Sebastian waited patiently at the counter as the Concierge tapped away on the keyboard. It was taking longer than usual. He assumed the woman, a stern looking brunette in a smart business suit, was new as he'd never seen her before. He didn't mind, he was thankful that he didn't have to deal with Vincent. He'd be happy if he never had to see that prick again. He checked his watch.
"Is there a problem?" He asked politely.
"I am just trying to check something on your booking Sir, just give me one minute please." She spoke with a heavy Eastern European accent, "You ordered Model-19, yes?"
"Yes, Susan." He added.
"Yes, I can see the problem now." She looked up to face him, "I'm sorry but Susan has been retired Sir." The news hit Sebastian hard.
"What do you mean retired?" Sebastian felt his chest tighten. "I saw her just a couple of weeks ago."
"I can offer you one of our Zanbotix-398 models in exchange Sir. A far superior model at no extra charge."
"No, I don't want another model. What happened to her?" He knew they didn't keep her on the floor anymore and had to bring her out of storage whenever he requested her, but they did that with a lot of bots he thought.
"I'm sorry Sir, I can see you used it many times, but we have a policy about obsolete units that go beyond their recommended working life."
"Well what happens to them? Where do they go?"
"Erm I'm not sure, Sir. I think someone takes them away and destroys them. I don't know I'm sorry."
The word "destroyed" hit particularly hard. Sebastian brought his hands up to his face and ran his fingers through his hair so aggressively it unnerved the Concierge enough for her to step back. He thought of the last time he'd seen her, how he'd left without saying goodbye properly, rushing out because he was afraid of what staying might mean. The realisation crept in: he'd been visiting her more than he'd been intimate with his own wife. When had that happened? When had a machine become the person he most wanted to be with?
"Can I... Can I speak to a manager or someone?" Asked Sebastian, unbuttoning his collar and loosening his tie.
"Yes certainly," she said. Glad to be able to vacate the situation, "I'll just get him." She swiftly darted across the foyer and pushed a hidden panel on one of the nearby walls. A hidden door slowly opened and she slipped through as soon as the gap was big enough.
A few seconds later a man appeared from the same door. He was tall, thin, well dressed with an exquisite pencil moustache. He walked briskly around the back of the reception counter and then snapped to attention in front of Sebastian, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "Bonjour Monsieur, my name is Anton, I am the duty manager. Comment puis-je vous aider? How can I help you?" He spoke in a very heavy French accent. The brunette hovered in the background behind. Her stern expression had morphed into one of concern by now.
"Your colleague just told me Susan... I mean the unit I had booked to see has been decommissioned."
"Hmm, oui," Anton replied, "Unfortunately once our units get to a certain age they are, comment dire... decommissioned. It is the law, it prevents any mishaps or malfunctions, you understand?"
"Okay, can you tell me where she, I mean it was decommissioned to?" Asked Sebastian carefully.
"Oui, Monsieur, we use a licensed company to manage our inventory for us. Everything is done to code. All data and personal information is deleted as per regulations. Vous n'avez rien à craindre, you have nothing to worry about Sir." Anton spoke as if that was the end of the conversation.
"I'm not worried about that, I mean I am but that's not what the issue is. You see the last time that I saw her, I mean it... I didn't leave things on particularly good terms, and I wanted to explain things to her tonight and..."
"Ah, je comprends Monsieur," interrupted Anton, "I understand perfectly."
"You do?" Said Sebastian, pleasantly surprised.
"Mais oui, of course, don't worry, this is all perfectly normal, it happens more than you could think Monsieur." Anton had pulled out a drawer from the reception desk and retrieved a small A5 leaflet, discreetly handing it to Sebastian. Sebastian looked at it. It read, "Coming to terms with losing your Synthetic Partner," with the name and number of a nearby psychologist who specialised in separation anxiety from bots.
"Monsieur, the way you feel is completely natural, it happens all the time," he tapped on the leaflet, "Doctor Maslow; la meilleure, the best. Many of our clients have used her. Nothing but excellent reviews."
"But I'd like to see Susan, just one more time," pleaded Sebastian.
"Impossible," Anton was emphatic, "Je suis désolé, I am afraid the people we use; très efficace, very efficient. There is nothing left to see, Monsieur." Her expression softened with sympathy.
The finality of it struck him like a blow. He snatched the leaflet from the counter top and turned to leave.
"Monsieur, I will roll over today's appointment to credit, you will not be charged." Sebastian said nothing and left dejected.