Mrs. Jellicoe shook her head. 'We aren't meant to know all things, Mr. Sutton,' she declared sanctimoniously. 'There is a Power that guards against our knowing everything. There is…'
Stevens interrupted her. 'Briefly, sir, we are interested in bringing about an acceptance of equality between the biological human race, the born human race, and the chemically manufactured human race that we call the androids. We contend that they are basically the same, that both are human beings, that each is entitled to the common heritage of the human race.
'We, the original, biological human race, created the androids in order to bolster our population, in order that 'there might be more humans to man the command posts and administration centers spread through the galaxy. You perhaps are well aware that the only reason we have not brought the galaxy more closely under our control is the lack of human supervision.'
'I am well aware of that,' said Sutton.
And he was thinking: no wonder. No wonder that this Equality League is regarded as a band of crackpots. A flighty old woman, a stumbling, dirty oaf, a retired space captain with time hanging heavy on his hands and nothing else to do.
Stevens was saying, 'Thousands of years ago slavery was wiped out as between one biological human and another. But today we have a slavery as between the biological human and the manufactured human. For the androids are owned. They do not live as masters of their own fate, but serve at the direction of an identical form of life…identical in all things except that one is biologically fertile and the other one is sterile.'
And that, thought Sutton, certainly is something that he learned by rote from out of a book. Like an insurance salesman or an agent for an encyclopedia.
He said aloud, 'What do you want me to do about it?'
'We want you to sign a petition,' said Mrs. Jellicoe.
'And make a contribution?'
'Indeed not,' said Stevens. 'Your signature will be enough. It is all we ask. We are always glad to get evidence that men of prestige are with us, that the thinking men and women of the galaxy see the justice of our claim.'
Sutton scraped back his chair and rose.
'My name,' he said, 'would carry little prestige.'
'But Mr. Sutton…'
'I approve of your aims,' said Sutton, 'but I am skeptical of your methods of carrying them forward.'
He made a half bow to them, still sitting in their chairs.
'And now I must go to lunch,' he said.
He was halfway across the lobby when someone caught him by the elbow. He whirled, half angrily. It was Hamilton, threadbare cap in hand.
'You forgot something,' said Hamilton, holding out the leaflets Sutton had left lying on the floor.
VIII
The desk buzzer snarled at Adams and he thumbed it up.
'Yes,' he said. 'What is it?'
Alice's words tumbled over one another. 'The file, sir. The Sutton file.'
'What about the Sutton file?'
'It's gone, sir.'
'Someone is using it.'
'No, sir, not that. It has been stolen.'
Adams jerked erect.
'Stolen!'
'Stolen,' said Alice. 'That is right, sir. Twenty years ago.'
'But twenty years…'
'We checked the security points,' said Alice. 'It was stolen just three days after Mr. Sutton set out for 61.'
IX
The lawyer said his name was Wellington. He had painted a thin coat of plastic lacquer over his forehead to hide the tattoo mark, but the mark showed through if one looked closely. And his voice was the voice of an android.
He laid his hat very carefully on a table, sat down meticulously in a chair and placed his brief case across his knee. He handed Sutton a rolled-up paper.
'Your newspaper, sir,' he said. 'It was outside the door. I thought that you might want it.'
'Thanks,' said Sutton.
Wellington cleared his throat. 'You are Asher Sutton?' he asked.
Sutton nodded.
'I represent a certain robot who commonly went by the name of Buster. You may remember him.'
Sutton leaned quickly forward. 'Remember him? Why, he was a second father to me. Raised me after both my parents died. He has been with my family for almost four thousand years.'
Wellington cleared his throat again. 'Quite so,' he said.
Sutton leaned back in his chair, crushing the newspaper in his grip.
'Don't tell me…'
Wellington waved a sober hand. 'No, he's in no trouble. Not yet, that is. Not unless you choose to make it for him.'
'What has he done?' asked Sutton.
'He has run away.'
'Good Lord! Run away. Where to?'
Wellington squirmed uneasily in the chair. 'To one of the Tower stars, I believe.'
'But,' protested Sutton, 'that's way out. Out almost to the edge.'
Wellington nodded. 'He bought himself a new body and a ship and stocked it up…'
'With what?' asked Sutton. 'Buster had no money.'
'Oh, yes, he had. Money he had saved over, what was it you said, four thousand years or so. Tips from guests, Christmas presents, one thing and another. It would all count up…in four thousand years. Placed at interest, you know.'
'But why?' asked Sutton. 'What does he intend to do?'
'He took out a homestead on a planet. He didn't sneak away. He filed his claim, so you can trace him if you wish. He used the family name, sir. That worried him a little. He hoped you wouldn't mind.'
Sutton shook his head. 'Not at all,' he said. 'He has a right to that name, as good a right as I have myself.'
'You don't mind, then?' asked Wellington. 'About the whole thing, I mean. After all, he was your property.'
'No,' said Sutton, 'I don't mind. But I was looking forward to seeing him again. I called the old home place, but there was no answer. I thought he might be out.'
Wellington reached into the inside pocket of his coat.
'He left you a letter,' he said, holding it out.
Sutton took it. It had his name written across its face. He turned it over, but there was nothing more.
'He also,' said Wellington, 'left an old trunk in my custody. Said it contained some old family papers that you might find of interest.'
