The machine's as good as it's word. There's pounding on the office door, maybe twenty minutes later. The knocker is medium height, topped off with a brown crew-cut toupee; pretty good one too. Kind of effeminate looking, with a waxy cast. Looks like one of those manikins in Tacy's window downtown. I've seen biped loader-waldos like this one on the docks, but without the fancy cosmetics. They pick up 300 pound drums of chemical waste, like it was tissue paper. The plastic skin over this one is good though. If I didn't know in advance, I might think it was just some guy off his feed. There is some overweight, sloppy looking kid with him carrying a satchel. The manikin waves a hand at me.

"Hey baldy. So where's the cube?"

"Who's your friend? Thought you were coming alone. You're Micain, right?"

"That's M.I.C.A.I.N, my model Type. Eh. The Waldo's just to get me around town when I'm not cruising circuit boards. Just call me Mic. This here's my associate, Paul. Technically he's off work, but I talked him into coming along. Sometimes he..."

The bag-kid frowns. "You said there's twenty credits in it for me..."

"...Eh, comes in handy...Shut up, Paul ... on field excursions. You got the cube here?"

I get the thing out of my pocket and roll it onto the desk.

"Never understood how an A.I. could get made that small. You're really what, the size of a pin head?"

The A.I.'s Waldo straightens up a bit. "You ask me to figure this thing out for you and I'm the pinhead? Okay,I get that a lot. My thinking machinery is all Quantum. Six atoms that track switching by the changes in spin and atomic valence shell, eh, positions. It does more data connections per second than your five pounds of neurons and fat do by a factor of – by a lot. The rest is all nanotech stuff. I'm as big as I need to be. Get a life. Read. Okay?"

Never seen an irritated machine before. The bot's Waldo snatches up the cube, does some very fast hand magic with it, clicking the blocks this way, that way, too quick to follow. Now, all the faces have one color, and alphabets are marked on every square of it. The letters still don't spell out anything, though.

"Okay, I've got the matrix. Tell you what, I'll reproduce it on a spreadsheet for you. If you get any more funny messages you'll be able to decode 'em that way."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I prompt, "you want to look at the numbers from BC's again?"

"I've got my faults," he snorts, "but bad memory isn't one of them, Richie. I'm computer based, remember? I don't forget stuff."

The Waldo fiddles with the numbers I wrote down at B.C.'s anyway, probably just to check my internet typing skills, while rocking up and back on its feet. Then it lays a plastic grin on me.

"Want to know what the message was?"

Freebie or not, tin-man is slowly getting on my nerves. Remind myself the toaster is trying to be helpful.

"Look, Micain, you come all the way over here to chat, or to help me decode this thing. Spill."

Behind Mic, a slight smile breaks out on his assistant's round face. Working with this megalomaniac machine all the time must be hell. My ill humor isn't sticking to the A.I. though. It waves an arm in dismissal. Blackie is still hanging around, sniffing at my guest's ankles.

"No smell, Rrr-ichie, no smell – like doggie toy!"

The Waldo has Blackie all confused, the dog is getting excited. I ignore the mutt though.

"Could you have your buddy walk the dog out? Maybe best we talk alone, no offense to your friend."

Mic nods at Paul, who heads for the door, coaxing Blackie and looking relieved to go back outside.

"The message translates to Ardmore32 at six PM, Ritchie. Mean anything?"

"It's an address. The Adrmore is a midtown office..."

"Really," Mic pipes. "I mean, anything special? Anything...private?"

"No."

"Then the Ardmore it is! Tomorrow, likely. I'm off at five..."

I shake my head. "You're done now. Best guess, it's a girl. But I don't know her, Mic. She may know me, or what I look like, but you're a stranger. I'll take it from here."

"Yeah, but ..."

I remember something. The call. Some goons were due at the office tomorrow to get that cube. Serve this walking erector set right if it took one on the nose, not that it would hurt his Waldo. Anyway, never hire muscle you can get free. Then again, I probably owe the tin-can something for its trouble. Besides, I'm lazy.

"Tell you what. Some guy is eager to get this back, offered a C-note for it. Good chance it was my office tosser though, so might get rough. You could park yourself here at the office tomorrow night, and give it to him. Don't need it anymore. Screw up the lettering on the cube, like it was before, in case this turns out to be something. Find out what you can, but protect yourself. You can keep the hundred for the favor, if you've the guts for it. I'll see to the dame, and get back with you after. If it's a gumshoe case, you get half, but work for it. Deal?"

"Yeah, actually, not a bad idea. How do you know they'll be here in the evening?"

"Because I'm not going to be in the office tomorrow. It'll be closed, unless you come by and turn on the lights. By then my meeting with the dame will be over. Here's the shop's key, don't lose it."

I didn't intend to go back home. I keep a fresh sport coat in my office closet, and there's a flop called the Bonne Hotel, right across from the Ardmore terrace building. I'd wait the night out there.