Chapter Seven
I’m a bundle of undirected nerves as I step through a wide door to find myself in a spacious office. Bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes line both walls. Opposite the door is a huge oak desk, which sits in front of a large picture window. Outside, I glimpse trees, fences, and one patrolling guard. The scents of furniture polish and expensive alcohol linger in the air.
The room’s lone occupant places a framed photo on his desk and rises to his feet as the three of us enter. For some stupid reason, I expected the senator to be the type to wear a power suit and tie twenty-four-seven, just like all the other robots that make up this country’s political machine. Instead, I get a guy in blue jeans and a brown cardigan with frayed cuffs that make him look like someone’s
