"What's the use?" Sofi asked despondently. "They'll kill us anyway."

He turned on her angrily, thought, "Damn these unstable hyper-thyroid types!" An expression of dawning comprehension broke across his long, narrow face. The thyroid was the great energizer, raising the energy level of the brain. And Sofi was hyper-thyroid.

Outside, the robots began setting up the apparatus. A knife of blue flame licked from the muzzle, spattered against the tough plastic.

But Hen was staring at the girl, a queer expression in his black eyes.

"Do something!" she cried, springing to her feet. "Do something!"

The lank physicist swallowed. He took a deep breath. "You asked for it," he breathed, "but, boy, I'm going to feel silly if I'm wrong!"

Then he hit the girl square on the point of her chin with all the bone and gristle of his six-foot frame behind the blow.

Sofi's head snapped back. She collapsed limply in his arms.

Hen laid her out on the floor, leaped for the communicator, and flipped it on.

The robots were still training the torch on the wall of the igloo, but there was an aimlessness about their movements as if their purpose was gone.

"R-7!" he called. "R-7!"

"Here, father."

"Shut off the torch!"

There was a faint hesitation during which Hen could feel the sweat prickle his forehead. Then, "Yes, father," came the robots unstressed syllables. The blue flame disappeared.

"Go back to work!" He hastily detailed each robot to its operation.

"Yes, father."

The robots turned, disappeared in the direction of the mine.

He had done it! He blew out his breath, dropped limply in a chair. He really ought to look after Sofi, but he'd have to wait until the strength flowed back in his legs.

Soft was really was out cold. "Wake up," said Hen, "you're not dead." He sprinkled more water over the girl's face.

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