“Secret,” he said. “Horribly top secret. As a dutiful subject—I mean servant—of Earth, I could not, of course, divulge it to anyone. If I could—” his neon eyes glistened, “if I could, you would, of course, be the first to know. The very first.” He threw one nickel-plated arm about my shoulder.
“I see,” I said, “and just what is it that you are not allowed to tell me?”
“Why, that we are making a preliminary survey here on Phobos, of course, to determine whether or not it is worthwhile to send salvage for scrap. Earth is short of metals, and it depends upon what the old ma—the master says in his report.”
“You mean they’ll take all the derelict spaceships, such as this one, and all the abandoned equipment?”
“And the r-robots,” MS-33 said, “They’re metal too, you know.”
“They’re going to take the dismantled robots?”
MS-33 made a sweeping gesture. “They’re going to take all the r-robots, dismantled or not. They’re not good for anything anyway. The bill is up before the Federation Congress right now. And it will pass if my master, Langley says so.” He patted my helmet, consolingly, his grapples clanking. “If you were worth a damn, you know—” he concluded sorrowfully.
“That’s murder,” I said. And I meant it. Man’s inhumanity to metal people, I thought. Yes—to man, even if we were made of metal.
“How’s that?” said MS-33 foggily.
“Have another drop of Moon Glow,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to Argon City.”