corner, pointing back. So that was the next
trick! Helpful, hinting.... He saw another, showing the way home.

He grew angry. _It'll be a battle of nerves. They'll get nicer and nicer
to me, until I can't stand it any more._

He concentrated on the lights, watching them pass one by one. That
helped.

"Please note your return route."

He wondered if they had missed him at the party.

"There is an autocar at your service."

They would be preparing to eat the midnight meal, now, he remembered.
The foodmakers would emerge from the kitchens and steal the show in
their performance of taste appeal, warm odors, rare dishes....

"You are heading due west, on Street 751 West, at a speed of three and
six tenths miles per hour."

It seemed cold. The mechanoids did not have thermostat stations, for
they did not need them. He shivered slightly.

"You are now two miles from zone. The time is eleven-forty-five p.m."

_The lights. Watch the lights._

"Please submit any request for information here."

He was panting, and his legs felt weak.

"There is an autocar...."

It was useless. Shutting his eyes tight, he stopped.

"All right. Let's go."

* * * * *

"Good evening," said Mr. Third.

Sethos seated himself in a contour chair in the center of the softly
lighted office. From behind a curving desk, the brain of a slender metal
cylinder observed the young man before it, checked by radio with five
Mr. Tenths in the space of three and one fifth seconds as to the
incident's details. Then Mr. Third folded his plastic arms and studied
the short brown hair and dark eyes, the lean face and straight nose.
Human features always fascinated him.

"I'm the human coordinator, Sethos. You know why you're here, don't
you?"

Sethos nodded.

"Everyone learns that sometime," Mr. Third remarked. "In a certain
number of births there is a percentage who are of higher intelligence.
These are the restless ones whom we cannot discourage developmentally as
easily as the others. They usually have to request therapy to adjust. So
your case is not new."

Sethos lit a cigarette. He knew the story, but coming from a third level
prime mechanoid it was all the more impressive.

"All right, I'm inquisitive. Why must we have therapy? Why do we have to
stay in our zone?"

Mr. Third paused. He recognized challenge in the young man before him,
and tried to estimate his will power.

"Did you know that there was