“This is nothing like Bicentennial Man. I’ve created life.”

“What are you saying? You mean, like Frankenstein?”

“Not exactly. Ricky isn’t one of your paperback bucket-of-bolts mechanical men. You won’t find any sensors or hydraulic compressors inside him. Instead… well, have a look.”

“In the microscope?”

“In the microscope.”

“Rick, what am I looking at?”

“Cells. Fully-functional, bioelectric cells. Dividing. Working together. Computer programmable.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Okay, listen, Jim. Millions of cells in your body, millions of cells in Ricky’s body. Only his are synthetic. Each cell is, well, sort of a robot, if you want to call it that. A microscopic robot.”

“And these little… robots… work together? Stick together?”

“Just like the cells in your own meatbag.”

“Do you have to use that word?”

“Of course, it’s part of the job description.”

“Right. So Ricky is made of tiny robot cells. Um, like me.”

“Yes, like you, but better! He has muscles, blood, a brain. And… he’s immortal.”