"That she'd be a Prime? I'm surprised at you, Jeff; that's ancient thinking." If there was a trace of sarcasm, it was lost on Arnold. "Oh, I grant you it used to hold true--principle beneficiary was always prime suspect. Fiction especially was full of it. Queen, Dickson Carr, Boucher you--know the ilk. But with ECAIAC we've gotten away from all that, haven't we?" Arnold stared at him suspiciously, hesitated, then brought it out with an effort. "Well--how _did_ she equate?" "Who? Oh yes, the beautiful widow. She only made Logical, and even that is borderline." "I see." Arnold rose, dialled himself another drink, then changed his mind and put it down untouched. He turned to gather up the tapes, and his voice was apologetic. "It's not that I'd ever questioned Coördinates Division! We're too closely aligned for that, Raoul...." (_First time he's ever used my first name_, thought Beardsley.) "You have a splendid record to uphold, as we do here at Mechanical. That's why ... well, I want to get this off as smoothly as possible!" Something indefinable, a queasy feeling, took Beardsley about the middle. He said sharply: "Any reason why not?" "No, not really. But in recent weeks--I tell you this in strictest confidence, understand!--in recent weeks it's been a rather ticklish thing to get total synaptic clearance." * * * * * Synaptics? Beardsley began thinking back to the Crime-Central "Required Annual Basic." The Mechanical had never been his strong point. He said uncertainly, "But--that's serious!" "It's just that we've found ECAIAC holding back excess data from previous runs. Fouls up the relays, takes hours to iron out the clearance." Arnold gave him a keen look. "More of a nuisance really, but the weirdest thing. Stubborn!" _Stubborn._ Beardsley could have thought of a better word. Through the panelled glass he glimpsed the black metal sheathe of the monster out there, the shapeless crouching and malevolent winking lights, and he felt himself going to pieces inside with a sudden shaking crumble; he hated himself for it but he couldn't stop it; his hands clenched until the knuckles showed white. "... matter of time until we find the cause," Arnold was saying, "but I guarantee total clearance _today_. Shall we get on with it?" Hands loaded with tapes, he moved for the door. "No!" Beardsley cried. "Arnold, if you don't mind, I--" "Oh, for God's sake, not again! Raoul, I swear I'm going to do something about this phobia of yours; it's getting to be not so funny any more." With a show of exasperation, Arnold propelled him through the door. "I give you my absolute word our pet won't snap at you. Not today. It's going to be far too busy for the likes of you!" * * * * *