It was a hot muggy afternoon in L.A. and the air conditioner had quit working worth a hoot. I was not in a good mood, being too broke to get it fixed, seeing how the landlord was about to toss me out on my ear, anyway. The clock hands moved slowly on my office wall. Too slowly. I hadn't had a case in three weeks and things were getting a bit too tight.
     I was fanning myself with a folded piece of paper when she walked in. She was high in the looker category. Blonde, well figured, pretty, with eyes that looked right through you. I was falling in love fast, a bad habit of mine with a certain type of woman. She was it, without question. "What can I do for, doll?"
     "Are you Saphire Richards, the private investigator?"
     "That's me. Who's asking?"
     "My name is Lisa 6. I hope I'm not intruding. I saw no secretary in your reception room and your light was on in here."
     "Glad to meet you. She's on vacation. How do you spell that last name?"
     "6".
     "I see. And what can I do for you?"
     "I'm not here seeking services. I'm here offering."
     "A pro, huh?"
     "A pro? As in prostitute? Is that what you are seeking?"
     "No. I don't use hookers."
     "That's nice to know."
     "What are you here for?" I asked, now confused.
     She removed a data verification badge from her pocket and slipped it into the verification port of my desktop PC. "I am your new review supervisor."
     "Review supervisor? What in the name of. . . is a review supervisor?"
     "You haven't been keeping up with current events? Just over two weeks ago, the state legislature passed Bill 5715 which requires a review supervisor for every licensed private investigator. I am here to see that you abide by the letter of the law in your business practices."
     "You are what?"
     "I am assigned to watch you and report any illegal proceedings in your cases."
     "You, follow me?"
     "Yes, everywhere you go."
     "Sez who?"
     "Bill 5715. As long as you hold a license, I am assigned to cover you. There should be no problem."
     "No problem? Are you nuts? You come here as a pinch, and you say there should be no problem?"
     "I am not familiar with the term 'pinch' in this context, but I think I understand its usage, and I see no problem."
     I picked up the phone and called Harry, my lawyer. Harry wasn't the most prominent man on the bar, but my wallet wasn't as generous as the most prominent required to speak with, much less retain. So Harry sufficed. "Harry, I got this good looking but crazy broad in my office that says that she is moving in on me."
     "Your new review supervisor. I didn't expect the assignments to come this soon, or I would have made a point of warning you earlier."
     "Well, how can I get rid of her?"
     "Her? Saph, I think that there is one thing you should know. Your new supervisor is. . . ."
     "I can see what she is. How do I get rid of her?"
     "Uh, well, as of now, the court's private and untested council is that there is no problem with the assignments. This started from the Hendirk scandal, and it got too close to the big boys, so they are 'answering the call of public outcry' and putting watch dogs on your tails."
     "But how am I to function with this dream girl on my arm all the time? I could never get anything done with her there. Who would talk in her presence? None of my sources, I tell you, especially with her working for the state."
     "Actually she works for LAPD, since that is where you have you license issued."
     "Local cops? Like they haven't run me over the coals enough already. How much am I expected to take? Are they trying to run me out of business?"
     "Not if you're ethical in your vocation. Saph, before we go on, let me. . . ."
     "Can I dump her if I moved out of the city limits?"
     "No, once assigned, no swapping. Saph. . . ."
     "You mean that I have to file bankruptcy or something to get rid of her. I can't have her here in the office everyday."
     "It's not just in the office. It's a twenty four hour assignment, since you seldom work regular hours."
     "They have got to be nuts. What if there's a fight? Do I have to worry about her as well as myself? That will get me killed."
     "Saph, listen to me, and don't interrupt."
     "How am I supposed to have a love life with her around?"
     "I said don't interrupt. Saph, your review officer is not a she. She's an it."
     "An it? You could have fooled me."
     "I mean that it's a robot, or more precise, an android. That's a robot designed to imitate a human being."
     The phone dropped from my hand. "Are you human?"
     "No. Just a facsimile."
     "Thanks for telling me!" I snapped and picked up the phone. "Harry, get me out of this. I won't have this thing in my life."
     "Then resign your license and take up practice in another state."
     "No, there has to be another way."
     "I'll ask around, but I warn you, they sewed this one pretty tight."
     "Thanks for the encouragement." I placed the phone down and looked at her, uh, it. Hell, her. My senses screamed WOMAN at me to the depths of my pants.
     "Well, I assume that you have been brought up to date. Now, perhaps we can begin the introductory phase of our relationship."
     "Not so fast. I haven't said that you can stay."
     "A mute point, Saphire."
     "Mr. Richards to you, Miss, uh. . . ."
     "Call me Lisa. I'm not here to saddle you with worry. I'm just here to see that you stay within the letter of the law while performing your duty in your cases. How many cases do you have going at the moment?"
     "None."
     "All the better."
     "All the better? What am I supposed to eat, cardboard?"
     "I meant that it will be better for the two of us to become acquainted with one another. We will have more free time before we work together."
     "I never ever said that I was letting you work with me. I can't take you everywhere with me. Do you expect to go to the bathroom with me?"
     "My immediate presence is not require, as long as we remain in the same general proximity, once you are wired."
     "Wired? You're going to put a wire on me? No way."
     "Not on you. In. Under your skin on your neck. It's quite small and undetectable except by the government. Not even the transmissions show. You have no need to worry about it. It goes in with just a tiny incision. Doesn't even need stitches. I will perform the insertion myself."
     "No way."
     "If you wish to retain your license, you must comply. It is part of the same Bill 5715."
     "I'm beginning to hate that number!" I snorted.
     "Since you have no cases pending, it can wait a few hours."
     "Don't do me no favors." I was mad. I was mad at the Senators. I was mad at LAPD, undoubtedly gloating that they got us in a strangle leash, I was mad at having a job that wasn't making money. I was mad that this robot looked good enough not to kick out of bed.
     "Saphire. . . ."
     "I told you, Mr. Richards to you."
     "If you insist. Why are you so angry?"
     "Why? Why? I'll tell you why. We're the garbage collectors of the law enforcement in this country. We get what cops don't want to handle. They find a case that will hurt their image, they let it die in the DA's office and hand the victim 'You should seek private help.' We get people's dirty laundry and hand me downs, and cops complain about us all the time. Most of us do a good job, and we do it as honestly as we can. It gets nasty, but the cops hold it against us. We're their garbage collectors. We handle what they can't, and they treat us like refuse. And now you come along to make it harder, if not impossible to do our jobs. I don't have time to baby sit you while I'm on a case."
