"Nothing." Ironsmith turned sober. "I don't even know where they are.
When I came here looking for them, the old tower was empty.
I selected this for a building site, hoping they might come back.
But they didn't.
I never found a clue."
The cold purpose in his voice astonished Forester, for this was not the callow and indolent clerk who had loafed through his work with such surprising ease in the old computing section, but suddenly a mature, determined man.
Somehow unnerved, he gulped hoarsely:
"Why try so hard?"
"Because Mark White is an ignorant, dangerous fanatic."
That calm voice held a crushing certainty. "Because he's a mental child - as you must have seen from the melodramatic way he first got us here - a child unfortunately armed with something very dangerous. His blundering could wreck Wing IV."
"If he's against the humanoids, that's enough for me."
"That's why I brought you here - to warn you."
Ironsmith's eyes were level and grave and a little sad.
"Because I want to stop you from making Mark White's blunder.
And Warren Mansfield's.
Your whole attitude is mistaken, Forester, and highly dangerous."
Forester shivered.
"You mean - I may get euphoride?"
"That doesn't matter at all." The lift of Ironsmith's shoulders was almost scornful.
"Really, Forester, I think you ought to ask for the drug.
Because you can only hurt yourself - and others - if you try to fight the humanoids.
Better let them help you, in any way they can."
Forester said nothing, but his narrow jaw set hard.
He stared out at the copper glints fading on the sea, wondering how to ask what he had to know.
"The greatest danger is from Mark White," Ironsmith went on quietly.
"But I'm sure he still wants help, and I imagine he'll try to get back in touch with you.
If he does, please tell him to come and talk to me - before his mad plots have done too much harm to be repaired.
I just want a chance to show him that he has chosen the wrong side.
Won't you pass along that message?"
Forester shook his head. "That's nonsense."
His voice had a breathless harshness.
"But there are things I want to know." He caught his breath, trying to shake off his uneasy dread of this inexplicable individual - human or not - who once had been just a clerk at Starmont.
"How do you get on so well with these machines?
Why are you so disturbed about White's fight against them?
And who" - his husky voice caught - "who's your chess opponent - when you're all alone?"
"Your imagination is working too hard." Ironsmith gave him a brief, sunburned grin. "I think you should ask for euphoride."
"Don't say that!" Forester's voice turned husky, and he clutched desperately at the other's sleeve.
"I know you can help me - because you've escaped.
Please - please, Frank - be human!"
"I am." Ironsmith nodded sympathetically.
"And I do want to help you, if you'll only let me."
"Then tell me - just tell me what to do."
"Accept the humanoids," Ironsmith said quietly.
"That's all I did."
"Accept those intolerable monsters?" Forester shivered in uneasy indignation.
"When they've already wrecked my observatory and destroyed the mind of my wife?
When they're even threatening me?"
"I'm sorry you persist in regarding the humanoids as malevolent enemies."
Ironsmith shook his close-cropped sandy head with an air of bland regret.
"Your whole attitude seems as childish as Mark White's, and I'm afraid it will get you in trouble."