The ship slowed to a crawl, apparently of its own accord, and fitted neatly into the opening-entering-sliding along.** The opening closed behind it, and another then opened before it. Through the second opening went the ship, into a gigantic hall that seemed the hollowed interior of a mountain.
The ship halted and all aboard rushed to the airlock eagerly. It occurred to none of them, not even to Trevize, to check. whether there might be a breathable atmosphere outside-or any atmosphere at all.
There was air, however. It was breathable and it was comfortable. They looked about themselves with the pleased air of people who had somehow come home and it was only after a while that they became aware of a man who was waiting politely for them to approach.
He was tall, and his expression was grave. His hair was bronze in color, and cut short. His cheekbones were broad, his eyes were bright, and his clothing was rather after the fashion one saw in ancient history books. Although he seemed sturdy and vigorous there was, just the same, an air of weariness about him-not in anything that one could see, but rather in something appealing to no recognizable sense.
It was Fallom who reacted first. With a loud, whistling scream, she ran toward the man, waving her arms and crying, "Jemby! Jemby!" in a breathless fashion.
She never slackened her pace, and when she was close enough, the man stooped and lifted her high in the air. She threw her arms about his neck, sobbing, and still gasping, "Jemby!"
The others approached more soberly and Trevize said, slowly and distinctly (could this man understand Galactic?), "We ask pardon, sir. This child has lost her protector and is searching for it desperately. How it came to fasten on you is a puzzle to us, since it is seeking a robot; a mechanical-"
The man spoke for the first time. His voice was utilitarian rather than musical, and there was a faint air of archaism clinging to it, but he spoke Galactic with perfect ease.
"I greet you all in friendship," he said-and he seemed unmistakably friendly, even though his face continued to remain fixed in its expression of gravity. "As for this child," he went on, "she shows perhaps a greater perceptivity than you think, for I am a robot. My name is Daneel Olivaw."
Chapter 21 The Search Ends
101.
TREVIZE found himself in a complete state of disbelief. He had recovered from the odd euphoria he had felt just before and after the landing on the moon-a euphoria, he now suspected, that had been imposed on him by this self-styled robot who now stood before him.
Trevize was still staring, and in his now perfectly sane and untouched mind, he remained lost in astonishment. He had talked in astonishment, made conversation in astonishment, scarcely understood what he said or heard as he searched for something in the appearance of this apparent man, in his behavior, in his manner of speaking, that bespoke the robot.
No wonder, thought Trevize, that Bliss had detected something that was neither human nor robot, but, that was, in Pelorat's words, "something new." Just as well, of course, for it had turned Trevize's thoughts into another and more enlightening channel-but even that was now crowded into the back of his mind.
Bliss and Fallom had wandered off to explore the grounds. It had been Bliss's suggestion, but it seemed to Trevize that it came after a lightning-quick glance had been exchanged between herself and Daneel. When Fallom refused and asked to stay with the being she persisted in calling Jemby, a grave word from Daneel and a lift of the finger was enough to cause her to trot off at once. Trevize and Pelorat remained.
"They are not Foundationers, sirs," said the robot, as though that explained it all. "One is Gaia and one is a Spacer."
Trevize remained silent while they were led to simply designed chairs under a tree. They seated themselves, at a gesture from the robot, and when he sat down, too, in a perfectly human movement, Trevize said, "Are you truly a robot?"
"Truly, sir," said Daneel.
Pelorat's face seemed to shine with joy. He said, "There are references to a robot named Daneel in the old legends. Are you named in his honor?"
"I am that robot," said Daneel. "It is not a legend."
"Oh no," said Pelorat. "If you are that robot, you would have to be thousands of years old."
"Twenty thousand," said Daneel quietly.
Pelorat seemed abashed at that, and glanced at Trevize, who said, with a touch of anger, "If you are a robot, I order you to speak truthfully."
"I do not need to be told to speak truthfully, sir. I must do so. You are faced then, sir, with three alternatives. Either I am a man who is lying to you; or I am a robot who has been programmed to believe that it is twenty thousand years old but, in fact, is not; or I am a robot who is twenty thousand years old. You must decide which alternative to accept."
"The matter may decide itself with continued conversation," said Trevize dryly. "For that matter, it is hard to believe that this is the interior of the moon. Neither the light"-he looked up as he said that, for the light was precisely that of soft, diffuse sunlight, though no sun was in the sky, and, for that matter, no sky was clearly visible-"nor the gravity seems credible. This world should have a surface gravity of less than 0.2g."
"The normal surface gravity would be 0.16g actually, sir. It is built up, however, by the same forces that give you, on your ship, the sensation of normal gravity, even when you are in free fall, or under acceleration. Other energy needs, including the light, are also met gravitically, though we use solar energy where that is convenient. Our material needs are all supplied by the moon's soil, except for the light elements-hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen-which the moon does not possess. We obtain those by capturing an occasional comet. One such capture a century is more than enough to supply our needs."