by Isaac Asimov
“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 unpracticed 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? Dr. Fasfolfe’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 establishments 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 rather 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 Earth – people 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.
Gremionis said, “That’s something new I just picked up. Disposable, you see, but I don’t know if I like it yet. Some people say it will clog the disposal vent after a while and others worry about pollution because they say some of it will surely get in your lungs. The manufacturer says not, but –”
Baley realized suddenly that he had said not a word during the meal and that this was the first time either of them had spoken since the short exchange on Daneel before the meal had been served. – And there was no use in small talk about napkins.
Baley said, rather gruffly, “Are you a barber, Mr. Gremionis?”
Gremionis flushed, his light skin reddening to the hairline. He said in a choked voice, “Who told you that?”
Baley said, “If that is an impolite way of referring to your profession, I apologize. It is a common way of speaking on Earth and is no insult there.”
Gremionis said, “I am a hair designer and a clothing designer. It is a recognized branch of art. I am, in fact, a personnel artist.” His finger went to his mustache again.
Baley said gravely, “I notice your mustache. Is it common to grow them on Aurora?”
“No, it is not. I hope it will become so. You take your masculine face – A great many of them can be strengthened and improved by the artful design of facial hair. Everything is in the design – that’s part of my profession. You can go too far, of course. On the world of Pallas, facial hair is common, but it is the practice there to indulge in parti – colored dying. Each individual hair is separately dyed to produce some sort of mixture. – Now, that’s foolish. It doesn’t last, the colors ch
ange with time, and it looks terrible. But even so, it’s better than facial baldness in some ways. Nothing is less attractive than a facial desert. – That’s my own phrase. I use it in my personal talks with potential clients and it’s very effective. Females can get by with no facial hair because they make up for it in other ways. On the world of Smitheus –”
There was a hypnotic quality to his quiet, rapid words and his earnest expression, the way in which his eyes widened and remained fixed on Baley with an intense sincerity. Baley had to shake loose with an almost physical force.
He said, “Are you a roboticist, Mr. Gremionis?”
Gremionis looked startled and a little confused at being interrupted in midflow. “A roboticist?”
“Yes. A roboticist.”
“No, not at all. I use robots as everyone does, but I don’t know what’s inside them. – Don’t care really.”
“But you live here on the grounds of the Robotics Institute. How is that?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Gremionis’ voice was measurably more hostile.
“If you’re not a roboticist –”
Gremionis grimaced. “That’s stupid! The Institute, when it was designed some years ago, was intended to be a self – contained community. We have our own transport vehicle repairshops, our own personal robot maintenance shops, our own physicians, our own structuralists. Our personnel live here and, if they have use for a personnel artist, that’s Santirix Gremionis and I live here, too. – Is there something wrong with my profession that I should not?”
“I haven’t said that.”
Gremionis turned away with a residual petulance that Baley’s hasty disclaimer had not allayed. He pressed a button, then, after studying a varicolored rectangular strip, did something that was remarkably like drumming his fingers briefly.
A sphere dropped gently from the ceiling and remained suspended a meter or so above their heads. It opened as though it were an orange that was unsegmenting and a play of colors began within it, together with a soft wash of sound. The two melted together so skillfully that Baley, watching with astonishment, discovered that, after a short while, it was hard to distinguish one from the other.
The windows opacified and the segments grew brighter.
“Too bright?” asked Gremionis.
“No,” said Baley, after some hesitation.
“It’s meant for background and I’ve picked a soothing combination that will make it easier for us to talk in a civilized way, you know.” Then he said briskly, “Shall we get to the point?”
Baley withdrew his attention from the – whatever it was (Gremionis had not given it a name) – with some difficulty and said, “If you please. I would like to.”
“Have you been accusing me of having anything to do with the immobilization of that robot Jander?”
“I’ve been inquiring into the circumstances of the robot’s ending.
“But you’ve mentioned me in connection with that ending. – In fact, just a little while ago, you asked me if I were a roboticist. I know what you had in mind. You were trying to get me to admit I knew something about robotics, so that you could build up a case against me as the – as the – ender of the robot.”
“You might say the killer.”
“The killer? You can’t kill a robot. – In any case, I didn’t end it, or kill it, or anything you want to call it. I told you, I’m not a roboticist. I know nothing about robotics. How can you even think that –”
“I must investigate all connections, Mr. Gremionis. Jander belonged to Gladia – the Solarian woman – and you were friendly with her. That’s a connection.”
“There could be any number of people friendly with her. That’s no connection.”
“Are you willing to state that you never saw Jander in all the times you may have been in Gladia’s establishment?”
“Never! Not once!”
“You never knew she had a humaniform robot?”
“No!”
“She never mentioned him.”
“She had robots all over the place. All ordinary robots. She said nothing about having anything else.”
Baley shrugged. “Very well. I have no reason – so far – to suppose that that is not the truth.”
