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"Mrs. Farrar?" Lilith heard someone ask as Mary was helping her undress in her bedroom some time later.

She turned her head to see Thomas, Christopher's personal butler, standing at the threshold with his robotic eyes averted as if to protect her modesty.

"Yes, Thomas?" she replied, obediently stepping out of the elaborate black-and-white dress as Mary unlaced, unzipped, untied, and generally divested her of it.

"Mr. Farrar would like to-" began Thomas, but there was suddenly an irritated snort from beyond Lilith's bedroom.

"Mr. Farrar can speak for himself and not have some bloody android do it," Lilith heard a voice too lovely to be anyone but Christopher's snap from the doorway. Promptly, in he marched, shoving aside his android and bounding into her room.

Immediately, Mary stepped in front of Lilith, snatching up Lilith's dressing gown and holding it before her mistress.

"Christopher," said Lilith, and she glared at him over Mary's shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?"

It was a valid question. Christopher had never once visited Lilith's quarters. He kept away from them, usually respecting her right to a private space where she could be free of him. On top of that, she knew Christopher had no interest in what her quarters contained, for there he could not find a lover or a healthy supply of scotch.

He smiled, his face too innocent, his eyes flashing with too much laughter. "What, I can't wander around my own house?" he asked.

Lilith sniffed haughtily, her nose in the air. "I suppose Thomas tried to stop you?" she told him.

"He did. I'm tempted to have him decommissioned for that insolence," said Christopher. And with his hands in his pockets, he meandered into the room. He cast his eye about, the very picture of innocent interest, but Lilith knew that his interest was anything but.

"He was following my instructions, dear husband," replied Lilith. Snapping her fingers, she gestured to Thomas, who took Mary's place before Lilith, shielding her body from Christopher's gaze. Mary, meanwhile, placed the dressing gown over Lilith's frame.

"Thank you, Thomas, Mary," she said to the two androids, both of whom inclined their heads - Thomas with a bit of a creak, perhaps Lilith ought to have the mechanic in to have a look at the the source of that sound - and backed away.

"You're a prude, Lilith," said Christopher, and he smiled as she crossed her arms.

"Because I don't want you to see me naked?" she guessed, arching her eyebrow.

"Because you don't want me to see you naked," he echoed, grinning from ear to ear.

"Modesty is not prudishness, Christopher," said Lilith. Turning on her heel, she made her way over to  the vanity next to the window and sat down. Looking up, she could see Christopher staring at her back in the reflection.

"Perhaps not. But modesty is pointless," said Christopher, shrugging. "And, at any rate, you're a prude, darling."

Lilith snorted as she, motioning for Mary to bring forward her jewelery box, set about removing the diamonds glittering at her throat.

"Says a libertine," she retorted, dropping the necklace unceremoniously in the box. "Forgive me if I don't respect a profligate's definition of prudishness." Then, turning on the seat, she looked up at Christopher. By this time, he'd made his way over to her and was staring down, those clever blue eyes alight and shrewd.

"Cruel to me, as always," he said, and cocked his head.

"Truthful, as always," she countered.

"For someone so entrenched in lies and secrets you have a nasty way of dealing out the truth," Christopher said.

Lilith sighed and changed the subject, for she had more important matters on her mind than repartee with Christopher. The President, for example, and Colm Brightley.

"Was there something you wanted to ask me, Christopher? As out of character as that is for you, I can't think of any other reason why you'd come here," said Lilith. "Especially since I will be in our quarters tonight."

"How was Ascot?" he said, turning his head, his eyes lighting up with mischief. He was purposely trying to infuriate her, skirting around his true reason for his visit.

Lilith would not, as ever, rise to it, and took some satisfaction for the fact that her calm refusal to respond to his teasing infuriated him in turn.

"Lovely. I won five thousand marks off Henry. But I know you've no interest in that, so what was it you wanted?" she pressed. Her voice was serene.

"And how was his Lordship?" pressed Christopher, and now his voice was practically kittenish.

"Charming, dapper, and utterly wonderful, as always," Lilith returned. "Now, what did you want?"

Christopher sighed and gave in, likely to avoid Lilith's further discussion of Henry, whom he despised with a singular passion Lilith could not explain. That hatred had always troubled her, for she disliked being ignorant of the reason for it, as she disliked being ignorant of anything.

Which was likely why she was so disturbed by the President.

"Do we have any social functions this weekend?" asked Christopher.

"You could have asked Paul that," Lilith observed. "You know he's my assistant in coordinating our schedule. Why ask me?"

"Answer the damn question, Lilith," he sighed.

"One. We're to have dinner with the Russian Ambassador at the Embassy on Friday night. After that, I have booked this weekend as a weekend off," she said.

"Excellent," said Christopher.

Lilith glared at him like he was mad. Since when did he take an interest in their schedule? "Why do you say that?" she asked, and her voice was level, if disapproving.

"I thought that we could go on a weekend retreat to Bancroft," said Christopher, and Lilith knew he was referring to his family manor in the heart of the woods, known as Bancroft Manor.

"And what would that accomplish?" she asked.

"It's your birthday," he said. "I thought you might enjoy it."

