Cat tightened her fingers around her tumbler.
Let’s introduce you to some of our robot friends.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cat said.
Robots that looked like spiders and tiny cars and photo processing machines paraded across the screen, blinking and whirring, shoveling gray dust, calculating atmospheric conditions.
And then there he was.
He stood on the gray soil. Half of Earth rose up behind him. She saw the top of Asia, a swirl of white clouds. He wore a jumpsuit like those the astronauts wore. He smiled politely. He waved. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded. Off camera, the male astronaut said, This is George. George can do all the things we can do, only without a space suit or a helmet. We’re very grateful for all of George’s help here at the STL Lunar Station.
Cat eyes fluttered. A single tear landed on the table. She was unraveling.
“Turn it off.” She stabbed her cigarette into the tumbler. “God, turn it off.” She stumbled away from the table. The house was too dark. She put her hands against the wall to steady herself and it was cool to the touch, foggy from the constant rush of the air conditioner. The condensation left her fingers damp. She took a deep breath. Her heart slowed back to normal. Calm. She was calm.
She was numb.
* * * *
Richard took Cat out on a business dinner: one of the investors and his wife. Cat wore a blue belted dress and a pair of white pumps, and she had her hair styled at a salon. She applied her lipstick on the way out the door.
As they drove into the city, Richard tightened and loosened his tie. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Cat kept her hands folded in her lap and stared out the window. It had been a week since she’d tried to contact Finn and seen that video at the dining room table; she’d been in a fog since. Always wanting to sleep, her limbs aching.
“You look nice.” Richard glanced over at her and then back at the road. “Really classy.”
“Thank you.”
Richard didn’t say anything. She knew that when they arrived at the restaurant he would step out of the car transformed, as smooth as glass. Since their fight, she was more aware of his vulnerability, of his weaknesses. She was aware of the way he buried them so neatly in the rituals of business.
Nothing could touch Cat. Nothing could hurt her. But Richard—she looked at him and she knew how easy it would be to twist a knife into his heart and let all that insecurity flow out.
They arrived at the restaurant. The investor was so old it hurt to look at him. His wife was Cat’s age. She wore the exact same shade of lipstick. When the four of them met in the restaurant’s lobby, Cat and the investor’s wife stared at each other in the candlelit darkness without smiling. Then the investor’s wife tucked her clutch purse under her arm and limply held out her hand.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said.
“Likewise,” said Cat.
All of the tables were full, but their party was whisked away, without any wait, to a quiet back corner. A pair of candles burned steadily in two red-dyed cracked jars. Richard pulled out Cat’s chair, but as soon as she sat down he turned to the investor.
“You have no idea how excited I am about this new product,” Richard said. “It’s a game changer.”
Cat shut him out, sipping her glass of wine. The investor’s wife drummed her fingers against the table, flicked her eyes from Richard to Cat.
“I like your dress,” she said finally. The candles on the table flickered, and the investor’s wife looked as insubstantial as a ghost.
Cat smiled politely and thanked her. “It’s a Dior.”
“Ah.” The investor’s wife tugged at her earrings. They looked like sparks of electricity. Her own dress was a drapey black thing, rather avant-garde, the sort of dress Cat had admired through boutique windows when she was in college.
“Yours looks like a . . .” She held out one hand. “Let me guess. I love guessing.”
The investor’s wife waited.
“A Yamamoto,” said Cat.
The investor’s wife laughed. “You’re right,” she said. “Are you in fashion?”
“Sort of,” Cat said. “I used to work in textiles.” She thought of the last time she had touched a loom. How she had woven a piece of herself into that tapestry for Finn. It was still unfinished. It would never be finished.
“Textiles?”
“Yes,” said Cat. “Weaving.”
The investor’s wife smiled politely, one of those subtle social cues Cat had learned to recognize during the course of her marriage to Richard. It meant she wanted to change the subject.
Cat glanced over at Richard. He leaned forward over the table, nodding intently to whatever the investor was saying. They were talking about money. Cat didn’t have to listen to the conversation to know. She could barely understand the investor anyway. He slurred his words in the manner of men from the swamps. It took him forever to say anything. A self-made man, Richard had told her a few nights before, over dinner. More money than God.
Cat wished she could light a cigarette on the table’s candle. Instead, she passed her fingers over the flame. The heat warmed her skin.
“So how long have you known Richard?” the investor’s wife asked.
Cat looked up at her. She realized she couldn’t say. It felt like a lifetime. All that time before Richard had been a dream. Finn. Finn was a dream.
“A few years,” she said.
“I met Michael three years ago.” The investor’s wife looped her arm in her husband’s and he glanced at her, interrupting the conversation with Richard. The lines of the investor’s face melted into a smile. Richard looked annoyed.
“Ah yes,” said the investor. “I remember that day well.” He tapped the side of his head. “I bought a pack of cigarettes.”
“I was a vice stand girl,” the wife said.
Cat laughed. The dream-life. “So was I. In college.” She paused. “And for a few years afterward.”