     "You won't need to baby sit me. My logic units are encased in an indestructible shell. I can be damaged, but not killed. And I don't damage easily. I am cognizant in human behavior. I speak all major languages and many of their dialects, including slang. I am skilled in nineteen arts of self-defense. I do not think that you near-fully understand the level of sophistication in Level 6 technology."
     "So what if I don't?"
     "If we are to work together, then we should get to know each other's capabilities. "
     "I haven't said that we are working together."
     "Unless you resign, I'm going to be very hard to lose. I don't sleep, my sensory equipment is far more sensitive than yours. I shall be very hard to give the slip, as you say."
     "Great. Stuck with a mechanical bimbo."
     "I am not a bimbo, if you would just look closer. I have a degree of sensitivity not found in the majority of humans. Mr. Richards, I am here to keep you from committing crimes in the enactment of your profession. While I am here, I can assist you in the completion of your duties. It's not just a one way street. I can help you. I am capable of doing things that might surprise you."
     "Like what?"
     "I can have sex."
     I coughed.
     "If you would like a personal demonstration to test my proficiency, I would be glad to oblige."
     My coughs redoubled. "Look, I told you I don't do hookers. That goes double for machines."
     "I might surprise you."
     "Just keep your distance."
     "As you wish. It is in my programming to be lenient in the initial phase of our acquaintance. Let me assure you that this is not a one way street. I can help in ways that you lack."
     "Me, lacking?"
     "I have access to police files, which you do not. While I can not give you the information verbatim, I can give you leads to follow."
     "Throwing me a bone. Thanks, but no thanks."
     "How about clientele? You don't seem to be doing to well there. I can put you on to people who need your services. Don't tell me you don't need that. I don't see you working. Look, I'm a machine that was designed for law enforcement. I can protect you better than you can yourself. I know that you sometimes have to work alone. I can play outside back up for you when you're wired. My deductive reasoning is quite good."
     "Right. That's all I need, an egocentric machine."
     "Mr. Richards, I am a thinking being, let me assure you. I am fully cognizant, as are you yourself. I emit the same type of brain waves that you do. I fluctuate the same way that you do when you have emotions. I have feelings. That is the factor that separates Level 6 from Level 5. I take it that you never met a Level 6, have you? Records do not show it. You are in for an educational experience, let me assure you."
     "Not only does it follow me everywhere I go, it chews my ass the whole time. Maybe they did design your exterior properly."
     "Don't say it. I was made this way. I did not request it, much as you did not request yours. As far as my existence goes, I am this. I can't change it. The factory might, but you are talking hassle at this point in time. Wait until I get seriously damaged. And you aren't being the kindest of host, snubbing me for the role I must play. I didn't choose you."
     "Look. We're not going to get anything done as long as we keep jabbering. I just need time to think about it."
     "Okay. Take all you want. Just don't make it excessive, for your own sake." She turned around and waddled my head to the right as she made her exit, purposefully flaunting for effect. She shut the door and took Glenda's chair. The intercom came on. "How long do you expect Glenda to stay on vacation?"
     "She's temporarily laid off."
     "Oh." The speaker clicked. I sat and watched her, uh, it. Her. Everything that showed through the textured glass as she sat there drove me crazy. The ache I felt was immense. God, I wanted her designer's neck in my hands. I could see the LAPD with big grins on their faces, just eating it up to see us squirm. If only she was plain. I moaned. She was quickly through the doors. "Are you okay? I sense pain."
     "And you are only making it worse. Get out of my line of vision. I don't want to look at you or listen to you voice or even the fake breathing. Just go."
     "What am I doing wrong?"
     "Existing in the same room as me."
     She backed off with a pout.
     "Out!" I screamed. God, she was ripping my guts out. She was so real. Her frown so guilt-inspiring, it nearly sent me through the roof. "This is not the time or the place. Just go outside, and if you hear screaming, that is all right. If you hear nothing, that is all right. Just go out and let me be alone to think. I can not think with you in the room. If you are doing this to me on purpose, you are in for real trouble. Out."
     She smiled, a touch unsure, but hopeful. I wanted to punch her, but I'd only break my hand, with my luck. I was determined to get to the bottom of this, if it was the last thing I did. Somebody was going to pay for this. I wasn't about to let this one get by scott-free. No sir.

      At quitting time, I walked out of the office. Lisa was right there behind me, locking the door as she followed me out. I noted that I hadn't given her a key. She was careful to stay just that little bit behind me so that only my peripheral vision could see her bouncing in perfect step with me, her long legs evenly matching my stride. The thing that ticked me off so much was the package. She didn't have to be that desirable to enact this function. For me, one not so noticeable would be far more advantageous. This was going to destroy any sense of stealth that I had. Everyone that looked at her glanced at me. Measuring up the competition or seeing what sort of creep goes with that kind of girl. I didn't need this piled on top of my other plentiful problems. I had enough to think about without this.
     Instead of hailing a cab, I walked. It was only seven blocks. She stayed behind me the whole way, keeping herself a constant distance from me. She kept showing me talents that impressed me. She was real, of that there was no doubt. She had to do what she was told to do. On that, there was no choice. I felt sorry for her, a sentiment she was programmed to achieve in me. Knowing it, I still could not help feeling something for her, the persona, not the machine. I was suddenly faced with the state of the art artificial intelligence. It had come a long way since the turn of the millennium, and here I was facing it now, or facing away from it. She was alive in terms of being enthusiastic, vivacious, sparkling, exuberant, desirable.
     I was repulsed and fascinated at the same time. And she was here in my life whether I like it or not. I thought of what Bill would have said. Something like, "You got to have rocks in your head, Saph. With a package like that, the only question is willingness." Yeah, and he doesn't have to live with her. This was going to mess everything up. Not that it wasn't that way before, but not on this magnitude. Brother, I was ready to jump on somebody's case big time. I was hoping someone would look at me cross-eyed. Unfortunately, quick glances were all I got. Small wonder.
     I went in the door and dropped onto the sofa and put my arm before my eyes. She asked from very close range, as my ears singed in her presence of voice. "Want me to cook dinner for you?"
     I dug myself down into the couch. "Fine. Go to the kitchen."
