"Spare a moment, Izzy?"

"Yes, Mrs. Ferris."

Together they went up the stairs to the bathroom on second 
floor of the home. Ferris hung her bathrobe up on a brass hook 
and stepped into the tub. The coolness of the water against her 
skin, and the heavy support it gave to her body were worth 
more to her than all the material goods she owned in the 
world. She handed Izzy the sponge, and the gynoid began to 
rhythmically rub it across her back.

"A little firmer, dear."

"I do not comprehend, Mrs. Ferris."

"You're barely getting a drop of water on me! Haven't you 
ever washed yourself before?"

"Negative. Dermal maintenance is performed with 
Attachment 37. Any immersion is generally considered 
neither harmful nor beneficial."

"Attachment 37? You mean, that wet-dry vac? Here." Ferris 
turned about in the bath and reached for Izzy's left arm. She 
slid it under her own left arm, then--as she had done with 
generations of children before her--slowly ran the sponge 
across the surface. "There, nice and easy...you feel how to do it? 
Now try it on my arm."

Izzy repeated the action on Ferris' left arm and shoulder, trying 
to replicate the pressure and the abrasive motions. She had, as 
Ferris had predicted, felt some of the dust and grit that had 
accumulated on her arm being removed. Having experienced 
it, she felt in a better position to replicate the action. 
"There...that's it...I think you've got it, Iz!"

Ferris smiled, then almost fell out of the bathtub as Izzy herself 
smiled, and let out a small laugh.

"Izzy, you--you're LAUGHING?"

"Yes, Mrs. Ferris. I am programmed to experience euphoria 
under certain circumstances." Oblivious to Ferris' need for 
assistance, she continued, her face radiant with joy. "Among 
these circumstances are successful completion of an 
assignment and formulation and application of an algorithm, 
both of which are applicable at this occasion. My euphoria acts 
as an incentive to accomplish various ends."

"But, I don't, I, how is it possible?"

"I do not know, nor am I able to divulge that quality of
information. That is a primary directive, to maintain the 
informational integrity of Tiphares."

I guess that's just the way it'll have to be. "But what does it feel 
like for you, luv? Like a hug, like what?"

"I cannot describe it." Izzy resumed her 
bathing, but she was still experiencing the afterglow of her 
happiness, so she seemed to Ferris almost meditative. "It 
comes and I feel it. It feels good. It goes. I go on."

Ferris nodded. The room was humid. The smallness of the 
bathroom, and the quiet sounds from the house, made her feel 
like she was privy to some grand secret of the world. "Where 
exactly did you come from, Izzy? Who made you?"

"I am not able to divulge that information, Mrs. Ferris."

"What did you used to do? Before you came to us?"

"I was involved with a series of group raids against the 
Barjack. They could most easily be categorized as 'surgical 
strikes', they were referred to in that manner."

"'Group raids'? Who else was along with you?"

"The other Alpha Replacement units. We were considered the 
only operatives fit for the task."

"There are other people like you?"

"Yes." Izzy stiffened. "Mrs. Ferris, I must request at this time 
that you refrain from further questioning in this manner."

Shit, I've run into her systems again. "Oh, very well. Izzy...why 
is it that you don't ever eat? Hand me the towel."

"It is not required." Izzy slipped the towel around Ferris' 
shoulders, and offered a hand as she stepped from the bathtub. 
"Furthermore, I am not equipped with any manner of 
metabolic device. I would not be able to manage intake of 
food."

"But you sleep, don't you?"

"Negative."

"Come now, Izzy." Ferris began to dress herself. After Izzy's 
attempts to bathe her, she had realized that Izzy would need 
lessons on how to dress her and brush her hair. "I've seen you go off to bed, then be lying
all curled up on the cot downstairs, even murmuring. Aye, you even wake up in the mornings. That's 
sleep."

"Although I do undergo a period of dormancy, it is not sleep as so defined. I am awake." There was an edge to 
Izzy's voice as she spoke.

"Come again?"

"I cannot explain it." Izzy was nervous, she almost sounded 
cross. "I see. I talk. I hear. These are not qualities of slumber."

