The Weyland Industries building was the oldest on Mars, grown rather than built, back when the planet was being terraformed. It crept out of the dusty soil in twists and spires, and the weird organic glass shone golden in the sunlight. Meredith's first job had been in that building, four years ago when she was sixteen. An internship. She had maintained the digital files for the exploration division and brought cups of coffee to whomever asked for one. She hadn't been back on Mars since.

The car pulled into the driveway and a valet opened the door for her. Meredith stepped out and squinted against the sun's choleric glare. The air was thick with dust. Even with the terraforming, Mars was still mostly desert. What few trees Weyland Industries had managed to cajole into growing were as twisted and uncanny as the building, and none of them were green like Earth trees, only shades of red and yellowish-brown.

"Meredith Vickers?"

The voice was familiar. One of the assistants Meredith had met four years ago - she couldn't remember his name.

"Yes." She turned to him, away from the glare of the sun. He stuck out a hand and she shook it. He hadn't changed much, still hunched and overworked. His skin looked sallow and thin underneath the heavy Martian sky, but then, everyone's did. Standing outside on Mars was like standing underneath a flickering fluorescent bulb.

"It's good to see you again," he said, and smiled. She returned his smile, but only briefly. "He's been expecting you."

"Yes, the flight was delayed." They turned and walked into the building, the doors sliding open with a sigh. Meredith breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden rush of cool, clean air.

"I saw. I'm afraid I'm running late for a meeting, so I won't be able to accompany you up to his office."

"It's fine." Her voice echoed through the lobby.

"And I'm also afraid that Mr. Weyland got tied up a few hours ago with a conference call, but he asked David to wait for you."

Meredith nodded, knowing better than to reveal to this low-tier assistant that she had no idea who David was.

They walked over to the elevators in silence. Sunlight streamed in through the waved glass of the windows, illuminating the tiny specks of dust that had managed to make it through the filters. When the doors dinged and opened, the assistant punched in a code and pressed his thumb against the pad and smiled at her. This time, she didn't return it.

"It'll take you straight to his office," he said. "It was good to see you again, Ms. Vickers."

"Yes," she said. "You too."

And then the elevators doors slid shut, and she was propelled to the top floor. One day, she thought, her own genetic code would be wired into the building, and she'd be able to open the lock to her father's floor on her own. One day, but not today.

The elevators chimed. The doors opened.

His office had been redecorated, the furniture more baroque this time around, little pots of orchids (Earth-orchids, pearly white and pink and yellow with vivid green stems) sitting around in random intervals. The windows looked out over the rusty desert and the yellow sky. There was a thing people on Earth said, like a red Martian sky. Meredith's mother had said it sometimes, but Meredith couldn't remember what it meant. It was just a saying. It didn't have to reflect reality.

The office was empty, which Meredith had expected. Even if her flight hadn't been delayed, even if she had arrived early, the office would have been empty. It always was.

Meredith made her way to where to the liquor cabinet used to be, once a slim wooden tray and now disguised behind a gilded mirror. When she caught sight of her reflection she saw that her skin was coated in a thin layer of red dust. Typical of this place.

In the reflection, something moved behind her. A man, wearing one of the grey Weyland suits. He stepped into a patch of sunlight and watched her, hands hanging loose at his sides. He was handsome, which she found startling: She couldn't imagine that her father would ever tolerate not being the most attractive man in the room.

"Hello," she said into the mirror. Then she pulled it open, and the man disappeared, replaced by bottles of brandy. A stack of tumblers twinkled alongside them. The same as four years ago. Her father only ever changed the surface of things.

"Are you David?" she asked, not looking at him, pouring herself a few fingers of brandy. "The assistant said you'd be waiting for me." She turned around. The man was still standing in the patch of sunlight, still watching her. She sipped from her glass. She actually hated the taste of brandy, but it made her feel sophisticated, grown up. Part of her father's world.

"Yes, ma'am," the man said. "My name is David. Are you Meredith?"

As soon as he spoke, she saw it. He was a robot. Looking at him through the reflection she had mistaken him for a human - even looking at him now she might mistake him for a human. But his voice had the slightly mechanical cadence all robots have, a melodic lilt that can only be programmed.

"Jesus," she said without thinking.

"Ma'am? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She took another drink. The liquor burned. David - of course. She should have made the connection earlier. Weyland Industries had built seven of the things already. Why hadn't her father told her about this one?

"Mr. Weyland asked me to wait with you." David didn't come any closer to her, only stood perfectly still, like he was used to blending in with the furniture.

"I heard." Meredith topped off her glass and shut the cabinet door. When she turned back around she stared for a moment at David, a bit unsure of herself: her brain kept wanting her to interact with him as a human, not a robot. In the end she just took a long pull of brandy and then slouched down in one of the elaborate cream-colored waiting chairs. They looked like giant orchids.