“Oh, a lifer, huh? What stand did you work?”
“The one in Juniper Park.” Cat sipped her wine. “I guess it’s still there. I haven’t been back to check.”
“I was out on the interstate,” the wife said. “Awful. I heard the in-town stands were much nicer.”
Their food arrived. The waiter walked over, a tray hoisted high above his head. Only the most expensive restaurants were staffed by human waiters rather than robots. “Mahimahi glazed in ginger-sake sauce,” he said. “The plate’s very hot.”
Cat looked down at the cut of fish displayed across the white china.
“Ain’t this nice,” the investor said. Everyone except the waiter turned to him. Steam curled up from his plate. “Not too often you get served by a human anymore.” He grinned at the waiter, who nodded stiffly, asked if everything was to their satisfaction.
Richard frowned, furrowed his brow. The investor laughed.
“Oh, don’t look like that,” he said. “Lord knows we still need those things. But sometimes it’s nice to go back to the old ways of doing business.”
Richard relaxed, his shoulders slumping beneath his crisp suit. The investor cut into his fish, and silence fell as everyone ate. Cat pushed the mahimahi around in its thick sweet glaze.
“So, Mrs. Feversham,” said the investor. Cat looked up at him, startled. “You’ve been living in the Sunlight House. What do you think?”
“I’m sorry?”
“He’s asking for your opinion,” said Richard. “Darling.”
The investor nodded. “I like the sound of it,” he said. “All the benefits of an AI and none of the legal hassles. I was just wondering what it’s like to live there.”
Cat felt Richard staring at her.
“I appreciate its convenience,” she finally said.
“Ah. That’s it? What do you think of your husband’s AI? Does it work as well as he claims?”
Cat took a bite of fish so she wouldn’t have to answer.
> It melted on her tongue like a communion wafer.
“It works fine. Doesn’t it, honey? Helps you keep track of your appointments.” Richard slung his arm around her shoulder rough enough that he hurt her collarbone. “She’s self-employed. An artist.”
The investor laughed. “Artists. The vice stands are lousy with ’em. Same with the damn robot-rights groups—”
His wife’s fork clattered against her plate. “Michael,” she said. “Please don’t start—”
“I’ll talk politics if I want.” The investor turned to Cat. “I’m sure you’re not involved with all that nonsense, though. You got a good head on your shoulders.” He winked. “I can tell.”
Cat felt the movement of her blood through her veins. She felt her heart pumping in her chest. In the moment, she was ashamed of her humanity.
“Actually,” she said, “I donate regularly to the Automaton Defense League.”
The entire world went silent. Cat kept her gaze straight ahead so she would not have to look at Richard. The investor set down his knife and fork and rubbed his chin, and his wife’s lipsticked mouth froze into a lovely, crystalline smile.
“Well,” he said. “That’s a bit unexpected.”
“Why do you say that?” Cat’s voice came out calm and sweet as syrup.
“They’ve tried to shut down SynLodge,” said the investor. “Haven’t they?”
“More than once.” Richard’s voice rang out across the table.
Cat dropped her head, heat flushing her cheeks. She twisted her napkin around her right hand.
“I take it you didn’t know about this, Feversham?”
Richard sat up straight. “You shouldn’t take her seriously.” He tilted his head toward Cat. When she turned to meet his eye, she did not recognize what she saw there. “She’s joking.”
Cat smiled weakly and smoothed the napkin over her lap. Richard pressed his mouth into a grimace.
“See?” he said. “A joke.”
“A joke.” The investor looked from Richard to Cat. “Something tells me that ain’t no joke.”
“It was. She jokes all the time. Very wry. Right, sweetheart?”
“I suppose.” Cat turned back to the investor. She was calm; she was lighter than air. “And to answer your question,” she said, “about the AI? It works very well.”
“Don’t you worry about its . . . rights?”
“The Sunlight AI has no consciousness,” said Cat. The investor leaned back and stared at Cat with a dark, appraising expression. Cat stared back at him. She knew this was a man who’d made his fortune off the sorrow of others. Then he laughed, short and barking.
“Yeah,” he said. “No consciousness.”
“That’s how we avoid the legality issues, of course.” Richard said quickly. “But, I assure you, we’ve found the sweet spot between—”
“But don’t you think the lack of consciousness takes away what makes these things so exciting?” the investor asked. “I always like my AIs to have a personality, myself.”
“That’s the sacrifice,” Richard said. “They work much better. Personalities in a household bot are overrated.” His eyes flicked over to Cat. “They get insolent. They form activist groups. You know George, on the lunar station?”
Cat’s fork dropped from her hand. Her calmness solidified in the pit of her stomach.
Stop, she thought.
“The creator was Cat’s father.”
Stop.
“The thing was like an obnoxious grad student, I swear to God.”
Stop stop stop stop—
And then Cat realized that Richard had stopped, and moreover that he was glaring at her, and that the investor and his wife both watched her from across the table, the wife looking engaged with her surroundings for the first time that night.
