"I'm not going," you reply coldly, as Mr. and Mrs. Ward stand nearby, looking shocked.

"But why?!" asks David. "This is the American Institute of Architects we're talking about, for crying out loud! A prize like this would boost your—"

"I don't care about any of that," you snap, "I'm not going."

Mr. Ward, who has been listening silently the whole time, now speaks up for the first time. "Ely, I understand that you... entertain a healthy dislike for these functions, but this is an opportunity you don't want to miss out on. You've worked so hard these past few years, and it would be a waste if..." He trails off, his jowls wobbling as he sighs. "Well, I suppose this is one of those things best left to be decided by the two of you."

You narrow your eyes. "The... two of us? What are you talking about?"

"You and your wife, Mr. Brennan," Mrs. Ward interjects in her thin, nasally voice.

You stare, then let out a short, barking laugh. "My 'wife's' opinions don't have any bearing on my decisions. We don't have that kind of relationship."

Mr. Ward looks hurt by your statement, but Mrs. Ward is just confused. "Have what kind of relationship?"

"We're not married," you say dismissively, starting to turn away.

"Not married?" she says incredulously. "You're not? But I thought..."

"We're committed to each other in the way that suits us best. That's all I'll say on the subject." You give each of your clients a hard look. They mean well, but they don't understand. Turning your attention next to David, you say, "Though I'd love to stay and chit-chat,"—David greets this statement with a dubious look—"I've got something planned tonight. It's something I can't afford to miss." David struggles to keep the curiosity off his face. An occasion the reclusive Mr. Brennan can't omit? This is a first. You turn to Mr. Ward. "I'll give you a ring tomorrow, Charles. See you then."

With that, the four of you part ways… more or less. Despite your words, David lingers as long as he can to share with you the latest developments in the architectural world, and to hear about your views on various subjects. Noticing the golden head of the sun beginning to droop over the horizon, you abruptly bid him goodbye and leave your rarely used office. During the drive home, you ponder over the events of the past week.

In a tediously predictable development, the parents of the youth who had harassed Amie (and whom you subsequently smacked down) presented a complaint to the chief of police. Of course, you had anticipated this, and had had no scruples in averting the mayor the very evening of your little altercation in the bakery. The mayor lent on his good golf buddy the chief, who lent on his trusty men, who quite willingly buried the complaint. Thus, a happy ending—but not without its concomitant demands. It went without saying that, having solicited the mayor, he now expected you to repay him in some way.

The mayor. Amir Gheibollahi. In some manner or another, the two of you had become acquaintances—how, you couldn't remember exactly. More familiar to you are the circumstances immediately leading up to your friendship—Amir had heard good things about you, and seen better things still, when one of his business associates, the previously introduced Mr. Ward, invited him to his brand-new mansion for a party—designed from top to bottom by one Ely Brennan. It was love at first sight—Gheibollahi wouldn't rest until his mansion, and primary vacation home, and secondary, and tertiary, were all designed by you.

You will allow him to ply you with exquisite delicacies and outrageously expensive wines tonight; that is the return he asks for, when you owe him a favor. The generosity of the old sovereigns of the desert has been reborn in him, and by these tokens of appreciation you are frequently reminded of his esteem for your work. Providing further impetus for closeness are your personal circumstances—like you, Amir is targeted by the nation's birthrate policies, and though unwilling to oppose the prevailing heteronomic social current, lest temeritous upstarts present a stiffer challenge to the reigning incumbent in the imminent mayoral elections, this adherent of Mahomet holds no great love for the zeitgeist, and is indulgently sympathetic to your arguments and ideological struggle.

A friend once told you that, in this day and age, a perfect gentleman has more in common with a hardened gangster than he does with a modern liberal. In this case, you think, the friend was right. It is this statement that best describes Gheibollahi. This is not to say, however, that he himself is a hardened criminal. No, if anything he is too refined for that. Rather, he is a representative of the sort that could easily be a hardened criminal, if it were not for his unexpectedly sensitive nature that causes him to choose the course of finesse rather than the more direct, and yet perhaps paradoxically less effective method of brute force. That being said, when you first met you were less than impressed. He was garrulous, noisy, and altogether too familiar. David described it as an "another Titanic running into an iceberg" and you had to agree.

Yet, time passes, and like the warmth of spring that eventually melts the most brutal of winter's frosts, you have since then warmed up to the man. It would be no exaggeration to say that you trust him, whatever his moral failings. Somehow, and not very deep down in your unspoken thoughts, you feel as if he is the lesser of not a few evils compared to the alternative. For these reasons, though you probably would not have been able to build a bridge to him yourself, or even been willing to try, you are more than amenable to the prospect of watching him close the gap on your behalf. Now, the only question on your mind is...

You glance at the occupant of your vehicle's passenger seat. Amie notices your attention on her and—with a very human and now familiar expression—smiles at you. "I'm sure everything will go well, dear sir."

"I fear your optimism is as boundless as it is baseless," you reply. "At least, it is a special kind of boldness to venture on prognostications prior to meeting 'the Shah of D.C.', as you must remember to call him at least once. He is uncommonly fond of the moniker, for reasons which surpass my understanding."

