The manual was standard obtuse prose, as if translated from English to Urdu and back with a side trip to a dyslexic editor.

Digby got it together at last, but it wouldn’t power up. The manual and online support (written just as poorly, but in HTML ) were no help. Message boards offered an answer, but just as cryptic: The robot needs a heart to run.

What was that, a metaphor? Model name of a power cell? The answers continued his bafflement.

”’Depends what I want it to do?’ What does that even mean?”

“Rat heart” came up. Rebuttal was swift: Easy to get, but the robot only scurries around and chews holes in things.

Cow heart? Dumb and slow. Cat heart? Aloof and contrary. Dog heart? Helpful but easily distracted. The inevitable flamewar soon erupted.

“Where would you go for a heart?” he asked Pete.

His roommate shrugged. “Hospital, I suppose.”

“Good idea. Back in a bit.”

“Hey!” Pete yelled after, eyes glued to the TV. “Mortuary. Mortuary’s probably good, too.”