She gave that phlegm-rattling gargle again. And yes, the trailing burr was definitely still part of the pattern.

“You can joke all you want, Wolruf, but I don't regard this situation as very humorous.”

Derec was not in the best of spirits. It was good to see Wolruf again, and that had cheered him momentarily. They had known each other for a long time, ever since she had been more or less a slave-an indentured servant-of the alien pirate Aranimas. Derec had freed her with the help of Mandelbrot, the robot he had put together from the pirate's supply of spare parts.

But Wolruf was hardly a stand-in for Ariel. Just seeing a good friend like Wolruf made him yearn for Ariel even more. If it had just been her and not Wolruf who had run down the ramp of the Xerborodezees, life wouldn't seem so grim right now.

He shouldn't have reacted adversely to Wolruf's weak attempt at humor. He should at least give her credit for trying. But he missed Ariel, and he wasn't about to let anything cheer him up.

“'u arrr in a foul mood,” Wolruf said. “A rogue robot couldn't make 'u feel that bad. Why issn't Ariel with 'u?”

It was eerie the way Wolruf could sense his mood, interpret it, and put her finger on what was bothering him.

“Let's not go into that. Let's just say she wasn't too pleased with me when I left her on Aurora. So she's probably pouting back there in a snit.”

And he added as a bitter afterthought, “With her playboy Winterson. You've never met him. Jacob Winterson. As revolting a bundle of simulated muscle as you'll ever see.”

“A cyborg? Like Leong?”

Wolruf was referring to Jeff Leong, a young man whose brain had spent a rather unpleasant period in a mechanical robotic body while the Avery robots on Robot City had repaired and healed his damaged human body.

“No, a humaniform robot,” Derec said. “Looks exactly like a human. Almost impossible to tell from the real thing.”

“'u're jealous of a robot?”

Wolruf gave that phlegm gargle again.

Derec said nothing. The conversation was veering in an unpleasant direction.

“Ah, a sorrr point,” Wolruf said. “My apologies.”

“We're here,” Derec said as he pulled the runabout to the curb in front of the apartment.

He looked up anxiously to the second floor.

“ 'u're expecting trouble?” Wolruf said.

She was reading his mind again.

“No. Mandelbrot would have phoned me,” Derec said, not quite truthfully, for he did feel just a shade anxious as he got out of the small vehicle. Mandelbrot and SilverSide didn't seem to understand one another. Perhaps he should not have left a robot to babysit another robot.

But everything seemed normal when they walked into the small two-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Mandelbrot was standing in his storage niche in the wall near the door. SilverSide was plugged into Derec's terminal and didn't even turn around when they came in.

“Impressive,” Wolruf said, her eyes going wide as she stared at the robot at the terminal. “ 'e's certainly got 'urrr scrawny shape.”

SilverSide's lustrous silvery exterior only approximated the details of Derec's appearance, but in size and proportions, it was, indeed, an excellent approximation.

Wolruf was exaggerating, of course. Derec was not scrawny. He was thin, but well endowed with sinewy biceps and with the hard plates of muscle across chest and abdomen typical of an older teen's torso.

But with that humorous barb, Wolruf had hit that sensitive nerve again. Derec did feel inadequate whenever he thought of Jacob Winterson.

“Everything under control, Mandelbrot?” Derec asked. He had walked to the center of the room, hesitated when SilverSide did not respond to their entrance, and then turned to address Mandelbrot.

He got no answer from the robot in the niche.

“Mandelbrot!” he repeated.

“Oh, yes, Master Derec.” SilverSide unplugged and turned to face them. “Everything is under control.”

Derec glanced at SilverSide and then turned to walk toward the niche as he said again, “Mandelbrot, you okay?”

“He's fine,” SilverSide said. “I deactivated him.”

“You what?” Derec's voice reflected his astonishment that SilverSide would have had the temerity to shut down Mandelbrot's microfusion reactor, risking partial loss of positronic memory.

“When you're not around, he tends to give me unwanted advice,” SilverSide explained. “Here, I'll bring him back up, since it apparently displeases you to have him down.”

“It does a lot more than displease me.” Derec's voice shook with anger. “And stand back, I'll reactivate him myself.”

SilverSide stopped. He had started walking toward Mandelbrot's niche.

“Don't you ever-I repeat-” and now Derec's voice was strident, grating, “don't you ever deactivate Mandelbrot again.”

“Certainly not,” SilverSide said, “if that is your wish, Master Derec.”

“That is most certainly my wish.”

“Very well, Master Derec.”

Derec had walked to the niche, and now reached around to swing open a plate set flush in Mandelbrot's back that covered a switch panel. Carefully, watching for Mandelbrot's reactions at each step, he reactivated the robot by flicking switches in a definite sequence.

Stabilizing the microfusion reactor was the most delicate part of the activation procedure and took the most time-almost half an hour. The robot's eyes were designed to guide that operation, changing color in the spectral sequence whenever it was safe to move on to the next phase-from black through purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, and finally back to colorless black-Mandelbrot's switch-induced standby state.

Completely ignoring Wolruf, SilverSide had gone back to the terminal and plugged himself in again after his exchange with Derec.

Wolruf had curled up on the davenport and was fast asleep when Derec finished.

Battery backup should have provided the low power needed to protect Mandelbrot's positronic brain from serious harm, but there was always the possibility of a loss of long-term memory during the nanoseconds required to effect the switch from one power source to the other. Derec would never know until the gap revealed itself, perhaps at some juncture when that particular memory would be urgently needed.

As he pressed the power-reset button, he cursed himself for having left the two robots alone together. Mandelbrot's eyes lit up with a red glow that pulsed rhythmically.

“How do you feel now, Mandelbrot?” Derec asked.

“Normal. The wild one deactivated me. I didn't realize what he was doing until too late.”

The robot gave a small shudder.

“Was that a Third Law reaction just now?” Derec asked.

“I believe so, Master. I didn't protect myself properly as the Third Law directs. I felt a momentary disturbance upon reaching that conclusion, which must have sent an associated potential wave through my motor control system. Is that the way it appeared?”

“Yes. I just wanted to be sure that it was not some damage from deactivation,” Derec said. “Ah, Wolruf, you're awake.”

Wolruf yawned and stretched. “Mandelbrot okay?”

“It would appear so, except for a normal Third Law reaction,” Derec replied.

“It looks ass though anotherrr imprinting may not be ass likely ass 'u 'ad thought,” Wolruf observed.

The small hairy alien was looking at SilverSide, who was hunched over the terminal and seemingly absorbed in the information that was flowing into his brain.

“SilverSide has apparently put you down as an inferior,” Derec replied, “a variation on this planet's wolf species.”

“That was my conclusion,” SilverSide said as he unplugged and swung around in the swivel chair to face them, “and I have been unable to find any 'Wolruf' biographical file or anything to contradict that conclusion.

“Would you tell me all about yourself, Mistress Wolruf?” SilverSide requested.