Hosato caught her before she had taken three steps.

“I’m not offering pity,” he said softly. “I’m offering me. Now, if you’re not interested, say so. But don’t blame it on your arm.”

Then she was in his arms, crying against his chest. He gently walked her down the corridor to the cabins.

What the Hungarian’s real name was, nobody knew. He used a wide array of aliases when signing various documents, and in conversation, he responded to a variety of nicknames.

Some said he broke off a brilliant career with the corporations to start his own business; others, that the corporations, stole his business away from him and he started a new one out of spite. The Hungarian had a small shop in a teeming city on a backwater planet — but his reputation was known in that part of the galaxy.

Whether he started rich or if he built his business to the point where he was wealthy was inconsequential. What mattered was the current situation, and currently he could and did pick and choose his jobs, accepting only those that were immensely expensive or particularly challenging.

Hosato had been referred to the Hungarian when searching for someone to build a fencing robot for him, and the two had become fast friends. Not that they were particularly close, for Hosato’s profession did not allow confidants. Because of that, the Hungarian’s stoic refusal to ask questions of a personal nature endeared him to Hosato more than anything else. As an example, they had known each other for five years after Suzi’s construction was complete before Hosato had hesitantly mentioned to the Hungarian that his talents included sabotage and that he would appreciate any business that could be steered his way. When this fact was formally mentioned, the Hungarian immediately produced not one, but three clients for Hosato. Apparently he had had his suspicions all along, probably from the “special construction” that went into Suzi, but had refrained from seeking clarification or confirmation until Hosato broached the subject himself.

Hosato was reluctant to face him with the news of Suzi’s demise, but he needn’t have worried. The Hungarian greeted them upon their arrival with his usual expansive welcome and was introduced to Sasha, Rick, and James without once commenting on Suzi’s absence. In fact, the subject was not even broached until later over drinks, after they had briefed the Hungarian on the events at Mc. Crae and the problem at hand.

When they had finished their tale, he sat silently puffing on his pipe for several minutes before responding.

“You know, Hosato,” he said at last, “if yon hadn’t brought along a brace of witnesses for your yarn, I’dd think this was all an elaborate excuse for losing one of the best robots I’ve ever built.”

“I know it sounds impossible—” Sasha began.

The Hungarian waved a hand of dismissal at her.

“When you’ve worked with machines as long as I have,” he declared, “you learn nothing is impossible — highly improbable, perhaps, but not impossible.”

“Can you read these?” Rick asked, eagerly producing his sheaf of papers. “It’s a copy of the last entries to the central Computer-. Monitor file,” the mechanic announced proudly. “We were hoping you might be able to tell from these what went wrong.”

“Not so fast.” The Hungarian exhaled a long stream of pipe smoke. “It’s too soon for detail. Let’s approach this problem one step at a time. First of all, what is the basic problem?”

“Come on, Tinker,” Hosato groaned. “The problem is that robots are killing people.”

“Wrong.” The Hungarian pointed his pipe stem at Hosato. “The problem is that the Mc. Crae complex is producing robots that are killing people. That makes it a problem with the computer, and not a malfunctioning of the robots themselves.”

“That’s right,” Rick asserted. “We think something went wrong with the programming when Turner, James’s father, was trying to design a new security-robot system. Probably something that bypassed the 'no-kill' base programming.”

The Hungarian shook his head. “It’s not that simple. We’re talking about an 'activity program.' That means, in addition to capacity, it needs motivation.”

It was clear that the Hungarian had risen to the bait and was rapidly becoming enmeshed in what to him was a puzzle of electronics and computer logic. Hosato was glad to see him involved, though the conversation rapidly became too complex and technical for laymen such as himself to follow.

When James got up and wandered off into the small kitchen and no one noticed, Hosato decided to follow suit. The other three were huddled over the monitor log copies and didn’t even look up as he left.

James was pouring himself a glass of pop and looked up as Hosato joined him. He brightened noticeably.

“Could you pour two more of those while you’re at it?” Hosato asked.

“Sure. No problem.”

As the boy hurried about his errand, Hosato pondered the best way to approach the subject on his mind.

“Say, James,” he said at last. “We haven’t had much time to talk since the blowup at Mc. Crae.”

“Talk about what?” James asked, passing his friend the glass of soft drink and perching on the counter.

“About your future, mostly,” Hosato responded pointedly.

“I thought that was all settled,” James replied innocently. “I’m going with you.”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it. Look, James,” Hosato began. “You don’t know anything about me or how I live. Now, I don’t know what kind of romantic notion you have in your head about the kind of person I am, but it’s not a life-style you enter into casually.”

“I’m not doing this casually,” James protested. “I asked you to take me along with you before things went bad at the complex before Dad was killed, too. Besides, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s what I mean!” Hosato pounced on the phrase.

Without realizing it, he began to pace back and forth in the cramped kitchen.

“James, there are lots of things you could do. You’re bright. You’re energetic. You’ve got guts. And you’ve got a whole lot of options before you. Don’t be stampeded into any one life just because you feel there’s no other choice. Particularly my kind of life. Now I don’t mean to sound negative on all this, but I’ve been traveling the star lanes most of my life and I’ve seen this time and time again. Men and women working at jobs they hate, their whole lives just a drone existence, all with the same story, 'I didn’t have any other choice.' Well, by God, you do have choices. Life should be a series of choices. Some lock you in, a few lock you out, and then there are others that open more doors. Making good choices demands brains, some luck, and a whole lot of guts. And most of all, it takes that something that makes us human the will to make ourselves better. James, don’t lock yourself into the first chance that you get. And that’s what this life will do. Don’t be looking back ten or fifteen years past the star lanes wishing you hadn’t committed to something you can’t get out of. James, don’t make choices like a programmed robot!”

Hosato stopped, realizing how emotional he was becoming.

“Is that why you said no the first time I asked you?” the boy prompted.

“That’s right. I’ll tell you now, I was tempted to go along with it even then. My work is lonely. To give you an idea how lonely, Suzi was my best friend until she was destroyed, covering our retreat. Do you understand what I’m saying. My best friend was a robot. That should give you an idea of how low things can get.”

“I liked Suzi,” James protested.

Hosato ignored him. “You’ve got a dozen ways you could go with your life. I’m only one of them. At this moment, I just happen to be the closest option to you. I can’t let you make your decision on that basis.” Then with a quick wink, an attempt to lighten the conversation, he added, “Listen kid, I’ve got my own dubious concept of honor, you know.”