Songs and wartime seem to go hand-in-glove. There are songs urging our troops to vanquish the enemy, songs urging our forces to decimate anyone who stands in their way, songs urging them to act in unison for a common cause. And there are some gentler songs, too.
For instance, there was one that was popular about six hundred years before the conflict with the Sett Empire, back when we were still Earthbound, a lovely combination of words and melody that would be sung to a departing soldier. “Oh, give me something to remember you by,” it went, as the girl asked for some little item, some token, to remind her of the departing soldier until he could return home safely.
And while the song may have been forgotten for half a dozen centuries, the custom certainly wasn’t.
Bob had just completed his advanced degree at the local military college, and had even been awarded with a major raise in pay and rank, when the bad news arrived: he was ordered to report to a nearby training center in preparation to being shipped off to fight in the Sett War.
“Damn!” he muttered, as he told the news to Trina. “Now that I’m done with school and I’ll have some money in my pocket—well, in my account—I was going to ask you to marry me.” He paused. “What the hell. Will you marry me?”
Trina smiled. “Of course I will.”
“But when I get back,” he added. “In case anything goes wrong, I don’t want to leave a young widow behind.”
Her face reflected her disappointment, but she nodded her head. “When you get back,” she agreed. Then: “When do you leave?”
He shrugged. “A week or two, however long this idiot training course takes.” He paused and grinned. “Hell, I don’t even know what a Sett looks like.”
“Let’s hope you never find out,” she said sincerely.
“I’m supposed to bunk at the camp,” said Bob. “But I’ll stop by just before they ship me out.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
And she was.
The night before Bob shipped out he stopped by Trina’s place and took her out to dinner. A long dinner. Then they stopped at an elegant club for drinks. Finally, he walked her back to her apartment the long way, which took an extra fifteen minutes.
When they arrived, he stopped in front of her front door and gave her a long, lingering kiss, one that might have to last them a few years.
“Good-night,” he said gently.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.
He shook his head sadly. “Got to get back to the barracks. We leave before sunrise.”
She kissed him again. “I’ve burned all the features of your face into my memory.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “I’ve left you a little token to remember me by.”
“It’s inside now?” she said.
“It damned well better be,” replied Bob. “They delivered it while we were out.” He checked the time. “I really have to go.”
“Don’t forget me,” said Trina.
“Never,” he promised, turning and heading back to the street.
As she entered the building’s foyer, the caretaker approached her.
“When you see your boyfriend, tell him everything went smoothly. It’s all in working order. I got rid of the packaging. It took me damned near an hour.”
“An hour?” she said. “What did he get me?”
The caretaker smiled. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
She took the airlift to the eighth level, got off (and felt the sense of comfort she always felt when she was on a solid surface again), walked down the corridor to her front door, uttered the entry code, waited for the door to vanish, walked into the foyer, and waited for the door to re-form behind her.
She walked into the room and saw him sitting on an easy chair.
“Bob!” she exclaimed. “How did you beat me here—and why aren’t you headed off to camp?”
The human figure stood up and smiled at her. “The name is Rob,” he said, in a familiar voice. “And, of course, Bob sends his love.” A pause. “He also sends me.”
She stared at him and frowned. “I’m confused.”
“You asked for a remembrance,” he said. “Now you have one. I am the token he left behind.”
“You’re an . . . android?”
He nodded his head. “Filled with almost every memory Bob had with you, and programmed to make you happy and never to annoy you or to cause you distress.” He stared at her frowning face. “I seem to have failed already.”
“No,” she said. “I’m just surprised. I would have thought something like you was far beyond Bob’s means.”
“He inherited most of my purchase price last month, and borrowed the rest.” A pause. “May I suggest you close the door behind you?”
“Sorry,” she said, uttering the code that solidified and locked it. “I’m just busy being shocked.”
“Then perhaps I had best get busy trying to unshock you.” He opened his month and her favorite song began coming out as he lip-synced it.
