Steen snorted. "Impossible! He's had too many years' exposure to our propaganda for that. He can no more give up his dream of burial in Manhattan than he can give up his very personality. No, Braun, I think we just underestimated the man. Somewhere along the line he had an idea, he saw something that we failed to see."
Braun shrugged his shoulders. "But what are we going to do about it?"
Consolator Steen pursed his lips. "I tell you what I'm going to do about it. I'm going straight back to the office and sit and think, and think, and then think some more. Krieg's got a good fifty years ahead of him yet, and that means I've got exactly that long to guess what's on his mind. I'll get that quintillion credits if it's the last thing I do."
They had no more than reached the gate when one of the mechanical Guardians appeared from behind a bush, chortled to itself and scurried over to the bench. It cleansed the rough-hewn stone, then washed the path the two men had taken. Then, its exceptional chores accomplished, it went back to its normal pursuits.
It approached a bed of begonias nearby. One appendage extended itself and began digging up the dirt around the plants. Meanwhile, inside the machine, other appendages ripped open a small bag and spilled the fine dust inside the bag into a small trough. The empty bag was rolled up and stuck in a disposal bin along with several other bags, all with identical markings:
JOSEPH KRIEG AND SONS,
BY APPOINTMENT,
PURVEYORS OF FINE
FERTILIZERS
TO THE GALACTIC GOVERNMENT
ON EARTH
The machine clucked quietly to itself as it sprinkled the dust evenly over the black, yielding earth. It patted the fertilizer gently into the rich soil, making sure that each plant got its fair share. Then it scurried off silently to tend to a bed of calla lilies nearby.