“And how did little Timbot behave?” asked Mrs Ratchet.
“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the mechas saw him in the church, because he was defective, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day who recharged the batteries of the lame and rebooted the visual sensors of the blind.”
“Spirit,” said Screwge, with an interest he had never felt before, “tell me if Tiny Timbot will live.”
“I see a vacant outlet,” replied the Spirit of Virtual Presence, “in the recharging booth, and an oilcan without an owner. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will be scrapped.”