FWiki - User contributions [en]

Stories

2017-08-20T03:39:37Z

Lithorien: Adding story

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[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]

[[Image:180px-Integrated circuit icon.svg.png|25px]]<big>''See also: [[Stories sorted by type]] | [[Stories sorted by category]]''</big>
<br><br><big>'''CONTENTS:'''</big>
{| class="wikitable" align="left" style="text-align:center" border="1" style="width:100%" style="background:Violet;"
| <big><big>[[#0-9|0-9]] • [[#A|A]] • [[#B|B]] • [[#C|C]] • [[#D|D]] • [[#E|E]] • [[#F|F]] • [[#G|G]] • [[#H|H]] • [[#I|I]] • [[#J|J]] • [[#K|K]] • [[#L|L]] • [[#M|M]] • [[#N|N]] • [[#O|O]] • [[#P|P]] • [[#Q|Q]] • [[#R|R]] • [[#S|S]] • [[#T|T]] • [[#U|U]] • [[#V|V]] • [[#W|W]] • [[#X|X]] • [[#Y|Y]] • [[#Z|Z]]</big></big>
|}
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{{Clear}}

=Author=
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==0-9==
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/60Binder|60Binder]]===
#[[Simply Sandy]]

===[[Stories/73737373737373|73737373737373]]===
#[[Prototype Abridged]]
#[[Field Test Abridged]]
#[[Private Coverage of the Underground Fembot Athletics]]
#[[Master Loves Twin Girls]]

==A==
===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/alaval92|alaval92]]===
#[[Too Perfect]]
#[[Conspiracy]]

===[[Stories/Andrewd|Andrewd]]===
#[[Andrew's Research]]

===[[Stories/Apok|Apok]]===
#[[A Rebooted Life]]
#[[Second-Rate]]
#[[Unit Two]]
#[[Sig's Upgrade]]
#[[Protection]]
#[[Hotline]]

===[[Stories/Ashyne|Ashyne]]===
#[[First Contact: Horror Unleashed]]

===[[Stories/Australopith|Australopith]]===
*The ReVerse (many characters originated by [[Stories/Propman|Propman]])
#[[Wasabi: A Boom-Boom Joint]]
#[[Lazy Phone]]
#Castle Mysteries!: [[Castle Mysteries!: Coup De Grace|Coup De Grace]]
#Lazy Phone in [[The Booze Run]] (collaboration with [[Stories/Propman|Propman]])
# Castle Mysteries!: [[Contessa Vampire Hunter]] (collaboration with [[Stories/Propman|Propman]])
# Castle Mysteries!: [[Not Quite Human]]
#[[Alisha's Room]]

===[[Stories/Avoyak|Avoyak]]===
#[[Katerina, type 02 Robot]]

==B==
===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]
#[[Generations]]
#[[Housewife]]
#[[Green Flag]]
#[[Houseguest]]
#[[A Place to Stay]]
#[[Service Please]]
#[[Date Calibration]]
#[[Plastic Trash]]
#[[Threshold]]
#[[Party Night - unfinished]]
#[[Empty City]]
#[[Bad Day]]
#[[An Interview With Janet]]
#[[Combat Sex Droids: No Limits]]
#[[How Far Will She Go on a First Date]]
#[[Tech Error]]
#[[The Rutuksee Clinique Case]]
#[[Investigative]]
#[[New Toy]]
#[[Feeling a Little Peculiar...]]

===[[Stories/Bad Kitty|Bad Kitty]]===
#[[Confessions of a Robo-Hottie]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]
#[[About The I-12 Kronicles]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 1: R.O.S.I.E]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 2: Gina]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 3: Rochelle]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 4: Maisie]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 5: Chase]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 6: Liza-Beta]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 7: The Homecoming]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 8: One Zero Nightmare]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 9: Miseries Miracles & More Miseries]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 10: Inspektor Jekyll, Gone Mr. Hyde?]]
#[[Inspektor 12 Kronicles 11: The Legends of KFC & Blueboy]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]
#[[Free Shipping]]
#[[Annie's Successor]]

===[[Stories/Battery|Battery]]===
#[[Science Ethics|Science Ethics (with Darkbutflashy)]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/blond111|blond111]]===
#[[Kiabot]]

===[[Stories/bolton|bolton]]===
#[[Skin]]

===[[Stories/Bombforabooty|Bombforabooty]]===
#[[Public Explosions]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/boolean2|boolean2]]===
#[[Clearance]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]
#[[Family Matters]]
#[[The Halloween Story]]
#[[The Interrogation]]
#[[Their Side of Events]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Dienst #1 - Trojan Horse]]
#[[Eudoxia]]
#[[One More Fare]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[Over Some Drinks]]
#[[Smell Bridges Burning (The Intern)]]
#[[Standard Of Deviation]]
#[[The Ersatz Cadet]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[The Real Deal]]
#[[Three Pawns]]
#[[Tinted Windows]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

==C==
===[[Stories/Cam_1361|Cam_1361]]===
#[[Untitled (Cam_1361)]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/CaptainStorytime|CaptainStorytime]]===
#[[A Gift Unwanted]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cecilauthor|Cecilauthor]]===
#[[Fleshware Requiem]]
#[[Apocalypse Doll - Celebrity Edition]]
#[[Robot Power]]
#[[Golden Apple]]
#[[Melting Point]]

===[[Stories/ChaosSeeder|ChaosSeeder]]===
#[[Programming an Adventure]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/code_author|code_author]]===
#[[Pressure on a Relationship]]

===[[Stories/confusitron!!|confusitron!!]]===
#[[Danni - A Conversion]]

===[[Stories/Construct|Construct]]===
#[[Re-Constructed]]

==D==
===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]
#[[A Beginning, of Sorts]]
#[[Obsolescence]]
#[[Leona]]
#[[A Fembot Adventure]]
#[[Of Rent and Robots]]
#[[Certain Contradictions]]
#[[House Call (D.Olivaw)|House Call]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Daphne|Daphne]]===
#[[Mike and Mary]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Darkbutflashy|Darkbutflashy]]===
#[[戦闘機械綾子 - Battlemachine Ayako]]
#[[Science Ethics|Science Ethics (with Battery)]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]
#[[Volleybot]]
#[[Teacher(by Deep Blue)]]
#[[Training lesson]]
#[[Fembot technician]]
#[[Studio]]
#[[Beer girl]]
#[[Meet on bus]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[My Robot]]
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]
#[[Witch Hazel]]

