"Very well. You've always been a truthful boy, Now what's this mystery?"

"I'll have to ask Professor." (Not lie, just tight squeeze.) "Did he leave number?"

"No, he said he was calling from a public phone."

"Um. If he calls again, ask him to leave number and time I can reach him. This is public phone, too." (Another tight squeeze.) "In meantime-- You listened to late news?"

"You know I do."

"Anything?"

"Nothing of interest."

"No excitement in L-City? Killings, riots, anything?"

"Why, no. There was a set duel in Bottom Alley but-- Manuel! Have you killed someone?"

"No, Mum." (Breaking a man's jaw will not kill him.)

She sighed. "You'll be my death, dear. You know what I've always told you. In our family we do not brawl. Should a killing be necessary--it almost never is--matters must be discussed calmly, en famille, and proper action selected. If a new chum must be eliminated, other people know it. It is worth a little delay to hold good opinion and support--"

"Mum! Haven't killed anybody, don't intend to. And know that lecture by heart."

"Please be civil, dear."

"I'm sorry."

"Forgiven. Forgotten. I'm to tell Professor de la Paz to leave a number. I shall."

"One thing. Forget name 'Wyoming Knott.' Forget Professor was asking for me. If a stranger phones or calls in person, and asks anything about me, you haven't heard from me, don't know where I am... think I've gone to Novylen. That goes for rest of family, too. Answer no questions--especially from anybody connected with Warden."

"As if I would! Manuel you are in trouble!"

"Not much and getting it fixed."--hoped!--"Tell you when I get home. Can't talk now. Love you. Switching off."

"I love you, dear. Sp'coynoynauchi."

"Thanks and you have a quiet night, too. Off."

Mum is wonderful. She was shipped up to The Rock long ago for carving a man under circumstances that left grave doubts as to girlish innocence--and has been opposed to violence and loose living ever since. Unless necessary--she's no fanatic. Bet she was a jet job as a kid and wish I'd known her--but I'm rich in sharing last half of her life.

I called Mike back. "Do you know Professor Bernardo de la Paz's voice?"

"I do, Man."

"Well... you might monitor as many phones in Luna City as you can spare ears for and if you hear him, let me know. Public phones especially."

(A full two seconds' delay-- Was giving Mike problems he had never had, think he liked it.) "I can check-monitor long enough to identify at all public phones in Luna City. Shall I use random search on the others, Man?"

"Um. Don't overload. Keep an ear on his home phone and school phone."

"Program set up."

"Mike, you are best friend I ever had."

"That is not a joke, Man?"

"No joke. Truth."

"I am-- Correction: I am honored and pleased. You are my best friend, Man, for you are my only friend. No comparison is logically permissible."

"Going to see that you have other friends. Not-stupids, I mean. Mike? Got an empty memory bank?"

"Yes, Man. Ten-to-the-eighth-bits capacity."

"Good! Will you block it so that only you and I can use it? Can you?"

"Can and will. Block signal, please."

"Uh... Bastille Day." Was my birthday, as Professor de la Paz had told me years earlier.

"Permanently blocked."

"Fine. Got a recording to put in it. But first-- Have you finished setting copy for tomorrow's Daily Lunatic?"

"Yes, Man."

"Anything about meeting in Stilyagi Hall?"

"No, Man."

"Nothing in news services going out-city? Or riots?"

"No, Man."

"'"Curiouser and curiouser," said Alice.' Okay, record this under 'Bastille Day,' then think about it. But for Bog's sake don't let even your thoughts go outside that block, nor anything I say about it!"

"Man my only friend," he answered and voice sounded diffident, "many months ago I decided to place any conversation between you and me under privacy block accessible only to you. I decided to erase none and moved them from temporary storage to permanent. So that I could play them over, and over, and over, and think about them. Did I do right?"

"Perfect. And, Mike--I'm flattered."

"P'jal'st. My temporary files were getting full and I learned that I needed not to erase your words."

"Well-- 'Bastille Day.' Sound coming at sixty-to-one." I took little recorder, placed close to a microphone and let it zip-squeal. Had an hour and a half in it; went silent in ninety seconds or so. "That's all, Mike. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Good night, Manuel Garcia O'Kelly my only friend."

I switched off and raised hood. Wyoming was sitting up and looking troubled. "Did someone call? Or..."

"No trouble. Was talking to one of my best--and most trustworthy--friends. Wyoh, are you stupid?"

She looked startled. "I've sometimes thought so. Is that a joke?"

"No. If you're not-stupid, I'd like to introduce you to him. Speaking of jokes-- Do you have a sense of humor?"

"Certainly I have!" is what Wyoming did not answer--and any other woman would as a locked-in program. She blinked thoughtfully and said, "You'll have to judge for yourself, cobber. I have something I use for one. It serves my simple purposes."

"Fine." I dug into pouch, found print-roll of one hundred "funny" stories. "Read. Tell me which are funny, which are not--and which get a giggle first time but are cold pancakes without honey to hear twice."

"Manuel, you may be. the oddest man I've ever met." She took that print-out. "Say, is this computer paper?"

"Yes. Met a computer with a sense of humor."

"So? Well, it was bound to come some day. Everything else has been mechanized."

I gave proper response and added "Everything?"

She looked up. "Please. Don't whistle while I'm reading."

Heard her giggle a few times while I rigged out bed and made it. Then sat down by her, took end she was through with and started reading. Chuckled a time or two but a joke isn't too funny to me if read cold, even when I see it could be fission job at proper time. I got more interested in how Wyoh rated them.

She was marking "plus," "minus," and sometimes question mark, and plus stories were marked "once" or "always"--few were marked "always." I put my ratings under hers. Didn't disagree too often.

By time I was near end she was looking over my judgments. We finished together. "Well?" I said. "What do you think?"

"I think you have a crude, rude mind and it's a wonder your wives put up with you."

"Mum often says so. But how about yourself, Wyoh? You marked plusses on some that would make a slot-machine girl blush."

She grinned. "Da. Don't tell anybody; publicly I'm a dedicated party organizer above such things. Have you decided that I have a sense of humor?"

"Not sure. Why a minus on number seventeen?"

"Which one is that?" She reversed roll and found it. "Why, any woman would have done the same! It's not funny, it's simply necessary."

"Yes, but think how silly she looked."

"Nothing silly about it. Just sad. And look here. You thought this one was not funny. Number fifty-one."

Neither reversed any judgments but I saw a pattern: Disagreements were over stories concerning oldest funny subject. Told her so. She nodded. "Of course. I saw that. Never mind, Mannie dear; I long ago quit being disappointed in men for what they are not and never can be."

I decided to drop it. Instead told her about Mike.

Soon she said, "Mannie, you're telling me that this computer is alive?"

"What do you mean?' I answered. "He doesn't sweat, or go to W.C. But can think and talk and he's aware of himself. Is he 'alive'?"