Vehicles filled the lot at Meadowview Mall, some parked illegally in fire lanes and loading zones. A crowded mall at Christmastime was the last place Dana wanted to be. But there she was, idling up and down the rows, hoping to get lucky.

Ten minutes later, she spotted an elderly woman schlepping packages to her car. Dana parked in the vacated spot, donned her leather jacket, and walked toward the mall.

An icy breeze whipped up. Dana stuffed her hands into her pockets. With no snow and a cloudless sky, the city didn’t look much like a winter wonderland. But it sure felt like one.

They called it a megamall, which was an understatement in Dana’s opinion. When Meadowview was under construction, a few years back, she would pass by on her way to the station and marvel at the sheer scope of it. The towering cranes, the massive excavation, the army of workers—it looked like they were building a whole town instead of a shopping mall.

Today, Meadowview boasted the title of world’s second-biggest mall, surpassed only by a massive shopping complex in Dubai.

Dana would be entering through Riley’s department store and knew what that meant. Five steps past the door, they’d be all over her. The perfume sprayers. The lotion dabbers. The store hawkers trying to waylay her as she hurried past. She considered the main entrance, where there would be fewer hassles. But that was a quarter mile away, at least, and Dana was already chilled by the wind. So she hunched her shoulders and made a beeline for Riley’s.

No eye contact, she thought, as the auto doors hissed open. Just keep walking.

They came at her from both sides. The one to her left was a bot, a young "woman" with a ponytail and heavy makeup. The other was human, middle-aged, and seemed vaguely annoyed.

"Happy holidays," the bot said, beaming. "And welcome to Riley’s. Is there something I can help you find today?"

Dana waved a hand. "I’m good, thanks."

The bot’s human counterpart held back, perfume bottle at the ready. She eyed the bot with what Dana took for contempt. No surprise there. A lot of people hated them, especially when they threatened your livelihood.

"Looking for a last-minute stocking stuffer?" the bot asked. "We have twenty percent off select items, for today only. Bargains abound here at Riley’s."

Dana kept moving. She exited Riley’s and entered the mall’s concourse area, a four-level rectangle the size of six football fields end-to-end. The upper levels were partially open, allowing ground-floor shoppers to gaze up at the vast cathedral of consumerism. The mall’s ceiling, some sixty or seventy feet above, was a photo-worthy grid of glass panels framed in bright steel. It glittered and shone in the late afternoon sun. 

Dana stood there for a moment to get her bearings. People moved past her in droves, rubbernecking at the bright panoply of signs and kiosks and displays. Instrumental Christmas music wafted down from cleverly hidden speakers. Off to her left, a rosy-cheeked service bot in gray coveralls swept a scrap of paper into a dustpan.

A canal ran through the center of the mall. As Dana approached it, one of the gondolas was just shoving off, shuttling weary shoppers from one pickup point to the next. The gondolier, a jovial gray-haired man in a black-and-white-striped shirt, chatted with his passengers as he poled the boat forward.

The food court was located on the second floor, at the far end of the building. The virtual-reality arcade was a few shops down from that. Dana figured she would find Aubrey in one of those two places, or else transiting between. 

She started toward the VR arcade. A third of the way through the concourse, she found an information desk set up for the holidays. A man stood at the counter, smiling at all who passed. He wore khaki trousers, a green button-down shirt, and a red vest with a nametag on one side and a reindeer pin on the other. The reindeer’s antlers blinked with tiny red lights. The man saw Dana approaching and pivoted to greet her, a vaguely mechanical move. That and the perma-smile plastered to his face screamed "bot." He held up both hands in greeting.

Eyes down, she told herself. Keep moving.

Dana disliked bots. She wasn’t a Luddite or technophobe. She didn’t fear the rapid advance of technology or the way bots—"synthetic persons" as they were officially known—had started to edge their way into the workforce. She saw these things as inevitable forces, like climate change and taxes. To rail against them was like shouting at clouds. 

It was the way they smiled that bothered her.

The earliest models had permanent smiles, more mannequin-like than human. They couldn’t stop smiling. But over the years, their faces became more lifelike, more expressive and nuanced. More human. It seemed the engineers and designers had thought of everything. Some bots had dimples that deepened when they smiled. Some had eyes that crinkled at the corners, like a kindly grandfather. Some had slanted grins that hinted at mischief.