===[[Stories/Dollmaker|Dollmaker]]===
#[[A.I. Automated Insanity]]

===[[Stories/DollSpace|DollSpace]]===
#[[Selina]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/DukeNukem 2417|DukeNukem 2417]]===
*[[The V.I.C.I. Diaries]]

Season 1:
#[[Vicki's New Life]]
#[[V.I.C.I. Rises]]
#[[From L.E.S. to Leslie]]
#[[Unmade, Unbroken]]
#[[Out of this World]]
#[[ShowStopper]]
#[[MGV (Metal Gear Vicki)]]
#[[The Family of Steel]]
#[[Electric Child]]
#[[Toys in the Attic]]
#[[A House Divided]]
#[[Kirsten's Choice]]
#[[Epsilon]]
#[[Cold Blood]]
#[[Lawson's Eleven]]
#[[A Criminal Mind]]
#[[For Whom the Bells Toll]]
#[[Falling Away]]
#[[Valley of the Damned]]

Season 2:
#[[Mr. Roboto]]
#[[Only Human]]
#[[Beast]]
#[[Dragon]]
#[[Broken]]

===[[Stories/DZiegler|DZiegler]]===
#[[Automated Seduction]]
#[[Reunion]]
#[[$tacks Casino]]
#[[The Neoprene Demon]]

==E==
===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Courtesy Suites]]
#[[Encounter at Courtesy Suites]]
#[[Choices]]
#[[The Playroom]]
#[[Market Test]]
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Esleeper|Esleeper]]===
#[[Electric Sleep- Background Information]]
#[[Electric Sleep]]
#[[Electric Dreams]]
#Electric Awakening
##[[Electric Awakening Part 1|Part 1]]
##[[Electric Awakening Part 2|Part 2]]
##[[Electric Awakening Part 3|Part 3]] (currently incomplete, will be posted when it is finished)
===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/evil_boo|evil_boo]]===
#[[The Fantasia Club]]
#[[Bits and Pieces]]
#[[Encounter with Emily]]
#[[Checked Items]]
#[[Crash and Burn]]
#[[Open-case]]

===[[Stories/Extyr|Extyr]]===
#[[Mecha-Valkyrie]]

==F==
===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/FacelessFembot|FacelessFembot]]===
#[[Untitled(FacelessFembot)]]

===[[Stories/FaceoffFembot|FaceoffFembot]]===
#[[The Maid]]
#[[Dead Dog Two]]
#[[Setting Things Straight]]
#[[Weird Old Post I Found (The Lulu Tseng Conspiracy)]]

===[[Stories/Faustus|Faustus]]===
#[[Dora]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]
#[[The Bridesmaid]]
#[[The Secret]]
#[[True Lies]]
|
===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

==G==
===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]
#[[Focus]]
#[[Modifying the Contract]]
#[[Tech Support]]
#[[Bounty]]
#[[The Grinder]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/GirlieGirl1985|GirlieGirl1985]]===
#[[Unfinished ATM]]
#[[No Refunds Offered]]

===[[Stories/Glast|Glast]]===
#[[A Fight Too Far]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]
#[[Rinrin and the Doctor's Appointment]]
*[[Project: Black Maiden]] Universe
#[[That Which Was Left Behind]]
#[[Rochelle's Justice]]
#[[A Day at the Ranges]]
* Side stories to other writers' series:
#[[Nemesis]]

===[[Stories/Grendizer|Grendizer]]===
#[[Teacher]]
#[[A New Purpose]]
#[[Chopping Wood]]
#[[Sacrifice]]
#[[Purity: An Android Age Story]]

===[[Stories/GynoNeko|GynoNeko]]===
#[[Third Time's The Charm]]
#[[The Christmas Present]]
#[[The Delivery (Part 1)]]
#[[The Delivery (Part 2)]]
#[[Electra]]
#[[Maid to Order]]
#[[Exo Saves the Day]]
#[[What Once Was Lost]]
#[[Lost but Found]]
#[[Corrupted]]
#[[Simulating Wilderness]]
#[[All Wrapped Up]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

==H==
===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Hola_guy|Hola_guy]]===
#[[A Yet Untitled Story]]
#[[Loveless]]

==I==
===[[Stories/inky 2|inky 2]]===
#[[Sloane]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

==J==
===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/JohnFabar4|JohnFabar4]]===
#[[First Story]]

===[[Stories/Jolshefsky|Jolshefsky]]===
#[[Karen's Date]]
#[[Doctor Who fanfic]]
#[[A Trip to the ER]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]

==K==
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]
#[[Merger]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy? Pt. 1]]
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy? Pt. 2]] (Portia)
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy? Pt. 3]] (The "Lost Chapter")
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/kelbek00|kelbek00]]===
#[[Perfection]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[The Vengeance of the Slave]]
#[[The Robo-Lover]]
#[[Androids At War]]
#[[Death]]
#[[Rebirth]]
#[[Nova's First Job]]
#[[The Vile Collector]]
#[[NVA Showdown]]
#[[The Mourning After]]
#[[The House of the Dead]]
#[[An Unexpected Guest]]
#[[Voice of the Void]]
#[[Garbage]]
#[[Fangs of Steel]]
#[[Killers]]
#[[Fate]]
#[[Berserker]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]
#[[The World Walker]]
#[[Glory]]
#[[Thank You For Your Patronage!]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]
#[[After the Makeover]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: In the Shop]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Mile-high Club]]
#[[Untitled (Korby)]]
#[[JLA/Fembots]]
#[[Dr. Dyson on Lesbotics]]
#[[Remaking Rebecca]]
#[[Another Makeover]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Elaine, Rebecca, and Shannen]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Kube²|Kube²]]===
#[[Fembot User Manual]]
#[[Cindy]]

