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Chapter 12: The Gala (Part 2)

While the eyes of most of the audience were locked on stage, on the motionless glass figure, Robot's eyes were darting all over the place. He looked now to his mother, who's head was spinning from left to right as well. "Where did your father go?" she whispered,and it sounded as if she was having the kind of anxiety Robot was feeling at the moment.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "He was just here a minute ago..."

His voice trailed off, too nervous to say anything else. His father had looked pretty miffed, the last time he caught sight of his face, and Robot understood why: The prospect of losing JNZ's identity to a former competitor was a slap in the face to his die-hard pride. Had he managed to somehow contain himself from having a meltdown right then and there, maybe he went away to release his frustration somewhere. Maybe he was outside, even.

In that case, Robot had nothing to worry about. But Dad unit was not the type to think rationally like that. Rationality was his mother's strong suit, not his father's. Dad unit vocalized his thoughts when he was mildly annoyed, but when he was truly angry, such as when he punched the lights out of Madman for supposedly spying on his mother, he had the habit of being oddly quiet in whatever way he reacted.

If Dad unit when out of his way to leave in a quiet manner, whatever he was thinking of doing wasn't going to be good. Get on stage. Tackle Claymore. Smash Ms. Crowe's incredibly fragile looking present against the wall. A hundred different scenarios played out in Robot's head at once, all of them Dad Unit's sudden and violent protest against the merger.

All of them resulting in his dismantlement.

Robot's eyes trailed back up to the stage, where Crowe stood with a silent, proud smile above her factory's creation. He couldn't put his thought about the short, glass girl into words until someone in the far back of the audience shouted:

"That thing ain't a robot!" came the first protest.

"There's no way!" came the second.

With his head spinning left, right, up, and down, his eyes even popping out of his head, Robot found his concentration tearing between looking for his father and the glass figure. The Crystal Unit, as it was so called, had enormous eyes, blacks for whites and whites for pupils, that gazed out onto the audience, to no one in particular, it seemed. It did not blink or given any secondary signs of life that Robot and other high-ranked robots such as his parents could attribute to a living machine, but that did not mean it wasn't a real robot. It was just... how could you make a robot made of glass?

Despite his grin, Mr. Claymore looked skeptical as well. "Well, well," he said, putting his hands on his hips, eyeing the figure from a step closer. "This is quite a feat. I'd say your staff has outdone themselves, indeed." He folded his arms across his chest. "That is," he corrected himself, "If the naysayers in our audience are wrong, and your... intriguing creation," he said, not sure how to describe the Crystal unit, "is really alive."

"Is she alive?" Crowe chuckled lightly. "I suppose your uncertainty is a given. Rest assure, she is very much alive." Donna Crowe looked from Claymore to the still motionless figure in front of her. She put the microphone back on the stand and bent down low to the unit's ear--which, like the rest of her, was totally transparent--as if to whisper something to it, but spoke loudly enough to be heard by most of the audience. "Crystal, I hereby turn over your ownership to Mr. Claymore, the man standing before you. It is your responsibility to obey every command that he gives to the best of your ability, and should the need arise, protect him." She looked at the figure for a silent moment before standing, back erect again. "Do you agree to these terms?"

In the smallest physical gesture Robot could have imagined, the unit at last opened its clear lips and said very quickly: "Affirmative, Ms. Donna."

Another gasp, this time followed by murmurs throughout the audience. Robot was among those who were having trouble wrapping his head around what he'd just seen. If it wasn't for that tiny mouth movement, of which he only caught thanks to his close proximity to the stage, he would have been certain as anyone else that the figure was sculpted from actual glass, and had no capacity to move. Yet it did have a moving mouth, just like Finkman--she had a moving mouth, Robot corrected himself, and had the faintest little ring of a voice, but with no metallic edge to it.

"Then go to him, now," Ms. Crowe ordered of the Crystal unit, and without another beat, the clear android stepped forward. It was only then that Robot noticed the shiny spikes beneath her heels--instead of coming together to form flat feet, like they did on Robot, the ends of her legs ended in a shape like stiletto heels. Robot had seen machines on wheels, treads, and feet like himself, but never had he ever seen a full-bodied android who was given feet like feminine shoes. Like the glass complexion itself, he could only imagine that the same line of thinking went into designing those anti-feet: Crystal wasn't meant to blend in, like other androids. She was designed to stand out as much as possible. And balancing a huge head and heavily curved body like hers on glass heels was one more tick mark towards impressiveness.

The audience chattered as her stumps hit the floor, clacking in the same way as Crowe's heels as she came out into the spotlight for the first time.

"How is she walking?"

"How is she moving without breaking?"

"What is she made out of?!"

And mixed in the audience with the legitimate questions were sudden, swooning admirers. All of which were robots, and all of which were male, who seemed to have just realized, along with the confirmation that the Crystal unit was very much alive, that she was very unlike any of the female robots made or associated with JNZ, in that she was sculpted to look like a woman.

Traditional-style robots were easily told apart from androids, with their boxy frames and body parts limited to the absolutely necessary--which explains why Dad unit only had one arm. Some traditional robots thought androids and their design's objective to look human as possible to be neat. Some even thought they were attractive. Others, however, especially proud ones, found their attempt to facade as humans to be gross and dishonorable to the automaton species. In this case, Robot caught about a dozen voices mixed in that were definitely more admiring, and definitely attracted.

Feeling like Voice-recog-natron, in the denseness of the whispers, Robot managed to pluck out the voices of Davvy and Phillips for the first time. "Whooo, boy," Davvy said, his systems whirring like a loud cat's purr.

"What I'd give to get my claws on that casing," Phillips cooed.

"You speak my mind," Davvy said, and Robot could practically hear the smirk on his face.

He chanced to turn around and look for the pair of dirty minded robots, but they were nowhere to be seen--probably too far in the back still. Robot turned again to the stage and saw the android park herself next to Claymore in the exact same proximity as she had a minute ago been to Crowe, signifying that she had accepted the switch of her ownership. She did not look up at Claymore, though.

Robot had only ever heard the traditional speech given at a robot's passing of ownership from one human to another a handful of times in his life, but he remembered it word for word--as a higher ranking robot with a lot of duty being in his memory, it was just one of the things he was expected to know. But usually, passing the robot was an otherwise unceremonious occasion. A business transaction with a little formality.

But in the midst of this hullabaloo, it didn't feel normal. It was less like watching a robot pass from one human's ownership to another, and more like watching Crowe give away a bride. The Crystal unit even had the same demure look and posture of a woman from ages ago being tied to someone else beyond their will. Not totally expressionless, like a robot might be, but forcefully reserved. She was trying to look unbothered. Robot wondered what about all of this that she knew that she couldn't say.

Meanwhile, Claymore was still drinking in the android's image. Beneath his confident stance, his brows gave way to him looking slightly troubled the more and more he took in, especially now having seen her glassy joints carry her to him. Like everybody else, he had to have been wondering what on earth she was made out of--if from earth at all. He cleared his throat: "Thank you, Ms. Crowe. I'll be sure to keep her within my office. She will be a prized robot to my collection." He sunk his hands into his pockets as he spoke into the standing mic. "But I am a little worried about keeping her from shattering." He raised his eyebrow, as if hoping this would prompt Crowe to spill her secrets.

Crowe's navy eyelids lowered, having not missed the cue. "You want to know what she is made out of, don't you? I have spent many years trying to find a material that is both as clear as a window, and strong as steel. The prototypes were made from everything from windshield glass, to plastics used in modern architecture. But all preexisting plastics that we had looked into had the same problem: They weren't flexible. They wouldn't work on a creature that needed to have arms and legs move as seamlessly at the joints as human skin. Then I was told of a material found in Africa that gives a rubbery texture its bounce. It can mix with other materials in a watery bath that can be hardened into a mold."

Crowe gestured to one of the two workmen who had wheeled Crystal in on the dolly. "You, sir. If you would help me with a little demonstration."

The workman, with black curly hair and a face full of acne, turned to his partner with a confused look. He stepped forward into the spotlight, and from the other side of the stage, a woman wearing a blue Lightoller lab-jacket and black pants stepped forward, carrying what looked to be a navy bowling-ball. Her stride in her shiny, black boots was as firm as someone who had trained in the army, and her light brown hair pulled into a rock hard bun.

"This object that my leading technician Julie is carrying is nothing more than an average bowling ball," Crowe said as her eyes swooped over the audience. Neither she nor anybody else besides Robot and mom had noticed Dad unit was gone. She slapped her hand on the bowling ball, emphasizing the weight of the object as it caused the otherwise stone-still Julie's arms to bounce in the shock, just barely keeping hold of the ball. "It is a professional grade, heavyweight ball, weighting in at approximately 15.9 pounds. If hit at a specific point, this ball could do as much as to shatter the paint on a pin. For this demonstration," she said, taking the ball into her own hands, and Julie's soldier-strict posture was ruined by her body's wave of relief, but only for the slightest moment. "I am going to ask this strong-looking gentleman," she gestured to the confused JNZ worker that she had brought into the light, "to throw this ball as hard as he can, directly at Crystal's face."

A few more gasps, this time everybody remaining fairly quiet. Even if they weren't thrilled at the idea of the merger, they at least seemed to be too immersed in the show to disturb it.

Except for his father, who Robot still couldn't see anywhere. How did Dad unit, a man-sized machine who moved with about as much grace as a bull in a china shop, slip away, right under his family's metaphorical nose?

Robot made the decision, right then and there, that he had to find him. He excused himself repeatedly as he inched his way between the seats of the first and second rows, making humans grunt and sigh with annoyance as they tucked their legs in so he could pass. Once out of the rows, the light from the stage was out of his reach, so that he was truly in the shadows, so he had to be extra careful not to trip over other units as he called for his father in whispers.

"Throw the bowling--" the young JNZ worker said in disbelief, looking from the ball in his hands, to Crowe, to the Crystal unit, and at last on his boss, who stood a foot taller and many years older than him. "Why would I do that?"

"To display her strength," Crowe said with a grin. "To make a material that is flexible is giving it durability, as this demonstration will show." She stepped back so that the spotlight only covered the front half of her body. Her eye sockets darkened in the shadow, her nose looking so much sharper with the light hit it just right.

Once again, the workman looked to Claymore, and the CEO of JNZ raised his eyebrow and shrugged, stepping back and out of the way as well. Crystal remained in the spot where she'd stood next to Claymore. At random intervals, she blinked, but other than that, gave no signs of movement. The workman waited for a few moments, to see if the android would protest, run away, or even just flinch at the idea of getting hit. Most robots had enough common sense to protect themselves, but Crystal was under an assumed order to stay where she was. Robot could only imagine that the poor human was contemplating the possibility of being fired tonight, if he destroyed this very expensive gift to the CEO of the corporation.

And the android? What if she really did shatter? Robot didn't know this shebot from Eve, but he didn't want to see another unit being destroyed, even if she was made from alien technology or something. A reaction from the depth's of his queasy tank made him cover his eyes.

The workman had finally worked up the nerve to stand two feet in front of Crystal, aim the ball over his head, and throw it as hard as he could, directly at Crystal's face. The audience watched as the ball gently sank as gravity took hold of it, giving it the exact angle it needed to hit Crystal's upturned nose, dead on. Such a fragile little facial feature should have stood no chance against the might of the fifteen pound bowling ball, especially one sculpted from pure glass. Yet anybody close enough to witness it could have said that they saw that bowling ball touch the surface of the nose, and slide right off, hitting the makeshift stage and falling right through, creating a rounded hole in the cheap fiberboard.

The audience members, robot and human alike, couldn't contain their excitement. Never in the history of robotics had they ever seen something so miraculous. Even robots made of steel and chrome would dent or show some sort of injury at the impact of a bowling ball.

