“No,” said Bander, shaking its head. “My robots are not impressed with such things. Nor would my fellow- Solarians be. This unusual chance of meeting half-humans and displaying for them is most—amusing.”
Pelorat said, “The light in this room shone dimly when we entered. Does it shine dimly at all times?”
“Yes, a small drain of power—like keeping the robots working. My entire estate is always running, and those parts of it not engaged in active labor are idling.”
“And you supply the power constantly for all this vast estate?”
“The sun and the planet’s core supply the power. I am merely the conduit. Nor is all the estate productive. I keep most of it as wilderness and well stocked with a variety of animal life; first, because that protects my boundaries, and second, because I find esthetic value in it. In fact, my fields and factories are small. They need only supply my own needs, plus some specialties to exchange for those of others. I have robots, for instance, that can manufacture and install the heat-conducting rods at need. Many Solarians depend upon me for that.”
“And your home?” asked Trevize. “How large is that?”
It must have been the right question to ask, for Bander beamed. “Very large. One of the largest on the planet, I believe. It goes on for kilometers in every direction. I have as many robots caring for my home underground, as I have in all the thousands of square kilometers of surface.”
“You don’t live in all of it, surely,” said Pelorat.
“It might conceivably be that there are chambers I have never entered, but what of that?” said Bander. “The robots keep every room clean, well ventilated, and in order. But come, step out here.”
They emerged through a door that was not the one through which they had entered and found themselves in another corridor. Before them was a little topless ground-car that ran on tracks.
Bander motioned them into it, and one by one they clambered aboard. There was not quite room for all four, plus the robot, but Pelorat and Bliss squeezed together tightly to allow room for Trevize. Bander sat in the front with an air of easy comfort, the robot at its side, and the car moved along with no sign of overt manipulation of controls other than Bander’s smooth hand motions now and then.
“This is a car-shaped robot, actually,” said Bander, with an air of negligent indifference.
They progressed at a stately pace, very smoothly past doors that opened as they approached, and closed as they receded. The decorations in each were of widely different kinds as though robots had been ordered to devise combinations at random.
Ahead of them the corridor was gloomy, and behind them as well. At whatever point they actually found themselves, however, they were in the equivalent of cool sunlight. The rooms, too, would light as the doors opened. And each time, Bander moved its hand slowly and gracefully.
There seemed no end to the journey. Now and then they found themselves curving in a way that made it plain that the underground mansion spread out in two dimensions. (No, three, thought Trevize, at one point, as they moved steadily down a shallow declivity.)
Wherever they went, there were robots, by the dozens—scores—hundreds—engaged in unhurried work whose nature Trevize could not easily divine. They passed the open door of one large room in which rows of robots were bent quietly over desks.
Pelorat asked, “What are they doing, Bander?”
“Bookkeeping,” said Bander. “Keeping statistical records, financial accounts, and all sorts of things that, I am very glad to say, I don’t have to bother with. This isn’t just an idle estate. About a quarter of its growing area is given over to orchards. An additional tenth are grain fields, but it’s the orchards that are really my pride. We grow the best fruit in the world and grow them in the largest number of varieties, too. A Bander peach is
“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
“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 hyper-wave 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.”