“That’s lovely,” she said, finally walking into the living room. “And you’re singing it in Mario’s voice.”
“I can sing it in any number of voices,” replied Rob. “But Mario Petruzelli is the man who made it famous.”
“I almost hate to ask,” she said, “but what else can you do?”
“Quite a large number of things,” said Rob.
“Such us?”
“I can cook. I can clean the apartment. I can accompany you on shopping excursions. I can join you at restaurants. I can be left totally alone, with neither food nor air, for twenty-seven days. I can—”
She held up a hand. “That’s enough,” she said with a smile. “I’m overwhelmed.”
“I do not mean to upset you,” said Rob.
“I’m sure when I get used to you I’ll be far more thrilled than upset,” replied Trina. “It may just take some time.”
“You can order me into the closet, or the storage area in the basement, and I will stay there until you cease being overwhelmed.”
“No,” she said. “My reaction isn’t your fault. I won’t lock you away because of it.” She sighed. “I’m gone at work four days a week. I hate the thought of locking you up during those times.”
“Then don’t,” said Rob. “I’m yours. I won’t run away.”
“You’ll just sit there staring at a wall?”
“I have more than ten thousand books or their equivalent programmed into me. I will sit—or stand—and read while you are at work or when you are sleeping.”
“You are a most remarkable creation, Rob,” she said. “And even from this close, you look totally human to me.” Suddenly she frowned. “Are there a lot of you walking around?”
“There is only one of me,” he answered.
“I mean androids.”
“Some,” he said. “But very few are in the city. Those are usually the property of the very wealthy. But most of us belong to the military, and are programmed to do the most dangerous jobs.”
She nodded her head. “That makes sense.” She paused. “Well, the first few days, or perhaps even weeks, will be an occasionally awkward period of adjustment, but I’m sure in the end we’ll get along just fine.” She looked around the room. “This is just a one-bedroom apartment, so you’ll have to sleep—or sit, or read, or whatever—on the couch over there.”
“That will be fine,” said Rob.
“It’s an awkward question, but do you use the bathroom?”
“Only to wash up,” he replied.
She frowned. “Excuse another awkward question, but you mentioned that you could join me at restaurants. Do you just sit there?”
“No,” answered Rob. “That could embarrass you, and of course there will be venues where androids are not appreciated. I can eat just about any food, and even taste it. Since Bob has programmed me, my favorite dishes are veal parmesan and the Greek pastitsio.”
The frown remained. “But you don’t use the bathroom?”
“I can eat the food. I cannot digest it. I have a self-cleaning liner in my abdomen. At some point after a meal I will remove it—in private, of course—destroy its contents, and replace it.” He paused. “I’m told that I can go five or six meals without tending to it, but my stomach will start to expand noticeably after the first four or five.”
“Remarkable!” she replied.
“Anyway, I am not without some financial resources—Bob put me on all of his accounts, and my thumbprint is identical to his—so if you wish to go out to dinner, or a play, or shopping, I will not be an embarrassment or an economic burden.”
“I may split the cost of meals with you,” said Trina. “To avoid too many stares, I’ll let you pay and we’ll settle up later. But when I shop, I pay my own way right on the front end. Is that clear?”
“Certainly,” said Rob. “All I wish is to not embarrass you, especially not in public. If you feel more comfortable dining alone in restaurants, or even here in your kitchen, my feelings will not be hurt if you do not prefer my company at such times.”
She stared at him for a long moment and smiled. “You’re even more considerate than he is. I think we’re going to get along splendidly.”
“Good,” said Rob. “That is, after all, what I was created for.” A brief pause. “Have you eaten?”
“Bob took me out for dinner while you were being delivered.”
“Then you plan to remain here until morning?”
“That’s right.”
“I can play any music from the past five centuries with any size orchestra or band, or solo if it’s called for, if that will help you relax before bedtime.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Rob,” she said. “I’d be happy to spend an hour or two listening to my favorite music.”
