"It was odd," conceded the eye. "A little harder and it wouldn't have come back." The eye blurred. "Can't have the disposer damaged, so we draw the line. If it's as hard as a diamond it passes through."
It was a convenient line and a profitable one, Rains noted absently as he went closer to observe the inconspicuous screen. Was it so tiny that it could have been on without his noticing?
"People don't throw away diamonds the way they used to," the eye complained.
Rains let him talk. This was something on which he had to reassure himself. And there was only one way to do it. The fellow was in a service department, somewhere in the distance. But Rains was certain he could reach him.
"I spy," said the pin, triggered by telepathy. "I spy."
The second trip to the disposer had damaged the crystals grievously. It had a vocabulary of two words and they never changed—but now they had. An outsider would get the wrong impression if he heard the distorted message. Rains clamped his fingers tighter on the emblem. But even that relatively slight pressure forced the speech crystals closer. "I spy," cried the pin. It seemed thunderous.
It took prolonged mental effort for Rains to remember that what he had to do was stop probing. The voice of the insignia was obligingly silent when he disengaged his mind.
The eye glared at him suspiciously. "You say something?"
"Not a thing."