"... Our meeting with the Assigned Contract Officer was encouraging. He assured me that our employment policies wouldn't pose a problem, as the city's First Source Employment Agreement hasn't yet been revised to include androids. As such, we'll be able to hire and pay our workers in the manner we deem appropriate while still adhering to the federal law."

Resting your arm on the gray conference table as the CFO of Resurrection Health Services gives his report to the board of directors, you idly swirl a glass of tepid water, watching the liquid circle around in a never-ending loop.

You can't help but draw a parallel between the motion of the fluid in the glass and the activity in your skull, consisting of thoughts constantly revolving around the events of last night.

Last night. The moonlight, the stars...

Amie. What a surreal experience. You still can't quite believe that you spoke more candidly to an AI than you ever have to a fellow human being. You didn't mean to say as much to her. The words just... came out.

You tap your index on the glass, musing. What's done is—

"What about the 'hard to employ' cases?" asks the CEO sharply, interrupting your thoughts. An African-American woman in her mid-fifties with short graying curls and a penetrating gaze, Mrs. White is a person in whose presence you did not need to remain long before arriving at the conclusion that she is not a woman to be trifled with. "How many criminals are they planning on foisting on us for their rehabilitation into society?" she presses.

"The ACO... didn't mention that," the CFO says hesitatingly. "I imagine they'll give us some leeway with that, seeing as how we're helping them out and all. The fifth ward has been reliant on St. Seton's for years..." "If we're going to be helping them with their prison problem, I expect we'll be compensated in some shape or form for our taking the risk of hiring some of their convicts," The CEO says in a cutting tone.

The CFO inclines his head deferentially. "I'll ask for an addendum to the contract concerning that matter. "See that you do," the older woman says in a tone of finality. She then addresses the rest of the board, while you wonder if there's any purpose to your remaining further, having already given your presentation on the nature of the project's design.

Then, just when you think the meeting is drawing to a close, the COO, a certain Mr. Powell, has a question for you. "Mr. Brennan, there are rumblings in the Capitol that Senator Bradley has succeeded in flipping the last vote he needs to pass the Human-Android Equality Act. The bill will most likely be voted on sometime next month. I'd like to read a specific passage from it…"

Putting on a pair of reading glasses one-handedly while still holding the sheet, Mr. Powell begins reading aloud. “The proposed amendment to 28 CFR Part 42 reads as follows: All androids, cyborgs, and other humanoid machines are to have all Constitutional rights applied to them immediately upon assignment. Said androids, cyborgs, or machines will be entitled to the same rights, privileges, employment opportunities, and immunities as any other citizen of the United States of America. Therefore, discrimination against said beings on the basis of their being classified as such is…"

You listen in silence as Mr. Powell reads the passage in its entirety. He finishes reading, and still you say nothing. Looking up from his copy of the proposed bill, he levels his eyes on you and inquires, with a polite, obviously disingenuous diffidence, “What are your thoughts on this?"

You glance at Mrs. White, then respond, "What are the implications it will have on the hospital's design, you mean?" "Yes. From the model you've shown us,—" he says, gesturing with the sheet to the holographic design that hovers over the table—"it looks as if you've failed to integrate android maintenance facilities into the hospital's design."

"That's correct. The hospital will be android-free." You state this bluntly, almost challenging the man to raise another objection.

Mrs. White smoothly interjects. "RHS is firmly committed to its Catholic ethos. Patients deserve to be accompanied by the healing presence of Christ not only via the sacraments, but also their caregivers during their time of recuperation. No androids will be present in the patient's rooms at any time. The hospital's design will reflect this."

"If the HAEA bill does not pass, we will hire only human staff and no androids. If it regrettably does, we resign ourselves to hiring a balanced staff of both humans and androids, but without providing on-site maintenance facilities for the androids or assigning them to caretaker roles. We will not compromise our religious beliefs."

The other directors nod their heads in approval of her answer. Mr. Powell smiles thinly and says, "Of course. I understand. We all do. However, I'm not sure if the general public will. We may receive some backlash..."

