Galaxy.But Daneel was a native of Aurora, the oldest and largest and strongest of the Outer Worlds. That would be different.

Cruer, as Baley now remembered, had not addressed one word to Daneel.

For that matter, why should Daneel pretend so thoroughly to be a man? The earlier explanation that Baley had posed for himself, that it was a vainglorious game on the part of Daneel’s Auroran designers, seemed trivial. It seemed obvious now that the masquerade was something more serious.

A man could be expected to receive diplomatic immunity; a certain courtesy and gentleness of treatment. A robot could not. But then why did not Aurora send a real man in the first place. Why gamble so desperately on a fake? The answer suggested itself instantly to Baley. A real man of Aurora, a real Spacer, would not care to associate too closely or for too long a time with an Earthman.

But if all this were true, why should Solaria find a single murder so important that it must allow an Earthman and an Auroran to come to their planet?

Baley felt trapped.

He was trapped on Solaria by the necessities of his assignment.

He was trapped by Earth’s danger, trapped in an environment he could scarcely endure, trapped by a responsibility he could not shirk.

And, to add to all this, he was trapped somehow in the midst of a Spacer conflict the nature of which he did not understand.

He slept at last. He did not remember when he actually made the transition to sleep. There was just a period when his thoughts grew more erratic and then the headboard of his bed was shining and the ceiling was alight with a cool, daytime glow. He looked at his watch.

Hours had passed. The robots who ran the house had decided it was time for him to wake up and had acted accordingly.

He wondered if Daneel were awake and at once realized the illogic of the thought. Daneel could not sleep. Baley wondered if he had counterfeited sleep as part of the role he was playing. Had he undressed and put on nightclothes?

As though on cue Daneel entered. “Good morning, Partner Elijah.”

The robot was completely dressed and his face was in perfect repose. He said, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” said Baley dryly, “did you?”

He got out of bed and tramped into the bathroom for a shave and for the remainder of the morning ritual. He shouted, “If a robot comes in to shave me, send him out again. They get on my nerves. Even if I don’t see them, they get on my nerves.”

He stared at his own face as he shaved, marveling a bit that it looked so like the mirrored face he saw on Earth. If only the image were another Earthman with whom he could consult instead of only the light-mimicry of himself. If he could go over what he had already learned, small as it was…

“Too small! Get more,” he muttered to the mirror.

He came out, mopping his face, and pulled trousers over fresh shorts. (Robots supplied everything, damn them.)

He said, “Would you answer a few questions, Daneel?”

“As you know, Partner Elijah, I answer all questions to the best of my knowledge.”

Or to the letter of your instructions, thought Baley. He said, “Why are there only twenty thousand people on Solaria?”

“That is a mere fact,” said Daneel. “A datum. A figure that is the result of a counting process.”

“Yes, but you’re evading the matter. The planet can support millions; why, then, only twenty thousand? You said the Solarians consider twenty thousand optimum. Why?”

“It is their way of life.”

“You mean they practice birth control?”

“Yes.”

“And leave the planet empty?” Baley wasn’t sure why he was pounding away at this one point, but the planet’s population was one of the few hard facts he had learned about it and there was little else he could ask about.

Daneel said, “The planet is not empty. It is parceled out into estates, each of which is supervised by a Solarian.”

“You mean each lives on his estate. Twenty thousand estates, each with a Solarian.”

“Fewer estates than those, Partner Elijah. Wives share the estate.”

“No Cities?” Baley felt cold.

“None at all, Partner Elijah. They live completely apart and never see one another except under the most extraordinary circumstances.”

“Hermits?”

“In a way, yes. In a way, no.”

“What does that mean?”

“Agent Gruer visited you yesterday by trimensional image. Solarians visit one another freely that way and in no other way.”

Baley stared at Daneel. He said, “Does that include us? Are we expected to live that way?”

“It is the custom of the world.”

“Then how do I investigate this case? If I want to see someone—”

“From this house, Partner Elijah, you can obtain a trimensional view of anyone on the planet. There will be no problem. In fact, it

will save you the annoyance of leaving this house. It was why I said when we arrived that there would be no occasion for you to feel it necessary to grow accustomed to facing the outdoors. And that is well. Any other arrangement would be most distasteful to you.”

“I’ll judge what’s distasteful to me,” said Baley. “First thing today, Daneel, I get in touch with the Gladia woman, the wife of the murdered man. If the trimensional business is unsatisfactory, I will go out to her place, personally. It’s a matter for my decision.”

“We shall see what is best and most feasible, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel noncommittally. “I shall arrange for breakfast.” He turned to leave.

Baley stared at the broad robotic back and was almost amused. Daneel Olivaw acted the master. If his instructions had been to keep Baley from learning any more than was absolutely necessary, a trump card had been left in Baley’s hand.

The other was only R. Daneel Olivaw, after all. All that was necessary was to tell Gruer, or any Solarian, that Daneel was a robot and not a man.

And yet, on the other hand, Daneel’s pseudo humanity could be of great use, too. A trump card need not be played at once. Sometimes it was more useful in the hand.

Wait and see, he thought, and followed Daneel out to breakfast.

Baley said, “Now how does one go about establishing trimensional contact?”

“It is done for us, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel, and his finger sought out one of the contact patches that summoned robots.

A robot entered at once.

Where do they come from, Baley wondered. As one wandered aimlessly about the uninhabited maze that constituted the mansion, not one robot was ever visible. Did they scramble out of the way as humans approached? Did they send messages to one another and clear the path?

Yet whenever a call went out, one appeared without delay.

Baley stared at the robotic newcomer. It was sleek, but not glossy. Its surface had a muted, grayish finish, with a checkerboard pattern on the right shoulder as the only bit of color. Squares in white and yellow (silver and gold, really, from the metallic luster) were placed in what seemed an aimless pattern.

Daneel said, “Take us to the conversation room.” The robot bowed and turned, but said nothing. Baley said, “Wait, boy. What’s your name?”

The robot faced Baley. It spoke in clear tones and without hesitation. “I have no name, master. My serial number”—and a metal finger lifted and rested on the shoulder patch—“is ACX-z745.”

Daneel and Baley followed into a large room, which Baley recognized as having held Gruer and his chair the day before.

Another robot was waiting for them with the eternal, patient nonboredom of the machine. The first bowed and left.

Baley compared shoulder patches of the two as the first bowed and started out. The pattern of silver and gold was different. The checkerboard was made up of a six-by-six square. The number of possible arrangements would be infinite then, or seventy billion. More than enough.