Far off a speck of metal gleamed, growing larger. The distant high sound of brakes began, as a car decelerated, coming toward the Stop.

It was just an ordinary car, Sam told himself. That other car was still hundreds of miles away. But his hands were damp as he watched it grow larger.

It was an ordinary Talman sedan, with two people in it. It swung into the Stop's parking area, and its doors slid open smoothly. A small red light flashed on its arched front. The repair signal. In response the doors of the Repair shop opened. The Talman waited, as a man and a woman emerged from its padded interior and moved slowly into the Repair shop. The doors closed behind it.

The couple came toward the restaurant, where Sam stood waiting.

"Hi," the man said to Sam.

"Afternoon." Sam moved to the counter. "Something to eat while you're waiting, folks?"

The tall, dark girl glanced out at the closed doors of the Repair shop.

"How long's that car going to take?" she asked in a tired voice. "I wanted to get home tonight."

"Not long," Sam said. "It didn't look like anything complicated."

"How can you tell?" the man asked, sitting down. "It could take all night."

"Like something to eat while you're waiting?" Sam asked.

The woman stared at the lunch racks critically.

"I never like these places to eat in," the woman said, curling her lip. "You never know how long the food's been stored in the robot."

"Oh, hell, Grace," the man said wearily. To Sam he gave an apologetic shrug. "Just coffee."

"Well, you don't know," the woman insisted. "I mean...." She watched Sam drawing the coffee into a cup. "I used to cook a lot, by hand, till Jack had the autokitchen put in. He never had any stomach trouble till then. It's getting so everything's ... oh, I don't know. It's all out of reach. You don't know what's happening any more. Like the car."

 Prev. P 2/5 next