The large crewman approached more closely than the others. His skin was bronzed. His bare arms glistened with moisture and with shining musculature. He might be thirty (as nearly as Gladia could judge the age of these shortlived beings) and if he were washed and properly dressed, he might prove quite presentable.
He said, “So you are the Spacer lady from Aurora that we’ve been carrying on our ship?” He spoke rather slowly, obviously trying to attain an aristocratic tinge to his Galactic. He failed, of course, and he spoke like a Settler—even more crudely than D.G. did.
Gladia said, establishing her territorial rights, “I am from Solaria, Settler,” and stopped in confused embarrassment. She had spent so much time thinking of Solaria just now that twenty decades had dropped away and she had spoken with a thick Solarian accent. There was the broad “a” in Solaria and the rough “r,” while the “i” sounded horribly like “Oi”.
She said again, in a much lower, less commanding voice, but one in which the accent of Aurora University—the standard for Galactic speech through all the Spacer worlds—rang clear, “I am from Solaria, Settler.”
The Settler laughed and turned to the others. “She speaks la-di-da, but she had to try. Right, mates?”
The others laughed, too, and one cried out, “Get her to talk some more, Niss. Maybe we can a learn to talk like Spacer birdies.” And he placed one hand on his hip in as dainty a manner as he could manage, while holding the other hand out limply.
Niss said, still smiling, “Shut up, all of you.” There was instant silence.
He turned to Gladia again, “I’m Berto Niss, First-Class Shipper. And your name, little woman?”
Gladia did not venture to speak again.
Niss said, “I’m being polite, little woman. I’m speaking gentlemanly. Spacer-like. I know you’re old enough to be my great-grandmother. How old you are you, little woman?”
“Four hundred,” shouted one of the crewmen from behind Niss, “but she doesn’t look it!”
“She doesn’t look one hundred,” said another.
“She looks suitable for a little ding-donging, said a third, “and hasn’t had any for a long time, I guess. Ask her if she’d want some, Niss. Be polite and ask if we—can take turns.”
Gladia flushed angrily and Daneel said, “First-Class Shipper Niss, your companions are offending Madam Gladia. Would you retire?”
Niss turned to look at Daneel, whom, till now, he had totally ignored. The smile vanished from his face and he said, “Look, you. This little lady is off-limits. The captain said so. We won’t bother her. Just a little harmless talk. That thing there is a robot. We won’t bother with him and he can’t hurt us. We know the Three Laws of Robotics. We order him to stay away from us, see. But you are a Spacer and the captain has give us no orders about you. So you”—he pointed a finger—“stay out of this and don’t interfere or you’ll get your pretty skin all bruised up and then you might cry.”
Daneel said nothing.
Niss nodded his head. “Good. I like to see someone smart enough not to start anything he can’t finish.”
He turned to Gladia, “Now, little Spacer woman, we will leave you alone because the captain doesn’t want you bothered. If one of the men here made a crude remark, that’s only natural. Just shake hands and let’s be friends—Spacer, Settler, what’s the difference?”
He thrust out his hand toward Gladia, who shrank away in horror. Daneel’s hand moved outward in a flick that was almost too fast to see and caught Niss’s wrist. “First-Class Shipper Niss,” he said quietly, “do not attempt to touch the lady.”
Niss looked down at his hand and at the fingers that enclosed his wrist firmly. He said in a low and menacing growl, “You have till the count of three to let go.”
Daneel’s hand fell away. He said, “I must do as you say for I do not wish to harm you, but I must protect the lady and if she doesn’t wish to be touched, as I believe she doesn’t, I may be forced into a position where I must cause you pain. Please, accept my assurance that I will do all I can to minimize that.”
One of the crewmen shouted joyously, “Give it to him, Niss. He’s a talker.”
Niss said, “Look, Spacer, twice I told you to keep out and you touched me once. Now I tell you a third time and that’s it. Make a move, say a word, and I take you apart. This little woman is going to shake hands, that’s all, friendly like. Then we all go. Fair enough?”
Gladia said in a low choking voice. “I won’t be touched by him. Do what is necessary.”
Daneel said, “Sir, with all due respect, the lady does not wish to be touched. I must ask you—all of you—to leave.”
Niss smiled and one large arm moved as though to brush Daneel to one side—and to do it hard.
Daneel’s left arm flickered and once again Niss was held by the wrist. “Please go, sir,” said Daneel.
Niss’s teeth continued to show, but he was no longer smiling. Violently, he brought his arm up. Daneel’s enclosing hand moved up for a short distance, slowed, and came to a halt. His face showed no strain. His hand moved down, dragging Niss’s arm with it, and then, with a rapid twist, he bent Niss’s arm behind the Settler’s broad back and held it there.
Niss, who found himself unexpectedly with his back to Daneel, brought his other arm up over his head, groping for Daneel’s neck. His other wrist was seized and pulled down farther than it could easily go and Niss grunted in clear misery.
The other four crewmen, who had been watching in eager anticipation, remained in place now, motionless, silent, mouths open.
Niss, staring at them, grunted, “Help me!”
Daneel said, “They will not help you, sir, for the captain’s punishment will be all the worse if they try. I must ask you now to assure me that you will no longer trouble Madam Gladia and that you will leave quietly, all of you. Otherwise, I very much regret, First-Class Shipper, that I must pull your arms out of their sockets.”
As he said that, he tightened his grip on either wrist and Niss emitted a muffled grunt.
“My apologies, sir,” said Daneel, “but I am under the strictest orders. May I have your assurance?”
Niss kicked backward with sudden viciousness, but well before his—heavy boot could make contact,—Daneel had faded to one side and pulled him off-balance. He went facedown heavily.
“May I have your assurance, sir?” said Daneel, now pulling gently at the two wrists so that the crewman’s arms lifted slightly up from the back.
Niss howled and said, half-incoherent, “I give in. Let go.”
Daneel let go at once and stepped back. Slowly and painfully, Niss rolled over, moving his arms slowly and rotating his wrists with a twisted grimace.
Then, when his right arm moved near the holster he wore, he snatched clumsily at his sidearm.
Daneel’s foot came down on his hand and pinned it to the ground. “Don’t do that, sir, or I may be forced to break one or more of the small bones in your hand.” He bent down and extracted Niss’s blaster from its holster. “Now stand up.”
“Well, Mr. Niss,” came another voice. “Do as you are told and stand up.”
D.G. Baley was standing at their side, beard bristling, face slightly flushed, but his voice was dangerously calm.
“You four,” he said, “hand me your sidearms, one at a time. Come on. Move a little faster. One-two-three-four. Now continue to stand there at attention. Sir,” this to Daneel—“give me that sidearm you are holding. Good. Five. And now, Mr. Niss, at attention.” And he placed the blasters on the ground beside him.