Now Lilith's suspicion was on high alert, and she glared at Christopher, searching in his face for the true motivation behind those words. For she knew it could not be a concern for her that motivated him. He might admire her, might even like her, but concern was so foreign to such a selfish creature as Christopher than she doubted he even knew what it was.

"And why on earth would you think that I would enjoy spending my birthday alone with you?" she said.

She gaged his reaction as her words sank in, taking note of how he flinched back, as though what she'd said had actually hurt him.

"Very well," he said, and laid a hand to his heart in a display of wounded pride. "It was only an offer."

But Lilith stopped him. Something had occurred to her. "No. We'll go to Bancroft, Christopher."

Now he smiled brilliantly and Lilith regarded him carefully.

"Since we spent your birthday away from one another, it will be good for the image to spend one together, just the two of us. It will be the picture of happy, devoted domesticity," she said, nodding. "I will send for Paul and he will arrange it."

Christopher muttered something that Lilith did not catch but did not care to, for she was already thinking of how, at dinner with the Russians, she would circulate this plan. 

Now Lilith stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her dressing gown. "Lay out some standard clothes and please ask Peter and Paul to join me, Mary," she said, waving to Christopher absently as he loitered in the doorway. "I'll see them in the mainframe room."

"Right away, ma'am," said Mary, and promptly left the room after laying out a pair of trousers and a soft-looking sweater.

Lilith, having made sure Christopher was gone, donned the clothes and made her way over to the mainframe room. Looping her long hair behind her ears, she pushed open the wood door, peering into the gloom.

It was a broad, cavernous room, smaller than it looked due to the darkness. When she stepped in, she could feel a cold tile floor beneath her feet as, with a soft hum, the mainframe came to life in a series of blinking lights.

Finding her way by the light of the many glowing switches and circuits, she sat down in a small chair in the centre of the room, before which was placed a holographic generator; a half-sphere resting on the floor about the size of her fist.

"Persons archive," she said to the empty air.

Immediately, a holograph sprang to life, the words "Persons Archive" hovering mid-air, an eerie shade of blue, bathing Lilith in an unearthly glow.

"Persons Archive," confirmed the mainframe, its voice smooth and noninflected as the androids'.

"Query: Brightley, Colm," she instructed, sitting back and crossing her legs, watching as the holograph flashed and shifted, until it rearranged itself into the form of a man, standing before her with his eyes facing forward.

"Brightely, Colm David. Male Forty-six years of age. Council Liaison to the President of the Western Union," said the mainframe.

Lilith's eyebrows arched and she got up. The Council Liaison was the highest advisory office that one could hold to the President, meaning that Colm Brightley was not only the President's aide, but his right-hand man.

She paced about the holograph, which, life-sized, stood a few inches taller than her. She examined the blue-tinted features, noting the darkness of his hair and the attractiveness of his face.

"Mr. Brightley's biography," she instructed.

After a moment, the mainframe spoke.

"Colm David Brightley, parents Robin Joseph Brightley and Nightingale Brightley, born 15th May..."

Lilith paid close attention as the mainframe gave her Colm's personal history. She listened particularly carefully to his service for the President, learning that Colm had worked for John Frye since he was a young student and Frye a heavyweight lawyer with the hopes of a political career.

Lilith nodded, satisfied that Colm, despite his interest in her, was nothing to worry about. If he was unduly interested in her, it was at the instruction of his employer, not of his own agency. So instead, she turned her attention to the President.

"New query," she said, and Colm's image and biography promptly dissolved into the blackness. "Frye, John. Get me his whole biography. Spare no details."

"Unable to complete entire request. Records of John Elijah Frye controlled by the High Council of the Western Union," said the mainframe. Lilith swore she could hear a bit of peevishness in the mainframe's voice, though that was impossible.

Lilith frowned, her proverbial hackles rising with distrust. The President had legislated that his records were sealed? Sitting down, she crossed her legs, ran a hand through her hair, and spoke again to the mainframe.

"Give me whatever you can on the President," she instructed.

All she got back was the standard biography, something that anyone with a decent political wherewithal would already know. Dissatisfied, she probed the mainframe further, until she found the exact point at which it would stop answering her questions.

"Give me President Frye's personal history with Robert O'Neill," she said, when she was confident she'd found the missing information, the gap in the President's life that he seemed not to want anyone to know.

"Access denied," said the mainframe, just as she'd expected.

At least that was something. She'd discovered that Robert O'Neill, the President's late husband, was the gap in the President's history. And, feeling a bit soothed that Robert O'Neill had had nothing to do with her at any point in her life, Lilith sank back into her chair.

"Mrs. Farrar?" came two voices in perfect unison. She turned as the room flooded with light as Peter and Paul entered, both making the same pert bow.

"Ah, yes," she said, and clapped her hands. Lights illuminated the mainframe room, revealing it to be of medium size, granted a feeling of cavernousness only by the darkness.

She turned to the androids, both of whom were standing at attention, mechanic, elegant robots regarding her with unblinking, inhuman eyes.

"Peter, if you would please call in the mechanic to inspect the androids. Thomas has a creaking neck, and I suppose it's time that I had all the androids checked," she said.

Peter nodded and departed.

"Ah, Paul. Please schedule the dinner with the Russians and make plans for Mr. Farrar and I to spend my birthday at Bancoft. Also, please accept Lord Essex's invitation to his dinner on the fifteenth..."