Earlier, before his graduate assistant Enju burst into the room shouting, Dane had been contemplating both the surprising culmination of a recent research project and the thin layer of ice crystals on his office window illuminated by a mid-winter's sun. This contemplation vacillated between two trains of thought. The first train of thought considered that both his conclusions and the ice each contained a pure truth; a latticework of meticulous hierarchy fractured with a spiral of chaotic discontent (itself subject an unknown hierarchy, and so on and so on) that, further, were remarkably beautiful when framed in the correct light. The second and more succinct train of thought posited that this was the crappiest office he ever had.
"Dr. Whitman?"
"Hmm?" He looked with fresh eyes at Enju. Two streams of hair had come undone from her tight ponytail and she was flushed but not out of breath. Dane recalled her being a runner of some respect. Her signs of contained panic were more pronounced than the average grad student.
"What should we do?"
Dane checked his watch and stood. "I don't know. How about Thai?"
"What?"
"Thai. I can't handle another salad."
Enju rapidly put her hands into, out of, then back into her light jacket pockets. Later, in a quiet moment over drinks with a friend, she would wonder if the Black Knight's famous poise was partly informed by the fact he consistently ignored the first thing anyone said to him. Enju repeated what she had burst in to say.
"There's a robot here to see you." She waited for a moment of shock that did not arrive. "In the lobby."
Dane sat back down. The frost spirals again briefly caught his eye.
"Like, a person robot?" he asked. "Arms and legs?"
She nodded.
"What color is it?"
Enju stared at him.
"If it was silver and chrome we would all be dead. Probably. Well, I would figure something out, but…" He motioned vaguely at her, the wall with last year's calendar, a bookshelf dotted with unopened mail, his desk. "Dust, the lot of it." Dane read her increasing panic and held up his hands in supplication.
Dane stood and brushed off his button up shirt, then opened a small closet just enough to retrieve an overstuffed athletic bag while preventing other items – a broken vacuum cleaner, a lance, skis – from tumbling out and onto the floor. "Lead the way."
Together they walked down two long corridors of equally cramped offices, Enju straining awkwardly to match Dane's languid gait, until they reached the elevator doors. As they passed an open office door, a colleague shouted Dane's name and he replied "Cant talk, robot" without pausing. They reached the elevator doors and Enju the pressed the down button.
They waited.
"Sea-foam green," she said. "And tangerine."
Dane considered this. "That's probably fine." He gave a reassuring smile.
It was the first time Enju truly believed he was one of Them.