ss to Martin's overwhelming burden.
With a mad cry he rushed past St. Cyr, wrenched open a door, and fled.

From behind him came Erika's Valkyrie voice.

"Leave him alone! Haven't you done enough already? Now I'm going to get
that contract release from you before I leave this room, Tolliver Watt,
and I warn you, St. Cyr, if you--"

But by then Martin was five rooms away, and the voice faded. He darted
on, hopelessly trying to make himself slow down and return to the scene
of battle. The pressure was too strong. Terror hurled him down a
corridor, into another room, and against a metallic object from which he
rebounded, to find himself sitting on the floor looking up at ENIAC
Gamma the Ninety-Third.

"Ah, there you are," the robot said. "I've been searching all over
space-time for you. You forgot to give me a waiver of responsibility
when you talked me into varying the experiment. The Authorities would be
in my gears if I didn't bring back an eyeprinted waiver when a subject's
scratched by variance."

With a frightened glance behind him, Martin rose to his feet.

"What?" he asked confusedly. "Listen, you've got to change me back to
myself. Everyone's trying to kill me. You're just in time. I can't wait
twelve hours. Change me back to myself, quick!"

"Oh, I'm through with you," the robot said callously. "You're no longer
a suitably unconditioned subject, after that last treatment you insisted
on. I should have got the waiver from you then, but you got me all
confused with Disraeli's oratory. Now here. Just hold this up to your
left eye for twenty seconds." He extended a flat, glittering little
metal disk. "It's already sensitized and filled out. It only needs your
eyeprint. Affix it, and you'll never see me again."

Martin shrank away.

"But what's going to happen to me?" he quavered, swallowing.

"How should I know? After twelve hours, the treatment will wear off, and
you'll be yourself again. Hold this up to your eye, now."

"I will if you'll change me back to myself," Martin haggled.

"I can't. It's against the rules. One variance is bad enough, even with
a filed waiver, but two? Oh, no. Hold this up to your left eye--"

"No," Martin said with feeble firmness. "I won't."

ENIAC studied him.

"Yes, you will," the robot said finally, "or I'll go boo at you."

Martin paled slightly, but he shook his head in desperate determination.

"No," he said doggedly. "Unless I get rid of Ivan's matrix right now,