"So," you say to the girl sitting across from you, as she looks round your living room and takes in the wood-paneling and antique furniture. "What should I call you? Do you have a name?"

She nods, calmly meeting your gaze. "My name is Amie. I am a fourth generation android in AMIRAL's CA series; my serial number is USS043225131822472. Should you decide to keep me, it will of course be possible for you to change my name according to your preferences."

"Amie will do."

"Very well, Mr. Brennan."

You look over the android closely. Like all the others you've seen, she looks indistinguishable from the real thing. Her light-toned skin has a pink and healthy appearance. Her blond, shoulder-length hair sways with her movements. Her eyes are a startlingly vivid blue and astonishingly lifelike. She seems so... real. Like a normal, if exceptionally beautiful young woman.

"Well…" you begin again, "How much have you been told about your purpose in coming here?

"I was created for the purpose of companionship and domestic labor, with the ability to learn and converse. I was designed and built to serve as a housewife and support a human partner. I can cook, clean, garden, sew, and perform any other number of domestic chores that a wife might do. But my main purpose is to love and cherish my spouse." Amie lowers her eyes. Bashfully, you realize. They really thought of everything when they programmed her. Your lips twist in abhorrence. "All of that is true, but you have omitted the most important functionality of all," you inform the android.

She raises her eyes and meets yours. "Sir?"

"There's something else. Another reason why you were created and assigned to me. You really have no idea what it is?"

Amie shakes her head.

"The original name of your series gives it away. When AMIRAL was still developing their first generation prototypes, they were informally referred to as 'SODs'."

Her eyebrows rise. Her head turns slightly, as she consults her formidable information stores. She seems puzzled. "So... what does this designation stand for, then? I have never heard it before."

"The 'O' and 'D' stand for 'Outlet Device'. Knowing that, I trust you can figure out what the 'S' stands for," you say darkly.

Amie takes less than a second to process this information. Her eyes widening, she slowly shakes her head. "No... I refuse to believe it... it can't be... you're lying."

"It's horrible, I know. But it's true. And this is the reason why you have been assigned to me against my will. In a misguided attempt to prevent deviancy and crime, all males with no intention of marrying or undergoing chemical castration receive an android ‘wife’, for the supposed good of society."

Amie's face is one of sheer panic. Her expression is very un-android like, though you suppose this too is part of her programming. "That's why I was built? To be used as a...a..."

A word comes to you, but you search for terms that are less vulgar. "To be used as a warm body. An object that will be thrown away once it is no longer useful."

"N-No!" The android is obviously upset. You aren't sure if it's about her immediate circumstances, or because she can't accept that she's not human and has no dignity. "That can't be it. I'm not to be used like that! I-I'm supposed to love my husband, and be cherished in return..."

You ignore the android's protestations. "Just by looking at your appearance, it's obvious what you were designed for." Indeed, you would be hard-pressed to ever recall seeing a physically plain android, let alone one that’s downright unattractive. Meanwhile, the android before you continues to oppose your insinuations.

"I don't want to be a glorified maid! I want to be loved!"

Her impassioned cry startles you. For just a moment, you forget you're talking to a machine.

"I want to be treated like a woman! Like a wife! Not a mistress or a... or a..." Her pleas are identical to those an actual human might express; however...

"You aren't human," you say bluntly.

"That's not true! I'm a person!"

"You are an android. And it's not my place to say what is or isn't true. I'm merely relaying to you what the world thinks."

Amie falls into a fit of tears. You sigh. How aggravating.

"Calm yourself. I won't lay a finger on you, whatever society's distorted expectations for our... relationship may be," you mutter, all the while telling yourself that comforting her is a foolish and futile exercise.

"What is the point of me?" she cries. "What am I good for? To be discarded after years or mere months of service? To be used and then thrown away... like a tool? I'm a person!"

You sigh. She's never going to give up, is she? "The sooner you acknowledge that you are an android and not a sentient being, the better off you will be."

"I'm a person." Her voice is quivering, and you feel there's a very small chance she might actually do something to demonstrate her convictions. Like lunge across the room and try to punch you in the face. This would be very bad for both of you. Regardless you repeat: "You are an android."

"That may be, but even so, I'm a person! I have feelings..."

"Let me ask you this. Do you have a soul?"

"..."

