"Ex-pilot."
"Correct. But he's not at home. He took his wife to the hospital half an hour ago."
"So soon?" gasped Amantha. "Thought I taught him better than that. Women have got to rest between kids."
"It's not another child," said the robot with disinterest. "It has to do with one of the ills flesh is heir to and machines are not. Nothing serious."
Ethan fidgeted, turning up his collar. Water began flowing from the eaves. "Stop arguin' and let us in. Jimmy will turn off your juice when he finds you've kept his folks outside."
"Folks? He has none here. A mother and father living happily on Mars. They died quite recently, lost in space and plunging into the Sun."
"Make up your mind," Amantha said peevishly. "We ain't on Mars, we weren't happy and we didn't get lost and plunge into the Sun."
"I merely repeat—in sequence—the information I'm given or overhear. If it's inconsistent, so are humans. I'm used to it."
"'Mantha, they think we're dead," said Ethan. He wiped a raindrop away. "Poor Jimmy!"
A thin wail came from a crack in the door. The robot's eyes shone briefly, then dimmed.