on fire. A pit of molten lead sat inside his chest, nearly hotenough to scorch the flesh on his palm.He would never pass for human if he didn't breathe.Breathing also kept his chest temperature regulated. Theywould know if he was too hot. A hot chest was an easy tell. Whenhumans greeted each other, they touched hands to hearts--alwaysthe right hand. Hearts, lungs, guts, organs--those things made aman a man. Umer had none of it. He concentrated on breathing. Heforced himself to draw air in, activating the servos that causedhis chest to rise; then, slowly, he exhaled. If someone were tocatch him with his chest this hot, they would know he was arobot.Umer calmed himself. His chest began to return to normaltemperature. His hand slipped into his inner pocket, certainthat his gun had fallen out, somewhere in the dining car whenhe'd taken his coat off to eat.The metal, warmed by the intense heat of Umer's chest,greeted him. He traced the outline of the thing. Retromark 8000series blast gun with a full complement of aluminum powderpackages. Not a new gun, but known for its reliability, lovedfor the ease of finding ammunition. Anything aluminum could beturned into powder with a little tenacity. The gun was there. Itwas complete. Umer took a few more deep breaths and opened thedoor to the coach car.