The android was a tall, handsome model. Its voice was deep, resonant and faintly British. It glided over to the built-in bar and performed rapid, indiscernible manipulations involving ice cubes, whiskey and soda. The android returned swiftly with the drink and served it with a sweeping flourish. Raymond took the glass and gestured impatiently. "Cigar." "Very good, sir." The android withdrew a long, brown cigar from the humidor on the small, floating ebony end-table, placed the clipped end in Raymond's mouth, and lit it with the tip of its forefinger, which suddenly glowed red. It watched as Raymond puffed up several billowing, little gray clouds. The smoke drifted towards the android, and it said: "Disgusting habit." Raymond raised his glass, sipped the cold liquid, and remarked bitterly, "What a pity you can't enjoy your own poisonous concoctions." The android stepped back and stared fixedly at the man. "You are a sot, sir." Raymond exploded. "What!" "S-o-t, sot. An alcoholic. A drunkard. One who imbibes intoxicating liquors." Raymond jumped out of the chair and threw his glass and cigar on the carpet violently. The cigar sizzled in the midst of the foaming liquid. He glared at the android. "You go to hell!" "As I have repeatedly attempted to impress upon your happy, pickled brain, sir," the android said, "It is impossible for me to go there." "That isn't exactly what I meant." "In that case, sir, I would suggest that hereafter you say what you mean." Raymond swore. He swayed uncertainly, and then dropped back into the chair. He reached out to the floating table for a fresh cigar, jammed it in his mouth, and chewed it nervously. He was a short, chubby man, with brown, thinning hair, a double chin, and lines around his mouth, where a friendly smile had recently met an untimely death. Raymond pulled his cigar out of his mouth and stared at the wet soggy end. He moved his head from side to side, turned his gaze on the android, and muttered through his teeth, "You and your impeccable androidal exterior have got to go." The decision immediately had a relaxing effect. Raymond's moist brow unwrinkled itself momentarily, and he almost smiled at the thought. "Allow me to point out, sir," the android said. "That you have, to date, invested approximately three thousand dollars in my interior and exterior, as well." Raymond nodded sadly. "Not to mention fifteen more easy, cardiovascular producing payments." He placed his hand over the spot, where, deep down, his heart was located. Satisfied that it was still there, he said, "I've got a lot of expensive money tied up in you, but if I have to choose between mechanical misery and matrimonial bliss, I'll settle for Paula's brand of inhuman torture." "That, sir, is extremely faulty, illogical, and irrational reasoning. Typical, however, of most humans."