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"I remember a story about the Japanese Navy. They were supposed to have built some ships to specifications stolen in England. When launched, they slid out into the bay and tipped over." Entman sighed. "I wish I could get some of the data those creatures used in the construction of the androids." "You'd like to make one of your own?" "It would solve the servant problem.
Entman led him down a cement-floored corridor, the smell of formaldehyde thickening as they went, then into a small office with an open door, on the far side through which Les King was confronted with a frankly gruesome sight a dissecting room with parts of cadavers lying around like orders in a meat packer's shipping room. "Won't you sit down, please? There by the desk."
He pointed at Entman's desk. "They'd like to know why their androids died. Maybe they weren't alike at least, not exactly alike. Maybe there were differences you haven't found yet maybe they turned out ten models and they want to know which one worked the best." "You get the point," Entman beamed. "They'd like the data you're assembling those reports you've got in front of you."
Then, to Les King's practiced eye, Entman proved it wasn't routine at all by entering the laboratory and gathering up a loose pile of notes lying there on a table. He seemed to momentarily forget King's presence as he went through the notes, sorted them carefully, and brought them back into the office. King watched as Entman then deposited them in a small safe.
As Entman gestured, he noted King's reaction to the sight and the smell of the dissecting room. "Just a moment. I'll close that door." "No, don't bother, Doctor. I'd better get the authentic atmosphere. It makes a better story." "I admire your courage, young man." King pointed toward the room. "Something important?" "Routine only routine."
"What's this all about?" Taber jerked a thumb in the direction of Blackwell. "The eleventh android," he said tersely, and strode out of the laboratory. Dr. Entman shook his head sadly, certain that Taber had slipped a cog. Charles Blackwell, a trifle ill from the smell of formaldehyde, stood on the corner, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
The creature surely has judgment, even cunning, but it is no doubt pointed totally and completely toward the objective of its being." "Whatever the hell that objective is!" Entman was mildly surprised by Taber's exclamation. He held up a warning finger. "Nerves, boy, nerves. You must watch that. As to the objective I'm sure it's something pointed at our destruction."
Entman looked ceilingward in a manner that indicated he might either be hunting for them somewhere out beyond, or sending a prayer heavenward in a plea for Divine counsel and guidance. "Some form of entity with far greater intelligence than we possess." "You can tell me more than that, can't you?" Brent asked sharply. And when Doctor Entman looked up in surprise, he added, "Sorry for the tone.
If it had to be someone else, why not the tenth android himself?" Entman frowned as he toyed with the idea. "Why, good lord !" "You said yourself that the androids probably possessed extraordinary powers." "Yes, but " "All right. If we accept the need-of-data theory, which we have to, what would the tenth android be doing? Trying to get his hands on it.
Entman then put another young man, one who was unacquainted with the girl, into a receiving unit and exposed him, after giving him the girl's picture, to the vibrations created by the lovelorn chap. Later, they saw to it that the second lad was introduced to the girl. The results were rather startling, in that the young lady suddenly had two ardent suitors in place of one."
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