He and the dog sneezed simultaneously.

�God bless,� muttered the dog.

Ridge Gilby took a step back from the work bench. �Hey, my DogBots aren�t supposed to sneeze,� he said, frowning.

The large chrome-plated robot dog was lying on its side, the panel in its midsection dangling open to allow access to the inner circuitry. �Well, that�s one of the reasons Mr. Dannenberg returned me for this free overhaul.�

Rubbing the plaz handle of the electroscrewer across his slightly plump chin, Gilby said, �It might be better, too, Rex, if you got that snide tone out of your voice.�

�That�s another reason why I�m here,� reminded the silvery Rex. �Didn�t you pay attention to the list of complaints Mr. Dannenberg read off to you? He feels, for instance, that a household guard dog should be self-effacing and obsequious with his employer. He further believes that a robot hound who sneezes uncontrollably will have a tough time sneaking up on possible burglars and thieves. It spoils the element of surprise, while��

�OK, enough,� suggested Gilby, sighing. �I really miss show business.�

�I�ll tell you something,� put in Rex, letting his plaz tongue loll out of his metallic mouth for a few seconds. �You�d be a good deal happier if you accepted your fate. Far as the entertainment world is concerned, you�re a total flop now and unlikely ever to make a comeback. There are not, as the feller said, second acts in American��

�Hush,� he advised as he thrust the screwdriver into the inner workings of the mechanical guard dog.

The holographic platform in the far comer of the small lab made a muffled pinging sound.

�Oops,� said Rex. �Hope it�s not another creditor wanting his or her dough.�

Very reluctantly, Gilby said, �OK, I accept the call.�

The full-size projected image of a young Chinese man appeared on the narrow circular stage. �Hi ya, Mr. Gilby.�

Setting aside the screwdriver, he walked over to the stage. �Now what, Eng?�

�Hey, listen, I�d appreciate it if you�d address me as Associate Custodian Eng. What do you think?�

�Now what, Associate Custodian Eng?�

�That sounds better, yeah.� Eng grinned. �After all, the Malibu Underground Estates Complex is a high-class, prestigious setup here in Greater LA and��

�What is the purpose of your call?�

�It�s about that dripping in your living room. We��

�That�s not a dripping, it�s a small continuous stream.�

�Be that as it may,� said the Associate Custodian, �it isn�t, as you hysterically insinuated when you made your complaint last week, the Pacific Ocean leaking into this underground wing.�

�Well, that�s a relief. So what the hell is it?�

�Nothing more than a slight malfunction in our highly efficient sewage transfer system,� the young man explained.

�Sewage is nearly as toxic as the damned ocean. When are you dimwits going to get this fixed?�

�Hey, labeling me and my colleagues as dimwits isn�t going to encourage swiftness.�

�When?�

�First thing.�

�Which means?�

�Probably tomorrow.� He smiled and was gone.

�Hard cheese,� commented the sprawled robot dog.

Gilby had taken two steps back toward the work bench when the holostage pinged again.

Murmuring, �Accept the call,� he turned to face it.

A plump woman with glittering platinum hair and glowing scarlet lips was materializing there. �God, you look terrible, Ridge,� she observed. �Your fall from grace hasn�t set well on you, dear.�

�Edna,� he said with minimal enthusiasm.

Edna Thurber spread her arms wide and her image executed a slow turn. �Unlike you, I�ve been able to afford continuous attendance at one of the best modification spas,� she told him. �Consequently, though I�m nearly eighty-three years young, I still look no older than when last we met.�

�True,� he admitted to his former agent. �Although you do creak more than you did three years ago.�

She leaned toward him, smiling. �How�d you like to sign up again with Multimedia Services Worldwide?�

He rested one foot on the edge of the holostage, eyes narrowing. �Somebody�s contacted you,� he guessed. �Sure, because the last time I tried to reach you I couldn�t even get as far as your Assistant Receptionist andy.�

�I have put together a rather nice deal for you, ingrate that you are,� Edna said. �If you�re interested.�

