Robotrix

The black man paced about across the oil-streaked cement, his arms folded, an absent expression on his face. Evidently he waited for the robotrix attendant to finish fueling up his ship.

The decor was different in every bar — there were chrome-plated Metropolis joints with dancing robotrixes, and sawdust-on-the-floor Western saloons with gunfights and can-can girls — but the faces were the same.