She would ask her questions and he would sit on the stool next to her, with his long legs tilted to one side. His hands would fold neatly in his lap and he would answer. They were always about what she had missed. Anything that crossed her mind, the changes in governments, in law, in technology, in art (“They still haven’t found the missing Van Goughs or the Hope’s Diamond”). She would laugh dryly. She would ask questions that he could not answer (“What will they think of next?”). She would grow silent and still. But she never cried, even when Salem gave her news of deaths and wars, of how far the cruelty of man had gone. It was after a moment of that haunted silence that she shook herself and, running thin fingers down Salem’s sharp jaw, she made a strange request.

“Tell me a story.”

“A story, ma’am?” He cocked his head to the side, like a dog trying to work out its master’s weird behavior. 

“Yes, Salem. A story.” She shook her head with a soft laugh. Then grew very still and her eyes stared at the portrait, and beyond. “Something exciting, daring. I need adventure, dear.” His shining blue eyes studied her. She could feel them. Glancing back to him, she could practically see the gears in his head turning to process her strange request. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good boy.”

She settled back in her seat as Salem’s deep tenor voice rang through the room. “Once upon a time--”

“Oh and make it something new, sweetie.”

He closed his mouth again, his synthetic lips rubbing together. She had stumped him again. She watched him as he scrambled for the right story. She matched his smile as it grew for she knew his memory had come back with the perfect legend.

“I have a story, ma’am. The legend of William Clyde, prisoner 24600 - ” 

“And let me guess, he was innocent. That’s not much of a legend. Is it?”

“No, ma’am. By all accounts he was guilty. The legend says that William Clyde escaped.” 

“Escaped?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Escaped from where?” 

“From Alcatraz Interstellar Penitentiary.”

She ran a hand through his faux hair and smiled.  “They named it that? Oh of course the Americans did. All right, Salem. You have my attention. By all means, continue. Tell me of Alcatraz Interstellar.” 

“The prison was built and launched into orbit in the late 2040s.” 

“A little more flavor.”

“Yes, ma’am. It was the first of its kind. There were too many prisoners and too little space. It underwent a number of improvements and modifications before the arrival of William Clyde, but the initial design remained the same. It rather looked like a dull star made of a gray lackluster metal and of course the six jutting cylindrical hallways containing the cells that attached to the main guard post. When it was first launched it was manned with real people, but by the time of William Clyde, the prisoners were monitored by androids, programmed to break up prison riots, gang activity. Any trouble the prisoners could make, the androids could handle.” 

    “A little android pride there, Salem?”

His fingers twitched and he gave her a gummy smile as she ran a finger across the barcode on his neck. “Yes, ma’am. For the androids were unhackable, unbribable, and encoded with far more intelligence than any prisoner aboard. They never slept nor rested. They could not be beaten down or manipulated.”

“Salem, darling, I believe you were telling me about the mysterious prisoner in the floating space prison unless,” she teased him as she sipped her tea once more, “you’ve secretly chosen commercial for androids,” 

“No, ma’am. It’s the legend of William Clyde. He was very much a man, ma’am.” Salem titled his head to the side. 

“Was he now? Tell me about him then.” 

“Yes, ma’am. He was born in the States, one of the Carolinas. East, I believe and was 25 years of age when he was sentenced to Alcatraz Interstellar. He was a charming man with hair the color of gold and eyes like sapphires.” 

“You know how to speak my language, Salem.” She toyed with the ruby jewel around her neck. It glinted in the firelight like her eyes. 

“Of course, ma’am. Records show he was quite handsome and that those were his natural features.”

“A criminal never changing his features?” she asked, glancing to the portrait with an air of suspicion. 

“Not according to records, ma’am. It was said that to look upon William Clyde was to love him. He had a boyish smile and liked to play the fool.”

She could understand that act well enough. 

“But records indicate that he was rather intelligent.” 

“If he was so smart how did he get caught?” she asked, raising a hand to dismiss her own question. “Let me guess, he was cocky.” 

“Perhaps, ma’am. But the record of how he was arrested has been corrupted.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Very well, Salem, tell me then. How did he escape?” 

“Well, ma’am. First, he did what every prisoner does.” 

“And what’s that?”