Robot uncovered his eyes and looked up, and saw that the Crystal unit was, indeed, unharmed. Not only had she not been knocked back a few inches just by the weight of the ball, but she hadn't flinched in anticipation for its impact. Which could only mean that she was fairly certain of her own safety. Still, Robot even watched her reach up, with a cautious motion, and touch her little oval-shaped nose, which, when he zoomed in, wasn't even scratched. Instinctively, Robot reached up and felt his own lightbulb-shaped brain in his hand, its shape the perfect ball, just like any one of Crystal's curves. But Robot knew his own lightbulb was real, blown glass, and while it was made with a slightly thicker skin than the traditional bulb, what with it being so large, it was still the most fragile part of his body, and didn't take a lot of abuse.

The android's body was definitely not glass, and whatever she was made out of, Robot understood, was extremely valuable. Something that would be hard for Claymore to not want for himself.

"Now, Crystal," Ms. Crowe said, "It's your turn."

The poor JNZ worker didn't even have time to guess what that could possibly mean, when the Crystal Unit rounded his backside, and pushed him up off his feet. He shrieked in the disorientation of being lifted into the air by a figure that was out of his eyesight, but didn't have a chance to do anything about it before Crystal launched him clear across the stage. The audience gasped, both in shock and horror at what could have happened to the man, crashing somewhere in the dark. Two other JNZ workmen ran onstage to assist him, but they had nothing to fear. A Lightoller worker had laid out a mattress directly where Crystal had aimed, and as he sat up with a heavy daze, it was confirmed that he was perfectly unharmed, save for a bloody nose. Though having flown in an arc at least ten feet in the air, the human projectile was alive.

Both Claymore and Crowe stepped back into the spotlight, as impressed cheers whooped through the building. The satisfied look Crowe had on her face was that if the cheers were for her. But if Robot knew his kind well enough, (and he felt like he still knew them well enough, despite all his time with humans), he knew the robots were cheering not for her, but for Crystal. As reluctant as robots were to admitting another's superiority, they knew when they had witnessed one of their own displaying greatness. In fact, standing in the dark, still looking for his father, their voices seemed to reach out to him.

"Did your optical sensors observe that?!?"

"That was incredible!"

"Affirmative!"

"She didn't even flinch!"

"Think she felt anything?"

Robot concentrated on Crystal's face as he listened to the robots chatter about her. The general applause didn't make any kind of impression on her, and if she could make out any of the comments directed at her specifically, she didn't react to them. One heck of a poker player she'd be, Robot thought, thinking of what Grampz would have to say.

Claymore's amused laughter returned, but Robot couldn't be sure it was one-hundred percent genuine. "Well, well... she is quite impressive, Crowe."

Crowe's eyes were shimmering with glee. "Oh, she's more than impressive. In my team's pursuit for a durable material with a transparent appearance, we've discovered something that no other technological corporation has ever discovered. Mr. Claymore, the robot at your side is not a regular android. She cannot be smashed, cracked, scratched, or broken in any way. Her mechanisms are eternal, her wiring guaranteed for fifty years at the least. She has stood against trucks, tanks, and gunfire in our simulations, and nothing as so much as knocked her down. The only maintenance she'll ever require is a battery chance. But aside from that," she said, whispering into the microphone, so that everyone could hear, even in the far back, "She is completely and utterly unbreakable."

The robots in the audience cautiously whispered back and forth, as if they were now torn about what to think. Crystal was intriguing, that was for sure, but she was still a Lightoller robot, and therefore, untrustworthy. And to understand that she, this ultra feminine, transparent android was the Chuck Norris of robot-kind, was unnerving to much of the robots present. Especially the macho-male robots like Davvy and Phillips, who's only pride came from the risk of their jobs. Robot completely understood their conflict, and even understood the fury Dad unit must be feeling, to take off the way he did.

"Get yerself lost lookin' fer the VIP section, I see?"

Robot grimaced. Thinking of which. He took on a stern face before turning to face them. "What do you want?"

Davvy and Phillips must have moved up a few rows to where most of the humans were sitting. "We just wanted to see the show from up close, right," Phillips said.

"Yes, sir," Davvy agreed with him. "And get an eye full o' that pretty machine up there. Does the special robot have a problem with that?"

"I'm looking for my father," Robot blurted out. "If you haven't seen him, then get out of my way."

Both Phillips and Davvy's eyebrows shot up like the knobs on a toaster. "Oh! So the humans have given 'em a tongue! Isn't that precious?"

"Indeed it is," Davvy said. Without a warning, Davvy grabbed Robot by the arm. Robot cried out and tried to wriggle out, but Davvy was built for fishing on rocky boats, and his grip was iron tight. "But I find him a little rude."

"Yeah. So what we do with 'em?" asked Phillips.

"You can start by letting go of me!" Robot shouted. He was furious. It was bad enough when the humans pulled this schoolyard bully stuff on him, taking advantage of his smallness and shortness, but when a robot did it to him, it reminded him that he was an outcast everywhere.

"Now why would we want to be doing a thing like that?" asked Davvy. Without another word, both Philips and Davvy had him by the arms, and were moving him closer to the stage.

Claymore and Crowe were exchanging looks with each other, and then beholding the audience, which was now openly arguing with each other. Some voices were still very obviously against the merger and Crystal and Crowe, and calling this night a sham. Other voices were outspoken in favor of Crystal and making a new line of units that was stronger than before. Robot felt his cheeks go hot at the implication that JNZ's models were flimsy or breakable somehow. If Robot had legitimate reason to be proud for being a robot, one of the reasons was knowing that he was more durable than a fleshy human. Fragile, exposed bulb aside, he refused to think of himself as vulnerable.

His brain was conflicted over what to focus on, breaking from their grip or the huge decision making that was about to take place on stage. And where the heck was dad?

Just when it felt like Claymore would never stand up for himself, it seemed like he did. "Now, you realize Ms. Crowe that my company does not have a particular use for pretty looking materials. My machines are made practical because they are meant to complete jobs. I don't exactly know what use a strong glass-like material would do us."

Crowe's enthusiasm was unhindered. "But Mr. Claymore, I am offering you much more than the recipe for Crystal's skin. Over the years, my company has produced some of the finest quality prosthetics, and its not because they look pretty. They are durable, allow for speed, flexibility, and swiftness. With your computer processing abilities and my finely crafted materials, we could become the one-stop shop for the world's robotic needs."

Davvy and Phillips stopped short, in disbelief of what she'd said, and Robot felt his tank lurch. Crowe was offering Lightoller to JNZ to make them both the biggest fish in the pond--to become a monopoly.

Even if the lowest ranking robots at least made minimum wage, with a company twice as big, their conditions could only get far more worse.

Yet since the initial voices in protest of Crowe and the merger had died out, the atmosphere of the room had shifted. Crystal's demonstration had changed the way JNZ was thinking about Lightoller--not simply an undesirable enemy, but a formidable one. If Crystal was a legitimate example of the kind of dozens upon dozens, perhaps even hundreds of units they could make with this mysterious material, there was a genuine fear that they had something that could make them number one in this long-held race. Faces in the visible parts of the room were slowly shifting to show their realization that if they didn't merge equal parts with Lightoller now, that Lightoller could very well just buy them out later. At that point, there would be nothing else to lose.

One crazy ultimatum to fluff up with wine and teacakes.

"I think we've heard enough," Claymore said at last, one of his eyebrows still raised as he turned to the audience. "This is your decision, ladies and gentleman, bots of all ages. Do you feel that Lightoller Cybornetics would be an asset to our company, or not? We vote now: All for the merger, raise your hand."

Robot waited a beat for the audience to scream in retaliation, to snap into their senses, to stop letting this witch distract them with her pretty glass doll. But to his astonishment, silence fell after Claymore's last sentence, and like a wave from the front to the back, hands began cropping up from the rows, and from the random groupings scattered along the sides. Just a few minutes ago, the sight of Crowe and everything she stood for sent the audience into a ranting fit, and now, one by one, hands were going up. He noted a familiar many who did not raise their hands. McLaughlin, for one, was whispering some sort of profane words to his wife about these happenings. Nutz wore a scowl and had his arms crossed, and even Mr. Pike himself did not raise an arm. His vote was as ordinary as anyone else's, but he was the manager of the plant, and Robot found it alarming that he was opposing the merger, too. Could they, too, sense that something was deeply wrong?

Robot looked for his parents, but he didn't need to see them to know they didn't agree with the merger. His dad would never in a million years agree to forging an alliance with one of their most bitter rivals. And though she had a mind of her own and was free to vote as she chose, Mom unit was too smart to fall for this, too. That was too more nay-sayers who had clear rank in the company, but their nays didn't matter in the growing patches of raised arms. And, Robot realized with horror, they were almost all that was visible where the audience could be seen. He knew far fewer, if no arms at all, had gone up in the back. But they were invisible to the humans onstage. Always too far away to be seen.

"All opposed, now," said Claymore, taking a step back from the mic, as if it would help him see the audience more clearly. Almost everybody Robot saw who didn't raise their arms earlier did so, now, and without so much as a moments hesitation. Pike and McLaughlin did so, anyway. Nutz, for some reason, kept his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Robot was sure that Nutz didn't want this merger to happen, but for whatever reason, he refused to participate in the vote. It was as if it didn't matter.

And then Robot knew why. In the back of the room, he could faintly make out the hands of many robots who were raising their arms--mostly units younger than Robot himself who didn't know any better. But the robots he could make out in the darkness, for the most part, were also refusing to vote. Robot was positive that if every single one of them raised their hands, they'd outnumber the many humans and robots agreeing to the merger. Yet, if they had arms to raise, they kept them down. It was as if sitting in the dark solidified the notion that their vote didn't really matter, anyway. Claymore wouldn't see them.

Maybe Claymore wasn't really supposed to see them.

It felt like it was over as soon as it started. Robot did a quick count in his head of all the hands, compared to the ones that had been up before. Without the naysayers in the back doing their part, those agreeing to the merger seemed to have them tied, 47 to 47. It was exactly a draw.

That was, until one of the hands, a robot's hand near the front, suddenly went down. Robot's eyes zoomed outward, as a dozen or more heads, swiveled in their direction, including Davvy and Phillips'. A stunned robot man's head, in surprise, spun like a top before his eyes landed on her.

Robot didn't recognize this unit. He was young, probably Robot's age, and the suit he wore was almost as cleaned and pressed as Robot's himself. He was tall, but very skinny, with dark steel skin and a lot of screws on his face, scattered like acne. Though he wasn't accompanied by a set of robotic parents, it was quite clear who his human owner was. A finely but conservatively dressed old woman, seated next to the robot as if they were equals, was giving the little robot a fierce look. It was quite obvious by the tiny robot's shameful gaze, turned towards the floor now, why his hand had gone down.

As all the hope drained out of Robot's body like a gas leak, a confident smile broke on Claymore's lined face, and he thrust open his arms. "Well, as the saying goes, 'majority rules.' Donna Crowe, on behalf of my company, I agree to merge JNZ Robotics with Lightoller Cybornetics."

The screams were indiscernible. Even the robots that had refused to vote could not help but vent their outrage. But this time, their voices were being drowned by the sounds of applause, cheer, and celebration. The supporters could only think about what a boon this merger was going to be for the company, and for their pockets. JNZ was not going to lose to Lightoller. They were both destined for immortality.

It took a few minutes for Claymore to settle the crowd so that he could speak again. "And in celebration of this partnership, Ms. Crowe and I feel as though a symbol of trust was in order. But to do this, I require one eligible, young male robot to come up to the stage."

There was silence again. Humans looked to their left and right. Most robots who were seated up-front were married, and Robot knew the robots in back would sooner jump into the ocean than disgrace themselves in the name of this merger.

