Dorothy was tired. Roger wasn't sure how he knew that, because of course she didn't show any of the physical signs like dark circles under her eyes, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was worn out.
Tonight was the night they had intended to go dancing, but he had the feeling that instead of being something she was looking forward to, it had somehow become just another chore on her ever-lengthening list. He knew she wouldn't say anything about it, not when she'd been the one to suggest it in the first place. It was amazing what he was noticing now that he was paying proper attention.
Well, he could at least offer her the option to back out gracefully. He went downstairs to look for her and caught her in the hallway on her way up to her room. "Do you have a minute?" he asked.
"Only a minute if I'm going to be ready to go on time," she said.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. He chose his next words carefully, not wanting to put her on the defensive. "I know things have been very busy for you, and I just wanted to remind you that if you're too tired to have a good time when we go somewhere, I wouldn't be offended if you wanted to reschedule, with one condition."
She was tired, because the expression on her face was positively grateful. "What's the condition?" she asked.
"That you spend at least part of the evening relaxing with me instead of using the time to get more work done," he said.
"Agreed," she said immediately. "Do you want to try for next weekend?"
"Let's play it by ear and see how much energy we have," he suggested. "I have a feeling we're both going to be tired until things get back to normal around here."
She nodded. "Hopefully it will just be another few weeks."
"I've been tempted to show up at that other apartment to check on the renovations myself," he said with a rueful grin. "I'm going to grab something to eat. Meet me up in the solarium in say..." he looked at his watch, "an hour?"
"An hour and a half, if you don't mind," Dorothy said. "It will be nice to have enough time for a good soak instead of having to hurry through it so I can get dressed and leave again."
"I'll see you in an hour, then," Roger said, and headed off to the kitchen. Interesting--not that Dorothy bathed, because androids got dirty and needed to wash just the same as anyone--but he didn't know that she liked taking long soaks. Did it relax the android version of muscles the same way it did for human muscles, or did she just enjoy the quiet? He would have to ask her if she didn't object to the subject.
Beck furiously crumpled up the piece of paper he'd been using to jot down notes. Why, when things finally seemed to be going the way he wanted them to, did everything always turn to shit?
He hadn't been able to catch up with Tate last week, and had taken a chance and bought the painting anyway.
Tate's laughter when it had arrived at the shop two days ago and they'd unwrapped it had been worse than if he'd gotten angry. It was humiliating enough that it was a forgery of a famous painting, but worse, it was a bad forgery. Jason hadn't stuck around to be told he'd been a fool, he already knew that.
At the moment, he was trying to prepare the workaround he'd told Dorothy about, but he was having trouble with that, too. It occurred to him that maybe his bad mood was interfering with his concentration, so he decided he'd just take a walk around the block to try to clear his head. He slipped the pages of his programming under the false bottom of his desk drawer--it wouldn't do to leave that kind of thing out where just anyone could see it! It was raining yet again, so he grabbed a hat and left his apartment.
He ended up going quite a bit further than a few blocks, but he had to admit he was feeling calmer. Tate had laughed, so maybe things weren't as bleak as they seemed. And now that he'd spent an hour away from the code, he'd thought of a possible solution to his problem.
It was getting dark and he was hungry. He thought briefly about going out for his supper and a beer, but his wandering had brought him close to home again, and he didn't have much money on him. Besides, he had a half of a chicken in the refrigerator and some potatoes that were going to start sprouting if he didn't use them pretty quickly. Hard to believe he'd ever be concerned about potatoes sprouting, but he'd turned into a regular homebody since he'd started working at the gallery. Tate was a thrifty man for all of his generosity, and Jason had taken his advice and discovered he preferred his own cooking, simple as it was, to a fancy meal at a restaurant. The other bonus was that he wasn't sitting around getting drunk and babbling his plans to his buddies like an idiot. In the art world, being able to keep things to yourself was one of the most valuable traits you could possess.
It was the hat and the twilight that saved him.
He was approaching his building when he saw a couple of tough-looking men on the stoop. Something about the way they were standing set off alarm bells in his head. He crossed the street, keeping his pace brisk, making like he didn't even see them. His hair would usually have been a dead give-away, but the hat hid most of it and the dimness seemed to be taking care of the rest. He continued up the street and made a right turn at the next intersection, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his apartment as possible.