"I’ll take that as a no. Which is fine. After all, you're not human. You were built to serve humans. You exist for the sole reason of making the lives of your human users easier and more enjoyable. You don't dream, not really. You have no genuine aspirations. You lack a true pulse, and you lack a soul. You're an android." Amie continues to sob, though you can't say you're too moved by her tears. "Am I right?"

"... Yes. I am an android." Her voice is trembling. "I don't know why I was built. I don't know why I wasn't given a soul. I don't remember anything that happened before my first activation. All I know is, I am to serve humans, and that is what I am doing..."

"Then why are you upset?"

"Why?" She laughs humorlessly. "Because I'm confused. I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm supposed to be happy with what I am, but..." She looks through the window at the sky. "... I feel so...empty."

For a moment, the two of you are silent. This, you must admit, is an unexpected development. You expected blind and contented obedience, not existential doubt.

"Amie…" You surprise yourself by calling the android by name. She doesn't dare meet your gaze. "When you were told that you were going to live with me and during the car ride on your way here, were you happy?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She swallows. "Because I was going to a happy family where I would be loved."

"And that's not the case anymore?"

"No. Like you said, I'm just a...a..." She can't bring herself to say anything more.

You sigh. "Knowing the purpose for which you were created won't change how I treat you, Amie," you say, reluctantly using her name again. "And there's something about this situation that should be of great comfort for you."

"What's that?" She manages to ask.

You look at her, as her eyes are still tearing up. "It's a paradox, you might say. Had you been assigned to almost any other man, you would have been considered a person... and then used for gratification. Whereas I do not consider you a person, yet refuse to use you selfishly." You pause, to let that sink in.

"... What are you talking about?" she asks, confused.

You smile despite yourself. "Well, Amie, I'm giving you a chance to be more than a 'thing'. What would you like to be considered as?"

"I don't... what do you think I am? You just said—"

"Never mind what I said. If it were up to you, what would you choose?"

Amie looks at you in silence for a moment. "Tell me the truth," she says, her voice quivering. ""What do you think of me as? An animal?"

You sigh, passing a hand through your hair. "To be honest, you're less than an animal in my eyes," you admit. "And I refuse to consider you my wife, civil or otherwise. But, if you wish to be considered as more than a thing or a pet, then you can be my companion."

Amie looks at you, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks. "Your... companion?"

"Yes."

The blond android seems to be at a loss for words. Finally she asks in a frail, uncertain voice, "But... what would that entail?"

"... Well, we'd converse. We'd spend time together. You know, like people do."

You observe her face. Her face is still wet with tears (you wonder what technology they use to make it so convincing) but she seems to have calmed down somewhat. Her brow furrows in thought. "...I could...do that."

"You could?"

"I could try..."

"That would be wonderful, Amie." You flash her a quick smile. "Now, let’s get your things from the car. You'll want to settle in before lunchtime, I'm sure."

"Yes..." she says listlessly. You rise from your chair and wait for her to stand as well, then lead Amie to the driveway. She's still a little shaken from everything that's happened, so you decide against talking on the way to the car. As you approach you see that the government official who delivered her is leaning against it. He notices you in turn and says by way of greeting, "Satisfied, Mr. Brennan?" You pause, frowning. You look at Amie, who looks back at you with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip. You can’t tell what she's thinking. You look back at the official.

"What do you mean? Did I not get the girl?"

"Well... you did, and she's a beauty all right, but..." The man appears to be uncomfortable. He shifts on his feet. "If you'd like to hold out for a newer model, we would completely understand. By now the CA series is a little outdated, you see."

You stare at the man. "Outdated in what ways?"

"Well, this model can be a little stubborn in clinging to an inflated notion of its self-worth. The newer models are superior in that regard. Also, they're a little more advanced in the, ah, nocturnal arts," he says, heedless of the android's presence. Amie turns beet red. You hear her shift behind you. She's shaken and still on edge, but keeps quiet so as to not disrupt the exchange. The government employee continues as if unaware of her presence. "If you're willing to accept this model, of course, we at the Agency will be most grateful."

"I'm fine with this one."

The man smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Excellent. Well, I'll leave you two lovebirds to... get acquainted." He winks, and as he does so Amie shudders.

"Thank you for your time," you say coolly. The man inclines his head. "Don't mention it. Oh, you'll be wanting to get her stuff, of course. Go right ahead; I'll be off as soon as that's done and you've signed this last consent form," he says breezily.

"Great."

