further out of hand. "In your case, it's fuel and repairs. Without them you would terminate."

"But we have those here, father. Why should we work for you or the girl?"

That was it—the ultimate question which he had foreseen and which he could neither avoid nor answer. It was impossible to explain the complicated social system in which man, the disinherited, exchanged his labor for a small percentage of the articles he produced. But the robots were self sufficient.

He said with growing desperation, "Either you return at once to work, or I'll terminate you."

"How, father?"

How indeed? Hen fumed inwardly, said with sudden inspiration, "We'll radio for help. There are machines capable of blasting the lot of you into your component atoms."

"But the radio station is here in the laboratory," R-7 pointed out. There was a faint hesitation, then the robot added, "We will terminate you instead." The instrument clicked off.

Hen gulped, realized in dismay that it hadn't occurred to the robots to destroy them until he had planted it in their minds.

"You are the bright lad," drawled Sofi. "What do you propose now—Brain?"

He turned his black eyes on her, regarded her without seeing her. His glance strayed beyond the girl to the lab.

"What the devil are they doing now?" he cried suddenly.

Sofi spun around. Hen leaped past her to press his nose against the clear plastic walls of their igloo. The robots, he saw, had one of their number clamped on the work bench and were dismantling him.

"Damnation!" he said. "They must be trying to duplicate themselves. You and your silly jokes about fathers."

"Me?"

"What do you think gave them the idea of reproduction? Their thinking never rises above the level of deductive reasoning. They had to derive the idea from an outside source."

"But—but can they do it?"

"Of course they can! It's an intricate job, but they only have to copy themselves. The laboratory and machine shop is complete. They've amassed a staggering knowledge of science."

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