d you more than that. Where do these--these
androids come from?"

"He didn't tell us any more than he had to, but I got the idea they
think they're from outer space."

Rhoda laughed. "I never heard such foolishness in my life." She stopped
laughing abruptly. "Who's _us_?"

"What?"

"You said, 'He didn't tell _us_ any more than he had to ...' Who was
with you?"

"Oh. Les King. You don't know him."

She seemed satisfied with the information and probed no farther.

He drew her close and looked very seriously into her eyes. "You have
changed, Rhoda. What's got into you?"

She put her lips to his and whispered, "Is this changed?" She ran one
hand softly and seductively down his body. "Or that?"

He took her in his arms. "No, baby, that hasn't changed. I guess I was
wrong."

And as she kissed him, she saw the oddly expressionless face, the cold
empty eyes--of John Dennis.

And she was afraid.

* * * * *

Something in the mind that had been given him--the synthetic duplicate
of what had once been a part of Sam Baker--told the tenth android that
women were attractive. For just what reason, he could not tell. There
was nothing in his practical working structure that had any need of
women. Still, the attraction was there in the memory patterns that had
been transferred.

There were other attractions just as puzzling to him. He had vague
memories of people with whom he felt no affinity except as vaguely
nostalgic memories--Sam Baker's mother, his father, the blurred faces of
friends he had known. And, at times, there were faint tinges of the
terror Sam had known that night when a quick light flashed down from
nowhere and he was abducted into a world too strange and terrible to be
real. Yet it _had_ been real.

There were no birth memories in the android, but there were the vestiges
of Sam's death memories: the endless torture under a machine so
sensitive that, while it had no definition of a woman, it was able to
discern--in the names thefted from Sam's memory and used as names for
the ten androids--those which applied to males and those that did not.

But of all these traces of memories, those concerning women nagged the
android most. And now, as it turned his empty gaze on Rhoda Kane, it was
with a little more personal interest than before.

"What did Frank Corson tell you?"

"He said the man in the hospital with a broken leg was not a man. He was
an android."

The term,