“Why does Bunter need to know what your voice sounds like?”
“He doesn’t really have to, but it will make it easier to teach him your voice.”
“Why? I don’t think we sound the same.”
“We don’t. You’ll see.” He removed the disk and put it away.
“All right. All done. Here you go, Dad.” Jim handed over the two disks he had made.
Dad had finished with Billy’s homework folder and was standing by the window, staring out at the backyard. When Jim spoke, he turned with a distracted look.
“All set?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” said Billy. “Jim says I get to read to Bunter. Anything I want.”
“Sounds like fun. Why don’t you get washed up and ready for bed. Then you can read to Bunter as long as you want. Your homework’s fine.” Dad gestured at the folder on Billy’s desk.
“OK.” Billy grabbed his pajamas off the bed headed down the hall to the bathroom.
Once again, Jim waited until Billy was out of earshot. “Something’s eating you, Dad,” he said.
“There is. I can’t help but think that there’s more going on at that school than meets the eye. I’m going to head over there tomorrow afternoon and talk to Barstow. She had a spot open on her schedule.”
“What do you hope to find out?”
“From her, probably not much. But maybe I can get a hint about what the dog was up to in the nighttime,” said Dad.
Lieutenant Commander William Phillips stripped and stepped into the decontamination chamber of his base camp. It had been a hard day. That close encounter with an alien monster had taken a lot out of him and he welcomed the warmth of the shower. He scrubbed thoroughly, top to bottom. Miss a spot and you risked getting the scrunge, as the crew called it, a smelly green slime that hardened to an emerald casing if you gave it half a chance. Finished with his skin, he stepped out of the chamber and activated his ultrasonic degermer at station two. Scrunge was even nastier if you let it get hold in the mouth. He looked forward to a relaxing evening in his fatigues curled up with a tech manual on advanced robotics operations. He’d earned it.
Jim was still sitting on the bed when Billy came back into his room. Billy joined him. “Mister Bill! You’re looking scrunge free,” said Jim. “Oh, look. Here’s something I forgot to show you.” He turned the box face down on his lap. The test unit and cable were still attached. “See this other little cover?” He pointed to the opposite corner. “That’s the power connector. Go ahead, open it.”
Billy tried to pry up the little plastic cover with his finger, tentatively at first then with a little more force until it popped open. Jim handed Billy a long cord. “Now just plug the one end in here and the other end in the wall. Six hours will charge him up for two days, but it’s best if you just get in the habit of plugging him in every night before you go to sleep. Got that?”
“Got it. Even Burner’s got to eat.” Billy flopped over the side of the bed to put the plug in a wall outlet, then levered himself back up. “Now can I read to him?”
“Sure. Here, get settled in. I have to set Bunter up so he can look over your shoulder.” Jim had the box with cable and control pad attached in one hand. As Billy settled in, Jim looked at the shelves overhead, set the box on the lowest one and frowned.
“I don’t think this is going to work for text scanning.” Jim mumbled as he moved the box from place to place. “You know, Dad, I could really use that remote camera.”
“I’ve got enough stuff in the Dungeon I could probably whip up something on a cable in a few days,” said Dad, “but we’re still a good month away from a remote. Why don’t you just pick a spot and ask it if it can see?”
Jim snorted. “Duh. Guess that’s why we pay you the big bucks.” He looked at his brother. “Mister Bill, what do you want to be the first thing you read to Bunter?”
“Tik-Tok,” said Billy with assurance. The Lt. Commander had already decided on robot operations for the evening.
“I’ll get it.” Dad smiled as he turned to the bookshelves. The Oz books. Fifty-some hardbound library editions, all safe in plastic covers. None of them were first editions except for a couple of Snow’s last ones, although even the latest were almost fifty years old for all that. He ran his hand over the spines. Most of them he had acquired as gifts, the rest he had bought himself; ten he remembered he had bartered for with another kid, although just what he had traded for them was long forgotten. Those were the only ones that had the “This book belongs to” box filled in; in ink, damn it. Old and well-thumbed friends, they were the first world he remembered exploring entirely on his own, again and again. There had been a time when he could construct a map from memory. Jim had gone from learning to read to loving it by the same route, and now on to a third generation.
He pulled down Tik-Tok of Oz, opened the front cover, and scanned the blurb on the dust jacket beneath the protective plastic. Polychrome, Shaggy Man, Betsy Bobbin. Price—$2.50. Huh. The Trad schools though they had a lock on tradition, but the library at Billy’s school only had the first five books or so, and those in paperback. He’d checked. Still, it was better than nothing. Better than the Community Standards schools; they had deliberately banned the books. Can’t have witches and fairies. Can’t allow sweet, ditsy Polychrome, daughter of the rainbow, to compete with Genesis. Far better to tell kids that the rainbow is a promise from a cranky All-Father that he won’t swing the strap quite so hard the next time. What would they make of the Heinlein, Farmer, and Maguire adult editions he had on his own shelves? Enough. Leave it for tomorrow.
He closed the book and handed it over to his youngest son. “Here you go, Billy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he said. “What do I do now, Jim?”
“Just open the book on your lap and get ready to read like normal.”
“Don’t I have to put on the pin mikes or the earplug?”
“Not this time. I need to hear what Bunter is saying and you’re plenty close enough that you don’t need the pins.”
Billy pulled up his knees and placed the book on them. He opened it and slowly paged through the front matter, studying Neil’s lovingly detailed art deco pen-and-ink work. He came to the first page of text, opposite a drawing of Tik-Tok on a mule. “Ready,” he said.
“Now here’s how it works, Mister Bill. I’m going to talk to Bunter first and you have to be quiet, while I do. I’ll introduce you, sort of, and then you can read to him. By the way, what do want Bunter to call you?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you want Bunter to talk to you, you just say ‘Bunter’ and then he’ll say ‘Yes’ and your name so you know he heard you. The name can be anything.”
“What do you use?”
Jim looked a little embarrassed. “I, uh, have him call me ‘Mister Phillips’ just because he’s based on a butler and sort of sounds like one.”
Billy thought a moment. Jim had Mister Phillips and Miss Barstow used Master Phillips so forget that. She used William, too. Mister Bill was Jim’s nickname for him, so that wouldn’t sound right. What would? “Master Bill, Scotland Yard on the telephone for you, sir.” Yes.
“Bunter may call me Master Bill,” said Billy.
“All right.” Jim smiled. “Sounds like you want the full English butler treatment. You can change Burner’s name now, too, to anything you want.”
“No thank you. ‘Bunter’ is acceptable,” said Billy, still in character.
Jim smiled. “Fine. Now here’s the drill. When you want Bunter to talk with you or answer a question, just say ‘Bunter’ and wait for him to say, ‘Yes, Master Bill.’ Then you can just talk and he’ll talk with you. When you’re done say ‘Thank you, Bunter,’ or ‘That will be all, Bunter,’ Wait for him to say ‘You are welcome, Master Bill,’ or ‘Thank you, Master Bill,’ and he’ll go back to just watching and listening. He won’t say anything until you call him again. Got that?”