silence from Don. "Why, that would be but mass murder!"

"It's nothing more alive than yeast, Shiela. How could it be murder to kill something that has no brain?"

"It's just as much alive as an unborn child."

Biting his lower lip, Don turned abruptly and pushed through the lab doors. The lines of low, gleaming tanks soothed him momentarily. A movement by one made him stop, startled. It was a roboe. The "mechanical" man came towards him, and Don recognized it as one of the regular technicians who worked without sleep as did all of the roboes, it not being needed.

"Everything is in order, sir," the roboe reported; "in three days we should be able to proceed with the creation."

"But what are you doing here?" asked Don with amazement, "I thought that Primo had withdrawn all roboes with him?"

"I don't understand, sir." The roboe was plainly puzzled, his forehead wrinkled. "This is my assigned task."

Shiela spoke from beside Don, "Perhaps he's one that they hadn't treated with the rays and forgot about in their hurry to leave," she suggested.

"Probably," he agreed, and turned to the roboe. "That's all right," he informed the roboe. With pain in his heart he looked once more at the scrupulously clean cylindrical tanks, the various valves that regulated every minute detail of heat and nourishment to the protoplasm within. The least deviation would result in either stunted and unsatisfactory growth or kill the growing cells.

Without looking at either the waiting roboe or Shiela, he directed, "Set the master temperature control to 120 degrees."

There was a gasp from Shiela and a slight hesitation before the roboe's protest, "But sir, that will kill all the growths!"

"And one hundred lives," accused the girl.

"Those are Doctor Stone's orders; I realize the consequences but it must be done. It could conceivably mean more than one hundred human lives if the new roboes were to be allowed to develop." He kept his eyes down at the toes of his shoes.

"I'm afraid that I must refuse, sir," the roboe replied.

Angered by the position with which he felt sympathy, Don retorted, "All right, then step back and I'll...." His voice trailed off at the 

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