Bolts Read Online Free PDF Page B

that’s got a trimmed brain and a mouth full of stainless-steel teeth!”
    â€œAw, Pops,” poor Bingo wailed, “a little trimming wouldn’t hurt his brain. If they trimmed it, they’d just snip off some useless knowledge on the outside. That wouldn’t make him dumb!”
    â€œWould too! Would too!” cackled Pirate.
    Big Butch glared at the hateful bird. “Button your beak,” he muttered threateningly. “Everybody knows you don’t like dogs. Honest, Commander, don’t you think it’s awful unchristian-like to abandon a poor little lost puppy dog that never—”
    â€œPipe down!” ordered the commander, swallowing hard in spite of himself. “You know I don’t want to treat a dog that way, even a stupid tin one. And, as you say, Bingo, there’s a possibility that a slight brain-trimming wouldn’t hurt him too much—though I have my doubts. Anyway, I’m willing to give Bolts a chance— if we can locate him.”
    Bingo almost collapsed with relief. In the next instant he had darted to the radio and his red hair was flashing all around it as he went swiftly to work. “I’m sure I can locate him,” he said. “This time I’ll cut down the power and rig up a direction finder. If he answers at all, we’ll have a compass bearing on him. Then we can go hunting for him in the Space Jumper.”
    Big Butch looked doubtful. “If that poor dog’s been sizzled,” he began, blinking worriedly at the commander, “he sure won’t answer now. There must be another way we can find him. Can’t you think of something, sir?”
    â€œThere is another way,” the commander said miserably. “But I’ve been so upset by all this I can’t remember it. You’ve got a brain, Butch. Start using it!”
    â€œAye, aye, sir.” Big Butch began clumping back and forth, scratching his metal head. The scratching always helped, for it seemed to loosen his circuits and jiggle his memory banks.
    â€œOh, stop clumping!” fumed the commander. “How do you expect me to remember anything when you clump?”
    â€œS-sorry, sir.” Big Butch stopped and stood blinking his eye lights unhappily. It took both clumping and scratching to jiggle an idea loose in his head. “What we need,” he grumbled, “is some special super thought. But I sure don’t see any around.”
    â€œSuper thought?” said Bingo, turning. Suddenly his eyes widened. “Jiminy! I’d forgotten we have the Super-Thought Machine here! Why don’t we try it out?”
    Before the commander could give him the order, Big Butch had the Super-Thought Machine unpacked and ready for duty. It seemed to be only a simple metal box on the outside, but inside was the most ultra-super-special thinking apparatus the robot factory could make. It had taken Bingo, Big Butch, and the commander all winter to design it.
    The moment it was turned on, the Super-Thought Machine began to hum. In a metallic voice it said aloofly, “State your problem. I am capable of solving anything.”
    â€œOur problem is a robot dog named Bolts,” the commander began. “He has been stolen by persons unknown, who thought they were stealing you. Please locate him.”
    â€œI doubt if the creature is worth my consideration,” replied the metallic voice, “but as a favor to my designers, I will find him. Describe the dog. Give his serial number, brain rating, battery power, exact time he was stolen, all details of the theft, and the latest weather information.”

    The commander did so.
    â€œVery elemental,” said the Super-Thought Machine. “Ordinarily such a simple problem would be solved in four seconds. But since my circuits are still warming, it will require exactly seventeen minutes and nine seconds. Kindly maintain absolute silence.”
    Everyone said, “Sh-h-h-h-h!”