The change of seasons brought a cold, early autumn to Sakar, and with it, a chill that felt like the dead of winter. Human, elf, and dragon alike wore woolens and enchanted fabrics to fend off the cold, but the wind that whipped around the city's rust-colored brick buildings and blew through its endless shop-filled alleyways bit through even these. Only androids were unfazed by the weather change, and most wore whatever clothes pleased them. The sight of the near white-skinned human replicas in filmy summer garb, exposed imperviously to the unseasonable chill roused resentment and jealousy in humans, and caused more than a few odd looks from the elves and dragons, even though most androids could not have cared less. Still, one uniquely beautiful android named Mericlou, dressed far more conservatively than most of her kind, could not help but feel a growing exasperation, though it was not aimed at the onlookers who had watched her enter the cyber-brothel. Rather, her anger seethed at the manager behind the counter who had just asked for her codec number.
"You know damn well that I don't have to give you that information," Mericlou snapped, fed up with the sleazy man's lame attempts at coaxing it from her. "Androids of level-4 consciousness or higher are no longer required to give their codec numbers for any reason whatsoever." The very gall of him! Codec numbers were access codes to their very CPUs, and were shared at an android's own risk. Between trustworthy individuals, access provided intimate communication through the Orb Network, but if misused, it could lead to manipulation, infection, or mindwipe. After the Liberation War, the headlines were often full of reports of androids falling dead in the streets, victims of such acts by vengeful former owners, hired hackers, or indiscriminate acts of cruelty by resourceful people. Thankfully, humans became bored, and the novelty wore off as attitudes shifted. Nevertheless, many still resisted change.
The manager tried to explain that a codec number was needed to complete the transaction. But Mericlou knew when humans were lying, and was well versed in the statutes of the Android Rights Act. The Republic was often lax in enforcing it, but if an android pushed the issue, the matter would be settled properly.
"So unless you want a call from my lawyer …"
"All right, all right!" the manager said in whining capitulation, "I don't need your codec, okay?"
"That's what I thought," Mericlou gave a derisive snort. The manager quickened his writing pace on the form, perhaps to sooner be rid of her, and Mericlou finalized it with her signature once he was done. The manager then took the document, passed behind the counter through pink sequined drapes, and a moment later returned … with her.