Baley said dryly, "Maybe so, but a man has been killed on your Solaria and another may yet die."
He felt regret almost the moment he spoke, for the expression on Quemot's face was as though he had been struck with an open palm. The old man's head bowed. He said without looking up, "I have answered your questions as well as I could. Is there anything else you wish?"
"I have enough. Thank you, sir. I am sorry to have intruded on your grief at your friend's death."
Quemot looked up slowly. "It will be hard to find another chess partner. He kept our appointments most punctually and he played an extraordinarily even game. He was a good Solarian."
"I understand," said Baley softly. "May I have your permission to use your viewer to make contact with the next person I must see?"
"Of course," said Quemot. "My robots are yours. And now I will leave you. Done viewing."
A robot was at Baley's side within thirty seconds of Quemot's disappearance and Baley wondered once again how these creatures were managed. He had seen Quemot's fingers move toward a contact as he had left and that was all.
Perhaps the signal was quite a generalized one, saying only, "Do your duty!" Perhaps robots listened to all that went on and were always aware of what a human might desire at any given moment, and if the particular robot was not designed for a particular job in either mind or body, the radio web that united all robots went into action and the correct robot was spurred into action.
For a moment Baley had the vision of Solaria as a robotic net with holes that were small and continually growing smaller, with every
human being caught neatly in place. He thought of Quemot's picture of worlds turning into Solarias; of nets forming and tightening even on Earth, until - His thoughts were disrupted as the robot who had entered spoke
with the quiet and even respect of the machine. "I am ready to help you, master."
Baley said, "Do you know how to reach the place where Rikaine Delmarre once worked?"
"Yes, master."
Baley shrugged. He would never teach himself to avoid asking useless questions. The robots knew. Period. It occurred to him that, to handle robots with true efficiency, one must needs be expert, a sort of roboticist. How well did the average Solarian do, he wondered? Probably only so-so.
He said, "Get Delmarre's place and contact his assistant. If the assistant is not there, locate him wherever he is."
"Yes, master."
As the robot turned to go, Baley called after it, "Wait! What time is it at the Delmarre work place?"
"About 0630, master."
"In the morning?"
"Yes, master."
Again Baley felt annoyance at a world that made itself victim of the coming and going of a sun. It was what came of living on bare planetary surface.
He thought fugitively of Earth, then tore his mind away. While he kept firmly to the matter in hand, he managed well. Slipping into homesickness would ruin him.
He said, "Call the assistant, anyway, boy, and tell him it's government business - and have one of the other boys bring something to eat. A sandwich and a glass of milk will do."
He chewed thoughtfully at the sandwich, which contained a kind of smoked meat, and with half his mind thought that Daneel Olivaw would certainly consider every article of food suspect after what had happened to Gruer. And Daneel might be right, too.
He finished the sandwich without ill effects, however (immediate ill effects, at any rate), and sipped at the milk. He had not learned from Quemot what he had come to learn, but he had learned something. As he sorted it out in his mind, it seemed he had learned a good deal.
Little about the murder, to be sure, but more about the larger matter.
The robot returned. "The assistant will accept contact, master."
"Good. Was there any trouble about it?"
"The assistant was asleep, master."
"Awake now, though?"
"Yes, master."
The assistant was facing him suddenly, sitting up in bed and wearing an expression of sullen resentment.
Baley reared back as though a force-barrier had been raised before him without warning. Once again a piece of vital information had been withheld from him. Once again he had not asked the right questions.
No one had thought to tell him that Rikaine Delmarre's assistant was a woman.
Her hair was a trifle darker than ordinary Spacer bronze and there was a quantity of it, at the moment in disorder. Her face was oval, her nose a trifle bulbous, and her chin large. She scratched slowly at her side just above the waist and Baley hoped the sheet would remain in position. He remembered Gladia's free attitude toward what was permitted while viewing.
Baley felt a sardonic amusement at his own disillusion at that moment. Earthmen assumed, somehow, that all Spacer women were beautiful, and certainly Gladia had reinforced that assumption. This one, though, was plain even by Earthly standards.
It therefore surprised Baley that he found her contralto attractive when she said, "See here, do you know what time it is?"
"I do," said Baley, "but since I will be seeing you, I felt I should warn you.
"Seeing me? Skies above - " Her eyes grew wide and she put a hand to her chin. (She wore a ring on one finger, the first item of personal adornment Baley had yet seen on Solaria.) "Wait, you're not my new assistant, are you?"
"No. Nothing like that. I'm here to investigate the death of Rikaine Delmarre."
"Oh? Well, investigate, then."
"What is your name?"
"Kiorissa Cantoro."
"And how long have you been working with Dr. Delmarre?"