choice of words. 'Father is attacking the space ship! Aid! Aid!' He gave every appearance of being as frightened as we were. It's impossible, but they seem to be developing emotions!"

Sofi dropped weakly in a chair, clasped her arms around her knees. "Why should it be impossible?"

"You sound like R-7." He began pacing the sun deck. "Emotion results from glandular activity. The robots don't have glands."

"They've got their counterparts."

"Maybe," he admitted doubtfully. "You're referring to the metabolism that breaks down the rawstuffs and converts it into fuel, lubrication—that sort of chemical change?"

She nodded.

"I don't know. Anyway, it's worth a try. If they really experience fear, we might be able to bluff them."

"What are you going to do?" she asked breathlessly.

He said, "Remind them that every three Terran months a supply ship puts in here. And if we're harmed they'll be destroyed."

"But what about the space ship? Couldn't they escape to another asteroid? They'd never be located in the belt."

"It shouldn't occur to them," returned Hen thoughtfully. "Not unless the idea reached them from us."

He went to the radio contact, switched it on. "R-7," he called. "R-7."

"Here, father," the voice of the robot issued from the audio.

He said, "R-7, I'm giving you one last chance. Return to work at once or all of you will be terminated."

"How?"

He explained tersely about the supply ship, and what would occur if so much as a hair of their heads was injured. Silence greeted the ultimatum. For a moment Hen wondered if R-7 had switched himself off. Then the robot said, "We are going to load the ship and hide out in the belt. They'll never be able to locate us."

Hen was too stunned to argue. He nipped off the set, sank into a chair. "It's inconceivable," he said, "and monstrous! It just isn't possible!"

"I don't see why," protested Sofi. "It didn't take conception to figure that out. We 

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