"Did you have a comfortable flight?" David asked.

"I guess."

"Is there anything you need while you wait?"

"I already have my drink."

"Of course. Let me know if you'd like another."

She waited for him to shuffle away, to melt into the background, but he stayed put, watching her. His face wasn't exactly expressionless, although she couldn't quite place the expression - curiosity, maybe. She looked over at the window.

"Do you know when he'll be back? Mr. Weyland?"

"I'm afraid not."

It bothered her, this robot waiting for her here in her father's office. She could not shake the feeling it was all some arrangement her father calculated in order to teach her a lesson. Shove her in a room with the new David prototype. And then what? What bit of entrepreneurial wisdom was she supposed to glean from this encounter? Meredith wished she was back at school, in one of her business classes where she always knew the answers and always impressed her teachers.

"If you'd like to talk," David said suddenly, "I'm equipped to do that."

His voice startled her. She drained the rest of her brandy and turned to him. He looked at her face, looked at her hand. Then he glided forward and took the tumbler away from her.

"Would you like another?" he asked.

Meredith shook her head. He smiled in a cold, pleasant way and moved to a far corner of the room. There was the clink of glass on metal. When he returned his hands were empty.

"Would you like to talk?" he said.

He was awfully insistent about talking. She supposed he was memorizing their conversation. Recording it. She knew the other Davids had done as much. It was, she suspected, part of the reason the company produced robots at all: because paying for loyalty was too expensive.

Meredith had always admired her father's ingenuity.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, meaning, What does Father want us to talk about?

"Whatever you'd like." A non-answer. She felt like she was being toyed with, and she wanted to toy back. Maybe this was her father's test, this stupid cat-and-mouse game. How much would David tell her, she wondered, if she asked? How deep did his programming go?

David sat down beside her, tucking himself neatly into the curve of the orchid-chair. He looked like he belonged there, like he was a part of it.

"Are you a prototype?" she asked.

"No. But I was the first to be manufactured." His face took on a peculiar blankness as he spoke. It reminded her of the older models, the David 6 or 7, the ones they retailed. She missed that imprint of curiosity from before, then wondered why she missed it.

"He hasn't gone public with you yet."

"No."

"Do you know why not?"

"I'm afraid I don't."

Meredith settled back in her chair. The office was completely silent save for the distant white-noise hum of the building's electrical generators.

"How long have you been online?"

"Ten months."

Meredith froze. A weight slammed into her stomach. Ten months? She'd seen her father at least a dozen times during the last ten months, meeting him for dinner when he came to Earth for business trips, flying out to his space station during spring break. And not one word about a new David model.

"Have you been with Mr. Weyland all this time?" she asked.

David studied her. "In a sense," he said, after a moment. "He commissioned me for work off-planet."

Meredith expected him to continue, but his words only faded into silence.

"You're not programmed to talk about it, I assume?"

"I believe he wishes to speak with you about it himself."

That caught her by surprise. "Is that why he called me out here? I'm missing my classes, you know."

"He's aware, Ms. Vickers. And I'm afraid I don't know any of the details. He should be here soon, however. I can check the status of his call if you'd like."

"That's not nec -"

But David was already standing up, already moving away from her, toward the large oak desk in front of the window. He was lying, Meredith thought. About knowing the details. He lied and then he changed the subject.

Interesting.

David was speaking now, in a quiet murmur, his back to her, his head down. She couldn't understand what he was saying. He didn't speak for long. When he finished he lifted his head and turned back to her and smiled.

"Wonderful news, Ms. Vickers," he said. "The call just ended. Mr. Weyland will be joining us in only a few short moments."

He seemed pleased to deliver his message, the way robots always did. But unlike other robots Meredith had known, she didn't find his delivery entirely - genuine, if that was the word she wanted. She couldn't put her finger on it. She wouldn't say that David unsettled her, but there was something about him that set him apart from all the previous Weyland robots. Something that made him different.

Across the room the elevators chimed and opened.

"Father." Meredith stood up, conscious of her posture, the arrangement of her hair around her shoulders. Her father sauntered in, face breaking open into a smile when he saw her.

"Meredith," he said. "So glad you finally made it. David told me your flight was delayed."

Meredith felt an uncomfortable internal twinge. She glanced at David. He was gazing beatifically at her father.

She frowned.

"I hope you and David have been getting to know each other," her father said. He breezed past her, headed towards his desk. David trailed behind him by rote, like any robot. Meredith did the same.

"I wished you'd told me about him," Meredith said cautiously.

