He rose, still smiling, and Baley, swallowing hard, stood up as well, almost automatically.

Amadiro said, “I still have one thing to say, however. It has nothing to do with our little contretemps here on Aurora—Fastolfe’s and mine. Rather, with your own problem, Mr. Baley.”

“My problem?”

“Perhaps I should say Earth’s problem. I imagine, that you feel very anxious to save poor Fastolfe from his own folly because you think that will give your planet a chance for expansion.—Don’t think so, Mr. Baley. You are quite wrong, rather arsyvarsy, to use a vulgar expression I’ve come across in some of your planet’s historical novels.”

“I’m not familiar with that phrase,” said Baley stiffly.

“I mean you have the situation reversed. You see, when my view wins out in the legislature—and note that I say ‘when’ and not ‘if’—Earth will be forced to remain in her own planetary system, I admit, but that will actually be to her benefit. Aurora will have the prospect of expansion and of establishing an endless empire. If we then know that Earth will merely be Earth, and never anything more, of what concern will she be to us? With the Galaxy at our disposal we will not begrudge Earthpeople their one world. We would even be disposed to make Earth as comfortable a world for her people, as would be practical.

“On the other hand, Mr. Baley, if Aurorans do what Fastolfe asks and allow Earth to send out settling parties, then it won’t be long before it will occur to an increasing number of us that Earth will take over the Galaxy and that we will be encircled and hemmed in, that we will be doomed to decay, and death. After that, there will be nothing I can do. My own quite kindly feeling toward Earthmen will not be able to withstand the general kindling of Auroran suspicion and prejudice and it will then be very bad for Earth.

“So if, Mr. Baley, you are truly concerned for your own people, you should be very anxious indeed for Fastolfe not to succeed in foisting upon this planet his—very misguided plan. You should be a strong ally of mine. Think about it. I tell you this, I assure you, out of a sincere friendship and liking for you and for your planet.”

Amadiro was smiling as broadly as ever, but it was all wolf now.

Baley and his robots followed Amadiro, out the room and along the corridor.

Amadiro stopped at one inconspicuous door and said, “Would you care to use the facilities before leaving?”

For a moment, Baley frowned in confusion, for he did not understand. Then he remembered the antiquated phrase Amadiro had used, thanks to his own reading of historical novels.

He said, “There was an ancient general, whose name l have forgotten, who, mindful of the exigencies of sudden absorption in military affairs, once said, ‘Never turn down a chance to piss.’”

Amadiro, smiled broadly and said, “Excellent advice. Quite as good as my advice to think seriously about what I have said.—But I notice that you hesitate, even so. Surely you don’t think I am laying a trap for you. Believe me, I am not a barbarian. You are my guest in this building and, for that reason alone, you are perfectly safe.”

Baley said cautiously, “If I hesitate, it is because I am considering the propriety of using your—uh—facilities, considering that I am not an Auroran.”

“Nonsense, my dear Baley. What is your alternative? Needs must. Please make use of it. Let that be a symbol that I myself am not subject to the general Auroran prejudices and wish you and Earth well.”

“Could you go a step further?”

“In what way, Mr. Baley?”

“Could you show me that you are also superior to this planet’s prejudice against robots—”

“There is no prejudice against robots,” said Amadiro, quickly.

Baley nodded his head solemnly in apparent acceptance of the remark and completed his sentence—“by allowing them to enter the Personal with me. I have grown to feel uncomfortable without them.”

For one moment, Amadiro seemed shaken. He recovered almost at once and said, with what was almost a scowl, “By all means, Mr. Baley.”

“Yet whoever is now inside might object strenuously. I would not want to create scandal.”

“No one is in there. It is a one-person Personal and, if, someone were making use of it, the in-use signal would indicate that.”

“Thank you, Dr. Amadiro,” said Baley. He opened the door and said, “Giskard, please enter.”

Giskard clearly hesitated, but said nothing in objection and entered. At a gesture from Baley, Daneel followed, but as he passed through the door, he took Baley’s elbow and pulled him in as well.

Baley said, as the door closed behind him, “I’ll be out again soon. Thank you for allowing this.”

He entered the room with as much unconcern as he could manage and yet he felt a tightness in the pit of his abdomen. Might it contain some unpleasant surprise?

Baley found the Personal empty, however. There was not even much to search. It was smaller than the one in Fastolfe’s establishment.

Eventually, he noticed Daneel and Giskard standing silently side by side, backs against the door, as though endeavoring to have entered the room by the least amount possible.

Baley tried to speak normally, but what came out was a dim croak. He cleared his throat with unnecessary noise and said, “You can come farther into the room—and you needn’t remain silent, Daneel.” (Daneel had been on Earth. He knew the Earthly taboo against speech in the Personal.)

Daneel displayed that knowledge at once. He put his forefinger to his lips.

Baley said, “I know, I know, but forget it. If Amadiro can forget the Auroran taboo about robots in Personals, I can forget the Earthly taboo about speech there.”

“Will it not make you uncomfortable, Partner Elijah?” asked Daneel in a low voice.

“Not a bit,” said Baley in an ordinary one. (Actually, speech felt different with Daneel—a robot. The sound of speech in a room such as this when, actually, no human being was present was not as horrifying as it might be. In fact, it was not horrifying at all when only robots were present, however humaniform one of them might be. Baley could not say so, of course. Though Daneel had no feelings a human being could hurt, Baley had feelings on his behalf.)

And then Baley thought of something else and felt, quite intensely, the sensation of being a thoroughgoing fool.

“Or,” he said to Daneel, in a voice that was suddenly very low indeed, “are you suggesting silence because this room is bugged?” The last word came out merely as a shaping of the mouth.

“If you mean, Partner Elijah, that people outside this room can detect what is spoken inside this room through some sort of eavesdropping device, that is quite impossible.”

“Why impossible?”

The toilet device flushed itself with quick and silent efficiency and Baley advanced toward the washbasin.

Daneel said, “On Earth, the dense packing of the Cities makes privacy impossible. Overhearing is taken for granted and to use a device to make overhearing more efficient might seem natural. If an Earthman wishes not to be overheard, he simply doesn’t speak, which may be why silence is so mandatory in places where there is a pretense of privacy, as in the very rooms you call Personals.

“On Aurora, on the other hand, as on all the Spacer worlds, privacy is a true fact of life and is greatly valued. You remember Solaria and the diseased extremes to which it was carried there. But even on Aurora, which is no Solaria, every human being is insulated from every other human being by the kind of space extension unthinkable on Earth and by a wall of robots, in addition. To break down that privacy would be an unthinkable act.”

Baley said, “Do you mean it would be a crime to bug this room?”

“Much worse, Partner Elijah. It would not be the act of a civilized Auroran gentleman.”