“Well, what happens to this base now, Doctor?” asked Captain Quill. “I sincerely hope that this will not render the entire voyage useless.” He tried to keep the heavy irony out of his gravelly tenor voice and didn’t quite succeed.
Fitzhugh seemed not to notice. “No, no. Of course not. It simply means that we shall have to begin again. The robot’s brain will be de-energized and drained, and we will begin again. This is not our first failure, you know; it was just our longest success. Each time, we learn more.
“Miss Crannon, for instance, will be able to teach the next robot—or, rather, the next energization of this one—more rapidly, more efficiently, and with fewer mistakes.”
With that, Leda Crannon stood up. “With your permission, Dr. Fitzhugh,” she said formally, “I would like to say that I appreciate that last statement, but I’m afraid it isn’t true.”
Fitzhugh forced a smile. “Come now, my dear; you underestimate yourself. Without you, Snookums would have folded up long ago, just like the others. I’m sure you’ll do even better the next time.”
Leda shook her head. “No I won’t, Fitz, because there’s not going to be any next time. I hereby tender my resignation from this project and from the Computer Corporation of Earth. I’ll put it in writing later.”
Fitzhugh’s corrugated countenance looked blank. “But Leda....”
“No, Doctor,” she said firmly. “I will not waste another eight or ten years of my life playing nursemaid to a hunk of pseudo-human machinery.
“I watched that thing go mad, Fitz; you didn’t. It was the most horrible, most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. I will not go through it again.
“Even if the next one didn’t crack, I couldn’t take it. By human standards, a robot is insane to begin with. If I followed this up, I’d end up as an old maid with a twisted mind and a cold heart.