Powell tried to put a note of pleading into his voice, and found it didn’t take much acting. “Speedy,
I’ve got to get back to the shadow or the sun’ll get me. It’s life or death, Speedy. I need you.”
Speedy took one step forward and stopped. He spoke, but at the sound Powell groaned, for it was,
“When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache and repose is tabooed–” It trailed off there, and
Powell took time out for some reason to murmur, “Iolanthe.”
It was roasting hot! He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and whirled dizzily; then
stared in utter astonishment, for the monstrous robot on which he had ridden was moving —
moving toward him, and without a rider.
He was talking: “Pardon, Master. I must not move without a Master upon me, but you are in
danger.”
Of course, Rule 1 potential above everything. But he didn’t want that clumsy antique; he wanted
Speedy. He walked away and motioned frantically: “I order you to stay away. I order you to stop!”
It was quite useless. You could not beat Rule 1 potential. The robot said stupidly, “You are in
danger, Master.”
Powell looked about him desperately. He couldn’t see clearly. His brain was in a heated whirl; his
breath scorched when he breathed, and the ground all about him was a shimmering haze.
He called a last time, desperately: “Speedy! I’m dying, damn you! Where are you? Speedy, I need
you.”
He was still stumbling backward in a blind effort to get away from the giant robot he didn’t want,
when he felt steel fingers on his arms, and a worried, apologetic voice of metallic timbre in his ears.
“Holy smokes, boss; what are you doing here? And what am I doing — I’m so confused —”
“Never mind,” murmured Powell, weakly. “Get me to the shadow of the cliff — and hurry!” There
was one last feeling of being lifted into the air and a sensation of rapid motion and burning heat,
and he passed out.
He woke with Donovan bending over him and smiling anxiously. “How are you, Greg?”
“Fine!” came the response, “Where’s Speedy?”
“Right here. I sent him out to one of the other selenium pools — with orders to get that selenium at
all cost this time. He got it back in forty-two minutes and three seconds. I timed him. He still hasn’t
finished apologizing for the runaround he gave us. He’s scared to come near you for fear of what
you’ll say.”
“Drag him over,” ordered Powell. “It wasn’t his fault.” He held out a hand and gripped Speedy’s
metal paw. “It’s O.K., Speedy.” Then, to Donovan, “You know, Mike, I was just thinking–”
“Yes!”
“Well,” — he rubbed his face — the air was so delightfully cool, “you know that when we get
things set up here and Speedy put through his Field Tests, they’re going to send us to the Space
Stations next–”
“No!”
“Yes! At least that’s what old lady Calvin told me just before we left, and I didn’t say anything
about it, because I was going to fight the whole idea.”