Izzy, said Ferris, either I'm one ear short of a corn cob or you're 
dreaming. "I'll be the judge. You tell me what you see."

Izzy grew more and more nervous, and sat down upon the 
toilet to speak. "I see one thing, each night. I am standing on 
the world, it is small below my feet. Above me are the sun and 
the moon and a dozen stars. One of them is the North Star, 
and the other eleven look exactly like her. I look at each one in 
turn. Then everything comes into motion. First, two stars fall, 
one then the other. They drop from where they were, and fall 
into space. The moon shrinks, and becomes only as large as my 
fist, and the sun does the exact same thing. I take them in my 
hands, and nine of the stars circle around my head. The last 
one is the true North Star. I can't see her anymore, I cannot 
bring myself to look at her. I feel her hands on my hands. She 
wants me to bring the sun and the moon together. I know 
what the action will feel like. It will be green and warm, like a 
tree leaf on a summer day--I know that, because I have seen 
them, and I know what they feel like. I do not bring them 
together. I want to feel her hands for a moment longer, and I 
feel that there is no urgency.

"It stops."

Izzy was so nervous she was shaking. Clarissa had no idea why 
she would be so absolutely terrified, but she put a consoling 
hand across the gynoid's shoulders. "Why are you so scared, 
Izzy?"

"It--I am unable to understand it. In all of my training, and in 
all of my data assimilation and analysis, this is utterly 
unpredicted. Fear is my self-preservation reaction, like the joy 
you witnessed earlier is my self-motivation reaction."

Ferris leaned down and kissed Izzy on the forehead, where she 
wore the number 12. "There, there, Izzy. It's just a dream, it 
can't hurt you."

"I am unable to establish an algorithm, Mrs. Ferris."

Bother, she's still scared. "You'll feel better if you take your 
mind off of it, dear. Why don't you come help me clean up the 
dining room?"
--
As they finished laying out the silver, Absalom trundled in the 
front door. "Clarissa! I'm home again!"

"Evening, Father. Boots!"

"Aye, the boots." Absalom bent as best as he could and fumbled 
with the knots on his work boots. "Confound it all...blinking 
strings. You'd never guess the to-do all around the town today! 
Everyone asking, 'Who's that lady in your house, Mister 
Ferris? They say she's from Zalem, what's the news? What's 
the news?' The bloody news," he said, hanging up his jacket 
and hat and coming into the dining room proper, "is that I 
don't have time for all this nattering! I'm too old, and my 
answers aren't good for beans."

"Oh, people will talk, Absalom. Don't let it get ye down." They 
embraced and kissed quickly on the lips. "But yes, I know all 
about it. In the last half a day I've had my social calendar 
booked for the next half a month. Which means I'll need Izzy 
to be working about all the day to help me get the house in 
order."

"Is it out of order? I never seem to notice."

"Oooh, you're being smart!" They had made their way into the 
kitchen. A large pot of corn and potato soup was on the stove, 
and Izzy--oblivious to the clouds of steam--was looking directly 
into it. "How's the soup, Izzy?"

"Homogeneous, and at a mean temperature of approximately 
46 degrees." She replaced the lid of the pot, and grabbed the 
handles with her bare hands. "I will carry this to the table now, 
and come back for the rolls."

Clarissa shook her head, and said, "Don't trouble, Izzy. I'll take 
care of them. Luv, you'd best scrub up."

Absalom moved to the kitchen sink, unbuttoned his shirt 
cuffs, and rolled them past his elbows. He ran his hands briefly 
under the water, then lathered up his hands with a bar of soap. 
"Uh, I don't know how to break this to you, Mother..."

"?"

"...but I got some news from that new fellow Mr. Jones. He said 
that he and Niles would like a word with Izzy. Nothing too 
nosy, mind you. Jones told me that, since Izzy was so clever, 
and she IS a gynoid, mind you, that he'd like her to take a peek 
at the computer system. Apparently, since Kyle....well, Kyle 
didn't leave things in a right shape, and there's some work he 
never got 'round to doing that Jones thinks is a pretty queer 
lot."

"Is that so?"

"'fraid so, yes."

