“I guess you’re elected,” he said to Gideon.
“Okay,” the robot said. “But make it fast. One of those motors can blow and soak the entire area with radiation. It wouldn’t bother us much, but it would be tough on you.”
Sheridan clicked out the spacehand transmog, shoved the other in.
“Be seeing you,” said Gideon, dashing from the tent. Sheridan stood staring at the scattered transmogs. Hezekiah will give me hell, he thought.
Napoleon walked into the tent. He had his white apron tucked into the belt. His white cook’s hat was canted on his head.
“Steve,” he asked, “how would you like a cold supper for tonight?”
“I guess it would be all right.”
“That floater didn’t only hit the shack. It also flattened the stove.”
“A cold supper is fine. Will you do something for me?”
“V/hat is it?”
“Max is out there, scared and busted up and lonely. He’ll feel better in the tent.”
Napoleon went out, grumbling: “Me, a chef, lugging a guy…”
Sheridan began picking up the transmogs, trying to get them racked back in order once again.
Hezekiah returned. He helped pick up the transmogs, began rearranging them.
“Lemuel will be all right, sir,” he assured Sheridan. “His nervous system was all tangled up and short-circuiting. They had to cut out great hunks of wiring. About all they have at the moment, sir, is a naked brain. It will take a while to get him back into a body and all hooked up correctly.”
“We came out lucky, Hezekiah.”
“I suppose you are right, sir. I imagine Napoleon told you about the stove.”
Napoleon came in, dragging the wreckage that was Maximilian, and propped it against the desk.
“Anything else?’ he asked with withering sarcasm.
“No, thank you, Nappy. That is all.”
“Well,” demanded Maximilian, “how about my body?”
“It will take a while,” Sheridan told him. “The boys have their hands full with Lemuel. But he’s going to be all right.”
“That’s fine,” said Maximilian. “Lem is a damn good robot. It would be a shame to lose him.”
“We don’t lose many of you,” Sheridan observed. “No,” said Maximilian. “We’re plenty tough. It takes a lot to destroy us.”
“Sir,” Hezekiah said, “you seem to be somewhat injured. Perhaps I should call in someone and put a medic transmog in him…”
“It’s all right,” said Sheridan. “Just a scratch. If you could find some water, so I could wash my face?”
“Certainly, sir. If it is only minor damage, perhaps I can patch you up.”
He went to find the water.
“That Hezekiah is a good guy, too,” said Maximilian, in an expansive mood. “Some of the boys think at times that he’s a sort of sissy, but he comes through in an emergency.”
“I couldn’t get along without Hezekiah,” Sheridan answered evenly. “We humans aren’t rough and tough like you. We need someone to look after us. Hezekiah’s job is in the very best tradition.”
“Well, what’s eating you?” asked Maximilian. “I said he was a good guy.”
Hezekiah came back with a can of water and a towel. “Here’s the water, sir. Gideon said to tell you the motors are okay. They have them all shut off.”
“I guess that just about buttons it all up – if they’re sure of Lemuel,” Sheridan said.
“Sir, they seemed very sure.”
‘Well, fine,” said Maximilian, with robotic confidence. “Tomorrow morning we can start on the selling job.”
“I imagine so,” Sheridan said, standing over the can of water and taking off his jacket.
“This will be an easy one. We’ll be all cleaned up and out of here in ninety days or less.”
Sheridan shook his head. “No, Max. There’s no such thing as an easy one.”
He bent above the can and sloshed water on his face and head.
And that was true, he insisted to himself. An alien planet was an alien planet, no matter how you approached it. No matter how thorough the preliminary survey, no matter how astute the planning, there still would always be that lurking factor one could not foresee.
Maybe if a crew could stick to just one sort of job, he thought, it eventually might be possible to work out what amounted to a foolproof routine. But that was not the way it went when one worked for Central Trading.
Central Trading’s interests ran to many different things.
