Underhill looked up from his plate, astonished.

“Those black humanoids, you mean?”

“Humanoids?” That great voice seemed suddenly faint, frightened. The deep-sunken eyes turned dark with shock. “What do you know about them?”

“They’ve just opened a new agency in Two Rivers,” Underhill told him. “No salesmen about, if you can imagine that. They claim—”

His voice trailed off, because the gaunt old man was suddenly stricken. Gnarled hands clutched at his throat. A spoon clattered on the floor. His haggard face turned an ominous blue, and his breath was a terrible shallow gasping.

He fumbled in his pocket for medicine, and Aurora helped him take something in a glass of water. In a few moments he could breathe again, and the color of life came back to his face.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Underhill,” he whispered apologetically. “It was just the shock—I came here to get away from them.” He stared at the huge, motionless android, with a terror in his sunken eyes. “I wanted to finish my work before they came,” he whispered. “Now there is very little time.”

When he felt able to walk, Underhill went out to see him safely up the stair to the garage apartment. The tiny kitchenette, he noticed, had already been converted into some kind of workshop. The old tramp seemed to have no extra clothing, but he had unpacked queer bright gadgets of metal and plastic from his battered luggage and spread them out on the small kitchen table.

The gaunt old man himself was tattered and patched and hungry-looking, but the parts of his curious equipment were exquisitely machined. Underhill recognized the silver-white luster of rare palladium. Suddenly he suspected that he had scored too many points in his little private game.

III

A caller was waiting, when Underhill arrived next morning at his office at the agency. It stood frozen before his desk, graceful and straight, with soft lights of blue and bronze shining over its black silicone nudity. He stopped at the sight of it, unpleasantly jolted.

“At your service, Mr. Underhill.” It turned quickly to face him with its blind, disturbing stare. “May we explain how we can serve you?”

Recalling his shock of the afternoon before, he asked sharply, “How do you know my name?”

“Yesterday, we read the business cards in your case,” it purred softly. “Now we shall know you always. You see, our senses are sharper than human vision, Mr. Underhill. Perhaps we seem a little strange at first, but you will soon become accustomed to us.”

“Not if I can help it!” He peered at the serial number on his yellow name-plate, and shook his bewildered head. “That was another one, yesterday. I never saw you before!”

“We are all alike, Mr. Underhill,” the silver voice said softly. “We are all one, really. Our separate mobile units are all controlled and powered from Humanoid Central. The units you see are only the senses and limbs of our great brain on Wing IV. That is why we are so far superior to the old electronic mechanicals.”

It made a scornful-seeming gesture toward the row of clumsy androids in his display room.

“You see, we are rhodomagnetic.”

Underhill staggered a little, as if that word had been a blow. He was certain, now, that he had scored too many points from Aurora’s new tenant. Shuddering to the first light kiss of terror, he spoke with an effort, hoarsely:

“Well, what do you want?”

Staring blindly across his desk, the sleek black thing slowly unfolded a legal-looking document. He sat down, watching uneasily.

“This is merely an assignment, Mr. Underhill,” it cooed soothingly. “You see, we are requesting you to assign your property to the Humanoid Institute in exchange for our service.”

“What?” The word was an incredulous gasp, and Underhill came angrily back to his feet. “What kind of blackmail is this?”

“It’s no blackmail,” the small mechanical assured him softly. “You will find the humanoids incapable of any crime. We exist only to increase the happiness and safety of mankind.”

“Then why do you want my property?” he rasped.

“The assignment is merely a legal formality,” it told him blandly. “We strive to introduce our service with the least possible confusion and dislocation. We have found our assignment plan the most efficient for the control and liquidation of private enterprises.”

Trembling with anger and the shock of mounting terror, Underhill gulped hoarsely, “Whatever your scheme is, I don’t intend to give up my business.”

“You have no choice, really.” He shivered to the sweet certainty of that silver voice. “Human enterprise is no longer necessary, anywhere that we have come, and the electronic mechanicals industry is always the first to collapse.”

He stared defiantly at its blind steel eyes.

“Thanks!” He gave a little laugh, nervous and sardonic. “But I prefer to run my own business, to support my own family and take care of myself.”

“That is impossible, under the Prime Directive,” it cooed softly. “Our function is to serve and obey, and guard men from harm. It is no longer necessary for men to care for themselves, because we exist to insure their safety and happiness.”

He stood speechless, bewildered, slowly boiling.

“We are sending one of our units to every home in the city, on a free trial basis,” it added gently. “This free demonstration will make most people glad to make the formal assignment. You won’t be able to sell many more androids.”

“Get out!” Underhill came storming around the desk. “Take your damned paper—”

The little black thing stood waiting for him, watching him with blind steel eyes, absolutely motionless. He checked himself suddenly, feeling rather foolish. He wanted very much to hit it, but he could see the futility of that.

“Consult your own attorney, if you wish.” Deftly, it laid the assignment form on his desk. “You need have no doubts about the integrity of the Humanoid Institute. We are sending a statement of our assets to the Two Rivers bank and depositing a sum to cover our obligations here. When you wish to sign, just let us know.”

The blind thing turned and silently departed.

Underhill went out to the corner drugstore and asked for a bicarbonate. The clerk that served him, however, turned out to be a sleek black mechanical. He went back to his office more upset than ever.

An ominous hush lay over the agency. He had three house-to-house salesmen out, with demonstrators. The phone should have been busy with their orders and reports, but it didn’t ring at all until one of them called to say that he was quitting.

“I’ve got myself one of these new humanoids,” he added. “It says I don’t have to work.”

Swallowing an impulse to profanity, Underhill tried to take advantage of the unusual quiet by working on his books. But the affairs of the agency, which for years had been precarious, today appeared utterly disastrous. He left the ledgers hopefully when a customer came in, but the stout woman didn’t want an android. She wanted a refund on the one she had bought the week before. She admitted that it could do all the guarantee promised—but now she had seen a humanoid.

The silent phone rang once again, that afternoon. The cashier of the bank wanted to know if he could drop in to discuss his loans. Underhill dropped in, and the cashier greeted him with an ominous affability.

“How’s business?”

“Average, last month,” Underhill insisted stoutly. “Now I’m just getting in a new consignment, and I’ll need another small loan—”

The cashier’s eyes turned suddenly frosty.

“I believe you have a new competitor in town. These humanoid people. A very solid concern, Mr. Underhill. Remarkably solid! They have filed a statement with us, and made a substantial deposit to care for their local obligations. Exceedingly substantial!”

The banker dropped his voice, professionally regretful.

“Under these circumstances, Mr. Underhill, I’m afraid the bank can’t finance your agency any further. We must request you to meet your obligations in full as they come due.” Seeing Underhill’s white desperation, he added icily, “We’ve already carried you too long, Underhill. If you can’t pay, the bank will have to start bankruptcy proceedings.”

The new consignment of androids was delivered late that afternoon. Two tiny black humanoids unloaded them from the truck—for it developed that the operators of the trucking company had already assigned it to the Humanoid Institute.

Efficiently, the humanoids stacked up the crates. Courteously they brought a receipt for him to sign. He no longer had much hope of selling the androids, but he had ordered the shipment and he had to accept it. Shuddering to a spasm of trapped despair, he scrawled his name. The naked black things thanked him and took the truck away.