He said, “Well? Am I right or wrong?”
And Gremionis said in a low voice. “That hyperwave show was no exaggeration, then. —Do you read minds?”
50
Baley said calmly, “I just ask questions. —And you haven't answered directly. Am I right or wrong?”
Gremionis said, “It didn't quite happen like that. Not just like that. She did talk about Gladia, but—” He bit at his lower lip and then said, “Well, it amounted to what you said. It was just about the way you described it.”
“And you were not disappointed? You found that Gladia did resemble Dr. Vasilia?”
“In a way, she did.” Gremionis’ eyes brightened. “But not really. Stand them side by side and you'll see the difference. Gladia has much greater delicacy and grace. A greater spirit of—of fun.”
“Have you offered yourself to Vasilia since you met Gladia?”
“Are you mad? Of course not.”
“But you have offered yourself to Gladia?”
“Yes.”
“And she rejected you?”
“Well, yes, but you have to understand that she has to be sure, as I would have to be. Think what a mistake I would have made if I had moved Dr. Vasilia to accept me. Gladia doesn't want to make that mistake and I don't blame her.”
“But you don't think it would be a mistake for her to accept you, so you offered yourself again—and again— and again.”
Gremionis stared vacantly at Baley for a moment and then seemed to shudder. He thrust out his lower lip, as though he were a rebellious child. “You say it in an insulting way—”
“I'm sorry. I don't mean it to be insulting. Please answer the question.”
“Well, I have.”
“How many times have you offered yourself?”
“I haven't counted. Four times. Well, five. Or maybe more.”
“And she has always rejected you.”
“Yes. Or I wouldn't have to offer again, would I?”
“Did she reject you angrily?”
“Oh no. That's not Gladia. Very kindly.”
“Has it made you offer yourself to anyone else?”
“What?”
“Well, Gladia has rejected you. Oneway of responding would be to offer yourself to someone else. Why not? Gladia doesn't want you—”
“No. I don't want anyone else.”
“Why is that, do you suppose?”
And, strenuously, Gremionis said, “How should I know why that is? I want Gladia. It's a—-it's—a kind of madness, except that I think it's the best kind of insanity. Fd be mad not to have that kind of madness. —I don't expect you to understand.”
“Have you tried to explain this to Gladia? She might understand.”
“Never. I'd distress her. I'd embarrass her. You don't talk about such things. I should see a mentologist.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Gremionis frowned. “You have a way of asking the rudest questions, Earthman.”
“Perhaps because I'm an Earthman. I know no better. But I'm also an investigator and I must know these things. Why have you not seen a mentolopst?”
Surprisingly, Gremionis laughed, “I told you. The cure would be greater madness than the disease. I would rather be with Gladia and be rejected than be with anyone else and be accepted. —Imagine having your mind out of whack and wanting it to stay out of whack. Any mentologist would put me in for major treatment.”
Baley thought awhile, then said, “Do you know whether Dr. Vasilia is a mentologist in any way?”
“She's a roboticist. They say that's the closest thing to it. If you know how a robot works, you've got a hint as to how a human brain works. Or so they say.”
“Does it occur to you that Vasilia knows these strange feelings you have in connection with Gladia?”
Gremionis stiffened. “I've never told her. —I mean in so many words.”
“Isn't it possible that she understands your feelings without having to ask? Is she aware that you have repeatedly offered yourself to Gladia?”
“Well— She would ask how I was getting along. In the way of long-standing acquaintanceship, you know. I would say certain things. Nothing intimate.”
“Are you sure that it was never anything intimate? Surely she encouraged you to continue to offer.”
“You know—now that you mention it, I seem to see it all in a new way. I don't see quite how you managed to put it into my head. It's the questions you ask, I suppose, but it seems to me now that she did continue to encourage my friendship with Gladia. She actively supported it.” He looked very uneasy. “This never occurred to me before. I never really thought about it.”
“Why do you think she encouraged you to make repeated offers to Gladia?”
Gremionis twitched his eyebrows ruefully and his finger went to his mustache. “I suppose some might guess she was trying to get rid of me. Trying to make sure I wouldn't want to bother her.” He made a small laughing sound. “That's not very complimentary to me, is it?”
“Did Dr. Vasilia cease being friendly with you?”
“Not at all. She was more friendly—if anything.”
“Did she try to tell you how to be more successful with Gladia? To show a greater interest in Gladia's work, for example?”
“She didn't have to do that. Gladia's work and mine are very similar. I work with human beings and she with robots, but we're both designers—artists— That does make for closeness, you know. We even help each other at times. When I'm not offering and being rejected, we're good friends. —That's a lot, when you come to think of it.”
“Did Dr. Vasilia suggest you show a greater interest in Dr. Fastolfe's work?”
“Why should she suggest that? I don't know anything about Dr. Fastolfe's work.”
“Gladia might be interested in her benefactor's work and it might be a way for you to ingratiate yourself with hen”
Gremionis’ eyes narrowed. He rose with almost explosive force, walked to the other end of the room, came back, stood in front of Baley, and said, “Now—you— look—here! I'm not the biggest brain on the planet, not even the second-biggest, but I'm not a blithering idiot. I see what you're getting at, you know.”
