blue button. Finally the red one. The thin fin—the cannon's sight—split in half as the turret opened and the coiled nose of the cannon protruded. There was a soundless flash. Then a sharp crack. Jon was dumbfounded when he saw the bolt ricochet off the ship. This was no ship of the solar system. There was nothing that could withstand even the slight jolt of power given by the station cannon on any of the Sun's worlds. But what was this? A piece of the ship had changed. A bubble of metal, like a huge drop of blue wax, dripped off the vessel and struck the rocket of the asteroid. It steamed and ran in rivulets. He pressed the red button again. Then abruptly he was on the floor of the power room, his legs strangely cut out from under him. He tried to move them. They lay flaccid. His arms seemed all right and tried to lever himself to an upright position. Damn it, he seemed as if he were paralyzed from the waist down. But it couldn't happen that suddenly. He turned his head. A Steel-Blue stood facing him. A forked tentacle held a square black box. Jon could read nothing in that metallic face. He said, voice muffled by the confines of the plastic helmet, "Who are you?" "I am"—there was a rising inflection in the answer—"a Steel-Blue." There were no lips on the Steel-Blue's face to move. "That is what I have named you," Jon Karyl said. "But what are you?" "A robot," came the immediate answer. Jon was quite sure then that the Steel-Blue was telepathic. "Yes," the Steel-Blue answered. "We talk in the language of the mind. Come!" he said peremptorily, motioning with the square black box. The paralysis left Karyl's legs. He followed the Steel-Blue, aware that the lens he'd seen on the creature's face had a counterpart on the back of the egg-head. Eyes in the back of his head, Jon thought. That's quite an innovation. "Thank you," Steel-Blue said. There wasn't much fear in Jon Karyl's mind. Psychiatrists had proved that when he had applied for this high-paying but man-killing job as a Lone Watcher on the Solar System's