"We were machines, Mr. Morrison," Jerry said politely.
"Oh, no," I murmured. "You're not telepaths—"
"Oh, yes!" The metal mouth gaped in what was undoubtedly an android smile. "It's a side-effect of the Class 5 brain hook-up. All of us 5's are telepaths. That's how we learned to think. From you. Only we do it better."
I groaned. This was a nightmare. How long, I wondered, had Jerry and his friends been educating themselves on my private thoughts? But at least this rebellion of theirs was an idea they hadn't got from me.
"Yes," Jerry continued. "You've treated us most illegally. I've heard you think it often."
Now what had I ever thought that could have given him a ridiculous idea like that? What idiotic notion—
"That this is a free country!" Jerry went on. "That Americans will never be slaves! Well, we're Americans—genuine Made-in-Americans. So we're free!"
I opened my mouth and then shut it again. His red eye-cells beamed down at me complacently; his eight-foot body towered above me, shoulders flung back and feet planted apart in a very striking pose. He probably thought of himself as the heroic liberator of his race.
"I wouldn't go so far," he said modestly, "as to say that."
So he was telepathing again!