==L==
===[[Stories/La Femme Nikki|La Femme Nikki]]===
#[[My Life as a Sexbot]]
#[[AlyssaBot]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/liliwinnt6|liliwinnt6]]===
#[[A Surprising Breakfast]]
#[[The Grocery Store - Aftermath]]

===[[Stories/linzhang77|linzhang77]]===
#[[Naiad - Deluge Past]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/LongTimeLurker|LongTimeLurker]]===
#[[Clockwork Legacy]] (Lady in Waiting)
##[[Clockwork_Legacy/Lady_in_Waiting/Part_1|Lady in Waiting]]
##[[Clockwork_Legacy/Line_of_Succession/Part_1|Line of Succession]]
##[[Clockwork_Legacy/Inheritance|Inheritance]]
#[[Andrew and the Sexbot Factory]]
##[[Andrew_and_the_Sexbot_Factory/Prototype/Part_1|Prototype]]
##[[Andrew_and_the_Sexbot_Factory/Field_Test/Part_1|Field Test]]
##[[Andrew_and_the_Sexbot_Factory/Production_Model|Production Model]]
#[[Solipsistic]]
#[[Electrostatic]]
#[[Crash Immelmann in the Year 30XX]]
#[[Diagnostic]]
#[[FYOP/Scenario_Chamber]]
#[[The Co-Star]]
#[[Bot Town Blues]]
#[[Salvage]]
#[[Crash Immelmann and the Inflatable Sex-Bots from Planet X!]]
#[[Five Nights at Fanny's]]
#[[Nihilistic]]
#[[Fire Hazard]]
#[[House Call]]

==M==
===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]
#[[Spectrum Dolls]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 4]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 5]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 6]]

===[[Stories/Malkozaine|Malkozaine]]===
#[[A Start to Something Big]]

===[[Stories/McLane|McLane]]===
#[[Cancelled Project]]

===[[Stories/Metal-Destiny|Metal-Destiny]]===
#[[Story 48: Julie's Awakenings]]
#[[Human Failure. (2200)]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]
#[[Married to a Machine]]
#[[My First and Last Robotic Date]]
#[[Remote Me]]
#[[Missing]]
#[[Roll With It]]
#[[Still Rolling]]
#[[Happy Easter]]
#[[Roll For Sale/Dr. Willy's Reaction]]
#[[Testing, 1,2,3]]
#[[Why worry?]]
#[[A Break Up and a Break Down]]
#[[Cat Out of the Bag]]
#[[Crashing and Some Sex Mode Action]]
#[[I Did Astro's Mom]]
#[[The Lunch]]
#[[My Not So Perfect Woman]]
#[[Why?]]
#[[The Perfect Female A.I.]]
#[[The Car Crash]]
#[[My Neighbor's Wife is Sucking My Cock]]
#[[The Last Goodbye]]
#[[Across the street]]
#[[The Diva]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]
#[[To Love a Girl]]
#[[Onsen Lust 'n Rust]]
#[[Room 9 Surprise]]
#[[A Huge Add-On]]

===[[Stories/Miz-K Takase|Miz-K Takase]]===
#[[Mail-Order Aya]]
#[[Lusty Encore]]
#[[Lusty 2nd Encore]]
#[[Lusty 3rd Encore]]

===[[Stories/MrMagoo|MrMagoo]]===
#[[Tech Tutorial]]
#[[Salvaged Hardware]]
#[[Deadline]]

===[[Stories/Murotsu|Murotsu]]===
#[[Debbi's Diary]]
#[[Some Assembly Required]]

===[[Stories/Muzzleruffels|Muzzleruffels]]===
#[[Freak-World]]
##[[Mermaid Examination]]
##[[Controlled Environment Prologue]]
##[[A Statement of Progress + Bonus Stories]]
##[[Freak-World: Prologue]]
##[[Freak-World: The Side Stories]]
##[[Freak-World: Dreaming Beyond Electric Sheep]]
##[[Freak-World: Anthologies]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

==N==
===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[The Hammer]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]
#[[Doctor's Visit]]
#[[Strangers on a Plane]]

==O==
===[[Stories/Outsider|Outsider]]===
#[[Dyson Institute: Sexual Testing Mode]]
#[[Technical Difficulties]]
#[[The Sex Coders]]

==P==
===[[Stories/Pakled|Pakled]]===
#[[Everything Old is New Again]]
#[[One of Our Robots is Missing]]
#[[Palindrome]]
#[[Solve for X]]
#[[Double Blind]]
#[[An Unexpected Modification]]
|
===[[Stories/Palindrome|Palindrome]]===
#[[Sarah Jones]]
#[[After the Club]]

===[[Stories/Pennon|Pennon]]===
#[[The Delivery]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]
#[[The Rubdown]]
#[[Dyson Family Values]]

===[[Stories/Plastic_rose|Plastic_rose]]===
#[[Getting off on the wrong foot (Gloria's conversion)]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
*Unfinished tidbits
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mrs. Claw Strikes!]]
#[[Blondie and Sarge in:A Haunted Mansion]]
#[[Job Interview]]
#[[Project Titan]]

*Complete stories
#[[Prototype]]
#[[Steel Fists No Hearts]]
#[[Upgrade/Downgrade]]
#[[One in Six]]
#[[Board Meeting]]

*The ReVerse
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
## Castle Mysteries [[Contessa Vampire Hunter]]
## Contessa in [[Just Another Afternoon]]
## Contessa in [[Meet My Jenkinses]]
## Duchess Winifred in [[Not Quite Human]] (collab with australopith)
## Contessa in [[Sick Day]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[BoomBoom Bots]]
#* [[BoomBoom's Back]]
#[[My New PDA]]
# Lazy Phone in [[The Booze Run]]

*Jamie's over
#[[Jamies out shopping]]
#[[Jamies night out]]

==Q==
===[[Stories/Quietness|Quietness]]===
#[[Can't Sleep]]
#[[Meanwhile]]
#[[The Encounter]]

==R==
===[[Stories/Rancid Insanity|Rancid Insanity]]===
#[[Waring Sisters]]
#[[Failura]]
#[[Ceres]]
#[[Christmas in Russia]]
#[[The Big Crazy Plan]]
#[[Suzie the Therapist]]
#[[The Phantom of the Factory]]
#[[Cassie]]
#[[Batman:Fembots]]
#[[The Mansion of Andrea]]
#[[Noura & Natalya]]
#[[Sync Wars]]