“Oh?”
“All your questions have served to sort of wriggle me into saying that Dr. Vasilia got me to fall in love—That's it“—he stopped in sudden surprise—”I'm in love, like in the historical novels.” He thought about that with the light of wonder in his eyes. Then the anger returned. “That she got me to fall in love and to stay in love, so that I could find out things from Dr. Fastolfe and learn how to immobilize that robot, Jander,”
“You don't think that's so?”
“No, it's not!” shouted Gremionis. “I don't know anything about robotics. Anything. No matter how carefully anything about robotics were explained to me, I wouldn't understand it. And I don't think Gladia would either. Besides, I never asked anyone about robotics. I was never told—by Dr. Fastolfe or anyone—anything about robotics. No one ever suggested I get involved with robotics. Dn Vasilia never suggested it. Your whole rotten theory doesn't work.” He shot his arms out to either side. “It doesn't work. Forget it.”
He sat back, folded his arms rigidly across his chest, and forced his lips together in a thin line, making his small mustache bristle.
Baley looked up at the unsegmented orange, which was still humming its low, pleasantly varying tune and displaying a gentle change of color as it swayed hypnotically through a small, slow arc.
If Gremionis’ outburst had upset his line of attack, he showed no sign of it. He said, “I understand what you're saying, but it's still true that you see much of Gladia, isn't it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Your repeated offers do not offend her—and her repeated rejections do not offend you?”
Gremionis shrugged. “My offers are polite. Her refusals are gentle. Why should we be offended?”
“But
how do you spend time together? Sex is out, obviously, and you don't talk robotics. What do you do?”
“Is that all there is to companionship—sex and robotics? We do a great deal together. We talk, for one thing. She is very curious about Aurora and I spend hours describing the planet. She's seen very little of it, you know. And she spends hours telling me about Solaria and what a hellhole it is. I'd rather live on Earth—no offense intended. And there's her dead husband. What a miserable character he was. Gladia's had a hard life, poor woman.
“We go to concerts, I took her to the Art Institute a few times, and we work together. I told you that. We go over my designs—or her designs—together. To be perfectly honest, I don't see that working on robots is very rewarding, but we all have our own notions, you know. For that matter, she seemed to be amused when I explained why it was so important to cut hair correctly—her own hair isn't quite right, you know. But mostly, we go for walks.”
“Walks? Where?”
“Nowhere particularly. Just walks. That is her habit—because of the way she was brought up on Solaria. Have you ever been on Solaria? —Yes, you have been, of course. I'm sorry. —On Solaria, there are these huge estates with only one or two human beings on them, just robots otherwise. You can walk for miles and be completely alone and Gladia says that it makes you feel as though you owned the entire planet. The robots are always there, of course, keeping an eye on you and taking care of you, but, of course, they keep out of sight. Gladia misses that feeling of world ownership here on Aurora.”
“Do you mean that die wants world ownership?”
“You mean a kind of lust for power? Gladia? That's crazy. All she means is that she misses the feeling of being alone with nature. I don't see it myself, you understand, but I like humoring her. Of course, you can't quite get the Solarian feeling in Aurora. There are bound to be people about, especially in the Eos metropolitan area, and robots haven't been programmed to keep out of sight. In fact, Aurorans generally walk with robots. —Still, I know some routes that are pleasant and not very crowded and Gladia enjoys them.”
“Do you enjoy them, too?”
“Well, only because I would be with Gladia. Aurorans are walkers, too, by and large, but I must admit I'm not. I had protesting muscles at first and Vasilia laughed at me.”
“She knew you went on walks, did she?”
“Well, I came in limping one day and creaking at the thighs, so I had to explain. She laughed and said it was a good idea and the best way to get a walker to accept an offer was to walk with them. ‘Keep it up,’ she said, ‘and she'll cancel all her rejections before you get a chance to offer again. She'll make the offer herself.’ As it happened, Gladia didn't, but eventually I grew to like the walks very much, just the same.”
He seemed to have gotten over his flash of anger and was now very much at his ease. He might have been thinking of the walks, Baley thought, for there was a half-smile on his face. He looked rather likable—and vulnerable—with his mind back on who-knew-what conversational passage on a walk that had taken them who-knew-where. Baley almost smiled in response.
“Vasilia knew, then, that you continued the walks.”
“I suppose so. I began to take Wednesdays and Saturdays off because that fit in with Gladia's schedule choice—and Vasilia would sometimes joke about my ‘WS walks’ when I brought in some sketches.”
“Did Dr. Vasilia ever join the walks?”
“Certainly not.”
Baley shifted In his seat and stared intently At his fingertips as he said, “I presume you had robots accompanying you on your walks.”
“Absolutely. One of mine, one of hers. They kept rather out of the way, though. They didn't tag along in what Gladia called Aurora fashion. She wanted Solarian solitude, she said. So I obliged, though at first I got a crick in my neck looking around to see if Brundij was with me.”
“And which robot accompanied Gladia?”
