 Where is Pete?
Beyond, nose high, stood the silver scout ship that had brought the advance exploratory party of scientists and technicians to Waiamea three days before. "I suppose," he muttered to himself, "that Pete assembled these robots in a batch and then activated them all at once, probably never living to realize that they're tuned to pick up human brain waves, too. The planet's double moon had risen and he could see a robot rolling slowly across the clearing in his general direction, blasting indiscriminately at whatever mind impulses came within its pickup range, birds, insects, anything. Minutes later, looking back he saw that the machine, though several hundred yards away, had altered its course and was now headed directly for him.
 Somewhere on the planet's surface, having died by the hand of his own creation.
 On the second ship with the larger group of people.  Back on his home planet, having sent his robot designs to the colony.  Somewhere on the planet's surface, having died by the hand of his own creation.  Hidden somewhere on the planet trying to escape the robot attacks.