�I�m interested in anything that doesn�t involve schlepping robotic guard dogs.�

�Of course you know Burt Farr.�

�Kid actor. We used him on the show couple times.�

�No, that was five years ago. Burt�s twenty now and just took over as head of the Newgate Network. When Burt was young��

�He�s still young.�

�When he was younger, he was a great fan of My Pal Clunky.�

�So were a couple billion other people around the world.�

�The point is, he watched it faithfully. Not just the segments he had small parts on,� the plump agent continued. �Burt, darling that he is, thinks it�s time for Clunky and you to make a comeback. In his view, there�s never been a talking robot dog adventure show to equal it.�

�He�s absolutely right, and that�s because I excel in more than one area,� Gilby put in. �I built a truly first-rate mechanical canine. But I was also able to turn out top-drawer scripts for My Pal Clunky. The shows mixed action, humor and pathos and those little monologues that Clunky delivered at the tag were��

�I�m already sold, dear. Save the spiel for the meeting.�

�What meeting, Edna?�

�A week from tomorrow you and I, and that darling little Clunky, will shuttle up to the ShowBiz, Inc. orbiting satellite for a meeting with Burt Farr and some of his colleagues. If all goes as well as I expect, we�ll��

�I thought you said the deal was all set?�

�Just about set,� she explained. �If it were up to Burt alone, we�d simply sign the contracts to do twenty-six segments of a new My Pal Clunky vidwall series, dear. And we�d be pulling in exactly $2,000,000 per episode.�

�That�s much better than what we were getting for the old shows,� he said. �You say this meeting up there is in a week? Could we maybe postpone it for another couple weeks? I�ve got some guard dog orders backed up and��

�Eight days, dear. It�s either then or never,� said Edna. �Oh, say, where is the little dickens?�

�Which little dickens?�

�Well, obviously, schmuck, I mean Clunky. Who else?�

�Oh, Clunky, yes. He�s here, sure. Despite the ups and downs and the harsh blows of fate, that marvelous dog and I have remained inseparable.�

�I�d like to say hello to him.�

�Say hello to him?�

�You�ve gotten much more slow-witted, dear.�

�Actually, Edna, Clunky is up at ground level,� he said. �He likes to chase seagulls along the beach. A hobby he�s developed since dropping out of the limelight.�

�OK, dear, I don�t have time to wait around while you go topside and fetch him,� decided the plump platinumhaired agent. �But give the little bugger a big kiss for me. I�ll call you later in the week with firm times for our departure. You�re virtually back on top again, Ridge.� She made a slight popping sound as her image left the stage.

�Shit.� Shoulders slumped, Gilby shuffled over to the work bench.

�Why the gloom?� inquired Rex. �Sounds to me like you�re on the comeback trail.�

�Unlike you, Clunky wasn�t a run of the mill robot dog,� said Gilby sadly. �It took me months to put him together and every single component was the best, and the most expensive, to be had at the time.� He shook his head and sighed again. �It would take me, even if I could afford it, weeks to build a new Clunky.�

�Why do you want to do a dumb thing like that? All you have to do is tune-up the old original Clunky�.�

Gilby shook his head. �Hell, I sold the old original Clunky over two years ago,� he said, �to raise enough money to start this half-wit business.�

The lean black man on the vidphone screen was wearing a white medsuit that seemed somewhat loose for him. �What seems to be the trouble? I�m Dr. Mackinson.�

�No, you�re not Dr. Mackinson.� Gilby was leaning far to the left as he faced the phone, careful to avoid the thin stream of processed sewage that was cascading from the living room ceiling into a large plaz bucket. �Mackinson is a big wide Scandinavian gent with an unruly mop of blond hair.�

Dr. Mackinson smiled, nodding understandingly. �I bought the Dr. Mackinson franchise for the New Phoenix AZ area well over a year ago,� he explained. �I�m the local Dr. Mackinson now.�

�Christ,� muttered Gilby. �Where�s die other Dr. Mackinson?�

�Technically, you see, he isn�t Dr. Mackinson anymore. The way the deal works is that in each franchise area there can be only��

