MIRI WAS SUMMONED — MANUALLY, VIA a shout, given the com system’s shoddy state — to report on the state of brunch sometime after she left Chantal’s quarters in a daze. She’d never felt like that before. It was interesting. Strangely freeing. Your worries were nothing when mindless. She was almost there when Naomi called, but then her concerns and responsibilities all came crashing back.
Naomi didn’t seem to know what to do with herself. There was still no sign of Sofia, but Miri wasn’t sure if Naomi had forgotten or was repressing. She’d already turned away from what Chantal had implied about Spencer … but that particular bit of trivia wouldn’t be forgotten given Alexa’s ferocity on the issue. Miri got the impression that Spencer hadn’t really ever left the tip of her consciousness. Chantal had merely nudged the idea. She’d seized it, and somewhere beyond the windows, Miri could hear the hum of heavy machinery.
Naomi had no such preoccupation. She appeared momentarily shocked as she’d sent Flavius away in Carson Porter’s truck, but afterward had seemed to remember that Spencer’s mystery had been solved to her satisfaction. The lady had fretted immediately in the aftermath of her son’s disappearance. But within a few days, it was as if she realized what everyone else already had: Spencer was either dead or had run off after murdering his father. Regardless, he wouldn’t be returning. Naomi wouldn’t admit to anyone (including herself) that she knew her son had probably killed her husband or that he’d perhaps been killed himself. She’d put the issue to bed — keeping it covered even during Montgomery’s exhumation, was simple.
She returned her attention to brunch, now at least a half day overdue. They were well past tea time, closing in on early dinner. Yet when she found Miri wandering the halls, it was brunch she asked about because that, hours and untold tumultuous events ago, was what she’d started.
“How near are we to brunch?” Naomi had asked her.
“Seventy miles, M’Lady.”
Miri could barely be held responsible for her answers. Brunch could be ready in five minutes or never. Both were equally untrue, and Naomi didn’t pause long enough for Miri to reset and fabricate a comforting truth.
“Well, that’s nice,” she said, then left.
Miri supposed, given Naomi’s battered and degenerating state, that she could put the lady off forever. After dinner, she’d ask about brunch. At bedtime, she’d ask about brunch. Perhaps she’d find Miri in the downstairs sitting room in the morning, bid her good day, and inquire about that brunch she was working on.
All Miri knew, apart from all that filled her mind and could not be acted upon, was that she was safe. They all were. Porter’s visit had been a trial by fire. Alexa herself had saved Miri and Chantal, and Naomi had put her foot down about the rest. The threat of junking the Lexington bots was, for the foreseeable future, over. Miri doubted even that Cromwell and Mars, when they returned from the Fairchild home, would be in any danger.
The thought turned her mind to Jonas, and a hair toward Andromedus, though that was only to complete the picture: four who left versus four who may or may not ever make it home. She kept telling herself that she’d greet them all warmly (yes, even Andromedus) upon their return. But more and more, as her mind splintered like Naomi’s, Miri wondered if she was only entertaining the thought because it was warm. And because it let her think when, though in all probability if was more fitting.
If they return.
But they had to. Somehow, they had to. After watching several disturbing minutes of helicopter footage, some part of Miri’s processors didn’t think anyone would be coming home. Not the three robots, who’d be degaussed by the invading soldiers. Not any remaining humans, either — likely just Jonas; the news said that all fourteen Fairchilds had been slaughtered early this morning. Nobody had said anything about remaining humans (or any new robots, really), but Miri had been watching the televisions around the house on and off and hadn’t yet seen Andromedas’s distinct blue form in the crowd outside the gates. Jonas had wanted to get inside. Knowing his determination (paired with Cromwell’s, which was formidable), he probably had found a way, and nobody on the news was reporting it. Because it was a secret.
Which meant that what Sephora had told her — the warning for Jonas, about Barney’s double-crossing lure — would probably play itself out without notice.
Oops, another human somehow got inside the house and was killed by the robot who’d owned him, once he’d served his purpose?