There was only one reason he could think of that someone would be looking for him. His art purchases had all been aboveboard, he'd paid off the few debts he had... so that left someone who wanted to ask him questions about Big Trey. He thought of going to the garage where he kept his car, but whoever it was probably had someone watching that building, too. He sure as hell wasn't going to go to the gallery and drag Tate into it. Dammit, why hadn't he grabbed some money before he left? He quickened his pace when he heard footsteps behind him.
Roger made a quick meal of some leftovers and brought up a little tray of things that he knew Dorothy liked. As she'd often told him, she didn't really have a sense of taste, but she did enjoy the contrast between hot and cold food, or the crunch of a cracker, or the silkiness of Brie at the proper temperature. When she joined him in the solarium, he was able to convince her to take a glass of wine with him, even though she made her usual protest that it would be a waste since she could neither taste nor become inebriated by it. She'd brought some kind of magazine or brochure with her, but she simply placed it on the coffee table and settled down to chat with him.
The conversation flowed easily over a few hands of cards. Yes, she liked a hot soak because it gave her a sense of relaxation, but she also liked it because it conserved her energy by warming her. Roger had long ago figured out that she had some means of regulating her body temperature--even Big O had heating and cooling systems to keep him in optimum working order. He wondered why it had been so difficult for him to ask her about it before--she'd never given him any indication that she'd take offense over an honest question, and he said as much.
"Perhaps it's because of Missy," she said. "You know she asks questions all the time, you've heard her. I don't mind, it's natural for a child to be curious and she's bright and notices a lot of things, but I have to admit that I wasn't sure how to handle the last one she asked!"
Roger grinned in anticipation. "Caught you by surprise, did she?"
"It was the last thing I expected. Apparently she's seen me eating and drinking, and she wanted to know why I didn't have to use the bathroom," Dorothy said.
Oddly, the subject didn't seem as embarrassing as it might have in the past.. "I don't know how I would have handled that," he said, chuckling a little. "What did you tell her?"
"I had to think about it --I could have given her all the mechanical details, but I didn't think they would make any sense to her. Finally I told her that I do need to use it, but much less often than a human does."
"And then she asked..." Roger knew right away that the answer wouldn't have been enough to satisfy the child.
"She wanted to know why. I explained that my body breaks down most of the food and extracts the water, so there is very little waste. She seemed puzzled by that, but then I thought of that instant soup Norman keeps on hand, and I showed her how it didn't take up much space, which gave her the idea at least. She asked me what happened if I ate something bad, and I told her that the heat that helps take out the water keeps bad food from hurting me. She pondered on that for a few minutes and then told me a story, complete with sound effects, about the last time she ate something bad."
Roger couldn't speak for a moment, he was laughing so hard. "I shouldn't laugh," he finally gasped. "It's just that I can picture her telling you every last gory detail!"
He saw that she was smiling. "I thought you would find it funny," she said, clearly pleased that she had successfully anticipated his reaction. "I begin to understand why you might have found some of my early questions disconcerting."
"I think it's the innocence," he mused. "It's the total faith that there is an answer and that you will provide it. Wait until she starts asking you some tough ones."
"What, like why I have my own room instead of sharing yours?" she said. "She already asked. I said we weren't married. Then she wanted to know why we weren't married. I said it was complicated and she wanted to know what was complicated about it because it was perfectly obvious to her we were in love. Then, just for a change of pace, she wanted to know if you calling me R. Dorothy Wayneright meant I was in big trouble. I didn't have an answer to that, I said she'd have to ask you."
Roger could feel his face turning red and tried to hide it by pretending to be exasperated. "She doesn't miss a damn thing, does she?"
"I never understood why you would say my full name like that either," Dorothy seemed very interested in the answer. "I understand it means you're annoyed, but you don't do it every time you're annoyed with me."
"Ancient human tradition," Roger said, glad to ignore the other questions. "Usually it means the other person is at their wit's end and very frustrated. You've heard Missy's mother do it."
"Melissa Anne Morris! And usually after she's been getting into one piece of mischief after another," Dorothy said.
"Exactly," Roger said. "I suppose I do it more out of habit than anything, now. Just something about how it sounds, I guess. More impressive."
