The controlling computer recognized only him, and would be resistant to any entry attempt by another—and lethal should the intruder succeed. The trouble was, he knew, the computer had been specially programmed for this mission by the Security Police, and not all that programming was directed toward his safety, survival, and comfort.

“You were not gone very long this time,” the computer remarked through speakers in the wall. It sounded surprised.

“There wasn’t much to do,” he told it, sounding tired. “And even less I could do.”

“You made a call to one of the space stations in the Warden Diamond,” it noted, “on a scrambler circuit. Why? And who did you call?”

“I’m not answerable to you—you’re a machine!” he snapped, then got hold of himself a bit. “That is why the two of us, and not you alone, are on this mission.”

“Why didn’t you use me for the call? It would have been simple.”

“And on the record,” he noted. “Let us face it, my cold companion, you do not work for me but for Security.”

“But so do you,” the computer noted. “We both have the same job to do.”

He nodded absently. “I agree. And you probably have never comprehended why I’m needed at all. But I’ll tell you why, my synthetic friend. They don’t trust you any more than they trust me, for one thing. They fear thinking machines, which is why we never developed the type of organic robot the aliens use. Or, rather, we did once—and lived to regret it.”

“They would be superior,” the computer responded thoughtfully. “But be that as it may, as long as they control my programming and restrict my self-programming, I’m not a threat to them.”

“No, but that’s not really why I’m here.