Ken Potter

We made love that night, sharing a small bed at her sister’s apartment in Alexandria after a big reunion dinner at a nearby favorite restaurant with bottles of the house red. Her body was just as I imagined, tall and lean and her large breasts hung down from her delicate shoulders. I explored her lushness with my kisses, moonlight streaming through the open blinds, as she squirmed on the small bed. Subdued moans came from her, soft as a cat’s purr, a sensuous, breathless acknowledgment of the pleasure she took from my caresses. The next morning I woke to find Melissa awake in the semi-darkness staring at me, her long blonde hair disarrayed as the bed sheets. A sleepy smile came to my face. We kissed.

We took the Metro train that runs around DC and, as time was getting short, decided to go to Arlington first, to make sure we wouldn’t miss it. Row upon row upon row of white crosses filled me with a majestic sadness. There were men and their stories buried beneath the ground we would never know. It silently screamed with bloody murder. This all belonged to the Custis-Lee family before the Civil War when they made it into a cemetery so they could bury Union soldiers on General Robert E. Lee’s confiscated land.

Later, Donovan sits at the desk in the spare bedroom he made into an office and studies the manual. Soon, he sets it aside, carefully unfolds the packing and stares down at the android, taking in the features; the blonde hair, the almost invisible mole below the lip. The mouth, pink lipped, is set like a China doll. The skin is white as fresh milk. His heart races like a beating drum. Andrea, he thinks. It is a perfect replica. He moves the hair away and searches for the small button behind the earlobe. A slot underneath opens like a long gaping wound seconds before the blood flows if it were a human. Donovan inserts the Basic SIM card and when the slot closes, he hears a soft whir like machinery starting and then the subtle click of relays latching. A low hum of energy exudes from the box that he feels more than hears. The eyes that suddenly open are blue as a robin’s egg. The machine lies on its back inside the box motionless as they take each other in.

“Andrea?” Donovan asks softly, mournfully.

The android looks up at the ceiling with mechanical curiosity. Then its eyes find Donovan’s and settle there with a logical certainty.

The future is now. It is here.