TITLE: Bad Hair Day
AUTHOR: Michael J. Gallagher ( mikejoe@odyssey.net )
SYNOPSIS: So why IS Rommie going to get blue hair?
RATING: G/PG
DISCLAIMER: GRA is owned by Tribune. I am making no money off this.
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"Mr. Harper," Dylan said, entering the machine shop, where the young engineer was sitting on the edge of a work bench.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"You are aware that we are having the formal reception for the Pitari delegates in -- " Dylan glanced at his com gauntlet "-- just under an hour and a half?"
"Yes, Dylan," Harper said, nodding.
"So why aren't you getting ready for it?"
"Urgent business, Boss."
"WHAT business?"
"Dylan?" He heard Rommie's voice behind him.
Dylan turned around. "Yes, Rom -- ?" He broke off. Ever since Dylan had been assigned command of the _Andromeda Ascendant,_ the beautiful, brunette human female who was the anthropomorphic image of its AI's persona had changed little. Even when Harper embodied that image in the android standing before him, some things had not changed. Now, one thing had.
The formerly brunette android now had yellow hair with red and green highlights in it, drawn up into who knows how many little ponytails.
"Is something wrong, Dylan?" Rommie asked seriously.
"Ah, no, ahhhuuuummmmhhhh, you were saying?"
"Harper will be unavoidably detained; he has pressing technical problems to address. That is, if it's not a problem."
"Uh, no, ahm, it's not, Rommie."
"Good." Rommie shifted her attention to her engineer. "Harper -- this?" She pointed at her head.
"Yeah, Rom Doll?" Harper brightened a bit.
Rommie wrinkled her nose, shook her head a little, and disappeared around the corner of the machine shop. Harper sagged.
Dylan looked at the ceiling, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Uhm, Mr. Harper, you wouldn't happen to know, ahhhmmmm -- "
"Trance got a fashion 'zine downloaded from the last courier," Harper said. "The '89 Style Preview Issue, I think."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yeah."
"Oh, God .... Ok. I think 'unavoidably detained' will work as an excuse for now. Will you be able to make it at all?"
"Uhhhhmmmmmm .... "
"Thought so. Carry, uh, on, Mr. Harper. And good luck."
"Thanks, Boss," Harper said, watching Dylan leave. He hopped off the work bench and cracked his knuckles. "And if there's an Order of the Hairdresser or a Purple Curling Iron, I'm putting in for it."
THE END
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