As Elene mulled over these gloomy thoughts, she and Art had covered the short distance from the office to the tube that led to Food Center. As they entered, she saw that he also was preoccupied. In good time, he would tell her what had aroused his sudden enthusiasm. An empty car came by. A photoelectric cell registered their presence in the tube. It stopped, Art dropped a token in a slot in its side, and the door slid silently open. As they entered, Art grinned and said:
"They're junking these cars next year. Seems they have developed a new model. They were losing money on these—they waste a lot of time. They always stop for you whether you want a car or not; perhaps you're just waiting to meet someone, or just got off a car."
"I hardly see what they can do about that," laughed Elene. "Telepathic communication between man and a machine is something considered pretty far in the future."
"They still use the photo cell," answered Art, "but now it registers a complete picture of you. By a system of hand signals the prospective passenger will be able to indicate whether he wants a car, where he is going, et cetera. Even the control panel, which we now set for our destination, will be eliminated."
Soon they were seated in the one huge cafeteria which served the entire city of Washington. Various levels were frequented by different classes of citizens, and Art and Elene chose a quiet one, usually patronized by scientific and medical students. Their meal was ordered by dialing from a numbered menu and arrived automatically in a few seconds, piping hot.
Once they were settled, Art began to tell the girl of the weird thing that had been brought him.
"I've had no time at all to work on it, of course," he began, "but this much I can almost say for sure—this thing is not an organism like anything else on Earth's crust. Its life processes do not depend on oxidation. It's not composed, as we are, principally of hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon. Carbon, perhaps, yes; that might give it some of its hardness—but it's inert, not involved in any chemical action. The thing neither breathes nor eats!"
"Please, Art, start at the beginning—you haven't told me what it looks like, or anything!"
"O.K., O.K.," he grinned, and obligingly did so, concluding with, "It's not much, maybe—hasn't anything to do with planetary research, but it's a job—something to keep me busy. That's hard enough to find, these days."