But none of them were real. They were the idea of a smile, yet miles away from the real thing. Sometimes, as a bot’s face shifted from one expression to another, you could see a kind of hitch in the works. A snag.

Dana didn’t like it. Smiles were one of the things that made humans human. And here was this bot at the information booth, beaming at her with teeth a shade too white, smiling like he’d just won the lottery.

She smiled back out of reflex.

Damn it.

The bot approached with open arms.

"Happy holidays from Meadowview Mall. Do you need help finding something today? I am programmed with the precise location and quantity of all merchandise in the mall." He tapped his head with an index finger. "It’s a veritable storehouse up there."

A woman brushed by with a pack of noisy kids in tow, two of them bawling. A miniature train tooted in the distance. A piano version of "Winter Wonderland" tinkled through the air. 

Dana glanced at the bot’s name tag: Andy.

"I’m fine, Andy. Thanks anyway."

She was walking away when a thought struck her. Dana fished through her purse and pulled out a worn photograph. It was one of the few print photos she had of Aubrey, and a couple years old at that. But her daughter had changed little since the photo was taken. Same shoulder-length black hair. Same brown eyes and dimples. She held it up for Andy to see.

"Have you seen this girl?"

Andy studied the photo, his eyes scanning back and forth. He looked up at Dana. "I’m sorry, but that’s not the kind of information I am permitted to—"

"Privacy concerns," Dana said. "I get it. But I’m her mother. She’s here in the mall without permission, and she’s only fourteen. I just want to bring her home."

Andy gave a solemn nod. "I understand your concerns, ma’am. But I’m afraid I have to defer to my core instructions, which are—"

"Fuck your core instructions!" Dana snapped. 

Andy put a hand to his chest. His mouth dropped open. A rosy blush flared on his cheeks: two ovals, identical in size.

"She’s my daughter," Dana said, calmer now. "Look at the photo. She’s got my eyes and everything. I’m not a weirdo or anything. Just a worried mom."

Andy adjusted his red vest. "I truly am sorry. But I’m just not able to give you that information." He made a half-turn and pointed down the concourse. "The mall security office is located on level three. Two of my colleagues are there as we speak. They will be able to assist in your search."

Colleagues, Dana thought. More like fellow machines. She’d hit a dead end. This bot would tell her nothing. As she was walking away, his voice floated to her above the noise.

"You were right about one thing," he said. "She does have your eyes."

Dana paused to look back. 

Andy smiled at her. "The question is, who will have them when this day is done?"

Dana’s mouth opened, allowing a small gasp to escape. A prickling sensation crawled over her skin. Had this bot, this glorified smartphone, just threatened her daughter? Anger flooded her system. She groped for a holster that wasn’t there, a weapon she no longer carried. Old habits.

She marched over to Andy, who took a step back in response.

"What did you say to me, bot?"

"My name is Andy."

"Your name is bot," Dana said. "And you just communicated a threat to a human. You know I can have you retired for that? Turned into scrap?"

Andy clutched his vest in dismay, jostling the reindeer pin. The antlers twinkled.

"Oh my. You seem to have misunderstood. I merely complimented your daughter and said to enjoy the rest of your day at Meadowview Mall."

Dana scowled at him. "That’s not what I heard."

"But that is what I said. I can assure you. I apologize for any alarm you have experienced as a result of mishearing me."

Had she misheard him? Dana wasn’t sure. It was possible. There was a lot of noise in the mall—the chatter of passersby, the endless loop of Christmas music, the occasional toot of the mini locomotive over in Kiddie Land.

She was amped up. That was it. She’d gotten her nose out of joint over this frustrating bot and her MIA daughter and all of the other crap that seemed to follow her like a shadow lately. She’d misheard. That was the logical explanation. And logic still applied, in Dana’s view. Humans built bots. Bots obeyed humans. It was logic and sense and normalcy all wrapped into one. That was the world she knew.

"Is there anything else I can do to enhance your shopping experience?" Andy asked. He smiled at her, sculpted dimples flanking a boyish grin.

"No," was all Dana could say.

"Well then ... enjoy your stay at Meadowview Mall."

Next Chapter: Chapter Three