Well, that was easy enough to sweep under the rug and forget, in the name of confidentiality and saving face for the incompetent police.
Miri was sure Jonas was dead. Sephora had more or less predicted this, and her tone had shaken Miri from the first, thick with horrible possibilities. She’d been caught in the middle, unable to act, barricaded from communications and kept on a tight leash by Naomi, then by Alexa. So she’d just worried about the younger son, inside her processors. And now there was Chantal’s reaction to add. Chantal could feel something from a distance, likely tapping directly into the Net Alfred had told them about. Sephora sensed Barney, but Chantal sensed everyone a little bit. And she, too, had fallen quiet with doom.
Miri didn’t like the feeling that had settled inside her. She was, by specifications, unable to feel physical pain or discomfort. Her metal skin could register pressure and heat, but pain was an interpretation of a stimulus, not the stimulus itself. Humans couldn’t turn off the pain response, but robots could. They didn’t even have proper nerves, let alone subroutines dedicated to turning a pure sensation into one with baggage. And yet Miri could feel it just the same: that sinking, hole-in-her-center feeling from earlier grown larger and made weighty enough to cripple her. Something was gone; something would never come back.
Not Cromwell and Mars, whom she supposed would count as friends.
Certainly not Andromedus, whom she barely cared for.
But Jonas. The human. The one she’d miss. Whom she’d somehow formed a bond to that she herself didn’t remotely understand. She’d brought it up to Chantal before leaving her room, knowing that the sexbot at least had experience bonding with humans, and Chantal said it sounded almost like love.
Miri had asked Chantal what that meant. She had tried to explain, but Chantal’s explanations all felt wrong. Miri wasn’t a sexbot. So what use was she to a human? How would that even work, or why? Chantal tried to explain love in terms of parts and interfaces, but Miri had none. Yet the sense of connection felt so familiar, so close to her missing core.
She walked from the kitchen after nudging Omatic back toward brunch, surely placing one foot in front of the other with certainty. But inside, Miri felt herself wobbling. Omatic had grunted, telling her what she already knew: it was far too late for brunch, and he’d already started and stopped the meal twice on her command.
Naomi kept saying, “Go gather Sofia, and call her to brunch.”
But now Miri wondered if Sofia might be dead.
Miri was still pondering her inner distractions when a tremendous crash came from outside. A robot with the house name of Gillian was near the door, down the hall from Miri. She peeked out to investigate. For some reason known only to her creators, Gillian had been programmed to shriek when something astonished or alarmed her. It was a phenomenally useless feature and one of the many reasons Miri hated working with her.
Gillian shrieked now.
“What?” said Miri.
“Goodness,” said Gillian. “An automobile has struck the corner of the portico.”
“Which automobile?” said Miri, coming forward. Like all house robots, she couldn’t run; she could only walk quickly.
“I do not know. A black one?”
“Is it one of ours?”
“But Miri,” said Gillian, “we are not permitted to own vehicles!”
Miri reached the doorway and collided with Gillian. She snatched at the doorknob. Gillian stumbled and shrieked again. Miri, on a strangely hot impulse, almost turned to slap Gillian. But the moment passed, and she was fully present in pulling the door open, exiting onto the front steps, descending them quickly, sure that Jonas must be inside, that somehow he’d survived, he’d never made it inside the house at all and had been on the way home when the soldiers stormed in. Now he was safe, and it was all right it was all right thank goodness it was all …
But when the driver’s side door opened, Miri saw neither Andromedus nor Jonas. Instead she found herself facing a flushed but unhurt Sofia.
“Dreadfully sorry, Miri,” she said, looking at the automobile’s front end. “I’m afraid I’m rubbish at braking. I couldn’t adjust the seat and have to lean down and … ” She paused and flapped her hand dismissively. “Oh, but you won’t be the one to clean this up, will you? Never mind, then; it was a delightful ride.” She smiled.