Phillips and Davvy's eyes flickered from Crystal, to Robot, to each other. From their disgusted looks broke a mutual smile that Robot didn't even have time to notice. He was too busy still looking at the acne-bolt ridden robot boy. Surely, if anybody, he was the one to--

"Hey, what are you-?!" Robot shouted, but to no avail. Before he could even process what was happening, he was slammed against the stage floor where Davvy and Phillips had thrown him. Right under the second spotlight.

Seeing him onstage like a sack of potatoes broke the tension in the audience at last, as some of them began to chuckle or cheer. And soon after that, applause accompanied that. Robot was so dazed he barely realized what was happening when he looked up, and Marvin Claymore was standing above him. "Ah, the littlest robot," he smiled, in an uncharacteristically fatherly way. "I didn't know you knew how to dance, but it was impressive of you to stand up and take the first."

Dance? Robot thought. "I actually didn't--"

"Now don't be shy," Claymore said, ignoring him as he pulled Robot to his feet, and thrust him forward towards the android. He looked at her, then at the audience.

They were a foot apart, and at this distance, Robot could see his reflection in her cheeks--his gaping mouth, his giant eyes, staring back at him. He was so entranced at this that it took him a moment to notice her face, the face that framed his. She was looking so intensely at him, the line of her mouth drawn small, her lashes fluttering just once as she blinked. If she wasn't uncanny from far away, she was up close.

He barely noticed her make the first move. She'd reached out to him, offering a hand. Her hands, like every other part of her body, was sculpted to look very much like a human, with the slightest cuts in the fingers that allowed for joint movements. Even the motion was more human-like than any other android Robot had known. How would one even go about programming that?

He finally thrust his own hand out, with a shake. If she could withstand the force of a bowling ball, how strong was her grip? But his fear was put to bed when she wrapped her clear fingers around his claw-like ones. Her grip was almost exactly like... Shannon's. Back when they walked the trail at summer camp. Firm. Unaffectionate, but firm, anyway.

No, it couldn't be. It had to be a memory. Her ability to mimic human behavior was so unreal that it had him confused with a physical memory. There was no way that she'd know exactly how she'd held his hand. He shook his head and looked at Crystal's face again, as music began filling the room around them from the speakers. Not party dance music like Robot had expected, but piano-based, classical piece.

Robot dared to peek at the audience again. They were growing louder, in anticipation for what they had been promised. When he looked at Crystal again, she looked as if she was waiting for Robot to make the next move. "Better do as they say," she said, just quiet enough for Robot alone to hear. Her tiny voice sounded as fragile as she looked, but given that he knew she wasn't fragile as she looked, how much of that was a lie, too?

"I don't..." he trailed off, taking a gulp as the old world music circled around them, mixed with shouts of encouragement and whistles from rowdier robots. His embarrassment was overwhelming. So many eyes, looking at him. Expecting him to act. "I don't know how."

To 'dance' was to move one's body freely or to a specific set of instructions to a piece of sound, usually music. Back at the Harvest Dance, the kids moved their bodies in all sorts of funny ways, and Robot was certain that half of it was made up on the spot, and the contemporary music seemed to encourage this behavior. But now there was a very specific song and a very specific expectation of him.

The problem was, Robot didn't know any dances. He didn't even dance at the dance, really.

Crystal let a beat pass between them before pulling Robot's hand to her hip. Robot didn't know what was making him more nervous, the increasing anticipation for something to happen, or the realization that he'd never touched a female machine before.

And he'd never touched anyone like this.

With his claw clamped her her hip and his hand gently raised to head-level with hers, it only then occurred to Robot that they were the same height, give or take a few inches. How convenient it was that Crystal's first dance was with a machine that was also disgraced with a small stature.

How cute it must look.

"Do you know the first steps of a waltz?"

Robot gaped at her. "N-no..." He cursed himself for all the useless information in his head, none of which told him what a very basic dance required.

Her expression softened, her eyelids lowering as she thought. "Then loosen your joints."

"What? Why?" Robot asked. But as soon as the words came out, his left foot began sliding to the left along the makeshift stage. An invisible force was pulling---no, pushing his foot to one side.

He saw the motion happening, but he wasn't causing it. His left foot inched to a complete stop, and then his right leg moved backwards, this time with a more sleek motion. The toe lifted and swiveled, so that both Robot and Crystal completed a proper turn.

A gasp escaped his throat. She's... moving... me.

Somehow, someway, she was making him dance. Like hands of a greater being were moving his limbs around, like a doll. One foot, than the other. One foot, than the other.

Robot recognized this kind of force--it was magnetic. It's what happened when he decided to lock his feet to the bus' floor so that he wouldn't go flying into the seat. When he unlocked Shannon's locker for her. When he sometimes got lazy and decided to command a wrench into his hands from across the room.

But his own magnetic aura had never been controlled by someone else.

Slowly, the movements became more confident. As his shock gave way to morbid curiosity, Robot was letting her gain more control, his joints completely lose now. If she decided to drop him right now, he'd fall to the floor, and then he'd really be something to laugh at. Instead, Crystal stared deeply into his face, keeping a firm grip on his hand and his shoulder, and caused his body to perform a dance that he didn't know. The steps became easier and more predictable, Robot's gaze stuck on his feet. To an unknowing watcher, it just looked like Robot was either watching his feet to make sure he didn't screw up, or that he was too shy to keep his eyes locked on the lovely android. But it was his own body that awed him.

He remembered when Cubey and Mitch had plugged into his body to help him fight off the Yogmans. In that case, his mind had been almost totally absent, and he'd willingly agreed to it. It didn't seem that bad then, but now, fully conscious and with an audience watching, Robot saw the horror of it. These were his feet, he recognized the way his toe bent and his foot slid across the floor, but that were not of his own will. They didn't belong to him at the moment.

The only thing he could control was how stiff his joints worked, and his first instinct was to lock them up. But doing that now meant that Crystal's dance would come to a complete halt. They'd both look foolish. In the android's eyes, there wasn't satisfaction at what she was doing. Just empty determination.

Robot understood. Crystal was the eye of the party. And while she could only control so much, she did well at it. Just because she was the center of attention didn't mean she was going to give the audience a reason to laugh, either.

As long as she had her hands on his body, and he relaxed his arms and legs, she could keep this going. And for whatever reason, Robot didn't stop it. He let her control him.

Every step Robot took was more graceful than the last, and Crystal met that grace, tenfold. Walking on heels didn't seem to hinder her ability to move--if anything, it helped. Robot didn't know how she was able to control two bodies at once. How could she control his body at all? She wasn't even made of metal. How did she have any power over metal without metal being in her own body?

Crystal had him raise his arm tall enough to spin her, just once, but it forced his eyes up to her face again. And from the side of her head, Robot saw the casing around her eyes, the sheen of steel around what he presumed was a tightly packed set of delicate computer hardware. Ironically, whereas most people's eyes were the most naked thing about them at any given moment, her eyes were the only part of her that left something to Robot's imagination.

So there was metal in her, after all. But even that was such a small part of her body, and Robot had never known a robot to have such incredible will over other metallic objects--such precision. Or that the precious little statuesque android had just made a puppet out of Robot Jones.

"How?" he whispered, covering it with his back turned to the audience. "How are you doing this?"

"It doesn't matter," she said to him. There was a blankness to her words. She wasn't hiding. She truly didn't think it mattered. As if wielding this ability was common among robots. As if she wasn't doing anything truly amazing, or truly horrifying. As the music reached the climax, Robot wondered if at any point it had become obvious to those watching that Robot wasn't leading the dance at all.

"Doesn't matter?" he asked, his feet coming to a sudden halt. The trance that had started from the moment Crystal had taken hold of his body was over, even though she still had her hands on him. She pulled them away suddenly, and all at once, Robot felt control of his body again. He stumbled briefly as he regained his footing, which had to have looked pretty embarrassing. It was then that he realized that the song had ended.

Yet the audience exploded into applause. He could tell some of it was condescending, but all of it was pleased, in some way or another. If there were still displeased robots in the audience--and Robot knew there was--they had become disturbingly quiet.

"Think you can bow on your own?" Crystal asked flatly.

He turned to her, gaping, blinking in disbelief. "Excuse me? he asked, practically spitting oil. He hadn't realized until now that he'd regained control of his body as easily as he'd lost it, and to give her some credit, she hadn't dropped him on his face. Robot saw the audience cheering, and on Crystal's cue, he made a dramatic bow, Crystal lifting the right-side hem of her skirt in a regal curtsy. It took this motion for Robot to notice the wanton cut of her dress down the left side. As if showing off her head and arms weren't enough, whoever dressed her thought she needed to expose some of her legs as well.

The audience was deafening. At once, the image of her, the same that was stirring male attention throughout the audience, was repulsing him. What was intriguing to the vocal half of the room was disturbing and terrifying him. What was this thing? This girl? And why, when she clearly had a brain of her own, was she just rolling with this?

By the time Claymore reapproached the microphone stand, the noise of the room was still obnoxious. "Fabulous. Truly. Well, this is a celebration." He turned to the workmen on either side of him. "Clean the floors of the chairs. Let's get the dance going!"

The audience cheered in agreement--the visible audience anyway. Robot could hear, could feel automatons in the far back move for the exit, not about to spend another minute here, to celebrate something they hadn't agreed to. The contemporary music, increasingly louder from the speakers seemed to be pushing them out, whereas the shadow in the back of the room eclipsed them as they left. Their protests fell on deaf ears, and their exit wasn't noticed, either.

Those that remained, mostly humans and robots who were well-off enough in their stations to be accepted, helped clear the chairs away from the floor, and started performing dances that had been out of style for two decades. Robot lost track of time as he let the scene unfold, like the comedic end to a terrible dream. It was around the time that he got nauseous watching an obese man in his fifties trying to do the funky chicken that he realized his own dance partner was no longer standing there. He gazed left and right, but the Crystal unit was nowhere to be found. When Robot looked up, Claymore and his son were back on the catwalk, the robots who had been manning the spotlights had placed them on posts, and Robot wondered if they had come down to get lost in the throng of flesh and metal, or sink into the darkness to brood. He didn't see how they reacted to the news.

It occurred then, to Robot, that this change was going to divide Claymore's company. Robots of all stations disagreed on the conditions with which they were treated, but they'd never had a precise reason to hate each other. Now, they did. And if he hated Lightoller for any reason, it was that. For giving a tangible line to cross. Robots will forever ask each other afterwards, did you stay at the party, or did you leave? And they'd know who was a friend and who was an enemy.

The reason that this cruel line was drawn, Ms. Donna Crowe, was now overlooking the audience from the catwalk. JNZ's catwalk, jutting from Pike's office. By the end of the night, this company would be hers, fifty percent. Robot wondered if she was visualizing which parts of it she'd rather consider hers. She was standing with Claymore and his son, who Robot had completely forgot about, amid everything else. While Crowe and Claymore were smiling and exchanging airy laughs, Isaac was not. His wicked smile, the one Robot considered his mask for as long as he'd known him, was gone. And every time Crowe's body shifted an inch closer to the boy, smile at him, Isaac took an entire step backwards.

Robot had never seen Isaac opposing his father's choice, always rattling on about his wisdom and what not. But now he seemed just as disturbed of what was happening as Robot did. Robot watched Crowe reached out with her hand, and out of whatever nerve she had, brush Isaac's long bangs out of his face, and Isaac shuddered and nearly slapped the hand away. Isaac only stopped himself before making contact, and Crowe finally seemed to take the message, with an innocent frown. Robot had never felt proud, or even just good of that particular human for anything, but he did now.

The problem was that the merger wouldn't hurt anything for Isaac. If anything, it would only make his father richer, and him more spoiled. So why was he reacting this way? He wondered what Isaac knew that Robot didn't.

Once more, Robot swept his eyes across the floor, looking for his father, only to discover his mother was no longer in sight, either. That didn't surprise him so much. If Dad unit hadn't have left when he did, he knew both his parents would get up and leave before they'd celebrate the merger. They may have been high-up on the ladder of importance in the factory, but that didn't make them stupid. And if anything, mom unit would have left out of respect for Robot's father, who was goodness-knew-where right now.

