Gallegher did. The office was a honey, functional and luxurious at the same time. Three-dimensional stills were in niches along the walls—Vox-View's biggest stars. A small, excited, pretty brunette was sitting behind the desk, and a blond angel was standing furiously on the other side of it. Gallegher recognized the angel as Silver O'Keefe.

  He seized the opportunity. "Hiya, Miss O'Keefe. Will you autograph an ice cube for me? In a highball?"

  Silver looked feline. "Sorry, darling, but I'm a working girl. And I'm busy right now."

  The brunette scratched a cigarette. "Let's settle this later, Silver. Pop said to see this guy if he dropped in. It's important."

  "It'll be settled," Silver said. "And soon." She made an exit. Gallegher whistled thoughtfully at the closed door.

  "You can't have it," the brunette said. "It's under contract. And it wants to get out of the contract, so it can sign up with Sonatone. Rats desert a sinking ship. Silver's been kicking her head off ever since she read the storm signals."

  "Yeah?"

  "Sit down and smoke or something. I'm Patsy Brock. Pop runs this business, and I manage the controls whenever he blows his top. The old goat can't stand trouble. He takes it as a personal affront."

  Gallegher found a chair. "So Silver's trying to renege, eh? How many others?"

  "Not many. Most of 'em are loyal. But, of course, if we bust up—" Patsy Brock shrugged. "They'll either work for Sonatone for their cakes, or else do without."

  "Uh-huh. Well—I want to see your technicians. I want to look over the ideas they've worked out for enlarger screens."

  "Suit yourself," Patsy said. "It's not much use. You just can't make a televisor enlarger without infringing on some Sonatone patent."

  She pushed a button, murmured something into a visor, and presently two tall glasses appeared through a slot in the desk. "Mr. Gallegher?"

  "Well, since it's a Collins—"

  "I could tell by your breath," Patsy said enigmatically. "Pop told me he'd seen you. He seemed a bit upset, especially by your new robot. What is it like, anyway?"

  "Oh, I don't know," Gallegher said, at a loss. "It's got lots of abilities—new senses, I think—but I haven't the slightest idea what it's good for. Except admiring itself in a mirror."

  Patsy nodded. "I'd like to see it sometime. But about this Sonatone business. Do you think you can figure out an answer?"

  "Possibly. Probably."

  "Not certainly?"

  "Certainly, then. Of that there is no manner of doubt—no possible doubt whatever."

  "Because it's important to me. The man who owns Sonatone is Elia Tone. A piratical skunk. He blusters. He's got a son named Jimmy. And Jimmy, believe it or not, has read 'Romeo and Juliet.' "

  "Nice guy?"

  "A louse. A big, brawny louse. He wants me to marry him."

  " 'Two families, both alike in—' "

  "Spare me," Patsy interrupted. "I always thought Romeo was a dope, anyway. And if I ever thought I was going aisling with Jimmy Tone, I'd buy a one-way ticket to the nut hatch. No, Mr. Gallegher, it's not like that. No hibiscus blossoms. Jimmy has proposed to me—his idea of a proposal, by the way, is to get a half Nelson on a girl and tell her how lucky she is."

  "Ah," said Gallegher, diving into his Collins.

  "This whole idea—the patent monopoly and the bootleg theaters—is Jimmy's. I'm sure of that. His father's in on it, too, of course, but Jimmy Tone is the bright little boy who started it."

  "Why?"

  "Two birds with one stone. Sonatone will have a monopoly on the business, and Jimmy thinks he'll get me. He's a little mad. He can't believe I'm in earnest in refusing him, and he expects me to break down and say 'Yes' after a while. Which I won't, no matter what happens. But it's a personal matter. I can't let him put this trick over on us. I want that self-sufficient smirk wiped off his face."

  "You just don't like him, eh?" Gallegher remarked. "I don't blame you, if he's like that. Well, I'll do my damnedest. However, I'll need an expense account."

  "How much?"

  Gallegher named a sum. Patsy styloed a check for a far smaller amount. The scientist looked hurt.

  "It's no use," Patsy said, grinning crookedly. "I've heard of you, Mr. Gallegher. You're completely irresponsible. If you had more than this, you'd figure you didn't need any more, and you'd forget the whole matter. I'll issue more checks to you when you need 'em—but I'll want itemized expense accounts."

  "You wrong me," Gallegher said, brightening. "I was figuring on taking you to a night club. Naturally I don't want to take you to a dive. The big places cost money. Now if you'll just write another check—"

  Patsy laughed. "No."

  "Want to buy a robot?"

  "Not that kind, anyway."

  "Then I'm washed up," Gallegher sighed. "Well, what about—"

  At this point the visor hummed. A blank, transparent face grew on the screen. Gears were clicking rapidly inside the round head. Patsy gave a small shriek and shrank back.

  "Tell Gallegher Joe's here, you lucky girl," a squeaky voice announced. "You may treasure the sound and sight of me till your dying day. One touch of beauty in a world of drabness—"

  Gallegher circled the desk and looked at the screen. "What the hell. How did you come to life?"

  "I had a problem to solve."

