The Silver Eggheads

Miss Jackson's brow cleared, her eyebrows went up and she nodded twice with the dawn of a great understanding. 'I've heard of such things happening,' she said wisely. 'They told us about it at nursing school. The man can't withdraw and the couple have to be taken to the hospital on the same stretcher. To think that I'd ever see it.'

She advanced, peering with an expression of horrid fascination.

'Not that. . at all,' Gaspard squeezed out. 'Idiot. . Just holding. . arms. Miss Willow. . femme. . robot. Need. . hundred. . bucks.'

'Robots are made of metal,' Miss Jackson said dogmatically. 'Could be painted, I suppose.' She reached out and pinched Miss Willow. 'Nope. You're just getting hysterical, Gaspard,' she diagnosed confidently, walking around them. 'Take hold of yourself. Nobody ever died of shame. I remember now they told us it almost always happened to unmarried couples. The woman's sense of guilt causes the spasm. My walking around and peering at you this way probably just makes it worse.'

The breath Gaspard had gathered for his next appeal was squeezed out of him in a useless little squeak as Miss Willow's arms tightened once more. The room seemed to darken. As if at a great distance he heard Miss Jackson say, 'Don't try to bury yourself in him like an ostrich, Miss Willow. This is something you're going to have to live through whether you like it or not. Remember I'm a nurse-you can't shock me. Think of me as a robot. I know you're a proud woman, not to say stuck-up. But maybe this experience will humanize you a bit. Hold onto that thought.'

Through the thickening dark Gaspard was aware of a gleam of dark blue.

Zane Gort paused for an instant in the door, then strode up to Miss Willow.

'How much?' he demanded, unlocking with one pincher a little window in his waist, while with the other he deftly lifted Miss Willow's sleek platinum hair, revealing a horizontal slit in the back of her neck.

'One hundred bucks,' growled the femmequin.

'Liar,' Zane Gort said and fed in a fifty.

Sensors in the femmequin recognized the intricate pattern of magnetic oxide in the bifi. Miss Willow's arms opened. Her leg unclamped.

Gaspard felt deep relief, was dimly aware of metal arms supporting him, then the small pain of taking a deep breath. The room began to lighten.

Miss Jackson's mouth fell open all the way.

'Get dressed,' Zane Gort ordered. 'You too, Gaspard. Here, put on these.'

Miss Jackson said, 'Now I've seen everything.'

'Congratulations,' Zane Gort told her. 'And now if you would be so kind, my friend would like a drink of water- it's over there. I'll buckle that for you, Gaspard. Don't dawdle, Miss Willow-this isn't a performance. Easy, Gaspard. I'll buzz Madam Pneumo's tomorrow and have them pick up their femmequin-and give those robot procurers a piece of my mind-fun's fun, but one day they're going tokill a customer with their extortionist tricks and then there'll be trouble. Thank you, Miss Jackson. Gaspard, swallow this capsule.'

Miss Jackson watched with a rather envious expression the little odalisque's dance that, despite Zane's admonition, Miss Willow made of getting dressed. After a bit the nurse thought to pull her blouse up over her own exposed shoulder. 'Say,' she said loudly, 'I completely forgot! I got so interested in the little. . er. .' She looked at Gaspard.

'Circus,' he supplied with a feeble snarl.

'. . er. . performance that was going on, that I forgot why I came here in the first place. Gaspard, Nurse Bishop has been kidnapped!'

Gaspard pulled away from Zane. 'How? Where? Who?' he demanded.

'We were running down the street,' Miss Jackson began in medias res, 'and this black-and-white checked zoomer car fell in beside us and this man with the blue chin- just virile beard, I guess- asked if he could help and Nurse Bishop said yes and got in, and this man clapped a pad over her face that must have been soaked in anesthone because she slumped right away. I noticed there was a funny-looking little robot stretched out on the back seat. Then this man said, 'Oh boy, a blonde too, this is too good to miss,' and grabbed at me but I tore away. When he saw he couldn't get me, he laughed and said, 'You don't know what you're missing, sister,' and zoomed off. Rocket House was nearer than the Nursery so I came here.'

Gaspard turned to Zane Gort, who had pulled open a file drawer and was rapidly scanning the contents. 'Zane,' Gaspard said, 'Now you've simply got to get busy on the kidnappings.'

Zane looked up. 'Out of the question. I'm on the wind-up of Project El after the major break-through this morning. Cal Tech confirms. Came here only for data-your rescue was incidental. No time for police work now. Later perhaps. Tomorrow say.'

'But Zane, three people have been kidnapped!' Gaspard protested, trying to control the fury he felt. 'Your Miss Blushes too. I think I know the roughneck who snatched Nurse Bishop. She's in deadly danger!'

'Nonsense,' the robot said crisply. 'You magnify the importance of these things. Anthropocentrism at work. Kidnapping-conducted by qualified non-psychotic persons such as we are obviously dealing with here-is simply a routine element of modern business and political strategy. Ancient too-see Caesar's kidnapping or Richard the First's. Interesting, yes-I too would like to be kidnapped if I could spare the time, it must be a revealing and rewarding experience-one more chance to see another bit of everything, eh, Miss Jackson? Dangerous, no. Tomorrow's time enough. Or day after tomorrow.' He bent again to the files.

'Well, I guess I'm going to have to handle this all by myself,' Gaspard said with a savage shrug, turning to Miss Jackson. 'Call in the police, I suppose. But first tell me one thing: why were you and Nurse Bishop running down the street in the first place?'

'We were chasing the man who'd stolen Half Pint.'

'WHAT!' Zane Gort's voice was a blast. 'Did you say Half Pint?'

'Why, yes. He must have got clean away with him too. A tall thin man in a light gray suit. He told Pop Zangwell he was Dr. Krantz's new assistant. He probably snatched Half Pint because he was the smallest.'

'The fiend,' Zane Gort grated, his headlamp glowing dark red. 'The cruel, conscienceless, despicable fiend. To lay his filthy hands on that sweet helpless child- death by slow torture's too good for him! Stop gaping, Gaspard, and snap to it! My copter's on the roof. We've got work to do, Old Bone.'

'But-' Gaspard began.

'No comments! Miss Jackson, when did Half Pint last have a fontanel change? Quick!'

'About three and a half hours ago. Don't yell at me.'

'It's a case for yelling. How long can he safely go without a fresh one?'

'I don't know, really. They're always changed every eight hours. Once a nurse was fifty minutes late and all the brains had passed out.'

Zane nodded. 'Nurse Jackson,' he said crisply, 'prepare a wet pack of two fontanels from the supply here. Now! Gaspard, go with her-the instant it's ready bring it to the roof. I'll be there warming up the copter and my equipment. Grab Flaxman's coverall and hood-my copter's open. One moment, Miss Jackson! Will the kidnapper be able to talk to Half Pint?'

'I think so. Half Pint had a mini-speaker and mini-eye and ear plugged in. They were dangling by their cords behind the kidnapper. Half Pint started to screech and whistle, but the kidnapper threatened to smash him on the sidewalk.'

Zane Gort's headlamp flared crimson. 'The fiend. He'll pay for it. Don't stand there staring, you two. Move!'

THIRTY-SIX

New Angeles was a forest of pastel pillars between the green mountains and the purple algae fields of the Pacific cut by blue ship lanes. Among the palely colorful skyscrapers the new popular semicircular and pentagonal cross-sections predominated. A large circular clearing marked the municipal launching field. A jagged light green jet