Among the metal-persons of Phobos, robot B-12 held a special niche. He might not have been stronger, larger, faster than some … but he could be devious … and more important, he was that junkyard planetoid’s only moonshiner.
sured the areas with their instruments, and exchanged significant looks from behind their spectacles, smug in their thin air helmets. It was all very mysterious. And disturbing.
But I could discover nothing about their mission. And when I questioned MS-33, he would look important and say nothing. Somehow it seemed vital that I find out what was going on before it was too late.
On the third day there was a strange occurrence. My friend, Jon Rogeson had been taking pictures of the Dumps. Langley and his wife had withdrawn to one side and were talking in low tomes to one another. Quite thoughtlessly Jon turned the lens on them and clicked the shutter.
Langley became rust-red throughout the vast expanse of his neck and face. "Here!" he said, "what are you doing?"
"Nothing," said Jon.
"You took a picture of me," snarled Langley. "Give me the plate at once."
Jon Rogeson got a bit red himself. He was not used to being ordered around. "I'll be damned if I will," he said.