"You said I should challenge it!"
                          
            "Like asking it who the US president was in 1945 or something like that. Remember what I'm designing these for – old people, primarily. They need to be able to reminisce. Or, appear to reminisce, that is. We're talking historical facts and chit chat. Philosophizing would be nice, though. I've, um... been experimenting with that. But we've still got progress to make in that area, even in more recent models."
                          
            "You're also designing them to assist. So, can OMA... I don't know, dust or something?"
                          
            "Sort of. It does have a feather duster component. See that?" There it was, tucked under what in a real human would have been a rib cage. "But... I wouldn't let it dust around any valuables. I lost an antique vase and one of the crystal horse figurines Iola collects during the testing phase."
                          
"Iola must have been pissed."
                          
"She has so many, she hasn't noticed, yet. So, let's just keep this between you and me, okay?"
                          
"Why, Mr. James, I do declare... I've got dirt with which to blackmail you."
                          
He looked her up and down. "I think I have a few things on you, myself."
                          
Ignoring him, Emmie suppressed a grin and turned back to OMA. The robot stood there, its eyes staring dully at them. "Does it do floors?"
                          
"It's a great vacuum. Here, let me show you. "OMA, vacuum the upstairs."
                          
They stepped aside as the robot lifted itself off its base and began to slide forward. Instead of legs, OMA had a long metal skirt. A whirring noise began and OMA scooted from side to side, sweeping the floors as it went.
                          
"So essentially, you've created a talking Roomba."
                          


                          
"A Roomba had to be invented first before our Robotic Overlords could become a possibility." Ryker stretched his arms. "Do you want something to drink?"
                          
"Sure. Just some water would be great. And I'll skip the robot apocalypse tonight, okay? Just not feeling it."
                          
"I think we can manage that. No promises about tomorrow, though. Would you mind keeping an eye on OMA? Its sensors should prevent it from going down the stairs, but yesterday I found it dangerously close. I haven't had a chance to see what the problem is."
                          
Ryker headed out of the room to retrieve their drinks. Sighing, Emmie took in her strange predicament: following a robot around to make sure it didn't have an accident while resisting the advances of a sexy man so she could reveal to him that she's pregnant with someone else's baby. 
                          
This was not what she'd pictured herself doing a month after moving to Moon Beach.
                          
She followed OMA from the closet to the bedroom, watching as the robot whizzed around the room. Emmie sat on the bed, planning how she was going to spill her news without him freaking out, if that was even possible. She came up empty-handed. There was no way to be subtle, or gentle. She'd just have to say it, and hope for the best.
                          
A crash brought her back to the present. "Oh no!" She'd been so distracted by her own thoughts, she'd forgotten all about OMA.
                          
She met Ryker near the top of the stairs. He handed Emmie her water and then bent over the robot, who had toppled head first over the first set of stairs. It hadn't gone far as one of its wheels had become lodged in the metal rungs of the railing. Still, what passed as its neck was now twisted at a weird angle. Ryker pulled out the tablet that had been attached to its torso. The screen was cracked.
                          
"I broke it, didn't I? Oh my God!"
                          
He shook his head. "Put the water down and help me get it upright again, will you?"