Leaning forward in your seat and clasping your hands, you address the man directly. "Mr. Powell, we live in an age that may very well see the rise of the Antichrist. 'When the Son of man comes, will He find faith on earth?'. The answer, of course, is no. He will find faith in a few hearts, perhaps, in a few scattered souls, but not on earth. The state, civil authorities, and public institutions are consecrated to the abolition of human dignity, the degradation of freedom, the suppression of the truth, and the glorification of all that is inimical to human flourishing. The medical industry and its elevation of materialistic notions of health and well-being is no exception. I do not expect 'backlash', Mr. Powell. I expect us to be reviled, slandered, hated. I expect a concerted effort from the secular authorities to destroy us... and I expect them to succeed."

The COO looks as if you've slapped him in the face. His mouth works, but he says nothing. You, on the other hand, feel rather more invigorated than a mere ten minutes ago. Turning slightly to address the other directors as well, you continue.

"Gentlemen, if any of you still harbor the delusion that this hospital will be built without incident, I'm afraid you haven't been paying attention. The hour is far too advanced. There's no cavalry on the way. There will be no last minute reprieve, no eleventh hour conversion. The world has gone beyond the point of no return. The hospital may be built, but it will not survive. Our refusal to hire androids is but one of many nails in the coffin; the tightening oversight and crippling regulations speak plainly to the government's intent to abolish intolerant, discriminatory health care institutions such as those run by the Church and this company."

Stony silence. "Our duty is not to treat the suffering and the dying of tomorrow, gentlemen. It is to suffer and die ourselves today." One of the directors, a short, balding man with gray hair shifts uncomfortably in his seat. You know what he's thinking. He's thinking about the hospital. He's thinking about all the work that's gone into it. He's thinking about all the money raised, all the time, all the effort. He's thinking about the fact that it will all be wasted if your prophecy becomes a reality.

Your lips twist. It's not like you relish the idea of pouring all your work down the drain. While he's been collecting a seven figure paycheck, you've been working day and night like a madman. You've put everything you have into this hospital.

But you're also realistic. You know what's coming. "In another age, you would all have enjoyed the fruits of your labor. You would have lived to see the opening of this hospital, basked in the praise and adulation of the community, and enjoyed long lives filled with prosperity and success. You would have known the joy of seeing patients healed, the comfort of knowing you had made the world a better place. But those days are gone. The world has passed you by. It is time to recognize this fact, and accept your fate." You pause, letting your words sink in.

The directors glance at each other, but say nothing. Powell looks like he's going to be sick. Mrs. White has a tight smile on her face, her penetrating eyes fixed on you as if to say, 'I think you've said quite enough'. Having indeed said your piece, you shrug slightly and lean back in your chair.

"While you are correct in your observation that the world has changed, Mr. Brennan," she begins, still eying you with a dangerous glitter in her eyes, "I think the members of this board are not as shocked to be apprised of that fact as you seem to believe." Then, in a more conciliatory tone: "Yes, the world has changed, and for the worse. But that does not mean we cannot accommodate all of its demands. This hospital was constructed to fulfill a need, and I intend to see that it is filled."

"We can adapt. Though the hospital will be run according to the standards of the Church, we will explore every option at our disposal to reach an understanding with the authorities, should the bill pass. Which, I need not remind you, has not yet occurred."

You can't help but admire her cool confidence. For the benefit of the assembled board members though you believe it to be, it has an unquestionably genuine foundation.

"If new regulations enter into law, we will deal with them when the time comes. For now, we have a hospital to build. Now, is that all for this meeting?"

One man speaks up, a white-haired Father Lawrence in his fifties, a wry smile thinning lips already narrow into near non-entities. "To end on a somewhat lighter note, has the hospital's name been finalized yet?"

"Ah, yes. A fitting question, Father. Mr. Powell, if you would be so kind...?"

Powell slowly pulls himself together. He's ashen, and if you were capable of feeling pity, perhaps this is where a twinge of it would manifest itself. But you can't, so you merely watch as he slowly pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and clears his throat.

"As the board of directors has seen fit to approve Mr. Brennan's design, the hospital will be known as Mater Dei Hospital."

A few people nod, and you can see the barest hint of a smile on Mrs. White's face.

"A beautiful name, for a place that will heal people from the world over."

With that Mrs. White adjourns the meeting, and as she does so the model holograph dematerializes, followed by the participants, until only you, Powell, and Mrs. White remain in the dimly lit conference room.