Clarissa stared in front of her for a few moments, absently 
tapping her finger on the countertop, before her gaze moved 
back to her mate. "Well, that rather puts a cramp in my social 
schedule, doesn't it?"

"I'd say so, yes."

She sighed, and picked up the bowl of rolls. "Ah, can't be 
helped. I wonder if I could call a favor from one of the kids?"

Absalom followed her back into the dining room, nodding 
sagely. "How's about, you offer Angie babysitting for little 
Pappy? That way, Angie and Jiang could take a trial run in the 
behemoth together, Jiang could have some company and 
decide if he really wanted to buy me out."

They were at opposite sides of the dining room table, both on 
the point of sitting down. In almost mirrored images, they 
were gripping the backs of their chairs, leaning a little forward 
over the table. Clarissa smiled. "So that's the beginning of the 
end, then? You good-for-nothing old man."

Absalom shrugged, and looked modestly aside. "It was bound 
to happen sooner or later."

There was a pause; then, like a folksong to herald the change 
in time, Clarissa laughed with joy. She walked around the side 
of the table and embraced the man she had promised to love so 
many years before, and loved to that day.
--
"If you'll follow me, Izzy," said Jones, struggling to keep pace 
with the gynoid's furious march, "Mr. Miller's terminal was 
down here at the end of the corridor."

"Left hand side," added Jeeves.

"Affirmative. Most recent occupancy reports are correct, then."

Izzy and her entourage--Jones, Jeeves, Faero, and Ferris 
struggling behind them all--were trotting along through the 
exact middle of the corridor of Factory Farm 12 Systems 
Building 1. It was a group of temporary buildings set up on 
concrete blocks on the northwestern edge of the town. An 
array of solar panels surrounded the buildings to power the 
vast computer and monitoring systems that charted the 
growth and well-being of the plants and fields that the farm 
called its own. Several dozen people were employed to 
maximize productivity and minimize cost. The Factory chose 
to ignore the fact that the two were mutually exclusive. The 
staff was abysmally overworked, and the pay they received 
went to no end, for they had nothing to spend it on.

Miller's office had been shared with three other people, as was 
commonplace in the building. None of the three did anything 
other than nod hellos at the five entrants. Ferris noted that 
Miller's desk still had not been cleared out, and wondered if 
that was out of reverence or stress-induced inattention.

Izzy moved the chair aside and set the computer's monitor 
beside the hard drive. She then lifted the case off the drive and 
put her hand down inside the computer. Several wires 
extended from her fingertips and threaded themselves into the 
computer's boards. "Please detail the nature of Mr. Miller's 
work. Limit the reply to the period most recent, following the 
incapacitation of the Factory Farm Deckman."

Jeeves moved up beside Izzy. "Um, I made a few notes. 
Apparently, there had been a computer project here some time 
ago called MU--for Meteorology Unity--that the Factory had 
been supervising. The idea was if ya took samples of, you 
know, rainfall, temperature, and such, over a long period of 
time, and over a lot of different places, you'd be able to get a 
better idea of the weather patterns. Or something.

"Anyway, their priorities changed, and the MU unit 'round 
here was just supposed to be collecting data. So a couple of 
months ago, they decided to get the program up and going, I 
guess they had enough data. So they said to Kyle, hook 'er up 
again. Well, then he finds out it got damaged in the same 
storm that took out the Deckman. Following?"

"Affirmative."

"Riiight. So he types into the computer and starts getting this 
kack out. Seven pages of it, take a look." He handed a sheet of 
paper to Izzy. It was a set of binary numbers with a repeating 
pattern 64 characters long:

0 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 0 1 1
0 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0

Izzy glanced at it, and handed it back. "I am confused. I do not 
know how to interpret the data."

The men sighed in unison. Then Jones asked, "So what can 
you do to get the MU up and working and making some
sense?"

"It is theoretically possible for me to tap into the computer. 
Although I am a Tuned agent, the results I obtain--presuming 
that I am able to achieve the results--must be confidential, in 
respect to their source."

Jones turned to Ferris, who explained, "You've got to take her 
for granted if she drags up anything."

Jones nodded, and said, "Izzy, you're on your own, then. Do 
your best, and get one of us if you have any questions."