It must have been the novelty of a trip outside the home, she decided. That was understandable.

Despite what Mrs. Whitten had said, they rarely left their building.

Eloise looked around the reception area with interest, but found nothing extraordinary about the place. The grubby posters (static, not even active!) and the chipped magnolia paintwork reminded her of every other National Health Clinic she had ever been inside; the only feature that told her this was the mid-21st century was the robotic receptionist.

She cast a professional eye over the model-an A-series 412. Cheap and nasty, with barely enough processing power to do the job. She had spent her working life in the industry, and had never trusted the 412s.

Then, to her surprise, the robot's head swivelled round to face her.

"Eloise Harvey?" it said. The voice was a soft contralto (she guessed its voice box had been upgraded to make the robot appear a better model than it really was-a typical State wallpaper job).

"Yes," she answered. Despite her previous determination to be brave today, her voice came out strained-reedy. "I'm Miss Harvey. Is it time? Is it my turn now?"

"Could you please go to the Adjunct's office," the receptionist lifted a mannequin arm and pointed to an anonymous door to the side. "The Adjunct requests a meeting."

What could it mean? The others all looked at her, glad they were not the ones being singled out. Life in the Home did that to you-made you strive to keep a low profile-not stand out or be a troublemaker, then a target.

Another voice-a man's-boomed out from a speaker on the receptionist's desk: "We're not ready for you yet, Miss Harvey, but a quick word in my office would be of benefit."

Arnold nudged her as she passed, and rolled his eyes in mock terror. "They want to chop out more than just yer fancy eye, Ellie," he said.

"At least I'll be walking out of here on my own two feet," she shot back at him, glancing down at his artificial leg.

Betty just tittered as Eloise fumbled with the door handle. She was grateful to close the door on Betty's parting words: "Offer him yer body, love! Maybe he'll let yer keep all of it, afterward!"

The Adjunct sat at a desk. Eloise realized with surprise that it was also a robot, though a more advanced model than the A412 outside.

Probably one of the T-series, she speculated. Despite her nerves, she felt a small thrill to be in its presence.

This was one of the sentient models-as close to artificial intelligence our technology could build. It had been years since she'd had the opportunity to be close to such an advanced model.

Once an engineer, she said to herself, always an engineer.

Its soft flesh tones and shiny black hair, with those animated, expressive eyes, would have fooled her in a poorer light-although she'd known residents in the Home who'd botoxed their skin into immobility and worn toupees...they'd looked more robotic than the machine facing her.

But didn't the NHS run to any human staff, these days?

"Please," it said, indicating the high backed chair facing it. "Sit down."

"Why am I here?" she asked. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," the Adjunct said. "I was reviewing your case, and felt it would be useful to speak to you in person."

Eloise gave it a doubtful look.

"All my documents were sent in last week. I don't think there's anything wrong. My implant is still good, isn't it?"

"Yes," the Adjunct said. "As of this moment, your ocular implant is worth 10,631 credits to the Micronesian market-that is where we can get the best price for you."

"Micronesia?"

"Our brokerage service is unrivalled in this part of Southern England," the Adjunct reassured her.

"The technology built into your eye is in great demand on the Kiribati exchange." "Oh, I'm sure you'll get me the best price for my eye," Eloise said.

"It will buy you an annuity you can live on," the Adjunct reassured her, repeating the Clinic's mantra.

She'd read that slogan on the board outside.

"So what did you want to see me about?"

The Adjunct didn't answer her at first. Its eyes seemed to defocus and stare into the middle distance, then: "What do you see before you?"

She stared at the Adjunct.

"I see a T-series machine, made to look like a man, but your flesh is too pink, your hair is too shiny."

"I am the Adjunct of this Clinic, perfectly constructed for my work..." it said. "If you were to look below my waist you would see that I protrude out of the back of this desk unit."

She gave a short sigh. The possibility of danger hadn't occurred to her before...

"Don't worry!" it exclaimed, picking up on her thought. "I cannot hurt you. I am totally immobile."

It lowered its head to avoid her steady gaze.

"But I would not hurt you," it continued. "I used to be known by you as Clever Dolly."

Eloise frowned. Her wrinkled forehead screwed up further.

"Clever Dolly?"

"You had a doll when you were six years old," the Adjunct reminded her. "You kept it for four years, spoke to it, played with it...the sentient processor within it lives within me now."

Her eyes widened.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed. "You mean that you're my Clever Dolly...all grown up?"

"Yes, in a way," the Adjunct admitted. "I recall my time with you-no memories are ever lost for my kind."

"But..." Eloise said, "How do I know that this is the truth?"

The Adjunct gave a human shrug. "Why should I lie to you?"

Her eyes narrowed again: "If you're really my Clever Dolly, you'd know where I kept my secret diary."

The Adjunct was silent for a moment. She guessed it was searching its memory core.

"You had no secret diary, but I recall you would hide secret messages inside Teddy Bear and Kangaroo's pouch."

She felt her cheeks blush at its words.

