My hands shake, indenting the lip of the ceramic cup I'm molding. I swivel and look at the other android artisans on the factory floor, robotic hands ablur ensuring each cup is perfect—and they ...  [+]

There was an old painting in my grandparents' attic. Neither beautiful nor ugly, it simply depicted an empty room with no figures, an old living room with an armchair, library, and fireplace ...  [+]

"Who are you?" her mother asked.
"I'm your daughter, Alice."
"I know that. But I mean, who are you?" Her mother's eyes locked onto hers; she was clutching Alice's eyes. What did she mean ...  [+]