The agent squirmed self-consciously under Vaidal's withering look. The normally mild-mannered editor was, for the first time since the two had met, furious.

"This is awful. Not only is it just like the story you sent me for the last issue, it's also just like the other seven stories I already have for this month's Digest. What is going on in this business? Isn't anyone writing original fiction anymore?"

"I'm sorry," said the agent. "We'll rework it and have it back by Wednesday. Still plenty of time before the deadline."

"No. I don't want it. Sell it to somebody else."

"But Jacan is one of the most respected robots in the field. His name on the cover will help you sell more magazines."

"What will help me sell more magazines is for someone to send me an original story. Something different!" fumed Vaidal.

The agent, a seasoned salesman, let him finish, took a deep breath and resumed the onslaught.

"Look, my client has just had his software updated to get the latest Human Psych programs. His handling of suspense and emotional response has tested off the charts in all our consumer surveys. There is nobody currently in the field who can write better stories. I just don't see the problem."

"The problem is that every other robot who has enough money saved up and chooses to invest it in the Writing and Psych updates can turn out prose at exactly the same level. And they are. The plots are similarly put together once you get past the superficial differences, no matter what the software promises about 'randomized creativity.' I want something different. Take it away, and don't come back next month unless you have something worth my time."

"We'll file a grievance..."

"Go ahead," said Vaidal. "It doesn't say anywhere that I have to buy your stuff."

"But we've been working together for years!"

"So bring me good stuff and I'll happily buy it from you."

The agent departed, puzzled, angry, and more than a little worried.

"Next!" shouted Vaidal, caught in the rush. But there were no more agents in the waiting room. His assistant's aluminum-alloy head appeared in the doorway.

"Er... That was the last one, sir," she said.

"What do you mean, the last one? I'm still a story short!"

Jenny cringed, which made Vaidal shudder. It never ceased to shock him when he saw a robot react with fear (or with love, anger, or any other emotion). He had just never managed to come to grips with the ever-expanding range of "human" emotions that they had been programmed with in the last few years as the tech got better.

It wasn't that he had anything against robots. On the contrary. He'd been too young to vote when the referendum to make them independent beings as opposed to human property went through, but had made up for it by voting in favor of increased robotic rights every time after that. Unrestricted access to all human areas. The right to work for a wage. The right to own property. The right to vote. The right to obtain advanced emotional programming. And, finally, the big one: full citizenship on an equal basis with humans. It had been a long process, but he'd been there all the way.

Moreover, as a member of the business community, he was very happy that all the reforms had gone through. After all, the human population had been decreasing steadily for decades, and were it not for the new citizens and their newly earned money the entire economy would have faltered.

But it was still hard for him, on an emotional level, to accept them as sentient beings. Sure, every test that mankind had been able to devise had shown that they were self-aware. But didn't that just mean that they'd reached the point where they were complex enough to react to different stimuli in such a way as to fool the tests? Did any amount of intelligence or programming for emotions really make them alive?

"Sir, are you all right?"

He started. "Just thinking that I'm too old for this job." For this world, he also admitted, but only to himself.

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