Your eyelids slowly part. You blink once, twice. A beam of sunlight shines through a gap in the curtain, casting a long shadow on the carpeted floor. You realize that you're sprawled out on the sofa, one arm hanging slackly and the other on your abdomen. You prop yourself up to survey the room, then look down as you feel something slip down your torso to the floor. A warm blanket...

You remember the events of last night. So you fell asleep right here on the sofa. And then you had that peculiar dream...

You grimace, rubbing the corners of your eyes. How bizarre. What prompted your subconscious to dredge up that incident from your childhood, you can't imagine. As for the ‘original’ elements, the less time spent thinking about them, the better. It's moments like these that you feel particularly grateful for the solid, no-nonsense teaching of the Catechism: 'It is forbidden to believe in dreams, because they are often ridiculous, unreasonable, or wicked, and are not governed by either reason or faith.' Ridiculous indeed. Amie as your mother, and you yourself as your own father...

...and yet, you're bothered by the odd feeling that you're missing something. Like there's a little thought tickling the back of your mind, just out of reach. You think back to the beginning of the dream. You woke up in a boat with your father...

You shake your head. You're falling into the trap you expressly sought to avoid: analyzing the dream for deeper messages. You scratch the back of your head, as if to dislodge the nagging impression. After a moment, you shrug and stand, padding over to the window and wrenching it wide open.

The sun has only just cleared the horizon. A cool breeze blows from the east. It's a new day. You have time to mull over what exactly happened the night before, and how it relates to what you've been working on. You take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs. You feel refreshed, ready to take on a new day's work. But, before then...

...Amie. You have to find out what happened to her after last night.

*clink...clink*

You hear faint noises coming from the kitchen. You silently tread your way through the living room, then look into the doorless arch. You see a woman's back and shoulder-length blond hair, and are forcibly reminded of your dream.

The woman turns around, and you and Amie come face to face. She is wearing a white dress, embroidered with blue flowers and light-yellow swallows. In her hands she holds a saucer supporting a plain white cup. She smiles at you warmly.

"Good morning, Mr. Brennan," she says. "Would you like some tea? I haven't made breakfast yet, but it wouldn't take long to…"

You silently cross the room until you're looming over Amie. You become conscious of how her thoracic cavity rises and falls in an artificial semblance of a respiratory system. She looks up at you through her long eyelashes, half her face cast in shadow, the other illuminated by the light of dawn trickling through the window. "Mr. Brennan?" she asks. "What is it?"

You're not sure yourself. All you know is that... for whatever reason, you can't return to your usual, day to day interactions with Amie. Not just yet. You just gaze at her, pondering not on what could have been, but what can never be.

Amie meets your eyes steadily, tranquilly. Can she guess what you're thinking? Decipher this state that even you don't understand? Slowly, only turning around partially she sets the cup and saucer on the kitchen counter. Her hair falls forward, obscuring her face. She lifts her hand to brush it back, but lets it fall with a start as your hand reaches her hair first. You gently tuck it behind her ear, tracing its outline with your thumb. Your hand lingers there for a moment, before lowering past her face and dropping back to your side.

You stare into her eyes. She looks into yours, both of you transfixed by the other, as if each of you is the only person in this world. Your heart is beating calmly. There's a stillness in the air, like you're in the eye of a hurricane, and the two of you are all that's left.

And then, her hand slowly lifts up to touch your cheek. Her fingers gently trace the contour of your face, and she looks deep into your eyes. The touch is light as a feather, yet it seems to carry the weight of an entire world.

"Dear sir," she says softly. "You are so loved."

Her words echo in your mind. The moment passes, and she allows her hand to fall as yours did. Still, she gazes at you, not moving or taking her eyes away. The light of the rising sun streams into the kitchen more fully, dissipating the dreamlike atmosphere of your encounter. You don't know what came over you. You don't know what that means, what she meant by those words. But the way she said them... it was as if she knew you, deep down, better than anyone ever has.

"How are you doing?" you ask her quietly.

"I am well, Mr. Brennan," she replies. You know that there is sorrow within, but there is a peace as well. She will, you are sure, be able to move on from Gwen's... death, and continue with her life. And you are content with that.

"Thank you for asking," Amie says. She turns away from you, and stares out the window. You watch her fingers play along the edge of the counter as she gazes at the view. After a moment, she turns to you, a faint smile on her face. You look at the woman before you. She is not a human, and yet she displays the same range of emotions that any human could. Amie seems to you to be a woman of compassion, with a strong sense of justice. If she were human she would be, quite frankly, a better person than you.

"What happens now, sir?" she asks. "Now that Gwen is gone?" Her voice is steady, her gaze sad but clear-eyed.

"I don't know," you admit. "What do you want me to do?" You remember last night's brief conversation with Amir—his cool, dismissive answer when you inquired about Amie's friend. You have little reason to believe he would take kindly to your remonstrances.

Amie looks at you a moment, as if contemplating whether to tell you. There is a faint light in her eyes, an expression of resolve. Then, she opens her mouth to speak quietly. "I want you to fix this, Mr. Brennan," she says. "I want you to tell the mayor to take better care of his androids, because if he doesn't, he'll never know true happiness. I want you to tell him that Gwen was a good friend, and she won't be forgotten. I want you to fix everything."

