There was no sound of striking metal.

Wonder what a setup like that costs? he mused.

"Chdrlie! There was no sound! How do they do that?"

*Tve no idea," said Render.

The gelatins were yellow again, then red, then blue,then green.

"You'd think it would damage their mechanisms,wouldn't you?"

The white robot crawled back and the other swiveledhis wrist around and around, a lighted cigarette betweenthe fingers. There was laughter as he pressed it mechanically to his lipless faceless face. The silver robot confronted him. He turned away again, dropped the cigarette,ground it out slowly, soundlessly, then suddenly turnedback to his partner. Would he throw her again? No ...

Slowly then. like the greatlegged birds of the East,they recommenced their movement, slowly, and withmany turnings away.

Something deep within Render was amused, but hewas too far gone to ask it what was funny. So he wentlooking for the Kraken in the bottom of the glass instead.

Jill was clutching his biceps then, drawing his attentionback to the floor.

As the spotlight tortured the spectrum, the black robot raised the silver one high above his head, slowly,slowly, and then commenced spinning with her in thatposition—arms outstretched, back arched, legs scissored—very slowly, at first. Then faster.

Suddenly they were whirling with an unbelievablespeed, and the gelatins rotated faster and faster.

Render shook his head to clear it.

They were moving so rapidly that they had to fall—human or robot. But they didn't. They were a mandala.They were a gray form uniformity. Render looked down.

Then slowing, and slower, slower. Stopped.

The music stopped.

Blackness followed. Applause filled it.When the lights came on again the two robots werestanding statue-like, facing the audience. Very, veryslowly, they bowed.

The applause increased.

Then they turned and were gone.

The music came on and the light was clear again. Ababble of voices arose. Render slew the Kraken.

"What d'you think of that?" she asked him, Render made his face serious and said: "Am I a mandreaming I am a robot, or a robot dreaming I am a man?"He grinned, then added: "I don't know."

She punched his shoulder gaily at that and he observed that she was drunk.

"I am not." she protested. "Not much, anyhow. Not asmuch as you."

"Still, I think you ought to see a doctor about it Likeme. Like now. Let's get out of here and go for a drive."

"Not yet, Charlie. I want to see them once more, huh?Please?"

"If I have another drink I won't be able to see thatfar."

"Then order a cup of coffee."

"Yaagh!"

"Then order a beer."

"I'll suffer without."

There were people on the dance floor now, but Render's feet felt like lead.

He lit a cigarette.

"So you had a dog talk to you today?"

"Yes. Something very disconcerting about that... .**

"Was she pretty?"

"It was a boy dog. And boy, was he uglyi"

"Silly. I mean his mistress."

"You know I never discuss cases, Jill."

"You told me about her being blind and about thedog. AH I want to know is if she's pretty."

"Well ...Yes and no." He bumped her under thetable and gestured vaguely. "Well, you know ..."

"Same thing all the way around," she told the waiterwho had appeared suddenly out of an adjacent pool ofdarkness, nodded, and vanished as abruptly.

"There go my good intentions," sighed Render. "Seehow you like being examined by a drunken sot, that'sall I can say.""You'll sober up fast, you always do. Hippocraticsand all that."

He sniffed, glanced at his watch.

"I have to be in Connecticut tomorrow. Pulling Peteout of that damned school.. .."

She sighed, already tired of the subject.

"I think you worry too much about him. Any kidcan bust an ankle. It's part of growing up. I broke mywrist when I was seven. It was an accident. It's not theschool's fault, those things sometimes happen."

"Like hell," said Render, accepting his dark drinkfrom the dark tray the dark man carried. "If they can'tdo a good job, I'll find someone who can."

She shrugged.

"You're the boss. All I know is what I read in the papers.

"—And you're still set on Davos, even though youknow you meet a better class of people at Saint Moritz?"she added.

"We're going there to ski, remember? 1 like the runsbetter at Davos."

"I can't score any tonight, can I?"

He squeezed her hand.

"You always score with me, honey."

And they drank then- drinks and smoked their cigarettes and held their hands until the people left thedance floor and filed back to their microscopic tables,and the gelatins spun round and round, tinting cloudsof smoke from hell to sunrise and back again, and thebass went whumpf Tchga-tchgaf

"Oh, Charlie! Here they come again!"

The sky was clear as crystal. The roads were clean. Thesnow bad stopped.

Jill's breathing was the breathing of a sleeper. TheS-7 raced across the bridges of the city. If Render satvery still he could convince himself that only his bodywas drunk; but whenever he moved his head the universe began to dance about him. As it did so, he imagined himself within a dream, and Shaper of it all.

For one instant this was true. He turned the big clockin the sky backward, smiling as he dozed. Another instant and he was awake again, and unsmiling.The universe had taken revenge for his presumption.For one reknown moment with the helplessness which hehad loved beyond helping, it had charged him the priceof the lake-bottom vision once again; and as he hadmoved once more toward the wreck at the bottom ofthe world—like a swimmer, as unable to speak—heheard, from somewhere high over the Earth, and filtereddown to him through the waters above the Earth, thehowl of the Fenris Wolf as it prepared to devour themoon; and as this occurred, he knew that the sound wasas like to the trump of a judgment as the lady by hisside was unlike the moon. Every bit. In all ways. And hewas afraid.

Ill

"... The plain, the direct, and the blunt. This isWinchester Cathedral," said the guidebook. "With itsfloor-to-ceiling shafts, like so many huge treetrunks,it achieves a ruthless control over its spaces: the ceilingsare flat; each bay, separated by those shafts, is itself athing of certainty and stability. It seems, indeed, to reflect something of the spirit of William the Conqueror.Its disdain of mere elaboration and its passionate dedication to the love of another world would make it seem.too, an appropriate setting for some tale out of Mallory... ."

"Observe the scalloped capitals," said the guide. "Intheir primitive fluting they anticipated what was later tobecome a common motif...."

"Faugh!" said Render—softly though, because he wasin a group inside a church.

"Shh'" said Jill (Fotlock—that was her real lastname) DeVille.

But Render was impressed as well as distressed.

Hating JiU's hobby though, had become so much of areflex with him that he would sooner have taken hisrest seated beneath an oriental device which drippedwater onto his head than to admit he occasionally enJoyed walking through the arcades and the galleries, thepassages and the tunnels, and getting ail out of breathclimbing up the high twisty stairways of towers.

So he ran his eyes over everything, burned everythingdown by shutting them, then built the place up again outof the still smouldering ashes of memory, all so that at alater date he would be able to repeat the performance,offering the vision to his one patient who could see onlyin this manner. This building he disliked less than most.Yes, he would take it back to her.

The camera in his mind photographing the surroundings, Render walked with the others, overcoat over hisarm, his fingers anxious to reach after a cigarette. Hekept busy ignoring his guide, realizing this to be thenadir of all forms of human protest. As he walkedthrough Winchester he thought of his last two sessionswith Eileen Shallot. He recalled his almost unwillingAdam-attitude as he had named all the animals passingbefore them, led of course by the one she had wanted tosee, colored fearsome by his own unease. He had feltpleasantly bucolic after boning up on an old Botanytext and then proceeding to Shape and name the flowersof the fields.