He went out, snorting. The robot gently closed the door, came back, and, without being asked, hurried after beer. Gallegher waved it away.
“I’ll use the organ,” he moaned, mixing himself a stiff one. “Turn that blasted machine off, Narcissus. I haven’t the strength.”
“Well, you’ve found out one thing,” the robot said encouragingly. “You didn’t build the device for Hopper.” “True. True. I made it for… ah… either J. W. or Fatty. How can I find out who they are?”
“You need a rest,” the robot said. “Why not simply relax and listen to my lovely melodious voice? I’ll read to you ”
“It’s not melodious,” Gallegher said automatically and absently. “It squeaks like a rusty hinge.”
“To your ears. My senses are different. To me, your voice is the croaking of an asthmatic frog. You can’t see me as I do, any more than you can hear me as I hear myself. Which is just as well. You’d swoon with ecstasy.”
“Narcissus,” Gallegher said patiently, “I’m trying to think. Will you kindly shut your metallic trap?”
“My name isn’t Narcissus,” said the robot. “It’s Joe.”
“Then I’m changing it. Let’s see. I was checking up on DU. What was that number?”
“Red five fourteen hundred M.”