Reggie blinked, turned an owlish stare on the other man, and suddenly realized that he might be in some way to blame. So he scowled, summoned his last vestige of belligerence, and snarled, "Who taught you how to drive?"

Then he passed out.

"And thou?" Cordelia asked, eyes wide with the realization of tragedy. "Didst thou, too, lose awareness?"

"I did not," Fess replied. "I am, after all, a robot, and will not lose awareness unless I sustain sufficient damage to incapacitate me."

"Yet thou wast damaged by the accident," Gregory inferred.

"I was," Fess agreed. "Before the collision, all my circuits had been in perfect operating condition—but afterward, I was removed from the wreckage, subjected to tests, and found to have a severely weakened capacitor."

" 'Tis that which doth cause thy seizures, is't not?" Geoffrey asked, wide-eyed.

"It is," Fess confirmed. "That collision was the last decision in which I was successfully able to consider a multiplicity of factors under a severe time limit. Since then, any such situation overloads the weakened capacitor and causes it to discharge. Realizing this, the robot technician built in a circuit breaker and an absorbing pad that allows the component to discharge in isolation."

Magnus frowned. "An they had not, it would have burned out others of thy components, would it not?"

"It would have," Fess agreed. "Fortunately, they anticipated the situation, and there has been no further damage."

"And what of the harm to the aircar?" Gregory asked.

"It was total," Fess answered. "I had delayed taking action too long."

"Thou hadst little choice," Magnus said, with disdain.

"On the contrary, my makers decided that I had had a great deal of latitude, but had not been able to comprehend that, within the context of the situation, I should have ignored my owner's order not to override manual control. Such a discrimination circuit was built into all later FCC robots."

"That did not aid thee greatly," said Geoffrey.

"Certes, they did have a sufficiency of cold blood!" Cordelia shuddered. "I wonder that they did not break and bury thee, sin that they were so heartless."

"Well they might have," Fess agreed, "the more so since they determined that the cost of repairing me would be too great, for they could not simply replace the capacitor, but would have had to replace the whole molecular circuit with micromanipulators, and a high probability of totally destroying my central processing unit. Certainly the operation would have cost far more than anything my owner could have gained by selling me."

"Then what did he do," asked Geoffrey, frowning, "sin that 'twas his fault entire?"

"There surely must have been some fault of mine, Geoffrey."

"Wherein?" the boy challenged. "Thou hast but now said that later robots had the discrimination thou didst lack, to enable thee to prevent it!"

"Thou dost speak without logic, Fess," Gregory agreed. "Still, I can see 'tis in accord with the program thou hast told us of."

Geoffrey looked up, nettled. "How canst thou know that, wart?"

But Magnus waved him to silence, eyes on Fess. "Then what did thine owner do with thee?"

"He never wished to see me again," Fess sighed.

"Aye," said Cordelia, "sin that 'twas thou hadst witnessed his embarrassment."

" 'Witnessed' is accurate," Fess acknowledged. "My trip log was transcribed and read out in open court to convict him of drunken driving, as a result of which, his license was suspended."

" 'License'?" Geoffrey stared. "Dost thou mean he could not drive without leave?"

"It is not allowed," Fess agreed. "There is too much chance of a driver injuring others."

"Witness the tale he hath but now told us," Magnus said scornfully. "Canst thou not hang one thought to another?"

Geoffrey reddened, but before he could say anything, Cordelia said, "He could not drive, then?"

"He could not," Fess confirmed, "and therefore had no need of a private aircar. Accordingly, he sold what was left of it—my self and circuits—to the highest bidder."

"And who was that?"

"A salvage company," Fess sighed, "which specialized in supplying replacement components at the lowest possible cost."

"Thou must needs have been a great find for them," Cordelia said quickly.

"It is good of you to seek to spare my feelings, Cordelia—but please be mindful that I have none."

The girl looked skeptical, but held her peace.

"I was junk," Fess said baldly, "and was treated as such. Certainly the matter should not occasion shame for me, when it is five hundred years in the past! Still, Cordelia is right—I was a great find for a salvage company, a most excellent piece of junk."

"Yet wast thou not distressed to find thyself sold for scrap?" Geoffrey blurted. Cordelia glared daggers at him, but Fess answered, "I cannot honestly say that I was, especially since it freed me from Reggie. The degree of reluctance his commands produced within my circuits, by opposing two separate aspects of my program, was quite disagreeable."

"But thou wast devalued, thou wast debased!"

"There is some degree of accuracy in that statement," Fess admitted. "Still, looking back on the incident from five hundred years' perspective, I cannot help but feel that gaining my freedom from Reggie was cheap at the price."

Magnus was being noble; he wasn't even asking. But Gwen could see the pinched look about his face, and took pity on him.

Geoffrey, however, was not yet old enough to be self-denying. "Mama, I'm hungry!"

"I am sure that thou art," Gwen said grimly; the effect of the boy's impatience was not improved by comparison with Magnus's self-control. "But peace, my lad—there's an inn not far from here."

And so there was—just around a bend in the road. It was a pleasant-enough-looking place, a big two-story frame structure with mullioned windows and a thatched roof. From a flagpole over the door hung a hank of greenery, bobbing in the breeze.

"The bush is green," Gwen noted.

"New ale." Rod smiled. "This may be a better lunch than I thought."

But Cordelia was staring at the animal tethered in front of the door. "Oh! The poor lamb!"

"Hast no eyes, sister?" Geoffrey scoffed. " 'Tis not a lamb, but an ass!"

"No more than thou art," Cordelia retorted. "Yet 'tis a very lamb of a donkey! Doth not thy heart go out to him?"

"Thou hast no need to answer." Gwen caught Geoffrey with his mouth open. He closed it and glowered up at her.

"Thou hast it aright, my lass," Gwen said. "The beast is woefully treated."

And indeed it was—its coat was rough and dull, with patches of mange here and there, and its ribs showed through its hide. It stretched its neck to crop what little grass grew within reach of its hitching post.

"How vile must his master be," Magnus said indignantly,

"to take his ease in the cool of an inn, and leave his beast not so much as a mound of hay!"

"He is also badly overworked," Fess noted.

The comment was an understatement—the poor little donkey was hitched to a cart dangerously overloaded with barrels of various sizes.

"Such conduct towards a poor draft animal is inexcusable!" Fess stated.

Gregory looked up at him in surprise. " 'Tis not like thee, Fess, to so judge a human."

"He's sensitive on the subject of beasts of burden, son," Rod explained.

"What kind of man could be so calloused as to mistreat his donkey thus?" Gwen wondered.

"Assuredly," said Geoffrey, "a proper villain—a fat, lazy, slovenly boor, a very brute!"

But the man who came out of the inn was neither fat nor slovenly. He was of middle height, and only a little on the plump side. He wore clean hose and jerkin, and carried his cap in his hand till he was outside the inn, chatting with the landlord, a pleasant smile on his face.