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lood into an easily constructed arc furnace until I was left with a handful of dust。 It was tempting； he had certainly killed enough people in his short and vicious lifetime to call this justice。 But not tempting enough。 Cold…blooded killing is just not my thing。 I've killed in self…defense； I'll not deny that； but I still maintain an exaggerated respect for life in all forms。 Now that we know that the only thing on the other side of the sky is more sky； the idea of an afterlife has finally been slid into the history books alongside the rest of the quaint and forgotten religions。 With heaven and hell gone we are faced with the necessity of making a heaven or hell right here。 What with societies and metatechnology and allied disciplines we have e a long way； and life on the civilized worlds is better than it ever was during the black days of superstition。 But with the improving of here and now es the stark realization that here and now is all we have。 Each of us has only this one brief experience with the bright light of consciousness in that endless dark night of eternity and must make the most of it。 Doing this means we must respect the existence of everyone else and the most criminal act imaginable is the terminating of one of these conscious existences。 The Cliaandians did not think this way； which was why I intensely enjoyed dropping gravel in their gearboxes； but I still did。 Which meant that I couldn't take the easy way out of reducing gravy…stained Vaska to his ponent molecules。 If I did this I would be no better than they and I would be getting into the old game of the ends justifying the means and starting on that downward track。 I sighed； sipped； and the diagrams I had been visualizing for an arc furnace faded and vanished。
Well what then？ I could chain him in a cave with an automatic food dispenser if I had a cave and so forth。 Out。 Given time and hard work I could alter his appearance and plant false memories that would last at least six months and get him into a prison or a work gang or a mental home or such。 Except I did not have the time for anything this plex。 I had until morningor lessunless I wanted to abandon all the work I had already done in creating the false Vaska and having him accepted。 They were probably getting involved in roll calls right now so I really should be thinking about ways of getting back into Glupost rather than worrying about my swinish panion。 I noticed his stomach beginning to bulge so I turned off his appetite。 He sat back and sighed and belched； with good reason。 There was a rustling on the far wall as a panel slid back and the robot cleaner trundled in。
〃May I give you a good cleaning？〃 it whispered in a sexy contralto voice。 I told it what it could do； but it wasn't equipped to take this kind of instruction and only clicked and whirred until I ordered it to go to work。 I watched it gloomily as it hustled about and made the bedand the first spark of an idea began to glimmer in the darkness。
Vaska had stayed in the Robotnik for an entire day without any trouble。 How long would it be possible to hold him here？ Theoretically forever if enough money were deposited to the room's account。 But he could not be kept subjugated by hypnosis for more than a day or two if I were not there to reinforce the suggestion。 Or could he 。 。 。？ I would have to find the control center of the hotel before I could make any final decisions。 But this could be the right idea。
I left Vaska watching an historical space opera on TV； with the suggestion that this was the finest entertainment he had ever witnessed； which might possibly be the truth。 Loaded with instruments and tools I went on the prowl。 There would be a serviceway for the robots behind the rooms； but it was undoubtedly small； dark and dusty。 That was a last resort。 As mechanized as this hotel was； human beings had built it and could repair it if they had to。 A quick prowl of the lower hallways near the entrance uncovered a concealed door with a disguised keyhole。 It was flush with the wall and outlined with paneling； designed to be unobtrusive to maintain the fiction that the Robotnik was a hundred percent robot run。 I spent more time with my instrumentation； making sure there were no bugs on the door； than I did opening it。 The lock was a joke。 There was no one in sight when I slipped through the door and closed it behind me。
I felt like a roach inside a radio。 Electronic ponents hung； projected and bulged out on all sides； cables and wires looped and sagged in a profusion of electric spaghetti。 Rolls of tape clicked and whirred on the puters； relays opened and closed； and gear trains chattered。 It was a very busy place。 I worked my way through it examining the labels and stepping over the little hutches where off duty robots rested； until I found what might be called a control center。 There was even a chair here before a console； that was designed for the human form； and I dropped into it。 And set to work。 I had been mulling my new plan over while tripping through this mechanical jungle and now knew what had to be done。
First； the electronic bugs in Vaska's room。 I did not want him observed or listened to。 The bugging circuits were easy enough to find and there was even a monitor screen that could be connected to any of them。 I tested this out and apparently there was a bug in every room in the hotel and some interesting things were going on； but I have never been much of a voyeur； preferring participation to observation； and a married roan now as well。 And time was passing quickly。 All of the bugging circuits came together into a cable that vanished through the wall； to the local police station or other government bureau。 Which gave roe the idea。 I had no time to fix a tape and soundtrack that would pump phoney information into the bugging circuit； I had to improvise。 This was done easily enough by feeding the signal from the bugging circuit of another room into the wire from the room Vaska was occupying。 From the way this setup was arranged it was obvious that the bugs were used to watch only one room at a time； for reasons best known to the people who built it。 There was about one chance in ten thousand that it would ever be noticed that the same signal was ing from two rooms。 And these odds were good enough for me。 Over half of the rooms were empty in any case； which improved the odds even more。
Vaska could neither be seen nor heard now。 The room and associated pleasures had to be paid for； but before I left I would deposit enough money （all stolen） to last a year if needs be。
A way to keep him in the room for that length of time was now needed and Iwith my usual fertile imagination and basically nasty naturehad already devised that scheme。 A small tape recorder was wired into the speaker circuit for the room； a timer attached； and the whole device concealed in the maze of other circuits and ponents。 I programmed the tape； set the timer and started it up。 Then rushed back to the room to watch my creation begin its job。
Vaska still had his eyes glued to the TV screen； panting with passion as mighty spaceships locked in frenzied destruction。 Blaster cannon sizzled and ravening energies raved； and through this cut my recorded voice。
〃Now here this； Vaska； now hear this。 You have had a long day and you are sleepy。 You are yawning。 You are going to turn off the lights and retire now； to sleep the sound sleep of the blessed for tomorrow is another day。〃
And that was the big lie。 For tomorrow would not be another day； not for dear Vaska。 It was going to be the same one all over again。 He would be lulled into a deep sleep and an even deeper trance by my soothing voice。 And while there it would be explained to him that he would forget this day so he could wake up on the morning of his last day of leave before reporting for active duty。 He would wake up with a slight hangover from the celebrations of the night before and would make an easy day of it。 Just lie around the hotel room； read a bit； eat some food； watch TV； and retire early。 He would enjoy himself。 He would enjoy himself the same way every day until the program was broken。
It was a wonderful plan and as foolproof as possible。 I fed over half of my liquid funds into the paying hopper and the balance of the wall indicator shot up to an enormous number。
Slowly and happily； I reached out and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside of the door。
And then I got depressed and turned the lights back on and looked around for the bottle that had provided me with so much inspiration so far。 Vaska was well taken care of。
But how did I get back into the thri6e…guarded and now doubly wakeful military base？
That high stone wall loomed as large in my brain as it did in reality。 I had made a fuss going over it and alerted everyone。 It would be nice if I could return without anyone knowing； sneaking under it perhaps。 Out of the question； digging and earth moving and things like that could not be acplished in a few hours。 Steal a plane； fly over； parachute in？ And be shot down before I hit the ground。 There could be no worse time than the present to try to enter or leave the base。 The guards would be suspicious and reinforced and the place