North Dakota Shoe Law

CHAPTER 1 - Loving arms of iron


- kills him. -
- You can not kill him, it's a robot! -
- It's okay, it's the same thing! -
- Not really. However, you can threaten him with levargli batteries ... or not oliargli joints. -
This enlightening conversation was being held between Lord and Lord Pritch Coole, in a delightful coffee house in Regent Street, London. The two nobles were arguing heatedly on the considerable problem in the first, for some 'days in that part, a matter of some gravity that could have led to rather serious consequences, if the item was out of the walls of his home.

- I repeat that merely ignore. It 's too cute and this gives me some concern. I'm sure you would find a way to disable me, quell'indecente! - Michael Pritch muttered, twisting his mouth a bit thin on the face 'emaciated - did not work even when I threatened to sell him or bring him back from the manufacturer! He said that Mr. Moore would have hunted and shot. - Lord Edward Coole
scratched his nose with the tip of one of its metal fingers and hid a smile amused - About Moore ... At least you went to ask him? -
- You insult my intelligence! It 'obvious that I did it! - Said the blond man outraged.
- And ...? - Coole allusive tone was typical of him that the other received a foretaste of the sound drubbing.
- Nothing. - Michael stared at his cup of tea with air funeral - E 'horrified at the idea and put me at the door due to his personal robot. Then, as if this were not enough, the first slam the door on the nose ruled: Rather than take back the evil robot back, I am willing to risk the gallows for having trimmed a shot up your ass noble, my Lord! There is no more than, what the heck! -
- Eh ... Yeah, yeah. - Said his companion, hiding the grin that was forming on his lips, back to the fine china cup - a very unfortunate fact. -
- But how do I do?! Ever since the death of poor Burns problems at home had tripled, but since I bought Billie is much worse! - A puff melodramatic stressed the difficult situation-I mean, I can not even tell him to prepare the clothes! Now, you know well my inclinations, but understand that it is difficult to know what to do when your new butler, an android is more, you do not want to bring change of clothes because according to his enlightened opinion, are better naked. E 'embarrassing! -
Then Edward's lips trembled almost, for their efforts in not to laugh rudely in his face to his friend.
And to say that the automaton Billie, considering its aesthetic armor, was not bad ... a sensitive issue, not too high, blacks hair and a pair of green eyes that would make your head spin even one of those mutants , living in Slum Areas of sewage near the River Thames, not known for their taste for beauty. The problem stemmed from his personality ...
Normally the manufacturers provided automata, provides buyers with the opportunity to choose whether or not the function of "character", which in any case, default was set to take to have as little hassle as possible for those who would cohabited with the robot. But no. For some strange reason, the automaton Billie seemed to have a personality so different, so strong, make it seem almost human. That was too much!
- Maybe when you come home, waiting for you in your bed. - Coole laughed no longer restrain himself, and poor Michael squeezed the root of the nose a bit ' protruding.
- It would be perfectly capable of doing so. I have a terrible desire to loosen the bolts and set pieces in a box. - Muttered the count, taking the jacket from its portfolio on a plate and depositing the money to pay the consumer - and 'delusional. -
- If I were you, my good friend - he, rising and stretching slightly Edward - humor him, just to see how far he's willing to go. You could always threaten to sabotage the circuits. -
- I do not think, never sleeps and always seems to make of whether or not I have a screwdriver in his pocket. -
- So, my dear, I am afraid you have to accept the solution that will take you right where it seems willing to go, that is ... in his loving arms of iron. - Count Coole you kick in the head, the bowler, gave a gentle pat on the back of the other and walked away, finally leaving the club.
With a sigh, Michael Pritch did the same thing, noting that prior to find himself in bed with that nymphomaniac robot, it would have unbolted well and stuck with a damn small cassette, useful for repairing the wheels of the coach!