“What about the policeman?”
“Oh, I forgot him. Uh… I’d better see the guy, I suppose.”
Narcissus retreated on softly padding feet. Gallegher shivered, went to the window, and looked out at that incredible hole. Why? How? He ransacked his brain. No use, of course. His subconscious had the answer, but it was locked up there firmly. At any rate, he wouldn’t have built the machine without some good reason. Or would he? His subconscious possessed a peculiar, distorted sort of logic. Narcissus had originally been intended as a super beer-can opener.
A muscular young man in a dapper uniform came in after the robot. “Mr. Gallegher?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Galloway Gallegher?”
“The answer’s still ‘yeah.’ What can I do for you?”
“You can accept this summons,” said the cop. He gave Gallegher a folded paper.
The maze of intricate legal phraseology made little sense to Gallegher. “Who’s Dell Hopper?” he asked. “I never heard of him.”
“It’s not my pie,” the officer grunted. “I’ve served the summons; that’s as far as I go.”