Diane Joplin spent the afternoon in her hotel room surfing the Japanese sector of cyberspace. The hotel’s in-house Mitsubishi console did a fairly good job of translating the Kanji on the fly. She pored through so many news stories and features related to the Yakuza and to Kenzo Yamamoto that she now considered herself somewhat of an expert on the topic. Several hours later, eyes tired from the constant stream of words scrolling down the screen and the void in her stomach screaming for attention, she ordered room service.

Ten minutes later the bell rang and she opened the door, a bit self-conscious since she was wearing only the white terry-cloth robe with nothing underneath. There was no one there except a room service robot, its sensors blinking rapidly. The trolley moved smoothly past her into the room and positioned itself at right angles to the desk and the in-house console. Xybo, sensing food, was on the alert, its tail wagging expectantly. Diane wondered whether now that robots where doing everything, the people who used to work in hotels were now all making robots. The good thing was you no longer felt like you were compelled to tip.

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