�OK, whoever the hell he is�can you tell me where to find the guy?�

�Perhaps I could help you with this anxiety attack, Mr. Gilby?�

Gilby, slowly and carefully, inhaled and exhaled. He moved a few more inches to the left and tried not to scowl at the phonescreen. �I�m not having a medical problem at the moment, doctor,� he explained. �The thing is, I sold something to Dr. Mackinson a couple years��

�The former Dr. Mackinson.�

�Him, yeah. I�m eager to locate this object and, if possible��

�Oh, say, I recognize you now. Even though you�re much fatter and pastier than you were back in your heyday,� said the black medic. �Ridge Gilby. I have to tell you, I was a great fan of My Pal Clunky when I was in med school.� He paused, remembering. �Is the Clunky botdog the object you�re seeking, Mr. Gilby?�

�Yep. Did he take it with him?�

�No, he sold that appealing little pup to a fellow collector shortly before giving up the practice here�just before he retired to Old New Mexico.�

�Sold Clunky to who?�

Dr. Mackinson shook his head. �No idea. I do recall that Sven expressed regret on more than one occasion that he�d been foolhardy in getting rid of such a pleasant and lovable electronic companion.�

�I built in those qualities,� said Gilby. �OK, is Dr. Mackinson�s real first name Sven then?�

�Sven Nordling. He�s residing, last I heard, at the Golden Years Chateau Complex in Taos.�

�Thanks. I�ll try there.�

�I can prescribe something for that twitch if you�d like.�

�What twitch?�

The doctor tapped his right eyebrow: �A cross between a twitch and a flinch actually. A few swigs of Relaxacon should fix it right up.�

�It�s only the sewage that�s making me flinch, doctor. But thanks again.� He ended the call. �Damn, here�s my chance to get out of this lame-brained business and I can�t even locate��

�You ought to turn up the aircirc system to compensate for the reek,� suggested Rex from the living room doorway.

�You�re not supposed to leave the lab. I�m still working on you.�

�Important call for you on the holo-phone,� explained the large silvery dog.

�Bill-collecting bots and andies aren�t important.�

�This is your ex-wife.�

�Which one?�

�Lady who calls herself Molly Spartan.�

�Go tell Molly I�ll be catching up on her alimony chex very shortly.�

�She says she doesn�t want money from you just now.� Rex nodded back toward the lab. �She says she�s calling about making you money.�

�I�ll take the call,� he decided.

Molly Spartan was tall and slim; her office was several levels above the ground in the Santa Monica Sector of Greater LA. Red-haired at present, she was just ten years younger than her erstwhile husband. �You ought to rush to a spa as soon as you can,� she was telling Gilby as she guided him into a tin client chair and moved around behind her wide Lucite desk. �You�re really pasty-faced, Ridge.�

�Current medical opinion seems to agree,� he said. �If you�re finished itemizing my flaws, let�s talk about how exactly you�re going to make me money.�

�You shouldn�t ever wear those form-fit tunics,� she said as she settled into her chair. �Not with the form you�ve got.�

�Money,� he repeated quietly.

�Going to robobarbers again, are you?�

He brushed a hand at his temple. �Molly, you dangled the possibility of my increasing my intake of cash when we spoke this morning.�

She looked him up and down and, seemingly with some reluctance, ended her critique. �I�ve been very successful since we separated,� she informed him. �The Spartan Investigation Service is considered one of the best private inquiry agencies in GLA.�

�And?�

�In addition to security work and marital cases�I�m an absolute wiz at tracking down people,� she said. �I�m confident that I can also find a missing robot dog.�

He sat up straight. �How the hell did you know I was looking for Clunky?�

�A man who owes me nearly $13,000 in overdue alimony is someone, Ridge, I�m going to keep an eye on.�

�That�s not legal, is it?�

Molly smiled, patting the air in front of her as though she were patting his head in a humoring way. �You�ll forgive my mentioning this, but you�re going about this in your typical incompetent way,� she said. �It�s extremely dumb, in my opinion, to contact people and blatantly indicate that you�re desperate to get that little hound back. What�s called for, rather, is an oblique approach.�

�Jesus, I am desperate. I�ve absolutely got to have him up on the ShowBiz satellite in seven days. I don�t have time to be oblique.�

