But Daneel said calmly, “We have, Partner Elijah. And, incidentally, we have landed. We are now resting on the surface of Aurora.”

For a moment, Baley was bewildered. He looked around wildly, but of course there was nothing to see but an enclosing room. He had felt and heard nothing of what Daneel had described. None of the acceleration, or heat, or wind whistle.—Or had Daneel deliberately brought up the matter of his personal danger once again, in order to make sure he would not think of other unsettling—but minor—matters.

Baley said, “And yet there’s still the matter of getting off the ship. How do I do that without being vulnerable to possible enemies?”

Daneel walked to one wall and touched a spot upon it. The wall promptly split in two, the two halves moving apart. Baley found himself looking into a long cylinder, a tunnel.

Giskard had entered the room at that moment from the other side and said, “Sir, the three of us will move through the exit tube. Others have it under observation from without. At the other end of the tube, Dr. Fastolfe is waiting.”

“We have taken every precaution,” said Daneel.

Baley muttered, “My apologies, Daneel—Giskard.” He moved into the exit tube somberly. Every effort to assure that precautions had been taken also assured him that those precautions were thought necessary.

Baley liked to think he was no coward, but he was on a strange planet, with no way of telling friend from enemy, with no way of taking comfort in anything familiar (except, of course, Daneel). At crucial moments, he thought with a shiver, he would be without enclosure to warm him and to give him relief.

Dr. Han Fastolfe was indeed waiting—and smiling. He was tall and thin, with light brown hair that was not very thick and there were, of course, his ears. It was the ears that Baley remembered, even after three years. Large ears, standing away from his head, giving him a vaguely humorous appearance, a pleasant homeliness. It was the ears that made Baley smile, rather than Fastolfe’s welcome.

Baley wondered briefly if Auroran medical technology did not extend to the minor plastic surgery required to correct the ungainliness of those ears.—But then, it might well be that Fastolfe liked their appearance as Baley himself (rather to his surprise) did. There is something to be said about a face that makes one smile.

Perhaps Fastolfe valued being liked at first glance. Or was it that he found it useful to be underestimated? Or just different?

Fastolfe said, “Plainclothesman Elijah Baley. I remember you well, even though I persist in thinking of you as possessing the face of the actor who portrayed you.”

Baley’s face turned grim. “That hyperwave dramatization haunts me, Dr. Fastolfe. If I knew where I could go to escape—”

“Nowhere,” said Fastolfe genially. “At least ordinarily. So if you don’t like it, we’ll expunge it from our conversations right now. I shall never mention it again. Agreed?”

“Thank you.” With calculated suddenness, he thrust out his hand at Fastolfe.

Fastolfe hesitated perceptibly. Then he took Baley’s hand, holding it gingerly—and not for long—and said, “I shall assume you are not a walking sack of infection, Mr. Baley.”

Then he said ruefully, staring at his hands, “I must admit, though, that my hands have been treated with an inert—film that doesn’t feel entirely comfortable. I’m a creature of the irrational fears of my society.”

Baley shrugged. “So are we all. I do not relish the thought of being Outside—in the open air, that is. For that matter, I do not relish having had to come to Aurora under the circumstances in which I find myself.”

“I understand that well, Mr. Baley. I have a closed car for you here and, when we come to my establishment, we will do our best to continue to keep you enclosed.”

“Thank you, but in the course of my stay on Aurora, I feel that it will be necessary for me to stay Outside on occasion. I am prepared for that—as best I can be.”

“I understand, but we will inflict the Outside on you only if it’s necessary. That is not now the case so please consent to be enclosed.”

The car was waiting in the shadow of the tunnel and there would scarcely be a trace of Outside in passing from the latter to the former. Behind him, Baley was aware of both Daneel and Giskard, quite dissimilar in appearance but both identical in grave and waiting attitude—and both endlessly patient.

Fastolfe opened the back door and said, “Please to get in.”

Baley entered. Quickly and smoothly, Daneel entered behind him, while Giskard, virtually simultaneously, in what seemed almost like a well-choreographed dance movement, entered on the other side. Baley found himself wedged, but not oppressively so, between them. In fact, he welcomed the thought that, between himself and the Outside, on both sides, was the thickness of a robotic body.

But there was no Outside. Fastolfe climbed into the front seat and, as the door closed behind him, the windows blanked out, and a soft, artificial light suffused the interior.

Fastolfe said, “I don’t generally drive this way, Mr. Baley, but I don’t mind a great deal and you may find it more comfortable. The car is completely computerized, knows where it’s going, and can deal with any obstructions or emergencies. We need interfere in no way.”

There was the faintest feeling of acceleration and then a vague, barely noticeable sensation of motion.

Fastolfe said, “This is a secure passage, Mr. Baley. I have gone to considerable trouble to make certain that as few people as possible know you will be in this car and certainly you will not be detected within it. The trip by car—which rides on airjets, by the way, so that it is an airfoil, actually—will not take long, but, if you wish, you can seize the opportunity to rest. You are quite safe now.”

“You speak,” said Baley, “as though you think I’m in danger. I was protected to the point of imprisonment on the ship and again now.” Baley looked about the small, enclosed interior of the car, within which he was hemmed by the frame of metal and opacified glass, to say nothing of the metallic frame of two robots.

Fastolfe laughed lightly. “I am overreacting, I know, but feeling runs high on Aurora. You arrive here at a time of crisis for us and I would rather be made to look silly by overreacting than to run the terrible risk that underreacting entails.”

Baley said, “I believe you understand, Dr. Fastolfe, that my failure here would be a blow to Earth.”

“I understand that well. I am as determined as you are to prevent your failure. Believe me.”

“I do. Furthermore, my failure here, for whatever reason, will also be my personal and professional ruin on Earth.”

Fastolfe turned in his seat to look at Baley with a shocked expression. “Really? That would not be warranted.”

Baley shrugged. “I agree, but it will happen. I will be the obvious target for a desperate Earth government.”

“This was not in my mind when I asked for you, Mr. Baley. You may be sure I will do what I can. Though, in all honesty”—his eyes fell away—“that will be little enough, if we lose.”

“I know that,” said Baley dourly. He leaned back against the soft upholstery and closed his eyes. The motion of the car was limited to a gentle lulling sway, but Baley did not sleep. Instead, he thought hard—for what that was worth.