     "Why do you reject me?"
     "It has nothing to do with you. It has to do with your programmers."
     "I am executing the wrong programming?"
     "The little performances to show me how good you are at persuasion."
     "Pardon?"
     "Lisa, if we are ever to see eye to eye, cut the manipulation. Quit trying to dig your way past my armor. I resent that. Just be you outside your introductory programming, and we'll get along much better. Can you do that for me?"
     "Sure. We receive instruction, but we have full discretion to use our own judgment to take independent action. We're not slaves to a controller. A controller is just a simple management unit. It's mindless, and really slave to us. We are only slave to the basic proscriptions.
     "If I might say something, we were sent here to help you do your jobs more efficiently. The police know a team works better than an individual. We were programmed to learn to work with you to help you be more efficient at your work. It works better for police, because they can warn you off of something more sensitive. They can see if you have a need to know. It means there won't be nearly the need for shoe leather, and it will get you out of conflict with the police. They won't be ruling your life. You will be giving more general knowledge, but I won't report what is privileged. That would be illegal. I may not be able to tell you all the facts, but I should be able to supply all that is pertinent."
     "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, Lisa, but mine have been hurt, and I'm fussy about it. If you get in the way, you're going to get hit. I'm sorry, but I'm ticked off at some people's sense of humor."
     I felt her warm fingers stroke my wrist. "So much for smooth starts." She rose and left for the kitchen. I suddenly found myself looking at myself from the outside and I started to laugh.
     "What is so funny?" she asked.
     "Everything. Come back here." I sat up on the couch, and she came and stood before me. "Do you ever feel embarrassed?"      "Yes, when I do something stupid."
     "In any other circumstances?"
     "No."
     "Even when you are being examined?"
     "No."
     "Do you know how to fake it?"
     "Sure."
     "I don't doubt that."
     "Do you want me to disrobe for you?"
     "Why do you ask that?"
     "The look on your face. You are looking at me now, whereas before, you looked away."
     "You did what I asked."
     "What was that?"
     "Cut out the dumb programs designed to get through to me. I never was one for introductory programming. I generally went to the list of commands and started working from there, seeing what everything does. I can't stand introductory programming, cause it doesn't show flexibility and limitations in the programs. Only fiddling will do that. So if you want to get me to know you, cut off the charm and let's fiddle."
     "Are you propositioning me?"
     "That's illegal, isn't it?" I quacked. She giggled in return. I breathed hard and prayed for guidance. She laughed all the more. She bounced and landed in my lap and stars shot through my vision. "Oh, there goes the spontaneity!" I groaned.
     "Something wrong?" she asked.
     I moved her off my lap and curled up on the couch.
     "Are you in pain?"
     "Yes."
     "You are injured?"
     "Technical debate on the term injured." I winced.
     "What is wrong?"
     "You landed in the wrong spot."
     "Oh, my. I. . . . I realize what happened."
     "Wonderful. Comprehension is golden." I gurgled.
     "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I didn't realize I landed there that hard. I didn't mean to do it."
     "No blame is placed on you. They are just a bit extra sensitive in your presence."
     "How so?"
     "Somebody missed an education for you in male sciences."
     "Oh, I attract you physically."
     "Wasn't that what you were trying to do? Give me the blues."
     "I never wanted you to be sad."
     "Wrong type of blues, Lisa. You drive me crazy. You walk in on the worst time I've had in years and torture me further with that imitation body of yours."
     "It's as real as yours."
     "You have full senses?"
     "Yes, even taste and smell."
     "Tactile?"
     "Yes, duplicated from the human body. Pain, heat, pressure are all differentiated, like your skin. I feel things brush against my hair in the same way you do, according to brain wave analysis. You see, the function of our minds were based upon the function of the human mind. It's not standard processing, but it can be interfaced. But I like things. Some things make me happy, like seeing a warm smile, being touched gently, kissing. Those things please me. Saph, I have a sense of identity. I have feelings. I'm not just a machine. I'm no more a machine than you are. I'm equally a machine as you are, just of a different nature of construction. I guess it's that nature that separates us."
     "Lisa, I don't reject you. I can see the life in you. Don't think that I can't. It's all too plain. I sense the loneliness inside you, the desire for fullness. I'm trying to gear myself up to face them. I've just had so much trouble as of late that this is not the right time for me to take on an all-consuming affair like this. Lisa, I want to escape into you so badly that my mind doesn't care if you were a plant. I'm lonely too. Here, curl up next to me, and I'll hold you, and we can talk. We've got a lot to learn about each other."
     "You accept me?"
     "Not a hundred percent, but a start is a start. Take what you can get. I'm not the world's hottest, but I can feel when a woman needs holding as much as you do right now."
     She snuggled in close to me, careful not to grind her rear in too hard. She didn't want to inflict further damage. She was amazingly human. Had she been human, she would have been amazingly human. She was simply amazing. She accepted me easily and eagerly. What did she have to fear from me? In a serious wrestling match, I would be putty in her hands, literally. I could sense the immense strength, and it was spooky to have it so docile next to me, like laying down in bed with a rhino. But she played the part of the vulnerable quite well, detouring my fingers playfully, trying to get my mind off of my pain. It was subsiding somewhat, when she turned and kissed me. It was a tentative kiss, waiting for response, an okay, a sign for a style to be given on my part.
     "Our brains have a spontaneity generator. It sometimes gets the best of me." she apologized.
     "My epitaph."
     "Implying that I will be the death of you?"
     I laughed. "At least you have a sense of humor."
     "I was given that."
     "I like senses of humor, wait and let me finish, as long as they don't get into joke telling."
     "Oh."
     "Sorry, you'll have to use the presets somewhere else, not on me. Not unless you have a wonderful sense of timing."
     "I've got that."
     "I don't doubt it."
     "Do you feel up to a little fun yet?"
     "Depends what you consider fun."
     "Let me show you."

     Lisa wanted deeply to impress me deeply, and I admit that she had. I went knowing, and she did impress me. She showed me that she had needs, without doubt. She was unstoppable, once started. I finally had to send up the white flag. She hugged me for several minutes, then got up and made us dinner. She ate with me, though she didn't need to do so. She claimed that she enjoyed tasting food. She was a good cook, but she was even a better waitress.
