Hugo Barnes, clad in his finest suit—the one he typically reserved for only the most critical company meetings—held a screwdriver in one hand and a small steel cap in the other.

  “Stu?”

  A young man, no older than twenty-five, with reddish hair and red-framed glasses, stood nearby. Hearing his name, the boy straightened up and, with a few quick steps, was at Hugo’s side. In his hands, Stu clutched a tablet, and on the back of the device, where the manufacturer’s logo ought to have been, there gleamed instead the emblem of “FutureRobot”: a stylized letter R, torn apart by two robotic hands.

  “Stu, are you there?” Hugo repeated, his eyes fixed on the machine before him, awaiting a signal from the young man.

  “Y-yes, Mr. Hugo,” Stu replied, standing rigid as a soldier.

  “Are you ready to activate it?”

  Stu didn’t rush to answer. Hugo knew him well and gave him time. Stu was clever—one of the sharpest minds Hugo had ever encountered. But he lacked decisiveness. He needed time to mull things over, to run every detail through his mind, weigh the potential benefits against the risks, calculate how to proceed without offending or harming anyone, and only then act. People like him were the best workers—every boss loved a man like Stu. But people like Stu could never lead others, manage processes, or even hold a family together. People like Stu struggled to find a woman to share their lives with. Not because they were bad people, but because people like Stu lacked the courage to tell a woman they loved her. Hugo liked Stu and wouldn’t trade him for anyone else in the company. Because Stu was the finest worker anyone could ask for. Hugo had molded him in his own image.

  “I’m ready, Mr. Hugo,” Stu called out, standing firm.

  Hugo stepped once more before the heap of metal shaped like a human, its back turned to him. The robot had long, black hair and wore no clothes. The curves of its body were startlingly lifelike, though in places its skin was peeled back, revealing a tangle of protruding cables. Here and there, red or green lights blinked across its form. And yet, despite resembling a human—more precisely a woman, thanks to the long black hair and smooth skin—its pallor was striking. The skin, if it could be called that, was nearly translucent, with well-oiled gray mechanisms faintly visible beneath it in spots.

  Hugo adjusted two electronic components at the base of the machine’s neck with his screwdriver, attaching them to separate terminals. He carefully tightened the bolts on each, tapped them once with the tool, then fitted the steel cap into place, securing it with a bolt at each of its four corners.

  “Hand me the hair, Stu.”

  Stu was already holding it. In his hands was a scalp-like piece of skin from which dangled a cascade of black hair. He passed it to Hugo. With practiced fingers, Hugo located the attachment points and gently fastened it atop the machine’s cap. He sealed the remaining open sections along the back of the creation before him, smoothing the skin into place where it belonged.

  Stu’s tablet flared to life, and he nearly yelped in astonishment.

  “Pull yourself together, Stu. It’s not your first time,” Hugo said.

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  Stu grinned. Hugo watched him. Now everything rested in Stu’s hands. This was the moment Hugo hated most. His own work was done. He always dressed in his finest clothes for each new robot he unveiled. This one wasn’t among his favorites—those were the first ones he’d built himself at sixteen. Now, at sixty-two, with a paunch and a weak heart, he could only make money, oversee the youngsters, and connect the final two cables in the robots’ heads.

  The blue and the yellow.

  The yellow cable dispersed plasma throughout the robot’s body, while the red linked its brain to the central computer at headquarters. Without those two cables, the robot would be no more than a toy-store trinket—not worth a tenth of his inventions.

  Stu tapped at the tablet, and with each press of a button, his smile grew wider.

  Suddenly, a noise rumbled from within the machine. It was normal—the mechanisms were stirring for the first time. It would take about two hours of operation for the oil to circulate fully through her. The red lights dotting her body turned green, then faded entirely. Hugo heard the pump kick in, spraying plasma laced with artificial blood.

  The robot’s whiteness softened to a pale hue, then blossomed into a faint pink. The cheeks of the almost-real woman before him flushed, growing redder. This was a new feature, and it had worked. There were even a few tiny blemishes here and there. After all, everything had to be perfect for the clients—which didn’t mean flawless robots, but realistic ones.

  The woman before them now had color and a human form. And she was beautiful. She had a long, almost Native-like face, her eyes perhaps blacker than her hair—though it could have been the dim light. Hugo hadn’t yet decided her purpose, but they’d likely place her in the Land of the First Ones. She looked like a warrior woman. He couldn’t imagine her fitting into the modern world—not as a housewife, nor a stripper, nor even a court lady.

  Her gaze was fierce, militant.

  His creative team would decide. He’d spent years assembling them. They were sharper than he was. And youth was the greatest skill—one that couldn’t be taught.

  Under Stu’s control, the black-haired woman’s eyes flickered to life. Then her arms rose smoothly, despite the grating noise that spoiled the moment’s grandeur. The robot girl lifted one leg, set it down, then raised the other. Stu beamed. He bent her forward, then back. He rotated her head with the tablet as far as the device allowed. The robot obeyed every command.

  “I think she’s ready for automation,” Hugo said.

  “I’m activating!” Stu’s voice rang out with rare resolve—one of the few times it ever did.

  The tablet’s screen flashed green, the light reflecting in Stu’s glasses. He held the device steady but no longer pressed anything.

  Amid the sound of grinding metal, the black-haired figure turned to face Hugo. She was taller than him, forcing her to tilt her head slightly to meet his gaze. She stood naked, unperturbed—for now. Her moral functions would activate after the psych test, conducted by a team of over twenty psychologists. Though they imbued her with consciousness there, every robot seemed to emerge with traces of it already. Hugo saw a divine hand in each one, even though he himself was their god.

  The black-haired woman raised a hand toward Hugo. He smiled.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said, her voice as clear as any human’s.

  “Nine thousand six hundred seventy-five.”

  All robots introduced themselves by their production number. She had no true name yet, but she spoke it with a confidence that suggested she liked it. Hugo thought to himself that he was nearing his ten-thousandth creation.

  “Welcome, Amara,” he replied.

  The name came to him unbidden, but he liked it. He’d suggest it to his creative team.

  The black-haired woman smiled and tilted her head slightly to the side. Hugo took her hand.

  Cold, he thought. I hope they find her some nice gloves.