But Sylvia did not force him. She said, "I don't care. I'll tell you the truth, Alec. Yesterday-after the police called me-after I had come to the office and answered questions-I saw that contract sitting on Father's desk. I'll tell you the truth: nothing mattered to me after that. I want money, Alec. It's the oldest form of motivation there is. I've been poor. All my life. And this is my chance to escape. I won't pass it up. I know that means I'm selfish, but nothing else matters as much-androids, war, even my father's death. He gave me nothing while he was alive. It wasn't entirely his fault, perhaps, but he didn't. I think he owes me this chance."

"I've been poor too," he admitted.

"Then you can understand."

"I was raised in a government home. My mother died giving me birth-I never knew my father."

"I'm sorry," she said, with what seemed to be genuine feeling. And yet her thoughts were as calculating as ever.

For the first time, Alec shied away from her. He stood up, saying, "I'll let you know my decision-in a week." But he thought he knew it already. He wasn't any less greedy than she-and not nearly so honest about it. He didn't want money-he could always find that. What he wanted- hadn't Cargill hinted as much?-was power.

She handed him a slip of paper. "My address and number."

"I'll walk you to a cab."

"Thank you."

In mutual silence, he led her down the hill.

Six.

Whistling a rather discordant tune-he didn't know what-Alec Richmond closed the office door and stepped down the corridor. It was late and the walkway was not moving. After seeing Sylvia home, he had decided to come here to catch up on his work. Going home had no longer seemed important. Once here he had found it difficult to pull himself away. He had already missed dinner and then some. But if Anna was worried, why hadn't she called?

He couldn't answer that question.

"Stand right where you are," said a voice from behind.

Alec froze, feeling in the pit of his back the hard pressure of something small and round. A disembodied hand moved around his chest, easily penetrating the folds of his jacket. With practiced fingers, the hand emerged, holding the same gun with which Alec had killed Ted Mencken. He had intended getting rid of the weapon. How stupid to be carrying it so openly.

Alec started to turn around.

"I wouldn't," said the voice. It was like a cold, confiding whisper.

"Who are you? Do you want money?" But Alec knew that was too much to expect. Robbery was a rare event in this modern world. The chances of any particular man being robbed had recently been calculated at one in twenty thousand. Alec did not think he was lucky enough to be that man.

In confirmation, the voice giggled with real delight. "I'm already richer than you'll ever be."

"Then-" Alec knew it had to be one of them-one of the others. "Are you going to kill me right here?" The man-if that was what he was-radiated nothing.

"What do you think?"

"Did you kill Ted?"

"Who?"

"Ted Mencken. In that room-back there-yesterday afternoon."

"I thought you did it." But the voice laughed.

"Please," Alec began, but he suddenly felt a powerful odor tickling at his nostrils. Tears filled his eyes. He couldn't breathe. He reached for his neck but before he could manage the maneuver his feet left the floor. He thought he was a cloud. It seemed silly. He was floating up-racing to embrace the moon.

Then he did laugh.

"Gas," he murmured aloud. But before he could finish the thought, he was falling straight down.

He awoke relaxed, refreshed, as if he had spent a full night in unbroken dreamless slumber. A hot sun burned down brightly from above. He had to keep his eyes closed against the glare. There wasn't any wind. He tried to move his head but couldn't. Something was holding him. His hands-his arms-his legs....

It was then he realized the yellow light wasn't the sun. He was inside a room, tied in a chair.

"Turn that away," he said, speaking with difficulty. He cleared his throat and tried again: "I can't see."

"Of course," said a voice. And the light did move slightly.

Alec opened his eyes and looked down. He was perched upon the seat of a high chair, like those in which babies were sometimes fed. Far below he could see the faint pattern of a carpet. The light continued to dominate everything he could see. It turned his flesh-the carpet, the chair-turned everything yellow. Beyond the light, he could see nothing.

The voice spoke from the darkness on the other side of the light. "We have a few questions to ask you, Alec. You will not mind answering, we hope."

He suddenly realized that he was alive. They hadn't killed him-why? Questions? What could they possibly want to know? This voice wasn't the same as the one which had greeted him outside his office-when?-hours and hours ago. This voice was shrill, distorted, as if its owner were a man barely clinging to the edge of sanity. The tone of the voice frightened Alec more than anything.

No. That wasn't true. There was something much worse. Realizing this, he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming out. The silence. Beyond the light. There were men out there-at least one, but undoubtedly more-he knew that. But their radiations. Although he strained and strained his superior senses, he could find nothing: not a thought, not a feeling.

The voice spoke, casual sounds suspended in an utter void: "It will be better if you answer us."

"Who are you?" Alec cried. "What do you want with me?" He tugged at the ropes that bound his wrists but they would not budge. "Tell me-please."

"What?" the voice cried. "Tell you? No, no, it is you who must answer." Alec heard a sharp sound, like a man springing suddenly to his feet, filled with-what?-anger, no doubt. But he couldn't know that for certain. That was the awful part. This was much worse than being struck suddenly deaf or blind.

"All right," Alec said. "I don't care. Kill me. Ask me questions. I-"

"We will begin with the woman," said the voice.

"Yes?"

"The one you saw the day of your capture."

"Yes, she-" A disembodied hand came hurtling out of the blackness and struck his face. Alec cried out, hearing someone giggle. Another voice laughed. Alec struggled to keep his tears from blinding his eyes. There was blood on his lips.

"The questions," said the original voice.

"Yes," Alec said.

"Then tell us who this woman is."

"Sylvia Mencken. The daughter of my employer, Ted Mencken. The man you-you killed."

"A human?"

"Sylvia? Yes. Of course."