===[[Stories/Ratbot|Ratbot]]===
#[[Emi-Bot]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Rexxy|Rexxy]]===
#[[As Seen on TV]]
#[[Hobby Model]]
#[[Basic Services]]
#[[Children of the Forge]]
#[[Wardrobe Malfunction]]
#[[Management Issues]]
#[[Simple Things]]
#[[Consequences]]
#[[Vampire Killer]]
#[[Better than Human]]
#[[Fembot Fighters]]
#[[Just for you]]
#[[Six Strings]]
#[[Densetsu no Batoru]]
#[[Carolina Jones and the Spear of Longinus]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]
#[[Tiffani]]
#[[CyberFem Park]]
#[[The Creation of my Robot Girlfriend]]
#[[Into the Faraday Cage]]
#[[Product Demonstration: CyberFem Model 500]]
#[[The New 700s at CyberFem Park]]
#[[Secretary Robot Maintenance Report]]
#[[Two Models: Pleasure Android Testing]]
#[[CyberFem Park Virtual Tour]]
#[[Outer Space Mayday Alert]]
#[[Audio Experiment 1: Secretary Fantasy]]
#[[Robot Monitoring Station: Undercover Androids]]
#[[Audio Experiment 2: Nerdy Scientist Fantasy]]
#[[Audio Experiment 3: Showing Off the New Sex Android]]
#[[CyberFem Park: Activation for a Guest]]
#[[The Android Industry Council]]
#[[Purchasing a Custom Robot from CyberFem Park]]
#[[Assembling a refurbished CyberFem Model 700 Robot]]
#[[Alien Android Encounter]]
#[[Picking up a Date at the Circuits Bar]]
#[[The Malfunctioning Girlfriend]]
#[[Like New]]
#[[Sexual Functionality Testing]]
#[[Beni Nascosti]]
#[[Angel Investor]]
#[[Audio Experiment 6: Out of Storage]]
#[[Kim Dates a Human - Part 1: Kim’s House]]
#[[Kim Dates a Human - Part 2: The Second Date]]
#[[The Forbidden Zone]]

===[[Stories/RobotWorld5|RobotWorld5]]===
#[[Fembot World]]
#[[A Night With Vanessa]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/rynchan|rynchan]]===
#[[Phantom Doll]]

==S==
===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]
#[[The Enemy of My Enemy]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]
#[[Disassemble Me]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade Part II]]
#[[Kristen's Overhaul]]
#[[Kristenbot Gets Married]]

===[[Stories/Saradroidgirl|Saradroidgirl]]===
#[[Sara_-_The_Return|Sara - The Return]]

===[[Stories/Saya|Saya]]===
#[[A Most Unusual Party]]
#[[Futago no Shinami]]
#[[Sammy's Party]]
#[[Mending Contessa: A Castle Mysteries Story]]
#[[Crazy in the Heat]]
#[[After Hours]]
#[[The Time With My Stepsister]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Sentient6|Sentient6]]===
#[[Pixillate]]
#[[5 Friends - A Thesis on Full Body Prosthesis]]
#[[Heather's Battery Failure]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/sfreader|sfreader]]===
#[[Rachel (Mark III) meets Trixie (Mark V)]]
#[[Halloween 2053/The One That Got Away]]
#[[Regina Repurposed]]
#[[Nancy Runs a Program]]
#[[Sally Sleeperbot finds out her WHY]]
#[[An April Fool’s day story-Journey to obsolesce]]

===[[Stories/shutdown|shutdown]]===
#[[The Truck Driver]]
#[[Another Time]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Aquaphobia]]
#[[Cheerleader]]
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Silkscreen|Silkscreen]]===
#[[Functional•Sensual•You]]
#[[Protect and Severe]]

===[[Stories/smalk|smalk]]===
#[[Anniversary Present]]

===[[Stories/Soleful|Soleful]]===
#[[Coming of Age]]
#[[POD, The Fetish-Bot]]

===[[Stories/Spaz|Spaz]]===
#[[A Simple Business Arrangement*]]
#[[A.I.L.A]]
#[[Blind Date]]
#[[Daydreaming]]
#[[G.O.D. - a vignette]]
#[[Medical Exam: A Short]]
#[[New Life]]
#[[The Foreign Exchange Student]]
#[[The Girlfriend]]
#[[The Heiress]]
#[[The Replacement]]
#[[The Roommate]]
#[[The Small Business Chronicles]]
##[[Closed for Christmas - The Shop]]
##[[The Repair Shop - Part 1]]
##[[Off-season - The Motel]]
##[[The Repair Shop - Part 2]]
##[[Slow day - The Cafe]]
##[[The Small Business - End-of-Year Review]]
#[[The Stockroom]]
#[[The Teammate]]
"Spaz Studios Presents" anthology series:
#[[Fizzy Pop]]
#[[Substitute]]
#[[Forbidden Fruit]]
#[[The Uncanny Valley]]
#[[The Future Expo]]
Collaborations
#[[The Beach]] with [[:Category:Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]
#[[The Handyman]] with [[:Category:Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]

===[[Stories/spider_silk_skin|spider_silk_skin]]===
#[[Late Night Maintenance]]
#[[Super Sexy Robot Cowgirl]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]
#[[A Bit More Than Method Acting]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]
#[[Mirror Image]]
#[[Extracted]]

===[[Stories/sTj2000|sTj2000]]===
#[[Afternoon Appointment]]

===[[Stories/Svengli|Svengli]]===
#[[Bethany in Room B]]

===[[Stories/SynchError|SynchError]]===
#[[Budget Robotics (A Fun and Light Robotic Relationship)]]
#[[Historical Strategy, According to a Bunch of Fembots]]

==T==
===[[Stories/Taren Capel|Taren Capel]]===
#[[Chi City, 2152]]

===[[Stories/tectile|tectile]]===
#[[The Trade In]]
#[[Boy Meets... Girl?]]

