k and looked around for my clothes. Funny, they
weren't laid out on the bed as usual. It wasn't a bit like Rob O to be
careless, either. He had always been an ideal valet, the best
household model I'd ever owned.

"Rob!" I called, but he didn't answer.

By rummaging through the closet I found a clean shirt and a pair of
pants. I had to give up on the socks; apparently they were tucked away
in the back of some drawer. As for where Rob kept the rest of my
clothes, I'd never bothered to ask. He had his own housekeeping system
and had always worked very well without human interference. That's the
best thing about these new household robots, I thought. They're
efficient, hard-working, trustworthy--

Trustworthy? Rob O was certainly not on duty. I pulled a shoe on over
my bare foot and scowled. Rob was gone. And the androids at the
factory were gone too....

My head was pounding, so I took the time out to brew a pot of coffee
while I finished dressing--at least the coffee can was in plain view
in the kitchen. The brew was black and hot and I suppose not very well
made, but after two cups I felt better. The throb in my head settled
down into a dull ache, and I felt a little more capable of thinking.
Though I didn't have any bright ideas on what had happened--not yet.

My breakfast drunk, I went up on the roof and opened the garage doors.
The Copter was waiting for me, sleek and new; the latest model. I
climbed in and took off, heading west toward the factory, ten minutes
flight-time away.

* * * * *

It was a small plant, but it was all mine. It had been my baby right
along--the Don Morrison Fissionables Inc. I'd designed the androids
myself, plotted out the pile locations, set up the simplified
reactors. And now it was making money. For men to work in a uranium
plant you need yards of shielding, triple-checking, long cooling-off
periods for some of the hotter products. But with lead-bodied,
radio-remote controlled androids, it's easier. And with androids like
the new Morrison 5's, that can reason--at least along atomic
lines--well, I guess I was on my way to becoming a millionaire.

But this morning the plant was shut down. Jack and a half dozen other
men--my human foremen and supervisors--were huddled in a worried bunch
that broke up as soon as they saw me.

"I'm sure glad you're here, Don," Jack said.

"Find out anything?"

"Yeah. Plenty. Our androids are busy, all right. They're