The humanoid stood completely motionless, a molten luster of sunlight flowing across its blackness.
Waiting, Forester bit his lip, afraid he had revealed too much of his consuming anxiety.
"Mr. Ironsmith," it said abruptly, "has earned a different status."
"I know." He tried to smooth his ragged voice.
"But how?"
The machine stood still again, for long, intolerable seconds, regarding him with a faintly astonished vigilance.
"Service, sir," its clear voice pealed abruptly.
"Such questions tend to show unhappiness, and raise questions about your future care." Again it paused, while he fought to keep an outward calm.
"Now we observe that you are squinting," it went on gently.
"This sunlight is too bright for your eyes.
You should return to your dwelling and eat your lunch."
Putting up a quivering hand to shade his eyes, Forester fumbled for a ruse.
Perhaps he could manufacture some excuse to send one of his guards away, and then knock out the other with a rock - better, push it off the cliff.
Perhaps he would have time to reach the search building before any others came.
Perhaps-
"The sun is pretty bright," he admitted cheerfully.
"But I'm not hungry yet, and I want to look over the rest of the grounds."
He peered hopefully at the nearer machine. "So, if you'll just go back to the house and get me a pair of sun glasses-"
"Service, sir." The machine didn't move.
"Another unit will bring sun glasses and a parasol."
"Good," he muttered. "Very good, indeed!"
He strolled on again, obliquely toward the search building, keeping as near the edge of the mesa as his guards would allow, and developing an interest in the few wild flowers.
He bent at last as if to pick a ragged crimson bloom, and snatched at a likely stone beside it.
"Service, sir." Beamed power made the machine a dark blur of incredible motion.
Its steel- and-plastic fingers took the stone away from him, with an irresistible accurate strength.
"That is dangerous, sir," it said.
"Men can rupture themselves attempting to lift stones."
Forester straightened slowly, peering hopelessly at its bright steel eyes.
Its narrow, graceful face held a calm, benign tranquillity.
Perfect and invincible, it could feel no anger nor exact any penalty; yet his pathetic ruse had failed, as it seemed that feeble men must fail forever.
Shrugging wearily, he stumbled back toward his shining prison on the hill.
Chapter FOURTEEN
WAITING FOR the time to dine with Ironsmith, Forester wanted to see Ruth again, but he was afraid to return to that gay nursery room where he had seen her playing with her plastic blocks.
For his control was too fragile. Too easily, he might betray his feelings, and so invite oblivion.
Trying to relax, he surrendered his person to the efficient machines, which washed him in a perfumed bath, steamed him and massaged him, and clad him at last in a soft white robe.
He didn't like the robe, because it fastened in the back with tiny rhodomagnetic snaps that he couldn't reach or work, and it made him feel ridiculously unclad, but when he asked meekly for his trousers, he was told they had been destroyed.
"They were man-made, sir.
The garments we supply are far superior in durability and comfort."
He said no more, for he wasn't seeking forgetfulness.
The expert rubdown had relaxed his body, and his mind was vainly busy with the riddle of Ironsmith.
"Your body needs attention, sir." The cheery words shattered his thoughts.
"It already shows defects due to age and overwork and want of proper care.
Your muscular tensions and glandular malfunctions reveal a want of satisfactory mental adjustment to your environment which will result in serious physical deterioration unless relieved."
"Dr. Pitcher told me just about the same thing a year ago." Forester tried to grin.
"But I'm still here."
"We must advise euphoride, sir, without any long delay."
"No!" He felt those same familiar tensions drawing him dangerously rigid again. "I'll be all right," he insisted stubbornly.
"Frank Ironsmith is going to help me get adjusted to this wonderful new environment."
"The euphoride treatment may be delayed until you have seen him again," the machine agreed.
"But we can permit no long neglect."