‘We goin’ in there or what?’ ‘You just hold on. I got plans,’ said LeRoi. ‘Like I told you, that Eloi is our meat.’ ‘I rather go get some ribs. If we ain’t gonna do nothing.’ ‘You just hold on. I gotta plan this.’ Fred came out of the house. ‘There he goes! We grab him?’ LeRoi said: ‘Don’t be an asshole. It is broad daylight out there.’ ‘Great, man. Give ’em a show!’ Poker shouted. ‘That ain’t the Morlock way. We gotta pick out the meat at night.’ ‘Meat shit. If we ain’t gonna do nothing, I want some ribs.’ Weeks went by. The hunt for ‘Robinson’ robot continued, while Fred’s team began to work on M2, the second prototype. The work was not going well. Fred tried to avoid the thought that building a successful robot required the special touch of a homicidal lunatic. Moira had not been speaking to him since the day after the UFO ate a car at the drive-in. Their last conversation had been: ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Why should anything be wrong?’ ‘You’re acting strangely.’ ‘Am I?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Ask yourself why that should be.’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘You mean you don’t want to talk about it?’ she said.
