The youth ran his eyes over Pol, looked over Pol’s shoulder at the shoes, looked at the litter robot, which was rocking on the step below Pol, its manipulators gaping greedily, and then turning his head slightly, he called softly, “Sasha, hey Sasha! Come out here a minute. Some castaway is here to see you.”
“Have him come in,” a familiar bass rumbled from the depths of the laboratory.
The towheaded youth looked Pol over again. “He can’t,” he said, “he’s highly septic.”
“So disinfect him,” came the voice from the laboratory. “I’ll be happy to wait.”
“You’ll have a long wait—” the youth began.
And here Pol appealed plaintively, “Zow, Lin! It’s me, Polly!”
Something in the laboratory fell with a crash; out from the doorway, as if from a subway tunnel, came a whifFof cold air, the towhea
