"Too bad I didn't think of that when I could have done something about it," Vilbis said too cheerfully.
"Maybe you did think of it," Bill said. "When we get home I'm going to suggest we keep the Aquilae Fleet mobilized for at least ten years."
"You know they won't do that," Paul Belcross said. "They're more afraid of the robots than they are of attack. So am I, actually."
"We're just afraid of what they could do if they got free," Bill said. "Their potential intelligence is greater than human. If they overcame their built-in instinct for obedience to human command they could—why think of what our two million robots could do!"
"Why all this discussion of robots?" Vilbis said. "They're just dogs. Not even that. They were dogs for six months of their existence before their brains were transplanted into synthegell fluid by the mind transplant machine." His eyes took on a far away look. His voice became regretful. "I had a hundred thousand scientists working on that problem. If the mind of one dog could be transplanted into synthegell without destroying the dog's brain there would be no limit to the production of robot brain cartridges. If we could have licked that problem I'd have won the war."
"If!" Paul spat. "You're a renegade Earthman. I'm putting in my application to be the one to hang you as soon as we get home."
"How do you—" Vilbis clamped his lips closed and scooped up his cards.
"How do we know we'll get home?" Bill Ford said. "Is that what you were going to say?"
Vilbis looked at his cards casually. "No," he said absently. "I was going to say how do you expect to play cards and talk at the same time?"
A raucous blast exploded in the room. Bill and Paul stared at each other in surprise. Vilbis smiled.