Sprockets Read Free

He’s been out in the rain all night and he’s famished for something hot in his tummy.”
    â€œMy dear Miranda,” the doctor said patiently. “Robots do not eat.”
    â€œOh, but they do, Barnabas. Robots and boys, they’re just alike. You get either of them cold and wet, and they must have something hot. For boys, it’s hot soup. For robots, it’s a hot shot.” While she spoke she was swiftly doing things with the extension cord on the workbench. She plugged the end of it into the socket in Sprockets’ switch box, touched a control on the bench, and gave a little chuckle.
    A wonderful, wonderful, warmth spread suddenly all through Sprockets, and he tingled deliciously from the tips of his toes to the ends of his positronic circuits. His eyes began to shine brightly and all his buttons flashed with brilliant colors.

    â€œYou see, Barnabas,” said Mrs. Bailey. “You may be a towering genius in all kinds of ologies, but you don’t know about boys and robots. It takes a mother’s touch. The little dear’s atomic battery was all run down, and it hadn’t had time to recharge itself.”
    She stooped in front of Sprockets, smiling. “Now, young fellow,” she began, “tell me all about yourself.”
    Sprockets told her, gratefully. “So you see, ma’am,” he finished, “I’m not the least bit aberrated, as you can easily tell, and I escaped only because I had to.” He paused and gave her his most earnest and entreating look. “Please, ma’am, would you consider adopting me? You’ll find me a willing little fellow. I’m highly intelligent and full of capabilities.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œOh, Mom, please!” Jim begged. “Can’t we keep him, Mom?”
    â€œThat’s up to your father, Jim.”
    â€œAbsolutely not,” said the doctor. “In the first place, he doesn’t belong to us. In the second place—”
    â€œBut, Dad, can’t we buy him?”
    â€œCertainly not. You know how I feel about robots.”
    â€œNow, Barnabas,” said Mrs. Bailey, “for a famous scientist you’re terribly old-fashioned. We could all use a smart young robot, and I’m sure Sprockets is as intelligent as he says he is. A robot cannot tell a lie.”
    â€œA robot,” said Dr. Bailey, frowning darkly, “is a mechanical contraption. No mechanical contraption is truly intelligent.”
    Sprockets stood up suddenly, blinking his eye lights. “But I am intelligent, sir, if you will permit me to explain. I have a genuine Asimov Positronic Brain!”
    â€œEh?” The doctor stared at him. “Say that again.”
    â€œYes, sir. I have a genuine Asimov Positronic Brain with twenty trillion printed circuits.” Sprockets lifted his head proudly. “I am capable of the most intense cerebration known to robotics. I never forget anything. I can learn all.”
    â€œAll?” said Dr. Bailey, lifting his eyebrows.
    â€œAll, sir,” answered Sprockets. “And I can draw logical conclusions.”
    â€œH’mp,” grunted the doctor, scowling.
    â€œPlease, Daddy,” Jim pleaded, “won’t you buy him for Mom and me? Then he can help me with my chores, run errands for Mom, and maybe do special calculations for you. Can you calculate, Sprockets?”
    â€œWith my brain,” Sprockets answered with dignity, “my propensity for calculation is boundless. Although I have been given only a cursory education in mathematics, I need only to be fed the proper educational tapes to become adept in advanced calculus.”
    â€œH’mp,” muttered the doctor, still frowning. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”
    â€œOh, Daddy, please,” Jim began again. “Can’t we—”
    â€œBarnabas,” Mrs. Bailey said, “I have the greatest respect for you as a scientist, but you