Murdoch pretended to protest mildly, then stood watching the robot go. His hands were moving in what he hoped looked like a gesture of futility. He got the plastic sphere out of its hiding-place and thumbed it like a marble. He held his breath. The robot crossed the barrier. Murdoch flipped the sphere after it. He saw it arc across the line and bound once, then he lost it in the gravel. In the dim light from Jupiter, low on the horizon, he could not find it again. Desperately, he memorized the place in relation to the hedge. When he and Waverill left, there would be scant time to look for it. The robot didn't take long to solve the ship's hatches, go in through the lock, and locate the alarm. The siren chopped off in mid-scream. The robot came back out and started toward him. Involuntarily, he backed up against the building, wondering what the robot (or its masters) right deduce with alien senses, and whether swift punishment might strike him the next instant. But the robot passed him silently and disappeared indoors. After a while he followed it inside, lay down on his couch, and resumed the fitful wait. * * * * * The next morning Waverill's eyes followed him as he fixed breakfast. There was life in them now, and purpose. The man looked younger, more vigorous, too. Murdoch, trying not to sound nervous, asked, "Can you see more now, sir?" "A little. Sit me so the light falls on my plate." Murdoch watched the other's attempts to eat by sight rather than feel, adding mentally to his own time-table of the older man's recovery. Apparently Waverill could see his plate, but no details of the food on it. There was no more drowsiness, though. The movements were deft except that they didn't yet correlate with the eyes. The eyes seemed to have a little trouble matching up too, sometimes. No doubt it would take a while to restore the reflexes lost over the years. Waverill walked the grounds alone in mid-morning. Murdoch, following far enough behind not to draw a rebuff, took the opportunity to spot his small treasure in the gravel beyond the barrier. Once found, it was dismayingly visible. But there was nothing he could do now. He was sweating again, and hoped with a sort of half-prayer to Fortune that his nerves wouldn't start to shatter once more. He made lunch, then set himself the job of waiting out the afternoon. Ages later he cooked dinner. He managed to eat most of his steak, envying Waverill the wolfish appetite that made quick work of the meal. The long night somehow wore through, and he embraced eagerly the small respite of breakfast. He felt unreal when the alien voice said, "Do not bother to wash the dishes. Lie down on your bunks for your final examination. When you awake you may leave."