“The description of the escaped dragon is as follows. Length is forty-five meters. Color, red, with shadings to green. It answers to the nickname Coos.”
A picture of the dragon appeared on the screen. The dragon was doing his best to look terrifying.
“Should you learn his whereabouts,” Nina said. “You are asked to notify the Animal Rescue League and the Fire Department.”
“Why the fire department?” The robot asked.
“Because he breathes fire.” Alice answered, pushing away the bowl of Hercules flakes and pouring herself some tea.
“Our next report is about fishing in the modern age on the river Syr-Darya.” The screen was filled with a deep, wide flowing river. The river’s banks were lined with date palms. Seated beneath the date palms were fishermen with long poles. One group of fishermen began to fuss and ran toward a fat child who was hauling something very large and heavy out of the water. It took the strength of several adults to drag a two meter long sturgeon up the bank and out of the water.
“There is nothing newsworthy here.” The robot.
“Shows how much you know.” Alice said. “A hundred years ago that river almost dried up. All its water was used for irrigation. But now, there’s a river again, and fish in it. Not bad.”
The newsreader continued:
“Construction has been finished of the restoration of the Tower of Babel in the city of Babylon.” She said. “For several years restorers from forty countries have been rebuilding the ancient edifice from bricks. Despite the fact they spoke different languages they were able to find one in common, the language of science and art.”
The robot did not like the rebuilt Tower of Babel at all. In general, he was quite put off by the human veneration for ancient architectural masterpieces. He was convinced the only good things were new things; the old just wasn’t needed any more. This point of view was universal only in robots. When the Sukharevsky Tower, the Church of Christ The Savior, and the wall of the Chinese City were re-erected in Moscow he wrote an agitated protest to a newspaper and signed it “Wellwisher,” but it was never printed because the paper had a policy against printing anonymous letters.
“A heated debate has arisen within the biological community,” Nina continued. “As was reported previously, Caravaev Farms have introduced a heard of cows which produce cream instead of milk. Now, the geneengineer Remeslin has decided to go one step further; his prize winning cow, Sunrise, now produces three kilograms of sour cream daily. Many scientists have condemned Remeslin’s actions; Sunrise now subsists entirely on sauerkraut and pickled cucumbers. This is what Professor Redkin had to say to our correspondent:”
An tall, skinny man with wild hair waved his hands about and shouted:
“Stop, Remeslin! Sauerkraut is meant to be eaten as sauerkraut, not turned into sour cream! Pickled cucumbers are for people, not for cows!” The professor stopped a moment, the gills in his neck pulsing red. “What are you going to do tomorrow, invent a cow that produces cranberry soda instead of milk? Will you deprive mankind of cranberries? You are a reckless fool, Remeslin!”
The professor vanished from the screen, and the newsreader said: “Now for sports.” The scene changed to show two middle aged men seated on either side of a table; between them was a chess board with a game set up.
“Today begins the three thousandth seven hundred and twentieth match in the struggle for the World Chess Federation crown between Anatoly Karpov and Garry Kasparov. The Grunfeld Defense was used to win the match. Up to the 40th move the match was a replay of the positions encountered in the preceding fourteen matches. On the 41st move the match set aside. We are using the incident to familiarize veterans of Chess with the hundredth anniversary of the beginning of this epic struggle.”
“And who are you rooting for? The house robot asked.
“For Kasparov, the same as my grandfather did.”
“And now the weather.” Nina said. “Cloudy in Moscow, with some wind. The weather was ordered by the Agriculture Department which concluded the newly planted fields had already received sufficient sunlight and warmth. After dinner the clouds will be sent to Ukraine, where rain is needed. The Weather Bureau apologizes to the inhabitants of the town of Hibino, which received snow yesterday. That resulted from a computer mix-up. The computer confused Hibino, which had already planted their strawberry seedlings with Hiviny, which wanted snow for a skiing championship.”
“These computers are totally confused.” The house robot grumbled. “They just do what they want.”
Alice got up from behind the table. The first day of her vacation had begun, and it promised to be a very complicated day indeed.
Chapter Two: Bertha and the Dolphins
Alice entered her father’s office.
The mielophone lay on his writing desk. It looked like a small camera in a leather carrying case with a strap.
Right beside it was the note Alice’s father, Professor Seleznev, the director of the Moscow Space Zoo, had left, as though he had guessed that Alice would naturally look in.
“Alice, do NOT take the mielophone from the house! It’s a one of a kind instrument. Your father.”
Alice sighed. It was a bad thing to disobey your parents. But the interests of science were more important.
The door slowly opened and the Martian Mantis crept into the room. The Mantis was entirely tame and gentle. At first, when Mantises were originally brought from Mars, some people feared them, but the Mantises proved obedient and useful about the home. For example, they could crack walnuts with their hard mandibles, but even more the Mantises loved to juggle various objects, keeping them in the air while they stood on a single foot.
“And I’m soooo frightened!” Alice told the Mantis. “Can’t you nock first before you enter?”
The Mantis lay down, collapsing on himself like a folding chair, and scuttled beneath a table. He would survive. In his considered opinion, Alice was doing wrong.
Alice went to the videophone and called Bertha Maximovna. She found the woman sitting in a chair reading a thick book. Bertha wore a wig from Northern Mermaid Styles, sea green and scaly, scaly green pantaloons and a yellow sweat shirt.
“Greetings, colleague.” Bertha said to Alice. “What’s new?”
“My summer vacation’s started.” Alice said. “How’s Ruslan feeling today?”
“Better. The physician came over from the Black Sea Dolphin Center yesterday and says everything should be okay by this evening. He seems to have swallowed a flounder, whole. By the way, kiddo, have you spoken with your father yet?”
“I spoke with him. But you know his opinion of our problem, Bertha.”
“In other words, we can’t get the mielophone?”
“Papa said that the Black Sea Institute of Dolphin Studies will get the instrument when its turn comes around.”
Alice had considered saying that the instrument in question was at that very moment in her hand, but she knew Bertha too well. Bertha was an enthusiast. She would trumpet that she had gotten her hands on the mielophone throughout Moscow, and even if the results were nothing came of the experiment she would say they were successful.
“Oh well, drop by, snookums.” Bertha said. “Our beauty has been waiting for you eagerly. But not just right now; wait about an hour while they clean the pool.”
Alice could not stand it when Bertha called her ‘Honey,’ ‘Kiddo,’ ‘Sugar Pie,’ or worst of all ‘Snookums.’ Such means of address would have been understandable if she were still in kindergarten, but not for someone who had completed the third grade. But there was no way Bertha could have understood her objections if she had expressed them aloud. Perhaps Bertha would have laughed, and told all her friends and acquaintances: “You know, little Alice is just sooo cute. You know I called her ‘snookums’ and she huffed and puffed….” Or worse.