“In order to make certain that a Helot rebellion could never be successful despite their overwhelming numbers, the Spartans became military specialists. Each lived the life of a military machine, and the society achieved its purpose. There was never a successful Helot revolt.

“Now we human beings on Solaria are equivalent, in a way, to the Spartiates. We have our Helots, but our Helots aren’t men but machines. They cannot revolt and need not be feared even though they outnumber us a thousand times as badly as the Spartans’ human Helots outnumbered them. So we have the advantage of Spartiate exclusiveness without any need to sacrifice ourselves to rigid mastery. We can, instead, model ourselves on the artistic and cultural way of life of the Athenians, who were contemporaries of the Spartans and who—”

Baley said, “I’ve viewed films on the Athenians, too.”

Quemot grew warmer as he spoke. “Civilizations have always been pyramidal in structure. As one climbs toward the apex of the social edifice, there is increased leisure and increasing opportunity to pursue happiness. As one climbs, one finds also fewer and fewer people to enjoy this more and more. Invariably, there is a preponderance of the dispossessed. And remember this, no matter how well off the bottom layers of the pyramid might be on an absolute scale, they are always dispossessed in comparison with the apex. For instance, even the most poorly off humans on Aurora are better off than Earth’s aristocrats, but they are dispossessed with respect to Aurora’s aristocrats, and it is with the masters of their own world that they compare themselves.

“So there is always social friction in ordinary human societies. The action of social revolution and the reaction of guarding against such revolution or combating it once it has begun are the causes of a great deal of the human misery with which history is permeated.

“Now here on Solaria, for the first time, the apex of the pyramid stands alone. In the place of the dispossessed are the robots. We have the first new society, the first really new one, the first great social invention since the farmers of Sumeria and Egypt invented cities.”

He sat back now, smiling.

Baley nodded. “Have you published this?”

“I may,” said Quemot with an affectation of carelessness, “someday. I haven’t yet. This is my third contribution.”

“Were the other two as broad as this?”

“They weren’t in sociology. I have been a sculptor in my time. The work you see about you”—he indicated the statuary—“is my own. And I have been a composer, too. But I am getting older and Rikaine Delmarre always argued strongly in favor of the applied arts rather than the fine arts and I decided to go into sociology.”

Baley said, “That sounds as though Delmarre was a good friend of yours.”

“We knew one another. At my time in life, one knows all adult Solarians. But there is no reason not to agree that Rikaine Delmarre and I were well acquainted.”

“What sort of a man was Delmarre?” (Strangely enough, the name of the man brought up the picture of Gladia in Baley’s mind and he was plagued with a sudden, sharp recall of her as he had last seen her, furious, her face distorted with anger at him.)

Quemot looked a bit thoughtful. “He was a worthy man; devoted to Solaria and to its way of life.”

“An idealist, in other words.”

“Yes. Definitely. You could see that in the fact that he volunteered for his job as—as fetal engineer. It was an applied art, you see, and I told you his feelings about that.”

“Was volunteering unusual?”

“Wouldn’t you say—But I forget you’re an Earthman. Yes, it is unusual. It’s one of those jobs that must be done, yet finds no voluntary takers. Ordinarily, someone must be assigned to it for a period of so many years and it isn’t pleasant to be the one chosen. Delmarre volunteered, and for life. He felt the position was too important to be left to reluctant draftees, and he persuaded me into that opinion, too. Yet I certainly would never have volunteered. I couldn’t pos

sibly make the personal sacrifice. And it was more of a sacrifice for him, since he was almost a fanatic in personal hygiene.”

“I’m still not certain I understand the nature of his job.”

Quemot’s old cheeks flushed gently. “Hadn’t you better discuss that with his assistant?”

Baley said, “I would certainly have done so by now, sir, if anyone had seen fit to tell me before this moment that he had an assistant.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Quemot, “but the existence of the assistant is another measure of his social responsibility. No previous occupant of the post provided for one. Delmarre, however, felt it necessary to find a suitable youngster and conduct the necessary training himself so as to leave a professional heir behind when the time came for him to retire or, well, to die.” The old Solarian sighed heavily. “Yet I outlived him and he was so much younger. I used to play chess with him. Many times.”

“How did you manage that?”

Quemot’s eyebrows lifted. “The usual way.”

“You saw one another?”

Quemot looked horrified. “What an idea! Even if I could stomach it, Delmarre would never allow it for an instant. Being fetal engineer didn’t blunt his sensibilities. He was a finicky man.”

“Then how—”

“With two boards as any two people would play chess.” The Solarian shrugged in a sudden gesture of tolerance. “Well, you’re an Earthman. My moves registered on his board, and his on mine. It’s a simple matter.”

Baley said, “Do you know Mrs. Delmarre?”

“We’ve viewed one another. She’s a field colorist, you know, and I’ve viewed some of her showings. Fine work in a way but more interesting as curiosities than as creations. Still, they’re amusing and show a perceptive mind.”

“Is she capable of killing her husband, would you say?”

“I haven’t given it thought. Women are surprising creatures. But then, there’s scarcely room for argument, is there? Only Mrs. Delmarre could have been close enough to Rikaine to kill him. Rikaine would never, under any circumstances, have allowed anyone else seeing privileges for any reason. Extremely finicky. Perhaps finicky is the wrong word. It was just that he lacked any trace of abnormality; anything of the perverse. He was a good Solarian.”

“Would you call your granting me seeing privileges perverse?” asked Baley.

Quemot said, “Yes, I think I would. I should say there was a bit of scatophilia involved.”

“Could Delmarre have been killed for political reasons?”

“What?”

“I’ve heard him called a Traditionalist.”

“Oh, we all are.”

“You mean there is no group of Solarians who are not Traditionalists?”

“I dare say there are some,” said Quemot slowly, “who think it is dangerous to be too Traditionalist. They are over conscious of our small population, of the way the other worlds outnumber us. They think we are defenseless against possible aggression from the other Outer Worlds. They’re quite foolish to think so and there aren’t many of them. I don’t think they’re a force.”

“Why do you say they are foolish? Is there anything about Solaria that would affect the balance of power in spite of the great disadvantage of numbers? Some new type of weapon?”

“A weapon, certainly. But not a new one. The people I speak of are more blind than foolish not to realize that such a weapon is in operation continuously and cannot be resisted.”

Baley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you know the nature of the weapon?”

“All of us must. You do, if you stop to think of it. I see it a trifle easier than most, perhaps, since I am a sociologist. To be sure, it isn’t used as a weapon ordinarily is used. It doesn’t kill or hurt, but it is irresistible even so. All the more irresistible because no one notices it.”

Baley said with annoyance, “And just what is this non-lethal weapon?”