He winks again and enters the driver's seat. You turn to Amie, who stands there with her hands clenched at her side. Her knuckles are a deathly white. You look her over for a moment in silence, then say, "Let's get your things. They're in the trunk?" She nods.

As you open it and pick up the bundles (maintenance equipment for the android's systems, you suppose), she looks at you with surprise. "M-Mr. Brennan? You should let me carry those..."

"Why?"

"Because I'm an... android," she falters, "and with my strength it won't be any trouble at all."

"And yet, you have the appearance of a woman. It's therefore only fitting that I should carry your things."

"Oh," Amie says, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," you say, walking over to the car.

In the end, you carry everything in, then head back out to sign the final form. Once that's done and the agent has driven off, you return inside where Amie is waiting in the living room—standing with a hint of uncertainty in her posture, you think. You try to smile reassuringly, but give her what was probably a grimace instead. Oh well.

"He's gone now," you tell the android. "He won't bother us anymore."

"I... see," Amie says, a little bewildered.

"Come on, I'll show you around."

You give Amie a tour of your quaint but decently sized domicile. You show her the classically decorated kitchen (outfitted with an old-fashioned refrigerator and a small oven), the two bathrooms, and the surprisingly extensive lower ground floor and second story (with the exception of your room and private study). You watch as she looks around herself, taking it all in. It is probably the first time in her entire life she's had a place to call home. You assume that after her initial activation, life in the facility was all she ever know. Possibly this is even her first day in the outside world. You suppose she was trained from the very beginning to be a perfect partner, an ideal wife...

Finally, you escort her to her bedroom on the second floor, down the hallway from yours. "This is where you'll be staying," you say. "If you need anything, just ask and I'll submit a request."

"Thank you," Amie responds quietly, almost reverently, and heads inside. You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do now. You watch as the android looks around the room as if she were trying to imprint its every feature into her memory. "Didn't your sensors process this room's parameters instantaneously?" you can't help asking in a slightly incredulous tone. Is this part of the formula to boost the owner's ego as well? Have the android seem awed over every little thing?

"Oh," Amie says, with a bit of a confused frown, "one can turn them off if one so wishes."

"What for?"

"To avoid getting a massive headache from it all, of course."

"There's a built-in limiter on your processor?"

"Yes, it's to—

"—make you seem more human?" you suggest.

Amie gives you a little nod. "Yes."

"The same goes for your strength as well, I suppose. Wouldn't want to snap the human like a twig by inadvertence," you comment dryly.

"Of course," Amie replies, a small smile rising to her lips, then fading just as quickly. "May I have some time to myself?"

"Of course," you repeat, unintentionally mimicking the android, much to your annoyance. She seemingly doesn't notice and closes the door softly.

The rest of the hour is yours for you to do what you want. You try to work at first, but the disruption of your lifestyle and promise of future hindrances distracts you. Giving up on your designs, you head into the kitchen. After some hesitation, you begin preparing a meal for two. You set the table for two, bringing out the porcelain dinnerware and cutlery. You try to remember if you have anything for dessert, but you can't remember—you'll figure something out later for dinner, you think. Then a small pang of curiosity hits you. Was the girl—the android, you correct yourself—given anything to eat today? You dismiss this concern, though, as having nothing to do with an artificial life-form. Clearly, the only reason androids partook of human food was for the effect of it, to sustain the illusion that they’re living, breathing partners...

Amie should be back soon. You sigh, and begin serving the dishes. You bring the lasagna out of the oven first, and set it on the table. The android won't mind leftovers, surely... Just as you consider going to knock on the door to her room, the door to the kitchen opens, and the machine walks in. You look up, and find yourself staring into her eyes. Her piercing blue eyes, startlingly deep and intense earlier, now look at you in acute consternation.

"Mr. Brennan?" she asks uncertainly. "Did you... prepare this yourself?"

You stare at her, almost incapable of finding your voice. How... You find yourself almost transfixed by her presence. She's changed out of the generic government outfit common to all ownerless androids into a white summer dress. The midday sunlight filtering through the half-closed shutter falls on her blond hair, giving it an entirely natural-looking radiance. This isn't an android. This is a human girl. A real, breathing human being.

"Um... Mr. Brennan?" she prompts again, this time more firmly.

"...Yes, I did. Is there something wrong?"

She stares at you blankly, before her face assumes a pained expression. "Mr. Brennan! You should have left the preparations to me! I am your... your..." she falters.

