android n.

The traffic that brought him such enormous wealth was the production and sale of androids…. [He] had come upon the secret of synthetic life. He generated artificial cells, and propagated them in nutrient media, controlling development by radiological and biochemical means.

It was a manlike figure, but one whose body was rubbery, boneless-looking, blank-white in color…. Following this rubbery android, or synthetic man, came another figure, equally as strange—a great metal robot.

‘I am not a machine,’ the android answered. ‘The robot is a machine. The android is a chemical creation of synthetic tissue.’

Robots, of course—or androids, to give them their proper names. Brilliant ones. You couldn’t tell the difference unless you looked too close.

One episode in the first season called for a seven-foot-tall android.

He’s an android, complete with metal brainworks, programmed in a rarified atmosphere.

I suppose there’s no mistake…Androids, doubles, imposters, illusions.

An android duplicate. Clones. Clones, hell, maybe he had a twin brother.

At last he came to a momentous decision and called for his psychiatric android.

Standing outside the field, staring at the Guardian, was an android.

I was pretty sure he wasn’t an Earth-made android, but the suspicion never passed completely.

When even an android reacted to his impatience, he knew he had gone too far.

Then it spoke, in stilted but correct Standard, in a smoky contrived alto that made me flinch. ‘I am Helen,’ the android said. ‘The distress signal—yes. There is a distress signal. And there are casualties. Please, come with me.’