“Well, it might have helped, mightn’t it?”

“Perhaps—if I were quite certain that Aurora wasn’t behind all this. I told the Council quite plainly that I would do without—or, rather”—he pointed his finger at Gladia—“Just with you. Yet might not the Council send a ship to accompany me even against my wish—out of pure kindness of heart, let us say? Well, I still don’t want one; I expect enough trouble without having to look nervously over my shoulder at every moment. So I made myself hard to follow.—How much do you know about Solaria, my lady?”

“Haven’t I told you often enough? Nothing! Twenty decades have passed.”

“Now, madam, I’m talking about the psychology of the Solarians. That can’t have changed in merely twenty decades.—Tell me why they have abandoned their planet.”

“The story, as I’ve heard it,” said Gladia calmly, “is that their population has been steadily declining. A combination of premature deaths and very few births is apparently responsible.”

“Does that sound reasonable to you?”

“Of course it does. Births have always been few.” Her face twisted in memory. “Solarian custom does not make impregnation easy, either naturally, artificially, or ectogenetically.”

“You never had children, madam?”

“Not on Solaria.”

“And the premature death?”

“I can only guess. I suppose it arose out of a feeling of failure. Solaria was clearly not working out, even though the Solarians had placed a great deal of emotional fervor into their world’s having the ideal society—not only one that was better than Earth had ever had, but more nearly perfect than that of any other Spacer world.”

“Are you saying that Solaria was dying of the collective broken heart of its people?”

“If you want to put it in that ridiculous way,” said Gladia, displeased.

D.G. shrugged. “It seems to be what you’re saying. But would they really leave? Where would they go? How would they live?”

“I don’t know.”

“But, Madam Gladia, it is well known that Solarians are accustomed to enormous tracts of land, serviced by many thousands of robots, so that each Solarian is left in almost complete isolation. If they abandon Solaria, where can they go to find a society that would humor them in this fashion? Have they, in fact, gone to any of the other Spacer worlds?”

“Not as far as I know. But then, I’m not in their confidence.”

“Can they have found a new world for themselves? If so, it would be a raw one and require much in the way of terraforming. Would they be ready for that?”

Gladia shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps they haven’t really left.”

“Solaria, I understand, gives every evidence of being empty.”

“What evidence is that?”

“All interplanetary communication has ceased. All radiation from the planet, except that consistent with robot work or clearly due to natural causes has ceased.”

“How do you know that?”

“That is the report on the Auroran news.”

“Ah! The report! Could it be that someone is lying?”

“What would be the purpose of such a lie?” Gladia stiffened at the suggestion.

“So that our ships would be lured to the world and destroyed.”

“That’s ridiculous, D.G.” Her voice grew sharper. “What would the Spacers gain by destroying two trading vessels through so elaborate a subterfuge?”

“Something has destroyed two Settler vessels on a supposedly empty planet. How do you explain that?”

“I can’t. I presume we are going to Solaria in order to find an explanation.”

D.G. regarded her gravely. “Would you be able to guide me to the section of the world that was yours when you lived on Solaria?”

“My estate?” She returned his stare, astonished.

“Wouldn’t you like to see it again?”

Gladia’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes, I would, but why my place?”

“The two ships that were destroyed landed in widely different spots on the planet and yet each was destroyed fairly quickly. Though every spot may be deadly, it seems to me that yours might be less so than others.”

“Why?”

“Because there we might receive help from the robots. You would know them, wouldn’t you? They do last more than twenty decades, I suppose. Daneel and Giskard have. And those that were there when you lived on your estate would still remember you, wouldn’t they? They would treat you as their mistress and recognize the duty they owed you even beyond that which they would owe to ordinary human beings.”

Gladia said, “There were ten thousand robots on my estate. I knew perhaps three dozen by sight. Most of the rest I never saw and they may not have ever seen me. Agricultural robots are not very advanced, you know, nor are forestry robots or mining robots. The household robots would still remember me—if they have not been sold or transferred since I left. Then, too, accidents happen and some robots don’t last twenty decades.—Besides, whatever you may think of robot memory, human memory is fallible and I might remember none of them.”

“Even so,” said D.G., “can you direct me to your estate?”

“By latitude and longitude? No.”

“I have charts of Solaria. Would that help?”

“Perhaps approximately. It’s in the south-central portion of the northern continent of Heliona.”

“And once we’re approximately there, can you make use of landmarks for greater precision—if we skim the Solarian surface?”

“By seacoasts and rivers, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I think I can.”

“Good! And meanwhile, see if you can remember the names and appearances of any of your robots. It may prove the difference between living and dying.”

D.G. Baley seemed a different person with his officers. The broad smile was not evident, nor the easy indifference to danger. He sat, poring over the charts, with a look of intense concentration on his face.

He said, “If the woman is correct, we’ve got the estate pinned down within narrow limits—and if we move into the flying mode, we should get it exactly before too long.”

“Wasteful of energy, Captain,” muttered Jamin Oser, who was second-in-command. He was tall and, like D.G., well bearded. The beard was russet-colored, as were his eyebrows, which arched over bright blue eyes. He looked rather old, but one got the impression that this was due to experience rather than years.

“Can’t help it,” said D.G. “If we had the antigravity that the technos keep promising us just this side of eternity, it would be different.” He stared at the chart again and said, “She says it would be along this river about sixty kilometers upstream from where it runs into this larger one. If she is correct.”

“You keep doubting it,” said Chandrus Nadirhaba, whose insigne showed him to be Navigator and responsible for bringing the ship down in the correct spot—or, in any case, the indicated spot. His dark skin and neat mustache accentuated the handsome strength of his face.

“She’s recalling a situation over a time gap of twenty decades,” said D.G. “What details would you remember of a site you haven’t seen for just three decades? She’s not a robot. She may have forgotten.”

“Then what was the point of bringing her?” muttered Oser. “And the other one and the robot? It unsettles the crew and I don’t exactly like it, either.”

D.G. looked up, eyebrows bunching together. He said in a low voice, “It doesn’t matter on this ship what you don’t like or what the crew doesn’t like, mister. I have the responsibility and I make the decisions. We’re all liable to be dead within six hours of landing unless that woman can save us.”

Nadirhaba said coolly, “If we die, we die. We wouldn’t be Traders if we didn’t know that sudden death was the other side of big profits. And for this mission, we’re all volunteers. Just the same, it doesn’t hurt to know where the death’s coming from, Captain. If you’ve figured it out, does it have to be a secret?”