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“I do not sleep at all,” said Lecky simply. “Because it says that two-way communication is to come. I can listen to these broadcasts tranquilly, but I cannot bear the thought of answering them. That seems to me madness!”

Sergeant Bellews said approvingly:

“You got something there! Yes, sir! Did you notice how Betsy’s standby light was wabbling while she was bringin’ in that broadcast? If she could sweat, she’d’ve been sweating!”

Lecky turned his head to stare at the sergeant.

“Machines,” said Bellews profoundly, “act according to the golden rule. They do unto you as they would have you do unto them. You treat a machine right and it treats you right. You treat it wrong and it busts itself–still tryin’ to treat you right. See?”

Lecky blinked.

“I do not quite see how it applies,” he said mildly.

“Betsy’s an old, experienced machine,” said the sergeant. “A signal that makes her sweat like that has got something wrong about it. Any ordinary machine ‘ud break down handlin’ it.”

Graves said jerkily:

“The other machines that received these broadcasts did break down, Sergeant. All of them.”

“Sure!” said the sergeant with dignity. “O’ course, who’s broadcastin’ may have been tinkerin’ with their signal since they seen it wasn’t gettin’ through. Betsy can take it now, when younger machines with less experience can’t. Maybe a micro-microwatt of signal. Then it makes her sweat. If she was broadcastin’, with a hell of a lot more’n a micro-microwatt–it’d be bad! I bet you that every machine we make to broadcast breaks down! I bet–“

Howell said curtly:

“Reasonable enough! A signal to pass through time as well as space would be different from a standard wave-type! Of course that must be the answer.”

Sergeant Bellews said truculently:

“I got a hunch that whoever’s broadcastin’ is busting transmitters right an’ left. I never knew anything about this before, except that Betsy was pickin’ up stuff that came from nowhere. But I bet if you look over the record-tapes you will find they got breaks where one transmitter switched off or broke down and another took over!”

Lecky’s eyes were shining. He regarded Sergeant Bellews with a sort of tender respect.

“Sergeant Bellews,” he said softly, “I like you very much. You have told us undoubtedly true things.”

“Think nothin’ of it,” said the sergeant, gratified. “I run the Rehab Shop here, and I could show you things–“

“We wish you to,” said Lecky. “The reaction of machines to these broadcasts is the one viewpoint we would never have imagined. But it is plainly important. Will you help us, Sergeant? I do not like to be frightened–and I am!”

“Sure, I’ll help,” said Sergeant Bellews largely. “First thing is to whip some stuff together so we can find out what’s what. You take a few Mahon units, and install ’em and train ’em right, and they will do almost anything you’ve a mind for. But you got to treat ’em right. Machines work by the golden rule. Always! Come along!”

* * * * *

Sergeant Bellews went to the Rehab Shop, followed only by Lecky. All about, the sun shone down upon buildings with a remarkably temporary look about them, and on lawns with a remarkably lush look about them, and signboards with very black lettering on gray paint backgrounds. There was a very small airfield inside the barbed-wire fence about the post, and elaborate machine-shops, and rows and rows of barracks and a canteen and a USO theatre, and a post post-office. Everything seemed quite matter-of-fact.

Except for the machines.

They were the real reason for the existence of the post. The barracks and married-row dwellings had washing-machines which looked very much like other washing-machines, except that they had standby lights which flickered meditatively when they weren’t being used.

* * * * *