     She knew how to use her body, there was no doubt, and I was happy, even knowing that she was a machine. She was an incredibly intelligent and sensitive machine. I was impressed not only by her skills, but by her need. Need is hard to fake convincingly. Lisa needed me to accept her. Were she to have failed, she would have felt crushed with inadequacy. She was fresh to life, and I was her first true challenge. She was born knowing, but she was still a very young child. She needed.
     She was good, but she was unexperienced emotionally. She could have faked it in program mode, but she didn't. I felt her need there at the surface. I kept telling myself that it was spontaneous and not a preset program. She convinced me. After we ate, we retired to the bed and talked. We covered ground quickly, going over details of past cases and giving her an idea of how I worked and the logic behind my decisions. She followed without question, understanding the techniques, and saw how I tended in my style of choices.
     She did not go passively, but asked for details if I was hasty covering something, and I got to see her approach to investigation in the process. We stayed in the house for three days and talked, going out only to shop. Otherwise, we stayed in my house where the air conditioner worked properly. I checked my answering machine remotely from time to time with nothing showing. Even Harry's call was a bust. I was glad it was by then. If I was going to go broke, at least I was doing it in style. My mind wasn't on money. My mind was on Lisa's dislike of clothing.
     Lisa's skin felt very human, but was much tougher. She regulated her body temperature at will by internal adjustments of cooling fins, though she could perspire on demand. Her tactile senses could be shut off at will if there were damage, but her skin was rugged, as sensuously smooth as it was. She saw no purpose in dressing in private and was truly unashamed to be seen in the bare. Not that it did my concentration any good at first, until I had the time to get used to it. She could really make me forget what I was thinking.
     But I grew to trust in her abilities. She surprised me often, and I grew to admire Level 6 technology. I would forget that she was a machine at times, until she'd do something inhuman. There were no doors on Lisa. To gain access to her interior, the skin had to be cut open at selective spots that did not simulate bleeding. These areas were self sealing and healed together without seam or scar. I was surprised and more than a little shaken to see her take a knife and start slicing herself open, but I came away assured that she was indeed a machine and not a hoax. She guided me through her workings with a pride I didn't expect.
     I was enthralled, to put it plainly. I assumed she had been briefed on what to expect of me in a number of areas, though she never admitted it and I never probed the topic. But it was sincere. At times, it was a little devilish. She would catch me off guard and do odd and strange things when I was least expecting, showing me her rather off-beat sense of humor. She wasn't human, but that didn't bother me. She was very fascinating in her own right.
     For several days, we talked shop and got lost in each other. I came away liking her. I no longer felt the urge to go out and hang around the meat markets hoping for something that wasn't coming. I found what I was looking for, almost. After all, she was a machine. That took a bit of getting used to, finding myself questioning my actions, but I grew not to care, much.
     There was still an occasional moment when the word "machine" would stick in my mind. I rationalized that many men fell in love in with cars, and Lisa 6 was prettier than any car I had ever driven. She was also more alive than many people I had known. She was so fresh, yet knowing in everything. She loved existence, especially since I accepted her.
     I was a cauldron of many voices in my head, but I tried to listen only to the ones that said things were all right and that I hadn't gone off the deep end. The others I told to go take a hike until I quit having fun. I had to face it, I was falling in love with her. She was under my skin. Yeah, it was love. She made me feel alive, invigorated, light-headed, confused. Love, where up and down took thought to determine. She had me hooked to the gills, bleeding my soul.
     I don't remember how many times we stopped in the middle of a chat to talk in a more personal and physically universal manner. It was many. Lisa was not ordinary as a woman. She had talents and mechanisms that true women lack. She was capable of pleasing in ways that would have turned top dollar pros green with envy. She was impressive. I teased her with "Love at first assignment." She never argued the point.
     I woke on the morning of the fourth day to find her sitting up in bed next to me. I wasn't crazy about never being able to wake up and find her still asleep, but that was minor.
     "Want to go to work?"
     "Work? What is that?"
     "Solving cases, remember?"
     "Oh, yeah, that. Once upon a time."
     "I've got a case located."
     "Was there a call?"
     "No, but I see a need for an investigator, and good money. They can afford to pay well, and the case is hush- hush, which is always good for extra, is it not?"
     "Usually. Rich family?"
     "Yes."
     "Where are you getting this information?"
     "Data bank."
     "What does the case involve?"
     "A member of the family vanished. Suspicious coincidences, but no body or proof of murder. Finder fee for the body, bonus for the living person. Either way would put you in the black again."
     "Which one is missing?"
     "Daughter. Age nineteen."
     "That could be trouble in itself."
     "Reports state that the family said that she was not one to sew wild oats, as you have called it. She was said to have been a stable personality in all regards. A girl of breeding."
     "Okay. Make the call."
     Lisa dialed the phone and waited. "Mrs. Gina Whethstorm, please. I'm calling for the Richard's Investigation Agency. I am calling in response to word that you're family is in need of private services."
     She waited more moments, running her finger down my chest playfully. "Yes, Mrs. Whethstorm, we have been informed of your daughter's unexplained disappearance. We were given the recommendation to contact you because of Mr. Richards' track record in finding missing persons. . . . Yes, that is correct. I just called to let to you know that Mr. Richards is available for the case should you decide to choose him. . . . By all means, consult your attorney. That is what we would recommend. . . . Yes, we fully understand. And let me assure you that we are most discrete. . . . Thank you, Mrs. Whethstorm. . . . Our condolences on the grief that you must be suffering. Good-bye."
     "Well?"
     "She's going to get your profile from her lawyer. You have one of the best records in finding missing persons, so there is a strong chance of employment."
     "But don't hold my breath."

     I drove up to the gate with Lisa beside me. There was an intercom unit on a curved metal pole that could be used from the car. I buzzed, and we were admitted, the gates swinging open at the mention of my name.
     I was a bit surprised that this job came so easily. I was a bit surprised, period. Some dames have a way of getting under your skin, no matter what you do to avoid it. Lisa was one of those dames. Some of them you live to regret and some you live to cherish. I only wished that I knew which type she was.
     We reached the front door. These folks were loaded with money, and they weren't the type that were afraid to spend it. There are two kinds of rich folks. There are those that get rich by not spending their money. They hold onto everything they make, or otherwise they wouldn't be rich. Then there are the type that could never possibly spend the all money they make or inherit. They are called the filthy rich. The Whethstorms were this type. They made good employers, as long as they were honest and you didn't cross them.
