'But it means,' said Eva, 'that Trevor knows about it. He doesn't know where it is, but he knows about it. And he'll hunt until he finds it and then…'
Herkimer's gesture stopped her.
'What is wrong?' asked Sutton.
For there was something wrong, something that was terribly wrong. The whole atmosphere of the place was wrong. The friendliness was gone…the trust and friendliness and the oneness of their purpose. Shattered by an android who had run across the patio and talked about a thing that he called a Cradle and died, seconds later, with a knife blade through his throat.
Instinctively Sutton's mind reached out for Herkimer and then he drew it back. It was not an ability, he told himself, that one used upon a friend. It was an ability that one must keep in trust, not to be used curiously or idly, but only where the end result would justify its use.
'What's gone sour?' he asked. 'What is the matter with…'
'Sir,' said Herkimer, 'you are a human being and this is an android matter.'
For a moment Sutton stood stiff and straight, his mind absorbing the shock of the words that Herkimer had spoken, the black fury boiling ice-cold inside his body.
Then, deliberately, as if he had planned to do it, as if it were an action he had decided upon after long consideration, he balled his fist and swung his arm.
It was a vicious blow, with all his weight and all his strength and anger back of it, and Herkimer went down like an ox beneath a hammer.
'Ash!' cried Eva. 'Ash!'
She clutched at his arm, but he shook her off.
Herkimer was sitting up, his hands covering his face, blood dripping down between his fingers.
Sutton spoke to him. 'I have not sold destiny. Nor do I intend to sell it. Although God knows, if I did, it would be no more than the lot of you deserve.'
'Ash,' said Eva softly. 'Ash, we must be sure.'
'How can I make you sure?' he asked. 'I can only tell you.'
'They are your people, Ash,' she said. 'Your race. Their greatness is your greatness, too. You can't blame Herkimer for thinking…'
'They're your people, too,' said Sutton. 'The taint that applies to me applies to you as well.'
She shook her head.
'I'm a special case,' she said. 'I was orphaned when I was only a few weeks old. The family androids took me over. They raised me. Herkimer was one of them. I'm much more an android, Ash, than I am a human being.'
Herkimer was still sitting on the grass, beside the sprawled, dead body of Trevor's agent. He did not take his hands from his face. He made no sign that he was going to. The blood still dripped down between his fingers and trickled down his arms.
Sutton said to Eva, 'It was very nice to see you again. And thank you for the breakfast.'
He turned on his heel and walked away, across the patio and over the low wall and out into the path that led down to the road.
He heard Eva cry out for him to stop, but he pretended not to hear her.
'I was raised by androids,' she had said. And he had been raised by Buster. By Buster, who had taught him how to fight when the kid down the road had given him a licking. Buster, who had whaled him good and proper for the eating of green apples. By Buster, who had gone out, five hundred years before, to homestead a planet.
He walked with the icy fury still running in his blood. They didn't trust me, he said. They thought I might sell out. After all the years of waiting, after all the years of planning and of thinking.
'What is it, Ash?'
'What's going on, Johnny? What about this?'
'You're a stinker, Ash.'
'To hell with you,' said Sutton. 'You and all the rest of them.'
Trevor's men, he knew, must be around the house, watching and waiting. He expected to be stopped. But he wasn't stopped. He didn't see a soul.
XLVIII
Sutton stepped into the visor booth and closed the door behind him. From the rack along the wall, he took out the directory and hunted up the number. He dialed and snapped the toggle and there was a robot in the screen.
'Information,' said the robot, his eyes seeking out the forehead of the man who called. Since it was an android, he dropped the customary 'sir.'
'Information. Records. What can I do for you?'
'Is there any possibility,' asked Sutton, 'that this call could be tapped?'
'None,' said the robot. 'Absolutely none. You see…'
'I want to see the homestead filings for the year 7990,' said Sutton.
'Earth filings?'
Sutton nodded.
'Just a moment,' said the robot.
Sutton waited, watching the robot select the proper spool and mount it on the viewer.
'They are arranged alphabetically,' said the robot. 'What name did you wish?'
'The name begins with S,' said Sutton. 'Let me see the S's.'
The unwinding spool was a blur on the screen. It slowed momentarily at the M's, spun to the P's, then went more slowly.
The S list dragged by.
'Toward the end,' said Sutton, and finally, 'Hold it.'
For there was the entry that he sought.
Sutton, Buster…
He read the planet description three times to make sure he had it firmly in his mind.
'That's all,' he said. 'Thank you very much.'
The robot grumbled at him and shut off the screen.
Outside again, Sutton ambled easily across the foyer of the office building he had selected to place his call. On the road outside, he walked up the road, branched off onto a path and found a bench with a pleasant view.
He sat down on the bench and forced himself to relax.
For he was being watched, he knew. Kept under observation, for by this time, certainly, Trevor would know that the android who had walked out of Eva Armour's house could be none other than he. The psych-tracer, long ago, would have told the story, would have traced his movements and pinpointed him for Trevor's men to watch.
Take it easy, he told himself. Dawdle. Loaf. Act as if you didn't have a thing to do, as if you didn't have a thought in mind.
You can't fool them, but you can at least catch them unguarded when you have to move.
And there were many things to do, many things left to think about, although he was satisfied that the course of action he had planned was the course to take.
He took them up, step by step, checking them over for any chance of slip-up.
First, back to Eva's house to get the manuscript notes he had left on the hunting asteroid, notes that either Eva or Herkimer must have kept through all the years…or was it only weeks?
That would be ticklish and embarrassing business at the best. But they were his notes, he told himself. They were his to claim. He had no commitments in this business.
'I have come to get my notes. I suppose you still have them somewhere.'
Or, 'Remember the attache case I had? I wonder if you took care of it for me.'
Or, 'I'm going on a trip. I'd appreciate my notes if you can lay your hands on them.'
