“ Let’s face it, these people are pumped up for the most important holiday of the year. I’m a thorn on their side. It has nothing to do with the plague. From cradle to the grave they are as programmed as the computers they use. I feel like I am at the hospital trying to revive comatose patients who are afflicted with an incurable virus.” Silent and expressionless, Hilda places her head on his shoulders. Nothing he says will change the Guardian’s plans.
Before he rises to speak, he confides in Hilda that he cannot stop imagining others observing him as though he is closer to androids than to humans. His bulging reddish eyes betray exhaustion. Hilda feels and looks much worse. Staring at drops of perspiration slowly gliding down her forehead to the tip of her nose, the doctor leans over to
