custom-made. I wondered how much it cost Napier to have one whipped up so quickly.
"It's a fabric of the boss's own design," said Humbolt. "Fireproof, puncture-proof, and wrinkle-resistant. Breathes like cotton, though you ain't likely to notice that. Durable stuff. You'll pop a stitch before it does. Ink ain't even dry on the patent papers yet, so the lady must like you."
I tossed the jacket onto the table. "What does she want in return?"
He shrugged. "Nothin'. She just likes givin' gifts."
"Gifts to guys like me," I said.
He nodded. "To guys like you."
I couldn't see the point in asking Humbolt any more questions so I let him leave. I laid out the suit on the couch and scanned it slowly up and down. Pinstripes weren't my style, but it was a nice garment, complete with a dark blue trench coat. The only thing missing was a hat.
There was also a card. It read:
Dear Mack,
If you're going to play detective, you should at least
look the part
.
Hugs and Kisses,
Lucia
There was something else in the box: a painting of an idyllic garden villa that had only a few hours ago hung in a levitation pod in Proton Towers. I set this aside and left the suit on the couch until Jung finally showed up.
He grunted a hello as he loped over to the refrigerator and found an apple.
"Hard day at work?" I asked, trying to slide into things gracefully.
"Usual." The gorilla lumbered over, and ran his fingers along the crease in the trousers. "Where'd you pick this up?"
"It's a gift from a friend."
"You don't have any friends, Mack." He polished the apple on his lapel. "Except me, and even I'm not always sure about that."
"It's a new development."
"Are you going to try it on?" he asked.
"Maybe." My vocalizer spit out a bit of static, my version of clearing my throat nervously. "Jung, remember this morning when you said something about friends helping each other?"
He bit into his apple while fixing his beady, black eyes on me. "Yeah, Mack. I remember."
So I asked him for a favor, and he just nodded and agreed.
"It could be dangerous. A little bit dangerous. Maybe." I sighed. "Forget it. Never mind."
"Let me get out of this monkey suit." The gorilla lumbered toward his bedroom.
"You don't have to do it. It's okay if you change your mind."
He paused at the doorway. "Forget it, Mack. No big deal."
But it was a big deal. I'd never asked for a favor like this before, and I still didn't feel right putting Jung in this position. There was some danger involved. I calculated a 3 percent chance of something going wrong with this plan, though there was only a 4 percent chance it'd pay off at all.
"You better get dressed, too," shouted Jung from the other room. "The clubs usually have a dress code."
The suit fit perfectly, but I had to borrow Jung's nimble fingers to help with the tie. I had to admit I looked damn good in it. Of course, the very notion of caring at all about aestheticsshowed I was more illogical than I wanted to admit. As for Jung, he changed into a deep purple suit that, from my limited perspective, was two degrees below tacky. He also stuck a rose in the lapel, which ended up making him look a bit like a cross between King Kong and a flashy gangster. But he was doing me a favor, so I kept my fashion sense to myself.
Empire's unofficial stance on the arts was one of tolerant indifference. In the Learned Council's ideal city, all citizens would be dedicated to productive tasks. This was a big reason why they'd created the Automated Citizens Act. Robots didn't bother with music or books or television. We did our jobs and never complained.
Biologicals had needs beyond a steady task and a place to recharge. They needed rest, relaxation, and, of course, stimulation. That was just the way it was, and the Big Brains had come to accept it. There was even one government-funded entertainment center. It was small and no one knew where it was, but the Big Brains assured us it was out there somewhere. There were plenty of private
"It's a fabric of the boss's own design," said Humbolt. "Fireproof, puncture-proof, and wrinkle-resistant. Breathes like cotton, though you ain't likely to notice that. Durable stuff. You'll pop a stitch before it does. Ink ain't even dry on the patent papers yet, so the lady must like you."
I tossed the jacket onto the table. "What does she want in return?"
He shrugged. "Nothin'. She just likes givin' gifts."
"Gifts to guys like me," I said.
He nodded. "To guys like you."
I couldn't see the point in asking Humbolt any more questions so I let him leave. I laid out the suit on the couch and scanned it slowly up and down. Pinstripes weren't my style, but it was a nice garment, complete with a dark blue trench coat. The only thing missing was a hat.
There was also a card. It read:
Dear Mack,
If you're going to play detective, you should at least
look the part
.
Hugs and Kisses,
Lucia
There was something else in the box: a painting of an idyllic garden villa that had only a few hours ago hung in a levitation pod in Proton Towers. I set this aside and left the suit on the couch until Jung finally showed up.
He grunted a hello as he loped over to the refrigerator and found an apple.
"Hard day at work?" I asked, trying to slide into things gracefully.
"Usual." The gorilla lumbered over, and ran his fingers along the crease in the trousers. "Where'd you pick this up?"
"It's a gift from a friend."
"You don't have any friends, Mack." He polished the apple on his lapel. "Except me, and even I'm not always sure about that."
"It's a new development."
"Are you going to try it on?" he asked.
"Maybe." My vocalizer spit out a bit of static, my version of clearing my throat nervously. "Jung, remember this morning when you said something about friends helping each other?"
He bit into his apple while fixing his beady, black eyes on me. "Yeah, Mack. I remember."
So I asked him for a favor, and he just nodded and agreed.
"It could be dangerous. A little bit dangerous. Maybe." I sighed. "Forget it. Never mind."
"Let me get out of this monkey suit." The gorilla lumbered toward his bedroom.
"You don't have to do it. It's okay if you change your mind."
He paused at the doorway. "Forget it, Mack. No big deal."
But it was a big deal. I'd never asked for a favor like this before, and I still didn't feel right putting Jung in this position. There was some danger involved. I calculated a 3 percent chance of something going wrong with this plan, though there was only a 4 percent chance it'd pay off at all.
"You better get dressed, too," shouted Jung from the other room. "The clubs usually have a dress code."
The suit fit perfectly, but I had to borrow Jung's nimble fingers to help with the tie. I had to admit I looked damn good in it. Of course, the very notion of caring at all about aestheticsshowed I was more illogical than I wanted to admit. As for Jung, he changed into a deep purple suit that, from my limited perspective, was two degrees below tacky. He also stuck a rose in the lapel, which ended up making him look a bit like a cross between King Kong and a flashy gangster. But he was doing me a favor, so I kept my fashion sense to myself.
Empire's unofficial stance on the arts was one of tolerant indifference. In the Learned Council's ideal city, all citizens would be dedicated to productive tasks. This was a big reason why they'd created the Automated Citizens Act. Robots didn't bother with music or books or television. We did our jobs and never complained.
Biologicals had needs beyond a steady task and a place to recharge. They needed rest, relaxation, and, of course, stimulation. That was just the way it was, and the Big Brains had come to accept it. There was even one government-funded entertainment center. It was small and no one knew where it was, but the Big Brains assured us it was out there somewhere. There were plenty of private
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