“Then say so to Gladia. That is why I wanted to see you. To ask you to do that. To insist.”
“Has Gladia any reason to think otherwise?”
“Of course. You poisoned her mind. You questioned her about me in that connection and she assumed – she was made uncertain – The fact is, she called this morning and asked me if I had anything to do with it. I told you that.”
“And you denied it?”
“Of course I denied it and very strenuously, too, because I didn’t have anything to do with it. But it’s not convincing if I do ‘the denying. I want you to do it. I want you to tell her that, in your opinion, I had nothing to do with the whole business. You just said I didn’t and you can’t, without any evidence at all, destroy my reputation. I can report you.”
“To whom?”
“To the Committee on Personal Defense. To the Legislature. The head of this Institute is a close personal friend of the Chairman himself and I’ve already sent a full report to him on this matter. I’m not waiting, you understand. I’m taking action.”
Gremionis shook his head with an attitude that might have been intended for fierceness but that did not entirely carry conviction, considering the mildness of his face. “Look,” he said, “this isn’t Earth. We are protected here. Your planet, with its overpopulation, makes your people exist in so many beehives, so many anthills. You push against each other, suffocate each other – and it doesn’t matter. One life or a million lives – it doesn’t matter.”
Baley, fighting to keep contempt from showing in his voice, said, “You’ve been reading historical novels.”
“Of course I have – and they describe it as it is. You can’t have billions of people on a single world without its being so. – On Aurora, we are each a valuable life. We are protected physically, each of us, by our robots, so that there is never an assault, let alone murder, on Aurora.”
“Except for Jander.”
“That’s not murder; it’s only a robot. And we are protected from the kinds of harm more subtle than assault by our Legislature. The Committee on Personal Defense takes a dim view – a very dim view – of any action that unfairly damages the reputation or the social status of any individual citizen. An Auroran, acting as you did, would be in trouble enough. As for an Earth – man – well –”
Baley said, “I am carrying on an investigation at the invitation, I presume, of the Legislature. I don’t suppose Dr. Fastolfe could have brought me here without Legislative permission.”
“Maybe so, but that wouldn’t give you the right to overstep the limits of fair investigation.”
“Are you going to put this up to the Legislature, then?”
“I’m going to have the Institute head –”
“What is his name, by the way?”
“Kelden Amadiro. I’m going to ask him to put it up to the Legislature – and he’s in the Legislature, you know – he’s one of the leaders of the Globalist party. So I think you had better make it plain to Gladia that I am completely innocent.”
“I would like to, Mr. Gremionis, because I suspect that you are innocent, but how can I change suspicion to certainty, unless you will allow me to ask you some questions?”
Gremionis hesitated. Then, with an air of defiance, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck, the picture of a man utterly failing to appear at ease. He said, “Ask away. I have nothing to hide. And after you’re done, you’ll have to call Gladia, right on that trimensional transmitter behind you and say your piece – or you will be in more trouble than you can imagine.”
“I understand. But first – How long have you known Dr. Vasilia Fastolfe, Mr. Gremionis? Or Dr. Vasilia Aliena, if you know her by that name?”
Gremionis hesitated, then said i
n a tense voice, “Why do you ask that? What does that have to do with it?”
Baley sighed and his dour face seemed to sadden further. “I remind you, > r. Gremionis, that you have nothing to hide and that you want to convince me of your innocence, so that I can convince Gladia of the same. Just tell me how long you have known her. If you have not known her, just say so – but before you do, it is only fair to tell you that Dr. Vasilia has stated that you knew her well – well enough, at least, to offer yourself to her.”
Gremionis looked chagrined. He said in a shaky voice, “I don’t know why people have to make a big thing out of it. An offer is a perfectly natural social interaction that concerns no one else. – Of course, you’re an Earthman, so you’d make a fuss about it.”
“I understand she didn’t accept your offer.”
Gremionis brought his hands down upon his lap, fists clenched. “Accepting or rejecting is entirely up to her. There’ve been people who’ve offered themselves to me and whom I’ve rejected. It’s no large matter.”
“Well, then. How long have you known her?”
“For some years. About fifteen.”
“Did you know her when she was still living with Dr. Fastolfe?”
“I was just a boy then,” he said, flushing.
“How did you get to know her?”
“When I finished my training as a personnel artist, I was called in to design a wardrobe for her. It gave her pleasure and after that she used my services – in that respect – exclusively.”
“Was it on her recommendation, then, that you received your present position as – might we say – official personnel artist for the members of the Robotics Institute?”
“She recognized my qualifications. I was tested, along with others, and won the position on my merits.”
“But she did recommend you?”
Briefly and with annoyance, Gremionis said, “Yes.”
“And you felt the only decent return you could make was to offer yourself to her.”
Gremionis grimaced and drew his tongue across his lips, as though tasting something unpleasant. “That – is – disgusting! I suppose an Earthman would think in such a way. My offer meant only that it pleased me to do so.”