“It wasn't always the same one. Whichever he was, he held off, too. I didn't get to talk to him.”
“What about Jander?”
Some of the sunniness left Gremionis’ expression at once.
“What about him?” he asked.
“Did he ever come along? If he did, you would know, wouldn't you?”
“A humaniform robot? I certainly would. And he did not accompany us—not ever.”
“Are you certain?”
“Completely certain.” Gremionis scowled. “I imagine she thought him far too valuable to waste on duties any ordinary robot could perform.”
“You seem annoyed. Did you think so, too?”
“He was her robot. I didn't worry about it.”
“And you never saw him when you were at Gladia's establishment?”
“Never.”
“Did she ever say anything about him? Discuss him?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Didn't you consider that strange?”
Gremionis shook his head. “No. Why talk about robots?”
Baley's somber eyes fixed on the other's face. “Did you have any idea of the relationship between Gladia and Jander?”
Gremionis said, “Are you going to tell me that there was sex between them?”
Baley said, “Would you be surprised if I did?”
Gremionis said stolidly, “It happens. It's not unusual.
You can use a robot sometimes, if you feel like it. And a humaniform robot—completely humaniform, I believe—”
“Completely,” said Baley with an appropriate gesture.
Gremionis’ lips curved downward. “Well, then, it would be hard for a woman to resist.”
“She resisted you. Doesn't it bother you that Gladia would prefer a robot to you?”
“Well, if it comes to that, I'm not sure that I believe this is true—but if it is, it's nothing to worry about. A robot is just a robot. A woman and a robot—or a man and a robot—it's just masturbation.”
“You honestly never knew of the relationship, Mr. Gremionis? You never suspected?”
“I never gave it any thought,” insisted Gremionis.
“Didn't know? Or did know, but paid it no mind?”
Gremionis scowled. “You're pushing again. What do you want me to say? Now that you put it into my head and push, it seems to me, if I look back, that maybe I was wondering about something like that. Just the same, I never felt anything was happening before you started asking questions.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure. Don't badger me.”
“I'm not badgering you. Fm just wondering if it were possible that you did know that Gladia was regularly engaging in sex with Jander, that you knew that you would never be accepted as her lover as long as that was so, that you wanted her so much that you would stop at nothing to eliminate Jander, that, in short, you were so jealous that you—”
And at that moment, Gremionis—as though some tightly coiled spring, held back with difficulty for some minutes, had suddenly twitched loose—hurled himself at Baley with a loud and incoherent cry. Baley, taken completely by surprise, pushed backward instinctively and his chair went over.
51
There were strong arms upon him at once. Baley felt himself lifted, the chair righted, and was aware that he was in the grip of a robot. How easy it was to forget they were in the room when they stood silent and motionless in their niches.
It was neither Daneel nor Giskard who had come to his rescue, however. It was Gremionis’ robot, Brundij.
“Sir,” said Brundij, his voice just a bit unnatural, “I hope you are not hurt.”
Where were Daneel and Giskard?
The question answered itself at once. The robots had divided the labor neatly and quickly. Daneel and Giskard, estimating instantly that an overturned chair offered less chance of harm to Baley than a maddened Gremionis, had launched themselves at the host. Brundij, seeing at once that he was not needed in that direction, saw to the welfare of the guest.
Gremionis—still standing,
his breath heaving—was completely immobilized in the careful double-grip of Baley's robots.
Gremionis said, in very little above a whisper, “Release me. I am in control of myself.”
“Yes, sir,” said Giskard.
“Of course, Mr. Gremionis,” said Daneel with what was almost suavity.
But although their arms released their hold, neither moved back for a period of time. Gremionis looked right and left, adjusted the smoothness of his clothing, and then, deliberately, sat down. His breathing was still rapid and his hair was, to a small extent, in disarray.
Baley now stood, one hand on the back of the chair on which he had been sitting.
Gremionis said, “I am sorry, Mr. Baley, for losing control. It is something I have not done in my adult life. You accused me of being j-jealous. It is a word no respectable Auroran would use of another, but I should have remembered you are an Earthman. It is a word we encounter only in historical romances and even then the word is usually spelled with a V followed by a dash. Of course, that is not so on your world. I understand that.”
“I am sorry, too, Mr. Gremionis,” said Baley gravely, “that my forgetfulness of Auroran custom led me astray in this instance. I assure you that such a lapse will not happen again.” He seated himself and said, “I don't know that there is much more to discuss—”
Gremionis did not seem to be listening. “When I was a child,” he said, “I would sometimes push against another, and be pushed, and it would be awhile before the robots would take the trouble to separate us, of course—”
Daneel said, “If I may explain, Partner Elijah. It has been well-established that total suppression of a^ression in the very young has undesirable consequences. A certain amount of youthful play involving physical competition is permitted—even encouraged—provided no real hurt is involved. Robots in charge of the young are carefully programmed to be able to distinguish the chances and level of harm that may take place. I, for instance, am not properly programmed in this respect and would not qualify as a guardian of the young except under emergency conditions for brief periods. —Nor would Giskard.”