Garson IV was sales. Next time it could just as well be a diplomatic mission or a health-engineering job. A man never knew what he and his crew of robots might be in for until he was handed his assignment.
He reached for the towel.
“You remember Carver VII?” be asked Maximilian.
“Sure, Steve. But that was just hard luck. It wasn’t Ebenezer’s fault he made that small mistake.”
“Moving the wrong mountain is not a small mistake,” Sheridan observed with pointed patience.
“That one goes right back to Central,” Maximilian declared, with a show of outrage. “They had the blueprints labeled wrong…”
“Now let’s hold it down,” Sheridan advised. “it is past and done with. There’s no sense in getting all riled up.”
“Maybe so,” said Maximilian, “but it burns me. Here we go and make ourselves a record no other team can touch. Then Central pulls this boner and pins the blame on us. I tell you, Central’s got too big and clumsy.”
And smug as well, thought Sheridan, but he didn’t say it. Too big and too complacent in a lot of ways. Take this very planet, for example. Central should have sent a trading team out here many years ago, but instead had fumed and fussed around, had connived and schemed; they had appointed committees to delve into the situation and there had been occasional mention of it at the meetings of the board, but there had been nothing done until the matter had ground its way through the full and awesome maze of very proper channels.
A little competition, Sheridan told himself, was the very thing that Central needed most. Maybe, if there were another outfit out to get the business, Central Trading might finally rouse itself off its big, fat dignity.
Napoleon came clumping in and banged a plate and glass and bottle down upon the table. The plate was piled with cold cuts and sliced vegetables; the bottle contained beer. Sheridan looked surprised. “I didn’t know we had beer.”
“Neither did I,” said Napoleon, “but I looked and there it was. Steve, it’s getting so you never know what is going on.”
Sheridan tossed away the towel and sat down at the desk. He poured a glass of beer.
“I’d offer you some of this,” he told Maximilian, “except I know it would rust your guts.”
Napoleon guffawed.
“Right as of this moment,” Maximilian said, “I haven’t any guts to speak of. Most of them dropped out.”
Abraham came tramping briskly in. “I hear you have Max hidden out some place.”
“Right here, Abe,” called Maximilian eagerly.
“You certainly are a mess,” said Abraham. “Here we were going fine until you two clowns gummed up the works.”
“How is Lemuel?” asked Sheridan.
“He’s all right,” said Abraham. “The other two are working on him and they don’t really need me. So I came hunting Max.” He said to Napoleon, “Here, grab hold and help me get him to the table. We have good light out there.”
Grumbling, Napoleon lent a hand. “I’ve lugged him around half the night,” he complained. “Let’s not bother with him. Let’s just toss him on the scrap heap.”
“It would serve him right,” Abraham agreed, with pretended wrath.
The two went out, carrying Maximilian between them. He still was dropping parts.
Hezekiah finished with the transmog chest, arranging all the transmogs neatly in their place. He closed the lid with some satisfaction.
“Now that we’re alone,” he said, “let me see your face.” Sheridan’ grunted at him through a mouth stuffed full of food.
Hezekiah looked him over. “Just a scratch on the forehead, but the left side of your face, sir, looks as if someone had sandpapered it. You are sure you don’t want to transmog someone? A doctor should have a look at it.”
“Just leave it as it is,” said Sheridan. “It will be all right.”
Gideon stuck his head between the tent flaps. “Hezekiah, Abe is raising hell about the body you found for Max. He says it’s an old, rebuilt job. Have you got another one?”
“I can look and see,” said Hezekiah. “It was sort of dark. There are several more. We can look them over.”
He left with Gideon, and Sheridan was alone. He went on eating, mentally checking through the happenings of the evening. It had been hard luck, of course, but it could have been far worse. One had to expect accidents and headaches every now and then. After all, they had been downright lucky. Except for some lost time and a floater load of cargo, they had come out unscathed.