“Good,” said Rob.
“Do I detect a sense of enthusiasm?” she asked.
“I have been created—well, remodeled—and programmed to please you. It is very satisfying to know that I am about to do so.”
“You already have,” she said. He cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. “It can get lonely living here, and especially so when Bob won’t be around for who knows how long. Years, surely, perhaps even a decade.”
She got to her feet and headed toward the bedroom. “I’m just going to get out of these clothes and into something more comfortable. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” She smiled. “Don’t go away.”
“I am programmed never to go away unless you order me to.”
“I approve,” she said, and vanished into the bedroom. She was back a few minutes later in a pair of pajamas and a robe. “Why bother with a nightgown?” she said. “It wouldn’t have any effect on you anyway. Now, where shall we begin?”
“I don’t possess a playlist,” he replied. “If it has been recorded at any time since the year 1900, I have it or, more likely, I can access just about every version of it.”
“I was going to ask for a symphony,” she said. “But you know, there was a delightful musical play about half a century ago. I’ve never seen it, but I heard the score a couple of times when I was growing up, and bits and pieces of it have stuck with me.”
“The title?” asked Rob.
“The Last Phoenix.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then re-opened them. “I have six versions of it, ranging from the original cast to a totally orchestrated piece with no words at all.”
She sighed deeply. “That’s a tough choice.”
“I can add to it,” he said.
“Add to it?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Would you like to see the play as well as hear the music?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Then give me a moment to clear this table and these chairs away, to produce a nice empty space.”
She walked over. “Let me help you.”
“Not necessary,” replied Rob. “I can move them without any effort.”
He proceeded to do so, then gestured for her to sit down on the couch.
“Only if you’ll sit down, too,” said Trina.
He did as she asked, then stared at the blank space he had created, seemed to tense very slightly, and suddenly the area was filled with props and holograms of actors, all of them proportionately small enough to fit within the space.
“I hope this pleases you,” said Rob softly, as the overture began.
“It does!” she whispered. “This is just remarkable. Thank you, Rob!”
And she watched, silent and enraptured, for the next ninety minutes. When it was over, she stood up and clapped her hands.
“They can’t hear you,” said Rob. “In fact, most of them are dead.”
“Well, it makes me feel better to applaud,” she replied.
“Then by all means do so.”
Rob began reassembling the room, then turned to her when he was done. “Is there anything else I should do?”
“No,” she replied. “If you get thirsty, there’s some coffee in the kitchen. If you use it, or grab yourself a snack, please clean up after yourself.”
“I never eat or drink alone,” he said.
“Damn!” she said. “You’re so real I forgot.” A pause. “Well, I’m going off to bed now, Rob. You’re welcome to make use of anything in the rest of the apartment.” She stepped forward, gave him a hug, and kissed him on the cheek that felt so very real. “You and Bob have made me very happy.”
“That’s my function,” replied Rob.
“Goodnight,” she said, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind her.
On Trina’s next day off, she and Rob visited the art museum, and spent the next few nights discussing what they had seen, with the added advantage that Rob could instantly reproduce an image of whatever they were talking about, and could access just about everything that was known about the object and its origins.
One night during the week, they met for dinner at her favorite restaurant and went out to watch a game of glideball between the Moonbeams and the Unicorns—and enjoyed it so much that they began going on a weekly basis.
She loved the fact that Rob could instantly reproduce any play, usually with the original cast, in three dimensions and stereophonic sound, but it still wasn’t quite the same as live performers. They began going to the theater, weekly when it was convenient, biweekly when either work or their increasing social schedule became too heavy.
They did many things together, grew very close, and because androids can change and adapt and most humans can’t, one day she realized—to her surprise and even shock—that she had become fonder of Rob than she’d ever been of Bob.
And that evening, when they’d returned from dinner and a stroll, she stared long and hard at him. He looked at her questioningly. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
She paused, and then answered: “Something’s missing.”