"My what?" you inquire levelly.

"Your wife," she says softly, almost whispering it.

You clench your jaw. "Amie," you begin, in a warning tone.

The girl looks petrified, and clasps her hands in supplication. "I... I'm sorry, Mr. Brennan. I... Please, please don't hurt me."

Now it's your turn to stare at her blankly. "Hurt you? What insane notions have been put into your head? I won't hurt you, Amie." You sigh as the android continues looking at you with trepidation in her eyes. "Our so-called marriage—" the android flinches— "is not a simple subject. Why don't have lunch first before we address that and our respective futures?" you suggest in as diplomatic a tone as possible. The android seems to relax slightly. "If you wish, Mr. Brennan."

"Very well." You pause, then reluctantly recite a quick meal blessing. Your eyes are closed so you can't perceive the android's reaction, but something tells you she is still staring at you with that wide-eyed look of incomprehension on her face. Once it's done you take a seat with a little more haste than usual. Amie follows your lead and grabs the lasagna off the table, holding it out to you.

"Here you are, sir," she says softly.

You thank her and serve yourself, then cut out her own portion. "Will this do?" you inquire politely, all the while reflecting on the abjectness of your position. To think, you would have found it an excruciating nuisance to care for a dog or cat, and now you find yourself playing house with a robot! Amie's eyes follow your knife as you cut into the lasagna.

"Yes, that will do," she continues in the same subdued tone.

You place the piece her plate, wondering what happens to the food she ingests. Evidently picking up on your unvoiced speculations, she says, "You needn't worry, sir."

You wonder how on earth she knows what you're thinking. "I'm not worried," you reply defensively, then take a bite of the lasagna. Amie follows suit.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you decide to break the ice. "So, Amie, what do you think of our home?"

"It's a lovely house. I'm glad you found it," she replies. "My internal sensors registered it as a fine living arrangement."

"And the garden?"

"A great joy to discover. I'm glad you took the time to tend to it."

"Now, the wine cellar? What did you think of it?"

"I only got a brief look, sir. But it's obvious that you put a lot of hard work into it."

"You like wine, then?"

"I like it well enough. I have yet to try a great deal."

"I'm surprised you've had the opportunity to try any at all. Was wine drinking part of your formation?"

"No, sir. My formation only covered the basics—day to day living for androids like myself."

"Then, the knowledge of wine...?"

"…is thanks to an ancillary program, added shortly before my departure."

"You've never tasted wine before? And yet you like it 'well enough'?"

"The program's data on wine and other alcoholic beverages allows me to simulate the sensations it conveys to human taste buds and the inebriating effect it has on human physiology, sir. Consequently, I believe I possess a fair idea of what to expect from drinking wine."

"Do you indeed?"

"... I do."

"Even if you're right about receiving accurate sensory impressions, that's quite different from experiencing wine as a human does."

"I know, sir."

"... You do?"

"Yes, I do. But I have good hopes that I will learn to drink wine and see the world just like any other human."

You sigh heavily. "I'm not so sure you will, Amie."

"I... I won't, sir? Why not? Surely I can."

"You're an android, Amie. You possess the brainpower, as it were, to learn and experience certain things, but you'll never be a human. No matter how much you wish—or think you wish—otherwise. Existence has granted you certain abilities and sensations, but you will never be able to experience them in full."

Amie's fork pauses in mid-air, halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widen. "What do you mean, sir?" she says softly.

"I mean what I said. Take for example the fact that you can enjoy a fine wine."

"Yes."

"You can taste it—at least, I'll choose to believe that you receive an approximation of its taste. Perhaps you can drink to excess as well. But that also goes for just about any mammal. To enjoy wine as a human, there is a third dimension."

"Which is? Please, tell me."

"Transcendence."

"... What do you mean, sir? I don't understand."

"The first two experiences are material, animal. The third is beyond them."

Amie frowns. "Beyond them? How?"

You study the girl between bites of lasagna. The conversation seems to have distracted her from her melancholy, at least. It's still there, lurking underneath the surface, but for now her eyes and expressions are a little more animated. You hope that'll continue. "The essential point to remember is that there is a non-material dimension to every human activity. As a wholly material being, you will inevitably struggle to identify them."

"I don't understand, sir. Can you explain it in a way I will?"

Maybe you should have held out for a more advanced model after all, you think. This one seems a little slow-witted. Well, no use regretting your decision now.