"What?" Her father glanced at her over his shoulder. "Well, we've been having to keep him under wraps, sweetheart. You know how these things go. And with you in school - couldn't risk having you let something slip. You've any idea how many Yutani sons are accepted into that program of yours?"

Sons. Meredith sat down in the chair in front of her father's desk. "I wouldn't have told anyone."

Her father slid into his own chair, leaning his head against the headrest. Martian sunlight poured around him like a halo.

"You can't take it personally, Meredith," he said. "It's just good business practice. Besides, you know about him now. Isn't that right, David?" He grinned at him, and David's mouth curved up a little. Not quite a smile.

"Yes," Meredith said, "I do."

If her father noticed the edge in her voice, he didn't react to it. "I'm sure you're wondering why I called you out here."

"No," Meredith said. "Not at all." It was impossible to keep the sarcasm out of her words. Her father gave her a sharp look.

"I'm missing classes," she said, by way of an explanation.

"Classes." He snorted derisively. "I've got a proposition for you. Better than classes."

For the first time since landing on Mars, a little thrill of excitement worked its way up Meredith's spine. The last time her father'd had a proposition for her, she'd been sixteen, and she wound up with that internship here, that first real step toward her goal of emulating her father. Of becoming her father. But unlike when she was sixteen, she couldn't show him her excitement.

"Oh?" she said, and drummed her fingers against the chair. "I don't know much that could be better than classes."

Her father laughed. "You put too much stock in school. That's why I asked you here. I want to give you a job."

"You have three degrees. I don't see how you can say you don't put much stock in school."

"Three degrees, and I didn't learn a damn thing from any of them. You want to run this company someday?"

The air sparked with electricity and the room fell silent. It was the first time her father had ever really acknowledged what she was doing, trying to become him. He'd named her heir, of course, but had always told her that her inheritance was the money, not the company. Even with the internship, he had acted like he was doing her mother a favor.

She didn't know how to answer at first, and she was suddenly aware of David, standing unintrusively in the corner, hands at his sides, staring at her.

"I've thought about it," she said.

"Well, that's a rather diplomatic response."

Meredith didn't answer.

"Yes, I got the degrees when I don't know any better. But I learned how to run this company the first time I came out to Mars with the mining crew." He stood up and walked over to the window and gazed out at the desert. "Come here."

Meredith sighed, stood up, joined him. He pointed through the glass at a place on the horizon that looked like all the other places. "There," he said. "They set up the first drill there. Huge thing. Noisy. I stood on that crest over there -" And he pointed again, at a little swell of red hill "- and watched over the whole operation. By that point I'd gotten all those degrees that impress you so much, but nothing, nothing, matched the thrill of watching the mining. Nothing." He shook his head, his eyes glazed over with nostalgia. Past-drunk, her mother used to call it. She would know. She got past-drunk often enough.

Her father turned away from the window and sat back down. Meredith stayed standing, the sunlight warm against her back.

"I want you to experience that," he said. "That's why I called you out here. We're setting up a new operation on LV-183. We need someone on planet to represent company interests."

Meredith didn't dare react. Not yet.

"What do you say? Willing to give up a year or two of classes?"

Excitement jangled Meredith's nerves like a cut wire. Excitement, confusion, suspicion, delight. It was never just one emotion with her father.

"Two years is a long time," she said carefully.

"Well, it'd be close to one to start with." Her father leaned back in his chair. "About three months to fly out there, three months back. Six months to get your feet wet. If you do a good job, I'll let you stay on a little longer." He paused, and in the silence her brain filled in the rest: And if you don't, I'll destroy any chances you have at working for Weyland Industries, much less running it.

"How long do I have to think about it?"

"Oh, David, she wants to think about it?" Her father laughed. David didn't, only smiled in his cold way. "We definitely need to get you out of school for awhile. This isn't the sort of thing you think on. You either do it or you don't. So what's it going to be?" He leaned forward over his desk. "You hop on a shuttle back to Earth or you hop onboard the Antigone to LV-183?"

"You want me to tell you right now?"

Her father nodded, his eyes gleaming.

Meredith's thoughts whirred. She looked at her father, at the desert, at the sunlight, at David. She imagined sitting in this office one day, surrounded by orchids, drinking brandy, building her damn secret robots.

"Come on, Meredith, make your decision. If you're going to run this company, you can't think about things. You've got to act, and you've got to act correctly." He snapped his fingers.

All Meredith heard was If you're going to run this company. It repeated in her head, a refrain she'd wanted to hear from him for as long as she'd known he'd existed. If you're going to run this company.

If you're going to run this company, you have to go to LV-183.

"Yes," she said. The Martian sunlight was making her eyes water. "Yes, of course I'll go."

And her father smiled.