The pilot settled logily in a chair and dozed off. Amantha and Ethan watched him in silence.
The pilot got up and began to stretch lazily without seeming to notice them. The laziness disappeared and the stretch changed into a jerk that seemed to elongate his body. He sprang out of the compartment and went leaping down the corridor. When he came to the hatch, he didn’t hesitate. The ladder was too slow. He jumped.
He landed on the sand, sinking in to his knees. He extricated himself and went bounding over the field.
“Never saw canalberries take so long,” muttered Amantha. “Don’t know what’s wrong. Nothing’s as good as it used to be.”
She shook off her hat and closed the airlock.
“You don’t need those nose plugs any more, Ethan. Come on, let’s see if you remember.”
Several hours later, she twirled unfamiliar knobs and, by persistence and beginner’s luck, managed to get the person she wanted.
“You the commander?” Since he had a harassed look, she assumed he was. “Thought you might be worried about that poor boy.”
“Madam, what do you want?” He scowled at the offscreen miscreant who had mistakenly summoned him. “I’m chasing criminals. I haven’t got time to chat about old times.”
“Don’t sass me. I thought you might want to know how to stop that poor boy from running around.”
The commander sat down. “What young man?” he asked calculatingly.
“Don’t know his name,” said Amantha. “He ran out of the ship before we could ask him.”
“So you’re the poisoner,” said the commander coldly. “If he dies, neither your age nor your sex will make any difference.”
“Just canalberries,” Amantha assured him. “Reckon you wouldn’t know about them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Canalberries. Used to be lots of them. Males, men and animals, just can’t help eating them. Don’t bother women or any other kind of females. Biologists used to tell us it was a seed-scattering device. Guess so. Won’t hurt him none. Try bicarb and vinegar. It’ll fix him up.”
“For your sake, I hope it will!” said the commander. “He’s in a bad way.” He stabbed a pencil at her and his voice became stern. “If you follow directions, I’m sure I can get you off lightly.”
“Think we will?” said Amantha.
The commander hurried on. “It’s hard to find a ship in space. Stay where you are or, if you can, turn around and come back—slowly. We’ll send a ship up and transfer a competent pilot to bring you down. Do you hear?”
“Real plain. You got good radios on these ships.”
He smothered a growl. “Your lives are in danger. We’re not going to chase out and rescue you unless you cooperate.” It was an understatement. If they observed radio silence, search ships would never find them. They might not think of it, but he wouldn’t bet. They were smart enough to steal the ship.
There was another thing. From what he’d learned from records, they were close to the exposure limit. Any moment now, they might go berserk, turning their course fatally toward the Sun. He had to be careful what he said.
“We’ll get you out of this, but only if you help. I refuse to sacrifice men and waste their flight time, which is more precious than any ship, merely to save two senile incompetents. Is this clear?”
“I suppose,” said Amantha. “We’ve got to go home.”
The commander rubbed his hands. They weren’t as stubborn as he feared. He’d rescue them.
“Good. I’ll have men aloft in a few minutes.”
“Guess it was you who didn’t hear,” she said. “Our home is on Earth.”
II
“There’s no one here,” said the robot blocking the door.
“We’ll wait.” Amantha tried to go inside. The robot wouldn’t move.
It was dark and windy and, from the steps, they could see lights of houses glowing around them. Not many—it was near the edge of the little town. Farther away, over the hill, the ship nestled safely in a valley. No one had seen them land. They were sure of it.
Ethan removed his hat and his bent shoulders straightened. He seemed to grow taller.
“Rain,” he said in awe. “Thirty years and yet I haven’t forgotten what it’s like.”
“It’s wet, that’s what it’s like,” said Amantha. “Robot, let us in or I’ll have Ethan take a wrench to you. He loves to tinker.”
“I can’t be threatened. My sole concern is the welfare of my charge. Also, I’m too large for any human to hurt me.”
“Damnation, I’m soppin’!” complained Ethan. “It’s better to remember the rain than to be in it.”
“Wait till my son Jimmy gets back. He’ll be ravin’. Makin’ us stay out here and get soaked.”
“Son? Is the Jimmy you refer to Pilot James Huntley?”
“Ex-pilot.”
“Correct. But he’s not at home. He took his wife to the hospital half an hour ago.”
“So soon?” gasped Amantha. “Thought I taught him better than that. Women have got to rest between kids.”
“It’s not another child,” said the robot with disinterest. “It has to do with one of the ills flesh is heir to and machines are not. Nothing serious.”
Ethan fidgeted, turning up his collar. Water began flowing from the eaves. “Stop arguin’ and let us in. Jimmy will turn off your juice when he finds you’ve kept his folks outside.”
“Folks? He has none here. A mother and father living happily on Mars. They died quite recently, lost in space and plunging into the Sun.”
“Make up your mind,” Amantha said peevishly. “We ain’t on Mars, we weren’t happy and we didn’t get lost and plunge into the Sun.”
“I merely repeat—in sequence—the information I’m given or overhear. If it’s inconsistent, so are humans. I’m used to it.”
“’Mantha, they think we’re dead,” said Ethan. He wiped a raindrop away. “Poor Jimmy!”
A thin wail came from a crack in the door. The robot’s eyes shone briefly, then dimmed.
“What’s that?” asked Amantha. “Sounds like a baby. Thought you said no one was home.”
“No responsible adult. Only a child. Because of that, I can admit no one except the parents—or a doctor if I decide one is needed.” The robot whirred and drew itself up. “He’s absolutely safe. I’m a Sitta.”
“You sure are. Now get out of my way before I jab you. The kid’s crying.”
“He is, but it’s no concern of yours. I’m better acquainted with infant behavior than any human can be. The pathetic sob merely means that the child wants attention. I was given no instructions to hold him.”
Again the child cried. “Who needs to be told?” demanded Amantha. “Nobody gives grandmothers instructions.”
“He’s got a grandfather to cuddle him,” added Ethan. “How far do you think we came to do it?”
“And he’s not cryin’ because he wants attention. Something’s stickin’ him and he’s hungry. Don’t you think a grandmother would know?”
“There’s nothing that can stick him, but if, by accident, something sharp had gotten in his bed and if he were also hungry, he would sound like this.” The Sitta hunched down and swiveled its head, giving an imitation. “You see? I do nothing but watch babies. It’s built into me.”
Inside the house, the child’s tone changed, became querulous, listening. Interrogatively, it offered a single yowl.
“My analysis was correct. It wanted attention. The parents left so hurriedly, they forgot to give me permission. When I didn’t come to investigate, the child stop—”
The wail burst forth with renewed vigor.
The robot rotated its head and the alert look flashed on and off. It stuttered, “I know w-what I’m doing. But I—I can tell only what has happened to my charge, n-never what will!” The Sitta rumbled bewilderedly. “Anticipation is beyond my capacity. The child is hurt and hungry. Please come in and help me.”