Amie smiles again. "I am merely familiar with his reputation, sir. Surely, even if he is a bit ... well, eccentric, he will welcome you as his special guest, for all the services you have rendered him."

You mutter an unconvinced 'hmm', then lapse into thought. Amie... has changed since her interview and a subsequent chat on the phone with Father Seong. Changed for the better, you have to admit. Where she was once timid and painfully awkward, she is now poised and self-confident; where once her speech would frequently turn to flustered apologies and just an inability to communicate on any meaningful level, now it's a steady stream of self-reflection and self-analysis. She stammers less, and when you point out how she might act more like a real person, she absorbs your remarks calmly and attempts to integrate your advice at her own pace.

She has certainly improved since the inception of this plan, at least. You can't recall off the top of your head the last time she so much as alluded to her non-existent personhood, much less sank into despondency over the subject. Instead, ever since the day Father Seong spoke with her, she has been brimming over with purpose. You asked her two or three times about this sudden change, but she simply smiled, telling you that she was happy with the way she'd been changing and that you shouldn't worry about it, and that Father Seong would tell you in due time.

Amie continues to speak, and you realize you're only dimly hearing her now—your mind has drifted off as you go over these considerations and various plans in your head.

"Sir? Are you in there? Oh, I see, you're trying to come up with an excuse to back out of this visit. Well, it's too late now!"

Raising an eyebrow, you look over at Amie. She's grinning mischievously, and...

You suddenly realize why she's been so happy. This plan. This 'humanization' idea. It was yours, to begin with. Your original plan, while well-intentioned and potentially very beneficial to Amie, ultimately still relied on someone else doing the heavy lifting, namely you. Amie, however, has practically created a new, independent life for herself—one that doesn't only rely on you. She didn't need to do this. She could have easily just relied on your help. But she didn't. With Father Seong's encouragement, she took matters into her own hands, and with daring and boldness that could only be matched by the bravest of heroes.

And... You have no idea how you feel about that.

"Sir? Dear sir? Are you ignoring me again?" Amie pouts.

You clear your throat. "Sorry. I zoned out for a moment there. What were you saying?"

"I was asking you about the design for the new hospital. What did you decide?"

"That's... still up in the air. You know how busy I've been lately, Amie."

"You've told me. Several times. I think you're just nervous about telling me."

"Am I?"

"Sure. You pick up a new architecture book every other day it seems, and you've been doing research on hospitals."

"... You've noticed?"

"Well, I know you well enough to notice these things. What I don't get is why you're obviously nervous about telling me. You know how fond I am of helping you."

Indeed, sometime during the last two weeks Amie had permitted herself the audacity of asking to see some of your designs, and then giving her thoughts on them. Your initial instinct had been to say no, but upon further thought you realized that it would be a good idea to get some outside opinions. At least, that's how you choose to rationalize your decision to yourself. Even so, all you've shown Amie thus far are old, discarded drafts and images of finished buildings anybody might find online. Asking for her input on an on-going project is a line you're not willing to cross just yet.

You take a left turn, respecting the residential speed limit. "We're almost there. Remember, no untoward comments about Amir's... personal life."

Amie's cheery mood fades a little. "Of course."

Before long you pull into the driveway of a singular mansion. Through the nighttime darkness the domicile's exterior lighting reveals its appearance as a sprawling Persian-style mansion, complete with an elaborate entrance gate, archways, an interior courtyard, and a large dome for a roof. The driveway is long and winding, and you climb out of the car with Amie following behind. She looks at the structure with wide-eyed admiration. "This is... a very interesting design, Mr. Brennan. I've never seen a khishkhan on an American home before."

"I try to incorporate elements from the client's heritage whenever possible," you say, offering Amie your arm. Making your way up to the front door together, you see several other people ahead of you; Gheibollahi isn’t one to do things half-heartedly. This promises to be quite the party. As you approach, recognition lights in the doorman’s eyes and he nods you in without so much as a look in Amie's direction.

You lead Amie through a large, gorgeous, elegant archway leading into the foyer. As you do so the ceiling opens up, revealing a massive tessellated sun. The tiles form a spherical body, above which the folded hands and closed eyes of a woman can be seen. On either side of her sit two angels, their wings reaching out to frame the tiled sun. The woman herself is serene; her face radiates tranquil strength, her countenance shows nothing but peace.

"You did this?" Amie whispers.

"I did," you confirm.

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you." A voice rings out. And, turning, you find yourself face to face with the mayor himself. He smiles. "You won't mind if I snatch at your praise and appropriate it for myself, will you, Mr. Architect? Public service is such a thankless occupation in comparison, and heaven knows you suffer from no dearth of praise." He then looks to Amie. "Don't you agree, milady? Or, should I say, Milady Architect?" His smile broadens into a brilliant crescent.

"Amir, I've brought a guest. This is Amie," you say, not fazed in the slightest.

