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"How old are you, little boy?" Leda Crannon's eyes narrowed, but Mike pretended not to notice while Snookums said: "Eight years, two months, one day, seven hours, thirty-three minutes and ten seconds. But I am not a little boy. I am a robot." Mike suppressed an impulse to ask him if he had informed Leda Crannon of that fact. She seemed to have wrapped herself up entirely in the little robot.
Mike the Angel poured two healthy slugs of Pete Jeffers' brandy into a pair of glasses, added ice and water, and handed one to Leda Crannon with a flourish. And all the time, he kept up a steady line of gentle patter. "It may interest you to know," he said chattily, "that the learned Mister Treadmore has been furnishing me with the most fascinating information."
To his left, in order down the table, were Mike the Angel, Lieutenant Keku, and Leda Crannon. On his right were Commander Jeffers, Ensign Vaneski, Lieutenant Commander von Liegnitz, and Dr. Morris Fitzhugh. Lieutenant Mellon's seat was empty. Black Bart cleared his throat. "It's been quite a trip, hasn't it? Well, it's almost over.
Nonetheless, he knew something was wrong, and as soon as his "curiosity" circuits were activated, he set out in search of the trouble, his little treads rolling at high speed. Leda Crannon saw him heading down a companionway and called after him. "Where are you going, Snookums?" "Looking for data," answered Snookums, slowing a little. "Wait! I'll come with you!"
Leda Crannon had agreed to have coffee with Mike in the office suite she shared with Dr. Fitzhugh. Mike had had one cup in the officers' wardroom, but even if he'd had a dozen he'd have been willing to slosh down a dozen more to talk to Leda Crannon. It was not, he insisted to himself, that he was in love with the girl, but she had intelligence and personality in addition to her striking beauty.
Maybe he was; I don't know. He figured that Mellon, knowing that I was showing Miss Crannon attention, would, under the influence of the lysurgic acid derivative, try to kill me. He may even have suggested it to Mellon after Mellon had taken a dose of the drugged wine. "But that plan backfired, too. Mellon didn't have that kind of mind.
Mike followed Snookums and Leda Crannon down the companionway. "What did you do today, honey?" asked Leda. "Mostly I answered questions for Dr. Fitzhugh," said Snookums. "He asked me thirty-eight questions. He said I was a great help. I'm nice, too." "Sure you are, darling," said Miss Crannon. "Ye gods," muttered Mike the Angel.
Leda Crannon, looking tired but somehow pleased, said softly: "May I come in?" Mike the Angel grinned. "Sure. Maybe you can " The intercom clicked on. "Power Section, this is the bridge." It was Black Bart. "Are my senses playing me false, or have you stopped that beat note?" "All secure, sir," said Mike the Angel. "The system is stable now." "How many tubes were goofing?" "Three of them."
"Miss Crannon, for instance, will be able to teach the next robot or, rather, the next energization of this one more rapidly, more efficiently, and with fewer mistakes." With that, Leda Crannon stood up. "With your permission, Dr. Fitzhugh," she said formally, "I would like to say that I appreciate that last statement, but I'm afraid it isn't true." Fitzhugh forced a smile.
"I've checked out the major circuits, and they're in good physical condition. But Miss Crannon gave him a rather exhaustive test just before the end, and it shows definite incipient aberration." He wagged his head slowly back and forth. "Eight years of work." "Have you notified Treadmore yet?" asked Quill. Fitzhugh nodded. "He said he'd be here as soon as possible."
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