Then from a box beside his desk he took out the first of the Class Is slated for sizzling. They were simple I/Mouse/9s, household favorites for keeping one’s kitchen or backyard free of roaches and other pests. These were perfectly functional-indeed, as Oblonsky held it aloft by the tail, the I/Mouse/9 squeaked and looked around the room with its little glass eyes-but they were no longer desired for distribution, since the I/Mouse/10s had become available.

“Well, how are you?” asked Stiva, and zapped the Class I in its little lifelike face with the sizzler. The thing arced its back and dropped from his hand onto the desk. “When did you come? How is your groznium mine?” Levin was silent.

As it writhed on the desk, the mouselike automaton let out a loud, pained squeal. Stiva wrinkled his nose and shot Levin a helpless, apologetic smile.

“Makes conversation difficult, but it is in their circuits-they can’t help it.”

“They don’t feel pain?” asked Levin.

Stiva selected a second I/Mouse/9 and zapped it in the face. “What? Oh, yes. Certainly they do.” Levin said nothing, only shot a disapproving glance to Socrates, who flashed his dark-yellow eyebank and tugged at his cluster of springs.

“What brings you to our fair Babylon this time?” Stiva inquired with a wink, as he felt around in the box, finally snatching up another squirming I/Mouse/9.

“I have nothing very particular. Only a few words to say, and a question I want to ask you.”

“Well, say the few words, then, at once!”

Levin paused, unsure how to proceed, and turned to his companion android. Socrates regarded him sternly. “Just say it,” urged the Class III tinnily sotto voce.

“I cannot simply say it.”

“Can and must.”

“Do not badger me, Socrates.”

Stiva regarded this conversation with a sardonic expression, and looked knowingly at his own Class III, Small Stiva, who whirred with amusement.