Cat had been saying it out loud. Stop. Stop. Stop.
She wanted to dissolve into the darkness. Instead, she picked up her fork.
“You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she said to Richard.
“Of course I don’t,” Richard said. “How could I? I just run an AI company. I’m just an evil corporate shill trying to enslave a bunch of poor automatons. Right?”
Cat didn’t answer. Her cheeks burned. From across the table, the investor smiled.
“She was a little too attached,” said Richard. “If you know what I mean.”
“Not something I want to think about,” the investor said. Cat picked up her glass of wine and drank it down without tasting anything. Richard’s eyes seared straight into her.
“A little too attached,” he said.
* * * *
After dinner ended, the investor and his wife breezed down the sidewalk into the gleaming lights of downtown. Cat and Richard stood outside the restaurant waiting for the valet to bring their car.
“That was a fucking disaster,” he said.
Cat dug her nails into the side of her clutch purse.
“Do you have any idea how much money was riding on that dinner? How much you just lost me?”
“It’s all true,” Cat whispered. “I wasn’t joking.”
The valet pulled the car up to the curb. Richard paid without speaking, then stalked around to the driver’s side. Cat stepped in carefully, thanked the valet in his red suit, laid her head back against the seat.
“No fucking shit. I’ve seen the bank statements.” Richard jabbed his fingers into the autoprogramming screen. “Although why you felt the need to tell the goddamn investor is beyond me.”
The car pulled away from the curb, and Richard sucked in his breath through his teeth. He kept his eyes on the road ahead of them. The city threw off sparks of light. Cat pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped off her lipstick.
They rode the rest of the way home in silence, Richard simmering beside Cat. She could smell him, the acrid tang of his sweat. She turned on the air conditioner. She could tell he was making a concentrated effort not to look at her, not to see her. Cat slipped off her shoes and kicked her feet up on the dashboard, pushed her seat back, stared at him.
He said nothing.
When they arrived home, Richard slammed the car door and stomped into the house before Cat had a chance to put on her shoes. She walked languidly across the moonlit yard, through the front door. All the lights were off. Everything was in black-and-white from the moon. Cat couldn’t bear the thought of the moon tonight.
“Computer,” she said. “Why’s it so dark in here?”
The light by the door flickered on. Cat walked across the living room, the house’s illumination following her. Wherever she went, light followed, brightening her steps. She threw her shoes down next to the couch. She found Richard in the dining room, pouring a glass of whiskey. When the lights switched on, he barked: “I said keep all the lights off!”
The lights switched off.
“You’re a fucking slut.”
Cat stood there barefoot in the darkness and the moonlight.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
Richard looked up at her, slowly. “Don’t act like you don’t—” He stopped, drained his glass. “Did you fuck him?”
“Who, the investor?”
Richard hurled his glass at Cat, so quickly she didn’t have time to react. He missed. The glass shattered on the wall beside her head. Her muscles tensed but otherwise she didn’t move.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
The moonlight spilling in through the roof was everywhere, and Cat had been anticipating this conversation since the day she first said yes to that glint of diamond in the black velvet box.
“I really don’t. And I don’t appreciate you throwing things at me.”
Richard jumped to his feet and drew back his arm. The bottle went flying, whiskey arcing out of its neck. This time Cat dropped to her hands and knees. The bottle exploded where her head had been. The glass wall cracked. Whiskey splattered across her back and seeped through the fabric of her dress. The smell
of it reminded her of the old dive bar where she went drinking in college. It made her head spin.
Now her heart was pounding.
“You are a fucking deceitful bitch,” he said. “And I’m sick of your ice queen bullshit.”
He stepped toward her. Cat looked up at him through the curtain of hair that had fallen across her eyes. When she stood up, she stepped on a piece of broken glass. She bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out.
“There’s something wrong with you,” said Richard. “Something not right. Growing up out there in the woods all alone with nothing but a madman for a father and a goddamn robot.” He lunged at her. Cat jumped away, slipping on the blood from her foot. Richard grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to him.
“What was it like?” His nails dug into her arm. His breath was hot and damp on the side of her neck. “Look at me.” He grabbed her by the chin and jerked her face toward him. “You think I’m stupid? You think I didn’t figure it out? Baby, this isn’t about the ADL. I mean . . . I saw the way you looked at him. The way you defended him.”
“Please let me go.”
He slapped her.
Everything in the house froze. Cat. Richard. She felt the imprint of his hand across her cheek, the individual lines of his fingers, hot and stinging. She tried to step away from him, but he didn’t let go of her arm. For a moment of moonlit lucidity Cat wondered what sort of violence the man she married had repressed all these years. She felt it coming to the surface. She felt it in herself, reflecting back at him. And fear, too, shot through it all. But none of it belonged to her. It was all his. “Richard,” she said.
His face contorted: sneering, angry. The scent of whiskey. The moon reflecting off the glass walls. Cat tried to steady her breathing.
At the edge of her vision, she saw his hand balling into a fist.