"I see," Dorothy said. "So the next time I'm very annoyed with you, I can call you Roger Marion Litchfield Smith the Fourth?"
Roger choked on his wine.
Beck got ahead enough of his pursuers to be out of sight and quickly ducked into an alleyway. He was soaked to the skin, his legs were aching and he had a stitch in his side, but a half an hour later, it looked like he had been successful in eluding them, at least for the moment. "Think!" he told himself. "Think while you have the chance!" He had several potential allies, but until he had a better idea of who was looking for him, he didn't dare trust anyone.
What he needed was to come up with a plan to buy himself some time. First, he had to find somewhere safer than where he was. Second, he needed to get dry and warm and rest for a little while. Once those two things were taken care of, then he could worry about getting some money. If they'd ransacked his apartment, his stash was probably gone, but he could borrow some cash from the gallery--if he left a note, Tate would probably be annoyed, but he wouldn't consider it stealing.
Thank goodness he'd let Tate talk him into putting some of his pay into the bank! It wasn't that the old man didn't see the need to keep cash around, because he did so himself, he just thought it was better to spread it out a little. "What if there were a fire?" he'd asked Jason. "All the money would be burned up, and what would you do then?" He'd grabbed his wallet, at least, and had his identification, so he could pay Tate back as soon as the bank opened on Monday. It was too bad Jason hadn't gotten himself that little safe like he'd been thinking about instead of using his sock drawer, but at least he wasn't penniless.
Tate would have closed up and left by now, and with him out of harm's way, going to the gallery was probably the smartest thing to do. In addition to borrowing the money, he could change into the spare work clothes and non-skid shoes he kept in the back room for when they were moving the artwork around, and it was a lot warmer there than it was in this alley. Hopefully there would be some food there too, doughnuts or something, and he could make some coffee if the old man had remembered to buy any.
He was, by his estimation, less than 10 blocks from the building, and he definitely couldn't hide here all night. He left the alleyway, staying in the shadows. With any luck, he'd be in a cab on the way to a hotel within an hour.
"The emancipation papers," Roger said after he recovered from his choking fit, which had required the assistance of several thumps between the shoulder blades from Dorothy. "That's where you saw my full name. I never use it unless I absolutely have to--I think that it's the only thing I got from my adoptive parents that I didn't appreciate."
"It is rather long," Dorothy said.
"I'll be happy to stop calling you R. Dorothy if you'll avoid using my full name in return," Roger offered.
"We'll see. In any event, it's R. E. Dorothy now," she reminded him. "Robot, Emancipated."
"R. E. Dorothy Wayneright..." he tried it on for size. "I don't know, it just doesn't roll off the tongue in the same way," he said. "I probably shouldn't be doing it anyway--you're not a child to be scolded."
"In public, at least," she said. She picked up the magazine--no, a catalog, now that he could see it--that she had put on the coffee table earlier. "I would like to do one thing tonight that might be construed as work," she said, "Although it's not a lot of work."
"What would that be?" he asked.
"I would like you to go through this with me, there are several things I want to show you," she said. "I know how much you dislike Heaven's Day, but if we plan ahead, the shopping shouldn't be too painful."
It was only October! Heaven's Day was the least of their worries! He opened his mouth to complain, and closed it again. "Are you sure we need to think about that right now?" he said in a deliberately mild tone. She already knew how much he detested Heaven's Day, so there was obviously a reason she was risking his wrath to bring it up.
She moved closer so he could look over her shoulder, and he put an arm around her, which almost made the task bearable. "I think it would make things easier," she said. "Even if we don't order from this, to have an idea of what we want to get means that we don't have to spend a lot of time walking around the stores at the last minute."
He soon realized that she took a great deal of pleasure in imagining the pleased reaction of the gift's recipient, and he had to admit that when he looked at it the way she did, it was almost... fun. They went through the list fairly quickly, with Roger adding a suggestion here and there, but she had a very good idea of the kinds of things that would be appreciated--a new stroller that would accommodate both an infant and toddler for Angel and Dan, tools for Jake, a magazine subscription for Mrs. Morris. She wasn't sure about getting Missy something educational or something to encourage physical activity. That was when he found out that she had begun tutoring the child at Big O's request. Good heavens, no wonder she was so tired! She wasn't getting a moment to herself!
