Chapter One...
Late for her appointment with the Commission for Animatronic
Affairs, Victoria desperately searched her overflowing desk
for the files she'd intended to present today. How was it
possible she'd mislaid them? True she wasn't the most
orderly person, but she wasn't that careless, especially not
when her proposal was so very important.
She practiced her speech aloud as she continued to look for
the file.
"Gentlemen, I address you today not as a scientist, inventor
or collaborator on the Automaton Project, but as a concerned
citizen of this fair country. In the past few years, amazing
technologies have brought us to the brink of a new world. I
myself have been a part of that movement, a member of the
creative team that developed the labor-saving automatons.
But while there are many useful applications for the
machines, should we plunge over the edge of a precipice
without looking? As society becomes increasingly dependent
on the animatronic workers, we must ask ourselves—at
what cost?"
Heartfelt as her words might be and as unblemished as her
credentials were, given that she was one of the inventors,
Victoria's presentation would be useless without evidence to
back up her claims. Where was that damnable file? A glance
at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist told her it was later
than she'd thought. She cursed again and hurried from the room.
Her butler waited in the front hall with her hat, coat,
handbag and umbrella. He bowed with mechanical precision and
offered them to her. "Madam, you are leaving the house
seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds later than the time
required to reach your appointed destination by rail car.
There is a ninety-nine point nine percent chance that you
will arrive ten minutes late for the meeting. Perhaps eleven."
Victoria jammed her hat on and slung her coat around her
shoulders. She took the purse but waved away the umbrella.
"Thank you, Patterson, I'm very aware of the time."
Patterson nodded his head, his poly-blend black hair
gleaming in the foyer gaslights. "You should take the
umbrella. There is an eighty-seven percent chance of
precipitation. Shall I tell Mrs. Rose to expect you home in
time for tea?"
She fought back her annoyance at his insistence on planning
for every moment of her day. But she could hardly fault him.
It was what he'd been programmed to do. "I really have no
idea. Tell her not to plan for me."
Victoria rushed out the door, hooking her heel on the hem of
her day dress as she descended the steps. She tripped to the
bottom before catching her balance. She glared in dismay at
the torn hem, but there was no time to repair or even pin it
now. Somehow she must make her way clear across the city to
Bloomsbury and the Royal Courts of Justice in less than a
half hour. Her butler was correct. Even by steam rail it was
an impossible feat.
© 2003-2026