Then again, maybe she'd just gone to go find him. That's what Robot should be doing right now. But now he was too mad to hunt for his dad. There was only one being in the factory that he wanted to see right now, and despite being transparent, nobody stood out like she did.

Robot slipped out of the spotlight, off the stage, and down the main hallway, swerving between treads of adults who were either leaving for work in the morning and didn't have time for a party--'this nonsense' they called it, or sullen robots who weren't brave enough to voice their complaints, but bold enough not to fake a dance. He even heard some on-duty workmen who had stormed out to collect materials for the party's inevitable mess in a few hours, muttering about the nerve of Crowe to just 'walk in with a pretty ornament and take half the factory, just like that' with a snap of the finger.

Robot was at the end of the hallway again, and face to face with Dr. Jones, who for some reason looked more puzzled than when Robot had last seem his picture an hour or so ago. Robot figured it must have just been his imagination as he turned to head down to the right, and saw her. The Crystal Unit, standing in a dark corner, gazing up at the photograph of Dr. Jones, too, or perhaps reading the text description of the man on the side. In either case, Robot wouldn't have suspected half as much interest about the founder of JNZ from a Lightoller unit. He opened his mouth to shout at her, but another voice cut him off.

"There!" someone shouted.

Robot's eyes darted from Crystal to the hallway the other direction. A band off six robots were charging down the hallway. Four male, and two female, and they all looked mad. And all, he realized with horror, were adolescents.

They stopped just five feet away from Robot, and he expected that they'd look as confused as he was about the whereabouts of Crystal, but he found out soon enough that they were not looking for the glass android at all. "We got a bolt to pick with you, Jones!" shouted one of the girls.

Robot blinked, unsure he'd heard the male robot correctly. Instinctively, his head turned quickly to the spot where Crystal had been standing, but she was gone again. How could she move so fast and so quietly? "Huh?"

"We always figured the humans had you wrapped around their fleshy digits," said the first male robot, the smallest of the group yet, still a foot taller than Robot said. Despite the intensity of his anger, his voice droning in a way that expressed that he was broken internally in some way. "But we never thought you'd be so foolish as to accept the Lightoller bait robot."

"But that was a misunderstanding!" Robot said. "I don't want this thing to happen! I never meant to--"

"Save it," said the first robot girl, holding up a hand with two claws--one of which was bent at an odd angle. She was broken, too. "My grandmother is a lie detector, and I think I know a liar when I see one."

All of these robots, Robot realized guiltily, were both adolescents and of lower rank, and probably couldn't afford to be fixed as often as he himself could. The other girl, taller and wider, was painted a slightly darker pink than his mother, but it was hard to tell, because half of it was rusted off. All the boys were painted varying shades of dark blue or gray, and were covered with dents, from whatever grunt work they apprenticed in.

Davvy and Phillips were not among the boys present, and Robot figured it wouldn't make sense for them to, anyway. They had thrown him onto the stage. This was their fault.

But why did I go along with it? Robot thought.

"You know," the other female robot, with a heavier, slower moving body and ponytail said, "It is a true shame that of all the robots in this factory-that all the robots in this factory-that Claymore thinks of you-thinks of you-as the poster boy of JNZ Robotics."

Her stammer was made only sadder by the fact that her voice, which was loaded with emotion as she spoke, was spasmed to a monotone for every string of words her body forced out twice. But while this was a shockingly obvious malfunction on a young robot which should have been fixed a long time ago, Robot was stuck on her choice of words rather than how she said them. "Poster boy?" was all that he could say.

He'd thought the VIP front row treatment was strange, but he'd never, ever thought of himself like that--that JNZ Robotics thought of him like that.

"Is he thick? Or is he just really good at playing dumb?" asked Shorty to Bad-Eye.

"I cannot determine," said one of the other males, this one with a busted eye.

"Then let's just beat him up, then," said the third male robot, the biggest of all of them. A goliath of teen robots.

Robot gulped and turned to run, but Goliath was stronger than Davvy and Phillips combined, and pinned him against the wall with the weight of a tank. It was so powerful, Robot felt one of the pins in his shoulder joint snap. "I'm telling you!" Robot shouted, "I don't want this merger to happen any more than you do!" And then suddenly remembering something, he narrowed his eyes. "And you have some steely nerves to come after me, when none of you even voted. Claymore may not have seen you, but you didn't even try!"

"Hey guys, I got a new game I wanna play," said Shorty. "For every time this scrap-heap opens his trap, we clock him again."

"Ooo, I like that," said Bent-Claw.

Goliath wound his arm back with a hydraulic screech, and Robot squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact. But it never came. After ten seconds of very hushed whispers, Goliath suddenly released his grip, and Robot came falling onto the floor--landing on his knees because it was unexpected.

"Just record for your memory," said Bad Eye, not waiting for Robot to get up, "The next time you get the chance to stand on stage, in front of a bunch of humans who have the money and power to change things, that there are machines out there who are suffering. And if word on the street is true, than Crowe could care even less about us than Claymore does."

"Hope you and your dumb glass droid have fun," said Bent-Claw, flipping her head so that an attachment behind it swung like such. It had the same effect of a teenage girl flipping her real hair behind her head, but in reality, it was probably due to a lost screw.

"Come on, units," Spasm-girl said. And just when Robot thought he couldn't feel any worse, the fourth male robot, a very squat, very square robot who hadn't spoken a word during the entire time was hoisted up on one side by the hands by his friend, Goliath--one of his four axels was destroyed and the wheel on that side of his body was long gone. Robot hadn't noticed the square unit had been assisted in their hasty approach and his curiosity of what they would do to the glass android. Even if it wasn't an intentional emphasis towards their problem, it was impossible to ignore.

There wasn't anything Robot could say as he watched them leave down the left turn in the hallway. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, he turned his head and saw his mother watching, standing in the path from which they'd all come. His embarrassment was so intense, he winced. "Please tell me you only just got here."

Mom unit's arms were folded across her chest. She wasn't angry at him, Robot knew that much. But at this point, he'd rather have had that than this unbelievable embarrassment of being saved from a fight by his mom. "And lie to you?"

Cheeks hot, Robot brushed the imaginary dirt off off his spotless tux and approached her. "How come you didn't say anything?"

"It appeared I didn't have to," Mrs. Jones said, her arms bobbing in a slight shrug. "If they were to do anything to you, it's a simple phone call to their parents--those of them that have parents, anyway. And we all live under the threat of dismantlement after meaningless altercations, Robot."

Robot swallowed that answer like sugarless medicine. His mother was so frank, sometimes, it stung. "So, you really didn't know anything? About the merger, I mean?"

"Not a thing," she told him. "And you'd be correct to think that I'm as concerned as you are."

Robot couldn't believe he forgot until he said: "And Dad? Where did he--?"

"Your father has left to confer of the higher ranking robots in the company about this. This may have been a vote, but the robots were clearly misrepresented." She gestured to the space where the other adolescent robots had stood. "As annoyed as I am that the teenage robots of the company decided to take their aggression out on my son," she said, reluctance in her tone, "I can see why they are upset."

Robot felt a weight lift off his mind. So Dad unit had been upset, but he'd found a way to react rationally, after all. "So you and dad are going to try and fix it, right?" Robot asked. He felt like a kid again, when he believed his parents had the power to make anything possible if he begged hard enough. But this time, it wasn't for a toy or some other selfish desire, but for every robot who's lives were going to be made so much worse by the company doubling in size.

"We're going to see what we can do," she told him, reaching out to rest her pump on his shoulder. "Humans may still have most of the control, but our family does represent this company, Robot Jones. And the best we can do is maintain our dignity and give them a reason to listen to us. Which is why I admire that you refrained from getting in a punch." Even though she didn't have a mouth, Robot heard an implied smile in the way she said that last part.

He wanted to tell her that he would have definitely began throwing punches if he wasn't pinned against the wall by a robot with the weight of a tank, but he didn't want to deflate the pride she had for him right now.

"I don't believe there is going to be anything else significant happening tonight, and half of the patrons and workers have gone home," she told him. "I think it would be best if you do, too. It's well past your bed time."

"But it's a Friday night!" Robot protested. Though he didn't know why he was about to argue to stay. Unless by some miracle Mom and Dad units were able to change Claymore's mind about the merger, the rest of tonight was going to be nothing but old people arguing and dancing to '50s rock, in celebration a company change which meant nothing to them but making more money. And he didn't particularly want to run into the angry teen robots again.

The only thing that was actually compelling him to stay was finding and confronting Crystal, but who knows where she was? Or if Claymore hadn't whisked her away to show off to the investors? And what exactly would he say when he found her alone? He had too many questions for her.

"Do not argue with me, Robot Jones," his mother said, rubbing her head. She truly sounded exhausted now. "You will return home this instant. It will give me one less thing to worry about right now. I will get Manifold to drive you back."

"What about Muff?" Robot asked, referring to the other of the two robot workers who escorted him to the factory.

"Too much alcohol in his tank tonight. I don't trust him behind the wheel."

Robot could only assume that Muff was not drinking in celebration of tonight's news, and he wondered how badly the rest of the adult robots were taking it, and how bad things were going to get before they got better. If they ever did.

With that, Mrs. Jones turned to leave, but she halted suddenly. "And Robot, I cannot say for sure if the gossip regarding the human Crowe holds any truth, but for the time being, I'd prefer if you stay away from her and her android."

"But mom, the stage, the dance--" Robot started, stammering.

"I know you mean well, Robot," Mrs. Jones interrupted. "And I admire your boldness. But this is a very delicate situation, and until we know more, we shouldn't patronize them." She waited a beat, then tipped her head to the side, her face catching a shadow from the light bearing down behind her head. "Unless you had another reason for wanting to take the dance with Crystal?"

Robot couldn't tell if he was more frustrated or insulted. "Oh, mom, not you too! You can't honestly believe that I wanted--" But he sighed. It was late, and he was tired, and he was sick of trying to explain himself. "Oh, never-mind." It was something that was going to have to be explained later, in detail.

With that, Mrs. Jones hurried to go find Robot's escort driver. It could have been his imagination, but Robot thought he might have read more curiosity than disappointment into the way she'd asked if he'd had another motivation for getting close to Crystal, but that didn't make him feel any better. Even if everybody thought that Robot was just trying to 'make nice' with their new business partners, he was still as good as a traitor, both to JNZ and to the welfare of his own kind.

He didn't know why he cared so much what they thought, especially when they were wrong, except that Robot had never really gotten along with other robots his own age. And at the rate his reputation was going, he wasn't seeing a robot girlfriend in his future. He grimaced thinking about the way the two female robots in the group scoffed at him, realizing that they had as little interest in him romantically as human girls--maybe even less, if that was possible.

Between fainly flirting with human girls and trying to earn the respect of teenage shebots, he hadn't managed to even get as far as kissing one of either. Not since he got old enough to notice girls in the first place, anyway. Considering that his days pining after Shannon were over, and he decided to start looking for girls of his own species, it hurt more to remember that he had been marked as the 'human-lover' ever since he began going to a human school. (Heaven forbid they ever learn anything about Shannon). And while not every shebot from JNZ was furious at the prospect of their men flirting with human women, a fair amount of them did. Spasm and Bent-Claw were two who did. And after what had just happened tonight, Robot couldn't fathom ever getting in the collective good-graces of the female robots of this factory.

At once, he wondered if Mom unit would care if he dated a human. If his own kind was going to continue , would she understand if he decided to try with a human, if that human gave him a chance? His parents had mixed feelings about the human species, and despite Grampz unit being the obvious first one to throw a fit, he couldn't see his mother doing the same. Maybe he just hadn't found the right human yet.

Or maybe he just hadn't found the right shebot yet.

