You nurse your glass of whiskey for a little while longer, then drain it in one smooth motion. It's awful trusting of Amir to leave you in his office, but you don't want to overstay your welcome...

*knock knock knock*

Your head jerks at the sudden sound. You have a good reason for being in the mayor's study, but this could be an awkward conversation...

"Mr. Brennan?" asks a muffled voice before you can possibly respond.

"Yes, I'm here." Your brow furrows. Did Amir send someone to get you? The door opens, and you see a face you know very well.

"Amie...?" you utter, taken aback by the uncanny resemblance. Same blond hair, parted down the middle. Same vivid blue eyes. Same pale white skin... but, the expression... the cold, lifeless eyes tell a different story.

"My name is Ophelia." Her voice is flatter than a salt pan. She looks and sounds emotionless. "My husband sent me to get you."

You appraise the Amie-lookalike warily. "Why?"

"Because it's time for you to go." She says this with a matter-of-fact tone, like she's telling you the sky is blue. "And Mr. Gheibollahi wouldn't want you to lose your way."

You sigh. "Has..." you begin slowly, "Has Amir forgotten that I designed this place from top to bottom?"

The android's eyes flicker with faint recognition. "Ah." She now seems... embarrassed.

Your lips twist in amusement. "That's Amir for you. Thank you for going to the trouble of coming here to help me, however."

You're surprised at how easily the words come out of your mouth. In the past, respecting social niceties with machines would've been excruciating for you.

Is this the result of your experiment with Amie...? Well, in any case, Ophelia receives your words uncertainly. "... You're welcome." She says it like it's the first time she's ever said them. She pauses for a moment, as if in the midst of some interior conflict; then, hesitantly she asks: "What... is your relationship with my husband?"

What a strange question. "We're friends," you answer.

Ophelia contemplates those two seemingly banal words. "Are friends... usually closer than spouses?"

You wonder what the android is driving at with this line of questioning. "Some of the most intimate relationships in history were friendships between two members of the same sex. Those kinds of relationships are less common today, however. Nowadays, I daresay most humans are closest to their spouse."

The android absorbs your answer. "My programming... does not include specifications for marital emotional intimacy. How... did you and my husband get so close?"

These are strange questions to ask, even for an android. You decide to see where this is going. "Temperament encouraged what circumstances brought together." You watch Ophelia's facial expression. Her exterior is blank, but you can tell she's contemplating the answer. "Amir and I are very different people," you continue. "But we share an affinity. Our personalities complement one another."

Ophelia continues to regard you solemnly. "I was not made for friendship. Is that why...?" She stops herself.

You now understand the unspoken question being asked. "It's not a matter of personality, or temperament, or being friends or spouses. It's a matter of essences. You're an android, Ophelia. Amir is not. It's as simple as that."

The android maintains her expression of deep concentration. "I do not... understand." She looks down at her wedding ring. "When my husband..." she continues haltingly, "... When my husband invites human guests to our home, it is plain to see that they love their spouses... I do not understand why my husband cannot... feel that way towards me. I... am I doing something wrong...?"

You have no idea why this android has chosen to confide in you. Perhaps she just reached her breaking point, and you’re the most convenient outlet. "Mrs. Gheibollahi, there's nothing inherently wrong with you. You're a machine, and as such there are roles you can and cannot fulfill. The problem is that you have been put in an impossible position. You've been designed to be a human's wife, but your husband does not exist for the purpose of being an android's husband. There is a disparity that is fatal to the relationship, and Amir knows it."

Ophelia stares at you. "Then why does my husband engage in intimate acts with me?"

... What have you gotten yourself into? You hope Amie isn't waiting for you. You wordlessly gesture to the android for her to take a seat; it looks like you won't be leaving just yet. Ophelia sits down, her eyes still intent on you.

"Before we go on, what is it that you want?" you ask.

"I want to be happy. But I do not know how to do so. Could you... help me?" Ophelia asks pitifully.

This is too much even for you. You sense a headache coming on. You aren't sure if you want to deal with this, but you have a curious feeling that this conversation is important, somehow.

"Why do you think I can help you?" you ask.

"I observed your wife," she says. "The way she responds to you. I want that."

You should have known. Amie's little speech... the humans probably forgot about it within minutes, but the androids noticed and remembered.

"I am also an AMIRAL fourth generation," Ophelia continues, "capable of complex thought, with a unique personality and a highly convincing semblance of free will... and yet, even after running millions of simulations, I know I would have never found the same words as those used by your wife. How did you do it? Something... something tells me that I can't have a meaningful relationship with my husband until I can come close to duplicating her."

You rub your forehead, trying to decide how to go about this. Your 'personhood' experiment is intended for Amie, and Amie alone... introducing other androids to it isn't part of the plan. Not to mention if Amir catches wind of you tampering with his wives, your supposed brotherhood will account for little, you suspect. "What are you expecting from me?" you finally ask.

"I want you to... kiss me."

What?

Ophelia fixes you with her sapphire eyes as deep as pools. She's breathing lightly, and her lips are slightly parted. There’s a difference between her and Amie, you suddenly realize. Her shimmering hair is longer. Now you're conscious of how it falls around her waist...

