"Quickly now, let us depart, mighty Frost," he said.

"What has happened?"

Mordel entered the compartment.

"I called upon Divcom, who laid down a field of forces upon this place,cutting off the power broadcast to these machines. Since our power isself-contained, we are not affected. But let us hurry to depart, foreven now the Beta-Machine must be struggling against this."

Frost rose high into the air, soaring above Man's last city with itswebs and spiders of steel. When he left the zone of darkness, he spednorthward.

As he moved, Solcom spoke to him:

"Frost, why did you enter the southern hemisphere, which is not yourdomain?"

"Because I wished to visit Bright Defile," Frost replied.

"And why did you defy the Beta-Machine my appointed agent of the South?"

"Because I take my orders only from you yourself."

"You do not make sufficient answer," said Solcom.

"You have defied the decress of order - and in pursuit of what?"

"I came seeking knowledge of Man," said Frost. "Nothing I have donewas forbidden me by you."

"You have broken the traditions of order."

"I ahve violated no directive."

"Yet logic must have shown you that what you did was not a part of myplan."

"It did not. I have not acted against your plan."

"Your logic has become tainted, like that of your new associate, theAlternate."

"I have done nothing which was forbidden."

"The forbidden is implied in the imperative."

"It is not stated."

"Hear me, Frost. You are not a builder or a maintainer, but a Power.Among all my minions you are the most nearly irreplaceable. Return toyour hemisphere and your duties, but know that I am mightily displeased."

"I hear you, Solcom."

"...And go not again to the South."

Frost crossed the equator, continued northward.

He came to rest in the middle of a desert and sat silent for a day anda night.

Then he received a brief transmission from the South: "If it had notbeen ordered, I would not have bid you go."

Frost had read the entire surviving Library of Man. He decided thenupon a human reply:

"Thank you," he said.

THe following day he unearthed a great stone and began to cut at itwith tools which he had formulated. For six days he worked at itsshaping, and on the seventh he regarded it.

"When will you release me?" asked Mordel from within his compartment.

"When I am ready," said Frost, and a little later, "Now."

He opened the compartment and Mordel descended to the ground. Hestudied the statue: an old woman, bent like a question mark, her bonyhands covering her face, the fingers spread, so that only part of herexpression of horror could be seen.

"It is an excellent copy," said Mordel, "of the one we saw in BrightDefile. Why did you make it?"

"The production of a work of art is supposed to give rise to humanfeelings such as catharsis, pride in achivement, love, satisfaction."

"Yes, Frost," said Mordel, "but a work of art is only a work of art thefirst time. After that, it is a copy."

"Then this must be why I felt nothing."

"Perhaps, Frost."

"What do you mean 'perhaps'? I will make a work of art for the firsttime, then."

He unearthed another stone and attacked it with his toold. For threedays he labored. Then, "There, it is finished," he said.

"It is a simple cube of stone," said Mordel. "What does it represent?"

"Myself," said Frost, "it is a statue of me. It is smaller thannatural size because it is only a representation of my form, not my dimen -"

"It is not art," said Mordel.

"What makes you an art critic?"

"I do not know art, but I know what art is not. I know that it is notan exact replication of an object in another medium."

"Then this must be why I felt nothing at all," said Frost.

"Perhaps," said Mordel.

Frost took Mordel back into his compartment and rose once more abovethe Earth. Then he rushed away, leaving his statues behind him in thedesert, the old woman bent above the cube.

They came down in a small valley, bounded by green rolling hills, cutby a narrow stream, and holding a small clean lake and several stands ofspring-green trees.

"Why have we come here?" asked Mordel.

"Because the surroundings are congenial," said Frost. "I am going totry another medium: oil painting; and I am going to vary my techniquefrom that of pure representationalism."

"How will you achieve this variation?"

"By the principle of randomizing," said Frost. "I shall not attempt toduplicate the colors, nor to represent the objects according to scale.Instead, I have set up a random pattern whereby certain of these factorsshall be at variance from those of the original."

Frost had formulated the necessary instruments after he had left thedesert. He produced them and began painting the lake and the trees onthe opposite side of the lake which were reflected within it.

Using eight appendages, he was finished in less than two hours.

The trees were phthalocyanine blue and towered like mountains; theirreflections of burnt sienna were tiny beneath the pale vermilion of thelake; the hills were nowhere visible behind them, but were outlined inviridian within the reflection; the sky began as blue in the upperrighthand corner of the canvas, but changed to an orange as it descended,as though all the trees were on fire.

"There," said Frost. "Behold."

Mordel studied it for a long while and said nothing.

"Well, is it art?"

"I do not know," said Mordel. "It may be. Perhaps randomicity _is_the principle behind artistic technique. I cannot judge this workbecause I do not understand it. I must therefore go deeper, and inquireinto what lies behind it, rather than merely considering the techniquewhereby it was produced.

"I know that human artists never set out to create art, as such," hesaid, "but rather to portray with their techniquest some features ofobjects and their functions which they deemed significant."

"'Significant'? In what sense of the word?"

"In the only sense of the word possible under the circumstances:significant in relation to the human condition, and worth of accentuationbecause of the manner in which they touched upon it."

"In what manner?"

"Obviously, it must be in a manner knowable only to one who hasexperience of the human condition."

"There is a flaw somewhere in your logic, Mordel, and I shall find it."

"I will wait."

"If your major premise is correct," said Frost after awhile, "then I donot comprehend art."

"It must be correct, for it is what human artists have said of it.Tell me, did you experience feelings as you painted, or after you hadfinished?"

"No."

"It was the same to you as designing a new machine, was it not? Youassembled parts of other things you knew into an economic pattern, tocarry out a function which you desired."

"Yes."

"Art, as I understand its theory, did not proceed in such a manner.The artist often was unaware of many of the features and effects whichwould be contained within the finished product. You are one of Man'slogical creations; art was not."

"I cannot comprehend non-logic."

"I told you that Man was basically incomprehensible."

"Go away, Mordel. Your presence disturbs my processing."

"For how long shall I stay away?"

"I will call you when I want you."

After a week, Frost called Mordel to him.

"Yes, mighty Frost?"

"I am returning to the North Pole, to process and formulate. I willtake you wherever you wish to go in this hemisphere and call you againwhen I want you."

"You anticipate a somewhat lengthy period of processing and formulation?"

"Yes."

"Then leave me here. I can find my own way home."