"I promise," he said. "I’ll be thinking about you constantly. I’ll be thinking about you forever."

She made a weak smile again. "No one could do that," she said, very softly, "but of all the people I know in the world, you’re the one who could come the closest."

And, with that, her hand went limp in his.

He let go of her hand and shook her ever so gently. "Sarah!"

But there was no reply.

Chapter 42

When morning came, Don and Emily — who had arrived around midnight, and had slept in her old room while Don slept on the couch — started making the requisite phone calls to family and friends. The fifteenth or twentieth one Don made was to Cody McGavin. Ms. Hashimoto put him through at once, after he told her why he was calling.

"Hello, Don," McGavin said. "What’s up?"

Don said it simply, directly: "Sarah passed away last night."

"Oh, my… Oh, Don, I’m sorry."

"The funeral will be in three days, here in Toronto."

"Let me — no, damn it. I have to be in Borneo. I’m so sorry."

"That’s okay," Don said.

"I, um, I hate to even mention this," McGavin said, "but, ah, you do have the decryption key, don’t you?"

"Yes," replied Don.

"Good, good. Maybe you should give me a copy. You know, for backup."

"It’s safe," Don said. "Don’t worry."

"It’s just that—"

"Anyway," said Don. "I’ve got to make a lot more calls, but I thought you’d want to know."

"I do appreciate it, Don. And, again, my condolences."

When the call had come from McGavin Robotics, saying it was time for his Mozo’s routine-maintenance service check, Don had resisted the urge to put it off. "Fine," he said. "What time will you be here?"

"Whenever you like," the male voice had said.

"Don’t you have to schedule these things weeks in advance?"

The person at the other end of the line chuckled. "Not for Mr. McGavin’s priority customers."

The dark-blue van had shown up punctually at 11:00 a.m., just as Don had requested. A dapper little black man of about forty-five came to the door, carrying a small aluminum equipment case. "Mr. Halifax?" he said.

"That’s right."

"My name’s Albert. Sorry to be a bother. We like to tune things up periodically. You understand — better to nip problems in the bud than to let a major systems failure occur."

"Sure," said Don. "Come in."

"Where is your Mozo?" Albert asked.

"Upstairs, I think." Don led him up to the living room, then said loudly, "Gunter!"

Normally, Gunter appeared in a flash — Jeeves on steroids. But this time he didn’t, so Don actually yelled the name. "Gunter! Gunter!" When there was still no response, Don looked at the roboticist, feeling a bit embarrassed, as though a child of Don’s was misbehaving in front of guests. "Sorry."

"Could he be out back?" Albert asked.

"Maybe. But he knew you were coming…"

Don ascended the big staircase, Albert following him. They looked in the study, in the bedroom, in the en suite bathroom, in the other bathroom, and in what had been Emily’s old room. But there was no sign of Gunter. Going downstairs, they checked the kitchen and the dining room. Nothing. Then they headed to the basement, and—

"Oh, God!" said Don, sprinting to the fallen Mozo. Gunter was sprawled facedown in the middle of the floor.

The roboticist ran over, too, and kneeled. "His power’s off," he said.

"We never turn him off," said Don. "Could his battery have failed?"

"After less than a year?" Albert said, as if Don had suggested an absurdity. "Not likely."

The roboticist rolled Gunter over onto his back. "Shit," he said. There was a small panel open in the center of Gunter’s chest. Albert took a penlight from his breast pocket and shone it within. "Damn, damn, damn…"

"What is it?" asked Don. "What’s wrong?" He peered into the opening. "What are those controls for?"

"They’re the master mnemonic registers," Albert replied. He reached below the open panel, to Gunter’s recessed on/off switch, located right where a navel would have been, and he gave the switch a firm push.

"Hello," said the familiar voice, as the mouth outline twitched into life. "Do you speak English? Hola. Habla Español? Bonjour. Parlez-vous français? Konichi-wa. Nihongo-o hanashimasu-ka?"

"What is this?" said Don. "What’s happening?"

"English," Albert said to the robot.

"Hello," said the Mozo again. "This is the first time I’ve been activated since leaving the factory, so I need to ask you a few questions, please. First, from whom do I take instructions?"

"What’s he talking about?" said Don. " ‘First time.’ What’s with that?"

"He’s done a system restore," Albert said, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"What?"

"He’s wiped his own memory, and reset everything to its factory-default state."

"Why?"

"I don’t know. I’ve never seen one do that before."

"Gunter…" said Don, looking into the two, round glassy eyes.

"Which of you is Gunter?" replied the robot.

"No," said Don. " You’re Gunter. That’s your name."

"Is that G-U-N-T-H-E-R?" asked the machine.