Daneel and Giskard moved forward at once, but Baley found himself edging ahead slowly. He put out one arm as a way of testing the coming of pain.

Daneel said, “The field is gone, Partner Elijah. It will be restored after we have passed through.”

Better safe than sorry, thought Baley, and continued his shuffle till he was well past the point where the barrier of the field might have existed.

The robots, showing no sign of impatience or condemnation, waited for Baley’s reluctant steps to catch up with them.

They then stepped onto a helical ramp, that was only two people wide. The robot was first, by himself; Baley and Daneel stood side by side behind him (Daneel’s hand rested lightly, but almost possessively, on Baley’s elbow); and Giskard brought up the rear.

Baley was conscious of his shoes pointing upward just a bit uncomfortably and felt vaguely that it would be a little tiresome mounting this too-steep ramp and having to lean forward in order to avoid a clumsy slip. Either the soles of his shoes or the surface of the ramp—or both—ought to be ridged. In fact, neither was.

The robot in the lead said, “Mr. Baley,” as though warning of something, and the robot’s hand then visibly tightened on the railing that it held.

At once, the ramp divided into sections that slid against each other, to form steps. Immediately thereafter, the whole ramp began to move upward. It made a complete turn, passing up through the ceiling, a section of which had retracted, and, when it came to a halt, they were on what was (presumably) the second floor. The steps disappeared and the four stepped off.

Baley looked back curiously. “I suppose it will service those who want to go down as well, but what if there is a period where more people want to go up than down? It would end up sticking half a kilometer into the sky or into the ground, in reverse.”

“That is an up-helix,” said Daneel in a low voice. “There are separate down-helices.”

“But it has to get down again, doesn’t it?”

“It collapses at the top—or the bottom depending on which we’re speaking of, Partner Elijah, and, in periods of nonuse, it unwinds, so to speak. This up-helix is descending now.”

Baley looked back. The smooth surface might be sliding downward, but it showed no irregularity or mark—whose motion he could notice.

“And if someone should want to use it when it has moved up as far as it can?”

“Then one must wait for the unwinding, which would take less than a minute.—There are ordinary flights of stairs as well, Partner Elijah, and most Aurorans are not reluctant to use them. Robots almost always use the stairs. Since you are a visitor, you are being offered the courtesy of the helix.”

They were walking down a corridor again, toward a door more ornate than the others. “They are offering me courtesy, then,” said Baley. “A hopeful sign.”

It was perhaps another hopeful sign that an Auroran now appeared in the ornate doorway. He was tall, at least eight centimeters taller than Daneel, who was some five centimeters taller than Baley. The man in the doorway was broad as well, somewhat heavyset, with a round face, a somewhat bulbous nose, curly dark hair, a swarthy complexion, and a smile.

It was the smile that was most noticeable. Wide and apparently unforced, it revealed prominent teeth that were white and well-shaped.

He said, “Ah, it—is Mr. Baley, the famous investigator from Earth, who has come to our little planet to show that I am a dreadful villain. Come in, come in. You are welcome. I am sorry if my able aide, Roboticist Maloon Cicis, gave you the impression that I would be unavailable, but he is a cautious fellow and is a great deal more concerned about my time than I myself am.”

He stepped to one side as Baley walked in and tapped him lightly with the flat of his hand on the shoulder blade as he passed. It seemed to be a gesture of friendship of a kind that Baley had not yet experienced on Aurora.

Baley said, cautiously (was he assuming too much?), “I take it you are Master Roboticist Kelden Amadiro?”

“Exactly. Exactly. The man who intends to destroy Dr. Han Fastolfe as a political force upon this planet—but that, as I hope to persuade you, does not really make me a villain. After all, I am not trying to prove that it is Fastolfe who is a villain simply because of the foolish vandalism he committed on the structure of his own creation—poor Jander. Let us say only that I will demonstrate that Fastolfe is—mistaken.”

He gestured lightly and the robot who had guided them in stepped forward and into a niche.

As the door closed, Amadiro gestured Baley jovially to a well-upholstered armchair and, with admirable economy, indicated, with his other arm, wall niches for Daneel and Giskard as well.

Baley noticed that Amadiro stared with a moment’s hunger at Daneel and that, for that moment, his smile disappeared and a look that was almost predatory appeared on his face. It was gone quickly and he was smiling again. Baley was left to wonder if, perhaps, that momentary change of expression was an invention of his own imagination.

Amadiro said, “Since it looks as though we’re in for some mildly nasty weather, let’s do without the ineffective daylight we are now dubiously blessed with.”

Somehow (Baley did not follow exactly what it was that Amadiro did on the control-panel of his desk) the windows opacified and the walls glowed with gentle daylight.

Amadiro’s smile seemed to broaden. “We do not really have much to talk about, you and I, Mr. Baley. I took the precaution of speaking to Mr. Gremionis while you were coming here. From what he said, I decided to call Dr. Vasilia as well. Apparently, Mr. Baley, you have more or less accused both of complicity in the destruction of Jander and, if I can understand the language, you have also accused me.”

“I merely asked questions, Dr. Amadiro, as I intend to do now.”

“No doubt, but you are an Earthman, so you are not aware of the enormity of your actions and I am really sorry that you must nonetheless suffer the consequences of them.—You know perhaps that Gremionis sent me a memo concerning your slander of him.”

“He told me he had, but he misinterpreted my action. It was not slander.”

Amadiro pursed his lips as though considering the statement. “I dare say you are right from your standpoint, Mr. Baley, but you don’t understand the Auroran definition of the word. I was forced to send Gremionis’ memo on to the Chairman and, as a result, it is very likely that you’ll be ordered off the planet, by tomorrow morning. I regret this, of course, but I fear that your investigation is about to come to an end.”

Baley was taken aback. He did not know what to make of Amadiro and he had not expected this confusion within himself. Gremionis’ had described him as “standoffish.” From what Cicis had said, he expected Amadiro to be autocratic. In person, however, Amadiro seemed jovial, outgoing, even friendly. Yet if his words were to be trusted, Amadiro was calmly moving to end the investigation. He was doing it pitilessly—and with what seemed to be commiserating smile.

What was he?

Automatically, Baley glanced toward the niches where Giskard and Daneel were standing, the primitive Giskard of course without expression, the advanced Daneel calm and quiet. That Daneel had ever met Amadiro in his short existence was, on the face of it, unlikely. Giskard, on the other hand, in his how many decades of life might very well have met him.

Baley’s lips tightened as he thought he might have asked Giskard in advance what Amadiro might be like. He might, in that case, be now better able to judge how much of this roboticist’s present persona was real and how much was cleverly calculated.