"What do you do with all the fruit?" asked Trevize. "You can't eat it all yourself."
"I wouldn't dream of it. I'm only moderately fond of fruit. It's traded to the other estates."
"Traded for what?"
"Mineral material mostly. I have no mines worth mentioning on my estates. Then, too, I trade for whatever is required to maintain a healthy ecological balance. I have a very large variety of plant and animal life on the estate."
"The robots take care of all that, I suppose," said Trevize.
"They do. And very well, too."
"All for one Solarian."
"All for the estate and its ecological standards. I happen to be the only Solarian who visits the various parts of the estate-when I choose-but that is part of my absolute freedom."
Pelorat said, "I suppose the others-the other Solarians-also maintain a local ecological balance and have marshlands, perhaps, or mountainous areas or seafront estates."
Bander said, "I suppose so. Such things occupy us in the conferences that world affairs sometimes make necessary."
"How often do you have to get together?" asked Trevize. (They were going through a rather narrow passageway, quite long, and with no rooms on either side. Trevize guessed that it might have been built through an area that did not easily allow anything wider to be constructed, so that it served as a connecting link between two wings that could each spread out more widely.
"Too often. It's a rare month when I don't have to pass some time in conference with one of the committees I am a member of. Still, although I may not have mountains or marshlands on my estate, my orchards, my fishponds, and my botanical gardens are the best in the world."
Pelorat said, "But, my dear fellow-I mean, Bander-I would assume you have never left your estate and visited those of others-"
"Certainly not, " said Bander, with an air of outrage.
"I said I assumed that," said Pelorat mildly. "But in that case, how can you be certain that yours are best, never having investigated, or even seen the others?"
"Because," said Bander, "I can tell from the demand for my products in interestate trade."
Trevize said, "What about manufacturing?"
Bander said, "There are estates where they manufacture tools and machinery. As I said, on my estate we make the heat-conducting rods, but those are rather simple."
"And robots?"
"Robots are manufactured here and there. Throughout history, Solaria has led all the Galaxy in the cleverness and subtlety of robot design."
"Today also, I imagine," said Trevize, carefully having the intonation make the remark a statement and not a question.
Bander said, "Today? With whom is there to compete today? Only Solaria makes robots nowadays. Your worlds do not, if I interpret what I hear on the hyperwave correctly."
"But the other Spacer worlds?"
"I told you. They no longer exist."
"At all?"
"I don't think there is a Spacer alive anywhere but on Solaria."
"Then is there no one who knows the location of Earth?"
"Why would anyone want to know the location of Earth?"
Pelorat broke in, "I want to know. It's my field of study."
"Then," said Bander, "you will have to study something else. I know nothing about the location of Earth, nor have I heard of anyone who ever did, nor do I care a sliver of robot-metal about the matter."
The car came to a halt, and, for a moment, Trevize thought that Bander was offended. The halt was a smooth one, however, and Bander, getting out of the car, looked its usual amused self as it motioned the others to get out also.
The lighting in the room they entered was subdued, even after Bander had brightened it with a gesture. It opened into a side corridor, on both sides of which were smaller rooms. In each one of the smaller rooms was one or two ornate vases, sometimes flanked by objects that might have been film projectors.
"What is all this, Bander?" asked Trevize.
Bander said, "The ancestral death chambers, Trevize."
50.
PELORAT looked about with interest. "I suppose you have the ashes of your ancestors interred here?"
"If you mean by 'interred,' " said Bander, "buried in the ground, you are not quite right. We may be underground, but this is my mansion, and the ashes are in it, as we are right now. In our own language we say that the ashes are 'inhoused.' " It hesitated, then said, " 'House' is an archaic word for 'mansion.' "
Trevize looked about him perfunctorily. "And these are all your ancestors? How many?"
"Nearly a hundred," said Bander, making no effort to hide the pride in its voice. "Ninety-four, to be exact. Of course, the earliest are not true Solarians-not in the present sense of the word. They were half-people, masculine and feminine. Such half-ancestors were placed in adjoining urns by their immediate descendants. I don't go into those rooms, of course. It's rather 'shamiferous.' At least, that's the Solarian word for it; but I don't know your Galactic equivalent. You may not have one."
"And the films?" asked Bliss. "I take it those are film projectors?"
"Diaries," said Bander, "the history of their lives. Scenes of themselves in their favorite parts of the estate. It means they do not die in every sense. Part of them remains, and it is part of my freedom that I can join them whenever I choose; I can watch this bit of film or that, as I please."
"But not into the-shamiferous ones."
Bander's eyes slithered away. "No," it admitted, "but then we all have that as part of the ancestry. It is a common wretchedness."