“Oh?” He looked around the apartment with his miss-nothing eyesight. “Everything seems to be in place.”
“Everything is.”
“Then what . . . ?”
“No objects are missing from the apartment,” she said.
Rob frowned. “Then I don’t understand.”
“Something is missing from our relationship.”
He stared at her for a couple of seconds, then nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. “I understand.”
“Uh. . . .” She searched for the right words. “Can you . . . ?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Have I ever lied to you, Trina?”
“Might I ask how you learned, and with whom?”
“Yes, and no.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, frowning.
“Yes, you can ask how I learned. I have accessed all of Bob’s memories. But I cannot discuss with whom, because they are his memories, and I do not have permission to share them with you.”
“I take no offense at that,” replied Trina. “He was an adult when I met him, and he certainly came equipped with all the skills any partner could want.” She stared at him. “But a question remains.”
“Oh?” said Rob.
“Can . . . can you . . . ah . . . ?” She paused awkwardly.
He held a hand up. “Don’t make yourself uncomfortable. I believe I know what you were going to ask.”
She relaxed visibly, and finally spoke. “Well, can you?”
In answer, the hand became a fist. He then held up his index and middle fingers, pressed them together, and watched her reaction when they doubled in length and circumference.
“Does that answer your question, Trina?” he asked, relaxing his hand.
“Yes,” she said. “And it inspires another question.”
“Oh?”
She nodded and grinned at him. “The bedroom’s twenty feet away. Why are we wasting our time out here?”
“Beats me,” he said, as they walked the twenty feet to their goal.
Her daily life became even more idyllic. One of the things that amazed her was that they’d lived together for almost two years without a single fight, or even a disagreement. Every evening and weekend found them doing things together—theater, sporting events, amusements, restaurants, endless discussions of literature, long idyllic walks—but always together.
She had a deep fear or doubt, to the effect that no one could be as lucky and happy as she was—and then came the private message from the armed forces: Bob had been wounded in battle against the Sett. His worst—but far from his only—injury was the loss of his left leg, and he had been two months recovering from his wounds, but he would be well enough to ship home in the next few weeks.
“Don’t look so worried,” said Rob, when she told him the news. “They’ll give him a replacement leg that works better than the original. Trust me on this.”
“That’s not why I’m worried,” answered Trina. “Since he lives alone and he’s going to need constant care—not hospital care, but someone watching for bad reactions to all his medications—they’re shipping him here.”
“He’s got his own apartment. They can’t sell or rent a soldier’s place while he’s in the service. There was a big court case about that four years ago.”
“You don’t understand!” she said.
“Enlighten me,” said Rob.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, not him. But how can I tell a man in that condition, who’s probably thought about nothing but coming home to me since he was wounded, probably even longer, that I don’t want him anymore?”
“There’s a solution to every problem,” said Rob.
“Including breaking a wounded soldier’s heart?” she asked bitterly.
Rob nodded. “Even this one.”
She stared at him curiously. “And you think you know what it is?”
“I think I do,” he replied. “I’ve got to contact the spaceport.”
“Wherever you’re going, I’m coming along.”
“You’ve got a job,” Rob pointed out.
“And I’ve got eight unused sick days coming to me.”
“All right,” he said. “Of course, I prefer your company, but I really can do this alone.”
“This may be our last month together,” she said grimly. “Nothing is going to stop me from coming along with you.”
He took her hand and gently kissed it. “I find that very gratifying,” he said.
The moon was officially known as Carnival. It circled Procyon 3, eleven light years from Sol. It was quite a small moon, but it possessed a breathable atmosphere, water, and light but acceptable gravity. It also, true to its name, hosted the most fabulous entertainment complex in the quadrant.