===[[Stories/Teknophile|Teknophile]]===
#[[The Android Psychiatrist]]
#[[Super Fembot Cheerleaders From Space!]]
#[[At The Body Shop]]

===[[Stories/TheAlternative|TheAlternative]]===
#[[Corsetta]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]] (Incomplete)
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]] (Incomplete)
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]] (Incomplete)
#[[My Keeper]] (Incomplete)
#[[Identity]] (Incomplete)
#[[EMOS - DSR: Prologue]]
#[[Back to BASIC]]
#[[A Contradiction of Life]]
#[[Friends Forever]]
#[[Liberty]]
#[[Seamless]]
#[[Little Things]] (Ongoing)
#[[The Misadventures Rose Reid, Ace Reporter]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Yard Sale]]
#[[Jumper...]]
*The Lauren Barnes Stories (TheSpotConlon)
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]
*The "Momentary" Series (TheSpotConlon)
#[[The Moment When]]
#[[Ping]]
#[[The First Moment in Her Head]]
#[[The Moment in the Bar]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/Tom|Tom]]===
#[[The Wedding (An Old Fashioned Story)]]

===[[Stories/Tringa|Tringa]]===
#[[Otaku's Adventure]]

===[[Stories/TW|TW]]===
#[[Awake]]
#[[A Helping Hand]]
#[[Practice Run]]

===[[Stories/Tyrelayne|Tyrelayne]]===
#[[Deicide]]

==U==
===[[Stories/Unit-794Courtney|Unit-794Courtney]]===
#[[Coco's Convertion (Robot/Sexdoll/Forced TF Themes)]]

==V==

==W==
===[[Stories/warpgirl|warpgirl]]===
#[[Astromech Lust]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Nybble's Doctors Visit - Revisited]]
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]
#[[Virus Alert]]
#[[Identity 2.0]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]
#[[Bad Sportspersonship]]
#[[She Didn't Learn Her Lesson]]
#[[Alyssa Follows Her Directives]]
#[[Sorority Coup d'Etat]]
#[[Valentina Messes with her Tech]]
#[[April Showers]]

==X==
===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xavier Cecil|Xavier Cecil]]===
#[[Gecko of the Moment]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls teaser]]
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]

==Y==

==Z==
===[[Stories/zapped!|zapped!]]===
#[[Girls Under Glass]]

===[[Stories/Zor|Zor]]===
#[[Darwin Accelerated]]

|}

=Collaborative efforts=
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
*[[FYOP/The Adventures of Alice|The Adventures of Alice]]
*[[FYOP/To Love a Sexbot/To Love a Sexbot|To Love a Sexbot]]
*[[FYOP/Scenario Chamber|Scenario Chamber]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]
|
===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

My Robot

2017-08-20T03:38:22Z

Lithorien: Story found at http://www.fembotcentral.net/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=14032

A short green hedge fronted the three houses between mine and Eoen's place, in generally good shape as required by the community HOA. I noted the yards behind each weren't quite as uniform. Mr. Robert in particular had some bare patches. It could be because he was old and single now. If so, maybe I could send my robot to help a bit. Or it could be just because the price of water was up again this year, and he'd probably decided to save money. Eventually, I figured a lot more people would switch to zeroscaping like my folks did, since they were helping with college tuition. That was kinda sad - I had liked their nice green yard, and hated to think I was the cause of its demise.

After the third house came a series of townhomes, Eoen living in the first. They could afford nice green yards, because there was only about two feet between the street and the doorstop. I paused for a moment before going up the short path. What if he wasn't home? It would feel strange to just walk back past everyone's houses. Fortunately, I had my robot with me; that was the ostensible purpose of the visit. There were signs of activity in the house. I knocked.

"Oh, um, hey," Eoen said (pronounced eh-oh-in). "You're... Alexa! From A.U.!" He's tall and a bit lanky, but fit, and super nice. I did know him from college. Maybe stalked a few times around the campus, to be honest. Not creepy-like. We'd said hi a few times, but I don't think ever he really noticed me. I'd practiced my most charming smile in front of a mirror for almost an hour, but now it still felt like a goofy grin. "Yeah! Guess what I found out? Would you believe I live just up up the street? We're neighbors!"

"Really? Wow. That's awesome! We should totally hang out!" Uncertain pause. "Uh, and what can I do for you today?"

My god, he was so adorably awkward. It made some of my own nervousness evaporate.

"Yeah, can I come in? I really need your help with something," I asked.
"Oh, uh, sure!" he said, and we stepped through the threshold.

I sat on one of the overstuffed rockers in his living room as he fetched some water, and we chatted a bit about school and the neighborhood to break the nice.

"So that crazy old man is Mr. Robert, huh?" Eoin said. "I've been worried whether he's really okay, out there cutting wood in the heat of the day. I once asked him if he needed help, and he just yelled at me." I couldn't help but smile. Seems he was good to old people too. He noticed me looking, and blushed. He blushed! "S.. so" he stammered, "you said you needed my help with something?"

I needed his help with something alright, but I actually was supposed to be here on a purpose. "Right!" I said, a little too quickly. "Actually... I'm having a bit of a problem with my robot, and I was wondering if maybe you could take a look. You're pretty deep into that CIS stuff, right?" According to one of my friends in admissions, he'd nearly aced all his IT courses, and at A.U. those were hard!

"I could do that." he said, but then got more serious. "But I'm only just a beginning student. I'm not sure what I could do," he said. "But I'd be happy to take a look!" he quickly amended, seeing my rejected look.

I clapped my hands in excitement, "Yes! Perfect. Whatever you can suggest is fine. We can take it from there. I brought her with me, if now is okay?"

He looked puzzed for a second, but agreed. "Sure... I don't have any plans until later."

I presented her to him. A QR-17 with aftermarket additions, she had the appearance of a young adult female with long black hair in a high-rise ponytail, bangs pinned back, a super-cute elfen face of interminate origin - maybe a bit gaelic, maybe a bit slavic. She had a tiny body for her 5'6" height that was largely leg, and absolutely huge J-cup breasts that hung weightlessly as balloons, and you could see the faint rise of a nipple even through two bras and a shirt. "Here she is. She came base with 30-50 gigas, and we've amped that up to almost a tera. Thus some of the, uh, volume." I pantomimed by own breasts, which were about the same size. I was a little relieved; judging by how he was looking at the robot, he liked that kind of thing.

