They had reached the door and Gladia paused. She said, in honest puzzlement, “Why ever not, Daneel?”
Daneel said in a low Voice, “There are memories I cannot risk losing, madam, either through inadvertence or through poor judgment on the part of those conducting the procedure.”
“Like the rising and setting of the stars? Forgive me, Daneel, I didn’t mean to be joking. To what memories are you referring?”
Daneel said, his voice still lower, “Madam, I refer to my memories of my onetime partner, the Earthman Elijah Baley—”
And Gladia stood there, stricken, so that it was Daneel who had to take the initiative, finally, and signal for the door to open.
2
Robot Giskard Reventlov was waiting in the living room and Gladia greeted him with that same pang of uneasiness that always assailed her when she faced him.
He was primitive in comparison with Daneel. He was obviously a robot—metallic, with a face that had nothing human in expression upon it, with eyes, that glowed a dim red, as could be seen if it were dark enough. Whereas Daneel wore clothing, Giskard had only the illusion of clothing but a skillful illusion, for it was Gladia herself who had designed it.
“Well, Giskard,” she said.
“Good evening, Madam Gladia,” said Giskard with a small bow of his head.
Gladia remembered the words of Elijah Baley long ago, like a whisper inside the recesses of her brain:
“Daneel will take care of you. He will be your friend as well as protector and you must be a friend to him—for my sake. But it is Giskard I want you to listen to. Let him be your adviser.”
Gladia had frowned. “Why him? I’m not sure I like him.”
“I do not ask you to like him. I ask you to trust him.”
And he would not say why.
Gladia tried to trust the robot Giskard, but was glad she did not have to try to like him. Something about him made her shiver.