Follansby. The customer was in such a
terrible hurry. Was there any reason--"
Mr. Follansby gripped his prominent white forehead in both hands, as
though he wished to rip it off. "Haskins, I told you. I must have told
you! That display Regenerator was a Martian model. For giving
mechanotherapy to Martians."
"Oh," Haskins said. He thought for a moment. "Oh."
Mr. Follansby stared at his clerk in grim silence.
"But does it really matter?" Haskins asked quickly. "Surely the machine
won't discriminate. I should think it would treat a homicidal tendency
even if the patient were not a Martian."
"The Martian race has never had the slightest tendency toward homicide.
A Martian Regenerator doesn't even process the concept. Of course the
Regenerator will treat him. It has to. But what will it treat?"
"Oh," said Haskins.
"That poor devil must be stopped before--you say he was homicidal? I don't
know what will happen! Quick, what is his address?"
"Well, Mr. Follansby, he was in such a terrible hurry--"
The manager gave him a long, unbelieving look. "Get the police! Call
the General Motors Security Division! Find him!"
Haskins raced for the door.
"Wait!" yelled the manager, struggling into a raincoat.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25