That evening the executive dining room was choked with a tight, gnawing
tension. Department heads spoke in hushed whispers, eyes darting. The
man across the table could be a mindless-controlled, a Guild pawn. Smile
at him politely and keep your mouth shut. I ordered _thar_, a Terminorb
arthapod that was usually more delicious than Venusian lobster, but
tonight it tasted like broiled leather. It was like eating in a morgue.
I saw Carmody, at the next table. I nodded coolly to him and he hitched
his chair over and said, "By the way, Jake, I'm sorry about Harvey. He's
going back to Earth next week."
"Why?"
"His stability index was too low," Carmody said smoothly. "Sure, we
could have given him the works, but you didn't want a robot."