“I really wish you’d reconsider this,” Chango said to Helix for the umpteenth time. It was morning, and they’d been up half the night before, arguing. Well, she’d done all the arguing, Helix just sat there and scratched herself, shaking her head. Helix looked at her with tired eyes. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, standing up. Chango followed her into the work room, where Hyper was running his robots through scales of isometric motion. Robo-mime’s head rotated back and forth, Close Enough for Jazz raised the sax to its carburetor lips again and again, the Augmented Hoomdorm flexed its legs and Attack of the Sneetches scattered across the worktable like a bunch of neon mice with perms. Hyper himself was bent over an array of radio controls. He’d removed himself from the debate around one in the morning, and had been out here ever since. “Nothing I can say is going to influence you the least little bit, is it?”
