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Show my master, wanted to reach all his friends hither and yon, for there's something amiss east of the T a r t a r s . . . " He began drumming his delicate fingers on his top knee and looked thoughtfully off into the middle distance. "The Good Doctor would wish to speak to thee, I warrant," he went on, "on the closed circuit transhologram in the inner office, his private line." Dr'Anya raised her eyebrows. A private line, if it pleases! Marry, and that's one way to get around the BauerNetwork Snoop. But how worked he that trick? None of his offspring went into computer science, but rather took degrees in Tourney Sport. The android looked respectfully at Dr'Anya who was looking back at him with her eyebrows up. "Thou art Midoctor Needlesmith, indeed...?" Her eyebrows went even higher. The android nodded at her- "Marry, thy likeness was inputted into my system naught but a moment ago, but I knew thee for a Doctor forthwith." He raised his index finger for emphasis. "Thou givest off the emission. All the Doctors give off the emission, androids can tell. It tendeth to i n t e r f e r e . . . " He tapped his chest. "...with the hardware." Dr'Anya sat up. Ida's Heaven! Marry, she had indeed been out of touch! "All Doctors have the Skill...?" she asked, astounded. "All Doctors...?" The android nodded again. If it were possible for him to smile knowingly, Dr'Anya thought, he most assuredly would be doing such. "Aye, Midoctor;" he said. "The Good Grant-Sheblem knows this and the androids-Saint Ida bless them!-they know this, but only a small circle of Doctors knows this." He uncrossed his legs and crossed them again the other way. "The rest of them, thou see'st, are fair occupied with 40 |
