"You know what I mean!" Dane bared his teeth. "Every planetary record center's built around one. It's the gadget that organizes your information, sorts out your data, makes your decisions when you've got too many complicating factors for a human mind to handle." He laughed harshly. "That's me, right now. I'm up against too many complicating factors. So I'm going to ask your computer for some answers." * * * * * Nelva stared at him incredulously. "Are you mad, Clark? At best, we've a few minutes' freedom for you. No more. Any moment, Security may send someone in here--" "That's why I won't wait for them!" Dane came back fiercely. "Sure, you saved my neck, dragging me in here. I'm grateful for it. But not so grateful I'm willing to stand waiting till someone hunts me down." He hammered a clenched fist into his palm. "No, damn it! I'll do some of the hunting this time. And that starts with some questions for your computer!" "But what--?" "What questions?" Dane laughed again. "Can't you guess? I want to know that man who claimed I was his slave. About the silver needle. The Kalquoi. Who I am; why I can't remember anything; how it is I've no record in your files. Maybe even about you and what you're up to. Things like that, a lot of them." New lines etched Nelva's lovely face. "Clark, you can't!" "Can't I?" Dane paced the floor. "Take me there and we'll see whether I can or not!" "No, no! You don't understand." Nelva's hands moved in a gesture of frustration. "It's just not that easy to use an analytical computer." Dane stopped his pacing. He frowned. "How's that?" "For one thing, the machine's self-limiting. It covers only certain areas of information, likely to be needed here on Mars. But your questions aren't localized." "Give me an example." "The Kalquoi. They're a menace to all the inner planets, not just Mars. So when you ask about them, the only answer our machine will give you is a referral to the big System Computer on Luna." "Go on." "Even setting up a question properly can take weeks. You have to be sure it's framed within the machine's limitations. Take this man you talk about. I wouldn't begin to know how to key a query on him, with nothing to start from but your verbal description of an emotionalized visual image." "I see." "It's the same with the silver needle. How do you classify it--as art, armament, or industrial equipment?" Dane nodded slowly. "You make a good case, Nelva." And then: "But I'll still have a try at it. Let's go!" The girl stared at him, and before his eyes the shreds of her earlier composure vanished. "Clark, I won't let you do it!" Wordless, Dane reached for her arm. She didn't even try to jerk back. Her words came in a rush: "Clark, you don't understand! Security keeps guards on all computers--a special unit of Thorburg Jessup's private zombies. They'd capture you or kill you before you even got close to the question boards--"