"Yup," came Doc's matter-of-fact voice. "Got it all here on the tape. Blip! Gone, just like before."
"That isn't what I mean," protested Jon. His brain was staggered by the half-formed thoughts that crowded it. "Now get this, Doc."
He shouted, "Come back here! Right here in front of me." For the space of three slow heartbeats nothing happened. Then, with the air of having been there all the time, the sphere materialized.
Breathing carefully, Jon said. "Roll toward me." The sphere hesitated a second, then came obediently toward him.
"Stop!" said Jon. The sphere was stock-still in the instant.
"Doc," cried Jon, excitement cracking his voice, "these star-blasted boogers can think!"
"Come on in out of the sun, Fly-boy," said Doc wearily. "The heat's getting you. It's coincidence. Or you moved to attract it, or something."
"No," protested Jon. "Now look. I'm going to cut off my trans, but I'll call my shots first. I'm going to have it roll left, then right, then back to center. Got that? Left, right, and back to center. Over and out." And Jon cut off his transmitter.
He stood stock-still and formed the impression in his mind. Now roll to my left, he thought. The blank sphere moved to the spot indicated. Now to my right. The huge sphere obeyed the mental commands with the joyous precision of a rookie Space Patrolman who has just learned his Parade Manual.