She steepled her slender fingers, rested her chin on them. �It�s possible to be both subtle and fast. Want to make a deal with me?�

�Could you, Molly, maybe at least hint at the details of this deal?�

�I help you locate Clunky, negotiate his return to you on the best possible terms.�

�And your fee is what?�

�All you have to do is pay the back alimony�with interest,� Molly said. �And, soon as the deal with Farr is set, you increase your weekly payments to me by 235 percent.�

�Christ, that would amount to��

�Or you can forget about Clunky and I�ll simply get the law to attach your guard dog setup and pay me out of��

�I�ll accept your onerous terms,� he said. �What I was planning to do, once I located the present owner, was to offer him a percentage of the take from the new show for the use of my dog.�

�That may not be necessary.�

He eyed his former wife. �Do you already know where Clunky is?�

�Not yet, but I�m confident I can run him to ground soon�and I can get his ownership returned to you for as low a price as possible.�

He studied her thermocarpet for a few silent seconds. �OK, all right.� He stood up and held his hand across the desk. �Shall we shake on the deal?�

�Signing papers will be sufficient,� she said, ignoring his hand.

Molly settled back in the pilot seat of her skycar, glancing over at Gilby. �Something?� she inquired.

He was sitting uneasily in the passenger seat. �I�ve never been that fond of your stunt flying, Molly.�

�That wasn�t stunt flying just now,� she said. �It isn�t a stunt when you swoop to avoid a collision.�

�Swooping maybe, but the three loops afterwards were��

�You�re even stodgier now than you were during our unfortunate marriage.�

He turned his attention to the bright afternoon they were traveling through at an altitude of 5,000 feet. �You�re certain Clunky is down here in Florida?�

�Absolutely.�

�You haven�t,� he reminded her, �given me all the details on how you found him.�

�When I questioned Sven Nordling�s Chief Therapist at the Golden Years Chateau Complex�You ought to take a look at that place, by the way. The residents all have marvelous tans and��

�I�m only forty-three.�

�Really? I thought you were twenty years my senior.�

�Ten. What did Nordling have to say?�

�Never talked to him directly. Easier, and cheaper, to get the information from a staff person,� said Molly. �Turns out Sven sold the robot dog to Greasy Thumb Johnsen down in the Tijuana Sector of GLA.�

�Greasy Thumb Johnsen has an unsavory ring to it.�

�It�s one of those gangster franchises. When the previous Greasy Thumb Johnsen was gunned down in a robobarber shop in the Caliente Sector, the current Greasy Thumb Johnsen bought the role,� continued the redheaded investigator. �He was formerly Mr. Soynut in the Pasadena Sector.�

�They make second-rate donuts. What does being Greasy Thumb Johnsen entail?�

They were nearing their Florida destination and the skycar began a slow descent.

�He manages the Casa Grande Casino & Bordello in Tijuana.�

�He kept my dog in a bordello?�

She nodded. �Actually, Clunky played the piano there and was, according to my sources, extremely popular with the patrons.�

He frowned, shaking his head. �No, Clunky can�t play the piano. I didn�t build that ability into him.�

�He can play the piano now, trust me,� she told him. �One of my informants raved about his boogie-woogie repertoire especially, and praised his �wicked left paw.���

�I don�t see how he can��

�Five months ago a fellow named Prentice Barham from here in the St. Pete Redoubt showed up for a vacation in the Tijuana Sector. He subsequently broke the bank and then, since he�d taken a fancy to Clunky, bought him from Greasy⁷ Thumb Johnsen.�

�Clunky�s still in his possession?�

�That�s what Barham�s butler tells me, yes.�

�If Barham is living off a gambling fortune, he�s not likely to sell me back my robot dog for anything like a reasonable price, Molly.�

�Let me worry about the business details,� she suggested. �I did some research on Barham and I think I�ll be able to persuade him to sell cheaply.�

The voxbox on the dash panel of the descending skycar announced, �We�ll be arriving at the villa in two minutes eleven sections.�

Gilby asked, �Villa?�

�Barham bought that soon after he bought your dog.�

The cyborg butler bowed, then gestured with his coppery right hand. �If you�ll step into the music room, please,� he invited Molly and Gilby.