Description
Chapter 12: The Gala (Part 2)

While the eyes of most of the audience were locked on stage, on the motionless glass figure, Robot's eyes were darting all over the place. He looked now to his mother, who's head was spinning from left to right as well. "Where did your father go?" she whispered,and it sounded as if she was having the kind of anxiety Robot was feeling at the moment.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "He was just here a minute ago..."

His voice trailed off, too nervous to say anything else. His father had looked pretty miffed, the last time he caught sight of his face, and Robot understood why: The prospect of losing JNZ's identity to a former competitor was a slap in the face to his die-hard pride. Had he managed to somehow contain himself from having a meltdown right then and there, maybe he went away to release his frustration somewhere. Maybe he was outside, even.

In that case, Robot had nothing to worry about. But Dad unit was not the type to think rationally like that. Rationality was his mother's strong suit, not his father's. Dad unit vocalized his thoughts when he was mildly annoyed, but when he was truly angry, such as when he punched the lights out of Madman for supposedly spying on his mother, he had the habit of being oddly quiet in whatever way he reacted.

If Dad unit when out of his way to leave in a quiet manner, whatever he was thinking of doing wasn't going to be good. Get on stage. Tackle Claymore. Smash Ms. Crowe's incredibly fragile looking present against the wall. A hundred different scenarios played out in Robot's head at once, all of them Dad Unit's sudden and violent protest against the merger.

All of them resulting in his dismantlement.

Robot's eyes trailed back up to the stage, where Crowe stood with a silent, proud smile above her factory's creation. He couldn't put his thought about the short, glass girl into words until someone in the far back of the audience shouted:

"That thing ain't a robot!" came the first protest.

"There's no way!" came the second.

With his head spinning left, right, up, and down, his eyes even popping out of his head, Robot found his concentration tearing between looking for his father and the glass figure. The Crystal Unit, as it was so called, had enormous eyes, blacks for whites and whites for pupils, that gazed out onto the audience, to no one in particular, it seemed. It did not blink or given any secondary signs of life that Robot and other high-ranked robots such as his parents could attribute to a living machine, but that did not mean it wasn't a real robot. It was just... how could you make a robot made of glass?

Despite his grin, Mr. Claymore looked skeptical as well. "Well, well," he said, putting his hands on his hips, eyeing the figure from a step closer. "This is quite a feat. I'd say your staff has outdone themselves, indeed." He folded his arms across his chest. "That is," he corrected himself, "If the naysayers in our audience are wrong, and your... intriguing creation," he said, not sure how to describe the Crystal unit, "is really alive."

"Is she alive?" Crowe chuckled lightly. "I suppose your uncertainty is a given. Rest assure, she is very much alive." Donna Crowe looked from Claymore to the still motionless figure in front of her. She put the microphone back on the stand and bent down low to the unit's ear--which, like the rest of her, was totally transparent--as if to whisper something to it, but spoke loudly enough to be heard by most of the audience. "Crystal, I hereby turn over your ownership to Mr. Claymore, the man standing before you. It is your responsibility to obey every command that he gives to the best of your ability, and should the need arise, protect him." She looked at the figure for a silent moment before standing, back erect again. "Do you agree to these terms?"

In the smallest physical gesture Robot could have imagined, the unit at last opened its clear lips and said very quickly: "Affirmative, Ms. Donna."

Another gasp, this time followed by murmurs throughout the audience. Robot was among those who were having trouble wrapping his head around what he'd just seen. If it wasn't for that tiny mouth movement, of which he only caught thanks to his close proximity to the stage, he would have been certain as anyone else that the figure was sculpted from actual glass, and had no capacity to move. Yet it did have a moving mouth, just like Finkman--she had a moving mouth, Robot corrected himself, and had the faintest little ring of a voice, but with no metallic edge to it.

"Then go to him, now," Ms. Crowe ordered of the Crystal unit, and without another beat, the clear android stepped forward. It was only then that Robot noticed the shiny spikes beneath her heels--instead of coming together to form flat feet, like they did on Robot, the ends of her legs ended in a shape like stiletto heels. Robot had seen machines on wheels, treads, and feet like himself, but never had he ever seen a full-bodied android who was given feet like feminine shoes. Like the glass complexion itself, he could only imagine that the same line of thinking went into designing those anti-feet: Crystal wasn't meant to blend in, like other androids. She was designed to stand out as much as possible. And balancing a huge head and heavily curved body like hers on glass heels was one more tick mark towards impressiveness.

The audience chattered as her stumps hit the floor, clacking in the same way as Crowe's heels as she came out into the spotlight for the first time.

"How is she walking?"

"How is she moving without breaking?"

"What is she made out of?!"

And mixed in the audience with the legitimate questions were sudden, swooning admirers. All of which were robots, and all of which were male, who seemed to have just realized, along with the confirmation that the Crystal unit was very much alive, that she was very unlike any of the female robots made or associated with JNZ, in that she was sculpted to look like a woman.

Traditional-style robots were easily told apart from androids, with their boxy frames and body parts limited to the absolutely necessary--which explains why Dad unit only had one arm. Some traditional robots thought androids and their design's objective to look human as possible to be neat. Some even thought they were attractive. Others, however, especially proud ones, found their attempt to facade as humans to be gross and dishonorable to the automaton species. In this case, Robot caught about a dozen voices mixed in that were definitely more admiring, and definitely attracted.

Feeling like Voice-recog-natron, in the denseness of the whispers, Robot managed to pluck out the voices of Davvy and Phillips for the first time. "Whooo, boy," Davvy said, his systems whirring like a loud cat's purr.

"What I'd give to get my claws on that casing," Phillips cooed.

"You speak my mind," Davvy said, and Robot could practically hear the smirk on his face.

He chanced to turn around and look for the pair of dirty minded robots, but they were nowhere to be seen--probably too far in the back still. Robot turned again to the stage and saw the android park herself next to Claymore in the exact same proximity as she had a minute ago been to Crowe, signifying that she had accepted the switch of her ownership. She did not look up at Claymore, though.

Robot had only ever heard the traditional speech given at a robot's passing of ownership from one human to another a handful of times in his life, but he remembered it word for word--as a higher ranking robot with a lot of duty being in his memory, it was just one of the things he was expected to know. But usually, passing the robot was an otherwise unceremonious occasion. A business transaction with a little formality.

But in the midst of this hullabaloo, it didn't feel normal. It was less like watching a robot pass from one human's ownership to another, and more like watching Crowe give away a bride. The Crystal unit even had the same demure look and posture of a woman from ages ago being tied to someone else beyond their will. Not totally expressionless, like a robot might be, but forcefully reserved. She was trying to look unbothered. Robot wondered what about all of this that she knew that she couldn't say.

Meanwhile, Claymore was still drinking in the android's image. Beneath his confident stance, his brows gave way to him looking slightly troubled the more and more he took in, especially now having seen her glassy joints carry her to him. Like everybody else, he had to have been wondering what on earth she was made out of--if from earth at all. He cleared his throat: "Thank you, Ms. Crowe. I'll be sure to keep her within my office. She will be a prized robot to my collection." He sunk his hands into his pockets as he spoke into the standing mic. "But I am a little worried about keeping her from shattering." He raised his eyebrow, as if hoping this would prompt Crowe to spill her secrets.

Crowe's navy eyelids lowered, having not missed the cue. "You want to know what she is made out of, don't you? I have spent many years trying to find a material that is both as clear as a window, and strong as steel. The prototypes were made from everything from windshield glass, to plastics used in modern architecture. But all preexisting plastics that we had looked into had the same problem: They weren't flexible. They wouldn't work on a creature that needed to have arms and legs move as seamlessly at the joints as human skin. Then I was told of a material found in Africa that gives a rubbery texture its bounce. It can mix with other materials in a watery bath that can be hardened into a mold."

Crowe gestured to one of the two workmen who had wheeled Crystal in on the dolly. "You, sir. If you would help me with a little demonstration."

The workman, with black curly hair and a face full of acne, turned to his partner with a confused look. He stepped forward into the spotlight, and from the other side of the stage, a woman wearing a blue Lightoller lab-jacket and black pants stepped forward, carrying what looked to be a navy bowling-ball. Her stride in her shiny, black boots was as firm as someone who had trained in the army, and her light brown hair pulled into a rock hard bun.

"This object that my leading technician Julie is carrying is nothing more than an average bowling ball," Crowe said as her eyes swooped over the audience. Neither she nor anybody else besides Robot and mom had noticed Dad unit was gone. She slapped her hand on the bowling ball, emphasizing the weight of the object as it caused the otherwise stone-still Julie's arms to bounce in the shock, just barely keeping hold of the ball. "It is a professional grade, heavyweight ball, weighting in at approximately 15.9 pounds. If hit at a specific point, this ball could do as much as to shatter the paint on a pin. For this demonstration," she said, taking the ball into her own hands, and Julie's soldier-strict posture was ruined by her body's wave of relief, but only for the slightest moment. "I am going to ask this strong-looking gentleman," she gestured to the confused JNZ worker that she had brought into the light, "to throw this ball as hard as he can, directly at Crystal's face."

A few more gasps, this time everybody remaining fairly quiet. Even if they weren't thrilled at the idea of the merger, they at least seemed to be too immersed in the show to disturb it.

Except for his father, who Robot still couldn't see anywhere. How did Dad unit, a man-sized machine who moved with about as much grace as a bull in a china shop, slip away, right under his family's metaphorical nose?

Robot made the decision, right then and there, that he had to find him. He excused himself repeatedly as he inched his way between the seats of the first and second rows, making humans grunt and sigh with annoyance as they tucked their legs in so he could pass. Once out of the rows, the light from the stage was out of his reach, so that he was truly in the shadows, so he had to be extra careful not to trip over other units as he called for his father in whispers.

"Throw the bowling--" the young JNZ worker said in disbelief, looking from the ball in his hands, to Crowe, to the Crystal unit, and at last on his boss, who stood a foot taller and many years older than him. "Why would I do that?"

"To display her strength," Crowe said with a grin. "To make a material that is flexible is giving it durability, as this demonstration will show." She stepped back so that the spotlight only covered the front half of her body. Her eye sockets darkened in the shadow, her nose looking so much sharper with the light hit it just right.

Once again, the workman looked to Claymore, and the CEO of JNZ raised his eyebrow and shrugged, stepping back and out of the way as well. Crystal remained in the spot where she'd stood next to Claymore. At random intervals, she blinked, but other than that, gave no signs of movement. The workman waited for a few moments, to see if the android would protest, run away, or even just flinch at the idea of getting hit. Most robots had enough common sense to protect themselves, but Crystal was under an assumed order to stay where she was. Robot could only imagine that the poor human was contemplating the possibility of being fired tonight, if he destroyed this very expensive gift to the CEO of the corporation.

And the android? What if she really did shatter? Robot didn't know this shebot from Eve, but he didn't want to see another unit being destroyed, even if she was made from alien technology or something. A reaction from the depth's of his queasy tank made him cover his eyes.

The workman had finally worked up the nerve to stand two feet in front of Crystal, aim the ball over his head, and throw it as hard as he could, directly at Crystal's face. The audience watched as the ball gently sank as gravity took hold of it, giving it the exact angle it needed to hit Crystal's upturned nose, dead on. Such a fragile little facial feature should have stood no chance against the might of the fifteen pound bowling ball, especially one sculpted from pure glass. Yet anybody close enough to witness it could have said that they saw that bowling ball touch the surface of the nose, and slide right off, hitting the makeshift stage and falling right through, creating a rounded hole in the cheap fiberboard.

The audience members, robot and human alike, couldn't contain their excitement. Never in the history of robotics had they ever seen something so miraculous. Even robots made of steel and chrome would dent or show some sort of injury at the impact of a bowling ball.

