They arrived in the lab and Astrid examined the readings on her experiment.

“I think this might make it till the week-end.”

“What’s in this box?” asked Toby, from across the room. “What’s Project RG-7, and why is it top secret?”

“I was going to show you guys next week,” said Astrid, leading the others to where Toby was standing beside the crate. “I guess you can go ahead and take a look now.”

Reaching up, she flipped open a latch and opened the side of the crate. Inside, packed with straw, was a metallic girl. She had bright silver skin, but was otherwise quite human looking. Her hair was the same metallic material as the rest of her, a solid hair-shaped mass rather than individual fibers, but she was wearing regular clothing. She had on a pink jacket over a blue t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

“Oh my gosh!” squealed Valerie. “She looks like me!”

“Yes, she does,” agreed Denise.

“That’s because I patterned her after you,” said Astrid. “She’s a Robot Girl 7.”

“What’s she… I mean it, for?” asked Austin.

“Well, who wouldn’t want a robot?” wondered Astrid. “She could be anything: friend, babysitter, maid.”

“Why did you make her look like me?” asked Valerie.

“She’s just a prototype. I thought you would be a good model for her.” Astrid stepped over to a table and pulled back a sheet. “What we’re going to do is hook you up to her and we’ll copy all the information from your brain into the robot. It will be much faster than trying to program it with a computer.”

“I don’t know…” Valerie took a step back.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Astrid assured her.

“What if it sends my brain into her body? What if I wake up and you’ve turned me into a robot?”

“That can’t happen,” said Astrid.

“That would be way cool!” exclaimed Austin. “Make a boy robot and copy my brain!”

The rest of the week went by quickly. Astrid spent most of her time after school polishing up the two papers that were due that Friday: one on The Count of Monte Cristo for her Independent Study class, and one on fungus for Biology. She did have one opportunity for fun with her friends in the evening. On Wednesday night her father had a barbecue and invited the Bundersmiths, the Browns, The Diaz’s, and the Harris’s, and two other families. Everyone ate heaps of ribs, chicken, and brisket and the kids spent hours in the pool.

Saturday morning, Astrid was back in her lab looking over the results of her battery experiment. It had gone far better than expected. She gave a quick call to Mr. Brown, Denise’s father, who was in charge of model-making at Maxxim Industries, and asked him to create a line of mock-up batteries in all the popular sizes for her presentation the next week. No sooner had she hung up the phone than Denise walked in the door, followed by Valerie.

Toby and Christopher weren’t with them, but Astrid knew right where they were. They were two of only a four freshmen at school who had their pilot’s licenses, so they spent every other Saturday at the Maxxim Industries airfield, trying to get enough hours to qualify on the newest aircraft models.

“Hey Guys,” said Astrid. “Right on time.”

“I’m still not sure about this,” said Valerie.

“Don’t worry. We’re just programming the robot to be able to follow some basic input. We want to be able to tell it to go here, or pick that up, or bring me that test tube. Programming it by hand would take weeks. This way, we can map out the entire command structure by copying the way your brain works. I thought you would enjoy this, being a part of history.”

“I guess it’s alright,” said Valerie. “You’re not going to fry my brain or anything?”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t worry,” said Denise. “I won’t let her do any mad science stuff to you.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just sit down here on the table by Robot Girl 7,” Astrid instructed. “I’ll just put these sensors on your temples.”

She stuck a white circular sticky pad with a wire extending from it onto each side of Valerie’s head.

“Now I just throw the switch.” She flipped a switch on a nearby panel. “Feel anything?”

“No,” answered Valerie, a little shakily.

“So, Piffy told me your name is John,” she said, while they were waiting for their food. “May I call you John?”

“Of course. What else did she tell you?”

“Oh, everything. Women tell each other everything. We talk all the time, the four of us even more so.”

“Really? I was not aware of that.” He rubbed his chin. “I really don’t know about this. I mean about today. You seem very nice and all. I had this connection with Piffy and I was looking forward to finding out where it led. I wasn’t planning to sex my way through the entire tour company.”

“Of course you weren’t. And maybe we won’t even like each other. But maybe we will and maybe you’ll like Penny and Steffie too. We’re all really close, closer than we were back when we were starting out. Maybe we needed a few years apart to mature. I know Penny’s already planning on moving back to Thatch Cay, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Steffie brought her boy to live with her there too at least part of the year.”

