this or if it was entirely automatic. And what did they do with the chairs he sat in while in their establishments, the dishes he ate from, the towels he used? Would ordinary washing suffice? Were there special sterilizing procedures? Would they discard and replace everything? Would the establishm
ents be fumigated once he left the planet—or every night? What about the Community Personal he used? Would they tear it down and rebuild it? What about the woman who had ignorantly entered it after he had left? Or could she possibly have been the fumigator?
He realized he was getting silly.
To outer space with it. What the Aurorans did and how they dealt with their problems was their affair and he would bother his head no more with them. Jehoshaphat! He had his own problems and, right now, the particular splinter of it was Gremionis—and he would tackle that after lunch.
Lunch was rather simple, largely vegetarian, but for the first time he had a little trouble. Each separate item was too sharply defined in taste. The carrots tasted rather strongly of carrots and the peas of peas, so to speak.
A little too much so, perhaps.
He ate rather reluctantly and tried not to show a slightly rising gorge.
And, as he did so, he became aware that he grew used to it—as though his taste buds saturated and could handle the excess more easily. It dawned on Baley, in a radier sad way, that if his exposure to Auroran food was to continue for any length of time, he would return to Earth missing that distinctiveness of flavor and resenting the flowing together of Earth tastes.
Even the crispness of various items—which had startled him at first, as each closing of his teeth seemed to create a noise that surely (he thought) must interfere with conversation—had already grown to seem exciting evidence that he was, in fact, eating. There would be a silence about an Earth meal that would leave him missing something.
He began to eat with attention, to study the tastes. Perhaps, when Earthpeople established themselves on other worlds, this Spacer-fashion food would be the mark of the new diet, especially if there were no robots to prepare and serve the meals.
And then he thought uncomfortably, not when but if Earthpeople established themselves on other worlds—and the ifness of it all depended on him, on Plainclothesman Elijah Baley. The burden of it weighed him down.
The meal was over, A pair of robots brought in the heated, moistened napkins with which one could clean one's hands. Except that they weren't ordinary napkins, for when Baley put his down on the plate, it seemed to move slightly, thin out, and grow cobwebby. Then, quite suddenly, it leaped up insubstantially and was carried into an outlet in the ceiling. Baley jumped slightly and his eyes moved upward, following the disappearing item open-mouthed.