Robot uncovered his eyes and looked up, and saw that the Crystal unit was, indeed, unharmed. Not only had she not been knocked back a few inches just by the weight of the ball, but she hadn't flinched in anticipation for its impact. Which could only mean that she was fairly certain of her own safety. Still, Robot even watched her reach up, with a cautious motion, and touch her little oval-shaped nose, which, when he zoomed in, wasn't even scratched. Instinctively, Robot reached up and felt his own lightbulb-shaped brain in his hand, its shape the perfect ball, just like any one of Crystal's curves. But Robot knew his own lightbulb was real, blown glass, and while it was made with a slightly thicker skin than the traditional bulb, what with it being so large, it was still the most fragile part of his body, and didn't take a lot of abuse.

The android's body was definitely not glass, and whatever she was made out of, Robot understood, was extremely valuable. Something that would be hard for Claymore to not want for himself.

"Now, Crystal," Ms. Crowe said, "It's your turn."

The poor JNZ worker didn't even have time to guess what that could possibly mean, when the Crystal Unit rounded his backside, and pushed him up off his feet. He shrieked in the disorientation of being lifted into the air by a figure that was out of his eyesight, but didn't have a chance to do anything about it before Crystal launched him clear across the stage. The audience gasped, both in shock and horror at what could have happened to the man, crashing somewhere in the dark. Two other JNZ workmen ran onstage to assist him, but they had nothing to fear. A Lightoller worker had laid out a mattress directly where Crystal had aimed, and as he sat up with a heavy daze, it was confirmed that he was perfectly unharmed, save for a bloody nose. Though having flown in an arc at least ten feet in the air, the human projectile was alive.

Both Claymore and Crowe stepped back into the spotlight, as impressed cheers whooped through the building. The satisfied look Crowe had on her face was that if the cheers were for her. But if Robot knew his kind well enough, (and he felt like he still knew them well enough, despite all his time with humans), he knew the robots were cheering not for her, but for Crystal. As reluctant as robots were to admitting another's superiority, they knew when they had witnessed one of their own displaying greatness. In fact, standing in the dark, still looking for his father, their voices seemed to reach out to him.

"Did your optical sensors observe that?!?"

"That was incredible!"

"Affirmative!"

"She didn't even flinch!"

"Think she felt anything?"

Robot concentrated on Crystal's face as he listened to the robots chatter about her. The general applause didn't make any kind of impression on her, and if she could make out any of the comments directed at her specifically, she didn't react to them. One heck of a poker player she'd be, Robot thought, thinking of what Grampz would have to say.

Claymore's amused laughter returned, but Robot couldn't be sure it was one-hundred percent genuine. "Well, well... she is quite impressive, Crowe."

Crowe's eyes were shimmering with glee. "Oh, she's more than impressive. In my team's pursuit for a durable material with a transparent appearance, we've discovered something that no other technological corporation has ever discovered. Mr. Claymore, the robot at your side is not a regular android. She cannot be smashed, cracked, scratched, or broken in any way. Her mechanisms are eternal, her wiring guaranteed for fifty years at the least. She has stood against trucks, tanks, and gunfire in our simulations, and nothing as so much as knocked her down. The only maintenance she'll ever require is a battery chance. But aside from that," she said, whispering into the microphone, so that everyone could hear, even in the far back, "She is completely and utterly unbreakable."

The robots in the audience cautiously whispered back and forth, as if they were now torn about what to think. Crystal was intriguing, that was for sure, but she was still a Lightoller robot, and therefore, untrustworthy. And to understand that she, this ultra feminine, transparent android was the Chuck Norris of robot-kind, was unnerving to much of the robots present. Especially the macho-male robots like Davvy and Phillips, who's only pride came from the risk of their jobs. Robot completely understood their conflict, and even understood the fury Dad unit must be feeling, to take off the way he did.

"Get yerself lost lookin' fer the VIP section, I see?"

Robot grimaced. Thinking of which. He took on a stern face before turning to face them. "What do you want?"

Davvy and Phillips must have moved up a few rows to where most of the humans were sitting. "We just wanted to see the show from up close, right," Phillips said.

"Yes, sir," Davvy agreed with him. "And get an eye full o' that pretty machine up there. Does the special robot have a problem with that?"

"I'm looking for my father," Robot blurted out. "If you haven't seen him, then get out of my way."

Both Phillips and Davvy's eyebrows shot up like the knobs on a toaster. "Oh! So the humans have given 'em a tongue! Isn't that precious?"

"Indeed it is," Davvy said. Without a warning, Davvy grabbed Robot by the arm. Robot cried out and tried to wriggle out, but Davvy was built for fishing on rocky boats, and his grip was iron tight. "But I find him a little rude."

"Yeah. So what we do with 'em?" asked Phillips.

"You can start by letting go of me!" Robot shouted. He was furious. It was bad enough when the humans pulled this schoolyard bully stuff on him, taking advantage of his smallness and shortness, but when a robot did it to him, it reminded him that he was an outcast everywhere.

"Now why would we want to be doing a thing like that?" asked Davvy. Without another word, both Philips and Davvy had him by the arms, and were moving him closer to the stage.

Claymore and Crowe were exchanging looks with each other, and then beholding the audience, which was now openly arguing with each other. Some voices were still very obviously against the merger and Crystal and Crowe, and calling this night a sham. Other voices were outspoken in favor of Crystal and making a new line of units that was stronger than before. Robot felt his cheeks go hot at the implication that JNZ's models were flimsy or breakable somehow. If Robot had legitimate reason to be proud for being a robot, one of the reasons was knowing that he was more durable than a fleshy human. Fragile, exposed bulb aside, he refused to think of himself as vulnerable.

His brain was conflicted over what to focus on, breaking from their grip or the huge decision making that was about to take place on stage. And where the heck was dad?

Just when it felt like Claymore would never stand up for himself, it seemed like he did. "Now, you realize Ms. Crowe that my company does not have a particular use for pretty looking materials. My machines are made practical because they are meant to complete jobs. I don't exactly know what use a strong glass-like material would do us."

Crowe's enthusiasm was unhindered. "But Mr. Claymore, I am offering you much more than the recipe for Crystal's skin. Over the years, my company has produced some of the finest quality prosthetics, and its not because they look pretty. They are durable, allow for speed, flexibility, and swiftness. With your computer processing abilities and my finely crafted materials, we could become the one-stop shop for the world's robotic needs."

Davvy and Phillips stopped short, in disbelief of what she'd said, and Robot felt his tank lurch. Crowe was offering Lightoller to JNZ to make them both the biggest fish in the pond--to become a monopoly.

Even if the lowest ranking robots at least made minimum wage, with a company twice as big, their conditions could only get far more worse.

Yet since the initial voices in protest of Crowe and the merger had died out, the atmosphere of the room had shifted. Crystal's demonstration had changed the way JNZ was thinking about Lightoller--not simply an undesirable enemy, but a formidable one. If Crystal was a legitimate example of the kind of dozens upon dozens, perhaps even hundreds of units they could make with this mysterious material, there was a genuine fear that they had something that could make them number one in this long-held race. Faces in the visible parts of the room were slowly shifting to show their realization that if they didn't merge equal parts with Lightoller now, that Lightoller could very well just buy them out later. At that point, there would be nothing else to lose.

One crazy ultimatum to fluff up with wine and teacakes.

"I think we've heard enough," Claymore said at last, one of his eyebrows still raised as he turned to the audience. "This is your decision, ladies and gentleman, bots of all ages. Do you feel that Lightoller Cybornetics would be an asset to our company, or not? We vote now: All for the merger, raise your hand."

Robot waited a beat for the audience to scream in retaliation, to snap into their senses, to stop letting this witch distract them with her pretty glass doll. But to his astonishment, silence fell after Claymore's last sentence, and like a wave from the front to the back, hands began cropping up from the rows, and from the random groupings scattered along the sides. Just a few minutes ago, the sight of Crowe and everything she stood for sent the audience into a ranting fit, and now, one by one, hands were going up. He noted a familiar many who did not raise their hands. McLaughlin, for one, was whispering some sort of profane words to his wife about these happenings. Nutz wore a scowl and had his arms crossed, and even Mr. Pike himself did not raise an arm. His vote was as ordinary as anyone else's, but he was the manager of the plant, and Robot found it alarming that he was opposing the merger, too. Could they, too, sense that something was deeply wrong?

Robot looked for his parents, but he didn't need to see them to know they didn't agree with the merger. His dad would never in a million years agree to forging an alliance with one of their most bitter rivals. And though she had a mind of her own and was free to vote as she chose, Mom unit was too smart to fall for this, too. That was too more nay-sayers who had clear rank in the company, but their nays didn't matter in the growing patches of raised arms. And, Robot realized with horror, they were almost all that was visible where the audience could be seen. He knew far fewer, if no arms at all, had gone up in the back. But they were invisible to the humans onstage. Always too far away to be seen.

"All opposed, now," said Claymore, taking a step back from the mic, as if it would help him see the audience more clearly. Almost everybody Robot saw who didn't raise their arms earlier did so, now, and without so much as a moments hesitation. Pike and McLaughlin did so, anyway. Nutz, for some reason, kept his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Robot was sure that Nutz didn't want this merger to happen, but for whatever reason, he refused to participate in the vote. It was as if it didn't matter.

And then Robot knew why. In the back of the room, he could faintly make out the hands of many robots who were raising their arms--mostly units younger than Robot himself who didn't know any better. But the robots he could make out in the darkness, for the most part, were also refusing to vote. Robot was positive that if every single one of them raised their hands, they'd outnumber the many humans and robots agreeing to the merger. Yet, if they had arms to raise, they kept them down. It was as if sitting in the dark solidified the notion that their vote didn't really matter, anyway. Claymore wouldn't see them.

Maybe Claymore wasn't really supposed to see them.

It felt like it was over as soon as it started. Robot did a quick count in his head of all the hands, compared to the ones that had been up before. Without the naysayers in the back doing their part, those agreeing to the merger seemed to have them tied, 47 to 47. It was exactly a draw.

That was, until one of the hands, a robot's hand near the front, suddenly went down. Robot's eyes zoomed outward, as a dozen or more heads, swiveled in their direction, including Davvy and Phillips'. A stunned robot man's head, in surprise, spun like a top before his eyes landed on her.

Robot didn't recognize this unit. He was young, probably Robot's age, and the suit he wore was almost as cleaned and pressed as Robot's himself. He was tall, but very skinny, with dark steel skin and a lot of screws on his face, scattered like acne. Though he wasn't accompanied by a set of robotic parents, it was quite clear who his human owner was. A finely but conservatively dressed old woman, seated next to the robot as if they were equals, was giving the little robot a fierce look. It was quite obvious by the tiny robot's shameful gaze, turned towards the floor now, why his hand had gone down.

As all the hope drained out of Robot's body like a gas leak, a confident smile broke on Claymore's lined face, and he thrust open his arms. "Well, as the saying goes, 'majority rules.' Donna Crowe, on behalf of my company, I agree to merge JNZ Robotics with Lightoller Cybornetics."

The screams were indiscernible. Even the robots that had refused to vote could not help but vent their outrage. But this time, their voices were being drowned by the sounds of applause, cheer, and celebration. The supporters could only think about what a boon this merger was going to be for the company, and for their pockets. JNZ was not going to lose to Lightoller. They were both destined for immortality.

It took a few minutes for Claymore to settle the crowd so that he could speak again. "And in celebration of this partnership, Ms. Crowe and I feel as though a symbol of trust was in order. But to do this, I require one eligible, young male robot to come up to the stage."

There was silence again. Humans looked to their left and right. Most robots who were seated up-front were married, and Robot knew the robots in back would sooner jump into the ocean than disgrace themselves in the name of this merger.

