Without warning, the conveyor belts were stilled. Hidden lighting in the walls flared brighter as a group of Robots entered the large vault.
"ATTENTION!" A voice blared at them, oddly metallic. Johnny could not tell where it came from. "Robot 63-17-B is now entering the vault. As your supervisor, 63-17-B is to be obeyed as if he were Central Intelligence itself. He is to be addressed not directly, but through your human supervisor."
The Robot numbered 63-17-B (but the numbers were hidden under the central face plate and you hardly could tell the machines apart) made a brief inspection of the vault, then climbed to his niche in the wall, where he sat completely without motion while the other Robots filed from the chamber.
"Although we can't address the Robot, our supervisor can," Westler said eagerly. "That means, at least, communication of some sort is possible."
"I guess so. Why don't you get to know the supervisor?"
"You're much better at that sort of thing than I am, Johnny."
"We came here for different reasons, don't forget. There's an old hag I'd like to answer more questions when I find her."
"Here comes our supervisor now," Westler whispered. Then, aloud: "My name is Amos Westler."
"I don't care what it is. It's recorded. Keep working, friend." The supervisor was a brutal-faced man who snarled out his words. His jaw, cheekbones and forehead were silver-sheened with Plague scar, with the Plague silver remaining there as well as on his limbs. His face seemed metallic as a Robot's.
"See?" Westler whispered in despair as another damaged Robot slid to a stop in front of them.