"Did you do what I told you, Bentley?" she asked, when he sat down. Her hands moved caressingly over his hair. It was as dark as his father's and he was going to have his father's height, but all the rest of him was hers. He had Jessie's oval face, her hazel eyes, her light-hearted way of looking at life.
"Sure, Mom," said Bentley, hitching himself forward a bit to look into the double dish from which savory vapors were already rising.
"What we got to eat? Not zymoveal again, Mom? Huh, Mom?"
"There's nothing wrong with zymoveal," said Jessie, her lips pressing together. "Now, you just eat what's put before you and let's not have any comments."
It was quite obvious they were having zymoveal.
Baley took his own seat. He himself would have preferred something other than zymoveal, with its sharp flavor and definite aftertaste, but Jessie had explained her problem before this.
"Well, I just can't, Lije," she had said. "I live right here on these levels all day and I can't make enemies or life wouldn't be bearable. They know I used to be assistant dietitian and if I just walked off with steak or chicken every other week when there's hardly anyone else on the floor that has private eating privileges even on Sunday, they'd say it was pull or friends in the prep room. It would be talk, talk, talk, and I wouldn't be able to put my nose out the door or visit Personal in peace. As it is, zymoveal and protoveg are very good. They're well-balanced nourishment with no waste and, as a matter of fact, they're full of vitamins and minerals and everything anyone needs and we can have all the chicken we want when we eat in Community on the chicken Tuesdays."
Baley gave in easily. It was as Jessie said; the first problem of living is to minimize friction with the crowds that surround you on all sides. Bentley was a little harder to convince.
On this occasion, he said, "Gee, Mom, why can't I use Dad's ticket and eat in Community myself? I'd just as soon."
Jessie shook her head in annoyance and said, "I'm surprised at you, Bentley. What would people say if they saw you eating by yourself as though your own family weren't good enough for you or had thrown you out of the apartment?"
"Well, gosh, it's none of people's business."
Baley said, with a nervous edge in his voice, "Do as your mother tells you, Bentley."
Bentley shrugged, unhappily.
R. Daneel said, suddenly; from the other side of the room, "Have I the family's permission to view these book-films during your meal?"
"Oh, sure," said Bentley, slipping away from the table, a look of instant interest upon his face. "They're mine. I got them from the library on special school permit. I'll get you my viewer. It's a pretty good one. Dad gave it to me for my last birthday."
He brought it to R. Daneel and said, "Are you interested in robots, Mr. Olivaw?"
Baley dropped his spoon and bent to pick it up.
R. Daneel said, "Yes, Bentley. I am quite interested."
"Then you'll like these. They're all about robots. I've got to write an essay on them for school, so I'm doing research. It's quite a complicated subject," he said importantly. "I'm against them myself."
"Sit down, Bentley," said Baley, desperately, "and don't bother Mr. Olivaw."
"He's not bothering me, Elijah. I'd like to talk to you about the problem, Bentley, another time. Your father and I will be very busy tonight."
"Thanks, Mr. Olivaw." Bentley took his seat and, with a look of distaste in his mother's direction, broke off a portion of the crumbly pink zymoveal with his fork.
Baley thought: Busy tonight?
Then, with a resounding shock, he remembered his job. He thought of a Spacer lying dead in Spacetown and realized that for hours he had been so involved with his own dilemma that he had forgotten the cold fact of murder.
Chapter 5. ANALYSIS OF A MURDER
Jessie said good-by to them. She was wearing a formal hat and a little jacket of keratofiber as she said, "I hope you'll excuse me, Mr. Olivaw. I know you have a great deal to discuss with Lije."
She pushed her son ahead of her as she opened the door.
"When will you be back, Jessie?" asked Baley.
She paused. "When do you want me to be back?"
"Well... No use staying out all night. Why don't you come back your usual time? Midnight or so." He looked doubtfully at R. Daneel.
R. Daneel nodded. "I regret having to drive you from your home."
"Don't worry about that, Mr. Olivaw. You're not driving me out at all. This is my usual evening out with the girls anyway. Come on, Ben."
The youngster was rebellious. "Aw, why the dickens do I have to go, anyway. I'm not going to bother them. Nuts!"
"Now, do as I say."
"Well, why can't I go to the etherics along with you?"
"Because I'm going with some friends and you've got other things - "
The door closed behind them.
And now the moment had come. Baley had put it off in his mind. lie had thought: First let's meet the robot and see what he's like. Then it was: Let's get him home. And then: Let's eat.
But now it was all over and there was no room for further delay. It was down at last to the question of murder, of interstellar complications, of possible raises in ratings, of possible disgrace. And he had no way of even beginning except to turn to the robot for help.
His fingernails moved aimlessly on the table, which had not been returned to its wall recess.
R. Daneel said, "How secure are we against being overheard?"
Baley looked up, surprised. "No one would listen to what's proceeding in another man's apartment."