"I don't have a wife," Dolan said. "That's no problem." He hesitated. "Do I need security clearance? That'll take time."
"No security clearance. This is private work."
Dolan frowned. Private work, money no object, very secret—there were implications to this offer which he did not like.
On the other hand—
His eye strayed to the young woman who sat quietly beside the man, silently exercising her specialty. The plastic surgeons of her era had done a beautiful and nearly perfect job on her body; but bone-deep, in ways an observant man could sense, she was still not a twentieth century woman. In a city full of women who made a profession of being young and handsome, she too was young and handsome, but different.
Dolan was an observant man, and a curious one.
He looked back at Brown. "If you could just give me some idea—" he said tentatively.
"The equipment, as I have said, is very intricate, and we are not technicians. We prefer that you make your own diagnosis."
Dolan pursed his lips uncertainly. He glanced again at the girl.
"OK," he said at last, "I'll look at it. I can't promise anything."