Gladia said, “Is it important that you see Dr. Fastolfe, Elijah? I can have him summoned here. Or you can view him trimensionally.”
Baley leaned back in his chair again. He had leisure to realize that his thought processes were blunted and that he was very tired. It would do him no good to face Fastolfe now. He said, “No. I’ll see him tomorrow after breakfast. Time enough. And then I think I’ll be seeing this man, Kelden Amadiro, the head of the Robotics Institute. And a high official—what d’you call him?—the Chairman. He will be there, too, I suppose.”
“You look terribly tired, Elijah,” said Gladia. “Of course, we don’t have those microorganisms—those germs and viruses—that you have on Earth and you’ve been cleaned out so you won’t get any of the diseases they have all over your planet, but you’re clearly tired.”
Baley thought: After all that, no cold? No flu? No pneumonia?—There was something to being on a Spacer world at that.
He said, “I admit I’m tired, but that can be cured by a bit of rest.”
“Are you hungry? It’s dinnertime.”
Baley made a face. “I don’t feel like eating.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise. You don’t want a heavy meal, perhaps, but how about some hot soup. It will do you good.”
Baley felt the urge to smile. She might be Solarian, but given the proper circumstances she sounded exactly like art Earth-woman. He suspected that this would be true of Aurorans as well. There are some things that differences in culture don’t touch.
He said, “Do you have soup available? I don’t want to be a problem.”
“How can you be a problem? I have a staff—not a large one, as on Solaria, but enough to prepare any reasonable item of food on short order.—Now you just sit there and tell me, what kind of soup you would like. It will all be taken care of.”
Baley couldn’t resist. “Chicken soup?”
“Of course.” Then innocently, “Just what I would have suggested—and with lumps of chicken, so that it will be substantial.”
The bowl was put before him with surprising speed. He said, “Aren’t you going to eat, Gladia?”
“I’ve eaten already, while you were being bathed and treated.”
“Treated?”
“Only routine biochemical adjustment, Elijah. You had been rather psychic-damaged and we wanted no repercussions.—Do eat!”
Baley lifted an experimental spoonful to his lips. It was not bad chicken soup, though it had the queer tendency of Auroran food to be rather spicier than Baley would prefer. Or perhaps it was prepared with different spices than those he was used to.
He remembered his mother suddenly—a sharp thrust of memory that made her appear younger than he himself was right now. He remembered her standing over him when he rebelled at eating his “nice soup.”
She would say to him, “Come, Lije. This is real chicken and very expensive. Even the Spacers don’t have anything better.”
They didn’t. He called to her in his, mind across the years: They don’t, Mom!
Really! If he could trust memory and allow for the power of youthful taste buds, his mother’s chicken soup, when it wasn’t dulled by repetition, was far superior.
He sipped again and again—and when he finished, he muttered in a shamefaced way, “Would there be a little more?”
“As much as you want, Elijah.”
“Just a little more.”
Gladia said to him, as he was finishing, “Elijah, this meeting tomorrow morning—”
“Yes, Gladia?”
“Does it mean that your investigation is over? Do you know what happened to Jander?”
Baley said judiciously, “I have an idea as to what might have happened to Jander. I don’t think I can necessarily persuade anyone that I am right.”
“Then why are you having the conference?”
“It’s not my idea, Gladia. It’s Master Roboticist Amadiro’s idea. He objects to the investigation and he’s going to try to have me sent back to Earth.”
“Is he the one who tampered with your airfoil and tried to have his robots take Daneel?”
“I think he is.”
“Well, can’t he be tried and convicted and punished for that?”
“He certainly could,” said Baley feelingly, “except for the very small problem that I can’t prove it.”
“And can he do all that and get away with it—and stop the investigation, too?”
“I’m afraid he has a good chance of being able to do so. As he himself says, people who don’t expect justice don’t have to suffer disappointment.”
“But he mustn’t. You mustn’t let him. You’ve got to complete your investigation and find out the truth.”
Baley sighed. “What if I can’t find out the truth? Or what if I can—but can’t make people listen to me?”
“You can find out the truth. And you can make people listen to you.”
“You have a touching faith in me, Gladia. Still, if the Auroran World Legislature wants to send me back and orders the investigation ended, there’s nothing I’m going to be able to do about it.”
“Surely you won’t be willing to go back with nothing accomplished.”
“Of course I won’t. It’s worse than just accomplishing nothing, Gladia. I’ll go back with my career ruined and with Earth’s future destroyed.”
“Then don’t let them do that, Elijah.”
And he said, “Jehoshaphat, Gladia, I’m going to try not to, but I can’t lift a planet with my bare hands. You can’t ask me for miracles.”
Gladia nodded and, eyes downcast, put her fist to her mouth, sitting there motionlessly, as though in thought. It took a while for Baley to realize that she was weeping soundlessly.
68
Baley stood up quickly and walked around the table to her. He noted absently—and with some annoyance—that his legs were trembling and that there was a tic in the muscle of his right thigh.
“Gladia,” he said urgently, “don’t cry.”
“Don’t bother, Elijah,” she whispered. “It will pass.”
He stood helplessly at her side, reaching out to her yet hesitating. “I’m not touching you,” he said. “I don’t think I had better do so, but—”
“Oh, touch me. Touch me. I’m not all that fond of my body, and I won’t catch anything from you. I’m not—what I used to be.”
So Baley reached out and touched her elbow and stroked it very slightly and clumsily with his fingertips. “I’ll do what I can tomorrow, Gladia,” he said. “I’ll give it my very best try.”
She rose at that, turned toward him, and said, “Oh, Elijah.”
Automatically, scarcely knowing what he was doing, Baley held out his arms. And, just as automatically, she walked into them and he was holding her while her head cradled—against his chest.
He held her as lightly as he could, waiting for her to realize that she was embracing an Earthman. (She had undoubtedly embraced a humaniform robot, but he had been no Earthman.)
She sniffed loudly and spoke while her mouth was half obscured in Baley’s shirt.
She said, “It isn’t fair. It’s because I’m a Solarian. No one really cares what happened to Jander and they would if I were an Auroran. It just boils down to prejudice and politics.”
Baley thought: Spacers are people. This is exactly what Jessie would say in a similar situation. And if it were Gremionis who was holding Gladia, he’d say exactly what I’ll say—if I knew what I would say.
And then he said, “That’s not entirely so. I’m sure Dr. Fastolfe cares what happened to Jander.”
“No, he doesn’t. Not really. He just wants to have his way in the Legislature, and that Amadiro wants to have his way, and either one would trade Jander for his way.”
“I promise you, Gladia, I won’t trade Jander for anything.”
“No? If they tell you that you can go back to Earth with your career saved and no penalty for your world, provided you forget all about Jander, what would you do?”