Soon enough, he was asleep.
What roused him, he couldn't say, but he found himself groggily awake in
the close heat of those wings, held tight. He listened attentively,
heard something else, a tinny sound. The robot.
His bladder was full. He gently extricated himself from Mimi, from her
wings, and stood. There was the robot, silhouetted on the end table. He
smiled and padded off to the toilet. He came back to find Mimi splayed
across the whole bed, occupying its length and breadth, a faintly
naughty smile on her face. He began to ease himself into bed again, when
he heard the sound, tinny, a little rattle. He looked at the robot.
It was moving. Its arms were moving. That was impossible. Its arms were
painted on. He sat up quickly, rousing Mimi, who let out a small sound,
and something small and bent emerged from behind the robot and made a
dash for the edge of the end table. The way the thing ran, it reminded
him of an animal that had been crippled by a trap. He shrank back from
it instinctively, even as he reached out for the table light and
switched it on.
Mimi scrunched her eyelids and flung an arm over her face, but he hardly
noticed, even when she gave an outraged groan. He was looking at the
little, crippled thing, struggling to get down off the end table on
Mimi's side of the bed.
It was the Allen. Though he hadn't seen it in nearly 20 years, he
recognized it.
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