None of the conventional control thought produced any effect. The machine remained contemptuously inactive.
Alvin took a step forward, and the eyes retreated in some haste. Unfortunately their angle of vision seemed somewhat limited, for the machine came to a sudden halt against Theon, who for the last minute had been an interested spectator. With a perfectly human ejaculation, the whole apparatus shot twenty feet into the air, revealing a set of tentacles and jointed limbs clustering round a stubby cylindrical body.
“Come down-we won’t hurt you!” called Theon, rubbing a bruise on his chest.
Something spoke: not the passionless, crystal-clear voice of a machine, but the quavering speech of a very old and very tired man.
“Who are you? What are you doing in Shalmirane?”
“My name is Theon, and this is my friend, Alvin of Loronei. We’re exploring Southern Lys.”
There was a brief pause. When the machine spoke again its voice held an unmistakable note of petulance and annoyance.
“Why can’t you leave me in peace? You know how often I’ve asked to be left alone!”
Theon, usually good-natured, bristled visibly.
“We’re from Airlee, and we don’t know anything about Shalmirane.”