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. The voice inside Raoul was sympathetic, but demanded action.
"Speaking of names" though no one had been--"what is the name of the ship?" Raoul asked the 'bot. It did not answer.
Raoul watched, fascinated, as his own red blood flowed into the extractor. From there it was deposited into various tubes and vials, all of which the 'bot carefully labeled and arranged on a tray.
At length, growing light-headed, Raoul allowed his gaze to wander.
"I am in a room, my friend, in which there are several white beds, separated from each other by curtains hanging from tracks on the ceiling--"
The woman with no mouth, absorbed in her work, glanced up. "What did you say?" she asked irritably.
"What is the name of the ship, madame?" Raoul was extremely polite. It was, he thought, a reasonable question.
The woman snorted, returned to the computer.
Raoul shrugged, continued. "They are taking my blood away from me and putting it into little tubes. I don't have the slightest notion why. Unless I am being held prisoner by vampires .... "
This fascinating and titillating thought carried him through the next few moments by providing certain entertaining fantasies. Then a particularly nasty jab from the 'bot returned him to what passed for reality.
His gaze--which had been wandering aimlessly around the room, flicking over various serious-looking machines-landed on a cabinet made of steel with a code-key locking device
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