“Why?”
“So it’ll be too groggy for a few days to even notice her, so it’ll get addicted and attached to her because she gives it the coedine.”
“The serial number?”
“I’ll put the tattooed foot in a cast. V-18 paralysis—you know.”
“Smart,” she muttered, but there was no approval in her voice.
When she had changed clothes in the anteroom, she unlocked the door to the office, but paused before passing on into the reception room. The door was ajar, and she gazed through the crack at the woman who sat on the sofa.
Sarah Glubbes was gray and gaunt and rigid as stone. She sat with her hands clenched in her lap, her wide empty eyes—dull blue spots on yellowed marble orbs—staring ceilingward while the colorless lips of a knife-slash mouth moved tautly in earnest prayer. The nurse’s throat felt tight. She rubbed it for a moment. After all, the thing was only an animal.
She straightened her shoulders, put on a cheerful smile, and marched on into the reception room. The yellowed orbs snapped demandingly toward her.
“Everything’s all right, Mrs. Glubbes,” she began.
“Finished,” Norris grunted at three o’clock that afternoon.
“Thirty-six K-99s,” murmured the Anthropos file-clerk, gazing over Norris’s shoulder at the clip-board with the list of doubtful neuts and the dealers to whom they had been sent. “Lots of owners may be hard to locate.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Andy, and you too, Mabel.”
The girl smiled and handed him a slip of paper. “Here’s a list of owners for thirteen of them. I called the two local shops for you. Most of them live here close.”
He glanced at the names, felt tension gathering in his stomach. It wasn’t going to be easy. What could he say to them?
Howdy, Ma’am, excuse me, but I’ve come to take your little boy away to jail… Oh, yes ma’am, he’ll have a place to stay—in a little steel cage with a forkful of straw, and he’ll get vitaminized mush every day. What’s that? His sleepy-time stories and his pink honey-crumbles? Sorry, ma’am, your little boy is only a mutated chimpanzee, you know, and not really human at all.
“That’ll go over great,” he grumbled, staring absently at the window.
“Beg pardon, sir?” answered the clerk.
“Nothing, Andy, nothing.” He thanked them again and strode out into the late afternoon sunlight. Still a couple of hours working time left, and plenty of things to do. Checking with the other retail dealers would be the least unpleasant task, but there was no use saving the worst until last. He glanced at the list Mabel had given him, checked it for the nearest address, then squared his shoulders and headed for the kennel truck.
Anne met him at the door when he came home at six. He stood on the porch for a moment, smiling at her weakly. The smile was not returned.
“Doctor Georges’ boy came,” she told him. “He signed for the—”
She stopped to stare at him, then opened the screen, reached up quickly to brush light fingertips over his cheek.
“Terry! Those welts! What happened—get scratched by a cat-Q?”
“No, by a human-F,” he grumbled, and stepped past her into the hall; Anne followed, eyeing him curiously while he reached for the phone and dialed.
“Who’re you calling?” she asked.
“Society’s Watchdog,” he answered as the receiver buzzed in his ear.
“Your eye, Terry—it’s all puffy. Will it turn black?”
“Maybe.”
“Did the human-F do that too?”
“Uh-uh. Human-M—name of Pete Klusky…”
The phone croaked at him suddenly. “This is the record-voice of Sheriff Yates. I’ll be out from five to seven. If it’s urgent, call your constable.”
He hung up briefly, then irritably dialed the locator service. “Mnemonic register, trail calls, and official locations,” grated a mechanical voice. “Your business, please.”
“This is T. Norris, Sherman-9-4566-78B, Official rating B, Priority B, code XT-88-U-Bio. Get Sheriff Yates for me.”
“Nature of the call?”
“Offish biz.”
“I shall record the call.”
He waited. The robot found Yates on the first probability-trial attempt—in the local pool-hall.
“I’m getting to hate that infernal gadget,” Yates snapped. “Acts like it’s got me psyched. Whattaya want, Norris?”
“Cooperation. I’m mailing you three letters charging three Wylo citizens with resisting a federal official—namely me—and charging one of them with assault. I tried to pick up their neutroids for a pound inspection, and—”
Yates bellowed lusty laughter in his ear.
“Not funny,” he growled. “I’ve got to get those neutroids. It’s connected with the Delmont case.”
Yates stopped laughing. “Oh? Well… I’ll take care of it.”
“Rush order, Sheriff. Can you get the warrants tonight and pick up the animals in the morning?”
“Easy on those warrants, boy. Judge Charleman can’t be bothered just any time. I can get the newts to you by noon, I guess, provided we don’t have to get a helicopter posse to chase down the mothers.”
“Well, okay—but listen—I want the charges dropped if they cooperate with you. And don’t shake the warrants at them unless you have to. Just get those newts, that’s all I want.”
“Okay, boy. Give me the dope.”
Norris read him the names and addresses of the three unwilling owners, and a precise account of what happened in each case. As soon as he hung up, Anne muttered “Sit still,” perched on his knees, and began stroking chilly ointment across his burning cheek. He watched her cool eyes flicker from his cheek to his own eyes and down again. She was no longer angry, but only gloomy and withdrawn from him. He touched her arm. She seemed not to notice it.
“Hard day, Terry?”
“Slightly. I picked up nine newts out of thirteen, anyhow. They’re in the truck now.”
“Good thing you didn’t get them all. There are only twelve empty cages.”
“Twelve?—oh, Georges picked one up, didn’t he?”
“And sent a package,” she said, eyeing him soberly.
“Package? Where is it?”
“In the crematorium. The boy took it back there.” He swallowed a tight spot in his throat, said nothing.
“Oh, and darling—Mrs. Slade called. Why didn’t you tell me we’re going out tonight?”
“Going—out?” It sounded a little weak.
“Well, she said she hadn’t heard from you. I couldn’t very well say no, so I told her I’d be there, at least.”
“You—?”
“Oh, I didn’t say about you, Terry. I said you’d like to go, but you might have to work. I’ll go alone if you don’t want to.”
He stared at her with a puzzled frown. “You want to go to the psuedoparty?”
“Not particularly. But I’ve never been to one. I’m just curious.”
He nodded slowly, felt grim inside. She finished with the ointment, patted his cheek, managed a cheerful smile.
“Come on, Terry. Let’s go unload your nine neutroids.” He stared at her dumbly.
“Let’s forget about this morning, Terry.”
He nodded. She averted her face suddenly, and her lip quivered. “I—I know you’ve got a job that’s got to be—” She swallowed hard and turned away. “See you out in the kennels,” she choked gaily, then hurried down the hall toward the door. Norris scratched his chin unhappily as he watched her go.
After a moment, he dialed the mnemonic register again. “Keep a line on this number,” he ordered after identifying himself. “If Yates or Franklin calls, ring continuously until I can get in to answer. Otherwise, just memorize the call.”