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Plain-clothes Man Elijah Baley, Police Department, City of New York, Rating C-5.”
    He showed his credentials and went on, “I have been instructed to meet R. Daneel Olivaw at Spacetown Approachway.” He looked at his watch. “I am a little early. May I request the announcement of my presence?”
    He felt more than a little cold inside. He was used, after a fashion, to the Earth-model robots. The Spacer models would be different. He had never met one, but there was nothing more common on Earth than the horrid whispered stories about the tremendous and formidable robots that worked in superhuman fashion on the far-off, glittering Outer Worlds. He found himself gritting his teeth.
    The Spacer, who had listened politely, said, “It will not be necessary. I have been waiting for you.”
    Baley’s hand went up automatically, then dropped. So did his long chin, looking longer in the process. He didn’t quite manage to say anything. The words froze.
    The Spacer said, “I shall introduce myself. I am R. Daneel Olivaw.”
    “Yes? Am I making a mistake? I thought the first initial—”
    “Quite so. I am a robot. Were you not told?”
    “I was told.” Baley put a damp hand to his hair and smoothed it back unnecessarily. Then he held it out. “I’m sorry, Mr. Olivaw. I don’t know what I was thinking of. Good day. I am Elijah Baley, your partner.”
    “Good.” The robot’s hand closed on his with asmoothly increasing pressure that reached a comfortably friendly peak, then declined. “Yet I seem to detect disturbance. May I ask that you be frank with me? It is best to have as many relevant facts as possible in a relationship such as ours. And it is customary on my world for partners to call one another by the familiar name. I trust that that is not counter to your own customs.”
    “It’s just, you see, that you don’t look like a robot,” said Baley, desperately.
    “And that disturbs you?”
    “It shouldn’t, I suppose, Da—Daneel. Are they all like you on your world?”
    “There are individual differences, Elijah, as with men.”
    “Our own robots … Well, you can tell they’re robots, you understand. You look like a Spacer.”
    “Oh, I see. You expected a rather crude model and were surprised. Yet it is only logical that our people use a robot of pronounced humanoid characteristics in this case if we expected to avoid unpleasantness. Is that not so?”
    It was certainly so. An obvious robot roaming the City would be in quick trouble.
    Baley said, “Yes.”
    “Then let us leave now, Elijah.”
    They made their way back to the expressway. R. Daneel caught the purpose of the accelerating strips and maneuvered along them with a quick proficiency. Baley, who had begun by moderating his speed, ended by hastening it in annoyance.
    The robot kept pace. He showed no awareness of any difficulty. Baley wondered if R. Daneel were not deliberately moving slower than he might. He reached the endless cars of expressway and scrambledaboard with what amounted to outright recklessness. The robot followed easily.
    Baley was red. He swallowed twice and said, “I’ll stay down here with you.”
    “Down here?” The robot, apparently oblivious to both the noise and the rhythmic swaying of the platform, said, “Is my information wrong? I was told that a rating of C-5 entitled one to a seat on the upper level under certain conditions.”
    “You’re right. I can go up there, but you can’t.”
    “Why can I not go up with you?”
    “It takes a C-5, Daneel.”
    “I am aware of that.”
    “You’re not a C-5.” Talking was difficult. The hiss of frictioning air was louder on the less shielded lower level and Baley was understandably anxious to keep his voice low.
    R. Daneel said, “Why should I not be a C-5? I am your partner and, consequently, of equal rank. I was given this.”
    From an inner shirt pocket he produced a rectangular credential card, quite genuine. The name given was Daneel Olivaw, without the