As soon as we walked away from the Androdyne demonstration room, I ordered the robot to put on Roger's coat and hat. I pulled the hat over his face.
"Let's play a game. I'm will call you Roger. When I call you by that name you will make an appropriate response."
"Do you want sex, Mistress?" the robot replied.
"Okay, say nothing."
The robot nodded his head, now forbidden to speak.
I linked my arm to his, and make sure I walked on his left side. With my body to the crowd of people in the hotel lobby, I hid his lack of slacks and shoes. I maneuvered him through the lobby and into the elevators. We rode to the third floor, and after finding room 334, opened the door, and led him inside.
"Sit on the bed, Andrew."
He did, and I sat next to him. I took off his hat, and looked into his face. It held no nuance of expression, no natural looking smile, frown or warmth in his eyes. I learned much this afternoon. Most of Andrew's sexual responses came not from programming but his marvelously sentient brain.
I raised my hand to this Andrew's head and ran my fingers through his hair, and sighed.
The robot leaned forward to kiss me, but I pushed him back.
"No," I said. "I do not want sex."
The Andrew straightened and rigidly sat on the edge of the bed.
I wanted to buy more time for Roger and Tersa. I checked my phone again for the time. They should be halfway through Virginia by now.
Suddenly, energy drained from my body. I needed sleep.
"Take off the coat and hat, and lay next to me, Andrew. When they come to get you, don't wake me, just leave with them."
He nodded his head.
With the robot next to me, I snuggled into him. He was a poor substitute for my Andrew, but the only one I had.
#
I woke when my phone range. The Andrew had left. The displayed both the time, 8 am, and the caller, Caroline.
"Evaline, Sinta Grant faxed over Jason Well's confidentiality agreement overnight. You'll never guess who drew it up."
"Well?"
"Our own founding partner, Amanda Connors."
I clicked off the call, and fell back into the pillows of the bed.
I hope Roger and Tersa got good head start. They should be at the top of Florida now, and in another five hours in Miami.
I got up, and picked up Roger's hat and coat and walked back through the hotel to the parking garage. My limo stilled waited on me. When I got in, I rapped on the privacy glass. A different driver opened the window. The company must have swapped out drivers at the end of the other driver's shift.
"Driver, we're going to Alexandria. Here is the address."
No person has screwed me as badly as the person I was on my way to visit.
#
Like many of us, I counted myself the brightest crayon in the box. Like many of us, I was wrong. I shook my head as the different angles fell one by one into place.
Maybe I'm not as sharp as I thought because I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that Amanda Connors used me. While we drove I assigned players to each of the teams. Team Androdyne consisted of Sinta Grant, Jason Wells, and my partner Amanda Connor. Team Evil Black Hats comprised the RIB. My client Liz Carruthers, and my husband played supporting roles for them.
This left Lindsey Talbot unassigned. Was Lindsey a convenient pawn or player with an ulterior motive?
I hoped to get answers from Amanda.
Amanda's house sat at the end a long gravel drive surrounded by woods. The drive ended at a circle that came to the front door of an ancient brick colonial. Bright green shutters graced the sides of each of the windows, two on each side of the door, and four on the second floor. My feet crunched the gravel underneath. I climbed the four brownstone steps that took me to the front door.
A housebot, an old T-8 model answered the door. Neither male nor female in design, it wore no clothes. It was a household appliance.
"Come inside, Ms. Shipley," the 'bot droned. "You are expected."
"Thank you," I said. The 'bot walked me towards the back of the house down a long hallway that sported an antique oriental runner. Shortly I entered a large space, added to the original design of the ancient colonial. A lit fireplace blazed warmly in the wall on the left. A couch, and two high back padded chairs sat before it. Straight ahead a tiled window stretched floor to ceiling, inset with a French doors to the right. Beyond the window stretched an elaborate garden. A long antique mahogany divan occupied the front of the window. Such antiques were rare and expensive, especially since humanity depleted most of the world's rare woods.
I walked to the divan to study the old style holo-photos that lined the top. Not unexpectedly I spotted a picture of Sinta Grant, Cicily Wells and Amanda, fresh-faced university girls, with their arms around each other, smiling for the camera.
The French doors opened, and Amanda Connor stepped into the room. In her late fifties, her blonde hair was cut in a precise bob. Her bright blue eyes were unadorned by make-up. Her pricey beige sweater and expensive camel hair slacks were timelessly elegant. Amanda represented the epitome of the upper social class that bred her.
My head jerked up when I saw the robot behind her. The robot that walked behind her fooled my heart. He was an Andrew, not my Andrew. No spattering of gray hair graced his temples, and he stood completely naked.
Naked robots were a theme in this house.
"Hello, Evaline, darling. How sweet of you to visit."
I wanted to tell her to cut the crap, but we were playing civil now, and I thought it best to keep things that way.
"Hello, Amanda. You are looking well."
"I can't say the same for you. Can I offer you a drink?"
"No, thanks."
She moved over to the couch.
"Well, let's sit then."
I sat on one of the padded chairs while she settled on the couch.
"Tee," she said. "Bring us tea."
"Yes, Mistress," replied the T-8.
"You have good help," I said.
"Yes, I do find the older models to be extremely reliable. And they are easier to repair. So many of the new 'bots have too many electronic components."
"How long have you had your Andrew?" I said.
She smiled. "He's from the first generation."
"Gee, twenty-years. And he doesn't look a day over two."
Instead of taking offense, she chuckled.
The T-8 brought in the tea and cookies on a tray, and in slow increments lowered it to the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Very good, Tee," said Amanda with a smile. "You didn't spill a drop. You may recharge now."
I forgot that the older robots needed frequent recharging.
"Thank you, Mistress," said the T-8.
Amanda poured the tea, and I did a slow burn.
"This isn't a social call, Amanda. I have bad news that will reflect badly on the firm. The authorities will arrest me soon."
"Yes," she said, almost a hum. "I know." She handed me a cup of tea.
"I figured you did. Do you mind telling me why you set me up?"
She tsked. "Such impatience. Of course, we were impatient, too, at your age. It's why we had to take such circuitous path after." She lapsed into a reverie, but then she shook her head."
"Tell me," she said. "What do you think of my Andrew?"
I settled back in the chair with my tea and shrugged. "He's an Andrew."
