A copperplate motto on the menu read: 'We Serve Anything.'

'There's the story about the drosk chieftain who walked in here and demanded her grandmother's brains on toast,' began Asman, as they sat down.

'And they said sorry, we've run out of bread,' said Ways. 'That story gets around, I last heard it on 'Nova. I'll have what you have, if it's starchy.'

'We'll eat Pineal, I think. Fast-Luck Couscous.'

Behind Asman's head was another mural, and since it was a special one it made the table rather special too, which was why Asman had been shown there with a great deal of ceremony. The Director of the Institute was a big attraction.

The mural depicted a score or so of the more recognizable races grouped in an obviously subordinate position around a throne, on which sat a man. He was human, though attenuated like a Pineal, and wore a harlequin suit and a cap and bells. He was smiling. Behind him was a sun, one hemisphere in shadow and the other appearing from this angle only as a thin crescent.

'Any special reason why the Joker is human?' Ways asked. He took a handful from the steaming pot, kneaded it expertly and swallowed it whole.

'Not really. "Joker" is a purely human translation. If you are going to portray one in representational terms, he's got to be human or humanoid,' said Asman. He grinned sidelong at Ways. 'Do you agree with the rest of the symbology?'

'The Joker as Lord of Creation? It chimes in with the idea that they gave life a hand in these parts. There's something about the expression that suggests it wasn't from altruistic motives. Slave races?'

'Possibly. Humanity - and I mean real humanity, the sort that ends at Lunar - cannot afford to meet the Jokers whatever they may be. They've had at least five million years start on us. More important, they had the galaxy to themselves. They didn't have to learn how to get along. That's why we run the search. We can't afford to let them find us first.'

'You assume they're still alive, then?'

'What could have killed them? What sort of gods - or devils - have they become? I think they are hiding. And waiting.'

'What will happen to me?' asked Ways quietly. Asman looked startled, then assumed a blank expression just a moment too soon.

'You want to leave the Institute?'

'This,' Ways fingered the gold collar, 'is the only thing that binds me. Yes, I want to leave. I know how much I cost. That's the advantage of being a robot, there are no big unanswered questions. I know my worth, I know why I was created. I'll repay every pico-standard. But you can keep the humanoid trappings. I won't need them.'

He somersaulted backwards, smashing the chair and landing with his legs folding under him ready for the next leap. It took him across a table and towards a running man, who fell with Ways' alloy hands gripping his wrists just hard enough to agonize. A small sonic gun bounced on the carpet, which writhed.

The robot's arm flicked out in a quicksilver motion and a finger stabbed at the man's neck. He collapsed, neatly and without a sound. Ways bowed an apology to a diner from Whole Erse, who was gazing at his shattered meal, and strode back to Asman's table.

'I'm sorry about that,' said the Director. 'Assassins are a hazard in my line.'

'He was too noisy focusing that sonic,' said Ways, 'I hope you were given due notice?'

'Oh yes, three days and a regular United Spies contract. But I didn't expect anything here, the management have an arrangement. I trust they'll register a complaint.'

'Did the contract say who was behind him?'

'No. It was the old standard Projectile or Energy Discharge form. I think it was one of my... but that's my problem. Thank you.'

Two Institute security guards walked in tactfully and removed the body. Ways scanned the room. Two minor Board of Earth officials were complaining to the head waiter, but the non-Earth diners had settled down again. Some of them may have thought it was part of the floor show. During the Starveall ceremony on Whole Erse there were dancers who... Ways clamped down on the unwanted information, and glanced at two diners half-hidden by the luxuriant growth of a dormant Eggplant pinpointer-plant, a large, scarred man in plain but well-grown clothes, and an antique serving robot. They hadn't even looked up during the assassination attempt. They were playing some game with small robots on a chequer-board.

He turned to Asman.

'I will leave,' he said. 'After this last affair is concluded, I will sever my connection with the Institute under the seventeenth sub-Law of Robotics. Thank you for the meal. It was most energizing. Good evening.'

When the robot had gone Asman sat back and gazed at the far wall thoughtfully. There was a chiming in his inner ear, followed by a familiar voice. Two familiar voices. Except that they weren't voices, they circumnavigated the tedious aural processes and arrived fresh at his consciousness.

'Interesting.'

'Possibly so, but I suggest you dissassemble him immediately,' said the second voice.

Asman thought: 'Mr Chairman, how many are sitting in on this.'

'Just myself and the Lady Ladkin. This is by no means a formal Board meeting. We watched the proceedings with interest, though without, I fear, unanimity as to conclusion,' came the first voice.

Asman nodded to the waiter and strolled out into the night, taking a winding, sand-strewn path back to the Institute.

'Ways will go through with it,' he thought.

Lady Ladkin's tone was petulant. 'Why do we need to bother with this robot? I know a dozen people who have the required combination of loyalty and mayhem.'

'My Lady, apart from the prediction that a robot such as Ways would be used by us,' he hurried on quickly before she could interrupt, 'he has certainly proved himself in similar assassinations. He initiated the Novean Board debacle, for example. My Lord Pan, may I be heard?'

'Go ahead,' came the rumbling tone of the Chairman. 'At present I am attending the premiere concert of the Third Eye Tactile Orchestra. They lack sparkle.'

'My Lord, and my Lady, I arranged this evening as you wished, at some risk to myself. The assassin might have succeeded. US were understanding about my request, but I had to sign a waiver, and I daresay they put their best man in. Now, you know we monitor the robot. He hates the Institute, of course, and to some extent he had sympathy for Sabalos—'

'As indeed I do also,' said Pan, and this time Asman caught the distant echo of the orchestra, ' I believe I met him once. His grandmother and myself were once very friendly. Old, she must be now, very old. A fine woman. Ah, we have heard the chimes at 2400 hours, Master Shallow.'

'We must consider the boy as an instrument, my Lord,' thought Asman patiently, picking his way between the dunes. 'Ways feels sorry for him, but I think I have proved to your satisfaction that in actions he has no choice but to be loyal to us. As he himself said, he is a robot, and even a Class Five can be built with certain imperatives.'

'That collar...' began Lady Ladkin.

'It will activate itself in the unlikely event of Ways taking any but the prescribed course,' thought Asman soothingly.

She grumbled and was silent.

'May I go ahead, then?'

There was another echo of music. 'This is derivative stuff. Oh, yes, go ahead. We are secure in our predictions, aren't we? I am not altogether happy about booby-trapping his pet - I myself have several cats, of which I am fond - but we must be practical. Proceed. I look forward to receiving your full report.'

Asman was suddenly alone among the dunes.

Dom awoke. For a while he floated, piecing his thoughts together. Then he pushed himself forward with his toe and drifted across the cabin.