It said, “We will be landing in three hours. You will remain, if you please, in this room. A man will come to escort you out and to take you to your place of residence.”

“Wait,” said Baley tensely. Strapped in as he was, he felt helpless. “When we land, what time of day will it be?”

The robot said at once, “By Galactic Standard Time, it will be—”

“Local time, boy. Local time! Jehoshaphat!”

The robot continued smoothly, “The day on Solaria is twenty eight point thirty-five Standard hours in length. The Solarian hour is divided into ten decades, each of which is divided into a hundred centads. We are scheduled to arrive at an airport at which the day will be at the twentieth centad of the fifth decad.”

Baley hated that robot. He hated it for its obtuseness in not understanding; for the way it was making him ask the question directly and exposing his own weakness.

He had to. He said flatly, “Will it be daytime?”

And after all that the robot answered, “Yes, sir,” and left.

It would be day! He would have to step out onto the unprotected surface of a planet in daytime.

He was not quite sure how it would be. He had seen glimpses of planetary surfaces from certain points within the City; he had even been out upon it for moments. Always, though, he had been surrounded by walls or within reach of one. There was always safety at hand.

Where would there be safety now? Not even the false walls of darkness.

And because he would not display weakness before the Spacers—he’d be damned if he would—he stiffened his body against the webbing that held him safe against the forces of deceleration, closed his eyes, and stubbornly fought panic.

Baley was losing his fight. Reason alone was not enough.

Baley told himself over and over: Men live in the open all their lives. The Spacers do so now. Our ancestors on Earth did it in the past. There is no real harm in wall-lessness. It is only my mind that tells me differently, and it is wrong.

But all that did not help. Something above and beyond reason cried out for walls and would have none of space.

As time passed, he thought he would not succeed. He would be cowering at the end, trembling and pitiful. The Spacer they would send for him (with filters in his nose to keep out germs, and gloves on his hands to prevent contact) would not even honestly despise him. The Spacer would feel only disgust.

Baley held on grimly.

When the ship stopped and the deceleration harness automatically uncoupled, while the hydraulic system retracted into the wall, Baley remained in his seat. He was afraid, and determined not to show it.

He looked away at the first quiet sound of the door of his room opening. There was the eye-corner flash of a tall, bronze-haired figure entering; a Spacer, one of those proud descendants of Earth who had disowned their heritage.

The Spacer spoke. “Partner Elijah!”

Baley’s head turned toward the speaker with a jerk. His eyes rounded and he rose almost without volition.

He stared at the face; at the broad, high cheekbones, the absolute calm of the facial lines, the symmetry of the body, most of all at that level look out of nerveless blue eyes.

“D-daneel.”

The Spacer said, “It is pleasant that you remember me, Partner Elijah.”

“Remember you!” Baley felt relief wash over him. This being was a bit of Earth, a friend, a comfort, a savior. He had an almost unbearable desire to rush to the Spacer and embrace him, to hug him wildly, and laugh and pound his back and do all the foolish things old friends did when meeting once again after a separation.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He could only step forward, and hold out his hand and say, “I’m not likely to forget you, Daneel.”

“That is pleasant,” said Daneel, nodding gravely. “As you are well aware, it is quite impossible for me, while in working order, to forget you. It is well that I see you again.”

Daneel took Baley’s hand and pressed it with firm coolness, his fingers closing to a comfortable but not painful pressure and then releasing it.

Baley hoped earnestly that the creature’s unreadable eyes could not penetrate Baley’s mind and see that wild moment, just past and not yet entirely subsided, when all of Baley had concentrated into a feeling of an intense friendship that was almost love.

After all, one could not love as a friend this Daneel Olivaw, who was not a man at all, but only a robot.

The robot that looked so like a man said, “I have asked that a robot-driven ground-transport vessel be connected to this ship by air”, Baley frowned. “An air-tube?”

“Yes. It is a common technique, frequently used in space, in order that personnel and materiel be transferred from one vessel to another without the necessity of special equipment against vacuum. It would seem then that you are not acquainted with the technique.”

“No,” said Baley, “but I get the picture.”

“It is, of course, rather complicated to arrange such a device between spaceship and ground vehicle, but I have requested that it be done. Fortunately, the mission on which you and I are engaged is one of high priority. Difficulties are smoothed out quickly.”

“Are you assigned to the murder case too?”

“Have you not been informed of that? I regret not having told you at once.” There was, of course, no sign of regret on the robot’s perfect face. “It was Dr. Han Fastolfe, whom you met on Earth during our previous partnership .and whom I hope you remember, who first suggested you as an appropriate investigator in this case. He made it a condition that I be assigned to work with you once more.”

Baley managed a smile. Dr. Fastolfe was a native of Aurora and Aurora was the strongest of the Outer Worlds. Apparently the advice of an Auroran bore weight.

Baley said, “A team that works shouldn’t be broken up, eh?” (The first exhilaration of Daneel’s appearance was fading and the compression about Baley’s chest was returning.)

“I do not know if that precise thought was in his mind, Partner Elijah. From the nature of his orders to me, I should think that he was interested in having assigned to work with you one who would have experience with your world and would know of your consequent peculiarities.”

“Peculiarities!” Ba1ey frowned and felt offended. It was not a term he liked in connection with himself.

“So that I could arrange the air-tube, for example. I am well aware of your aversion to open spaces as a result of your upbringing in the Cities of Earth.”

Perhaps it was the effect of being called “peculiar,” the feeling that he had to counterattack or lose caste to a machine, that drove Baley to change the subject sharply. Perhaps it was just that lifelong training prevented him from leaving any logical contradiction undisturbed.

He said, “There was a robot in charge of my welfare on hoard this ship; a robot” (a touch of malice intruded itself here) “that looks like a robot. Do you know it?”

“I spoke to it before coming on board.”

“What’s its designation? How do I make contact with it?”

“It is RX-2475. It is customary on Solaria to use only serial numbers for robots.” Daneel’s calm eyes swept the control panel near the door. “This contact will signal it.”

Baley looked at the control panel himself and, since the contact to which Daneel pointed was labeled RX, its identification seemed quite unmysterious.

Baley put his finger over it and in less than a minute, the robot, the one that looked like a robot, entered.

Baley said, “You are RX-2475.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You told me earlier that someone would arrive to escort me off the ship. Did you mean him?” Baley pointed at Daneel.

The eyes of the two robots met. RX-2475 said, “His papers identify him as the one who was to meet you.”