sect
the Mars-Venus-Earth spacelanes, most of the holiday traffic to the
Jovian Moons, and once in a while we'd get some of the Saturnian trade.

But I was telling you about the leg.

It was during the non-tourist season and Min--that's the little
woman--was doing the spring cleaning. When she found the leg she brought
it right to me in the Renting Office. Naturally I thought it belonged to
one of the servos.

"Look at that leg, Bill," she said. "It was in one of those lockers in
22A."

That was the cabin our robot guests used. The majority of them were
servo-pilots working for the Minor Planets Co.

"Honey," I said, hardly looking at the leg, "you know how mechs are.
Blow their whole paychecks on parts sometimes. They figure the more
spares they have the longer they'll stay activated."

"Maybe so," said Min. "But since when does a male robot buy himself a
_female_ leg?"

I looked again. The leg was long and graceful and it had an ankle as
good as Miss Universe's. Not only that, the white Mylar plasti-skin was
a lot smoother than the servos' heavy neoprene.

"Beats me," I said. "Maybe they're building practical-joke circuits into
robots these days. Let's give 22A a good going-over, Min. If those robes
are up to something I want to know about it."

We did--and found the rest of the girl mech. All of her, that is, except
the head. The working parts were lightly oiled and wrapped in cotton
waste while the other members and sections of the trunk were neatly
packed in cardboard boxes with labels like Solenoids FB978 or
Transistors Lot X45--the kind of boxes robots bought their parts in. We
even found a blue dress in one of them.

"Check her class and series numbers," Min suggested.

I could have saved myself the trouble. They'd been filed off.

"Something's funny here," I said. "We'd better keep an eye on every
servo guest until we find out what's going on. If one of them is
bringing this stuff out here he's sure to show up with the head next."

"You know how strict Minor Planets is with its robot personnel," Min
reminded me. "We can't risk losing that stopover contract on account of
some mech joke."

Minor Planets was the one solid account we had and naturally we wanted
to hold on to it. The company was a blue-chip mining operation working
the beryllium-rich asteroid belt out of San Francisco. It was one of the
first outfits to use servo-pilots on its freight runs and we'd been
awarded the refuel rights fo