  "How'd you know where to reach me?"

  "I vastened you," the robot said.

  "What?"

  "I vastened you were at the Vox-View studios, with Patsy Brock."

  "What's vastened?" Gallegher wanted to know.

  "It's a sense I've got. You've nothing remotely like it, so I can't describe it to you. It's like a combination of sagrazi and prescience."

  "Sagrazi?"

  "Oh, you don't have sagrazi, either, do you. Well, don't waste my time. I want to go back to the mirror."

  "Does he always talk like that?" Patsy put in.

  "Nearly always. Sometimes it makes even less sense. O.K., Joe. Now what?"

  "You're not working for Brock any more," the robot said. "You're working for the Sonatone people."

  Gallegher breathed deeply. "Keep talking. You're crazy, though."

  "I don't like Kennicott. He annoys me. He's too ugly. His vibrations grate on my sagrazi."

  "Never mind him," Gallegher said, not wishing to discuss his diamond-buying activities before the girl. "Get back to—"

  "But I knew Kennicott would keep coming back till he got his money. So when Elia and James Tone came to the laboratory, I got a check from them."

  Patsy's hand gripped Gallegher's biceps. "Steady! What's going on here? The old double cross?"

  "No. Wait. Let me get to the bottom of this. Joe, damn your transparent hide, just what did you do? How could you get a check from the Tones?"

  "I pretended to be you."

  "Sure," Gallegher said with savage sarcasm. "That explains it. We're twins. We look exactly alike."

  "I hypnotized them," Joe explained. "I made them think I was you."

  "You can do that?"

  "Yes. It surprised me a bit. Still, if I'd thought, I'd have vastened I could do it."

  "You ... yeah, sure. I'd have vastened the same thing myself. What happened?"

  "The Tones must have suspected Brock would ask you to help him. They offered an exclusive contract—you work for them and nobody else. Lots of money. Well, I pretended to be you, and said all right. So I signed the contract—it's your signature, by the way—and got a check from them and mailed it to Kennicott."

  "The whole check?" Gallegher asked feebly. "How much was it?"

  "Twelve thousand."

  "They only offered me that?"

  "No," the robot said, "they offered a hundred thousand, and two thousand a week for five years. But I merely wanted enough to pay Kennicott and make sure he wouldn't come back and bother me. The Tones were satisfied when I said twelve thousand would be enough."

  Gallegher made an inarticulate, gurgling sound deep in his throat. Joe nodded thoughtfully.

  "I thought I had better notify you that you're working for Sonatone now. Well, I'll go back to the mirror and sing to myself."

  "Wait," the scientist said. "Just wait, Joe. With my own two hands I'm going to rip you gear from gear and stamp on your fragments."

  "It won't hold in court," Patsy said, gulping.

  "It will," Joe told her cheerily. "You may have one last, satisfying look at me, and then I must go." He went.

  -

  Gallegher drained his Collins at a draft. "I'm shocked sober," he informed the girl. "What did I put into that robot? What abnormal senses has he got? Hypnotizing people into believing he's me—I'm him—I don't know what I mean."

  "Is this a gag?" Patsy said shortly, after a pause. "You didn't sign up with Sonatone yourself, by any chance, and have your robot call up here to give you an out—an alibi? I'm just wondering."

  "Don't. Joe signed a contract with Sonatone, not me. But—figure it out: If the signature's a perfect copy of mine, if Joe hypnotized the Tones into thinking they saw me instead of him, if there are witnesses to the signature—the two Tones are witnesses, of course—Oh, hell."

  Patsy's eyes were narrowed. "We'll pay you as much as Sonatone offered. On a contingent basis. But you're working for Vox-View—that's understood."

  "Sure."

  Gallegher looked longingly at his empty glass. Sure. He was working for Vox-View. But, to all legal appearances, he had signed a contract giving his exclusive services to Sonatone for a period of five years—and for a sum of twelve thousand! Yipe! What was it they'd offered? A hundred thousand flat, and ... and—

  It wasn't the principle of the thing, it was the money. Now Gallegher was sewed up tighter than a banded pigeon. If Sonatone could win a court suit, he was legally bound to them for five years. With no further emolument. He had to get out of that contract, somehow—and at the same time solve Brock's problem.

  Why not Joe? The robot, with his surprising talents, had got Gallegher into this spot. He ought to be able to get the scientist out. He'd better—or the proud robot would soon be admiring himself piecemeal.

  "That's it," Gallegher said under his breath. "I'll talk to Joe. Patsy, feed me liquor in a hurry and send me to the technical department. I want to see those blueprints."

  The girl looked at him suspiciously. "All right. If you try to sell us out—"

  "I've been sold out myself. Sold down the river. I'm afraid of that robot. He's vastened me into quite a spot. That's right, Collinses." Gallegher drank long and deeply.