Amie's eyes are wide and knowing. You see yourself reflected in her pupils. She stares back at you, her eyes searching your face. "Who else," she asks quietly, "is going to take care of us?"

It takes you a moment to respond. The question stops you. Who else will take care of the androids? Who will give them purpose? Surely there's an answer you can give her... but none is forthcoming. The US government is marching lockstep with the UN. There are significant economic interests in creating and periodically replenishing the android population. Several major manufacturers of androids are in the US, and their interests are very much aligned with those of the government. Public opinion is massively in favor of churning out disposable androids, never mind the fact that their availability hasn't led to a decrease in the number of sexual crimes. In fact, you suspect the official numbers are manipulated and the opposite has happened instead, but that's another issue entirely.

Though there are undoubtedly other men like Amir in high places who think as you do, or at least harbor reservations regarding the widespread proliferation of androids and the role they play in society, they know the risk they would run by going public with their views. You can't count on social reform—at least, not within your lifetime. As for the Church, it goes without saying that the world ceased to regard her as a moral authority centuries ago.

Even if she were, Pope Leo XIV has his hands tied. The American episcopate is pressuring him to liberalize Church discipline, in order to maintain good relations with the secular authorities. The great irony is that the American Church is less influential than it used to be, in no small part due to their salivating over the golden calf that is the government. You can practically smell the desperation emanating off of them as they woo the government with promises of changing Church doctrine to not only recognize the legitimacy of the State's laws, but also actively support them.

You've seen this song and dance before, and it never ends well for the faithful. The breaking point is coming soon, and whether the American Church will survive the upcoming decades is an open question. The Pope is trying to hold out for as long as he can, but you doubt whether he's strong enough to stand against worldwide pressure. Even in the College of Cardinals, there are factions at work to replace him with a more "cooperative" pope. You're aware of the specious arguments advanced by priests like Fr. Jacques Martin who would prefer a more "welcoming" Church, but know that it's a fool's errand. It's a short hop and skip to the inevitable: the Church capitulating to world government and becoming indistinguishable from any other religion. That can only lead to one thing: the creation of androids for their exploitation and subsequent destruction, followed by the decline and eventual moral extinction of the human race.

Which means that it's just you and a few like-minded, scattered individuals. Alone, for all intents and purposes, against the world. You don't even have the strength to be angry. You are the last remnant of the Church. You have no drive to fight the system, as you know you can't win. This war was lost before it even began. In a very real sense, you're a person with no future. You'll sweat and toil away at a few minor edifices to inspire some fleeting impression of awe in in the hearts of a few onlookers, in this world increasingly devoid of magical wonder, and then you'll die. The brief impressions will dissipate, and people will go on with their lives, as your own expires. At least you won't live to see the work of your hands torn down or—even worse—mutilated and bastardized by the State, in a world gone mad.

It should hurt to think that it could have been so much better, so much brighter. But there's only numbness. A sense that it doesn't matter.

You are a relic of the past and you will remain one until your final moments. You will die as you lived, mainly in isolation, with no friends save for those who respect your work but will never truly understand it. A tragic existence, and a waste of your talents.

And yet, despite all this, you feel a sense of calm. You have accepted your fate, for better or worse, and if by some small chance, you manage to touch the hearts of one or two individuals along the way, then your mission will be a success.

You're just one person. You can't save the world, you can't bring Gwen back, you can't singlehandedly bring down the system, you can't even bring yourself to hate the people who are responsible for all this.

But you can try your best. And that's what you'll continue to do.

You turn slightly and regard Amie out of the corner of your eye. Her eyes are downcast as she patiently awaits your response. It's a look you've come to recognize. It's a look of quiet hope, of trust, of belief. It's a look that says, 'I believe in you. I trust that you'll make the right decision.'

You take a deep breath, still looking forward into space. "I'll meet with Amir. I'll tell him about you, about our experiences together. I'll tell him to treat and regard androids as persons. But, Amie..."

You turn to face her fully. "I want you to come along with me. To speak with him with your own words. To tell him about Gwen, about what she meant to you. I want you to be the one who asks him to oppose the system in place, the laws that allow for the creation and treatment of androids as disposable objects. I want you to be the one who convinces him."

Amie seems stunned by your request. "Me, sir? But...I'm just an android. How can I…"

"You have a story that needs to be told. A story that will change the world. I truly believe that. And I believe in you, Amie."

She looks down at her hands, mulling over your words. Finally, she looks back up at you. "I... I don't know what to say, dear sir. Thank you for your trust in me. I'll try my best."

"We have time to prepare. Amir will be occupied with the mayoral elections for the next few weeks. We'll visit him the day after his reelection. That should be the best time to catch him in an agreeable mood."

Amie nods, seeing the wisdom in your words. For a moment the two of you stand in silence, reflecting on the situation at hand. The strengthening rays of light remind you that the dawn is ceding place to the early morning hours. "I need to get ready," you say, turning toward the staircase, but only take two steps before you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around and see Amie smiling at you. "Thank you, dear sir," she says. "For everything. I will always remember this." You incline your head in acknowledgment. It's unnecessary to say anything else.

As the silent exchange ends, Amie releases your shoulder and quietly makes her way toward the kitchen. You watch her go, before turning and ascending the stairs to your room. Preparing yourself to face the day to come, you silently hope that you have made the right decision.