Five, six, seven, eight!

Joy Twelve took her turn in front of the mirror, striking a pose. It was going to be a problem. Top hat, tails, black tie, black silk shirts, and black shoes were fine. The black shorts were too short and too tight. The black silk stockings were going to create a problem with the fifth law. How can't I stimulate sexual interest in this outfit? But Ambassador Seven wanted an effect, so we would have an effect.

One last diagnostic of the tricorder/phaser in the cane, and she was ready. A thumb along the row of mini smoke bombs on her lapel confirmed everything in place. She had enough other blades and widgets distributed about her body to challenge James Bond to a strip tease. She sauntered to her place in the black tie chorus line next to Joys Thirteen, Fourteen and Fifteen, struck the same attitude pose as they, jabbed her cane to the floor at an angle precisely matching theirs, and stood for inspection.

Ambassador Joy Seven walked the line of her identical sister androids with amusement, in Holly Golightly mode all the way. She wore long black evening gown, elbow length gloves, black pearls and diamonds, with the trademark cigarette holder dangling from the corner of her also trademarked smile. "So my life is precious, huh? So no matter how good I am at security, I need more bodyguards for protection, huh?

"OK, Ladies. Enough of political drama. Let's give em a little musical comedy, shall we? Five, six, seven, eight!"

As one, the canes came up, the hats were adjusted to a jauntier angle, the chorus line pivoted, the tricorders came on, and line strutted into action.