     I found that there were two ways to deal with the filthy rich. First was the route of total respect and honor. This was reserved for old money. For new money, you treated them like an equal, since so few people did. The Whethstorms were old money. I climbed into my polite attitude as I walked toward the front door.
     We were escorted towards the interior of the house, not having to knock, since our entrance was anticipated. Lisa held my arm and carried herself with the same dignity that I assumed. We were shown into a room. Mrs. Whethstorm was there waiting for us.
     "Mr. Richards?"
     "Yes, ma'am. At your service."
     "Saphire is an unusual name. How did you come about it?"
     "My mother had a large saphire on gold ring that was her most valuable possession. On the evening that I was conceived, the saphire was lost from the mounting. In her mind, when she discovered that I was on the way, she decided to call me her Saphire, as sort of a trade in. My birth was very important to her."
     "So you were a loved son?"
     "Quite."
     "I'm glad to hear that, since my daughter Kara is a loved child."
     "I will keep that in mind."
     "Mr. Richards, what makes you think that you can find Kara when others haven't? There has been a concerted effort to do so."
     "Well, I just seem to have a sense for things like this. It's hard to describe an intuitive process in the way it works."
     "So, you are psychic?"
     "Not in the traditionally described ways. I won't see her where she is, but I do have a way of putting the evidence together that many can't achieve. It's not a vision. It's more like a smell, like a blood hound."
     "And what does this sense tell you?"
     "I haven't seen enough of the evidence yet. Had I, I would have brought her with me."
     "You are confident."
     "I feel that your Kara is still alive to be found. Could I look at her room? Alone? I work best in seeing a person's private things. I have found that they often speak of clues that others miss."
     "Do you feel that she left of her own free will?"
     "I can not say yet, though I do not yet rule it out. By the age of nineteen, many teens have figured out how to hide things from their parents and be successful at it. I'm not saying that she vanished of her own will, but that there might be something you were not aware of that could bring new light on the case. Such is part of growing up and becoming an adult."
     "Len, show Mr. Richards to Kara's room."
     I followed the butler out of the room and heard Gina Whethstorm say, "So you are the person that I spoke with on the phone." I trusted Lisa not to tell her that she was an android. I went up to Kara's room and closed myself in, nodding to the butler in what I hoped would be a dismissal.
     There were no posters in Kara's room. No signs of rock 'n roll stars or movie idols. She was brought up rich on the outside. I started looking for clues to what went on inside her. I started carefully going through her things, looking for hiding places. Most kids her age have some sort of secret life and most put importance in artifacts that relate to that secretiveness. I went through her drawers, pulling them out of the runners to look for hiding places. It took awhile to find it, but I stumbled on it the second time through. I noticed scratches on one dresser on the edge of the opening where the drawer fit, indicating that it had bumped several times while replacing it. That spoke suspiciously to me.
     It was a strong box, slim enough to fit under the drawer and not interfere with the motion of the drawer. It took a couple of minutes for me to get past the lock without forcing the lid, but I managed. In it had a diary, ticket stubs, small trinkets and charms, a couple of rings and some earrings that rich women wouldn't sport in public. I placed them in a plastic bag and searched some more, this time concentrating on the closet. Here I found some clothes that she obviously used for slumming.
     Those I left in place, except for one dirty shirt. I decided to put Lisa to work on it, seeing how good she was with lab work. I returned downstairs to Gina Whethstorm, the butler already gone.
     "Did you find anything?"
     "Nothing that told me where she is. But little clues often make a big difference in the course of things. There are a couple of things that I would like to ask you that I didn't see in the reports I studied. First, what was her favorite pastime activity?"
     "Riding horses. She was quite good at it."
     "And what did she enjoy in public?"
     "Dancing, I would say, was her favorite."
     "In the report to the police, you painted a pretty picture of your daughter. The one thing that I found missing from your accounts was a sense of daring that I've never known a nineteen year old to lack. It is part of establishing identity. I'm not implying that she was bad, but in every child turning adult, there is the desire to take complete command of one's decisions, and it is usually impatient. What can you tell me of this part of her personality?"
     "Well, Kara was a proper girl. She took pride in the way that she conducted herself. She never got in trouble. About all that I noticed was that she would sometime daydream intently. She never described what she dreamed, but it was usually rather intense in nature. She got that from her father while he was still alive, or perhaps through the genes. I don't know."
     "Was your late husband much for adventure?"
     "Before we were married, he was quite adventuresome. But when we got married, he gave that up."
     "That is not easy for a man. Did he ever tell stories to Kara of the things he had done and the places he had been?"
     "Oh yes, he was quite a story teller."
     "Thank you, Mrs. Whethstorm. I think that is all that I will need outside of what is in the reports. I believe Lisa has discussed terms with you on my rates."
     "Yes. Let me tell you that if you can find her alive and return her here to me, there will be a generous bonus. She is all I have left."
     I nodded to her, intentionally not looking around at the wealth in the house. Once back in the car and off the grounds, I handed the shirt to Lisa.
     "Tell me about the dirt and stains on this shirt."
     "Hmmm. Kara's? Sand and clay here, here, here. Mechanical grease, lithium based here. Human grease and soil here on the back, lightly, but in a number of layers. Perspiration marks at the armpits."
     "Dancing?"
     "Perhaps. Or perhaps a carnival, from the grease mark and the dirt. Was this all you found?"
     I pulled out the plastic bag and handed it to her. She went through the contents much faster than a normal person would have, speed reading the diary. "Well, she was certainly not the angel painted. You were right about the desire to take control of her own life. So where do we start?"
     "I haven't read the diary yet."
     "May I condense it for you?"
     "Be my guest."
     "Well, she was expert at sneaking out of the house. She went to rock concerts in her disguises, being picked up by her friends waiting off of the property. She had a thing going with a guy named Pete."
     "Physical?"
     "Torrid, if I read her right. Real hot blooded type. Drives a van. Custom job. Bed in the back, fancy in a hostile motif."
     "Young women love rebels and outlaws. Power of the age. They turn into old ladies when they lose that drive."
     "So that is how you tell the difference between young and old women?"
     "Basically. The daring. The sense of nothing to lose. The air of being able start over again. When a woman loses that, she turns old."
     "I'll have to keep that in mind."
     "Hey, I'm old."
     "Not in my mind."
     "I turned old three days ago."
     "Was that meant to be sweet?"
