eyes and blinked at the tall
highball glass in his hand. The robot had filled it to the brim with
Scotch. Martin turned a wondering gaze on his metallic companion.

"You must do a lot of drinking yourself," he said thoughtfully. "I
suppose tolerance can be built up. Go ahead. Help yourself. Take the
rest of the bottle."

The robot placed the tip of a finger above each eye and slid the fingers
upward, as though raising his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Go on, have a jolt," Martin urged. "Or don't you want to break bread
with me, under the circumstances?"

"How can I?" the robot asked. "I'm a robot." His voice sounded somewhat
wistful. "What happens?" he inquired. "Is it a lubricatory or a fueling
mechanism?"

Martin glanced at his brimming glass.

"Fueling," he said tersely. "High octane. You really believe in staying
in character, don't you? Why not--"

"Oh, the principle of irritation," the robot interrupted. "I see. Just
like fermented mammoth's milk."

Martin choked. "Have you ever drunk fermented mammoth's milk?" he
inquired.

"How could I?" the robot asked. "But I've seen it done." He drew a
straight line vertically upward between his invisible eyebrows, managing
to look wistful. "Of course my world is perfectly functional and
functionally perfect, but I can't help finding temporalizing a
fascina--" He broke off. "I'm wasting space-time. Ah. Now. Mr. Martin,
would you be willing to--"

"Oh, have a drink," Martin said. "I feel hospitable. Go ahead, indulge
me, will you? My pleasures are few. And I've got to go and be terrorized
in a minute, anyhow. If you can't get that mask off I'll send for a
straw. You can step out of character long enough for one jolt, can't
you?"

"I'd like to try it," the robot said pensively. "Ever since I noticed
the effect fermented mammoth's milk had on the boys, it's been on my
mind, rather. Quite easy for a human, of course. Technically it's simple
enough, I see now. The irritation just increases the frequency of the
brain's kappa waves, as with boosted voltage, but since electrical
voltage never existed in pre-robot times--"

"It did," Martin said, taking another drink. "I mean, it does. What do
you call that, a mammoth?" He indicated the desk lamp.

The robot's jaw dropped.

"That?" he asked in blank amazement. "Why--why then all those telephone
poles and dynamos and lighting-equipment I noticed in this era are
powered by electricity!"

"What did you think they were pow