tsy can take it now, when younger machines with less
experience can't. Maybe a micro-microwatt of signal. Then it makes her
sweat. If she was broadcastin', with a hell of a lot more'n a
micro-microwatt--it'd be bad! I bet you that every machine we make to
broadcast breaks down! I bet--"

Howell said curtly:

"Reasonable enough! A signal to pass through time as well as space would
be different from a standard wave-type! Of course that must be the
answer."

Sergeant Bellews said truculently:

"I got a hunch that whoever's broadcastin' is busting transmitters right
an' left. I never knew anything about this before, except that Betsy was
pickin' up stuff that came from nowhere. But I bet if you look over the
record-tapes you will find they got breaks where one transmitter
switched off or broke down and another took over!"

Lecky's eyes were shining. He regarded Sergeant Bellews with a sort of
tender respect.

"Sergeant Bellews," he said softly, "I like you very much. You have told
us undoubtedly true things."

"Think nothin' of it," said the sergeant, gratified. "I run the Rehab
Shop here, and I could show you things--"

"We wish you to," said Lecky. "The reaction of machines to these
broadcasts is the one viewpoint we would never have imagined. But it is
plainly important. Will you help us, Sergeant? I do not like to be
frightened--and I am!"

"Sure, I'll help," said Sergeant Bellews largely. "First thing is to
whip some stuff together so we can find out what's what. You take a few
Mahon units, and install 'em and train 'em right, and they will do
almost anything you've a mind for. But you got to treat 'em right.
Machines work by the golden rule. Always! Come along!"

* * * * *

Sergeant Bellews went to the Rehab Shop, followed only by Lecky. All
about, the sun shone down upon buildings with a remarkably temporary
look about them, and on lawns with a remarkably lush look about them,
and signboards with very black lettering on gray paint backgrounds.
There was a very small airfield inside the barbed-wire fence about the
post, and elaborate machine-shops, and rows and rows of barracks and a
canteen and a USO theatre, and a post post-office. Everything seemed
quite matter-of-fact.

Except for the machines.

They were the real reason for the existence of the post. The barracks
and married-row dwellings had washing-machines which looked very much
like other washing-machines, exce