The villa consisted of a linked series of five huge plazglass domes, each tinted a different pastel shade. There were holographic tropical plants and trees lining every passway and the aircirc system was pumping in a steamy scent reminiscent of damp greenhouses.

The music room was in the dome that was tinted a pale turquoise and someone within it was playing the Goldberg Variations on an electric harpsichord.

The butler halted at the entry way, stood aside and said, �In there, if you will.�

�Hi, kiddo,� called the small silver-plated robot dog who was sitting on the harpsichord bench. He remained in an awkward, vaguely human position until he�d concluded the seventeenth variation. �Long time no see, Ridge old boy.�

�You can�t play the piano.� Gilby moved nearer his creation.

�This happens to be a harpsichord, chump.� The dog hopped free of the bench, went trotting over to Molly. �Hi, toots, you�re still gorgeous. Which is more than I can say for Young Tom Edison yonder. You�ve got a complexion like unbaked sourdough, chief.�

�So I keep hearing.� Gilby scanned the room.

There were two pianos, one traditional and the other electric, a harp, two dozen or more simulated potted palms, Victorian-style furniture and, on a low pedestal, a neomarble statue of Clunky up on his hind legs with one paw to his brow and apparently looking far off.

�Pipe the sculpture, folks,� Clunky invited. �Me in a heroic pose. Nifty, huh?� He circled Molly once before jumping up onto a candy-stripe loveseat and stretching out.

�Why would Prentice Barham want such a godawful artifact in his music room?� asked Gilby, frowning at the statue.

The robot dog snickered. �Dumb as ever, I note,� he said to Molly.

�Meaning,� she said, �there is no Prentice Barham?�

�Bingo,� said the dog. �Park it, folks, and we�ll chat for a spell.�

Gilby sat on the edge of a Morris chair. �But Prentice Barham is the guy who broke the bank and bought you from Greasy Thumb Johnsen.�

�Yeah, sure, and Snow White shacked up with Prince Charming and lived happily ever after.� Clunky sighed. �Barham was actually a down and out vidwall actor I hired for the part. He strolled into the casino and I rigged the wheel so he�d keep winning. Then he bought me my freedom and I gave the poor gink his 10 percent of the take.� The robot dog sat up, rolling his plaz eyes. �I own this joint and, since I�ve invested wisely, I�m set for life.�

�A dog can�t own property� or��

�I�m no ordinary mutt, remember? Besides everything was done in the name of Prentice Barham.� Chuckling, Clunky rolled over on his silver-plated back. �I�ve been thinking about giving you a jingle on the vidphone, boss. It�s just about time for a tune-up and you might��

�Don�t you miss acting, Clunky?� asked Molly from another loveseat.

�Do you miss slipping between the sheets with the human pudding yonder?�

�Well, no, but acting on a vidwall show is exciting.�

Gilby scowled. �How come every discussion tends to involve insulting me in��

�Ah, I get it. Sure, you dimwits invaded my privacy in order to try to persuade me to jaunt up to the Show Biz satellite with you next week.� Clunky chuckled again.

�They�re offering $2,000,000 per show,� said Gilby.

�And my cut will be?�

�You never got a cut on the old show and��

�Nix, old boy,� cut in the robot dog. �I�m no longer the same naive little mechanism you cooked up years back. Nope, I�ve improved myself immeasurably, boss, made additions, modifications and��

�You couldn�t have done that, Clunky. It would be a violation of the basic laws of robotics.�

�Nertz to the basic laws of robotics.� He dropped to the real tile floor and trotted over to where Gilby was sitting. �Fifty-fifty.�

�Hum?�

�I have to get 50 percent of the gross take.�

�Why�s a dog need $1,000,000 a week?�

�Same reason you need it, boss.� Clunky looked up at him with narrowed plaz eyes. �Well?�

After a moment Gilby said, �OK, it�s a deal. But it hurts me deeply to realize that the very creature I labored over for endless trying months could now��

The robot dog made a raspberry sound. �Hey, this is show business we�re talking about,� he reminded. �Hardly the place for sentimental guff.�

Clunky leaped up onto the big oval conference table, landing with an echoing thunk. He rose on his hind legs and executed an expert cakewalk. �Greetings, ladies and gents,� he said to the three executives seated at the table.

