Harvey Beale stared at the man across the room. Was this the same Craig Stevens with whom he had worked so many hours in the laboratory? Was this semi-hysterical man, the great scientist who had served so brilliantly in the last war? What had happened? What was happening?
A sudden groaning noise at his side turned him abruptly. It was Ohm. And there was a subtle change there, too. The movement was no longer clean and mechanical. It had developed an individuality. When the robot moved, it reminded Beale of a whipped yellow cur which cringes at the sound of a human voice. Both Stevens and his companion were changed.
"Let's get away for a week," Beale said, and rose ... stepping quickly away from Ohm. "You'll come back to all this with a new perspective."
Craig shook his head. "Couldn't leave now. Couldn't leave Ohm. Later, maybe."
Why doesn't the fool leave, he thought. Can't he see I've work to do? Can't he sense that I'm anxious to get on with the experiments?
Reluctantly, Beale moved toward the door. "I wish you'd give yourself some rest," he said. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I'll be finished soon," Craig said. "Then I can rest. Then I can rest for a long time."
Beale paused in the doorway and looked back. The robot crouched in a corner of the room, its photo-electric eye twitching nervously. That room was full of anticipation. They were waiting for Beale to go—the two of them. Abruptly, he turned and fled.
"Now," said Craig, as Beale's footfalls died away, "now, Ohm, we can get on with our work."