Dave was within twenty feet when the play-acting ceased. The subsidiary robots broke formation, waited a moment, then clattered off into the distance—very rapidly. Dave looked after them, then slowly sat down. He rested his head in one hand in a very human gesture.

His voice sounded in Powell’s earphones, “Are you here, boss?”

Powell beckoned to Donovan and hopped off the ledge.

“O.K., Dave, what’s been going on?”

The robot shook his head, “I don’t know. One moment I was handling a tough outcropping in Tunnel 17, and the next I was aware of humans close by, and I found myself half a mile down main-stem.”

“Where are the subsidiaries now?” asked Donovan.

“Back at work, of course. How much time has been lost?”

“Not much. Forget it.” Then to Donovan, Powell added, “Stay with him the rest of the shift. Then, come back. I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

It was three hours before Donovan returned. He looked tired.

Powell said, “How did it go?”

Donovan shrugged wearily, “Nothing ever goes wrong when you watch them. Throw me a butt, will you?”

The redhead lit it with exaggerated care and blew a careful smoke ring. He said, “I’ve been working it out, Greg. You know, Dave has a queer background for a robot. There are six others under him in an extreme regimentation. He’s got life and death power over those subsidiary robots and it must react on his mentality. Suppose he finds it necessary to emphasize this power as a concession to his ego.”

“Get to the point.”

“It’s right here. Suppose we have militarism. Suppose he’s fashioning himself an army. Suppose he’s training them in military maneuvers. Suppose—”

“Suppose you go soak your head. Your nightmares must be in technicolor. You’re postulating a major aberration of the positronic brain. If your analysis were correct, Dave would have to break down the First Law of Robotics: that a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to be injured. The type of militaristic attitude and domineering ego you propose must have as the end-point of its logical implications, domination of humans.”

“All right. How do you know that isn’t the fact of the matter?”

“Because any robot with a brain like that would, one, never have left the factory, and two, be spotted immediately if it ever was. I tested Dave, you know.”

Powell shoved his chair back and put his feet on the desk. “No. We’re still in the position where we can’t make our stew because we haven’t the slightest notion as to what’s wrong. For instance, if we could find out what that danse macabre we witnessed was all about, we would be on the way out.”

He paused, “Now listen, Mike, how does this sound to you? Dave goes wrong only when neither of us is present. And when he is wrong, the arrival of either of us snaps him out of it.”

“I once told you that was sinister.”