‘Is he trustworthy?’

Lynn looked disgusted. ‘Good Lord, what man in Robotics has not been investigated and cleared to death by your people? Yes, I vouch for him. If you can’t trust a man like Humphrey Carl Laszlo, then we’re in no position to face the kind of attack you say They are launching, no matter what else we do.’

‘I’ve heard of Laszlo,’ said Breckenridge.

‘Good. Does he pass?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then, I’ll have him in and we’ll find out what he thinks about the possibility that robots could invade the U. S. A.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Breckenridge, softly. ‘You still don’t accept the full truth. Find out what he thinks about the fact that robots have already invaded the U. S. A.’

Laszlo was the grandson of a Hungarian who had broken through what had then been called the Iron Curtain, and he had a comfortable above-suspicion feeling about himself because of it. He was thick-set and balding with a pugnacious look graven forever on his snub face, but his accent was clear Harvard and he was almost excessively soft-spoken.

To Lynn, who was conscious that after years of administration he was no longer expert in the various phases of modem robotics, Laszlo was a comforting receptacle for complete knowledge. Lynn felt better because of the man’s mere presence.

Lynn said, ‘What do you think?’

A scowl twisted Laszlo’s face ferociously. ‘That They’re that far ahead of us. Completely incredible. It would mean They’ve produced humanoids that could not be told from humans at close quarters. It would mean a considerable advance in robo-mentalics.’

‘You’re personally involved,’ said Breckenridge, coldly. ‘Leaving professional pride out of account, exactly why is it impossible that They be ahead of Us?’

Laszlo shrugged. ‘I assure you that I’m well acquainted with Their literature on robotics. I know approximately where They are.’

‘You know approximately where They want you to think They are, is what you really mean,’ corrected Breckenridge. ‘Have you ever visited the other side?’

‘I haven’t,’ said Laszlo, shortly.

‘Nor you, Dr Lynn?’

Lynn said, ‘No, I haven’t, either.’

Breckenridge said, ‘Has any robotics man visited the other side in twenty-five years?’ He asked the question with a kind of confidence that indicated he knew the answer.

For a matter of seconds, the atmosphere was heavy with thought. Discomfort crossed Laszlo’s broad face. He said, ‘As a matter of fact, They haven’t held any conferences on robotics in a long time.’

‘In twenty-five years,’ said Breckenridge. ‘Isn’t that significant?’

‘Maybe,’ said Laszlo, reluctantly. ‘Something else bothers me, though. None of Them have ever come to Our conferences on robotics. None that I can remember.’

‘Were They invited?’ asked Breckenridge.

Lynn, staring and worried, interposed quickly, ‘Of course.’

Breckenridge said, ‘Do They refuse attendance to any other types of scientific conferences We hold?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Laszlo. He was pacing the floor now. ‘I haven’t heard of any cases. Have you, Chief?’

‘No,’ said Lynn.

Breckenridge said, ‘Wouldn’t you say it was as though They didn’t want to be put in the position of having to return any such invitation? Or as though They were afraid one of Their men might talk too much?’

That was exactly how it seemed, and Lynn felt a helpless conviction that Security’s story was true after all steal over him.

Why else had there been no contact between sides on robotics? There had been a cross-fertilizing trickle of researchers moving in both directions on a strictly one-for-one basis for years, dating back to the days of Eisenhower and Khrushchev. There were a great many good motives for that: an honest appreciation of the supranational character of science; impulses of friendliness that are hard to wipe out completely in the individual human being; the desire to be exposed to a fresh and interesting outlook and to have your own slightly stale notions greeted by others as fresh and interesting.

The governments themselves were anxious that this continue. There was always the obvious thought that by learning all you could and telling as little as you could, your own side would gain by the exchange.

But not in the case of robotics. Not there.

Such a little thing to carry conviction. And a thing, moreover, they had known all along. Lynn thought darkly: We’ve taken the complacent way out.

Because the other side had done nothing publicly on robotics, it had been tempting to sit back smugly and be comfortable in the assurance of superiority. Why hadn’t it seemed possible, even likely, that They were hiding superior cards, a trump hand, for the proper time?

Laszlo said shakenly, ‘What do we do?’ It was obvious that the same line of thought had carried the same conviction to him.

‘Do?’ parroted Lynn. It was hard to think right now of anything but of the complete horror that came with conviction. There were ten humanoid robots somewhere in the United States, each one carrying a fragment of a TC bomb.

TC! The race for sheer horror in bomb-ery had ended there. TC! Total Conversion! The sun was no longer a synonym one could use. Total conversion made the sun a penny candle.

Ten humanoids, each completely harmless in separation, could, by the simple act of coming togyther, exceed critical mass and-

Lynn rose to his feet heavily, the dark pouches under his eyes, which ordinarily lent his ugly face a look of savage foreboding, more prominent than ever. ‘It’s going to be up to us to figure out ways and means of telling a humanoid from a human and then finding the humanoids.’

‘How quickly?’ muttered Laszlo.

‘Not later than five minutes before they get together,’ barked Lynn, ‘and I don’t know when that will be.’

Breckenridge nodded. ‘I’m glad you’re with us now, sir. I’m to bring you back to Washington for conference, you know.’

Lynn raised his eyebrows. ‘All right.’

He wondered if, had he delayed longer in being convinced, he might not have been replaced forthwith-if some other Chief of the Bureau of Robotics might not be conferring in Washington. He suddenly wished earnestly that exactly that had come to pass.

* * *

The First Presidential Assistant was there, the Secretary of Science, the Secretary of Security, Lynn himself, and Breckenridge. Five of them sitting about a table in the dungeons of an underground fortress near Washington.

Presidential Assistant Jeffreys was an impressive man, handsome in a white-haired and just-a-trifle-jowly fashion, solid, thoughtful and as unobtrusive, politically, as a Presidential Assistant ought to be.

He spoke incisively. ‘There are three questions that face us as I see it. First, when are the humanoids going to get together? Second, where are they going to get together? Third, how do we stop them before they get together?’

Secretary of Science Amberley nodded convulsively at that. He had been Dean of Northwestern Engineering before his appointment. He was thin, sharp-featured and noticeably edgy. His forefinger traced slow circles on the table.

‘As far as when they’ll get together,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s definite that it won’t be for some time.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Lynn sharply.