Demon Seed

various charities. The antiques, the art, the numerous collections of porcelains and art glass and silver were tempting to thieves; larcenous souls could be found as easily among pampered society matrons as in any other social strata.
    Susan cycled through the views provided by the interior cameras. Multiple light-spectrum technology permitted excellent surveillance in brightness or darkness.
    Recently, she had reduced the house staff to a minimum and those domestic servants who remained were required to conduct the cleaning and general maintenance only during the day. At night, she had her privacy, because no maids or butlers lived on the estate any longer.
    No party, either for a charity or for friends, had been held here during the past two years, not since before she and Alex had divorced. She had no plans to entertain in the year ahead, either.
    She wanted only to be alone, blissfully alone, and to pursue her own interests.
    Had she been the last person on earth, served by machines, she would not have been lonely or unhappy. She'd had enough of humanity at least for a while.
    The rooms, hallways, and staircases were deserted.
    Nothing moved. Shadows were only shadows.
    She exited the security system and resorted again to vocal commands: “Alfred, report.”
    “All is well, Susan,” the house replied through the in-wall speakers that served the music security, and intercom systems.
    The speech-recognition module included a speech synthesizer. Although the entire package had a limited capability, the state-of-the-art synthesized voice was pleasingly masculine, with an appealing timbre and gently reassuring tone.
    Susan envisioned a tall man with broad shoulders, graying at the temples perhaps, with a Strong jaw, clear gray eyes, and a smile that warmed the heart. This phantom was, in her imagination, quite like the Alfred she had known but different from that Alfred because this one would never harm or betray her.
    “Alfred, explain the alarm,” she said.
    “All is well, Susan.”
    “Damn it, Alfred, I heard the alarm.”
    The house computer did not respond. It was programmed to recognize hundreds of commands and inquiries, but only when they were phrased in a specific fashion. While it understood “explain the alarm,” it could not interpret “I heard the alarm.” After all, this was not a conscious entity, not a thinking being, but merely a clever electronic device enabled by a sophisticated software package.
    “Alfred, explain the alarm,” Susan repeated.
    “All is well, Susan.”
    Still sitting on the edge of the bed, in darkness but for the eerie glow from the Crestron panel Susan said, “Alfred trouble-check the security system.”
    After a ten-second hesitation, the house said, “The security system is functioning correctly.”
    “I wasn't dreaming,” she said sourly. Alfred was silent.
    “Alfred, what is the room temperature?” Seventy-four degrees, Susan.”
    “Alfred stabilize the room temperature.” Yes, Susan.”
    “Alfred explain the alarm.”
    “All is well, Susan”
    “Shit” she said.
    While the computers speech package offered some convenience to the homeowner, its limited ability to recognize vocal commands and to synthesize adequate responses was frequently frustrating. At times like this, it seemed to be nothing more than a gadget designed to appeal strictly to techno geeks, little more than an expensive toy.
    Susan wondered if she had added this feature to the house computer solely because, unconsciously, she took pleasure from being able to issue orders to someone named Alfred. And from being obeyed by him.
    If this were the case, she wasn't sure what it revealed about her psychological health. She didn't want to think about it.
    She sat nude in the dark.
    She was so beautiful.
    She was so beautiful.
    She was so beautiful there in the dark, on the edge of the bed, alone and unaware of how her life was about to change.
    She said, “Alfred, lights on.”
    The bedroom appeared slowly, resembling a patinaed scene on a pictorial silver tray, revealed only by glimmering mood lighting: a soft glow in the ceiling cove, the nightstand lamps dimmed by a rheostat.
    If she directed Alfred to give her more light, it would be provided. She did not ask for it.
    Always, she was most comfortable in gloom. Even on a fresh spring day, with birdsong and the smell of clover on the breeze, even with sunshine like a rain of gold coins and the natural world as welcoming as Paradise, she preferred shadows.
    She rose from the