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“My lady, I told them what I now tell you—whatever is handy. I’ve been on a score of worlds in the last year and each has its own dietary. A Trader learns to eat everything that isn’t actually toxic. I’d prefer an Auroran meal to anything you would try to make in imitation of Baleyworld—”

“Baleyworld?” said Gladia sharply, a frown returning to her face.

“Named for the leader of the first expedition to the planet—or to any of the Settled planets, for that matter. Ben Baley.”

“The son of Elijah Baley.”

“Yes,” the Settler said and changed the subject, at once. He looked down at himself and said with a trace of petulance, “How do you people manage to stand these clothes of yours slick and puffy. Be glad to get into my own again.”

“I’m sure you will have your chance to do so soon enough. But for now please come and join me at lunch.—I was told your name was Baley, by the way—like your planet.”

“Not surprising. It’s the most honored name on the planet, naturally. I’m Deejee Baley.”

They had walked into the dining room, Giskard preceding them, Daneel following them, each moving into his appropriate wall niche. Other robots were already in their niches and two emerged to do the serving. The room was bright with sunshine, the walls were alive with decoration, the table was set, and the odor of the food was enticing.

The Settler sniffed and let his breath out in satisfaction. “I don’t think I’ll have any trouble at all eating Auroran food. Where would you like me to sit, my lady?”

A robot said at once, “If you would sit here, sir?”

The Settler sat down and then Gladia, the privileges of the guest satisfied, took her own seat.

“Deejee?” she said. “I do not know the nomenclature peculiarities of your world, so excuse me if my question is offensive. Wouldn’t Deejee be a feminine name?”

“Not at all,” said the Settler a bit stiffly. “In any case, it is not a name, it is a pair of initials. Fourth letter of the alphabet and the seventh.”

“Oh,” said Gladia, enlightened, “D.G. Baley. And what do the initials stand for, if you’ll excuse my curiosity?”

“Certainly. There’s ‘D,’ for certain,” he said, jerking his thumb toward one of the wall niches, “and I suspect that one may be ‘G.’” He jerked his thumb toward another.

“You don’t mean that,” said Gladia faintly.

“But I do. My name is Daneel Giskard Baley. In every generation, my family has had at least one Daneel or one Giskard in its multiplying batches. I was the last of six children, but the first boy. My mother felt that was enough and made up for having but one son by giving me both names. That made me Daneel Giskard Baley and the double load was too great for me. I prefer D.G. as my name and I’d be honored if you used it.” He smiled genially. “I’m the first to bear both names and I’m also the first to see the grand originals.”

“But why those names?”

“It was Ancestor Elijah’s idea, according to the family story. He had the honor of naming his grandsons and he named, the oldest Daneel, while the second was named Giskard. He insisted on those names and that established the tradition.”

“And the daughters?”

“The traditional name from generation to generation is Jezebel—Jessie. Elijah’s wife, you know.”

“I know.”

“There are no—” He caught himself and transferred his attention to the dish that had been placed before him. “If this were Baleyworld, I would say this was a slice of roast pork and that it was smothered in peanut sauce.”

“Actually, it is a vegetable dish, D.G. What you were about to say was that there are no Gladias in the family?”

“There aren’t,” said D.G. calmly. “One explanation is that Jessie—the original Jessie—would have objected, but I don’t accept that. Elijah’s wife, the Ancestress, never came to Baleyworld, you know, never left Earth. How could she have objected? No, to me, it’s pretty certain that the Ancestor wanted no other Gladia. No imitations, no copies, no pretense. One Gladia. Unique.—He asked that there be no later Elijah, either.”

Gladia was having trouble eating. “I think your Ancestor spent the latter portion of his life trying to be as unemotional as Daneel. Just the same, he had romantic notions under his skin. He might have allowed other Elijahs and Gladias. It wouldn’t have offended me, certainly, and I imagine it wouldn’t have offended his wife, either.” She laughed tremulously.

D.G. said, “All this doesn’t seem real somehow. The Ancestor is practically ancient history; he died a hundred and sixty-four years ago. I’m his descendant in the seventh generation, yet here I am sitting with a woman who knew him when he was quite young.”

“I didn’t really know him,” said Gladia, staring at her plate. “I saw him, rather briefly, on three separate occasions over a period of seven years.”

“I know. The Ancestor’s son, Ben, wrote a biography of him which is one of the literary classics of Baleyworld. Even I have read it.”

“Indeed? I haven’t read it. I didn’t even know it existed. What—what does it say about me?”

D.G. seemed amused. “Nothing you would object to; you come out very well. But never mind that. What I’m amazed at is that here we are together, across seven generations. How old are you, my lady? Is it fair to ask the question?”

“I don’t know that it’s fair, but I have no objection to it. In Galactic Standard Years, I am two hundred and thirty-three years old. Over twenty-two decades.”

“You look as though you were no more than in your late forties. The Ancestor died at the age of seventy-nine, an old man. I’m thirty-nine and when I die you will still be alive—”

“If I avoid death by misadventure.”

“And will continue to live perhaps five decades beyond.”

“Do you envy me, D.G.?” said Gladia with an edge of bitterness in her voice. “Do you envy me for having survived Elijah by over sixteen decades and for being condemned to survive him ten decades more, perhaps?”

“Of course I envy you,” came the composed answer. “Why not? I would have no objection to living for several centuries, were it not that I would be setting a bad example to the people of Baleyworld. I wouldn’t want them to live that long as a general thing. The pace of historical and intellectual advance would then become too slow. Those at the top would stay in power too long. Baleyworld would sink into conversation and decay—as your world has done.”

Gladia’s small chin lifted. “Aurora is doing quite well, you’ll find.”

“I’m speaking of your world. Solaria.”

Gladia hesitated, then said firmly, “Solaria is not my world.”

D.G. said, “I hope it is. I came to see you because I believe Solaria is your world.”

“If that is why you came to seem me, you are wasting your time, young man.”

“You were born Solaria, weren’t you, and lived there a while?”

“I lived there for the first three decades of my life, about an eighth of my lifetime.”

“Then that makes you enough of a Solarian to be able to help me in a matter that is rather important.”

“I am not a Solarian, despite this so-called important matter.”

“It is a matter of war and peace—if you call that important. The Spacer worlds face war with the Settler worlds and things will go badly for all of us if it comes to that. And it is up to you, my lady, to prevent that war and to ensure peace.”

18

The meal was done (it had been a small one) and Gladia found herself looking at D.G. in a coldly furious way.