"Very good, sir."
The android was a tall, handsome model. Its voice was deep, resonant
and faintly British. It glided over to the built-in bar and performed
rapid, indiscernible manipulations involving ice cubes, whiskey and
soda.
The android returned swiftly with the drink and served it with a
sweeping flourish. Raymond took the glass and gestured impatiently.
"Cigar."
"Very good, sir."
The android withdrew a long, brown cigar from the humidor on the small,
floating ebony end-table, placed the clipped end in Raymond's mouth,
and lit it with the tip of its forefinger, which suddenly glowed red.
It watched as Raymond puffed up several billowing, little gray clouds.
The smoke drifted towards the android, and it said: "Disgusting habit."
Raymond raised his glass, sipped the cold liquid, and remarked
bitterly, "What a pity you can't enjoy your own poisonous concoctions."
The android stepped back and stared fixedly at the man. "You are a sot,
sir."