"What's that?" asked Amantha. "Sounds like a baby. Thought you said no one was home."
"No responsible adult. Only a child. Because of that, I can admit no one except the parents—or a doctor if I decide one is needed." The robot whirred and drew itself up. "He's absolutely safe. I'm a Sitta."
"You sure are. Now get out of my way before I jab you. The kid's crying."
"He is, but it's no concern of yours. I'm better acquainted with infant behavior than any human can be. The pathetic sob merely means that the child wants attention. I was given no instructions to hold him."
Again the child cried. "Who needs to be told?" demanded Amantha. "Nobody gives grandmothers instructions."
"He's got a grandfather to cuddle him," added Ethan. "How far do you think we came to do it?"
"And he's not cryin' because he wants attention. Something's stickin' him and he's hungry. Don't you think a grandmother would know?"
"There's nothing that can stick him, but if, by accident, something sharp had gotten in his bed and if he were also hungry, he would sound like this." The Sitta hunched down and swiveled its head, giving an imitation. "You see? I do nothing but watch babies. It's built into me."
Inside the house, the child's tone changed, became querulous, listening. Interrogatively, it offered a single yowl.