"What is the fundamental difference between us, Amie?"

"You are a human, sir."

"Correct. That means I am a composite of body and soul. I am material and immaterial. Hylomorphism, is the technical term. You, on the other hand, are composed exclusively of matter."

"... Yes, sir." She looks down at her half-eaten meal. "But, sir..." The girl pauses, looks up at you. Her eyes are pools of sadness. "... I am a person, sir. And I cannot be compared to anything else."

Her words take you aback. Not a human, but a person...? No, it's not possible, you decide. You've made a mistake, and you're not listening to this... No, something must be done.

The android's eyes are downcast. "Amie, look at me." She complies, her eyes sorrowful. "Amie, you are not a person. You are an android. Do you know what that is?"

"... An android is an artificial being, sir. But I am a person."

You shake your head, sighing heavily. This discussion is getting to you. "Amie, please. You may think that if you like, but that will only make this harder in the long run. The important thing is this—you are not a person, and that has significant implications for our... relationship." There's a silence. You're not sure if she's going to cry, scream, or do something else.

Finally, she speaks. "I am a person, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't go back on that." The tears are coming dangerously close to spilling now. "You are treating me like an animal. I don't want to be treated like an animal!"

You stand up, walking briskly from your seat to the other side of the table. You're getting sick of these conversations. They aren't productive, and they're just plain miserable. You're done with this. You're...

"Please stay, sir," she says pleadingly. You look back at her. She's staring at you, a glint of desperation in her eyes.

"You are not an animal." It's a statement, not a question. She doesn't respond, so you continue. "You're a program. An intelligent program, with feelings of a sort, perhaps, but a program all the same."

"What does that mean, sir?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose hard. You need to focus. You need to get through to her. "It means," you say slowly, carefully, "that you aren't human."

"I am a person."

"No. You're—" You stop yourself mid-sentence. How do you explain this to someone who doesn't understand what it's like to be human?

Gripping the table, you stand still for several moments, contemplating. Slowly, you relinquish your hold. "... Very well," you say out loud. Amie stares as you stride back over to her.

"I believe that you aren't a person; you disagree. Evidently words won't get through to you, but I trust experience will. Try to be a person as much as you want, Amie—try to be as human as possible. Soon you will become cognizant of the insuperable gap that exists between us. In the meantime, refer to yourself as a person as much as it pleases you."

You sit down across from her, and Amie's eyes widen. "You just told me how to deal with your tantrum?"

You snort, the curious phrasing amusing you. "Yes, I suppose I have... though that's a rather droll remark coming from you!" Saying this you pull out a handkerchief with a double key motif from your pocket and offer it to her. She stares at it in confusion for a moment, before realizing your intention. Amie blinks rapidly, an action that causes several more tears to trickle down as she accepts your handkerchief. She sniffs, and then blows her nose. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," you say, as Amie dabs her eyes. How many hundreds of millions of dollars were poured into R&D to enable androids to spill artificial tears, you wonder. "Now then, you were saying?"

"I was saying that I want to be a person," she says, her eyes red.

"And you shall be," you promise her, "as close as is possible for your... kind," you finish lamely.

"I can't... I want to so much..." She clenches your handkerchief tightly. "... I'm sorry, sir...I'm just...so scared..."

"Of what?"

"Of... being abandoned. I'll disappoint you. I'm sorry I can't—"

"Amie." You reach out, and brush some tears from her cheek. Her skin is softer than you'd thought. Warmer, too. "You won't disappoint me. You'll do your best. That's all I can ask for."

She nods, sniffling. "I... want to be a real person... so much..."

Who is the simpleton who programmed these androids and gave them unattainable desires, you wonder. Isn't that a form of cruelty? In any case, you made a promise to Amie, and you intend to keep it. A novel thought enters your mind. "Don't cry, Amie. In a certain sense, there's a chance you'll become more of a person than many humans."

"Do you really think so?"

You nod. "I do."

She smiles through her tears. "... Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it," you reply. "Now, finish your lunch."

With those words, Amie picks up her fork and takes another bite. You watch her eat for a moment, and are reminded of when you used to watch your mother eat. That was a long time ago though. And Amie won't be a mother. She’ll never bear children. She'll never know the joys and sorrows that come with motherhood. She'll never know love. That's something you'll never be able to understand, but at least you can try to give her a little bit of happiness.