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Updated: May 26, 2025
"No, sir, I don't. But whatever it is, it's dangerous as hell." The briefing for the officers and men of the William Branchell the Brainchild was held in a lecture room at the laboratories of the Computer Corporation of Earth's big Antarctic base. Captain Quill spoke first, warning everyone that the project was secret and asking them to pay the strictest attention to what Dr.
Until his seventh year, he had been confined to the company of only a small handful of human beings. Even while the William Branchell was being built, he hadn't been allowed any more freedom than was absolutely necessary to keep him from being frustrated. Even so, he had developed an interest in humans.
The passer-by was obliging; he indicated a smallish, elderly man who was sitting by himself at one of the tables. Mike made his way through the tray-carrying hordes that were milling about, and finally ended up at the table where the smallish man was sitting. "Dr. Fitzhugh?" Mike offered his hand. "I'm Commander Gabriel. Minister Wallingford appointed me Engineering Officer of the Branchell." Dr.
Fitzhugh held up a bony hand, gesturing for attention and silence. He got it from Mike. "Snookums," he said, "is no ordinary robot, Commander." Mike waited for more. When none came, he said: "So I gather." He sipped at his black coffee. "That machine I saw is actually a remote-control tool, isn't it? Snookums' actual brain is in Cargo Hold One of the William Branchell." "That's right." Dr.
Therefore, Question Two: Why was the Branchell being built around Cargo Hold One? Which led to Question Three: What was in Cargo Hold One? For the answer to that question, he had one very good hint. The density of the contents of Cargo Hold One was listed in the specs as being one-point-seven-two-six grams per cubic centimeter.
"Anyway the matter I called you on last night. Can you get those specs for me?" "Sure, Wally. Hold on." He punched the hold button and rang for his secretary as Wallingford's face vanished. When the girl's face came on, he said: "Helen, get me the cargo specs on the William Branchell Section Twelve, pages 66 to 74."
He went on, but it was obvious that the officers and crew of the William Branchell weren't paying the attention they should. Every one of them was thinking dark gray thoughts. It was bad enough that they had to take out a ship like the Brainchild, untested and jerry-built as she was. Was it necessary to have an eight-hundred-pound, moron-genius child-machine running loose, too? Evidently, it was.
Having to dump all of his business into Serge Paulvitch's hands on twenty-four hours' notice was irritating. He knew Paulvitch could handle the job, but it wasn't fair to him to make him take over so suddenly. In addition, Mike did not like the way the whole Branchell business was being handled. It seemed slipshod and hurried, and, worse, it was entirely too mysterious and melodramatic.
"Ne' mind," said Mike. "Sit down, won't you?" "Oh, I can't, thanks. I came to get Fitz; a meeting of the Research Board has been called, and afterward we have to give a lecture or something to the officers of the Brainchild." "You mean the Branchell?" Her smile became an impish grin. "You call it what you want. To us, it's the Brainchild." Dr. Fitzhugh said: "Will you excuse us, Commander?
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