There’s something about the Martin-Eckmann model that seems to carry a pallor about it no matter where it goes. Even in the kaleidoscope of New Delhi the android looked like it was striding through a Scandinavian city, even with an improbable woolen shawl wrapped around its voicebox and a black pleather trenchcoat.
It was almost as if it walked around in a gray bubble, de-saturating everything within a few feet of it — a pure illusion of the cognitive dissonance of its bearing and appearnace since it did not carry around the technology of a portable force field. It was just an android, a robot with enough volume in its casing to give it the mechanical ability to move and communicate like a human being. It did not even have the ability to sense and respond to the dank, pungent atmosphere of the bustle it now navigated through, once again adding to the impression of a personal coolness.
It stopped a moment, looking just like a young socialite waiting for a taxi in the dead of a Gotham winter, and swiveled around to face a stout Indian flower peddler on the street.