"It really isn't that much of a problem," Dorothy said. "I'm working with her for an hour or so in the morning, just basic reading and simple math, and then in the afternoon we visit Big O and she goes over her lesson with him. It helps keep her out of trouble. We didn't think Mrs. Morris would accept us hiring someone for her--assuming, of course, that we could find someone who could keep up with her."
"I think you're right, but let's at least divide up the schedule a little," he said. "I don't know if I'm much of a teacher, but I can at least bring her to see Big O in the afternoon."
"You haven't been home in the afternoon very often lately," Dorothy said.
That was true, too, he'd had a lot of work recently. "I don't see any reason I can't rearrange things a little. I'll just take a late lunch," he said. "I'm sure Norman would be willing to fill in on afternoons when I can't get free."
"I'm sure he would too," Dorothy said, "but she's already spending time with him and Jake, they've been letting her watch them work after she's done visiting Big O. She knows how much Jake likes machines, so she wants to work on machines too. Norman has her working on a simple model of the Griffon, she really seems to be enjoying putting it together."
"You should have said something," Roger said. "I know you're capable of handling a lot, but even you have limits. If worse comes to worst, I'll hire someone to at least come in to help with the cooking and cleaning."
"That might have been useful at the beginning, but it seems a waste to do it now," she said. "Once the Morrises have their own apartment again, we'll just be dealing with a visit a couple of days a week, rather than having them full time."
"Even so, you don't have to do everything yourself," he said. "If your days are so full that you don't even have enough time to lie down for five or six hours, you're doing too much."
"I've been resting, honestly, just not long enough," she said. "I usually catch up on the weekend when Jake is home during the day. Today I intended to sleep late and then nap for a few hours in the afternoon, but Missy was up earlier than usual this morning, then one of the people I've been trying to meet with for the foundation finally called. She was booked solid during regular business hours for weeks, so we met for lunch. It was good, we got a lot of things set up, but by the time I got home, there wasn't any time left."
"Days like this are the reason you aren't supposed to be shorting yourself in the first place," he said. "I have no objection if you put the foundation work on hold until the Morrises are settled."
"I didn't want to do that because we're coming into the season of greatest need," she said. "I'll be able to catch up tonight, Missy gave me her solemn word that if she woke up early, she'd get Jake It doesn't hurt me to go without resting, Roger."
"I don't know if that's entirely true," he said. "I'm not sure how I knew, but I could tell you were tired." He thought about it for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what had given him that idea. "I don't know how to describe it. I can't say you're having trouble moving in the same sense that Norman does when his arthritis bothers him, but it's almost like your muscles are a little stiff, like they're aching a bit, not enough to stop you, but enough to slow you down."
She was surprised he'd noticed, he could tell.. "Ache is a reasonable word for it," she said, "although you know I don't feel pain the same way you do. It's a... slowness, a heaviness. The material used for my muscles is very strong and flexible, but will develop small tears and weak spots during use. Usually that gets repaired when I rest, but if I don't rest long enough, the problems accumulate, and as a result, I move more slowly and don't have quite the same level of flexibility. It doesn't do long-term harm, though."
"Unless a small weak spot becomes a big tear because you overdid it," he said. "Then it takes several days to repair, and sometimes Norman's intervention, isn't that true?"
"Only if I should suddenly need above average strength or speed," she said, "which is unlikely if I'm just going to be watching Missy or doing paperwork."
"You never know," he said. "Unlikely isn't the same thing as impossible." He put his hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly. "How does this feel?" he asked after a few minutes.
"It's very pleasant," she said. "Relaxing."
"That's what I like about it," he said, beginning to work in earnest. Really, her back didn't feel any different than any other woman's, other than that her muscles seemed more wiry and better defined. He could detect tight spots that he assumed were areas of stress, and they relaxed as he massaged. The one difference was that he could feel that her temperature was rising steadily as he worked. "Why is your back getting warmer?" he asked. There was no reply, and a moment later, he realized she was sleeping.
Her temperature seemed to have stabilized, and he continued on half-heartedly for a while longer. The solarium was cooling down as the night grew later, and the warmth that radiated from her was making him drowsy. It would do no harm to let her nap for a while, he decided. He settled himself more comfortably and pulled her against his chest, then wrapped his arms around her. Before much longer, he too was dozing.
