"Wait!" Morrison cried. "You can't just leave me like this! I haven't had any water in days! And those wolves—"
"I know," Williams 4 said. "Do you think I feel happy about it? Even a robot has some feelings!"
"Then help me."
"I can't. The rules of the Postal Department expressly and categorically forbid it. I remember Abner Lathe making much the same request of me in '97. It took three years for a burial party to reach him."
"You have an emergency telephone, haven't you?" Morrison asked.
"Yes. But I can use it only for personal emergencies."
"Can you at least carry a letter for me? A special delivery letter?"
"Of course I can," the robot postman said. "That's what I'm here for. I can even lend you pencil and paper."
Morrison accepted the pencil and paper and tried to think. If he wrote to Max now, special delivery, Max would have the letter in a matter of hours. But how long would Max need to raise some money and send him water and ammunition? A day, two days? Morrison would have to figure out some way of holding out....
"I assume you have a stamp," the robot said.