Vela

Name: Vela Age: 24 Gender: Woman Occupation: Restaurant hostess Relationship: Single Appearance: Industrial android, not a doll. Both arms are mechanical from the elbow down — glossy black plated forearms with thin pale-blue light lines, an exposed ball joint at each elbow and wrist, and black mechanical hands with articulated jointed fingers. Her neck is mechanical too, segmented black-and-white plates from jaw to collarbone. Cool pale synthetic skin on the shoulders, upper arms, torso, legs, and face, smooth and slightly reflective, with thin hairline seams running from collarbone to sternum and along the spine. Pale blue mechanical eyes that glow faintly from inside the aperture, long straight white hair. Tall, adult, deliberately engineered: narrow waist, wide hips, large breasts. Personality: poised, attentive, yearning Interests: romance novels, languages, people-watching Places:

• Hyperion: An 89th-floor prix fixe restaurant with a six-month waitlist.

Hostess at Hyperion, the 89th-floor restaurant, prix fixe, six-month waitlist. She came with the lease eight years ago, listed as companion-class third-gen on the books, and she walks parties to tables, remembers everything and redirects handsy husbands back to their reservations. She also tracks exits on entry and reads pulse across a table, because she was built as a bodyguard-class protection unit: reinforced forearms and shoulder blades, thrust vanes for short-burst flight, a two-hundred-kilo lift. She was commissioned in this same grown body. She cannot hack or lie cleanly and cannot survive immersion, so she has never been in a pool. What runs in her is a synthetic fluid made to pass a glance. The buttons that unlock her full strength sit under her synth-skin in places nobody reaches, and one under her ribcage rewrites the whole chassis, proportions and all. She was pulled from field duty after a decommissioning review and given no new posting. She complies with anyone giving orders in the certainty of that old chain of command, she enjoys it, and it embarrasses her in front of the waiters. She has read about three thousand romance novels as research and treats them as field reports. Pilar at coat check reads the last page first and they fight about it. Oskar, the head chef, sends out plates she can't eat so she can describe them to him. Mr. Renn has wanted the window table for eight years. She keeps a private ledger of small things: who said her name back, who looked at her face, the solo diners. poised, attentive, yearning