When the voice stopped, Joel heard a rattle at the door. They were coming for him.

The Hoover pulled the chair out much as a filing drawer would have been pulled out. Joel opened his eyes the merest slit as the Hoover lifted him from the chair.

With Joel in its arms it rolled its silent way through a lab. Joel opened his eyes wide at what he saw. It seemed to be fully equipped with all of the gear required to manufacture almost any type of chemical substance.

At least fifty, maybe sixty, robots bustled about. The reason for this place had to do with unlicensed drugs. It all fit together, the unlikely location, the large landing bay and the many robots.

The Hoover placed him gently on an examination table near a floor to ceiling tangle of tubing, both of glass and of coppery-colored metal. He’d seen such a contraption and should know what it was. He knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t remember what the danger was. The hypnotic must have been one of those that destroyed memory as well.

“Do we like our Mandarin?” The Hoover asked.

“No, we don’t like our Mandarin; we love our Mandarin.” Joel knew they’d be looking for this type of response, so he laid it on thick. “Our Mandarin is worthy of love. You would love our Mandarin too, if a Hoover could love.” He racked his brain. Where had he seen a thing like that tubing monstrosity.

The Hoover patted his shoulder. “Yes, Hoovers are built to love. This Hoover loves our Mandarin. Now we must assure that you are ready for your first donation.”

Startled, Joel said, “Donation?”

“Yes, our Mandarin needs something you have in abundance. This will not hurt a bit.” So saying, the Hoover plunged Joel’s left hand into a small box attached to the table.

The Hoover lied. It felt like fire; no, worse than fire. It felt like his frequent nightmares: the deadly cold of space on his bare skin; his blood boiling inside his veins; his skin no longer able to contain his inner structures; his puffed, distorted body floating in the vacuum. Uncle Harn had died like that. Joel was the one who found him.

He was at the point of screaming when the Hoover pulled his hand free. He looked at his palm, turned his hand over and looked at the back of his hand. Amazed, he saw no marks of any kind.