B-Mary Drone, receptionist at Job Force Emporium, Ltd lost her head while on the job. The weld across the base of her neck weakened and her head snapped off. It was not until Ms Drone crawled out from under her desk to answer the telephone that she realised her head had rolled down the hallway. Ms Drone's quick thinking saved her existence. Management recycled her remains for a new position at the sustenance ring on Ranmar.

Ms Drone recounts her mishap that began last week when she received her quarterly review. A positive performance of keeping up a good appearance, the major aspect of her receptionist position, earned an upgrade of her determination capacitor. A power surge gone unnoticed during the upgrade caused an imbalance in her self-preservation mode. The error resulted in conceit and manipulative tactics mistakenly integrated into her program.

Ms Drone stated, "At first, my new attitude seemed annoying, but I didn't mention it because I knew it would come in handy." Additional credits were posted to her shopping account in recognition of her 1st anniversary with the company. "I rushed to the shopping triad and used all my credits to purchase a thick gold necklace with a triangular diamond slide. I thought it would improve my appearance and help me on the job."

Ms Drone's model, the #116, has developed a problematic weakness in the neck weld that results in a forward tipping of head modules. She added, "And, I thought the jewellery would help stiffened up my neck."

However, the gold links reacted with caustic skin lotions used to smooth pocking from laser incisions and the supported links weakened. "I struggled to keep my head upright, but my chin snapped down against my chest. I was afraid Pro 1 would demote me and I'd be shoved into the backroom with those botched irregulars." As we spoke, her lower lip quivered. "I wanted to be a real bioplast. Whatever it took. I did my job. Kept up a nice appearance for the company."

Job Force Emporium is 1 of the pioneers in drone manufacture allowing units to advance close to humanoid status though a series of incentive implants. The Ranmar industrial colony has been a leader in drone technology and advancement for the past decade.

After the mishap, Ms Drone tried to correct her appearance by realigning her head into the wobbly neck. While doing so, her hand slipped on the thick smear of makeup on the cheek area. Her long acrylic fingernails jabbed into the left eye and shoved the purple optical orb deep into its socket. A chrome letter opener helped wedge it forward, but in doing so, a patch of Ms Drone's green hair strands entangled in the opener and pulled off the left side of her scalp.

"I was a mess," Ms Drone said. "Luckily, everybody in the office was at the sustenance ring." Determined, Ms Drone headed to the parts lab. "I found a thin ribbon of alumitar." The clever receptionist wrapped it around her neck, buttoned the top of her silk blouse and redistributed her hair to hide the alumitar collar.

"When I looked in the mirror, Ms Drone said, "I saw a bald spot on the side of my head." Impaired reflective ability and 1 bad eye blurred her attempts to neatly redistribute and re-glue the strands. Adding to the receptionist's problems, dermalot adhesive splashed on her right hand, and melted the bioderm covering of her fingers into a mitten shape. When Ms Drone raised her right hand for a better look, she misjudged the movement. The hand adhered to the left shoulder of her blouse as if she were saluting the quadrant flag.

"I heard the time interval chime," she said. "And knew they'd be coming back from sustenance." Rushing to her desk, Ms Drone tripped over a waste can. Her left shoe fell off. When she bent down to replace it, she struck her knee on a metal desk. Her stators short-circuited, causing her leg to jerk uncontrollably, but she pursed and using her good hand, she refitted her shoe.

"I made it to my seat just as the techs walked in, she said. However, her chair rolled to 1 side and tipped her out. A sudden snap, followed by a thump, sounded as she slid under the desk.

"I heard their voices but they sounded odd: muffled and faint. I recognised my boss, Mr Green's voice. He said, 'Where's that tempting receptionist?' Then, John Morris, the office manager, said, 'She's just a mechanical Stepford babe. Looks like she's under the desk cleaning.' Can you imagine, he laughed at me? Then he said, 'She must of gotten cleaning implants!'"

"Sure, like I'd damage myself to clean for them?" Ms Drone said, "I couldn't wait to get out of that job. I heard the men snicker. I thought their remarks and attitudes were out of place, so I stayed under the desk."

Ms Drone stated that as the men walked away she grew confused because their voices seemed louder. "I should have known then what had happened when I heard John say clearly, 'What's this head doing in the middle of the hallway? Hair all clumped with glue. Who's the genius that put this 1 together? Face looks like a #116.'"

The receptionist said that Mr Green told John Morris, 'Throw it in the backroom. We'll bolt it to a drone unit for the Salamite's mining contract.' He laughed again. 'That'll look bizarre.'

The receptionist's phone rang. "I backed out from under the desk," Ms Drone said, "but saw nothing. Everything was black. Then, I realised they were talking about me. My head had fallen off. I felt around the desk with my good hand for the ringing receiver. For some reason, I kept slamming the telephone into the side of my neck."

Technical reports indicate the pounding impacts crimped a main energy cluster in Ms Drone's electrical system. Impulse stators short-circuited her reflex motion into a repetition cycle causing her headless torso to hop through the office and bang into filing cabinets. The men tackled Ms Drone to the floor. John re-attached the head to complete the main circuit and shut down the unit.

Ms Drone said, "As they clicked my head into place, I begged them to fix me." The receptionist reminded her employers how good she was at keeping up appearances. "Just fix my face. I'll be good as new," she said. Ms Drone added that after some quick thinking resultant from her new implants, she contested their earlier comments demanding they were degrading and discriminatory. "It's not my fault your design stinks!" she admitted saying. "This is harassment in the work place. I'll sue."

At this point, Mr Green agreed to keep her on. 'She's acquired a lot of useful training with all those chip implants. We can recycle her.'

'She's a mess,' John Morris said, 'Her body is damaged and needs replacement. Pull out the upgrades and dump her in the backroom.'

Ms Drone said, "His remark dipped my sensitivity level and set off my emotion sensors. That's when I allowed the saline droplets to roll down my cheeks."

Mr Green said, 'We have to help her. She's too close to becoming a bioplast. It's almost like killing somebody. After all, she's really our mistake.'

"I thought to myself," Ms Drone said, "Those saline droplets really do stimulate that humanoid morality mode."

I asked Ms Drone if her efforts were an attempt to manipulate humanoid values. Did she think she had taken control and gotten the upper hand? She made no comment.

Ms Drone and I spoke at the entry of the sustenance ring, as the last cycle of daylight faded. The halogen entry lights take on a sparkle as soft music plays. The receptionist smiles broadly. Although her new language phrases are limited, she did manage to say, "I love my new surroundings with bioplasts! I'm sure I'll soon be out there socialising."

Ms Drone is stationed at the southwest entrance. You can hear her pleasant voice announce the daily specials as customers arrive. Her face has been attractively reworked. Ms Drone is the head on the right that sits on top of the Romanesque column draped in gold lame.