Phillips and Davvy's eyes flickered from Crystal, to Robot, to each other. From their disgusted looks broke a mutual smile that Robot didn't even have time to notice. He was too busy still looking at the acne-bolt ridden robot boy. Surely, if anybody, he was the one to--

"Hey, what are you-?!" Robot shouted, but to no avail. Before he could even process what was happening, he was slammed against the stage floor where Davvy and Phillips had thrown him. Right under the second spotlight.

Seeing him onstage like a sack of potatoes broke the tension in the audience at last, as some of them began to chuckle or cheer. And soon after that, applause accompanied that. Robot was so dazed he barely realized what was happening when he looked up, and Marvin Claymore was standing above him. "Ah, the littlest robot," he smiled, in an uncharacteristically fatherly way. "I didn't know you knew how to dance, but it was impressive of you to stand up and take the first."

Dance? Robot thought. "I actually didn't--"

"Now don't be shy," Claymore said, ignoring him as he pulled Robot to his feet, and thrust him forward towards the android. He looked at her, then at the audience.

They were a foot apart, and at this distance, Robot could see his reflection in her cheeks--his gaping mouth, his giant eyes, staring back at him. He was so entranced at this that it took him a moment to notice her face, the face that framed his. She was looking so intensely at him, the line of her mouth drawn small, her lashes fluttering just once as she blinked. If she wasn't uncanny from far away, she was up close.

He barely noticed her make the first move. She'd reached out to him, offering a hand. Her hands, like every other part of her body, was sculpted to look very much like a human, with the slightest cuts in the fingers that allowed for joint movements. Even the motion was more human-like than any other android Robot had known. How would one even go about programming that?

He finally thrust his own hand out, with a shake. If she could withstand the force of a bowling ball, how strong was her grip? But his fear was put to bed when she wrapped her clear fingers around his claw-like ones. Her grip was almost exactly like... Shannon's. Back when they walked the trail at summer camp. Firm. Unaffectionate, but firm, anyway.

No, it couldn't be. It had to be a memory. Her ability to mimic human behavior was so unreal that it had him confused with a physical memory. There was no way that she'd know exactly how she'd held his hand. He shook his head and looked at Crystal's face again, as music began filling the room around them from the speakers. Not party dance music like Robot had expected, but piano-based, classical piece.

Robot dared to peek at the audience again. They were growing louder, in anticipation for what they had been promised. When he looked at Crystal again, she looked as if she was waiting for Robot to make the next move. "Better do as they say," she said, just quiet enough for Robot alone to hear. Her tiny voice sounded as fragile as she looked, but given that he knew she wasn't fragile as she looked, how much of that was a lie, too?

"I don't..." he trailed off, taking a gulp as the old world music circled around them, mixed with shouts of encouragement and whistles from rowdier robots. His embarrassment was overwhelming. So many eyes, looking at him. Expecting him to act. "I don't know how."

To 'dance' was to move one's body freely or to a specific set of instructions to a piece of sound, usually music. Back at the Harvest Dance, the kids moved their bodies in all sorts of funny ways, and Robot was certain that half of it was made up on the spot, and the contemporary music seemed to encourage this behavior. But now there was a very specific song and a very specific expectation of him.

The problem was, Robot didn't know any dances. He didn't even dance at the dance, really.

Crystal let a beat pass between them before pulling Robot's hand to her hip. Robot didn't know what was making him more nervous, the increasing anticipation for something to happen, or the realization that he'd never touched a female machine before.

And he'd never touched anyone like this.

With his claw clamped her her hip and his hand gently raised to head-level with hers, it only then occurred to Robot that they were the same height, give or take a few inches. How convenient it was that Crystal's first dance was with a machine that was also disgraced with a small stature.

How cute it must look.

"Do you know the first steps of a waltz?"

Robot gaped at her. "N-no..." He cursed himself for all the useless information in his head, none of which told him what a very basic dance required.

Her expression softened, her eyelids lowering as she thought. "Then loosen your joints."

"What? Why?" Robot asked. But as soon as the words came out, his left foot began sliding to the left along the makeshift stage. An invisible force was pulling---no, pushing his foot to one side.

He saw the motion happening, but he wasn't causing it. His left foot inched to a complete stop, and then his right leg moved backwards, this time with a more sleek motion. The toe lifted and swiveled, so that both Robot and Crystal completed a proper turn.

A gasp escaped his throat. She's... moving... me.

Somehow, someway, she was making him dance. Like hands of a greater being were moving his limbs around, like a doll. One foot, than the other. One foot, than the other.

Robot recognized this kind of force--it was magnetic. It's what happened when he decided to lock his feet to the bus' floor so that he wouldn't go flying into the seat. When he unlocked Shannon's locker for her. When he sometimes got lazy and decided to command a wrench into his hands from across the room.

But his own magnetic aura had never been controlled by someone else.

Slowly, the movements became more confident. As his shock gave way to morbid curiosity, Robot was letting her gain more control, his joints completely lose now. If she decided to drop him right now, he'd fall to the floor, and then he'd really be something to laugh at. Instead, Crystal stared deeply into his face, keeping a firm grip on his hand and his shoulder, and caused his body to perform a dance that he didn't know. The steps became easier and more predictable, Robot's gaze stuck on his feet. To an unknowing watcher, it just looked like Robot was either watching his feet to make sure he didn't screw up, or that he was too shy to keep his eyes locked on the lovely android. But it was his own body that awed him.

He remembered when Cubey and Mitch had plugged into his body to help him fight off the Yogmans. In that case, his mind had been almost totally absent, and he'd willingly agreed to it. It didn't seem that bad then, but now, fully conscious and with an audience watching, Robot saw the horror of it. These were his feet, he recognized the way his toe bent and his foot slid across the floor, but that were not of his own will. They didn't belong to him at the moment.

The only thing he could control was how stiff his joints worked, and his first instinct was to lock them up. But doing that now meant that Crystal's dance would come to a complete halt. They'd both look foolish. In the android's eyes, there wasn't satisfaction at what she was doing. Just empty determination.

Robot understood. Crystal was the eye of the party. And while she could only control so much, she did well at it. Just because she was the center of attention didn't mean she was going to give the audience a reason to laugh, either.

As long as she had her hands on his body, and he relaxed his arms and legs, she could keep this going. And for whatever reason, Robot didn't stop it. He let her control him.

Every step Robot took was more graceful than the last, and Crystal met that grace, tenfold. Walking on heels didn't seem to hinder her ability to move--if anything, it helped. Robot didn't know how she was able to control two bodies at once. How could she control his body at all? She wasn't even made of metal. How did she have any power over metal without metal being in her own body?

Crystal had him raise his arm tall enough to spin her, just once, but it forced his eyes up to her face again. And from the side of her head, Robot saw the casing around her eyes, the sheen of steel around what he presumed was a tightly packed set of delicate computer hardware. Ironically, whereas most people's eyes were the most naked thing about them at any given moment, her eyes were the only part of her that left something to Robot's imagination.

So there was metal in her, after all. But even that was such a small part of her body, and Robot had never known a robot to have such incredible will over other metallic objects--such precision. Or that the precious little statuesque android had just made a puppet out of Robot Jones.

"How?" he whispered, covering it with his back turned to the audience. "How are you doing this?"

"It doesn't matter," she said to him. There was a blankness to her words. She wasn't hiding. She truly didn't think it mattered. As if wielding this ability was common among robots. As if she wasn't doing anything truly amazing, or truly horrifying. As the music reached the climax, Robot wondered if at any point it had become obvious to those watching that Robot wasn't leading the dance at all.

"Doesn't matter?" he asked, his feet coming to a sudden halt. The trance that had started from the moment Crystal had taken hold of his body was over, even though she still had her hands on him. She pulled them away suddenly, and all at once, Robot felt control of his body again. He stumbled briefly as he regained his footing, which had to have looked pretty embarrassing. It was then that he realized that the song had ended.

Yet the audience exploded into applause. He could tell some of it was condescending, but all of it was pleased, in some way or another. If there were still displeased robots in the audience--and Robot knew there was--they had become disturbingly quiet.

"Think you can bow on your own?" Crystal asked flatly.

He turned to her, gaping, blinking in disbelief. "Excuse me? he asked, practically spitting oil. He hadn't realized until now that he'd regained control of his body as easily as he'd lost it, and to give her some credit, she hadn't dropped him on his face. Robot saw the audience cheering, and on Crystal's cue, he made a dramatic bow, Crystal lifting the right-side hem of her skirt in a regal curtsy. It took this motion for Robot to notice the wanton cut of her dress down the left side. As if showing off her head and arms weren't enough, whoever dressed her thought she needed to expose some of her legs as well.

The audience was deafening. At once, the image of her, the same that was stirring male attention throughout the audience, was repulsing him. What was intriguing to the vocal half of the room was disturbing and terrifying him. What was this thing? This girl? And why, when she clearly had a brain of her own, was she just rolling with this?

By the time Claymore reapproached the microphone stand, the noise of the room was still obnoxious. "Fabulous. Truly. Well, this is a celebration." He turned to the workmen on either side of him. "Clean the floors of the chairs. Let's get the dance going!"

The audience cheered in agreement--the visible audience anyway. Robot could hear, could feel automatons in the far back move for the exit, not about to spend another minute here, to celebrate something they hadn't agreed to. The contemporary music, increasingly louder from the speakers seemed to be pushing them out, whereas the shadow in the back of the room eclipsed them as they left. Their protests fell on deaf ears, and their exit wasn't noticed, either.

Those that remained, mostly humans and robots who were well-off enough in their stations to be accepted, helped clear the chairs away from the floor, and started performing dances that had been out of style for two decades. Robot lost track of time as he let the scene unfold, like the comedic end to a terrible dream. It was around the time that he got nauseous watching an obese man in his fifties trying to do the funky chicken that he realized his own dance partner was no longer standing there. He gazed left and right, but the Crystal unit was nowhere to be found. When Robot looked up, Claymore and his son were back on the catwalk, the robots who had been manning the spotlights had placed them on posts, and Robot wondered if they had come down to get lost in the throng of flesh and metal, or sink into the darkness to brood. He didn't see how they reacted to the news.

It occurred then, to Robot, that this change was going to divide Claymore's company. Robots of all stations disagreed on the conditions with which they were treated, but they'd never had a precise reason to hate each other. Now, they did. And if he hated Lightoller for any reason, it was that. For giving a tangible line to cross. Robots will forever ask each other afterwards, did you stay at the party, or did you leave? And they'd know who was a friend and who was an enemy.

The reason that this cruel line was drawn, Ms. Donna Crowe, was now overlooking the audience from the catwalk. JNZ's catwalk, jutting from Pike's office. By the end of the night, this company would be hers, fifty percent. Robot wondered if she was visualizing which parts of it she'd rather consider hers. She was standing with Claymore and his son, who Robot had completely forgot about, amid everything else. While Crowe and Claymore were smiling and exchanging airy laughs, Isaac was not. His wicked smile, the one Robot considered his mask for as long as he'd known him, was gone. And every time Crowe's body shifted an inch closer to the boy, smile at him, Isaac took an entire step backwards.

Robot had never seen Isaac opposing his father's choice, always rattling on about his wisdom and what not. But now he seemed just as disturbed of what was happening as Robot did. Robot watched Crowe reached out with her hand, and out of whatever nerve she had, brush Isaac's long bangs out of his face, and Isaac shuddered and nearly slapped the hand away. Isaac only stopped himself before making contact, and Crowe finally seemed to take the message, with an innocent frown. Robot had never felt proud, or even just good of that particular human for anything, but he did now.

The problem was that the merger wouldn't hurt anything for Isaac. If anything, it would only make his father richer, and him more spoiled. So why was he reacting this way? He wondered what Isaac knew that Robot didn't.

Once more, Robot swept his eyes across the floor, looking for his father, only to discover his mother was no longer in sight, either. That didn't surprise him so much. If Dad unit hadn't have left when he did, he knew both his parents would get up and leave before they'd celebrate the merger. They may have been high-up on the ladder of importance in the factory, but that didn't make them stupid. And if anything, mom unit would have left out of respect for Robot's father, who was goodness-knew-where right now.