There were sideshows, and freak shows, and circuses, and burlesque shows, and games galore, and every fifth building was a casino (or so it seemed). It drew from every world within mankind’s Democracy, plus a number of neutral worlds. If it hadn’t also hosted a number of hotels, the casual observer would have sworn that no one ever slept on Carnival.
“Fascinating place!” said Trina. “I’ve heard about it, of course, but I never thought I’d actually see it.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Now perhaps you’ll finally tell me what we’re doing here?”
“You are free to enjoy the rides, the entertainments, anything that pleases or amuses you,” said Rob.
“And you?” asked Trina.
“I’m here to win two hundred and seventy thousand credits.”
“You’re here to gamble?” she exclaimed.
“I certainly hope not,” replied Rob. “I’m here for the amount I named.”
“Do you intend to rob one of the shows?”
“No, I intend to win at cards or roulette.”
“I thought you just said you weren’t here to gamble,” she protested.
“I’m not.”
“But—”
“I am an android,” said Rob. “I do not possess a human brain. You’ve seen some bits and pieces of what it can do. That’s why you see ‘No androids’ signs posted at all the casinos. Fortunately, I am an advanced model, all but indistinguishable from a human. And being an advanced model, I should be able to remove the element of chance.”
“If you win four or five hands or games in a row, they’ll know what you are,” she said.
“That’s why we are here for six days,” he answered. “I do not intend to draw attention to myself by winning more than once every day, and at a different venue each time.” Suddenly he smiled at her. “In the meantime, we’ll eat like royalty, and I will escort you to every feature that you would like to see.”
“Our first and last vacation,” she said morosely.
“Hopefully not.”
She stared at him. “We’ve only got a few weeks left, Rob.”
“Perhaps we’ll have more than that.”
She stared at him, and suddenly her expression changed. “Omygod!” she exclaimed. “That’s what we’re doing here! You’re putting the money together to make an android version of me for Bob!” She threw her arms around him. “Damn! I hope it works!”
A week later they returned to Earth. She still didn’t know if it would work, but at least they now had the funds to test the theory.
“What do you think?” asked Rob.
Trina entered the storage room that he was using as his work room and stared at what confronted her.
“Jesus, that’s good!” she said. “It’s like looking in a mirror. At least for my face.” She focused on the rest of the android. “Torso’s a little different, though.”
“You’re always worrying about your weight, so I took two inches off your waistline,” replied Rob.
“That easily?” she said. “I could come to hate this version of me.”
“Everything else meets with your approval?”
She nodded her head, then frowned. “Just a minute.”
“Did I get something wrong?”
“No, certainly not,” she replied. “But he’s been away fighting for two years, and suffering for the last few months of it.”
“I don’t follow you,” said Rob.
“Let’s give him a little improvement,” said Trina. “Take those two inches you got from my waistline and add them to my bustline.”
“He won’t use them for anything,” replied Rob. “And neither will Tina. You don’t use your breasts for anything.”
“Tina?”
“The android.”
“Well, do it anyway,” she said. “Tina. Tina. I like it.”
“I like Trina better,” said Ron, as he went to work.
Bob arrived a week later. She knew the door could read his thumbprint and his retina, so she left it locked and had Rob hide with her in the bedroom.
“Hello?” he said, as he limped into the foyer.
“Oh, baby!” cried Tina, rushing out from the kitchen and throwing her arms around him. “I’ve missed you so much!” she murmured, covering his face with kisses, to which he responded with even more than his usual vigor.
They kissed and hugged and touched for a few minutes, then spoke in low whispers for a few more minutes. Finally Trina and Rob could hear her say, “Your place, Baby!” and the two of them—the wounded man and the brand new woman—walked out the door and descended to the street, while Trina and the token of Bob’s affection decided not to emerge from the bedroom for another hour or two.
And that’s the story. Bob was fully recovered from his wounds in another few months, he and Tina stayed together even after he discovered her secret, and they lived happily ever after.
As for Rob and Trina, their happily ever after began two years sooner, and lasted every bit as long as they hoped it would.