"Well!" was all she could manage. Her face screwed up with concentration. "I remember the day my father brought you home. I was the first child in my school to have a Clever Dolly."

"I was an early model," the Adjunct said. "When you grew out of me-and I bear you no ill will-I was sold back to the toy store, then dismantled for my sentient processor."

Eloise gazed around the small office, taking in the shuttered window, the filing cabinet, the desk, the picture of some lost Sussex countryside (showing a summer of corn, haystacks and sunshine). It struck her that the picture was as far removed from the present reality of Southern England's tundra as this mimic sitting before her was from a real human being.

"So you ended up here," she said. "What a coincidence, us meeting like this!"

"It was not a coincidence," the Adjunct said. "When I saw your name on the application list, I made certain that you were brought to this Clinic."

"Whatever for?" Eloise asked.

"I need you to help me," it replied, "to leave this place."

"But why?" she said, startled by its sudden pleading tone.

It leaned forward as far as it could: "Because I'm unable to move from this desk; because I'm trapped here, seeing the world outside through my window or the netscreen; because I remember my time with you, being carried through the world-each moment an exploration-every moment a new thing: need I go on?"

Eloise was quiet for a moment, then she said in a firm voice: "You're a machine, made to work here.

If you were to leave, what would you do? How would you go?"

"I don't know," it admitted. "I am unable to think of a solution to this problem." "Well," she answered. "I don't see how I can help you."

"So you won't help."

"I can't," she said. "How could I? Would you expect me to carry you out of here?" Her voice softened. "I'm so sorry."

The Adjunct's head dipped down.

For a horrible moment, Eloise wondered if it had switched itself off with despair.

Then it spoke: "I bear you no ill will. Indeed, I fear that your attendance here is as futile for yourself as it has been for me. You see, I have information about your operation, figures not generally available to the public..."

She stiffened.

"Our private Clinic results show that patients who undergo your type of operation have a reduced lifespan afterward." It peered at her. "I am sorry to tell you this, but any annuity you receive for the sale of your eye is unlikely to benefit you for more than two years, at most."

"Is the operation dangerous?"

"No," it said, "it's perfectly safe. Our clinic figures are simply an average."

Eloise shrugged. "I'm old," she muttered. "I don't need you to tell me that...if losing one eye gives me a better life, even for a few years, it's worth it."

The Adjunct considered her words.

"How do you humans accept incompleteness so readily?"

"Life teaches us," she said sadly. "Being human means we can regret mistakes we've made in the past...or have dreams...aspirations for the future." She gazed at it with pity. "Sometimes it's worth being incomplete," she added, "if you're human."

Outside the office, the others wanted to know what had happened-what had taken so long.

"Took yer time, Ellie!" Betty leered at her. "Them old bones ain't what they were!"

Arnold was kinder, but she still evaded his questioning.

"It was about my annuity," she told him.

"Humph!" he muttered. "I know you'll get more than me. Legs is worth less than internet-seeing eyes, I reckon."

That night, when Betty nodded off into restless sleep, Eloise dared to activate her sapphire eye.

She couldn't afford to use it much-what she had left from her pension didn't stretch to always-on linkage fees, and the battery was becoming more expensive each time she replaced it.

At first the view was blurred, but it soon resolved into a virtual access window that floated in front of her face, intense colors her own cataract-cursed eye could no longer appreciate.

She gasped at the brilliance of the neurally enhanced colors: the deep emerald of the window's border, the glowing scarlet access icons.

She felt crushed by the thought that she had to give this up...exchange it for tapping away at a slow, fuzzy, filthy screen.

But she had no choice. She needed the money to live, even if it was in a dump like this.

The thought brought her up short-she shouldn't waste precious time on-line. Staring, and deliberately blinking, at the correct icons, Eloise swiftly navigated her way through the Net until she came to her sister's cyberspace.

There it was: Val's beautiful cottage. Its whitewashed stucco walls and red tiled roof contrasted vividly against the luscious green garden foliage that spread down to the deep blue Aegean beyond.

Eloise tried to pick out the flowers Val had planted since her last holo had been taken...was there a new bed of roses behind the fountain? The English species had really taken to the Greek coast since the loss of the Gulf Stream had killed off so many native creatures and plants.

And it was killing her. When she finally got around to following Val South, it was too late. The Southern Countries had shaved their quotas to the bone before she could escape England...

A cursor blinked in the corner of her vision. Her credit was running out. She watched the scene until it blanked, leaving her staring at the ceiling in her room.

Betty turned over, mumbled something, and sighed as the stench of urine soaking into her bedclothes filled the room.

Eloise waited until her roommate was fast asleep again, then hauled herself out of bed. She bent down, trying not to grunt with the effort, and reached underneath the bed.

Her personal box-what they let you keep in this place-was undisturbed. There was nothing valuable there-everything had long been sold. After a moment's rummaging she found what she was looking for.

The following week, as she boarded the coach to the Clinic, she hoped she'd remembered everything.

"Hurry up, Eloise! The knife's waiting for you." It was Mrs. Whitten, already sitting by the driver.