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Updated: May 22, 2025
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.
"Point One: Snookums' brain contains the information that eight years of hard work have laboriously put into it. That information is more valuable than the whole cost of the William Branchell; it's worth billions. So the robot can't be disassembled, or the information would be lost. "Point Two: Snookums' mind is a strictly logical one, but it is operating in a more than logical universe.
She glanced at her glass, nodded, and drained it. Mike had extracted a promise from her that she would drink one drink before she talked. He could see that she was a trifle tense, and he thought the liquor would relax her somewhat. Now he was ready to listen. She handed him her empty, and while he refilled it, she said: "It's about Snookums again."
"But it is possible to test the theories of astrophysics analogically by extrapolating on data that can be tested in a physics lab. "What I'm talking about is a system that Snookums, simply because he is what he is, cannot test or experiment upon, in any way whatsoever. A system that has, in short, no connection with the physical world whatsoever." Leda Crannon thought it over.
She applied one Monday morning at the Broadway Melody Shop, a mere aisle wedged between a theater and a rotisserie, a megaphone inserted through a hole cut in the plate-glass frontage that was violently plastered over with furiously colored copies of what purported to be the latest song hits: "If I Could Be Molasses to Your Griddle Cakes." "Snuggle Up, Snookums." "Honey, Does You Love Me?"
"I'm beginning to think," said Mike, "that we'll have to start building a big brain aboard every ship that is, if we can learn enough about such monsters from Snookums." "What was the other question?" Leda asked. "Oh.... Well, I was wondering just why you are connected with this project. What does a psychologist have to do with robots? If you'll pardon my ignorance."
Snookums knew perfectly well that an angel can blast anything at will through the operation of God. Witness what happened at Sodom and Gomorrah. Remember that Snookums has accepted all this data as fact. "Now, if an angel can kill, it is obvious that Snookums would not dare attack an angel, especially if he had been ordered to do so by a human." "Just a minute, Commander," said Dr.
"Snookums, we have been told, is too dangerous to be permitted to remain on Earth. I take this to mean that he is potentially capable of doing something that would either harm the planet itself or a majority if not all of the people on it." He picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. Nobody interrupted him.
"Where's Doc Fitz?" "He's still trying to get information out of Snookums. It's a weird thing, Mike a robot with a soul." "You don't mind talking about it?" "No; go ahead if you want." "All right, answer me a question," he said. "Can Snookums read English?" "Certainly. And Russian, and German, French, Chinese, and most of the other major languages of Earth." "He could read a book, then?" "Yes.
Under the same circumstances, I might have done the same thing." He paused. "And now?" She lowered her head again and began massaging her forehead with the finger tips of both hands, concealing her face with her palms. "And now," she said dully, "I know he's a machine. Snookums isn't a he any more he's an it. He has no personality of his own, he only has what I fed into him.
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