The doorbell chimed and Sutton, startled, scooped up the letter and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat.
"Come in," he called.
It was Herkimer.
"Good morning, sir," he said.
Sutton glared at him. "What do you want?" he asked.
"I belong to you," Herkimer told him, blandly. "I'm part of your third of Benton's property."
"My third…" and then he remembered.
It was the law. Whoever kills another in a duel inherits one third of the dead man's property. That was the law…a law he had forgotten.
"I hope you don't object," said Herkimer. "I am easy to get along with and very quick to learn and I like to work. I can cook and sew and run errands and I can read and write."
"And put the finger on me."
"Oh, no, I never would do that."
"Why not?"
"Because you are my master."
"We'll see," said Sutton, sourly.
"But I'm not all," said Herkimer. "There are other things. There's an asteroid, a hunting asteroid stocked with the finest game, and a spaceship. A small one, it's true, but very serviceable. There is several thousand dollars and an estate out on the west coast and some wildcat planetary development stock and a number of other small things, too numerous to mention."
Herkimer dipped into his pocket and brought out a notebook.
"I have them written out if you would care to listen."
"Not now," said Sutton. "I have work to do."
Herkimer brightened.
"Something I could do, no doubt. Something I could help with."
"Nothing," said Sutton. "I am going to see Adams."
"I could carry your case. That one over there."
"I'm not taking the case."
"But, sir…"
"You sit down and fold your hands and wait until I get back."
"I'll get into mischief," the android warned. "I just know I will."
"All right, then. There is something you can do. That case you mentioned. You can watch it."
"Yes, sir," said Herkimer, plainly disappointed.
"And don't waste your time trying to read what's in it," said Sutton. "You won't be able to."
"Oh," said Herkimer, still more disappointed.
"There's another thing. A girl by the name of Eva Armour lives in this hotel. Know anything about her?"
Herkimer shook his head. "But I have a cousin…"
"A cousin?"
"Sure. A cousin. She was made in the same laboratory as I and that makes her my cousin."
"You have a lot of cousins, then."
"Yes," said Herkimer, "I have many thousand. And we stick together. Which," he said, very sanctimoniously, "is the way it should be with families."
"You think this cousin might know someting?"
Herkimer nodded. "She works in the hotel. She can tell me something."
He picked up a leaflet off a stack that was on a table.
"I see, sir," he said, "that they got to you."
"What are you talking about?" Sutton demanded angrily.
"The Equality Leaguers," said Herkimer. "They lie in wait for anyone who might have some importance. They have a petition."
"Yes," said Sutton, "they did say something about a petition. Wanted me to sign it."
"And you didn't, sir?"
"No," said Sutton, shortly.
He stared at Herkimer. "You're an android," he said, bluntly. "I would expect you to be sympathetic with them."
"Sir," said Herkimer, "they may mean all right, but they go about it wrong. They ask for charity for us, pity for us. We do not want charity and pity."
"What do you want?"
"Acceptance as human equals," said Herkimer, "but acceptance on our merits, not by special dispensation, not by human tolerance."
"I understand," said Sutton. "I think I understood when they caught me in the lobby. Without being able to put it into words…"
"It's this way, sir," said Herkimer. "The human race has made us. That is the thing that rankles. They made us with exactly the same spirit that a farmer breeds his cattle. They make us for a purpose and use us for that purpose. They may be kind to us, but there's pity back of kindness. They do not allow us to stand on our own abilities. We have no inherent claim, are allowed no inherent claim, to the basic rights of mankind. We…"
He paused and the glitter in his eyes turned off and his face smoothed out.
"I bore you, sir," he said.
Sutton spoke sharply. "I'm your friend in this matter, Herkimer. Don't forget that for a moment. I am your friend and I proved it in advance by not signing that petition."
He stood staring at the android. Impudent and sly, he thought. And that's the way we've made them. That is the mark of slavery that goes with the mark upon the forehead.
"You may rest assured," he told Herkimer, "that I have no pity for you."
"Thank you, sir," said Herkimer. "Thank you for all of us."
Sutton turned to the door.
"You are to be congratulated, sir," said Herkimer. "You gave a very good account of yourself last night."
Sutton turned back to the room.
"Benton missed," he said. "I couldn't help but kill him."
Herkimer nodded. "But it isn't only that, sir. This happens to be the first time I ever heard of a man being killed by a bullet in the arm."
"In the arm!"
"Precisely, sir. The bullet smashed his arm, but it didn't touch him otherwise."
"He was dead, wasn't he?"
"Oh, yes," said Herkimer. "Very, very dead."
XIII
Adams thumbed the lighter and waited for the flame to steady. His eyes were fixed on Sutton and there was no softness in them, but there was softness and irritability and a certain faint unsureness in the man himself, hidden well, but there.
That staring, Sutton told himself, is an old trick of his. He glares at you and keeps his face frozen like a sphinx and if you aren't used to him and on to all his tricks, he'll have you thinking that he is God Almighty.
But he doesn't do the glaring quite as well as he used to do it. There's strain in him now and there was no strain in him twenty years ago. Just hardness, then. Granite, and now the granite is beginning to weather.
There's something on his mind. There's something that isn't going well.
Adams passed the lighter flame over the loaded bowl of his pipe, back and forth deliberately, taking his time, making Sutton wait.
"You know, of course," said Sutton, speaking quietly, "that I can't be frank with you."
The lighter flame snapped off and Adams straightened in his chair.
"Eh?" he asked.
Sutton hugged himself. Caught him off base. Threw him for a loss. A passed pawn, he told himself. That's what it is…a passed pawn.
He said aloud, "You know by now, of course, that I flew home a ship that could not be flown. You know I had no space-suit and that the ports were broken and the hull was riddled. I had no food and water and 61 is eleven light-years away."
Adams nodded bleakly. "Yes, we know all that."
"How I got back or what happened to me has nothing to do with my report and I don't intend to tell you."
Adams rumbled at him, "Then why mention it at all?"
"Just so we'll understand one another," Sutton said. "So that you won't ask a lot of questions that will get no answer. It will save a lot of time."
Adams leaned back in his chair and puffed his pipe contentedly.
"You were sent out to get information, Ash," he reminded Sutton. "Any kind of information. Anything that would make Cygni more understandable. You represented Earth and you were paid by Earth and you surely owe Earth something."
"I owe Cygni something, too," said Sutton. "I owe Cygni my life. My ship crashed and I was killed."
Adams nodded, almost sleepily.
"Yes, that is what Clark said. That you were killed."