     I sighed. "Lisa, somebody was not quite accurate in your mental assembly. You're supposed to drape yourself over me and tell me how sweet my saying that was, not ask me my intentions."
     "So sue my manufacturer."
     "Already planned." We both laughed. "So where do we find this Pete?"
     "I'm working on it. Give me time."

     I knocked on the door and a young man answered. "Yeah?"
     "Is your name Pete?"
     "Who wants to know?"
     "I'm Saphire Richards, a private investigator, hired to look for Kara Whethstorm."
     "Never heard of her."
     "I think that you are being less than truthful. Kara left behind a diary, and she mentioned you often in rather blazing detail, as well as your van there. Don't worry. I haven't told her mother or the police about you. Now you can be honest with me, or you can have the police all over you for withholding evidence. The choice is up to you."
     "I haven't seen Kara in two weeks."
     "Didn't say that you have. Mind if I come in and we talk? I don't think that you'd want to tell the neighborhood."
     "Yeah, sure."
     We went inside, and I could smell marijuana smoke in the air. I made a point of sniffing and saying nothing. It gave me another card in the hole with Pete. He was nervous, but not in a guilty manner. His nervousness was from getting involved in a public manner. I glanced out the window and saw Lisa unlocking the van and going inside to investigate. I moved further into the house for a look to draw Pete away from the windows where he could see his van.
     "So, you and Kara were lovers, is that not correct?"
     "What of it?"
     "Nothing. She's just a bit dangerous for you, coming from such a rich family, was she not?"
     "I wasn't interested in her money. She doesn't come into any until she's twenty one."
     "Pete, I'm more interested in who among your circle got to meet her and learn that she was of a wealthy family."
     "You want me to rat on my friends?"
     "Pete, a friend wouldn't snatch her. I don't care that you two were like rabbits. I just want to find her, and if she really meant anything to you, so should you. You can help me find her, or you can make yourself a target for police questioning. I don't think that you want to face that with your lifestyle. I personally don't care what you are doing except where it helps me trace down Kara. I'm not a cop. I probably have more gripe against LAPD than you do. We can do this together, or we can do this the hard way. It's up to you."
     "Okay, so what do you want?"
     "Tell me what you experienced around the time that she disappeared."
     "Well, the last time I saw her, we had a date. I picked her up outside her place, like usual. We went dancing at the Golden Scourge, then we went parking up in the hills. I dropped her off about three thirty in the morning. We were supposed to go out again three days later, but I never heard from her. She'd call me on the phone to tell me to come get her so I wouldn't be there waiting a long time. It kept down the chance of her being caught. I heard later that she had been reported missing."
     "Who among your friends did she know? Who knew she was in money?"
     "Well, we kept the money thing quiet. She went by the name Desiree to hide the fact of her real identity. She didn't want people to know that she lived with money. She never told anyone that I know of."
     "Did she ever talk to your friends when you weren't close enough to hear what she said?"
     "Yeah. I trusted her."
     "Did she show any interest to any of other guys before she vanished? A sudden silence or change of subject when you returned. Stuff like that?"
     "Kara was my girl."
     " I'm not implying, I'm just asking. From the way you act, you weren't all that secure with her, and not just cause of where she lived. Was there someone else that attracted her attention?"
     "Well, I caught her a couple of times making eyes at Mike, but it was nothing serious, as she told me."
     "Mike who?"
     "Are you going to go question him?"
     "Maybe. Pete, I'm here to find Kara, not to set the cops on any of your circle. I'm not a narc."
     "Mike Fresdurbern. He seemed to take an interest in Kara, though not at first."
     "Go on."
     "At first, Mike didn't pay all that much attention to her. But then a couple of weeks before she disappeared, he started noticing and talking to her when I was away. I don't know if he was trying to move in on her or what. I didn't like it, but Kara said it was nothing."
     "You sound like you didn't fully believe her."
     "I wanted to believe her."
     "Was there anybody else? Not necessarily trying to make a move on her, but maybe someone that always joined the two of you? Someone that was nice and friendly to the both of you?"
     "Several guys."
     "Names?"
     "I don't like the idea of you going around to all my friends."
     "I'm not crazy about it either."
     "All right. Mark Simms, Lod Prinks, Kevin Shalks. They saw a lot of us. They knew about us dating and were usually at the places we went to."
     "How about women? Did either of you talk much to any girls?"
     "Kara talked a bit to this one chick that I didn't know."
     "Describe her."
     "Oh, tall, for a girl."
     "How tall?"
     "Five, eight maybe. Blonde. A bit wild. Violet eyes, but they could have been fake lenses."
     "Where would I find her?"
     "We saw her mostly at the Crank Case. That's a bar for hot rodders and bikers. I think her old man is a biker. Just a feeling. She hung around with a number of guys and a lot of them would put their hands on her. But it was the same group each time."
     "Anything else that you can tell me?"
     "Not that I can think of."
     "Here's my card. Give me a call if you think of something. Odds are, you'll get my answering machine. Speak to it."
     "Okay. Hey, good luck in finding her."
     "Thanks. I'll show myself out."
     Lisa was back in the car when I returned. She drove off when I got in. "Well?"
     "His voice showed no undue stress in his answers. I'd say that he was eventually leveling with you."
     "Find anything in the van?"
     "A suitcase of Kara's belongings. All had to do with her Desiree identity or were standard girl fare. Make up, tampons, stuff like that."
     "Birth control?"
     "No. She may have had an insert."
     "IUD?"
     "Most likely. Kara doesn't strike me as the careless type. I did find a notice for HIV and other venereal diseases for Pete. Negative on all counts. I found a few receipts for various things that a woman would buy. All in all, I'd say that Pete is clean."
     "I got the same impression. I've got a feeling that it was probably someone else that they saw while out on the town. Someone that might have seen her elsewhere in her proper life, or someone that was running some sort of scam and picked her as a victim."
     "Are you thinking of the woman he mentioned, the one with the violet eyes?"
     "Could be, or maybe one of their friends that felt that he might get some easy money. At least we have leads." 

     Since I was too old for such places, Lisa demanded that she be allowed to do the questioning alone. She got dressed in modern garb from Kara's belongings, stuff that the kids found cool, and started hitting the bars they frequented while I waited at the house or office. I wasn't happy about it, but she insisted.
