The house watched as the man in the wrinkled brown tunic examined a table. Silently, panels in the walls opened. A dozen machines a foot in diameter converged at a position behind the man's back. The machines moved simultaneously, silently. They attached themselves to the intruder's body. They dusted and scrubbed him thoroughly, as if he were a piece of furniture or a floor. The man screamed and fired wildly with the gun. The small machines crumpled one by one. Click ... click ... click. "Your weapon is empty," the house observed. The man threw the gun at a window. It bounced off the hard plastic and clattered on the floor. "You try something like that again," he threatened, "and I'll kill you! So help me, I'll kill you if I have to take you apart piece by piece!" He shook a trembling fist at the quiet walls and twisted his face into a hideous snarl. The house noticed with satisfaction that the man's face and hands were covered with crimson streaks. The cleaning machines had served their purpose. The house deactivated the dining room scanners and activated scanners in the bedrooms. It found the woman in its owners' bedroom. It studied her as she searched a mattress. She was calm: because of its precaution, the sounds of the dining room fracas hadn't reached her ears. The house decided to leave the sound-blocks on. It was best to attack them individually. * * * * * A closet door slid into a wall. A slender machine, five feet tall and with sixteen long metal tentacles rolled across the room on soft rubber wheels. It looked like a mechanical monster from another world, but it was merely a very efficient machine to undress the house's masters--a mechavalet. The mechavalet paused behind the woman's back. Sixteen rubber-tipped metal tentacles reached out. The machine normally undressed a person with smoothness and gentleness. This time the house made it operate as roughly as possible. The sixteen tentacles moved swiftly and the machine tore the woman's dress to shreds before she could even scream. By the time she turned around, it had removed her slip and brassiere. [Illustration: Her dress was torn to shreds.] The woman screamed even more shrilly as the weird machine tugged at her panties. Frantically, she grabbed the slender tentacles and twisted them until rewarded by the crunch of delicate mechanisms not meant for such rough treatment. The machine served its purpose until its last metal arm was broken. The house watched as the woman cried for a few minutes and then, clad only in high-heel shoes and wristwatch, continued her search of the bedroom. She is different, the house thought. She does not scream threats at me like the man does. Still, I do not like her because she wants to steal from my masters and does not care what happens to me. The house switched its attention to the man.