This is the final excerpt of my book that I can make available for free. If you want to read the full book, check it out on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BLSVRZN5  

“Oh, I just don’t know if I’ll ever find
anyone.”
Morgana leaned on the bar, her hand
cupping her right cheek. Bill poured her a
Tripel and placed it in front of her eyes.
Mario had just dumped her.
“On the house,” Bill said.
“Thank you, you’re so kind,”
Morgana said. “I thought Mario was the one.
We never fought.”
“He seemed rather full of himself. I
mean, that’s how he came across to me
when he was in here.”
“Oh, yes, Mario did think very
highly of himself. I like a man with
confidence.”
A man with confidence, Bill thought.
Maybe now was the time to take his shot.
“Do you have anything scheduled for
Monday? That’s my day off and there’s a
showing of Hamilton at the Zorbak Fine
Arts Center. There’s a Vietnamese
restaurant I know right next to it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Morgana
said, sipping the Tripel. “I’m not much for
works of antiquity. I prefer more modern
art.”
“In a few weeks, Sorvasen’s got an
exhibition of his art. You know, being a
waiter here is just his day job. He’s quite the
sculptor.”
“Oh, it’s a wonderful idea, but I just
don’t think I’m over Mario yet. You’ll
always be a good friend, Bill.”
Morgana took her drink and went
outside to the benches in front of the
brewery, leaving Bill alone in the bar with
his employees. Lucia giggled at Bill’s failed
attempt to land the big fish.
“I always wondered what would
happen if you caught that car you’ve been
chasing, Rover,” she said. “Dinner and a
show. How old fashioned.”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
“Which is why I’m wondering about
the other girl you took home recently. You
know the one in the back?”
“Lower your voice,” Bill said,
scanning the bar for eavesdroppers. “Who
told you?”
“Zota told me, don’t you blame
Jimmy for this,” Lucia said. “Like I wasn’t
going to find out.”
“Hopefully we aren’t that bad at
keeping secrets. You realize the government
will be looking for that thing.”
“And if they apply the same
competence and integrity that they do in
chasing down criminals and paving roads,
we’re in no danger. Hey, you’re not going to
replace me with that thing, are you?”
“I’ll tell you after I get it working.”
“Oh, if that’s the case, maybe I call
the authorities.”
Lucia raised her eyebrows at Bill,
and he rolled his eyes to the back of his
head. If the authorities found out, Bill would
be in deep trouble. What would he do with
the android if he got it going? This was
potentially a very deep philosophical
question, thankfully delayed by the
television hanging above the bar. The TV
had been broadcasting a debate on trade
between an economics professor wearing a
tweed jacket, and a large, burly Lunatic,
wearing a Tuxedo T-shirt and a tie with
Daffy Duck on it.
“We need to stop all trade with the
outside world,” the Lunatic said. The
caption beneath him identified him as Jethro
Duff, one of the main organizers of the
referendum. “The Moon loses two-hundredmillion jobs a year to off-worlding.”
“The Moon only has three hundredmillion people on it,” the economics
professor said, barely able to form words.
The screen shifted to an image of a
starship on fire, floating in dead space.
“We interrupt this program to
regretfully announce that over one thousand
people are dead,” the anchor jawed in a
thick non-regional accent. “The U.S.S.
Starstorm, an S-level spacecraft with a crew
of 1,072 people, has now been burnt to a
crisp after colliding with the Terran sun.”
“Oh, shit,” Lucia said.
“The Starstorm was the flagship of
the third fleet, commanded by Captain John
Krieger,” the anchor said, as a picture of
Krieger appeared on screen in full dress
uniform, pointing off into the distance.
“Captain Krieger is counted among the
dead. While the investigation is ongoing,
initial analysis of the black box indicates the
ship attempted to warp through the star.”
Lucia pointed at the image of the
burnt husk of a spaceship being towed to
port by several smaller spacecraft.
“Isn’t that the guy who wanted to
speak with you last night?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Bill said. “I wonder if
Krieger relied on the hull design to protect
him from that one.”

An Old Memory

“Put it back in, careful now.”
Bill’s father guided his hand as he
placed A-1’s emotion chip back into the
carefully constructed positronic brain. Bill
heard the chip click. A place for everything
and everything in its place. Prof. Stiltson
turned to his son and offered him a high
five, which Bill gladly took. The good
professor then closed the hatch on A-1’s
head, made to look like the professor’s own,
and flipped the switch at the bottom of the
android’s titanium skull. A-1 blinked twice
and then turned his head to smile at Bill.
“You have improved me,” A-1 said.
Bill giggled at the thought he that
improved A-1. His father beamed at him.
“You may have had a little help, but
very good for an eight-year-old. Now let’s
see what this thing can do. A-1, I’m going to
show you a film. It’s called Bambi. I’ve
equipped you with tear ducts. Now let’s see
if we can make you cry.”