Then again, maybe she'd just gone to go find him. That's what Robot should be doing right now. But now he was too mad to hunt for his dad. There was only one being in the factory that he wanted to see right now, and despite being transparent, nobody stood out like she did.

Robot slipped out of the spotlight, off the stage, and down the main hallway, swerving between treads of adults who were either leaving for work in the morning and didn't have time for a party--'this nonsense' they called it, or sullen robots who weren't brave enough to voice their complaints, but bold enough not to fake a dance. He even heard some on-duty workmen who had stormed out to collect materials for the party's inevitable mess in a few hours, muttering about the nerve of Crowe to just 'walk in with a pretty ornament and take half the factory, just like that' with a snap of the finger.

Robot was at the end of the hallway again, and face to face with Dr. Jones, who for some reason looked more puzzled than when Robot had last seem his picture an hour or so ago. Robot figured it must have just been his imagination as he turned to head down to the right, and saw her. The Crystal Unit, standing in a dark corner, gazing up at the photograph of Dr. Jones, too, or perhaps reading the text description of the man on the side. In either case, Robot wouldn't have suspected half as much interest about the founder of JNZ from a Lightoller unit. He opened his mouth to shout at her, but another voice cut him off.

"There!" someone shouted.

Robot's eyes darted from Crystal to the hallway the other direction. A band off six robots were charging down the hallway. Four male, and two female, and they all looked mad. And all, he realized with horror, were adolescents.

They stopped just five feet away from Robot, and he expected that they'd look as confused as he was about the whereabouts of Crystal, but he found out soon enough that they were not looking for the glass android at all. "We got a bolt to pick with you, Jones!" shouted one of the girls.

Robot blinked, unsure he'd heard the male robot correctly. Instinctively, his head turned quickly to the spot where Crystal had been standing, but she was gone again. How could she move so fast and so quietly? "Huh?"

"We always figured the humans had you wrapped around their fleshy digits," said the first male robot, the smallest of the group yet, still a foot taller than Robot said. Despite the intensity of his anger, his voice droning in a way that expressed that he was broken internally in some way. "But we never thought you'd be so foolish as to accept the Lightoller bait robot."

"But that was a misunderstanding!" Robot said. "I don't want this thing to happen! I never meant to--"

"Save it," said the first robot girl, holding up a hand with two claws--one of which was bent at an odd angle. She was broken, too. "My grandmother is a lie detector, and I think I know a liar when I see one."

All of these robots, Robot realized guiltily, were both adolescents and of lower rank, and probably couldn't afford to be fixed as often as he himself could. The other girl, taller and wider, was painted a slightly darker pink than his mother, but it was hard to tell, because half of it was rusted off. All the boys were painted varying shades of dark blue or gray, and were covered with dents, from whatever grunt work they apprenticed in.

Davvy and Phillips were not among the boys present, and Robot figured it wouldn't make sense for them to, anyway. They had thrown him onto the stage. This was their fault.

But why did I go along with it? Robot thought.

"You know," the other female robot, with a heavier, slower moving body and ponytail said, "It is a true shame that of all the robots in this factory-that all the robots in this factory-that Claymore thinks of you-thinks of you-as the poster boy of JNZ Robotics."

Her stammer was made only sadder by the fact that her voice, which was loaded with emotion as she spoke, was spasmed to a monotone for every string of words her body forced out twice. But while this was a shockingly obvious malfunction on a young robot which should have been fixed a long time ago, Robot was stuck on her choice of words rather than how she said them. "Poster boy?" was all that he could say.

He'd thought the VIP front row treatment was strange, but he'd never, ever thought of himself like that--that JNZ Robotics thought of him like that.

"Is he thick? Or is he just really good at playing dumb?" asked Shorty to Bad-Eye.

"I cannot determine," said one of the other males, this one with a busted eye.

"Then let's just beat him up, then," said the third male robot, the biggest of all of them. A goliath of teen robots.

Robot gulped and turned to run, but Goliath was stronger than Davvy and Phillips combined, and pinned him against the wall with the weight of a tank. It was so powerful, Robot felt one of the pins in his shoulder joint snap. "I'm telling you!" Robot shouted, "I don't want this merger to happen any more than you do!" And then suddenly remembering something, he narrowed his eyes. "And you have some steely nerves to come after me, when none of you even voted. Claymore may not have seen you, but you didn't even try!"

"Hey guys, I got a new game I wanna play," said Shorty. "For every time this scrap-heap opens his trap, we clock him again."

"Ooo, I like that," said Bent-Claw.

Goliath wound his arm back with a hydraulic screech, and Robot squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact. But it never came. After ten seconds of very hushed whispers, Goliath suddenly released his grip, and Robot came falling onto the floor--landing on his knees because it was unexpected.

"Just record for your memory," said Bad Eye, not waiting for Robot to get up, "The next time you get the chance to stand on stage, in front of a bunch of humans who have the money and power to change things, that there are machines out there who are suffering. And if word on the street is true, than Crowe could care even less about us than Claymore does."

"Hope you and your dumb glass droid have fun," said Bent-Claw, flipping her head so that an attachment behind it swung like such. It had the same effect of a teenage girl flipping her real hair behind her head, but in reality, it was probably due to a lost screw.

"Come on, units," Spasm-girl said. And just when Robot thought he couldn't feel any worse, the fourth male robot, a very squat, very square robot who hadn't spoken a word during the entire time was hoisted up on one side by the hands by his friend, Goliath--one of his four axels was destroyed and the wheel on that side of his body was long gone. Robot hadn't noticed the square unit had been assisted in their hasty approach and his curiosity of what they would do to the glass android. Even if it wasn't an intentional emphasis towards their problem, it was impossible to ignore.

There wasn't anything Robot could say as he watched them leave down the left turn in the hallway. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, he turned his head and saw his mother watching, standing in the path from which they'd all come. His embarrassment was so intense, he winced. "Please tell me you only just got here."

Mom unit's arms were folded across her chest. She wasn't angry at him, Robot knew that much. But at this point, he'd rather have had that than this unbelievable embarrassment of being saved from a fight by his mom. "And lie to you?"

Cheeks hot, Robot brushed the imaginary dirt off off his spotless tux and approached her. "How come you didn't say anything?"

"It appeared I didn't have to," Mrs. Jones said, her arms bobbing in a slight shrug. "If they were to do anything to you, it's a simple phone call to their parents--those of them that have parents, anyway. And we all live under the threat of dismantlement after meaningless altercations, Robot."

Robot swallowed that answer like sugarless medicine. His mother was so frank, sometimes, it stung. "So, you really didn't know anything? About the merger, I mean?"

"Not a thing," she told him. "And you'd be correct to think that I'm as concerned as you are."

Robot couldn't believe he forgot until he said: "And Dad? Where did he--?"

"Your father has left to confer of the higher ranking robots in the company about this. This may have been a vote, but the robots were clearly misrepresented." She gestured to the space where the other adolescent robots had stood. "As annoyed as I am that the teenage robots of the company decided to take their aggression out on my son," she said, reluctance in her tone, "I can see why they are upset."

Robot felt a weight lift off his mind. So Dad unit had been upset, but he'd found a way to react rationally, after all. "So you and dad are going to try and fix it, right?" Robot asked. He felt like a kid again, when he believed his parents had the power to make anything possible if he begged hard enough. But this time, it wasn't for a toy or some other selfish desire, but for every robot who's lives were going to be made so much worse by the company doubling in size.

"We're going to see what we can do," she told him, reaching out to rest her pump on his shoulder. "Humans may still have most of the control, but our family does represent this company, Robot Jones. And the best we can do is maintain our dignity and give them a reason to listen to us. Which is why I admire that you refrained from getting in a punch." Even though she didn't have a mouth, Robot heard an implied smile in the way she said that last part.

He wanted to tell her that he would have definitely began throwing punches if he wasn't pinned against the wall by a robot with the weight of a tank, but he didn't want to deflate the pride she had for him right now.

"I don't believe there is going to be anything else significant happening tonight, and half of the patrons and workers have gone home," she told him. "I think it would be best if you do, too. It's well past your bed time."

"But it's a Friday night!" Robot protested. Though he didn't know why he was about to argue to stay. Unless by some miracle Mom and Dad units were able to change Claymore's mind about the merger, the rest of tonight was going to be nothing but old people arguing and dancing to '50s rock, in celebration a company change which meant nothing to them but making more money. And he didn't particularly want to run into the angry teen robots again.

The only thing that was actually compelling him to stay was finding and confronting Crystal, but who knows where she was? Or if Claymore hadn't whisked her away to show off to the investors? And what exactly would he say when he found her alone? He had too many questions for her.

"Do not argue with me, Robot Jones," his mother said, rubbing her head. She truly sounded exhausted now. "You will return home this instant. It will give me one less thing to worry about right now. I will get Manifold to drive you back."

"What about Muff?" Robot asked, referring to the other of the two robot workers who escorted him to the factory.

"Too much alcohol in his tank tonight. I don't trust him behind the wheel."

Robot could only assume that Muff was not drinking in celebration of tonight's news, and he wondered how badly the rest of the adult robots were taking it, and how bad things were going to get before they got better. If they ever did.

With that, Mrs. Jones turned to leave, but she halted suddenly. "And Robot, I cannot say for sure if the gossip regarding the human Crowe holds any truth, but for the time being, I'd prefer if you stay away from her and her android."

"But mom, the stage, the dance--" Robot started, stammering.

"I know you mean well, Robot," Mrs. Jones interrupted. "And I admire your boldness. But this is a very delicate situation, and until we know more, we shouldn't patronize them." She waited a beat, then tipped her head to the side, her face catching a shadow from the light bearing down behind her head. "Unless you had another reason for wanting to take the dance with Crystal?"

Robot couldn't tell if he was more frustrated or insulted. "Oh, mom, not you too! You can't honestly believe that I wanted--" But he sighed. It was late, and he was tired, and he was sick of trying to explain himself. "Oh, never-mind." It was something that was going to have to be explained later, in detail.

With that, Mrs. Jones hurried to go find Robot's escort driver. It could have been his imagination, but Robot thought he might have read more curiosity than disappointment into the way she'd asked if he'd had another motivation for getting close to Crystal, but that didn't make him feel any better. Even if everybody thought that Robot was just trying to 'make nice' with their new business partners, he was still as good as a traitor, both to JNZ and to the welfare of his own kind.

He didn't know why he cared so much what they thought, especially when they were wrong, except that Robot had never really gotten along with other robots his own age. And at the rate his reputation was going, he wasn't seeing a robot girlfriend in his future. He grimaced thinking about the way the two female robots in the group scoffed at him, realizing that they had as little interest in him romantically as human girls--maybe even less, if that was possible.

Between fainly flirting with human girls and trying to earn the respect of teenage shebots, he hadn't managed to even get as far as kissing one of either. Not since he got old enough to notice girls in the first place, anyway. Considering that his days pining after Shannon were over, and he decided to start looking for girls of his own species, it hurt more to remember that he had been marked as the 'human-lover' ever since he began going to a human school. (Heaven forbid they ever learn anything about Shannon). And while not every shebot from JNZ was furious at the prospect of their men flirting with human women, a fair amount of them did. Spasm and Bent-Claw were two who did. And after what had just happened tonight, Robot couldn't fathom ever getting in the collective good-graces of the female robots of this factory.

At once, he wondered if Mom unit would care if he dated a human. If his own kind was going to continue , would she understand if he decided to try with a human, if that human gave him a chance? His parents had mixed feelings about the human species, and despite Grampz unit being the obvious first one to throw a fit, he couldn't see his mother doing the same. Maybe he just hadn't found the right human yet.

Or maybe he just hadn't found the right shebot yet.