CHAPTER 1
He zipped up his tattered gray coat before walking into the crowded store, hoping no one would see the unusual bulge around his waist for what it really was. On this busy shopping day, one week before Christmas, people were too preoccupied to see anything except the glittering merchandise in front of their faces. They wouldn’t look closely enough to tell that his hat didn’t fully cover the exposed patches of his carbon fiber skull, or that behind his sunglasses was a cheap artificial eye that he had bought on the black market. Any other day they might be worried, but not this one. He expected the security guards to be too concerned with the sheer volume of customers to notice an android in a store where only humans could afford to shop. By the time anyone became alarmed, it was too late to stop him from unzipping his coat, reaching inside it, and pressing the red button.
* * *
Jack woke with a gasp and sat up, frantically patting the empty space beside him. Then it all came back to him — the explosion, the phone call, the funeral — and he fell back on the pillow with a groan. Not again. I’m tired of this.
He knew how it was happening. In his sleep he would push his arm across the bed, feel nothing there, and wake up in alarmed confusion. The resulting surge of adrenalin would cause his heart to race and make it impossible to go back to sleep.
The glowing red numbers on the clock said 4:35 AM, an early time for most people to be awake, but for him it had become routine. He sat on the edge of the bed, clicked on the light, and rubbed his face, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against his palms and his fingers pressing into his gritty eyelids. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked at the picture of Nora, his wife, still on the bedside table, just as he did every morning.
“Hey, honey,” he said. She never responded.
His therapist had suggested that he put the photo away. “Two years is long enough, Mr. Hartley. This isn’t healthy for you. You need to let go.”
Jack scowled. Easy for her to say.
“Betty, start the coffee, please.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied in her mellifluous, disembodied voice. “Did you have trouble sleeping again?”
“I planned to wake up in a panic at four thirty-five this the morning.”
“Is that sarcasm, sir?”
“You’re catching on, Betty.”
“Did you not take your medication?”
“No. It’s not helping, anyway. I still have the dreams.” He yawned and stretched his arms overhead until his shoulders popped. “Better than the scotch, though. That gives me a headache.” He scratched his belly and considered the bottle he’d recently bought. “Did Carmen pour the rest of it out?” Carmen was his housekeeper, hired three years earlier by his wife.
“Yes, sir, as you directed.”
“Remind me not to buy any more.”
“Do not buy any more, sir.”
“That’s funny, Betty.”
“I am merely following your instructions.”
He walked barefoot down the carpeted hall toward the stairs and hesitated beside the door to the nursery, a shrine to a child who was never born. If he were to open it, he would see the unused crib and glider and a few boxes of baby clothes and toys. He reached for the doorknob and Betty said, “Your therapist recommended that you not go in there. It only makes you depressed.”
“I’m already depressed.”
“Being in the nursery seems to exacerbate the condition.”
“You’re not my mother or my therapist.”
“You told me to remind you of this.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize. I am only a computer.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
“You also instructed me to remind you to clean out that room. Would you like for me to call an appropriate charity to come for the furniture?”
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Should I set a date for a future reminder?”
“Uh…I’ll let you know when I decide.”
By the time he made it down to the kitchen, Betty had the lights on and the coffee brewing in the dispenser, the warm smell welcoming him as he shuffled in.
While spreading cream cheese on a bagel, he scrolled through the news that was displayed on the table top at the breakfast nook. A far-right political group was advocating for total segregation of all androids, preferably on an island in the Pacific Ocean, and there was a short article about another android killed, an apparent victim of a gang attack. He swiped a finger across the table and the next page appeared.
Sometimes he had Betty move the news display to the wall on his right, or even one of the windows if it was dark outside, but he preferred the table view. The option for multiple displays was one of Nora’s ideas. She’d helped design the kitchen, and her touches were everywhere. It was big, too big for one person, with east-facing windows that let in the morning sun. A counter with a double sink lined that wall, and the other side of the room was mostly cabinets and shelves, all white tile and naturally finished maple. A long center island ran in between, with a stove top and plentiful space for food prep. A large oven and an oversized refrigerator were on the wall opposite the breakfast nook. The sink fixtures were made of clear ceramic, and when the sun struck them in the morning, it diverged into dozens of little rainbows everywhere, but not now. It wasn’t the time for sun or rainbows, or any color, for that matter.
One of the perks of being an executive at a big corporation was that he could afford to have expensive things, such as a big house, and tailored suits, but best of all, a luxury automobile. The sleek black machine was a guilty pleasure. He liked the way it looked, liked the way it drove, he even liked the way it smelled.
And he had never let anyone else drive it. Not Nora, not his in-laws, not anybody. Just him, Jack.
He almost always drove hands on. You didn’t own a car like that just to let a computer control it, but sometimes he’d relinquish the duty if he had things to do on the way, like putting on his necktie and checking his messages.
“Jane, any calls?”
“According to Betty, you have four, sir,” the computer replied. “All from Natalie.”
My relentless sister-in-law. “Play the most recent.”
“Hi Jack, it’s me. Just called again to invite you to Mom and Dad’s house next Thursday night, since Friday’s a holiday. I already told them you’re coming, so don’t make up some excuse. Evie’s going to be there, and I know it was awkward last time, but just give her a chance. I think you’ll like her, eventually. I promise she’ll talk. Really, she’s capable of it. Bring wine or bread if you want. See you ’round seven…bye.”
Oh crap, not Evie. She’d hardly spoken ten words when he’d seen her at a previous dinner that Natalie had arranged. He liked Natalie but wished she wouldn’t try to set him up with her friends. It wasn’t awkward, it was excruciating.
She didn’t have anything interesting to say, either. She talked more about less That wasn’t as bad as last month’s attempted setup by Barry Hodges from Marketing. "Stop by for a little cocktail party," he’d mentioned to Jack in an offhand manner. "Lots of people will be there, and it'll be loose and fun." When Jack arrived, everybody was paired up except for him and an annoying woman named Becca. Or Vicca. Jack couldn’t remember, or cared to. She talked nonstop and snorted when she laughed, which she did often and for things that weren’t funny than anyone he’d ever met. Afterward, Jack told Hodges that if he wanted to keep his job, he’d better not try to set him up with a date again.
Another perk of being an executive was that he got his own parking space in the concrete underground garage. “Reserved for Jack Hartley”, the sign on the wall said in bold black letters. The first time he saw that, he got a thrill, like winning a trophy at an awards ceremony, but the thrill had worn off, and now it was just a warning to others. Keep Out.
After parking the car, he had to go upstairs to the only entrance that was open before 6:00 AM. As he approached the glass-and-steel guard station, he noticed the dark-haired woman he often saw when he came in early. She and the guard were sharing a laugh, and she turned away and walked toward the building.
“Morning, Mr. Hartley,” the hefty, smiling guard said when Jack approached. “How ya doin’, sir?”
“Fine, Jim. Is that a friend of yours?” Jack glanced at the metal door that had just closed behind the woman.
“That’s Miss Lilly. She’s friends with everybody. Nicest girl in the building, that one is.” Jim had been working at the company longer than anyone could remember, and he seemed to know every employee by name....