"And have the lawn screened again for pebbles!"
As Blue One retired he relaxed, and turned his mind to ideas for filling the evening. He hoped Henry would televise: Robert had news for him.
After a short nap and dinner, he took the elevator to his three-story tower and turned on the television robot. Seating himself in a comfortable armchair, he directed the machine from one channel to another. For some time, there was no answer to his perfunctory call signals, but one of his few acquaintances finally came on.
"Jack here," said a quiet voice that Robert had long suspected of being disguised by a filter microphone.
"I haven't heard you for some weeks," he remarked, eying the swirling colors on the screen.
He disliked Jack for never showing his face, but curiosity as to what lay behind the mechanical image projected by the other's transmitter preserved the acquaintance.
"I was ... busy," said the bodiless voice, with a discreet hint of a chuckle that Robert found chilling.
He wondered what Jack had been up to. He remembered once being favored with a televised view of Jack's favorite sport—a battle between companies of robots designed for the purpose, horribly reminiscent of human conflicts Robert had seen on historical films.
