"Certainly. That's what bothers me. Why all the pussy-footing around with synthetic men who keep dropping dead?"
"I think it's because they themselves are unable to exist in the climatic and atmospheric conditions existent on our planet."
Brent Taber's eyes opened as Entman went on. "They plan to occupy us, certainly—this we must assume—so they're trying to create an entity through which they can do it. The process is really no different, even though a little more dramatic, than our science creating a mechanical unit that functions to the best efficiency under specified conditions."
Taber's finger snapped up. He pointed at Entman's desk. "They'd like to know why their androids died. Maybe they weren't alike—at least, not exactly alike. Maybe there were differences you haven't found yet—maybe they turned out ten models and they want to know which one worked the best."
"You get the point," Entman beamed.
"They'd like the data you're assembling—those reports you've got in front of you."
"I imagine they'd find them quite interesting."
"Do you think we can assume the tenth android died also?"
"Perhaps. We have no proof that it killed the one found slain in Greenwich Village."
"I'm satisfied to assume that. But I'm wondering just what contact those 'people,' as you call them, had with their androids. Could a part of the brain have been a sending and receiving device?"