He paused, but Norden could think of nothing to say. He looked at Pat for confirmation, and she nodded. "We set the whole thing up for you, Bill. But we found we were wrong. The Aliens had done too good a job on you for their own good. They made you too human—so human that you had to begin thinking our way. After that business with Armsworth, we stopped worrying."
"But you came out here ..." he began.
"Not to spy on you, Bill," Miles told him. "Earth's evacuating the Moon, now that you found us weapons to handle the Aliens. We're needed to supervise things back at the factories. Pat and I just came to pick you up, when you wouldn't answer your calls. We're taking you home."
He stared at them silently, and there was a complex of feelings in his mind that made thinking almost impossible. Bitterness was heavier than anything else.
"That's fine for someone who won't hate an enemy—though you're quick enough to employ hate when it's useful." He looked at Miles steadily. "What about the rest of the world? Will they welcome a bomb-carrying robot monster as a friend?" Bill Norden wanted to know.
Miles put his hands on Norden's shoulders, while Pat went back into the workroom. "Sit down on the desk, Bill," he urged. "The only people who know are the two of us, and Jim—the psychologist who predicted exactly how you'd react from the beginning. He also gave you a test that first day that involved our top-grade X-ray machine—not one of those fluoroscopic toys. It's a good thing you've got your brains all through you, because when I get done, you'll be literally empty-headed."
Pat came back with a collection of equipment. Norden stared, trying to sit up. "You must be insane. Do you want to be killed if I blow. Are all humans crazy?"
Miles tightened his grip on Norden's shoulder. "Hold still. It shouldn't hurt. We're going to leave the communication gadget where it is, as it may be useful, later. But that bomb must come out." He smiled abruptly. "As to humans—well, you should know."
VIII