"Oy!" said Ishie. "It even sounds like a cow!"
"Ye-es, si-ir," said the Cow. "A cow is an he-erbivorous ma-ammal, usua-ally do-omesticated, and fou-ound in mo-ost of the cou-ountries of Ea-arth. Wha-at specific da-ata did you-u wi-ish? The mi-ilk su-upply—"
"Hold it," Mike said, forestalling a long dissertation on the dairy industry.
Catching on quickly to the literal-mindedness of the placid computer, Ishie fired a direct question.
"What is our current position in relation to the equatorial orbit that we should be following?" he asked.
There was a sput from the speaker, very much as though someone had been caught off guard and almost said something, and then the placid reply came back.
"That information is top secret. Please identify yourself as Mike and I will answer you."
Ishie groaned, depressed the cutoff switch and turned to Mike.
"You fixed it," he said. "If a simple question like that gets an answer like that, how long do you think it will take the captain to find out something's wrong with the Cow?"
Mike lunged for the switch, but Ishie held him back.