Manly Wade Wellman - Chapbook 02 by Devil's Planet (v1.1)

heard through his robot disguise. He tried to
assimilate every word, at the same time being helpful to Girra and maintaining
his machine impersonation. It was a difficult task, but he succeeded.
                 His
previous visit to Malbrook’s apartment had been too full of stress and
excitement. Only now was he able to observe and estimate.
                 The
room, made cube-form of metal, was bulged in all directions as though it had
tried to become spherical.
                 Only
the strength of its material and fastenings had kept it from ripping to shreds.
As to that, only the solidity of the door-panel had saved Stover’s own life.
The furniture was badly wrecked, even its metal frames being twisted and
splintered. Prrala, decided Stover, had been able to live for a few more
moments only because Malbrook must have been standing between him and—and what?
                 The
killer must have been tall, blond, and dressed in gold, to have been identified
as himself . Stover scowled perplexedly inside the
metal cranium of his disguise.
                 GIRRA
was investigating a round hole, little more than thumb-size, on the forward
wall. “Ssmall wrrench,” he ordered, shooting out a tentacle.
                Stover found the desired tool in a
box and passed it over. With it Girra loosened the device, the mouth- rim of a
ventilator tube. Inside was a tiny fan to blow enough air through so small an
orifice. The tube itself was left whole behind the damaged wall, for it would
not pull out.
                 “Rray,”
commanded Girra, and Stover found him a metal-solvent ray projector. Skillfully
Girra cut away an area of the plating.
                 The
ventilator was revealed, a down- curved tube, like the trap of a lavatory. At
the lowest point was one of Malbrook’s protective devices, a liquid solvent for
any poisonous or smothering gas. Girra tested it by thrusting in a flexible
probe, which came out wet.
                 “Ventilatorr
iss in good orrderr,” he announced.
                 As
he turned away to other surveys, Stover dared move close to the opening and
investigate for himself. The ventilator, he saw, fastened to another tube that
led through the outer plating to Malbrook’s hall.
                 “Why
do you loiterr therre?” Girra was demanding. “Iss ssomething
wrrong?”
                 Too
late, Stover realized that robot helpers are supposed to be above curiosity or
individuality of any kind. If Girra considered that something was faulty in his
mechanism and started to remove a plate to rectify it —but the Martian, coming
toward him, was suddenly attracted to the piece of plating he had cut away from
the wall and which now swung loose by the rim-attachment of the ventilator
tube.
                 “What
iss thiss sstain?” he asked aloud. “It sseemss local. The patrrol chemisstss have overrlooked it. Chemical kit!”
                 Stover
handed the kit over. Girra daubed on some liquids, stirred and fumbled, noted
the reaction, and made another slurred pronouncement:
                 “A carrbohydrrate of peculiar prro- porrtion. A ssynthetic that apprroxi- matess Terrresstrrial rrubberr. Melted elasscoid, perrhapss.’’ He confronted Stover. “Now, then, rrepeat back to me thesse findingss.”
                 Evidently
the work-robot also served as a sort of stenographer, receiving spoken words
and keeping them like notes on a dictograph. Stover had listened with both his
hidden ears, and was able to comply.
                 “Ventilator
in good order,” he repeated. “Stain of carbohydrate resembling synthetic
rubber, probably elascoid.”
                 But
he was unable to duplicate Girra’s Martian accent with its doubled s and r sounds. Girra was half-intrigued,
half-upset.
                 “Have
thosse