Solaria, Baley remembered, had been empty. No doubt all the Spacer worlds were empty, since Aurora, the most populous, was so empty, even here in the most built-up region of the planet. For that matter, even Earth—outside the Cities—was empty.
But there were the Cities and Baley felt a sharp pang of homesickness, which he had to push to one side.
Daneel said, “Ah, friend Giskard has completed his examination.”
Giskard was back and Baley said tartly, “Well? Will you be so kind as to grant me permission—” He stopped. Why expend sarcasm on the impenetrable hide of a robot?
Giskard said, “It seems quite certain that the Personal is unoccupied.”
“Good! Then get out of my way.” Baley flung open the door of the airfoil and stepped out onto the gravel of a narrow path. He strode rapidly, with Daneel following.
When he reached the door of the structure, Daneel wordlessly indicated the contact that would open it. Daneel did not venture to touch the contact himself. Presumably, thought Baley, to have done so without specific instructions would have indicated an intention to enter and even the intention was not permitted.
Baley pushed the contact and entered, leaving the two robots behind.
It was not until he was inside that it occurred to him that Giskard could not possibly have entered the Personal to see that it was unoccupied, that the robot must have been judging the matter from external appearance—a dubious proceeding at best.
And Baley realized, with some discomfort, that, for the first time, he was isolated and separated from all protectors—and that the protectors on the other side of the door couldn’t easily enter if he were suddenly in trouble. What, then, if he were, at this moment, not alone? What if some enemy had been alerted by Vasilia, who knew he would be in search of a Personal, and what if that enemy was in hiding right now in the structure?
Baley grew suddenly and uncomfortably aware that (as would not have been the case on Earth) he was totally unarmed.
46
To be sure, the structure was not large. There were small urinals, side by side, half a dozen of them; small washbasins, side by side, again half a dozen. No showers, no clothes fresheners, no shaving devices.
There were half a dozen stalls, separated by partitions and with small doors to each. Might there not be someone waiting inside one of them—
The doors did not come down to the ground. Moving softly, he bent and glanced under each door, looking for any sign of legs. He then approached each door, testing it, swinging it open tensely, ready to slam it shut at the least sign of anything untoward and then to dash to the door that led to the Outside.
All the stalls were empty.
He looked around to make sure there were no other hiding places.
He could find none.
He went to the door to the Outside and found no indication of a way of locking it. It occurred to him that there would naturally be no way of locking it. The Personal was clearly for the use of several men at the same time. Others would have to be able to enter at need.
Yet he could not very well leave and try another, for the danger would exist at any—and besides, he could delay no longer.
For a moment, he found himself unable to decide which of the series of urinals he should use. He could approach and use any of them. So could anyone else.
He forced the choice of one upon himself and, aware of openness all around, was afflicted at once with bashful bladder. He felt the urgency, but had to wait impatiently for the feeling of apprehension at the possible entrance of others to dissipate itself.
He no longer feared the entrance of enemies, just the entrance of anyone.
And then he thought: The robots will at least delay anyone approaching.
With that, he managed to relax—
He was quite done, greatly relieved, and about to turn to a washbasin, when he heard a moderately high-pitched, rather tense voice. “Are you Elijah Baley?”
Baley froze. After all his apprehension and all his precautions, he had been unaware of someone entering. In the end, he had been entirely wrapped up in the simple act of emptying his bladder, something that should not have taken up even the tiniest fraction of his conscious mind. (Was he getting old?)
To be sure, there seemed no threat of any kind in the voice he heard. It seemed empty of menace. It may have been that Baley simply felt certain—and had the sure confidence within him—that Daneel, at least, if not Giskard, would not have allowed a threat to enter.
What bothered Baley was merely the entrance. In his whole life, he had never been approached—let alone addressed—by a man in a Personal. On Earth that was the most strenuous taboo and on Solaria (and, until now, on Aurora) he had used only one-person Personals.
The voice came again. Impatient. “Come! You must be Elijah Baley.”
Slowly, Baley turned. It was a man of moderate height, delicately dressed in well-fitted clothing in various shades of blue. He was light-skinned, light-haired, and had a small mustache that was a shade darker than the hair on his head. Baley found himself staring with fascination at the small strip of hair on the upper lip. It was the first time he had seen a Spacer with a mustache.
Baley said (and was filled with shame at speaking in a Personal), “I am Elijah Baley.” His voice, even in, his own, ears, seemed a scratchy and unconvincing whisper.
The Spacer seemed to find it unconvincing, certainly. He said, narrowing his eyes and staring, “The robots outside said Elijah Baley was in here, but you don’t look at all the way you looked on hyperwave. Not at all.”
That foolish dramatization! thought Baley fiercely. No one would meet him to the end of time without having been preliminarily poisoned by that impossible representation. No one would accept him as a human being at the start, as a fallible human being—and when they discovered the fallibility, they would, in disappointment, consider him a fool.
He turned resentfully to the washbasin and splashed water, then shook his hands vaguely in the air, while wondering where the hot-air jet might be found. The Spacer touched a contact and seemed to pluck a thin bit of absorbent fluff out of midair.
“Thank you,” said Baley, taking it. “That was not me in the hyperwave show. It was an actor.”
“I know that, but they might have picked one that looked more like you, mightn’t they?” It seemed to be a source of grievance to him. “I want to speak to you.”
“How did you get past my robots?”
That was another source of grievance, apparently. “I nearly didn’t,” said the Spacer. “They tried to stop me and I only had one robot with me. I had to pretend I had to get in here on an emergency basis and they searched me. They absolutely laid hands on me to see if I was carrying anything dangerous. I’d have you up on charges—if you weren’t an Earthman. You can’t give robots the kind of orders that embarrass a human being.”
“I’m sorry,” said Baley stiffly, “but I am not the one who gave them their orders. What can I do for you?”
“I want to speak to you.”
“You are speaking to me.—Who are you?”
The other seemed to hesitate, then said, “Gremionis.”
“Santirix Gremionis?”
“That’s right.”
“Why do you want to speak to me?”
For a moment, Gremionis stared at Baley, apparently with embarrassment. Then he mumbled, “Well, as long as I’m here if you don’t mind—I might as well—” and he stepped toward the line of urinals.
Baley realized, with the—last refinement of horrified queasiness, what it was Gremionis intended to do. He turned hastily and said, “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“No no, don’t go,” said Gremionis desperately, in what was almost a squeak. “This won’t take a second. Please!”
It was only that Baley now wanted, just as desperately, to talk to Gremionis and did not want to do anything that might offend the other and make him unwilling to talk; otherwise he would not have been willing to accede to the request.