nium slugs and send it in with the regular slugs.”
Bud whistled. “When that exploded, good night! No more atomic energy plant.”
“But that won’t be the case at the Citadel,” Tom said. “Even a bomb detonating inside it would not ruin the whole plant. But only the robot could restore the damaged pile to working order.”
“Tell me more about Stan Lee’s job,” Phyl said.
“All he’s going to do this trip,” said Tom, “is walk around. First, I want to be sure that the control board is working properly. Second, that Stan Lee makes the turns at the right time, and responds inside the building when he gets the signal.”
There was a knock at the rear of the lounge and the young people turned to see Chow standing there with a wide grin on his face. He was holding a large tray heaped with sandwiches, cookies, and milk.
“If you-all kin stop conferrin’ long enough for a lil ole Texas snack, I’ll be glad to bring this forward.”
“Bring ‘em along!” Bud cried. “What’s in those sandwiches, though? Hope they’re not cactus specials. I’m not that starved!”
Chow ignored Bud’s remarks as he set the tray on a permanent wall table.
“I always said,” he drawled, “if you use your haid too hard you forgit your stomach and then you gits into trouble. Yup-a lil ole snack now an’ then keeps you agoin’.”
Sandy laughed and said she could not think of any 108 TOM SWIFT AND MIS GIANT ROBOT
nicer way to keep going. But Bud was not inclined to let the chef off so easily.
He bit into one of the sandwiches, choked, and cried: “Man! This is worse than cactus! Tastes like cement and red peppers!”