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I looked in to his eyes and sudden there came over me a strange weird feeling. Alan's eyes were full of hate and then slowly turned into a kindness glaze. Alan spoke 'I know you, you're that k** name Davy', 'No', I answered 'I am David and don't call me Davy!' Alan smiled and looked around us to see if we were attracting any attention. With a determined touch Alan led me down the hall by my wrist. Like a little rag doll I was towed along till we reached a class room at the far end of the hall. Alan opened the door and as we entered he closed the door and locked it from the inside and pulled down the "test in progress curtain". Alan pushed me over to the far end of the class room, by the bank of ceiling high windows. He spoke in a quiet sure tone 'we're on the fourth floor and class is in session. No one is going to disturb us for at least forty minutes when classes end'. I wasn't scared or afraid but I was very well aware that Alan was going to do what he wanted even if I did not. Fueller's office. "I feel sorry for 'Made to Order' women like her. Geneticallyperfect, but just as flawed upstairs as a robot. At least, old-fashionedborn in the womb women have some sense, if very little. No less thantheir male counterparts," Vernon told Wade. "Oh? Well, who isn't like a robot these days. You tell someonesomething's wrong and they go out to get three treatments to fix it,"Wade replied. "What're we doing in Hell anyways?" "I don't know really. The message just said he'd like to discusssomething with the two of us. Probably a buy off. Maybe we'll walk awaywith a bribe and a new story," Vernon said. "Oh, you backstabbing bastard," Wade laughed. Vernon shrugged. "I never claimed to be perfect. I leave things like that to Ms.Made back there." The two finished the long corridor by passing throughanother set of large, oak doors. This set led direct into the largeoffice of Morris Fueller. Fueller sat behind his desk, a smile less perfect than thesecretary but obviously.
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