There was a noise behind them and Angus spun around. Ten feet away stood a robot with the designation RA-204 on his breast-plate. "Welcome, O Jackson," the clunker said reverently. Then he hinged forward on his hip joints until his head almost touched the ground. The gesture was a clockwork salaam. * * * * * McIntosh's thin legs dangled in front of 204's breast-plate and his ankles were secure in the grip of metal fingers as he rode the robot's shoulders. RA-76 strode alongside, carrying a squirming and swearing Drummond. Around them, the shining horde marched along noisily. "He has come!" cried one. "Jackson has come!" chanted the others of the shining horde. "He will show us the way!" shouted RA-204. Drummond kicked, but 76 only held his legs more firmly. Furious, Drummond reached for his gun. "That's using your head," Angus said sarcastically. "Agitate them. Then we'll never get out of here." Drummond let the weapon slip back into its holster. "What did we get into--a nest of fanatics? Who's Jackson?" Angus helplessly shrugged his bony shoulders. The procession filtered through a narrow woods and broke out on another plain, headed for the nearby cliff. Angus leaned forward. "Put me down, 204." "Thou art Jackson," said the robot solemnly. "And Thou art testing me to see whether I would so easily abandon my Supervisor." "Not testing," Angus said. "Just asking. Come on, how about it?" "Praise Jackson!" 204 cried. "Jackson! Jackson!" intoned the throng. Drummond leaned an elbow on 76's skull plate and disgustedly cupped his chin in his hand. "What if they _are_ chiropractor robots?" "We'll probably need one after this ride," Angus said uncomfortably. "Not like we'll need a way to get back to the ship and cut off those converters before they over-charge." "Slow charge?" Angus asked between grunts timed with 204's stride. "Hell, no. I didn't think we'd be here more than a couple of hours. By tomorrow at this time, there'll be a crater out there big enough to bury the Capellan fleet." "Great," said Angus. "That gives us another thing to worry about." The robots fell into two groups as they neared a cave in the cliff. "Jackson is my Supervisor!" chanted the ones on the right. "I shall not rust!" answered those on the left. "He maketh me to adjust my joint tension!" cried the first group. "Oh, brother," said Drummond. "Sounds like a psalm," suggested Angus. "You ought to know. You always got your nose in that Bible." "Notice anything peculiar about them?" "Very funny," sneered Drummond at the question. "No, I'm serious." "They bounce the daylights out of you when they walk," Drummond grumbled. "No. Their finish. It's shiny--like they were fresh out of the factory--not like they've been marooned here for a hundred years." * * * * * Drummond scratched his chin. "Maybe their compulsion is metal polishing." "Not with the kind of fingers they have."