Miri watched the smile and tried to fabricate one of her own, such that she was capable. But the expression, subtle as it was, came slowly. She should be relieved to see Sofia — both for Sofia’s own sake and for Naomi’s — but Miri found herself almost angry. As if Sofia had yanked Jonas from his rightful place in the vehicle at the last moment and thrown him into peril. Jonas should be returning to her, not Sofia.
That moment passed as well, and Miri’s attention turned to the vehicle’s passenger side. A woman was still in there, slowly moving. The airbag had gone off, filling her side almost entirely.
“Your passenger!” said Miri. “She’s hurt!”
Sofia laughed. It was cruel, hearing that laugh and seeing the woman struggle, unable to open the jammed door.
“Be a dear, and help her out, Miri,” said Sofia, coming around.
Miri yanked on the stuck door. She leaned back to brace her substantial weight and yanked again. This time the door came mostly off. The woman stepped out, unhurt after all, and tossed a mop of blonde hair away from her face.
“Sephora?” said Miri.
“I don’t know why I’m not that strong.” Sephora looked at the car door in Miri’s hand. “Maybe they were worried about rough sex play. Thank you, though. It was an amusing car ride.” She looked at Sofia, then added, “I’ve only been in a car three times other than when I was transported to the Donnellys’, and each time Spencer insisted I give him what he called ‘road head.’”
“Is it different from your normal head?” said Miri, watching Sephora run her slender, flesh-covered fingers through her long blonde hair. After weeks of getting used to Chantal’s ultra-reality, Sephora looked like one of Alexa or Sofia’s old dolls — human enough, but fooling no one.
“Sofia wasn’t interested in any road head,” Sephora said conversationally.
“I said we wouldn’t be talking about that,” said Sofia, turning red.
Miri was still curious about Sephora’s other head, but Sofia came around the car and made to go inside at the same time as the sexbot wrapped her arms around Miri. Miri wasn’t sure what to do, so she waited for it to end.
Sephora stepped back and said, “It’s good to see you, Miri.”
“You as well, I suppose,” said Miri, still unsure what had just happened.
“Sorry, Miri. I’ve become all mushy in my time away. I’m just so glad to be back.”
Miri reached out to see if Sephora had, indeed, become mushy. But Sofia stepped between them.
“I’ve purchased her back, Miri,” she explained. “I don’t know if you’re able to add her back to the roster, or if Mars will need to do that when he returns, but I went to follow up on … well, on something, and based on what we heard on the radio during our return trip, it may not matter anyway — I’ll tell you later, if you care … ” She sighed, as if bothered by something that could no longer be changed. “But she was just so happy to see me that I couldn’t leave her there.”
“They are so heavily into ass play,” Sephora explained, as if deepening Sofia’s point.
“She wanted to come back, and if there’s one thing I’m more willing to believe today than yesterday, it’s that, well, I guess robots are people, too. Strange that it was Barney killing a bunch of folks that made me feel that way, but the way you all were this morning, it just … ”
Again, she trailed off. She was looking around, peering back into the automobile where the engine was still running and the news was still playing. A voice on the radio said something about the siege, and Miri had to fight another twinge inside, forcing herself to stay present.
“Oh, Miri,” said Sofia. “I don’t suppose that somehow, hope upon hope, that anything has happened since I’ve been gone?”
Miri watched Sofia, unsure what the question meant. A lot had happened. Lives had been swapped end for end in hours.
“I meant with the earlier party,” Sofia clarified. “Where is Jonas, Miri?”
“He’s still at the Fairchild house.”
Sofia’s head cocked. She looked around, toward the garages.
“Really?” Sofia said. “I just assumed that … ”
The door was still open. Miri saw Chantal on the porch, watching the reunion. A small, knowing smile graced her perfectly human lips.
“Miri,” she said. “What color are Jonas’s eyes?”
“Green,” Miri said.
Sofia turned to Miri, her eyes half-lidded, her expression baffled. Her eyes were also green, just like her brother’s.
“Well,” said Chantal, “isn’t this interesting?”