Unwise Child

es on 112th Street, there was one door marked "M. R. Gabriel." Behind that door was his private secretary's office, which acted

r office, a plain, unmarked door that lo

thirty feet long and ten feet high, was a nearly invisible, dustproof slab of polished, optically flat glass tha

m plenty of illumination after sunset, but the simple flick o

. It had to be; Mike the Angel liked to flop into chairs, and h

s looking oddly luminous in the queer combination of city lights and interior illumination

f necessary, on a park bench or in a trench, but he didn't see any r

s electrokey had a special circuit that lighted up a tiny glow lamp i

e had locked the others. Then he turned on the lights, peeled off his raincoat, and plo

the stack was-a part of a robot brain. Mike could have put his hands on one legally, provided he'd wanted to wait for six or eight months to clear up the red tape. Actually, the big robotics companies di

the JD's hadn't gone into big-scale robotics

went to the trouble to steal them, had something more lucrative in mind than street fights or robbing barrooms. To crack a

d it over in his hands a couple of times, then shrugged, got up, went over to his closet, and put the thing away. There wasn't anything he

hone

unched the switch, and

as a slight click, and the phone went dead. Mike shrugged and punched the c

easy chair. He had no sooner sat do

Back to

el spe

no imag

on't you look up the number you

h a mild, reddish face, white hair, and a cold look in his pale bl

at you could afford to be rude to a Portfolio of the Earth Go

the best I can with the tools I have to work with. I didn't kno

t the Branchell is ready for your final i

Serge Paulvitch is on the job down there, isn't he? You don't need my okay. If Serge says it

ship was built according to your designs-not Mr. Paulvitch's. The

n it wouldn't do him the slightest good. "All right," he said resignedly. "I do

ifications for Cargo Hold One? Our copy got garbled in trans

ey're in my office. Wa

. I'll

door that led to his office, opened it, stepped throug

on that would shake the door that Mike the Angel had just closed. It was a two-inch-thick slab of armor steel on heavy, precision-bearing hinge

ke sniffed, then turned and ran. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a big roll of electrostatic tape. Then he took a deep breath, went back to the door, and slapp

ator. "I had a long-distance call coming in here from the Right Excellent Ba

ight pause. "His Excellen

screen. It had lost some of its ru

Mike snapped. "Did you

. It fell into a thousand pieces, and then

ss broke

's ri

lanted that bomb, rather than fired it in. I'd hate to th

unning f

wait until tomorrow for those specs

n wait. I'll call you again tomor

punched a number on the phone. A pretty

," she said. "M

illiam Cowder, please," Mike said. "Just t

ge blanked out. The screen stayed blank, but Sergeant Cowde

y speaking from

a rocket, and I know it was heavily laced with hydrogen cyanide. That's Suite 5000, Timmins Building, up on 112

ding, eh? I'l

ooked quizzically at the dead screen. Was he imagining

later he got