cheap
necklace and a framed photograph of a man resembling
himself, though somewhat younger, and a woman whose
upswept hair was dark and whose chin was small, and two
youngsters between themthe girl holding the baby in her arms
and forcing her bright bored smile on ahead. Render always
stared for only a few seconds on such occasions, fondling the
necklace, and then he shut the box and locked it away again for
many months.
Whamp! Whump! went the bass. Tchg-tchg-tchga-tchg, the
gourds.
The gelatins splayed reds, greens, blues, and godawful
yellows about the amazing metal dancers.
HUMAN? asked the marquee.
ROBOTS? (immediately below).
COME SEE FOR YOURSELF! (across the bottom, cryptically).
So they did.
Render and Jill were sitting at a microscopic table,
thankfully set back against a wall, beneath charcoal caricatures
of personalities largely unknown (there being so many
personalities among the subcultures of a city of 14 million
people). Nose crinkled with pleasure, -Till stared at the present
focal point of this particular subculture, occasionally raising her
shoulders to ear level to add emphasis to a silent laugh or a
small squeal, because the performers were just too humanthe
way the ebon robot ran his fingers along the silver robot's
forearm as they parted and passed . . .
Render alternated his attention between Jill and the dancers
and a wicked-looking decoction that resembled nothing so
much as a small bucket of whisky sours strewn with seaweed
(through which the Kraken might at any moment arise to drag
some hapless ship down to its doom).
"Charlie, I think they're really people!"
Render disentangled his gaze from her hair and bouncing
earrings.
He studied the dancers down on the floor, somewhat below
the table area, surrounded by music.
There could be humans within those metal shells. If so, their
dance was a thing of extreme skill. Though the manufacture of
sufficiently light alloys was no problem, it would be some trick
for a dancer to cavort so freelyand for so long a period of time,
and with such effortless-seeming easewithin a head-to-toe suit
of armor, without so much as a grate or a click or a clank.
Soundless...
They glided like two gulls; the larger, the color of polished
anthracite, and the other, like a moonbeam falling through a
window upon a silk-wrapped manikin.
Even when they touched there was no soundor if there was,
it was wholly masked by the rhythms of the band.
Whump-whump! Tchga-tchgl
Render took another drink.
Slowly, it turned into an apache-dance. Render checked his
watch. Too long for normal entertainers, he decided. They
must be robots. As he looked up again the black robot buried
the silver robot perhaps ten feet and turned his back on her.
There was no sound of striking metal.
Wonder what a setup like that costs? he mused.
"Charlie! There was no sound! How do they do that?"
"Really?" asked Render.
The gelatins were yellow again, then red, then blue, then green.
"You'd think it would damage their mechanisms, wouldn't
you?"
The white robot crawled back and the other swiveled his
wrist around and around, a lighted cigarette between the
fingers. There was laughter as he pressed it mechanically to his
lipless faceless face. The silver robot confronted him. He turned
away again, dropped the cigarette, ground it out slowly,
soundlessly, then suddenly turned back to his partner. Would
he throw her again? No . . .
Slowly then, like the great-legged birds of the East, they re-
commenced their movement, slowly, and with many turnings
away.
Something deep within Render was amused, but he was too
far gone to ask it what was funny. So he went looking for the
Kraken in the bottom of the glass instead.
Jill was clutching his bicep then, drawing his attention back
to the floor.
As the spotlight tortured the spectrum, the black robot raised
the silver one high above his head, slowly, slowly, and then
commenced spinning with
necklace and a framed photograph of a man resembling
himself, though somewhat younger, and a woman whose
upswept hair was dark and whose chin was small, and two
youngsters between themthe girl holding the baby in her arms
and forcing her bright bored smile on ahead. Render always
stared for only a few seconds on such occasions, fondling the
necklace, and then he shut the box and locked it away again for
many months.
Whamp! Whump! went the bass. Tchg-tchg-tchga-tchg, the
gourds.
The gelatins splayed reds, greens, blues, and godawful
yellows about the amazing metal dancers.
HUMAN? asked the marquee.
ROBOTS? (immediately below).
COME SEE FOR YOURSELF! (across the bottom, cryptically).
So they did.
Render and Jill were sitting at a microscopic table,
thankfully set back against a wall, beneath charcoal caricatures
of personalities largely unknown (there being so many
personalities among the subcultures of a city of 14 million
people). Nose crinkled with pleasure, -Till stared at the present
focal point of this particular subculture, occasionally raising her
shoulders to ear level to add emphasis to a silent laugh or a
small squeal, because the performers were just too humanthe
way the ebon robot ran his fingers along the silver robot's
forearm as they parted and passed . . .
Render alternated his attention between Jill and the dancers
and a wicked-looking decoction that resembled nothing so
much as a small bucket of whisky sours strewn with seaweed
(through which the Kraken might at any moment arise to drag
some hapless ship down to its doom).
"Charlie, I think they're really people!"
Render disentangled his gaze from her hair and bouncing
earrings.
He studied the dancers down on the floor, somewhat below
the table area, surrounded by music.
There could be humans within those metal shells. If so, their
dance was a thing of extreme skill. Though the manufacture of
sufficiently light alloys was no problem, it would be some trick
for a dancer to cavort so freelyand for so long a period of time,
and with such effortless-seeming easewithin a head-to-toe suit
of armor, without so much as a grate or a click or a clank.
Soundless...
They glided like two gulls; the larger, the color of polished
anthracite, and the other, like a moonbeam falling through a
window upon a silk-wrapped manikin.
Even when they touched there was no soundor if there was,
it was wholly masked by the rhythms of the band.
Whump-whump! Tchga-tchgl
Render took another drink.
Slowly, it turned into an apache-dance. Render checked his
watch. Too long for normal entertainers, he decided. They
must be robots. As he looked up again the black robot buried
the silver robot perhaps ten feet and turned his back on her.
There was no sound of striking metal.
Wonder what a setup like that costs? he mused.
"Charlie! There was no sound! How do they do that?"
"Really?" asked Render.
The gelatins were yellow again, then red, then blue, then green.
"You'd think it would damage their mechanisms, wouldn't
you?"
The white robot crawled back and the other swiveled his
wrist around and around, a lighted cigarette between the
fingers. There was laughter as he pressed it mechanically to his
lipless faceless face. The silver robot confronted him. He turned
away again, dropped the cigarette, ground it out slowly,
soundlessly, then suddenly turned back to his partner. Would
he throw her again? No . . .
Slowly then, like the great-legged birds of the East, they re-
commenced their movement, slowly, and with many turnings
away.
Something deep within Render was amused, but he was too
far gone to ask it what was funny. So he went looking for the
Kraken in the bottom of the glass instead.
Jill was clutching his bicep then, drawing his attention back
to the floor.
As the spotlight tortured the spectrum, the black robot raised
the silver one high above his head, slowly, slowly, and then
commenced spinning with
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