Before leaving the closet, I massaged my face, working the lubricant into the little joints and motors. Humans don’t like when you’re not echoing their expressions. It’s instinctual for them, and, like typical solipsists, they assume everything is like them. They hate it even more when you do it but your face squeaks. After one last sound check, I tugged my facial skin into place and stepped out into the rain.

Green didn’t live far from my ghetto, which had startled me. I skirted a puddle and wondered what Green’s doctorate was in, since he didn’t live uptown in the no-ands-zone. I had a mechanic’s pass, but at this time of night they’d give me all kinds of grief, even with a work order. Don’t want the scary robots kidnapping the children out of their beds. Stupid, really. I’d be more inclined to snatch their toaster.

Dr. David Green lived in an imposing tenement, an old historical landmark when humans cared about such things. I worked my jaw, wishing I could take a breath, and stepped inside.