k.

He watched the minor drama as it unfolded, and what was somewhat akin to
a danger bell went off in his mind when he saw a bright flash, traced
its source to a camera, and carefully studied the man who had taken the
picture. Pictures, he knew, could be dangerous. He must get his hands on
the picture, if possible.

He waited. He observed. He evaluated. The situation had gotten somewhat
out of his control, but he did not blame himself for this. Certain
emotions had been made a part of his being, but guilt, a useless one,
had been omitted, as had been any ability to react to love, compassion,
anger or hatred.

So, with no hope of reward or fear of punishment, he had recorded the
facts that he had been unable to communicate telepathically with eight
of the units under his command and that, therefore, they were no longer
operational. He had no way of knowing what had happened to them. This,
however, did not make his work one bit less vital. Even though eight
units were unaccounted for, his intelligent handling of the ninth
android, and of himself, was still vitally important. It was up to him
to see that the project was brought to a successful conclusion.

He watched as the ambulance came, noted the name of the hospital, and
recorded the proceedings. But he allowed the ambulance to drive away,
keeping his attention pointed at the man who had taken the picture.

When the man moved off down the street, the tenth android followed. When
the man entered Central Park, he was observed from a discreet distance.
When he came out again, he was followed into Times Square, down into
Greenwich Village, back uptown and, finally, to an apartment building in
the West Seventies. There he was observed opening a mailbox, and the
name thereon was duly recorded.

At this point, temporarily entrusting King to destiny, the tenth android
took a taxicab to the Park Hill Hospital where he entered, went to the
desk, and inquired about a friend of his, a William Matson.

He was directed to Emergency where a nurse, after checking a record
sheet on her piled-up desk, told him that Doctor Corson was with the
patient in Ward Five. Unaware that he had been extremely lucky, that
very few real people--people with only one heart, and a soul to go with
it--would have gotten such specific information out of a receiving-desk
nurse, the tenth android began counting wards until he came to the one
marked Five.

He looked in through the small window in th