Chapter 12
Piston
Life in the house changed after Cam left.
Not dramatically.
The walls still creaked at night. Seymour still ruled the living room like a furry landlord. Jane still drank too much coffee while working at her desk.
But the quiet felt different.
Sometimes, she caught herself glancing toward the kitchen, expecting to find a tall synthetic figure holding out a mug and announcing her estimated caffeine requirements.
Instead, there was nothing.
Occasionally, Seymour would sit upright and stare toward the hallway as though he expected Cam to walk through it again.
That hurt the most.
Chris began stopping by more often. At first, he used the excuse that he was checking on her. Increasingly, he came because he wanted to be there.
Jane noticed.
She also noticed that he brought food almost every time, which was either thoughtful or evidence that he didn’t trust her to survive on frozen dinners and crackers.
Possibly both.
Three days after Cam returned to RCAM, another delivery truck pulled into the driveway.
Jane looked suspiciously through the front window.
“Oh no.”
Chris glanced up from his laptop at the kitchen table. “What?”
“Another robot.”
He immediately sat straighter. “Excellent.”
“It is not excellent.”
This time, a young driver stepped out. He smiled as Jane came onto the porch.
“Hi. Looks like you’ve got something from a robot company.”
He held out the tablet and pointed to the signature line. “If you’ll sign here, I’ll unload it for you.”
Jane signed.
What a difference from the other driver.
Using a wheeled cart, he carefully lowered a surprisingly large white-painted wooden crate near the bottom of the porch steps.
Bright blue lettering covered one side.
RCAM CONSUMER APPRECIATION PROGRAM THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING
By the time the truck left, Chris was already grinning.
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
“Want me to help move it onto the porch?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “Nope. This isn’t my first robot-delivery rodeo.”
Chris snorted.
“We’ll open it where it is and let whatever’s inside crawl out on its own.”
“That is both reassuring and deeply concerning.”
“We need the pry bar.”
Chris went to the garage and returned carrying it over one shoulder.
“All right,” he said. “Moment of truth.”
He wedged the bar beneath the crate lid and slowly pried it loose. The nails squealed against the wood before finally releasing.
Together, they lifted the top away.
Inside were layers of protective foam and bubble wrap.
A large envelope rested on top.
READ ME FIRST