“That’s great, but it really doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Sure it does. Since we’re all so close, it would be much easier to have the four of us as wives rather than trying to make it work with strangers.”

“Wives? I don’t want wives. I’m not sure I want even one wife.”

“You told Steffie that she could be a poster child for mothering a boy. Well, for better or worse, multi-marriage is going to be the type of marriage that most women have for the foreseeable future.”

“Polygamy. You think most women will approve of that?”

“With one man on Earth for every two hundred fifty women? I would imagine so.”

“Well that’s fine for women everywhere, but I don’t know that it’s for me.”

They stopped talking while the waitress set their food on the table, then continued between bites.

“You seem like you’re all ready to get married and aren’t too picky about to whom.”

“I’m thirty-one next month,” said Ruth. “So I can’t afford to wait too long unless I want a vat baby, and none of us can afford to be too picky. But you are a very pretty man. And I remember how happy my parents were.”

After breakfast, Andrews ordered a

“Agent Andrews…” two of the women started at once, and then looked at each other.

“If you’re not doing anything for dinner…” one of them continued.

“I’m sorry ladies, but my partner has a meeting,” said Wright. “I however, would be happy to escort any or all of you to dinner.”

“I have a meeting?” Andrews leaned over and asked.

“In the lobby.”

The lobby of the Grace Coolidge international building, though Spartan, was large. It took a minute for Andrews to find his appointment waiting by feet of the statue of Justice. He almost didn’t recognize Ep!phanee. She was dressed in faded jeans and a Nehi Blue Cream Soda tee shirt. Her hair was tucked up under a black military cap.

“Is somebody here with you?” he asked.

“Nope. I ditched the cops back at the hotel. Buy me a hotdog.”

“You shouldn’t be running around town without an escort.”

“Well I have one now. Besides, I just want a hotdog. There’s a hotdog cart just down on the corner. I saw it on the cab ride over here.”

She took him by the arm and led him to the glass enclosed front of the building, holding the door open for him. The hotdog vendor was stationed just where she had described, a chubby little woman with a striped shirt, a large stain covering most of the front.

“Two dogs,” Ep!phanee ordered, then turned to Andrews. “What do you want on yours?”

“I don’t know; whatever’s customary.”

“Haven’t you ever had a hotdog before?”

He shook his head. “German food’s not very popular in the enclaves.”

“Hotdogs are as American as apple pie. All right. Bacon, beans, avocado, catsup, and mayonnaise. Do you want jalapenos?”

“Yes please.”

“So you don’t have street food in the enclaves?”

“Sure. Tacos– usually fish tacos, but sometimes grilled shrimp.”

The vendor handed Piffy the hotdogs, already loaded with beans and avocado. Stepping to the end of the cart, she scooped on the jalapenos and then squirted on squiggly lines of red catsup and white mayonnaise. Handing one of the dogs to Andrews, she watched as he took a tentative bite. She then opened her mouth wide and shoved in about a third of hers.

“Good huh?” she asked, her mouth full.

He nodded and then took another bite. Ep!phanee began strolling down the sidewalk and even though she was moving slowly Andrews had to take a few quick steps to keep up. He was still eating his hotdog as they walked, being careful not to spill the condiments on his jacket. She finished first and dropped the little paper hotdog caddie in a trashcan beside the street.

“I should get you back to the hotel.”

“I’m staying in this hotel now.”

Andrews looked skyward to find that they were in front of the Palmer House. When he looked back down, Ep!phanee was already going through the revolving door. He stuffed the last bit of hotdog into his mouth and dropped the paper waste in a can beside the door, following her. The lobby was huge, with a tiled vaulted ceiling that looked like it belonged in a cathedral. Andrews felt self-conscious even walking on the rugs.

“Why are you staying here?”

“We have two more days in Chicago. I’ll go crazy if I’m cooped up with the girls the whole time.”

“You have two entire suites at the American. And it’s under complete police protection.”

“I’ve got my own suite here.” She twirled around a few times but kept on course for the elevator. “It’s the same one Ulysses S. Grant stayed in. He used to be on money, you know.”

She skipped into the elevator and he followed. An attendant, a small woman in a tight red uniform, was waiting inside.

“Twenty-fifth floor,” said Ep!phanee.

The attendant nodded, and then turned the lever sending the car gliding swiftly upwards.

“Ulysses S. Grant died in 1885,” said Andrews. “There weren’t any twenty-five story buildings in Chicago then.”

“I think I feel his presence though.”

“Uh-huh.”