Rendezvous on A Lost World by A Bertram Chandler

Author:A Bertram Chandler [Chandler, A Bertram]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780441158904
Publisher: Ace Books

Chapter 8

She came in, not through the door from the lounge but from the bathroom. I learned later that there was another door there, a concealed one, in one of the walls. She was tall, slim, ash-blonde, long legged and high breasted. She was dressed in a brief translucency that sometimes was green, sometimes blue. The color of her eyes seemed to change to match the color of her dress, but the scarlet of her wide mouth did not change, neither did the peach bloom of her perfect (a little too perfect?) skin.

She said, "Hi!"

I said "Hi!"

She put her slender hands on my shoulders. I could feel the softness and the warmth of her body against mine, smell the scent of her, and it was not the scent of machine oil. And yet, as her lips approached mine, I jerked back.

She said, "There's no need to be shy. Central Control made it quite clear that humans are apt to be embarrassed in situations such as this if they think that they are being watched, so I have switched on my inhibitory field. We are unobserved." She giggled—and it was the engaging giggle of a small, naughty girl rather than a mechanical chuckle. "Of course, Central Control is as afraid of being embarrassed as much as you are."

I demanded, "Are you sure that we're unobserved?"

"Quite sure."

"Good." I edged away from her. "As a matter of fact I just wanted you here for company. For a talk."

She pouted. "Is that all? You could have talked to Central Control."

"That wouldn't be quite the same," I told her. I broke away from her again, reluctantly, I admit, and sat down in one of the two chairs. She followed me and, before I could stop her, sat down in my lap. Sponge rubber flesh, I told myself. Steel bones. Plastic skin. A colloidal brain … I thought of further, quite revolting physiological details. Even so, she didn't feel like a machine. And aren't we all machines, anyhow?

Gently I pushed her from me.

I said, "Sit on the other chair. Please."

"All right." She sounded sulky, and looked it. Her dress had come adrift at the shoulder and was revealing a perfect pink tipped white breast. I prefer my women well tanned, however; • to me the combination of brown skin and that pale hair would have been almost—almost?—irresistible. But I kept quiet about my preferences, knowing that should I voice them something would be done about it, possibly at once.

She said, "We were made for a specific purpose, you know. Talking is only incidental to it."

Trying to keep the conversation under control, I asked, "And when Central Control has produced the real, flesh and blood women—what then?"

A shadow fell over her face. She said tonelessly, "We shall be scrapped, I suppose."

"Did Central Control make you?"

"No. Auxiliary Control."

"And is Auxiliary Control an independent entity?"

"No," she said slowly. "No. Not quite. It is part of Central Control, yet it has its own individuality." Her face brightened. "It is analagous to a man-woman combination.

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