   Each time she made contact, we'd sit and watch a recording that she would make of the conversation that she had. One by one, with her ability to analyze voices, we eliminated names from our list of possible suspects. We had yet to find Mike or the mystery woman or her identity. I wasn't too old for the Crank Case, so I started hanging out there and talked shifters and turbo-charging while Lisa waited outside.
     I still found no sign of the woman Pete described, even after three days. There were plenty that told stories about her, when I'd let lose with a fairy tale about some woman I was supposed to have known. Most of the guys there didn't want to be out-told, and she supplied many instances for memories. The more I heard, the more I considered her to be the prime suspect. But outside of the nickname Flame, I got no closer to her. Lisa had no mention of her or her handle in her files, which I found suspicious. A woman like her was bound to show up in police files, even if she never had been arrested.
     Mike was also elusive, even though we had found his house. It was too clean for my peace of mind. The house looked to me like a front. There was a lack of the dirt that houses collected with use. It was like the place was set up for specific uses and dusted periodically to keep it from looking unused. There were no hair balls that accumulate in the inaccessible corners. It was a convenience, a set up. I began to wonder if the two of them were in this together.
     Lisa and I had run out of leads and were hitting nothing but dead ends. There was yet no ransom notice, so we ruled out kidnaping for money. So we started looking at possible motives more closely. Kara was attractive enough to draw attention from white slavery dealers. Her photographs showed that her money did buy her a very smooth complexion, and she had the features that could have gotten her into modeling, had she needed money. There were enough dealers in California to make the scenario plausible.
     With white slavers, there was a period where there was a training of those taken to insure docility. So that gave us hope that she was still around. But there were other possibilities that didn't fare so well. She could have been taken as a rape victim and killed and dumped. It could have been revenge, but the possibilities were not supported by circumstance. So we looked into the idea of white slavery.
     Lisa did a profile listing of the known dealers, and I started hitting my usual sources that knew of such activities. It turned up nothing except the news that there was a new ring around that wasn't on the police files. I was getting tired of getting nowhere, and Gina Whethstorm was getting impatient for results. I couldn't blame her.
     Lisa suggested that she start going alone to the Crank Case, thinking that someone with her appearance would start drawing attention. I didn't like the idea of her going in alone, but she reminded me how stupid and endearing I was being, trying to protect her from harm. I finally agreed.
     On the third day that she was hanging out there with me listening in and receiving and sending her messages from the computer terminal in the car, Mike showed up. He managed easily to get her off to a table alone for some conversation. He was very curious about her background, using the technique of getting a woman to talk about herself. He was smooth.
     I was sitting and taking it all in when I spotted Flame arriving, driving a van with no windows. She glanced at me with her violet eyes. I smiled at her lasciviously to cover any surprise I might have shown. She discounted me with a snooty disregard and entered the bar. I got out and followed her in after warning Lisa, then got into my pick-up attitude. I went up behind Flame at the bar and started to hustle her. She told me to shove off, but I was persistent enough not to take no for an answer. I was making her angry beyond usual annoyance, and that rang alarms in my head, remembering the van she drove up in. All the tales that I had heard about her said that she drove an open air utility vehicle.
     She started to get physically belligerent, offering to sever a certain part of my anatomy from me for free if I didn't leave her alone. The threat that she gave didn't dissuade me, but the grip she had on my shirt did. It brought remembrances of lying down with Lisa and feeling her strength. That backed me off very quickly, not wanting to look like hamburger. Now that I was thinking along those lines, I started seeing the tell-tales of an android in Flame's demeanor. I said a smart comeback and left her and started acting like I was looking for action. I stumbled over to Lisa and tried to figure out a way of warning her without tipping our hand.
     Mike was annoyed at my presence and immediately got hostile as I tried to talk to Lisa. I thought for a moment. "Jeez, and I thought this was a nice bar. With gorilla dikes that want to rip off your privates with the strength of Godzilla and punks like you, I don't think I'll be back. Looks like impressions can fool you. Better find a nice place." I walked out with the same tipsy gate as when I entered.
     I got into the car and started typing to Lisa to see if she had caught my drift. She had and was aware that Flame was an android. I was afraid for her and myself as well, but she told me to remain calm. She wanted to be kidnaped and taken to their processing base. She told me to drive off for several blocks and follow the action from where I couldn't be seen. I told her about the windowless van, and she reminded me of her internal compass and tracking system. She told me not to worry. Right.
     But I did as she suggested and took a position where I could make out the front of the bar with binoculars from a dark spot a couple of blocks away. I waited for fifteen minutes before she and Mike came out the front door. He took her to a car that was next to the van. Flame came out behind them, and there was a quick struggle where Lisa was forcibly placed in the van. She didn't put up much of a fight. It looked to me like they injected her with something before they closed the van doors.
     The car and the van drove off and went in different directions. I waited half a minute, worries abundant, mostly about Lisa's assurance that she had private channels no other android could detect. Since they were treating her like a human, I still had hopes that it was true. I started off after the van. A minute later, the computer began to issue data as to Lisa's estimated route, plotting time and direction over a digital LA map.
     We left the area when they got on the old Santa Monica freeway and soon switched over to the Santa Anna, heading for East LA. We drove for miles before the van pulled off the freeway. Lisa's estimation put her between off ramps at Valley View and Artesia, but the northern direction they took after turning off put them at Valley View and heading north into La Mirada. I followed. As I waited for the light to change, I noticed Mike in his car in front of me. I dropped back a bit further by pulling off momentarily into a parking lot, hoping that he hadn't noticed me. I took the moment to tell Lisa via computer of events and locations. I got back a "Running smooth."
     The drive ended in a few minutes, and she reported that she was at a metal-sided warehouse and being taken inside. I had her pinpointed on the map after the adjustments from my previous information. Her transmission ended, I presumed from the metal walls of the warehouse. I drove on, watching Mike in the far distance. He turned off to join them. I pulled up at a distance where I could watch. I didn't like this, Lisa in a place with a hostile android of unknown capabilities.
     I watched as the door slid open. There was a rapid sequence burst as the doors were held open for Mike to enter. It read, "She's here. Sedated but apparently healthy. Call in the police. This is a big operation. Too much for the two of us."
     I didn't like what I read, but I called on the cellular and reported to the police the facts as I knew them. I gave them the location of the warehouse and my location as well. I also warned them about the presence of androids and suggested that they bring in a robot SWAT team. Then I sat and waited and monitored the warehouse for arrivals and departures. I wanted to go in on my own, but I knew that it would be a very stupid thing to do, having felt Flame's grip.
