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Sparx, v. 1, issue 5, October 1947
Page 11
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SPARX 11 THE LITTLE FLOWER (Continued from page 10.) Crane was dumfounded. He had told it only a few simple facts in his arrangement of reflexes, and certainly no botany. "I didn't tell you that." "Yeah," replied Chrysanthemum, more pleasantly. "You were talking to Granger." Crane blinked and sat down on the robot's fender. Granger had called shortly before he had connected in the muffler, and its rarified contents of "logic." Of course it was possible that the muffler could work without power, and receive impressions. "Ummm," grunted Crane. Chrysanthemum switched onto another of the reflex patterns Crane had fed into the banks. "Your wish is my command," it announced. "Mix me a venusian Crater Zowie." Relays clicked, memory tapes spun, idiosyncrasies of the moment clicked back and forth. A gurgling noise was heard from within, and a long arm held out a full glass of thick purple fluid, with a bright yellow fruit floating on the surface. Crane sipped carefully, then swallowed it down. "A little oil in it, but it's good otherwise." "You told Harlow yesterday that Zowie juice always tasted better with machine oil in it, 'sitting beside the spaceship that had just come arcing down out of the cold black splendor of interplanetary space to find the crater-plant growing peacefully beside the Mount Gloahna lava flow, the Jiawakee fruit hanging over the edge,naturally steamed in the...'" "Enough,"grunted Crane. Like most people, he didn't enjoy drinking what he preached. "Try it again, without the oil." "Eh?" Buzz, click, clank. "Rephrase, please." Inits search for the proper reaction, Crysanthemum opened the circuit breaker; The room lights flared up. Crane walked over to the breaker, and kicked it in again, groaning as he looked at the spinning watt-hour meter. "Where are we? What happened?" A light lit inside, and the robot's eyes began trying to look around. "Crane! Master! Where are you?" Before Crane had a chance to answer, the robot fired up the old engine, and, filling the room with exhaust fumes, pivoted until it found him, then dashed over to his corner of the room, almost crushing him against the wall. "Don't scare me like that, my creator," moaned the machine. "What would happen to me if I lost you? Nobody to replace my tubes, no little man to make drinks for, nobody to pay my electric bills..." It made a sound that might almost have been a sob. "Okay, okay, okay," stammered Crane. "Don't blow a fuse; if you're too active, you open the circuit breaker, and I have to go over here to put you back in action again. See?" "...Yeah..." "And you'd better shut off that motor before it chokes me. Besides, gasoline is hard to get." Chrysanthemum spun himself back to the center of the room, knocking over a table in the process, and came to a stop. Crane walked around to his former position, ((Terminated on page twelve.))
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SPARX 11 THE LITTLE FLOWER (Continued from page 10.) Crane was dumfounded. He had told it only a few simple facts in his arrangement of reflexes, and certainly no botany. "I didn't tell you that." "Yeah," replied Chrysanthemum, more pleasantly. "You were talking to Granger." Crane blinked and sat down on the robot's fender. Granger had called shortly before he had connected in the muffler, and its rarified contents of "logic." Of course it was possible that the muffler could work without power, and receive impressions. "Ummm," grunted Crane. Chrysanthemum switched onto another of the reflex patterns Crane had fed into the banks. "Your wish is my command," it announced. "Mix me a venusian Crater Zowie." Relays clicked, memory tapes spun, idiosyncrasies of the moment clicked back and forth. A gurgling noise was heard from within, and a long arm held out a full glass of thick purple fluid, with a bright yellow fruit floating on the surface. Crane sipped carefully, then swallowed it down. "A little oil in it, but it's good otherwise." "You told Harlow yesterday that Zowie juice always tasted better with machine oil in it, 'sitting beside the spaceship that had just come arcing down out of the cold black splendor of interplanetary space to find the crater-plant growing peacefully beside the Mount Gloahna lava flow, the Jiawakee fruit hanging over the edge,naturally steamed in the...'" "Enough,"grunted Crane. Like most people, he didn't enjoy drinking what he preached. "Try it again, without the oil." "Eh?" Buzz, click, clank. "Rephrase, please." Inits search for the proper reaction, Crysanthemum opened the circuit breaker; The room lights flared up. Crane walked over to the breaker, and kicked it in again, groaning as he looked at the spinning watt-hour meter. "Where are we? What happened?" A light lit inside, and the robot's eyes began trying to look around. "Crane! Master! Where are you?" Before Crane had a chance to answer, the robot fired up the old engine, and, filling the room with exhaust fumes, pivoted until it found him, then dashed over to his corner of the room, almost crushing him against the wall. "Don't scare me like that, my creator," moaned the machine. "What would happen to me if I lost you? Nobody to replace my tubes, no little man to make drinks for, nobody to pay my electric bills..." It made a sound that might almost have been a sob. "Okay, okay, okay," stammered Crane. "Don't blow a fuse; if you're too active, you open the circuit breaker, and I have to go over here to put you back in action again. See?" "...Yeah..." "And you'd better shut off that motor before it chokes me. Besides, gasoline is hard to get." Chrysanthemum spun himself back to the center of the room, knocking over a table in the process, and came to a stop. Crane walked around to his former position, ((Terminated on page twelve.))
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