He said, “Are you a roboticist, Mr. Gremionis?”

Gremionis looked startled and a little confused at being interrupted in midflow. “A roboticist?”

“Yes. A roboticist.”

“No, not at all. I use robots as everyone does, but I don’t know what’s inside them.—Don’t care really.”

“But you live here on the grounds of the Robotics Institute. How is that?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Gremionis’ voice was measurably more hostile.

“If you’re not a roboticist—”

Gremionis grimaced. “That’s stupid! The Institute, when it was designed some years ago, was intended to be a self-contained community. We have our own transport vehicle repair shops, our own personal robot maintenance shops, our own physicians, our own structuralists. Our personnel live here and, if they have use for a personnel artist, that’s Sandrix Gremionis and I live here, too.—Is there something wrong with my profession that I should not?”

“I haven’t said that.”

Gremionis turned away with a residual petulance that Baley’s hasty disclaimer had not allayed. He pressed a button, then, after studying a varicolored rectangular strip, did something that was remarkably like drumming his fingers briefly.

A sphere dropped gently from the ceiling and remained suspended a meter or so above their heads. It opened as though it were an orange that was unsegmenting and a play of colors began within it, together with a soft wash of sound. The two melted together so skillfully that Baley, watching with astonishment, discovered that, after a short while, it was hard to distinguish one from the other.

The windows opacified and the segments grew brighter.

“Too bright?” asked Gremionis.

“No,” said Baley, after some hesitation.

“It’s meant for background and I’ve picked a soothing combination that will make it easier for us to talk in a civilized way, you know.” Then he said briskly, “Shall we get to the point?”

Baley withdrew his attention from the—whatever it was (Gremionis had not given it a name)—with some difficulty and said, “If you please. I would like to.”

“Have you been accusing me of having anything to do with the immobilization of that robot Jander?”

“I’ve been inquiring into the circumstances of the robot’s ending.”

“But you’ve mentioned me in connection with that ending.—In fact, just, a little while ago, you asked me if I were a roboticist. I know what you had in mind. You were trying to get me to admit I knew something about robotics, so that you could build up a case against me as the—as the—ender of the robot.”

“You might say the killer.”

“The killer? You can’t kill a robot.—In any case, I didn’t end it, or kill it, or anything you want to call it. I told you, I’m not a roboticist. I know nothing about robotics. How can you even think that—”

“I must investigate all connections, Mr. Gremionis. Jander belonged to Gladia—the Solarian woman—and you were friendly with her. That’s a connection.”

“There could be any number of people friendly with her. That’s no connection.”

“Are you willing to state that you never saw Jander in all the times you may have been in Gladia’s establishment?”

“Never! Not once!”

“You never knew she had a humaniform robot?”

“No!”

“She never mentioned him.”

“She had robots all over the place. All ordinary robots. She said nothing about having anything else.”

Baley shrugged. “Very well. I have no reason—so far—to suppose that that is not the truth.”

“Then say so to Gladia. That is why I wanted to see you. To ask you to do that. To insist.”

“Has Gladia any reason to think otherwise?”

“Of course. You poisoned her mind. You questioned her about me in that connection and she assumed—she was made uncertain—The fact is, she called this morning and asked me if I had anything to do with it. I told you that.”

“And you denied it?”

“Of course I denied it and very strenuously, too, because I didn’t have anything to do with it. But it’s not convincing if I do the denying. I want you to do it. I want you to tell her that, in your opinion, I had nothing to do with the whole business. You just said I didn’t and you can’t, without any evidence at all, destroy my reputation. I can report you.”

“To whom?”

“To the Committee on Personal Defense. To the Legislature. The head of this Institute is a close personal friend of the Chairman himself and I’ve already sent a full report to him on this matter. I’m not waiting, you understand. I’m taking action.”

Gremionis shook his head with an attitude that might have been intended for fierceness but that did not entirely carry conviction, considering the mildness of his face. “Look,” he said, “this isn’t Earth. We are protected here. Your planet, with its overpopulation, makes your people exist in so many beehives, so many anthills. You push against each other, suffocate each other—and it doesn’t matter. One life or a million lives—it doesn’t matter.”

Baley, fighting to keep contempt from showing in his voice, said, “You’ve been reading historical novels.”

“Of course I have—and they describe it as it is. You can’t have billions of people on a single world without its being so.—On Aurora, we are each a valuable life. We are protected physically, each of us, by our robots, so that there is, never an assault, let alone murder, on Aurora.”

“Except for Jander.”

“That’s not murder; it’s only a robot. And we are protected from the kinds of harm more subtle than assault by our Legislature. The Committee on Personal Defense takes a dim view—a very dim view—of any action that unfairly damages the reputation or the social status of any individual citizen. An Auroran, acting as you did, would be in trouble enough. As for an Earthman—well—”

Baley said, “I am carrying on an investigation at the invitation, I presume, of the Legislature. I don’t suppose Dr. Fastolfe could have brought me here without Legislative permission.”

“Maybe so, but that wouldn’t give you the right to overstep the limits of fair investigation.”

“Are you going to put this up to the Legislature, then?”

“I’m going to have the Institute head—”

“What is his name, by the way?”

“Kelden Amadiro. I’m going to ask him to put it up to the Legislature—and he’s in the Legislature, you know—he’s one of the leaders of the Globalist party. So I think you had better make it plain to Gladia that I am completely innocent.”

“I would like to, Mr. Gremionis, because I suspect that you are innocent, but how can I change suspicion to certainty, unless you will allow me to ask you some questions?”

Gremionis hesitated. Then, with an air of defiance, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck, the picture of a man utterly failing to appear at ease. He said, “Ask away. I have nothing to hide. And after you’re done, you’ll have to call Gladia, right on that trimensional transmitter behind you and say your piece—or you will be in more trouble than you can imagine.”

“I understand. But first—How long have you known Dr. Vasilia Fastolfe, Mr. Gremionis? Or Dr. Vasilia Aliena, if you know her by that name?”

Gremionis hesitated, then said in a tense voice, “Why do you ask that? What does that have to do with it?”

Baley sighed and his dour face seemed to sadden further.

“I remind you, Mr. Gremionis, that you have nothing to hide and that you want to convince me of your innocence, so that I can convince Gladia of the same. Just tell me how long you have known her. If you have not known her, just say so—but before you do, it is only fair to tell you that Dr. Vasilia has stated that you knew her well—well enough, at least, to offer yourself to her.”

Gremionis looked chagrined. He said in a shaky voice, “I don’t know why people have to make a big thing out of it. An offer is a perfectly natural social interaction that concerns no one else.—Of course, you’re an Earthman, so you’d make a fuss about it.”