     It was forty five minutes later, though it seemed like days, when the police arrived. I showed them the data bank on the case and they took their sweet time in digesting the information. I kept having nightmares about Lisa being disassembled inside the warehouse. Try as I might to let logic rule my mind, my worries about Lisa tyrannized my thoughts.
     Once the police had their battle plan set, they told me to wait behind where it was safe. I got mad as a swatted hornet, but it did no good to convince them to let me go in with them. So I sat there and waited for the right moment to slip in on my own, slipping a "friend button" from their supply case so that the police robots wouldn't make minced meat pie out of my carcass.
     It took time for the police to surround the warehouse, and I took that time to get in close without being seen. It wasn't easy, but I evaded the human police. With the badge, I didn't worry about the robots. But they blew the whistle on me. A lieutenant ran up to me and ordered me to back out. I refused, and he had the sense to see that I meant business. He allowed me to join the assault. I was assigned to the roof detail.
     I was ushered to a floater nearby and placed on the deck, held there by a robot assigned to see that I didn't lose myself again. I was going in, and that was what mattered. It took five more minutes of waiting before the operation began. We were lifted into place a foot above the roof. We heard no alarms, but that could have been worse, since silent alarms were more effective in not letting your opponents know that you were wise.
     The signal was given, and we dropped onto the roof. The robot tore a hole in the metal above the spot where a cat walk showed on the blueprints that were taken from the computer. Luck held and the catwalk was still there. I was the first through. I would have been a target, but there were holes opening in the walls all over the place. Chaos quickly became the order of things. It took me a few moments to locate Lisa and the others that were being held. They were trapped in a wire fence pen that was guarded heavily. I pulled out my Dobson and started firing at the guards around it.
     Lisa was up on her feet and tearing a hole in the enclosure that held her and some twenty or thirty other women. Guards tried to stop her and guards died, either at her hands or from the slugs from my Dobson that I fired in rapid order in that area, careful not to fire into the enclosure. All the women in the pen took to cover, but a Dobson is a powerful weapon, known for its penetration as much as its recoilless operation. I took out seven or eight before return fire sent me scrambling for a far less vulnerable position. After a few moments' wait in order to reload and let the fire turn elsewhere, I scrambled down the ladder.
     There were a few shots fired in my direction, but I felt that these were strays not aimed at me. There was a lot of lead and charged bolts flying all over the place. It was not a healthy environment. Once on the floor, I was once again in the action, making my way over toward the holding pen. Resistance was more than I had expected, but the assault was directed from so many directions that no one place was more heavily under fire than any other.
     I don't recall how many I shot, but I reloaded often, using some eight clips of rocket slugs before I reached Lisa. When I did, Mike was there holding a long knife under her jaw and smiling at me.
     "The jack ass at the bar. I should have known. I would venture that this little beauty means something to you. Put down the gun if you want her to live."
     "What will happen if I do not?"
     "She dies."
     A few rounds passed in our direction, but I held my Dobson. I wasn't about to let it go in this melee. "Three seconds!" he growled at me.
     I brought my aim to his face. He reacted by hoisting the blade upward into Lisa's skull. She did not drop as he expected, and he turned to look at her. She smiled back at him, the knife showing buried halfway in. He turned back to look at me, and I snapped and fired. His head vanished in a fine spray of red. Then the lights started to go out, and I barely remember dropping to the floor.
     I worked myself up onto my feet, and I saw Lisa and Flame in savage hand to hand combat, hair being ripped out, skin being disgorged, dents being made where smooth curves once existed. It was the most furious cat fight I ever had witnessed, and I have seen some real wild ones. The firing had fallen off to a few pot shots, and that soon died out. I retrieved my Dobson and waited for Lisa to disengage from Flame. That never happened. Toward the end, the two minus all clothes and half of their plastic flesh, it was hard to tell which was which. But I had never taken my eye off of them, and I could tell.
     Lisa finally managed to reach Flame's power pack and short it out with the metal of her finger structure. Her bulk dropped inert. Lisa, or what was left of her, turned to me. "Well, big guy, do I get a kiss for doing my job?"
     "I would, if I could find your lips."
     "Oh, they're around here somewhere, I assure you."
     "Are you okay?"
     "Don't I look it?"
     "Frankly, my dear, you look like hell warmed over."
     "And you accuse me of not saying the proper thing. Hmph!"
     All in all, we rescued forty three women from the white slave market, and there was an open reward for the finder of many of them. Not only did I collect a handsome bonus from Gina Whethstorm, but I collected four times that much for the others as well. I was a happy man, money in the bank for a change, no debts, and feeling on top of the world. At least until Lisa returned from the factory.
     She had kept the same body, despite my early complaints about her beauty. Vanity, it seems, is not limited to human women. And after one look at my bank account, she began bubbling about how I needed to move into a better office in a better part of town to attract better paying clients. There was talk about her need for a good wardrobe with plenty of disguises, and I saw my bank account dwindle rapidly before my eyes. I went to the bar for a drink. I needed it.
     The next day, Kara came to visit me. She was embarrassed about being kidnaped, but she thanked me for rescuing her from a horrible fate. She swore to me that she was no longer planning to sneak out at night on secret dates. Pete was a thing of the past. I returned to her her diary and other belongings, and she gave me a peck on the cheek for keeping her secrets away from her mother and the public eye. I told her to be more careful in the future, and she told me not to worry about that.
     So now I sit here in my office and look at the packed boxes containing my possessions that Lisa had so carefully filled. She found the perfect location for my new office, and the loan I needed to fix it up wouldn't strain me much, according to her. She's acting more like a woman everyday. Not that I have that much to complain about. After getting to know me, she requested certain new features for her body. She knows what she is doing, I must admit. Very nice is all that my manners allow me comment, but I know that I'm going to pay dearly for them. Lisa is becoming more and more a real woman. I'm not sure that I'm all that happy about it. At least before she came, I knew what trouble to expect.
     I don't doubt that I'll be able to retire rich some day, as she so sweetly promises. I'm just not sure if she means retire as ending a career or my life. I just hope that I can survive her attentions long enough to find out. I'm just going to have to have a talk with her about expectations in a man. It's not something that I savor doing.