Norris said, "When it's necessary, it'll be done. Why worry?"
Baley had the picture of an Earth of unlimited energy. Population could continue to increase. The yeast farms could expand, hydroponic culture intensify. Energy was the only thing indispensable. The raw minerals could be brought in from the uninhabited rocks of the System. If ever water became a bottleneck, more could be brought in from the moons of Jupiter. Hell, the oceans could be frozen and dragged out into Space where they could circle Earth as moonlets of ice. There they would be, always available for use, while the ocean bottoms would represent more land for exploitation, more room to live. Even carbon and oxygen could be maintained and increased on Earth through utilization of the methane atmosphere of Titan and the frozen oxygen of Umbriel.
Earth's population could reach a trillion or two. Why not? There was a time when the current population of eight billion would have been viewed as impossible. There was a time when a population of a single billion would have been unthinkable. There had always been prophets of Malthusian doom in every generation since Medieval times and they had always proven wrong.
But what would Fastolfe say? A world of a trillion? Surely! But they would be dependent on imported air and water and upon an energy supply from complicated storehouses fifty million miles away. How incredibly unstable that would be. Earth would be, and remain, a feather's weight away from complete catastrophe at the slightest failure of any part of the System-wide mechanism.
Baley said, "I think it would be easier to ship off some of the surplus population, myself." It was more an answer to the picture he had himself conjured up than to anything Norris had said.
"Who'd have us?" said Norris with a bitter lightness.
"Any uninhabited planet."
Norris rose, patted Baley on the shoulder. "Lije, you eat your chicken, and recover. You must be living on knockout pills." He left, chuckling.
Baley watched him leave with a humorless twist to his mouth. Norris would spread the news and it would be weeks before the humor boys of the office (every office has them) would lay off. But at least it got him off the subject of young Vince, of robots, of declassification.
He sighed as he put a fork into the now cold and somewhat stringy chicken.
Baley finished the last of the yeast-nut and it was only then that R. Daneel left his own desk (assigned him that morning) and approached.
Baley eyed him uncomfortably. "Well?"
R. Daneel said, "The Commissioner is not in his office and it is not known when he'll be back. I've told R. Sammy we will use it and that he is to allow no one but the Commissioner to enter."
"What are we going to use it for?"
"Greater privacy. Surely you agree that we must plan our next move. After all, you do not intend to abandon the investigation, do you?"
That was precisely what Baley most longed to do, but obviously, he could not say so. He rose and led the way to Enderby's office.
Once in the office, Baley said, "All right, Daneel. What is it?" The robot said, "Partner Elijah, since last night, you are not yourself. There is a definite alteration in your mental aura."
A horrible thought sprang full-grown into Baley's mind. He cried, "Are you telepathic?"
It was not a possibility he would have considered at a less disturbed moment.
"No. Of course not," said R. Daneel.
Baley's panic ebbed. He said, "Then what the devil do you mean by talking about my mental aura?"
"It is merely an expression I use to describe a sensation that you do not share with me."
"What sensation?"
"It is difficult to explain, Elijah. You will recall that I was originally designed to study human psychology for our people back in Spacetown."
"Yes, I know. You were adjusted to detective work by the simple installation of a justice-desire circuit." Baley did not try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"Exactly, Elijah. But my original design remains essentially unaltered. I was constructed for the purpose of cerebroanalysis."
"For analyzing brain waves?"
"Why, yes. It can be done by field-measurements without the necessity of direct electrode contact, if the proper receiver exists. My mind is such a receiver. Is that principle not applied on Earth?"
Baley didn't know. He ignored the question and said, cautiously, "If you measure the brain waves, what do you get out of it?"
"Not thoughts, Elijah. I get a glimpse of emotion and most of all, I can analyze temperament, the underlying drives and attitudes of a man. For instance, it was I who was able to ascertain that Commissioner Enderby was incapable of killing a man under the circumstances prevailing at the time of the murder."
"And they eliminated him as a suspect on your say-so."
"Yes. It was safe enough to do so. I am a very delicate machine in that respect."
Again a thought struck Baley. "Wait! Commissioner Enderby didn't know he was being cerebroanalyzed, did he?"
"There was no necessity of hurting his feelings."
"I mean you just stood there and looked at him. No machinery. No electrodes. No needles and graphs."
"Certainly not. I am a self-contained unit."
Baley bit his lower lip in anger and chagrin. It had been the one remaining inconsistency, the one loophole through which a forlorn stab might yet be made in an attempt to pin the crime on Spacetown.
R. Daneel had stated that the Commissioner had been cerebroanalyzed and one hour later the Commissioner himself had, with apparent candor, denied any knowledge of the term. Certainly no man could have undergone the shattering experience of electroencephalographic measurements by electrode and graph under the suspicion of murder without an unmistakable impression of what cerebroanalysis must be.