Gilby came hurrying across the domed satellite room after the robot dog. �You�ll have to excuse Clunky,� he said, making a grab at him. �He�s excited about the possibility of returning to��

�Howdy, Burtie.� The dog eluded his creator, skidded across the tabletop and landed in the lap of the youthful Burt Farr. �You�re a lot better looking than you were as a kid actor. Although that�s not saying much.�

�Good to see you again, Clunker,� the thin blond Farr said as he pried the dog off his lap and deposited him again atop the table.

Clunky took a couple of steps, then executed a bird-dog take. �Wellsir, if it isn�t Rowland Hemerson,� he said, nose aimed at a large, wide man of fifty. �Haven�t seen you since��

�You�ve never seen me, you odious little mutt.� Hemerson pushed his chair back several inches.

�I get you.� When Clunky� winked, his metallic eyelid produced a loud clicking sound.

The thin black woman sitting on the opposite side of the table cleared her throat. �I�m terribly afraid, Mr. Gilby, that you�ve had to make the shuttle trip up here for nothing.�

�How�s that, Mrs. Leandro?�

�Burt was a little premature in what he told your wonderfully well-preserved agent,� she said. �We�ve decided�unfortunately too late to prevent you from making the journey here�that we won�t be able to make an offer on My Pal Gunky.�

�I�m still very enthusiastic,� put in young Farr. �Probably within another year or so��

�Boss,� suggested Clunky over his silvery shoulder, �why don�t you go out and join your former missus in that gaudy reception room?�

�I don�t intend to leave you alone with��

�Scram and trust me.�

Mrs. Leandro said, �There�s really no need for either of you to remain any longer.�

Ignoring her, the dog said, �Chief, please. Scoot.�

With a lopsided shrug, Gilby made his exit.

The suite they had on the Earthbound shuttle was twice the size of the one they�d occupied on the trip up to the satellite.

�OK,� Gilby was saying as he paced the thermocarpet, �now explain what exactly you did.�

Clunky was stretched out on a settee. �I simply persuaded that trio of dimwits to sign us up.�

�But instead of twenty-six shows, they�re going to do fifty-two,� said Molly from the doorway to the pantry. �That�s, my lord, $104,000,000 for the first year.�

�It is,� agreed the robot dog, allowing his silvery tail to wag a few times.

Gilby said, �But, according to Mrs. Leandro, they�d decided not to hire us at all.�

�I had a short, private chat with Rowland Hemreson.�

�And?�

�He cast the deciding vote, since Farr was already on our side.�

�Yeah, but how�d you convince Hemerson to do that?�

Clunky chuckled. �I wasn�t kidding when I mentioned having met the gink before, boss,� he explained. �Nope, Rowland was a frequent customer of the bordello during my months of servitude. I happened to use my built-in vidcamera to take some interesting footage of his more ambitious activities and��

�You don�t have a built-in camera.�

�I added that myself,� said the dog. �Even by Hollywood moral standards, Rowland�s performances aren�t acceptable. He was happy to further my career in exchange for my promise of discreet silence.�

�Blackmail,� said Gilby.

�Right, and a basic negotiating tool,� said Clunky. �I�ve got quite a library of footage stored inside me. We�ll be able to use it to persuade other important bigwigs to smooth our path back into the mainstream of world entertainment, chief.�

�How can you store pictures?� Gilby stopped in front of the dog. �I didn�t design you to��

�You really haven�t been paying sufficient attention,� Clunky told him. �I�ve used my time away from you to improve myself.�

�Even so, I��

�I also taught myself to write scripts. And I�m damned good at it.�

�Write scripts? But that�s w�hat I do on My Pal Clunky.�

�No, that�s what we do,� the dog told him. �Sit down and I�ll tell you some of my ideas. OK?