"Amie. What an enchanting name. It suits you admirably." He considers your android companion for a moment. "It's a pleasure and a great joy to meet you, Amie. I'm sure between us we can figure out how to get Ely out of his shell. He's a tough nut to crack, as you're no doubt aware, but two heads are better than one, as they say." He winces at this platitude as soon as it exits his mouth, evidently considering it unworthy of his sparkling wit, then turns to you. "I trust you'll be staying for the duration of the party, Mr. Architect?"

"Don't push your luck, Amir." The mayor merely chuckles at this, knowing you too well to take offense. "I do hope you're not intending on disappearing again," he remarks, as he guides you to the center of the spacious room. "The company is far more preferable to me than any of my four wives could hope to be." His hand grasps your shoulder in friendly but insistent fashion.

Amie says nothing, but a troubled expression comes over her face at Amir’s words. Her eyes search out yours. Shaking your head imperceptibly, you merely reply, "I'll stay after dinner. We'll have the opportunity to talk one on one."

"Ah, good," he smiles, clearly relieved by your capitulation. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I mean, I have people who are supposed to take care of that, but they have an unwelcome talent for prestidigitation." Saying this, he scans the chattering crowd. "Ah." His eyes alight on a graceful figure, a tanned woman in a black western dress. He beckons her over. "Wife, there's a guest whom I'd like you to speak with." The mayor turns to Amie. "This is Aisha, my third wife."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Aisha says, extending a hand to her fellow android.

"And you," Amie says politely. "You have a lovely... home." Amie trails off, realizing her faux-pas. You very nearly facepalm. What inspired her to compliment Gheibollahi's wife for her house, of all things, when the one who designed it down to its last nook and cranny is standing right next to her? Compliment her dress, at least, or her hair; anything else would have done...

The mayor laughs, while his wife stands bemusedly. "Now there's a woman in love! Can't pass up the opportunity to compliment her husband!" he exclaims, flashing his white teeth. Amie flushes crimson under his gaze. He appraises her, grinning. "No shame in falling in love, my dear. I'll admit, I married this one for her beauty, but an endearing personality is not to be disdained."

"Clearly you've just disproved yourself, Amir, and the girl can't possibly be in love with me, for I possess neither," you say. Gheibollahi throws his head back and laughs more heartily at your self-deprecation than you and the assorted guests nearby are comfortable with, but this is simply how he is.

"What will we say of me, then? How about you, Aisha? Do you love me as much as the young lady loves her Mr. Architect?"

"Yes dear, I love you very much," she replies, not missing a beat.

"Oh, so you love your husband, do you?" Amir smiles, but he has a curious, distant look in his eyes—of disappointment, one could think.

"She can't love you," Amie interjects, taking you completely off guard. "She's an android."

You could hear a pin drop.

"I'm sorry?" Amir asks, more than a little taken aback.

"She's an android," Amie repeats. "She can't love you."

Aisha stares at Amie, who holds Gheibollahi's startled gaze calmly. You note with mild apprehension that other guests (several of whom are flanked by android partners) are beginning to follow the conversation. Should you intervene? However, just as you ready yourself to speak...

"And you, dear lady, can you not love?" Gheibollahi suddenly asks Amie.

"I..." Amie starts, then pauses. "No. But I allow love to be bestowed upon others through me." This statement is met with silence. The mayor's wife, stunned beyond words, simply stares at Amie, whose eyes remain fixed on Gheibollahi's face. "That's right," she continues softly, "of myself I am incapable of love. But I can give it. Through me, others experience love. I am a reflection of love."

The onlookers continue to stare. Silence reigns for a few moments longer until the mayor forcibly breaks it. "I'll drink a toast to that! To love, and the capacity to experience it." He smiles at Amie. "For that is a reflection of the divine. We are all God's children, and He loves us all. May we never forget it."

You cock an eyebrow, knowing Amir too well versed in his faith to commit such a theological blunder.

"To love!", rises the sycophantic cry from everyone's lips as the mayor looks on approvingly. He grabs a glass of champagne from a slack-jawed waiter. "To love!" he cries himself, then drinks. You restrain a sigh. That's one way to diffuse the tension, you suppose.

"And with that," Gheibollahi begins again, "I think it's time we proceeded to the main course!" He claps his hands and servants come out to direct the guests to their seats as the conversation swiftly returns to more... acceptable topics.

As you are guided to the principal dining room, your eyes find Amie. She gives you a warm smile before being led to a separate room herself. This you know is because of Gheibollahi's intermittent conservative streak; the man flouts the prescriptions of his religion seemingly with impunity, then refuses to budge on issues like the segregation of the sexes. Thus, men and women are led to separate tables where wine will flow and plates will be piled with pork—though upon further reflection, you can't affirm with confidence whether you've ever seen the mayor himself partake of food that is haram. 'A man who endangers his soul for pig flesh is a damnable fool,' you remember him saying, 'but who does so for wine, will be loved by the gods.' At the time you had ironically replied, 'صراحی ای و حریفی گرت به چنگ افتد', which he was more than happy to interpret literally. Yet, whatever the mayor's oddities, you've always found him to be just, and a friend when you needed one.

The meal passes by pleasantly enough, even relatively uneventfully... for you. You hope Amie is getting on well with her android 'sisters'...