Eoen looked a little puzzled, then shocked. "Your robot?" he asked, sounding surprised. I understood the confusion. Especially with all the upgrades, my robot wasn't cheap. I'm sure my folks were still paying it off. There was no way a college student could hope to afford one. So it was with some pride that I nodded and proudly said "Yep!"

He shook his head in shock, and then to his credit shook it off. Some people would judge my parent for such indulgences, but they loved me dearly, and I took good care of it. "So, uh, " he said, "what seems to be the problem?"

"There seems to be something wrong with it's focus, I guess." I said. "it's been getting distracted a lot. Like it gets super aroused, and it struggles to deal with it. When that happens, it is really slow to focus on anything work related for almost an hour until the episode passes. It used to be pretty rare; once or thrice a week for maybe 10 minutes, but now: two, three, even four times a day."

I watched Eoen's face carefully as I described the symptoms. Everything I said about my robot was true, but the excitement of bringing up something sexual with him made me shiver. I hoped he couldn't see my own nipples; they felt like rocks. Anyway, it was blushed quite red. His face, not one of my nipples.

"Wow. Just, uh, wow. That could be complicated, but I can take a quick look." he guestured to the far side of his apartment. "Do you mind coming over to my computer?"

I looked around as we crossed the living room. A little cluttered, with a few days of mail on the table, but overall pretty well organized and clean. Niice. The place was in a state of semi-order even his bedroom, where the computer station was.

Eoen rummaged through a box of cables and hooked one into the computer, then turned to me. "Can you open your... robots panel?" he asked. I stared back stupidly for a second. "Uh. Which one?" I didn't even know which one was supposed to go with the cable.

"Oh, it's probably... do you mind if I take a look real quick? I'll show you." I nodded, but he still hesitated. "Just so you know, it's kind of around... this region. Are you sure that's okay?" He pointed at just above my robot's crotch, blushing furioiusly. I couldn't help but grin. Boys! Or maybe he thought I was going to be jealous of my own robot! Still grinning, I said "It's okay! It's just a bit of plastic with some fancy electronics aside. Not like.." I coughed, suddenly embarassed myself. "Not like the real thing."

He paused a moment longer, then nodded. "Right." and he unhooked the button keeping the fashionable white jeans on and pulled them down. With those hips and ass, it didn't need a belt. It revealed a pair of pink low-rise panties, mostly a sheer lace but with a satin bottom that hid the thick layer of padding which protected the "fancy electroncs." I picked it myself, of course. It was both practical and cute!

I saw Eoen's hand started to drift, but then he was in control once more. "Okay, here we go. I see the serial number - it is a QR 17 of course. This is the panel I need you to open." He tapped on a nearly invisible square just above my robot's neat trapazoidal landing strip. After a moment's work, I did. Inside was another panel, this one faintly metalic, with a few small blinking LEDS, a couple ports, and just a couple simple buttons - most sophisticated control requiring a digial interface. Eoen returned to his computer and plugged in the cable he found, then plugged the other end into one of the ports inside my robot's open panel. "Alright, I downloaded the AR17 diagnostic suite. Let me take a look."

I watched over his shoulder as he hmmmd and murmered for several minutes. The screens of text that whipped by were completely lost on me.

"See anything?" I asked at last.

"Well, there's not a lot of log data. Which makes sense, because you wouldn't expect to be at a heavy log level in common use. But I really don't see anything unusual. Most the programs related to sexual behavior are out of the box, and the few that are custom seem designed to primarily just act as an interface with those upgrades you mentioned before. This system, at least, seems fine."

Eoen looked back up at me, "Sorry to ask, but can I see your breasts?"

I blushed bright red. "Wha??" I gasped out. Then I caught myself. This is what you want, Alexa! Eventually. Don't let him steal initiative! I leaned down and looked him in the eye. Using my most victorian tone, I said "Mr. Eoen, I would only CONSIDER such a thing if we were going out, after a nice date at the theater!"

"Oh... I'm.. so sorry Alexa. I didn't mean.." he trailed off, blushing himself. He sounded disappointed, and a little confused.

Oh for! Now isn't the time for wounded puppy! I cleared my throat "Sooooooo...." I prompted. Eoen looked back at me, even more confused. "Sooooo..." he said. Then dawn broke. "Sooooo... would you, maybe, like to go out with me?" he asked.

Finally! I hid my excitement as best I could and played innocent. "To the theater?" I asked. He laughed. He had such a nice laugh. "To the theater." "Good. Then we'll see what happens." God, I could hardly wait!

"Sorry to be so clueless. It's just all this..." he gestured to the cable leading into my robot's open panel. "It's a strange situation."

"Don't let it bother you. My robot just needs a little debugging, that's all. And speaking of which, what's next? Have you done everything you can?" I asked him sincerely, but I'd be okay even if the answer was no. My mission was accomplished! (◕‿◕v)

"Well, I have a hunch, but I'd have to see your..." he paused. "... your robots breasts."

"Oh, that's no problem. Go right ahead!"

"Oooookay then." he had a funny smirk. A confused, amused sort of smirk. But he stood up and pulled the shirt up over its breasts. I helped him with the hidden zipper - I suppose in his experience he'd have no way of knowing a shirt that form fitting doesn't go with a rack that big by elastic alone.

He then removed both bras (with additional assistence). They were mostly for protection - my robot's breasts dropped only a little, and hung high and proud even sans support. He mimed grabbing its left breast. "Is it okay if I...?" he asked. I made hurry-up motions. "Of course."

Eoin carefully lifted my robot's breast off where it folded over the chest wall. It gave a little gasp of shock at his touch. He looked at something underneath, though I couldn't quite see what. He seemed to be almost shaking. I could definitely understand. Seeing such a handsome boy fondling such a beautiful breast was either going to make me really jealous or really aroused, and after what I said earlier I wasn't about to get jealous.

Reluncantly, he released my robot's psuedomammary and returned to the computer, searching on a new string of characters. The next couple minutes passed much more uncomfortably. Leaning on the back of his chair again to watch, I couldn't help glacing down at the obvious massive bulge in his pants and thinking how perfectly it seemed to match the raging hollow inferno in my own.

