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. She was disconcerted to see the artificial eye readjust its focus as his head drew nearer. "I told you. I have an appointment."
"I'll check the files," she said coldly.
"You do that, sister."
"What was the name?"
"Xris. With an X. Pronounced 'Chris,' in case you're interested."
She wasn't. "Summe."
"Xris'll do. There's only one of me."
The receptionist flashed him a look which said the universe could undoubtedly count this as a blessing, then brought up the appointment calendar on a screen beneath the gleaming glass top of her desk. Her fingers flicked over the smooth surface.
The cyborg glanced around the reception area again, noted a security-bOt glide out of a recess in the wall. Casually, Xris reached into the pocket of his shirt, drew out a golden and silver cigarette case, adorned with a shield on the top. The receptionist, had she been looking, would have been highly impressed. The shield was the crest of the Starfire family, belonged to the young king. The case was, in fact, a gift from the king. Xris opened the lid and withdrew an ugly, braided, foul-smelling form of tobacco known as a twist. He thrust the twist in his mouth, started to light it with the thumb of the metal hand.
"No smoking." The receptionist indicated a sign to that effect.
Xris shrugged, doused the light. Keeping the twist in his mouth, he began to chew on it
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