believe Canute would betray me. Us. I don't care what he is biologically, he's my dog."
"He's an alien spy, but he's your dog. Great!"
"A gomdog made into a real dog. Information: Would he betray his master?"
"Data insufficient," the voice said.
"If he had been taken as a puppy or whatever it was and taught to be a dog, and he associated with one person like that for a year and a half—a real dog would never do anything to hurt that person. Would a gomdog?"
"Data insufficient."
John contained his frustration, knowing Betsy would smirk if she saw him express it. "What do you need to know?"
"Protein content of gomdog's diet. Diversity ratio of training. Preconditioning. Planetary environment. Pedigree."
Betsy became interested. "Gomdogs must be more special than we thought."
John was nervous now. He did not look at Canute. "He ate a lot of table scraps. He was supposed to stick to dog food, but he likes everything, and I'm softhearted."
"Softheaded," Betsy muttered.
"I guess it was a high-protein diet. Why is that important?"
"Sapience of the species is directly affected by early diet."
"As with human beings, too," Betsy said. "And probably all living things. That means he's smarter than he's supposed to be. Because you fed him wrong."
"I like him smart!" John snapped. "Diversity ratio of training—I didn't train him much at first. We were just pals. Then later I showed him how to do all kinds of tricks, like jumping fences, hiding things, playing 'stranger'—I guess it was pretty diverse. And he learned awfully quickly. I even used to read him stories, just for the fun of it, and discuss my homework."
"That means you gave him a good education," Betsy said. "You really set out to dedog him, you know."
He ignored her. "I don't know about preconditioning. I guess he was told to act like a dog. He was a week or two old when I got him—pure white, no spots at all. There can't have been much else, at that age—I mean, how much can a week-old anything learn? But he always did look like a dog. I guess his pedigree is normal—a gomdog is a gomdog, isn't it? And the planetary environment is earthlike."
"So would this gomdog betray his master?" Betsy asked.
"Qualified answer," the communicator said. "Assuming unmodified purebred stock, ad hoc conditioning with proper reinforcement, diverse but informal training—gomdog would be capable of willfully betraying his associates but would be unlikely to do so without extreme provocation. Probability eighty-four percent."
"Probability of not betraying is eighty-four percent?" John asked tensely.
"Correct."
Betsy crowded John away from the communicator. "How smart would it be?"
"Eighty percent of human norm, fifteen percent margin of error."
"So Canute has an I.Q. between sixty-eight and ninety-two!" she exclaimed. "And it may be even more if some of those assumptions are wrong." She turned to John. "He may have been given super-potent food, you know. Why would they leave a thing like that to chance? He may be as smart as we are!"
"I doubt it," John said cautiously. "He's smart, but not that smart."
"You hope! He could be smart enough to conceal his smartness from you. How would you know?"
That stumped him. "Well, if he is, he's still loyal. What's wrong with being that smart?"
"As if we hadn't just gone through all that! He might make a very bad enemy."
"So that's what you're driving at! Did you ever stop to consider that he might also make a very good friend?"
"Your friend, not mine."
John stared at her. "You're jealous of a dog!"
"Don't be ridiculous!" But her flush gave her away.
"Why didn't you bring your pet?" he asked.
"Carry a birdcage along on a jailbreak?" she demanded witheringly.
"I thought parakeets could be trained to stay close without being caged."
"Mine was —inside. Outside it would have flown away."
"Oh." He felt awkward. "I'm sorry." Then: "Was it a real bird?"
"I don't think so. Not an earth bird, anyway. Let's not talk about
"He's an alien spy, but he's your dog. Great!"
"A gomdog made into a real dog. Information: Would he betray his master?"
"Data insufficient," the voice said.
"If he had been taken as a puppy or whatever it was and taught to be a dog, and he associated with one person like that for a year and a half—a real dog would never do anything to hurt that person. Would a gomdog?"
"Data insufficient."
John contained his frustration, knowing Betsy would smirk if she saw him express it. "What do you need to know?"
"Protein content of gomdog's diet. Diversity ratio of training. Preconditioning. Planetary environment. Pedigree."
Betsy became interested. "Gomdogs must be more special than we thought."
John was nervous now. He did not look at Canute. "He ate a lot of table scraps. He was supposed to stick to dog food, but he likes everything, and I'm softhearted."
"Softheaded," Betsy muttered.
"I guess it was a high-protein diet. Why is that important?"
"Sapience of the species is directly affected by early diet."
"As with human beings, too," Betsy said. "And probably all living things. That means he's smarter than he's supposed to be. Because you fed him wrong."
"I like him smart!" John snapped. "Diversity ratio of training—I didn't train him much at first. We were just pals. Then later I showed him how to do all kinds of tricks, like jumping fences, hiding things, playing 'stranger'—I guess it was pretty diverse. And he learned awfully quickly. I even used to read him stories, just for the fun of it, and discuss my homework."
"That means you gave him a good education," Betsy said. "You really set out to dedog him, you know."
He ignored her. "I don't know about preconditioning. I guess he was told to act like a dog. He was a week or two old when I got him—pure white, no spots at all. There can't have been much else, at that age—I mean, how much can a week-old anything learn? But he always did look like a dog. I guess his pedigree is normal—a gomdog is a gomdog, isn't it? And the planetary environment is earthlike."
"So would this gomdog betray his master?" Betsy asked.
"Qualified answer," the communicator said. "Assuming unmodified purebred stock, ad hoc conditioning with proper reinforcement, diverse but informal training—gomdog would be capable of willfully betraying his associates but would be unlikely to do so without extreme provocation. Probability eighty-four percent."
"Probability of not betraying is eighty-four percent?" John asked tensely.
"Correct."
Betsy crowded John away from the communicator. "How smart would it be?"
"Eighty percent of human norm, fifteen percent margin of error."
"So Canute has an I.Q. between sixty-eight and ninety-two!" she exclaimed. "And it may be even more if some of those assumptions are wrong." She turned to John. "He may have been given super-potent food, you know. Why would they leave a thing like that to chance? He may be as smart as we are!"
"I doubt it," John said cautiously. "He's smart, but not that smart."
"You hope! He could be smart enough to conceal his smartness from you. How would you know?"
That stumped him. "Well, if he is, he's still loyal. What's wrong with being that smart?"
"As if we hadn't just gone through all that! He might make a very bad enemy."
"So that's what you're driving at! Did you ever stop to consider that he might also make a very good friend?"
"Your friend, not mine."
John stared at her. "You're jealous of a dog!"
"Don't be ridiculous!" But her flush gave her away.
"Why didn't you bring your pet?" he asked.
"Carry a birdcage along on a jailbreak?" she demanded witheringly.
"I thought parakeets could be trained to stay close without being caged."
"Mine was —inside. Outside it would have flown away."
"Oh." He felt awkward. "I'm sorry." Then: "Was it a real bird?"
"I don't think so. Not an earth bird, anyway. Let's not talk about
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