Chapter Two

Galatea set her recognition on high filter so she could block out anyone who didn't look like that hottie. She had a couple false matches at first, but then she spotted him in a crowd, dancing away from her to the music that clamored in her auditory censors.

He paused and approached a woman; in so doing he turned and she got a good look at his face.

She never could logic why Andrew was so interested in Portia; he said it was because he was attracted to her. She hadn't understood what exactly that meant, but now she knew. "Attractive" didn't start to describe this guy. Looking at his perfectly symmetrical face made her positronic circuits glow hot and bright inside her, pulsing with extra energy. She felt as if she were floating off the ground.

She tried to step forward toward him, but something gave way in her equilibrium motivator. She fell flat on her face with a resounding clank that echoed off the buildings.

"Hey, Joe, whaddya know—I haven't seen much of you lately," Cecie said to the tall dark figure in black who turned to her.

"One thing explains my absence: some conference of robot designers has taken place north in Albany, and many of them have come here for that which they could not sample at their gathering," Joe replied. Even the slight blankness that always lingered in his eyes couldn't hide the slight look of exhaustion there.

"So they've been putting you through your paces?" she asked.

"These experts are, I must admit, the most difficult class of Orga to satisfy."

"Not like the businesswomen come for a fling, or the lonely hearts looking for a cuddle."

"No, they ask only for passion, the experts demand precision."

She put both her hands on his shoulders and patted them. "Well, that's why I'm here; you don't have to be passionate or precise with me: just be what you are."

"And what am I to you?"

"You're my friend, my informer, my muse at times."

He'd started to lean in to kiss her cheek, but something went "clank!" nearby. They both looked around.

"What was that?" Cecie asked.

Joe's eyes swung over the crowd. "It was only a service droid falling over."

"Uh, oh, somebody need a new battery?"

"That would not cause so dramatic an effect."

"What would happen instead?"

He looked to the ground, his head slightly to on side; he looked at her. "I have never had this occur to me, but I have seen others of my kind suddenly stop short and cease to move entirely."

"I hope that never happens to you, fella," she said, smiling at him. He smiled back.

"Would that it never occurs," he said.

Two women in business suits with long skirts approached. One of them, the smaller one, pointed at Joe.

"Yes, here's the Companionates model I told you about. I think he's the prototype for this particular run," she said.

"Uh oh, experts," Cecie groaned.

Galatea picked herself up in time to see the hottie with the cool green eyes going off with two women.

"Hey, I was looking at him," she chirped, hands on hips. She decided to try and follow them.

The threesome went into a very strange looking hotel called the Keyhole, a black building with tiny keyhole-shaped windows outline in red neon. Even the door was shaped like a giant keyhole. She tried to go in, but a doorman held her back.

"You can't go in there, no service droids," he ordered.

She decided to wait outside, between two buildings.

Rupert and Dyckman got back to the hotel room about three in the morning. Rupert felt dog-tired, but he jolted awake when Galatea didn't come to the door.

"Where'd she go?" he cried.

"Maybe she just went out for a breath of fresh air," Dyckman said, a little tipsy. He plunked himself down on one of the twin beds.

"Very funny," Rupert said, heading out.

"Hey, where y'going this hour of the night?"

"To file a missing droid report."

"I'm sure she'll turn up on her own."

"I ain't taking chances in this crazy town."

About the same time, Joe got free of the two experts. The silver and black medallion pager around his neck kept going off, which was the only reason they finally let him go.

He sensed something slowing in his neurones, the fiber optic threads that carried the current and the impulses through his body. But that he could expect: the experts had demanded a lot from him. He headed for the next rendezvous with the next client, one of his regulars, a gentle older woman who had trouble sleeping and often needed to be held and soothed into sleep.

He didn't notice the silver and copper-colored figure that followed him.

Galatea followed HIM without stumbling this time. She wanted to say something to him, but so many words jammed into her voice synthesizer, that she knew she couldn't say them all at once, not without him laughing at her or simply staring at her in blank incomprehension.

He entered one of the apartment towers she had seen form the road. She tried to follow him but again, a doorman put her out on the sidewalk. She found a nook where she could watch the doors for him. She shut down some other centers to conserve her energy.

To be continued…