“Who is it, dear?” called a woman’s voice, as a sylph-like figure danced out of a back doorway.

“Visitors. They’re going to be staying a couple of days.”

“How exciting,” she said, hurrying forward. “We never have overnight company.”

She was within arm’s reach before Dakota realized that she was a robot. Tall and thin, with short blond hair and blue eyes, she was dressed in a yellow sundress.

“This is my wife, Mindy,” said Stephen.

“You’re kidding,” said Dakota.

“No, I’m not fucking kidding! She means a lot to me—a hell of a lot more than you do!”

“Shh,” said Mindy. “You’ll wake the children, dear.”

“Mindy, please show them to the guest room.” Stephen looked at Dakota. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I have to get ready for work.”

Mindy smiled at Dakota and then locked eyes with Charity. They both froze for a split second. Then she beckoned them after her, as she walked like a game show spokes-model to the rear of the room. Exiting through a doorway took them from a small living room down a long hall.

“That’s Tag’s room on the left” said Mindy. The one just past it is the guest room. Stephen and I are at the very end of the hall, and the twins are across from you. I’ll try to remind them not to bother you, but they haven’t had much experience with visitors.”

“That’s fine,” said Dakota. “I don’t exactly know how to ask… how old are the children?”

“Tag is thirteen. The twins are eight.”

The guest room was small but neat, with a double bed covered by a crocheted comforter and with a large painting of a cat on the wall.

“You can used the bathroom across the hall,” said Mindy. “Clean towels are in the rack just inside the door. If you need anything else, let me know.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

“It’s like some sort of domestic Twilight Zone,” said Dakota.

“She seemed nice,” said Charity. “Remember what I told you about Daffodil Amontes? About them making excellent wives?”

“She seems like a robot. I mean, even if she wasn’t a robot, she’d seem like a robot. And since Stephen didn’t have any kids when I saw him last, I’m really interested to get a look at them.”

“You should get some sleep,” she said, peeling the bedding back for him. “I can stand quietly in the corner, or if you’d prefer, I could stand in the closet.”

“Why don’t you just lie down over there?” He pointed to the left side of the bed.

If the truth were known, Dakota actually preferred sleeping with someone else. He had been doing it for more than four years now. Rachel had insisted that they not get a bed larger than a standard double. He had complained, saying that there wasn’t enough room for him to turn over. Now he had missed it for three nights. Sleeping with the robot was not quite the same. She didn’t feel plastic; her skin was as soft and supple as a real woman’s would have been. She was hotter than a real person though, at least in some places. In others, she was cooler. But if he just lay there—if he didn’t touch her and feel the differences in temperature, and her shape, then it was almost like sleeping with Rachel.

She was gone when he woke up. When he climbed out of bed, he found his suitcase on the floor by the door. Pulling out a clean set of clothes, he crossed the hallway and took a hot shower. When he was done, he brushed his teeth and then ran his hand through four days of whiskers. He would have to either buy a razor or learn to live with a beard.

In the front of the house, Dakota found the dining room. Charity was sitting at the table with three children. They were just as mechanical as she was. The boy looked enough like Stephen to be his real son, but he wasn’t. He was a robot. The two eight-year-old girls looked like their mother, with similar bright yellow dresses. All four of them sat with nothing but water bottles in front of them.

“Sit here,” said Charity, vacating her chair for him. “Mindy has made you some waffles.”

At the sound of her name, Mindy danced out of the kitchen, holding a plate of waffles high in one hand and a bottle of syrup in the other. She sat them directly in front of Dakota and pirouetted away.

“Do you prefer coffee or milk?”

“I’ll take a Coke if you’ve got one.”

“Here’s a glass of milk. We don’t keep sodas in the house.” She sat a tall glass of milk in front of him. “Say hello, children.”

“Hello,” they all said primly and in unison.

The sun was really beating down when Dakota Hawk pulled his pickup to a stop next to the metal cargo container that GoodWorks was using as the drop location from which to collect donations of clothing, furniture, and electronics. When he climbed out of the cab, his foot slid in the half molten asphalt. The poor bastard, who was earning a dollar less than minimum wage to sit in the heat and collect the donations, stepped out from the container’s interior, dripping sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“Back again? What are you trying to do, get rid of everything?”

“As much as possible,” said Dakota. “Do you have water in there? Maybe a fan?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got a nifty little setup. Come in and look.”

The air outside was well over 140 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was just as hot inside. It was even more oven-like. The back third of the container was filled with cardboard boxes and plastic trash bags full of who-knows-what. Along the left side were a few pieces of larger furniture. Along the right hand wall were a dozen non-animated robots—a couple with clothes, but most naked. Just inside the entrance sat a chaise lounge next to a mini-refrigerator with an electric fan sitting atop it. A long orange cord ran out the door, across the parking lot, and was plugged into the back of McDonalds.

“Sweet,” said Dakota, and then he turned back to his truck and began unloading the black bags filled with clothing and household goods. He handed them to the guy, who then stacked them in back. By the time they were done, his own long, blond hair was plastered to his face.

“Mostly clothes, feels like.”

“Yes, mostly clothes.”

Dakota had spent all morning trying to empty out the apartment. The first hour had been taken up getting his own things. He had packed up his vueTee and his other electronics, and then his clothes. That had filled up the back of the truck, leaving just enough room for the two crappy chairs his dad had given him. He’d taken it all to the Jiffy Locker and rented a storeroom, their smallest size. After unloading, he had made one final sweep through the apartment, taking whatever was left that he wanted—nothing more than a few photographs and mementos. Then he had spent the next five hours hauling as many of Rachel’s belongings away as possible and donating them to GoodWorks. He realized he could be charged with theft, but he didn’t care. Her closet was empty, her wriTee and all her files were gone, she had no pots and pans and no fine silverware, her underwear drawer was empty, and her grandmother’s Depression era glassware collection was history. He looked at his watch. There wasn’t time to make another trip before she got off work.

He looked back into the cargo container.

“Say, what are you going to do with these old robots?” Dakota asked.

“They have a group that recycles them for parts. Most of them are Gizmos, and you can’t really fix them anymore.”

Dakota looked them over. They were mostly Gizmos, but not all. He recognized a Braun… and something else. A naked female robot, waist bent at an anatomically impossible angle stared at the wall. A curtain of long brown hair was brushed aside just enough for Dakota to make out three small holes in the back of the neck, and beneath them, a button.

“How much do you suppose they’ll get for them?”

“Oh, a few hundred each, I suppose. Most of them don’t work at all.”

“Could I buy one?”

“We don’t sell them to the public.”

“Seems a shame,” Dakota said. “I’d give you $500 for that one there, right now.”

“Well, we don’t even know if it works.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about it. Cash deal. No exchanges or refunds.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed in $500, waving it back and forth in front of the guy’s eyes.

The guy reached into his own pocket for his phone.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” he said. “You know, because they don’t want us selling them.”

He pressed his phone to Dakota’s; transferring the $500 into what they both knew was the guy’s personal account.

“Nobody’s going to hear anything about it from me. Help me load it?”