  After that, Patsy took him to the tech offices. The reading of three-dimensional blueprints was facilitated with a scanner—a selective device which eliminated confusion. Gallegher studied the plans long and thoughtfully. There were copies of the patent Sonatone prints, too, and, as far as he could tell, Sonatone had covered the ground beautifully. There weren't any outs. Unless one used an entirely new principle—

  But new principles couldn't be plucked out of the air. Nor would that solve the problem completely. Even if Vox-View owned a new type of enlarger that didn't infringe on Sonatone's Magna, the bootleg theaters would still be in existence, pulling the trade. a. a.—audience appeal—was a prime factor now. It had to be considered. The puzzle wasn't a purely scientific one. There was the human equation as well.

  Gallegher stored the necessary information in his mind, neatly indexed on shelves. Later he'd use what he wanted. For the moment, he was completely baffled. Something worried him.

  What?

  The Sonatone affair.

  "I want to get in touch with the Tones," he told Patsy. "Any ideas?"

  "I can reach 'em on a visor."

  Gallegher shook his head. "Psychological handicap. It's too easy to break the connection."

  "Well, if you're in a hurry, you'll probably find the boys night clubbing. I'll go see what I can find out." Patsy scuttled off, and Silver O'Keefe appeared from behind a screen.

  "I'm shameless," she announced. "I always listen at keyholes. Sometimes I hear interesting things. If you want to see the Tones, they're at the Castle Club. And I think I'll take you up on that drink."

  Gallegher said, "O.K. You get a taxi. I'll tell Patsy we're going."

  "She'll hate that," Silver remarked. "Meet you outside the commissary in ten minutes. Get a shave while you're at it."

  -

  Patsy Brock wasn't in her office, but Gallegher left word. After that, he visited the service lounge, smeared invisible shave cream on his face, left it there for a couple of minutes, and wiped it off with a treated towel. The bristles came away with the cream. Slightly refreshed, Gallegher joined Silver at the rendezvous and hailed an air-taxi. Presently they were leaning back on the cushions, puffing cigarettes and eying each other warily.

  "Well?" Gallegher said.

  "Jimmy Tone tried to date me up tonight. That's how I knew where to find him."

  "Well?"

  "I've been asking questions around the lot tonight. It's unusual for an outsider to get into the Vox-View administration offices. I went around saying, 'Who's Gallegher?' "

  "What did you find out?"

  "Enough to give me a few ideas. Brock hired you, eh? I can guess why."

  "Ergo what?"

  "I've a habit of landing on my feet," Silver said, shrugging. She knew how to shrug. "Vox-View's going bust. Sonatone's taking over. Unless—"

  "Unless I figure out an answer."

  "That's right. I want to know which side of the fence I'm going to land on. You're the lad who can probably tell me. Who's going to win?"

  "You always bet on the winning side, eh?" Gallegher inquired. "Have you no ideals, wench? Is there no truth in you? Ever hear of ethics and scruples?"

  Silver beamed happily. "Did you?"

  "Well, I've heard of 'em. Usually I'm too drunk to figure out what they mean. The trouble is, my subconscious is completely amoral, and when it takes over, logic's the only law."

  She threw her cigarette into the East River. "Will you tip me off which side of the fence is the right one?"

  "Truth will triumph," Gallegher said piously. "It always does. However, I figure truth is a variable, so we're right back where we started. All right, sweetheart. I'll answer your question. Stay on my side if you want to be safe."

  "Which side are you on?"

  "God knows," Gallegher said. "Consciously I'm on Brock's side. But my subconscious may have different ideas. We'll see."

  Silver looked vaguely dissatisfied, but didn't say anything. The taxi swooped down to the Castle roof, grounding with pneumatic gentleness. The Club itself was downstairs, in an immense room shaped like half a melon turned upside down. Each table was on a transparent platform that could be raised on its shaft to any height at will. Smaller service elevators allowed waiters to bring drinks to the guests. There wasn't any particular reason for this arrangement, but at least it was novel, and only extremely heavy drinkers ever fell from their tables. Lately the management had taken to hanging transparent nets under the platforms, for safety's sake.

  The Tones, father and son, were up near the roof, drinking with two lovelies. Silver towed Gallegher to a service lift, and the man closed his eyes as he was elevated skyward. The liquor in his stomach screamed protest. He lurched forward, clutched at Elia Tone's bald head, and dropped into a seat beside the magnate. His searching hand found Jimmy Tone's glass, and he drained it hastily.

  "What the hell," Jimmy said.

  "It's Gallegher," Elia announced. "And Silver. A pleasant surprise. Join us?"

  "Only socially," Silver said.

  Gallegher, fortified by the liquor, peered at the two men. Jimmy Tone was a big, tanned, handsome lout with a jutting jaw and an offensive grin. His father combined the worst features of Nero and a crocodile.

  "We're celebrating," Jimmy said. "What made you change your mind, Silver? You said you had to work tonight."

  "Gallegher wanted to see you. I don't know why."

  Elia's cold eyes grew even more glacial. "All right. Why?"

  "I hear I signed some sort of contract with you," the scientist said.

  "Yeah. Here's a photostatic copy. What about it?"

  "Wait a minute." Gallegher scanned the document. It was apparently his own signature. Damn that robot!

  "It's a fake," he said at last.

  Jimmy laughed loudly. "I get it. A holdup. Sorry, pal, but you're sewed up. You signed that in the presence of witnesses."