The gamin bounced up and took charge of Jadiver, leading him to a small workshop screened off in a corner of one of the larger rooms. The layout was authentic enough to justify the equipment—a few robot forms in the rough state, handbooks on design, several robot heads in various stages of completion, and an assortment of the specialized tools of the trade. It was standard for the tinkerer, for the would-be designer of robot bodies. Burlingame always covered himself in every detail.
Jadiver inspected it thoroughly, the gamin standing impatiently at his side.
"I'm first when you're ready," she said.
He eyed her amusedly. "What's the hurry?"
"There's more to do on me and you'll do your best work when you're not tired."
"I'll start soon. Let me see the plastic."
She opened a cabinet and there it was. Jadiver squatted and read the instructions on the containers. He shook his head in despair. Every amateur always did this.
He stood up. "You've got the worst kind," he said.
She shrugged. "They told me it was the best."
"That depends. There are two kinds, and this one does look more real than the other. In fact, for a time this actually becomes a part of your body, a pseudo-flesh. But it's quite dangerous."