"Suppose I got to talk to somebody in the Rehab Shop. Do I signal with my ears and fingers?"
"You don't talk," said the colonel flatly. "Not at all."
Sergeant Bellews shook his head sadly. He regarded the colonel with such reproach that the colonel stiffened. But Sergeant Bellews had a gift for machinery. He had what amounted to genius for handling Mahon-modified devices. So long as no more competent men turned up, he was apt to get away with more than average.
The colonel frowned and went out of the room. The tall young lieutenant followed him faithfully. The sergeant regarded the three scientists with the suspicious air he displayed to everyone not connected with Mahon units in some fashion.
"Well?" he said with marked reserve. "What can I tell you first?"
Lecky was the smallest of the three scientists. He said ingratiatingly, with the faintest possible accent in his speech:
"The nicest thing you could do for us, Sergeant, would be to show us that this—Betsy, is it?—with other machines before her, has developed a contagious machine insanity. It would frighten me to learn that machines can go mad, but I would prefer it to other explanations for the messages she gives."
"Betsy can't go crazy," said Bellews with finality. "She's Mahon-controlled, but she hasn't got what it takes to go crazy. A Mahon unit fixes a machine so it can loaf and be a permanent dynamic system that can keep acquired habits of operatin'. It can take trainin'. It can get to be experienced. It can learn the tricks of its trade, so to speak. But it can't go crazy!"
"Too bad!" said Lecky. He added persuasively: "But a machine can lie, Sergeant? Would that be possible?"
Sergeant Bellews snorted in denial.