There was a faint hesitation during which Hen could feel the sweat prickle his forehead. Then, "Yes, father," came the robots unstressed syllables. The blue flame disappeared.
"Go back to work!" He hastily detailed each robot to its operation.
"Yes, father."
The robots turned, disappeared in the direction of the mine.
He had done it! He blew out his breath, dropped limply in a chair. He really ought to look after Sofi, but he'd have to wait until the strength flowed back in his legs.
Soft was really was out cold. "Wake up," said Hen, "you're not dead." He sprinkled more water over the girl's face.
Her eyelids fluttered. She gazed up at him blankly, then stark terror gleamed from her eyes. "The robots!"
"No more of that!" He shook her roughly. "They're machines. They don't have consciousness; only the semblance of consciousness!"
Sofi sat up, asking, "What—?" in a bewildered voice.
"They don't think! They aren't conscious! They're like a mirror; they reflect what we expect them to do."