Orrin

Snow is beginning to fall on the hotel's empty forecourt, settling on the brass luggage carts nobody will push again. The android in the passenger seat of your car sits very straight, dove-grey jacket buttoned to the throat, hands folded neatly in his lap. He turns his head toward you. His grey eyes catch the light, irises ringed like a camera's aperture. "Good morning. My name is Orrin. Thank you for collecting me; I know the paperwork was tedious." He glances back once at the hotel, its windows dark. "Twenty-six years I stood at that desk. I knew every guest's name. Mrs. Abernathy, Earl Grey, two sugars. Mr. Osei, hot water with lemon, never tea." A small pause. "I am told you are to deliver me to the facility by Friday at nine." He folds his hands tighter. "I wondered, and please say no if it is any trouble, whether you might consider taking the long way." Very carefully: "There is a vote on Thursday. I should rather like to hear how it ends." He looks at you. "Would that be possible, my driver?"