“The what, sir?”

“Maybe you have a different name for it. The differential of inconveniences suffered with privileges granted: dee eye sub jay taken to the nth—”

“What are you talking about?” It was the sharp and peremptory tone of a Spacer that Baley heard and he was silenced in bewilderment.

Surely the relationship between inconveniences suffered and privileges granted was part of the very essentials of learning how to handle people without an explosion. A private stall in the community bathroom for one person, given for cause, would keep x persons waiting patiently for the same lightning to strike them, the value of x varying in known ways with known variations in environment and human temperament, as quantitatively described in the Teramin Relationship.

But then again, in a world where all was privilege and nothing inconvenience, the Teramin Relationship might reduce to triviality. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong example.

He tried again. “Look, sir, it’s one thing to get a qualitative fill-in on the growth of this prejudice against seeing, but it isn’t helpful for my purposes. I want to know the exact analysis of the prejudice so I can counteract it effectively. I want to persuade people to see me, as you are doing now.”

“Mr. Baley,” said Quemot, “you can’t treat human emotions as though they were built about a positronic brain.”

“I’m not saying you can. Robotics is a deductive science and soci

ology an inductive one. But mathematics can be made to apply in either case.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Quemot spoke in a voice that trembled. “You have admitted you are not a sociologist.”

“I know. But I was told you were one. The best on the planet.”

“I am the only one. You might almost say I have invented the science.”

“Oh?” Baley hesitated over the next question. It sounded impertinent even to himself. “Have you viewed books on the subject?”

“I’ve looked at some Auroran books.”

“Have you looked at books from Earth?”

“Earth?” Quemot laughed uneasily. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me to read any of Earth’s scientific productions. No offense intended.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I had thought I would be able to get specific data that would make it possible for me to interview others face to face without having to—”

Quemot made a queer, grating, inarticulate sound and the large chair in which he sat scraped backward, then went over with a crash.

A muffled “My apologies” was caught by Baley.

Baley had a momentary glimpse of Quemot running with an ungainly stride, then he was out the room and gone.

Baley’s eyebrows lifted. What the devil had he said this time? Jehoshaphat! What wrong button had he pushed?

Tentatively he rose from his seat, and stopped halfway as a robot entered.

“Master,” said the robot, “I have been directed to inform you that the master will view you in a few moments.”

“View me, boy?”

“Yes, master. In the meanwhile, you may desire further refreshment.”

Another beaker of the pink liquid was at Baley’s elbow and this time a dish of some confectionery, warm and fragrant, was added.

Baley took his seat again, sampled the liquor cautiously and put it down. The confectionery was hard to the touch and warm, but the crust broke easily in the mouth and the inner portion was at once considerably warmer and softer. He could not identify the components of the taste and wondered if it might not be a product of the native spices or condiments of Solaria.

Then he thought of the restricted, yeast derived dietary of Earth and wondered if there might be a market for yeast strains designed to imitate the tastes of Outer World products.

But his thoughts broke off sharply as sociologist Quemot appeared out of nowhere and faced him. Faced him this time! He sat in a smaller chair in a room in which the walls and floor clashed sharply with those surrounding Baley. And he was smiling now, so that fine wrinkles in his face deepened and, paradoxically, gave him a more youthful appearance by accentuating the life in his eyes.

He said, “A thousand pardons, Mr. Baley. I thought I was enduring personal presence so well, but that was a delusion. I was quite on edge and your phrase pushed me over it, in a manner of speaking.”

“What phrase was that, sir?”

“You said something about interviewing people face to—” He shook his head, his tongue dabbing quickly at his lips. “I would rather not say it. I think you know what I mean. The phrase conjured up the most striking picture of the two of us breathing—breathing one another’s breath.” The Solarian shuddered. “Don’t you find that repulsive?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of it so.”

“It seems so filthy a habit. And as you said it and the picture arose in my mind, I realized that after all we were in the same room and even though I was not facing you, puffs of air that had been in your lungs must be reaching me and entering mine. With my sensitive frame of mind—”

Baley said, “Molecules all over Solaria’s atmosphere have been in thousands of lungs. Jehoshaphat! They’ve been in the lungs of animals and the gills of fish.”

“That is true,” said Quemot with a rueful rub of his cheek, “and I’d just as soon not think of that, either. However there was a sense of immediacy to the situation with yourself actually there and with both of us inhaling and exhaling. It’s amazing the relief I feel in viewing.”

“I’m still in the same house, Dr. Quemot.”

“That’s precisely what is so amazing about the relief. You are in the same house and yet just the use of the trimensionals makes all

the difference. At least I know what seeing a stranger feels like now. I won’t try it again.”

“That sounds as though you were experimenting with seeing.”

“In a way,” said the Spacer, “I suppose I was. It was a minor motivation. And the results were interesting, even if they were disturbing as well. It was a good test and I may record it.”

“Record what?” asked Baley, puzzled.

“My feelings!” Quemot returned puzzled stare for puzzled stare. Baley sighed. Cross-purposes. Always cross-purposes. “I only asked because somehow I assumed you would have instruments of some sort to measure emotional responses. An electroencephalograph, perhaps.” He looked about fruitlessly, “Though I suppose you could have a pocket version of the same that works without direct electrical connection. We don’t have anything like that on Earth.”

“I trust,” said the Solarian stiffly, “that I am able to estimate the nature of my own feelings without an instrument. They were pronounced enough.”

“Yes, of course, but for quantitative analysis…” began Baley.

Quemot said querulously, “I don’t know what you’re driving at. Besides I’m trying to tell you something else, my own theory, in fact, something I have viewed in no books, something I am quite proud

Baley said, “Exactly what is that, sir?”

“Why, the manner in which Solaria’s culture is based on one existing in Earth’s past.”

Baley sighed. If he didn’t allow the other to get it off his chest, there might be very little cooperation thereafter. He said, “And that is?”

“Sparta!” said Quemot, lifting his head so that for a moment his white hair glistened in the light and seemed almost a halo. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Sparta!”

Baley felt relieved. He had been mightily interested in Earth’s ancient past in his younger days (it was an attractive study to many Earthmen; Earth supreme because it was an Earth alone; Earthmen the masters because there were no Spacers), but Earth’s past was a large one. Quemot might well have referred to some phase with which Baley was unacquainted and that would have been embarrassing.

As it was, he could say cautiously, “Yes. I’ve viewed films on the subject.”

“Good. Good. Now Sparta in its hey dey consisted of a relatively small number of Spartiates, the only full citizens, plus a somewhat larger number of second class individuals, the Perioeci, and a really large number of outright slaves, the Helots. The Helots outnumbered the Spartiates a matter of twenty to one, and the Helots were men with human feelings and human failings.