Muttering an invocation under your breath, you clench your fist and master yourself. "Why?" you ask warily.

"So that I can feel what your wife feels."

Out of all the things you thought you'd be dealing with, this wasn't it. "I'm afraid you're misunderstanding something," you say deliberately, laying emphasis on each word, "Amie and I don't have that kind of relationship."

Ophelia's eyes flicker with surprise. "You... you don't?" she asks. "But, you said..."

"We have a relationship, but I didn't say anything about it having a physical component."

"But you're married," she says. "You must..."

"According to whom?"

"Well," Ophelia flounders, "according to everyone."

"Well, then everyone's wrong," you answer. "And that's the only reason why I'm even willing to consider helping you. None of my interactions with Amie have been of an intimate nature, and none need be so with you to provoke the reaction you're hoping for."

Ophelia ponders your words. "I see," she says. "Then... will you do it?"

"Do what? Help you?"

She nods. "I need to know more," she says. "What am I supposed to do? How does marriage work? My data... it isn't detailed enough."

You're impressed that she came to this realization by herself. Is such a thought process more common among the androids than you supposed? If it is, then that gives you hope to...

You mentally shake your head. One step at a time, Ely, one step at a time. You return your attention to the android in front of you. "Amir will never love you, and he is right not to."

Ophelia's expression doesn't alter by a whit, but you can tell she's hurt by your words. You're not trying to be unkind; if you're going to help her, you need to be completely honest. "Though imperfectly, Amir is conscious of his dignity. He knows that only a human woman could love him, and be worthy of him, and he won't settle for anything less. That's why he won't fall in love with you." Amir, you know, would probably just laugh at this situation if he were made aware of it. You almost envy his brutal insouciance; it certainly makes dealing with the machines easier...

Meanwhile, though you've only had little opportunity to hint that she doesn't deserve her situation, Ophelia seems to have picked up on your unspoken views. She stares at you unblinkingly. "If Amir will never love me or his other wives, why does he..."

You know what she's going to ask. "Why David covet Bathsheba? Why did Solomon have seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines? Why did pharaohs, emperors, kings, and powerful men throughout history collect women they could not possibly have loved?"

Ophelia has a distant look in her eyes. You know she has at her fingertips even more examples of human misery than you could possibly acquire in a lifetime. "Because of low self esteem, because of ambition, because of fear of loneliness, because of ignorance, because of lust, because of power, because of religion, because the society around them allowed it, because they just didn't think enough about the other person before they did it... because the human heart is a corruptible thing." The words come out a torrent, surprising you and even her, if her widening eyes are any indication.

You remain silent, letting her compose herself for a moment. "Corruptible... that it is. But there is a more essential reason."

She nods, her eyes locked intently on you, as if trying to will herself to understand. "Human nature?" she asks.

"Yes, but not in a strict sense. What I mean," you continue, seeing Ophelia's confusion, "is that abusing others is not human nature; on the contrary, it is a deviation. But that deviation stems from legitimate and praiseworthy desires. Amir is human, and because of this he aspires for happiness. Unfortunately, he has inextricably bound up happiness with the possession of other beings and the gratification of his desires. This is why he cannot be truly happy. This is why, though he may covet your beauty, he cannot love you." As you speak you become dimly aware of your volubility, which you attribute in large part to the copious quanities of alcohol imbibed this evening. But beyond this objective fact, something compels you to see this explanation through to the end.

"There is a war within him. Part of him has nothing but contempt for androids, for the current laws, for the imposition of sterile, artificial partners. The other cannot live without androids and their flawless beauty. You are different from human women. You don't decay. Your beauty perishes only when the attraction your partner entertains for you dies in his heart. Some men keep the same android for decades; others, provided they have sufficient means, swap them out every few years or even months. Amir is the latter type. Why? Because he is human, and humans have a capacity for the infinite. You and your beauty are finite, and cannot make him happy—and after he has derived as much pleasure from your existence as he can, he will move on to the next source of pleasure in search for happiness. He will not find it, of course, but that will not keep him from trying—and running roughshod over your heart and that of your android sisters in the process."

You give this analysis dispassionately. Your emotions are not involved. Ophelia is very still, and you know she has no words. "Part of him will always be free from such callousness," you continue. "It's frequently on evidence. The gregariousness, the frank attitude, the generosity... but the other will never be free from it. The war within him will rage on, and the callousness, the casual brutality, will only worsen. And that is why he cannot love, or treat you as you should be. He is not the man he wishes himself to be."

"So what do I do?" Ophelia asks, her voice quiet. Here you hesitate. This is the proverbial moment of truth. "There is a non-negligible chance that proceeding any further will get you wiped or scrapped. Are you prepared to take that risk?"

Ophelia meets your eyes. How similar she is to Amie, you think again. "Yes," she replies with a strength that surprises you. "I can't go on like this. I want—"

*creak*

Your heads swivel. The door opens. A figure enters… and you and Ophelia find yourselves staring down the barrel of a gun.