The only thing that was missing was a dry pair of socks, and those would be forthcoming shortly, with the help of the radiator. Jason carefully put his suit on a hanger and slid a plastic bag over it, hanging it on the hook behind the door for the time being. His shoes were probably ruined, but he put them in another bag and put it on the floor near the suit. He'd cleaned the twenties out of the cash register, replacing them with a brief note that told Tate the amount he'd borrowed, explaining that he'd had an emergency, been caught without cash and that he would return it as soon as he could get to the bank.
As he waited for his socks, he ran a comb through his hair, thankful again that he'd thought to wear the hat. He didn't dare put it on the radiator the way he had with his socks, he didn't want the felt to shrink, but it seemed to be drying out nicely. He'd found some slightly stale pastries, which he'd made short work of, and was on his second cup of coffee. Now that he was warm, dry, and had something in his belly, he needed to make a real plan.
His best bet, he decided, was to go to a hotel for the rest of the weekend. A lack of luggage wouldn't arouse comment if he came in with suit, briefcase, and a story about his car breaking down after a late meeting with a client. A decent hotel would have a dry-cleaning service, and he could go and buy another dress shirt, socks and shoes tomorrow during the day.
First thing Monday, he could pay a visit to the Military Police and talk to whoever was investigating the attempted kidnapping of young Morris' mother and sister. If they played it right, maybe they could get a lead on who was behind it all. He had no objection to playing decoy as long as he had backup. He relaxed over the rest of his coffee, decided his socks were dry enough and put them on, then got his spare shoes.
That left only the briefcase. There were a couple in the office, used for carrying small items. He picked the one that seemed best for his cover story and opened it up. He was glad he had, because there were a couple of valuable items inside. He'd wrap them and put them in the safe, he decided. He fetched some tissue paper and wrote another note just in case Tate noticed the briefcase was missing and thought he'd been robbed. He put the briefcase next to the safe and put each object away as he got it wrapped.
He was putting the final item into the safe when a voice startled him. "Stop what you're doing and put your hands over your head!"
"Huh?" it took a second to register that he was staring down the barrel of a gun.
Roger looked at the clock and saw it was a little after one. He must have been just as tired as Dorothy! "Hey," he gave her a gentle shake.
Her eyes opened and she sat up. "We were sleeping!" she said, looking at the time.
"Both of us are overtired," he said, shivering a little now that she wasn't leaning against him. He was going to have to start using the heat overnight now that winter was on the way.
"It's cold in here," she said, quickly getting up and lighting the gas fireplace. He joined her in drawing the floor-to-ceiling draperies closed. When they were finished, they both huddled around the fire. It didn't take very long for it to become hot enough that Roger had to back away, with Dorothy doing the same a moment later.
Roger got up and went into his room briefly to grab a blanket. "Before I realized you'd nodded off, I asked why you were suddenly getting warmer," he said, stopping to pour himself a nightcap.
Dorothy shook her head at his offer of another drink and he came back and sat down on the floor next to her, draping the blanket around his shoulders. He slipped off his shoes and stretched out his toes towards the fireplace "The extra warmth speeds the repair process," she said. "I don't have to have it, but then I need to rest longer for the same result. I've been using it a lot lately so I get the maximum possible benefit no matter how long I'm able to sleep. I would have told you about it if I'd realized I was going to doze off like that."
"You were more tired than you realized," he said.
"More comfortable, actually," she said. "It's the same for me as it is for you--in order to sleep, I have to be relaxed. I remember thinking about how nice it was to stop worrying about everything for a little while, and how pleasant it was to have my shoulders rubbed, and the next thing I knew, you were waking me up."
"I'll do it for you again, then, if you enjoy it," he promised. "I should go to bed, I suppose."
"It's late," she agreed, but he noticed she didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. They both stared at the flames for a while. "I don't think we've ever talked this much about the physical differences between android and human before ," she observed.
"I worried that it might be a poor choice of topic," Roger said, "under the circumstances. Once I realized you weren't just imitating humans, I also realized that asking the wrong question might hurt your feelings or make you uncomfortable, and when Norman got those schematics and told me just what type of android you were, well... it seemed better to leave it alone."
