"Oh, all right," Mel said. He and Joe followed the dusty junkman around the building. The instant they were out of sight, 2615 moved, running swiftly around the other end of the building. It reached a vantage point where its lens eyes could watch the three figures when they emerged from the elevator to the ship above. It watched Joe and Mel return to their work. It waited until the junkman had gone for another truckload of demobilized robot bodies. Then, swiftly, it ran to the elevator. At the top it sent the elevator back down, then faced the tiers of frames that filled the vast hold of the ship. Most of them now held inert robot shapes. 2615 chose an empty rack and climbed in, lying face up. It looked no different than any of the thousands of other forms. It remained motionless. The junkman returned with load after load. Eventually the hold was filled. Clanging and whirring noises told of preparations for departure. Acceleration pushed the robot deeper into the protective foam rubber of its rack. It waited.... * * * * * Fear. It began in the eyes of the cataloguer when his sorting machine came to a stop on the Id card for 532-03-2615. It grew as a terrible, animating force that drained blood from faces and made hands clumsy, as the checking and rechecking on 2615 began. It spread through networks of communication wires. It stopped at the borders of news release, lest it spread over the world. Fear organized itself, finally, settling into a pasty expression, unnatural eyes, and drumming fingers. The expression and eyes and fingers belonged to Carl Wilson, chief of the Demobilization staff. It centered there, but its aura spread out over the backwash it had left. Fear lurked in the hushed silence. Fear rode as an undertone in the slightest sound, lay ready to spring from behind every door. Larry Jackson felt it as he gave the receptionist his name. Stella Gamble was oblivious of it as she pushed into the waiting room. Larry looked at her and wished it was his day off and a girl like her was with him. He wondered what her name was. "I'm Stella Gamble," Stella said to the receptionist. "I've got to see Mr. Wilson at once. My freighter is overdue with two million junked robots. Something's got--" "Will you please be seated, Miss Gamble?" the receptionist said firmly. Then, "You may go right in, Mr. Jackson. Mr. Wilson is waiting for you." It was then Stella and Larry looked into each other's eyes. Hers were narrowed, sizing him up, guessing what he was and why he was there. His were friendly, smiling. "Thanks," he murmured to the receptionist. He went toward the door, conscious of Stella's eyes following him. He went in. "_There_ you are, Jackson," Wilson said, running fingers through his iron gray hair in nervous relief. "You've guessed why--" "Yes," Larry said.