“Don’t get your cagal in an uproar, Grandpop,” he sneered. But he stepped back and signaled two sergeants to open the barrier. Not a private in sight, I noticed. I hoped the officers enjoyed doing their own work for a change. I shook the cane one last shake as we drove oast.

then on down the road and around a bend and out of sight. Neebe pulled up at the first phonebox and I leaped arthritically down, “Are you i.n the city?” Stirner asked. “Just arrived.”

“Very good. Then we will meet at the entrance.”

“Entrance? What, where?”

“Mark Forer Square, of course. Where else would it be?”

Good question. I had imagined that only the statue was there. I hadn’t realized that old Mark itself was in residence. I climbed back into the car and we were off with the usual screech of tires. I pulled off bits of the disguise as we went, starting with the harness. I left the beard on in case there were any patrols around—and there were. “Slow down,” I cozened. “Let’s not be too suspicious.” The sergeant leading the patrol glared at us as we went by. I ignored him but was very impressed by his squad. As they turned the corner the last two slipped into the open door of a building and vanished from sight. So not only weren’t the deserters returning—but their ranks were steadily being added to. Great! If this kept up Zennor would soon have an army of only officers and noncoms. You don’t win wars with that kind of setup. I saw that we were getting close to our destination so I pulled at the beard and wrinkles and was forty years younger by the time we turned into the square and slid to a stop. Stirner was standing before the statue, looking up at it admiringly. “I wish I were coming with you,” he said.

“I as well,” Neebe agreed. “It would be wonderfully exciting. But of course we have not been asked so we cannot intrude.”. “How do I get in?”

Stirner pointed to a bronze door at the rear of the stone base of the statue. “Through there.”

“Got the key?” They both looked at me with surprise. “Of course not. It’s not locked.”

“I should have known,” I muttered. What a philosophy. Hundreds, thousands of years the door has been here,

unlocked, and no one had ever gone through it. I put out my hand and they took it in turn and shook it solemnly. I could understand why. This was a little like saying so-long to the head of your local church as he started up the ladder to see God.

The handle was stiff, but turned when I twisted hard. I pulled and the door squeaked slowly open. Steps led down into the ground, a little dusty. Lights came on and I could see that one of the bulbs was burned out. I just hoped that Mark Forer wasn’t burned out as well.

I sneezed as my feet disturbed the dust ofages. And it was a long way down. The steps ended in a small chamber with illuminated wiring diagrams on the walls and a large, gold-plated door. Carved into it, and inset with diamonds,

were the immortal words I AM. THEREFORE l THINK. Beneath this was a small sign with red letters that read PLEASE WIPE FEET BEFORE ENTERING. I did this, on the mat provided, took a deep breath and reached for the handle that appeared to have been carved from a single ruby.

The door swung open on oiled hinges and I went in. A large, well-lit room, dry and airconditioned. Dials and electronic devices covering one wall. And in the middle of the room…

Mark Forer, obviously. Just like in the paintings. Except that plenty of cables and wires ran from it to a nearby collection of apparatus. Its dials glowed with electronic life and a TV pickup swiveled in my direction. I walked over to stand before it and resisted the compelling desire to bow. And just what does one say to an intelligent machine? The silence lengthened and I began to feel ridiculous. I cleared my throat. “Mark Forer, I presume?”

“Of course. Were you expecting someone else… krrk!

The voice was grating and coarse and the words trailed off with a harsh grating sound. At the same time there was a puff of smoke from a panel on the front and a hatch dropped open. My temper snapped.

“Great! Really wonderful. For hundreds of years this electronic know-it-all sits here with the wisdom of the ages locked in its memory banks. Then the second I talk to it it explodes and expires. It is like the punch line of a bad joke—”

There was a rattle from behind and I leaped and turned, dropped into a defensive position. But it was only a little rubber-tired robot bristling with mechanical extensions. It wheeled up in front of Mark and stopped. A claw-tipped arm shot out, plunging into the open panel. It clicked and whirred and withdrew a circuit board which it threw onto the floor. While this was happening another circuit board was emerging from a slot„on the robot’s upper surface. The grasping claw seized this and delicately slid into the opening before it. Marks panel snapped shut as the robot spun about and trundled away.

“No,” Mark Forer said in a deep and resonant voice, “I did not explode and expire. My voice simulation board did. Shorted out. Been a number of centuries since I last used it. You are the ofiworlder, James diGriz.”

“I am. For a machine in an underground vault you keep up with things pretty well, Mark.”

“No problem, Jim—since you appear to enjoy a first name basis. Because all of my input is electronic it really doesn’t matter where my central processor is.”

“Right, hadn’t thought of that.” I stepped aside as a broom and brush bristling robot rushed up and swept the discarded circuit board into its bin. “Well, Mark, if you know who I am, then you certainly know what is happening topside.”

“I certainly do. Haven’t seen so much excitement in the last thousand years.”

“Oh, are you enjoying it?” I was beginning to get angry at this cold and enigmatic electronic intelligence. I was a little shocked when it chuckled with appreciative laughter.

“Temper, temper, Jim. I’ve cut back in the voice feedback emotion circuits for you. I stopped using them centuries ago when I found that the true believers preferred an excathedra voice. Or are you more partial to women?” It added in a warm contralto.

“Stay male, if you please, it seems more natural some-

THE STMNIfSS STEEL MT GETS DRAPTED MS

how. Though why I should associate sex with a machine I have no idea. Does it make a difference to you?”

“Not in the slightest. You may refer to me as he, she or it. Sex is of no importance to me.”

“Well it is to us humans—and I’ll bet you miss it!”

“Nonsense. You can’t miss what you never had. Do you wake up at night yearning helplessly for photoreceptors in your fingertips?”

It was a well-made point: old Mark here was no dummy. But fascinating as the chitchat was, it was just about time I got to the point of this visit.

“Mark—1 have come here for avery important reason.”

“Undoubtedly. ”

“You’ve heard the broadcasts, you know what is happening up there. That murdering moron Zennor is going to kill ten of your faithful followers in the morning. What do you intend to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing!” I lost my temper and kicked the front of the bumished panel. “You invented Individual Mutualism and foisted it upon the galaxy. You taught the faithful and brought them here—and now you are going to stand by and watch them die?”

“Knock off the cagal, Jim,” it said warmly. “Try sticking to the truth. I published a political philosophy. People read it, got enthusiastic, applied it and liked it. They brought me here, not the other way around. I have emotions, just as you do, but I don’t let them interfere with logic and truth. So cool it, kid, and let’s get back to square one.”

I moved aside as the broom-robot rushed up again, extended a little damp mop and polished off the scuff mark on Mark’s housing that I had made with my shoe. I took a deep breath and calmed down because really, losing my temper would accomplish nothing at all.