Starblood

to the Mindlink set and to Taguster's house. The simulacrum was waiting where he had left it, hands folded demurely in its lap. That was the quickest way to delineate between the mechanical and the real man. Leonard Taguster had been a man supercharged with nervous energy, always moving, doing, looking, reading, talking, feeling. He would never have sat anywhere in such patient anticipation. Ti considered his next set of directions a moment, and then said, "Call the Harvard Detective Agency and contract one of their best investigators. Tell him an attempt was made on your life and that you want him to discover who was behind it. Tell him you want to see him tomorrow after you've compiled what information you can. Four o'clock tomorrow, tell him."
    The simulacrum followed Ti's instructions. Then it turned to Ti as the screen went blank behind it. "Anything else?"
    "Not yet You might as well go inactive." When the machine had returned to its chair, Ti used his psi talent to palm the shut-off switch beneath the loud sports coat. The thing sagged in its chair; its eyes clouded, and in a moment it seemed to be asleep.
    At four-thirty,
Enterstat
would report an unsuccessful attempt on Taguster's life and that the Harvard Agency had been hired to investigate. If Margle read the story, he would call Harvard, perhaps posing as a friend willing to pay Taguster's bill, concerned about the musician's welfare. The firm would either agree or say Mr. Taguster would have to approve. And Margle would think his man was still alive. Then, given his propensity for personal involvement, Margle just might take it upon himself to discover first-hand why the police Hound had failed in its mission. Timothy was counting on that. He waited, nervously…
    Ti had everything prepared. The movie camera was positioned back in his own house, right next to the Mindlink set, ready to be jacked in and record on film whatever transpired in the house of Leonard Taguster. If only Margle would show…
    At ten to ten, the comscreen burred.
    And burred again…
    Quickly, he activated the android. Its eyes blinked, unclouded. It stood erect and strode off to the comscreen just as naturally as if it had been awakened from a sound nap. It punched to receive the call. The big screen lighted, although no image was being received—just dazzling whiteness. The android, though, was transmitting and being received. Klaus Margle—for who else would not want his face seen on the comscreen?—was getting a full-face view of the man he had ordered destroyed and had thought dead. "Who is this?" the simulacrum asked.
    There was no reply.
    "Who is this?"
    The comscreen went dead. The other party had rung off without saying a word.
    The android returned to his chair and looked at the Mind-link receiver. "Did I act correctly under the circumstances?"
    "Yes. Yes, you did."
    "Then, would you tell me what those circumstances are? If I am to perform as well as expected, I must be thoroughly grounded in the situation."
    The simulacrum was not in the least interested in its master's death, which it surely must have grasped by now, having helped to dispose, of the corpse. It was only concerned with meeting expectations. Timothy was not sure whether a machine benefited or suffered from its lack of humanity.
    After a briefing, they sat in silence. When darkness came, they turned on the softest lights. At ten o'clock, Timothy realized he had not eaten anything all day—and that he was terribly thirsty as well. But he dared not leave the receiver to attend to the needs of his body. Margle might arrive while he was gone. At a quarter after eleven, then, they heard the first sounds of the intruder…

CHAPTER 3
    There was the crackling of wood splintering under great strain, then a sharp crash as the kitchen door was wrenched from its frame. The simulacrum rose and strode off toward the kitchen. Timothy shifted into the receiver there. The door was, indeed, bowed out of its frame, shivering as something heavy struck it again and again from the other side. Then it gave; the latch ripped loose and clattered noisily across the room. The door swung inward; the house had been breached. Beyond floated the Hound…
    At first, Timothy was confused, unable to understand why Margle would have sent the same mechanism to do what it had failed at once before. Then he understood that there must be men outside, waiting, and he felt better. Mentally he smiled as he realized that the Hound might very