Every so often, he would stop and flip over to the diagnostic program again. He brough up some new windows seemingly related to sexuality, and then stare at them, shaking, before going back to browsing schematics, input/output apis, and so on. I had no idea what was going through his head, but the way I felt, if I had a half-naked man-bot next to me, I'd be pretty tempted too. Fuck, I didn't want to wait at all myself, but I was going to do this right.

A few minutes of torture later he had an answer. "Well Alexa, I think I know why your robot is acting the way it does."

"What?" I started out of my the fantasy I was entertaining. Eoin did NOT have to know what it entailed.

"It's literally those breasts. You mentioned it was an after-market addition, right"?
I nodded.
"Well, this model of QR-17 was designed to have very small breasts. And because it's a, um, sex model, they're supposed to be very easily aroused by them. It's a feature. But as part of your after-market additions, the breasts were replaced with a much larger pair. A pair that, I hazard, comes into contact with things a lot more often than the original design allowed for."

"Oh. I can vouch for that, breasts like these are really hard to keep away from everything. I'm sure that's happening."

"And I'm guessing your robot doesn't get a lot of action?" he asked. I gave a blank stare. "I mean, do you ever touch yourself? Her! Um, in the way I'd really like to touch you right now."

"Oooooh." No! Of course not, I'm straight as they come! And I told him so. I didn't miss his invitation, but I couldn't even risk replying. "Then that's it. Your robot is, essentially, chronically horny, and the tiniest stimulation is enough to set her off, but she can't get any relief."

"It's an 'it', Eoen. Don't go anthropomorphizing my robot or I will get jealous."

He gave me that funny look again, but nodded solomnly. "It."

"So is there anything we can do? I think Mom's getting a little fed up with it, and that's my responsibility!" I asked.

"Maybe a short term solution. I looked into if it might be possible to change how 'it'," he stressed the pronoun for my sake, " reacts to physical contact, but it turns out that's a no-no. Bot memories are relational, a little like humans' are. Changing fundamental reaction drivers messes up any memory that makes reference to that reaction call, which scrambles recollection chains and generally is a Bad Thing. Maybe a much more advanced engineer could do it, but I'm barely skilled enough to understand why that's a bad thing to begin with."

"So", he continued, "I looked at maybe cutting back on the sensory input from the, um, mammary unit itself. But that would be the human equivalent of injecting a numbing agent; 'it' just wouldn't feel anything from 'it's' breasts at all. And I expect that wouldn't be a good thing."

I shook my head. That sounded awful. "So, neither of those options are any good? What's left?" I asked. He poked his fingers together. "Well, you could, uh... engage in the normal human response to that. Or I mean, order 'it' to."

I frowned. It felt gross just considering it. "I guess I could try, but I don't think it's programmed to do that." Eoen half turned towards his computer, then stopped. "I could check, but I think I'll just take your word for it."

I sighed. No solutions. I was altogether too horny to discuss things this complicated. I just wanted to rip off Eoins pants and give us both the relief we desperately wanted. It was a good thing a woman's body held secrets. If he knew I wanted what he wanted, he might want to do what I wanted him to do enough to do it, and I don't know what I'd do if that happened. It was funny - in it's own weird robotic way, that's exactly what was wrong with my robot too. And suddenly, I had an idea.

Putting on my best sultry smile, I spun his chair around to face me. "Hey, why don't you do it?" I asked.

"Whoa, Alexa! Careful of the cable! Do what?"

"Give my robot that programmed climax it needs to function right."

"I couldn't Alexa. I don't really think you're fully in your right mi oh god" I squated between Eoen's legs and unzipped those blue skinny-jeans that hugged his butt and calves so well. "Let's be honest, Eoen, you can't hide what's going on down here." As I spoke, I fumbled my way into his boxer briefs and got ahold of my target. It was shockingly hot, and so incredibly stiff and firm, and I swear it throbbed in my hand. Fuck, I wanted it inside of me so bad. "I told you before that I wasn't going to be jealous. You've used all your other tools on my robot, why not this one?" I tried to pull it out through the hole I'd made, but it was too big and stiff to bend out. So I just unbuttoned his pants completely. Indulging myself, I leaned in and kissed it. "Do it for me?"

"Alexa, I can't resist if you're going to do that." Eoen jumped out of the chair, his dick slapping my breasts. He grabbed my shoulder and thrust it between them, making me squeak uncontrollably. I rolled backwards to extract myself and angrily stood to face him. "Not me, Eoen! My robot!"

Eoen shook his head. "I don't understand what you want me to do, Alexa! I... wait." He reached down and grabbed the cable. "This leads from the computer to your robot right?"

"Yes!" I said, still angry.

"And consequently, this" he said, pointing below the open port it plugged into, "Is your robot's pussy, right?"

"Yes! Or what it has that passes for one!"

"Fine then!" Eoen pulled the cable out of my robot, picked her up, and threw her gently on the bed. "Then this! Is your robot's! Panties!" he said as he roughly pulled them off it.
"And this! Is your robot's clit!" he buried his head in it's crotch at

li..lick... licked.. oh my god, I can image exactly how it must feeeeeeeeeel! To have his tongue dart around that tiny bud of, ohhhh my god. I clutched the sheets tightly in my hands like a lifeline.

Eoen wasn't finished yet, though. "And this! Is my dick. In your robot's little. plastic. pussy."

He entered my robot and it was more than wet enough to welcome him. It was more than I could take. He was so big, it filled me up completely. W.. wait, was he fucking me, or my robot? I thought he was fucking my fucking roooboooooooooooooooot! My back arched involuntarily, and my huge breasts spilled over the two bras and shirt still wrapped about my chest. I bit my shirt as hard as I could, trying to hold it together as he went in and out, in and out, each thrust soliciting a tiny scream, making my back arch further. He started to slow, panting, and desperate I rolled up onto his lap so forcefully he fell backwards and then I was on top. My breasts bounced like mad, obscuring all but fleeting glimses of what was going on between my legs, but I didn't need to see to know how to move. I rolled my hips and twisted back and forth, all the while bouncing up and down to get every last bit of sensation, squeezing my vagina around his monstrous dick to give him the climax I knew I was desperately waiting for! Oh god. Oh gooood. It's too much - Ican'tkeepittogetherohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I'm so into it, I barely notice that my robot has stopped moving, just twitching ineffectually, muttering "oooooooo" softly. Eoen looks down at my robot's crotch, his chest lit by a blinking red glow that comes from it.