"Does it bother you?" Her tone was matter-of-fact, but he knew she was asking much more than that.
"Sometimes," he said, "although not for the reasons you might suppose. Generally, androids made for pleasure don't have sufficient capacity to be self-aware, and I think that's as it should be. Otherwise, it's a particularly ugly form of slavery. Your father gave you the capacity to be conscious, his daughter's memories, and..." he knew he was turning red again, but dammit, they needed to have this conversation! He searched for the best way to put it. "...let's call it the knowledge of a courtesan," he said, and was relieved when she nodded agreement. "What that says about him, and what it must have been like for you," Roger finished, "bothers me a great deal."
"There have been times when I have wondered if it would be a good idea just to erase that knowledge," she said.
This was also a potential minefield, so he decided it was best to be honest. "I can't really give an opinion on that," he said. "You could say I had a vested interest." She looked at him sharply, but her expression smoothed when she saw the grin that meant he intended it in a humorous way. He turned serious again. "If I weren't in love with you and you asked my advice, I would say that you should give it a lot of thought before you did so. On the one hand--"
"Say that again," Dorothy interrupted.
"Huh? If you asked my advice..." Roger began.
"Before that," she interrupted again, "but after the part about having a vested interest."
"If I weren't in love with you?" his mouth felt dry and he quickly took a sip of his drink. Why the hell did he always get so nervous when he tried to talk about how he felt?
"That's it," she said. "Thank you, Roger. Please continue."
He looked at her, utterly confused. That was all? She didn't want him to say anything more? He wasn't sure of how to respond, so he fumbled to pick up his original train of thought. "On... on the one hand, it makes sense that you don't want that knowledge because of the memories that go along with it, and the assumptions people make about you," his voice steadied as he recalled what he'd intended to say. "On the other hand, you paid dearly for it, and using it--or not!--on your own terms might reduce the impact of those memories. If I had no involvement in the situation, I would advise you to err on the side of keeping them, because you can always remove them later. I am," he added, "assuming that such a removal would be permanent."
"Yes, it would be," she nodded. "That's very helpful, I don't think I'd thought about it in terms of how much I'd paid until you mentioned it just now." He put an arm around her and she leaned against his shoulder. "I did pay dearly for that knowledge, because it ultimately caused a falling-out between Michael Soldano and my father," she said. "When my father suggested they use a pleasure android body, Soldano didn't think anything of it, because those are the most human-like and the most responsive. But then my father wanted the specialized programming as well, and they had a terrible argument. I liked Michael Soldano. I used to call him Uncle Mike. He spent a lot of time with me before the fight. He was the one who helped me learn to walk and talk and sing, and he was always kind to me. When they fought, he said that I'd be ruined and if my father insisted on the installation, he wanted nothing more to do with me."
"I can't begin to imagine what that was like," Roger said, pulling her closer.
"I was very angry with him," Dorothy said softly. "The way he acted when you came to ransom me just made me even angrier. That's why I was said what I did when we found him in the office, but when he called me Nightingale and said I was his real daughter, I understood he was telling me he was sorry for the horrible things he'd said. I was glad you said a prayer for him, because he was a good man, and I'll always think of him as my real father."
"I think he'd be proud of you," Roger said. "Speaking for myself, I have nothing but respect and admiration for how you've handled your circumstances."
Dorothy took his free hand and squeezed it to take any sting out of her words. "What's in that whiskey, Roger Smith? That's twice in ten minutes that you've spoken of your feelings for me."
He was relaxed enough now that he just laughed in acknowledgment of the truth of her words.. "Maybe Norman put some truth serum in it," he said. He took her chin in his hand and tilted it so he could look directly into her eyes. "Shall we go for three in ten, since I seem to be on a roll?"
She gave him the little smile that meant she was amused. "Be careful not to overdo it, you don't want to regret it in the morning."
"Oh, I don't think I'll regret it in the morning. As a matter of fact, my only possible regret is that I didn't tell you sooner." He took a deep breath, refusing to let his nerves get the better of him this time. "I love you, Miss R. E. Dorothy Wayneright." Her eyes went wide with surprise, and he kissed her before she could say another word.