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the receipt to the monitor, then back to the receipt.
She smiled, a smile of joy. "Can you...reproduce bigger things?"
"That would depend upon the size of the object to be copied."
"A book?"
Maggie wondered if Praxcelis hesitated; "What is a book?"
Maggie got up abruptly, went into her study, and returned with her
copy of The Arabian Nights. She placed the book, still closed, on the

scanning platform.
There was a brief humming noise. Praxcelis said, "I am capable of
reproducing this object to five nines of significant detail. In one area
the copy will be noticeably dissimilar; the outer integument will not be
as stiff. It will, however, be more durable. I am faced with a dilemma,
however. It seems clear that this book is in sub-standard condition. You
should be aware that in my reproduction I can restore this book to
approximately its original condition."
"You can...." Maggie swallowed. Her throat suddenly seemed very dry.
"You can make new books?"
"Reconstructions," corrected Praxcelis, "approaching the condition of
the original object."
Maggie reached hesitantly, and patted the monitor gently. "I'm sorry for
everything I thought about you, Prax. You aren't such a bad fellow after
all."
"I am not a bad fellow at all. I am a Praxcelis unit."
But Maggie Archer was not listening. She was planning.
They had copied -- no, reproduced -- thirteen books when they came to
The Three Musketeers. Maggie leaned back comfortably in her rocker,
and opened the book to the first page. Resting the book in her lap, she
said, "Prax, have you been paying attention to what we're doing?"
"Certainly."
"I mean, do you know why we're doing this? Copying books?"
"No."
Maggie nodded. "I didn't think so. Books hold stories. I think they're
the only place where stories are kept, any more. Stories are...well,
stories are things to entertain you, and to make you think. Those are
good things. We're making more books so that my grandchildren can

have their own copies of books they like."
"I see."
Maggie was silent for a long while. Her fingers ran gently over the
cracked, yellowing paper, that was older than she was. "I don't think
you do," she said finally, "and I don't really know that you can." She
looked pensive. Picking up one of the new books that she was going to
give to her great-grandchildren, she ran her hand over the smooth
binding, and sighed. She looked back up at the monitor. "Maybe you
can't appreciate this, Prax, and if you can't then I'm sorry. But it's not
going to be because I didn't try."
She flipped open the copy of The Three Musketeers, and began to read.
Several hours later, her voice had grown hoarse, and scratchy. She
stopped reading at the end of Chapter Four. "I think that's all for tonight,
Prax. I'm afraid my voice is giving out. I'll read some more tomorrow."
There was a long pause without reply from the Praxcelis unit.
Maggie leaned forward. "Prax?"
"Yes, Mrs. Archer?"
"What are you doing?"
"Assimilating the new data you have inputted me with, Mrs. Archer; it
is most fascinating."
"It's not data, Praxcelis. It's a story."
"I am not certain that I perceive the distinction....If D'Artagnan should
duel with each of the three musketeers, Athos, and then Porthos, and
then Aramis, it seems most improbable that he will survive. Will he be
killed?"
Maggie stared at the Praxcelis unit. "No...no. He's going to be all right."

"Thank you, Mrs. Archer. Good night."
"Maggie. Call me Maggie."
"Good night, Maggie."
The next morning, Maggie came downstairs early, intending to finish
up some tasks she'd neglected yesterday, reading to Praxcelis.
The Praxcelis unit was still powered up in the corner, its monitor screen
glowing with the rich amber of morning sunlight from the east bay
windows. "Good morning, Maggie."
Maggie glanced at the Praxcelis unit on her way into the kitchen.
"Morning, Prax," she called out. Somehow, in the bright morning
sunshine, the gray, modular plasteel of the Praxcelis unit didn't seem so
terribly alien at all. Still, something did seem different about it....She
chased the thought away as idle nonsense. "Have you been thinking
about the story, Prax?"
"Yes, I have, Maggie," said Praxcelis. "Will we be finishing the story
this morning?"
Maggie turned slightly from the sink to look towards Praxcelis' central
monitor. "No, I'm sorry, Prax. I really have other things to do today."
She opened the drawer next to the stove, and began withdrawing
cooking utensils. "After breakfast, I'm going to give this place a good
cleaning. I haven't cleaned properly in over a week. This afternoon I
hope to get to some paperwork I've been neglecting; household
accounts. I haven't been paying too much attention to details recently,
I've been so worked up....That's mostly