"Yes. They had to have not only a model, but also some knowledge concerning our geographical and atmospheric conditions. The two hearts indicate that they knew the elements contained in our air--the pressures and so forth necessary to our existence--and were unable to construct a working model that would function under our conditions with a single heart. So they put in two." "It looks as though they missed on some other things, too. Seven of the androids have expired." Entman shrugged. "Still--a remarkable job, particularly since they would have no chance for a trial-and-error test under the conditions that would prevail. It's surprising that _any_ of the androids were able to keep functioning." "The eighth one is pretty sick. He may be gone by now. And about their earlier coming, I can give you one point. They came quietly, probably at night, grabbed their model, and moved out fast." "How do you know that?" "Because, obviously, they think all men on earth look alike. Or, at least, we can assume that. Else how did they expect to get away with ten identical androids?" Entman's eyes widened. "I never thought of that," he muttered. * * * * * Senator Crane, a doggedly determined man, had listened to the replay of Brent Taber's top-secret conference again and again. In the comfortable rationalization of which he was capable, his whole zeal and hostility were fashioned around Brent's "arrogant disregard of democratic processes." Who did this bureaucrat think he was? Did he consider himself smarter than the People? Did he feel they couldn't be trusted with revelations affecting their survival? Well, by God, they'd been trusted with word of the bomb and its implications, and they'd reacted admirably. So they were entitled to frankness concerning this new threat to their security. Of course, Senator Crane reserved the right to enlighten them in his own time and in his own way. After all, hadn't they elected him and thus given him leeway to use his own judgment in their best interests? But who the hell had elected Brent Taber? Nobody. So Crane listened to the recording and picked out what he classified as the key lines. _A routine autopsy revealed some peculiar things ... The man had two hearts...._ _The blood? Could it have been a new kind of plasma?..._ _All in all, gentlemen, eight identical specimens have been picked up in various American cities ... Exactly alike...._ Crane ran through the rest of it and threw himself moodily into a chair. The idiots! The stupid unelected, self-appointed guardians of democracy! Not once--not _once_, mind you--had a single one of these great brains referred to the obvious. It was a Russian plot!