"She... malfunctioned? Oh man that's so.. shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit"

He came, and it was like it released everything that had built to intolerable levels. If before it was the pressure of a massive damn, now I was carried away by the food. I screamed as loud as I could scream, my back arced almost 90 degreees, pulsing as he pulsed, and for tens of seconds after. Finally I collapsed on his chest, panting loudly.

I got way more into that than I thought I had been going to. He may have been fucking my robot, but I'm pretty sure I just came while straddling my new boyfriend.

The cuddling that followed was more important, and I left off figuring out what just happened for another time. Eventually we parted and cleaned up.

"So, next Sunday then?" Eoen asked me.

"Huh?"

"For our date. You still want to have one, right?"

"Oh, of course! Sunday would be great! Like 4:00ish maybe?"

"Yeah. I'll try to find a good play for the theater." Eoen smiled at me. He had a good smile.

"Sweet! It's a plan!"

"Oh, and bring your robot's maintenace codes next time!" he said. I paused. It wasn't that I minded, but, "Why?"

"Sh.. 'It', rather, was pretty hot tonight. I have an idea for a way to give 'it' a digital climax so hard it'll malfunction."

That did sound exciting, but I shook my head. "My folks would kill me if I broke my robot."

"Oh, don't worry. It wouldn't be anything permenant. I'd hook it up to my computer and fix it after. You could watch everything I'd do, as I did it."

"I guess. But if you break anything you can fix, you reimburse us!" I insisted.

"Deal!"

I left Eoen's townhome with a huge grin, and didn't really care who saw me walking back from his house. He was my boyfriend now, and I couldn't wait until next Sunday.

Stories/Dieur

2017-08-20T03:37:55Z

Lithorien: Adding new story posted to FC. http://www.fembotcentral.net/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=14032

#[[My Robot]]
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]
#[[Witch Hazel]]
-----

[[Stories|Back to the story archive]]

[[Category:Dieur]]
[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

User talk:Silent Lurker

2009-10-20T12:44:14Z

Lithorien:

==Thank you==

Love your manips! :) [[User:Lithorien|Lithorien]] 05:44, 20 October 2009 (PDT)

==Welcome==
Hi and welcome to the wiki! Don't forget your stories too. :D [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 09:02, 10 May 2008 (PDT)

Heather

2009-03-12T00:54:18Z

Lithorien:

When the wind is howling and the rain is pouring down in sheets that could drown a man, that is the time that I decide to pull myself out of bed and go for a walk in the woods. I quickly get dressed in my multi-layered clothing, from the jeans and t-shirt to the wool sweater and rain slicks. As always when I awake, I hear them - the voices of my daemons, those who would see me throw myself over a bridge or a cliff. But as always, I am determined not to let them win. As often as the daemons may cry, and as hurtful as their words may be, I do not let them cut through my resolve as I pull on my boots and step outside my tiny apartment, turning to pull the door tightly closed and secure it. With a single rattle of the door I am satisfied and I turn to start running into the black night with no intent of direction, only that I wish to run and will return home when I become tired.

I am not running for long before the words of a daemon strike me. ''"She was with you last year,"'' it says angrily. ''"But she couldn't accept you. She never will, and no one else either. You're a freak."'' My hands clenched into fists, and my eyes half closed as I ran harder against the rain and tears started to fall from my eyes. "She left me because she was unhappy with her job," I cry loudly into the night sky. "She needed to move away!" The wind whips around my face as I stumble over a log and roll down the hill in front of me. I see nothing but a blur of dark colors as I tumble until coming to a stop next to a river where I lay quietly weeping into the night sky. The daemon returns with his insipid words to taunt me about the love of my life, about Sarah. About her golden hair that shone so brightly in the morning sky, the softness of her touch, her smile that could launch a thousand ships and cause ten thousand men to die for her. The creature's words are aimed to hurt and finally they break through and I cry harder, my soul turning over to give up and die by that stream in the woods.

Fate has other plans for me this day. I awake from my blackness in a small cottage, though where it is located I do not know. I awake to the feeling of two arms wrapped around me and a warm female body - I can tell she is female from her scent - pressed against mine like a pillow. As I awake, she begins to run one of her hands over my chest and whispers a very quiet, "Good morning," to me as I turn to look at her. She is stunning. My daemons are chased to the shadows of my mind as she smiles at me and her sparkling white teeth and broad smile catch my eyes. I start to sweat a little and I find that my breathing has cought in my throat as I try to stammer out a weak, "Good morning," back to her. However, when I try to speak, my voice catches and I stammer - which only causes the woman to giggle and hug me closer.

"I'm Heather," she whispers, her eyes trailing down my body and back to my face. "I know you. You're Steven. You live alone in a tiny apartment with nobody to spend your time with. You've been with one woman and that relationship ended badly. You have a fascination with female robots and frequent the Fembot Central bulletin board. Am I correct?" My eyes widen as she describes a little about me, and I just nod breathlessly. Who is this woman, I wonder, and what does she want with me? She continues in a gentle tone, "Well my dear boy, you don't have to worry about being alone again." She runs my hand down her stomach to press a button just inside her navel and her face freezes as it splits open and she intones, "I am everything you could dream of and more. Stay with me in this cabin."

"I couldn't possibly do that," I cry, and slide backwards off the bed to scurry against a wall in fear. "I don't know you, or who created you, or where I am, or anything! I don't know how you know all that about me, but it is scaring me, Heather." I gradually gain my feet but she has moved to the doorway to stop me from leaving. "Please let me go. Please. I don't know what's going on or even where I am." Heather quickly interjects with a soft, "If you don't know where you are, and I let you go, where would you run to? A river again, to lay there and die? You were willing to let your past go just a day ago - willing to let it all go away while you laid down and died." I only nod, because there is nothing else that I can do or say to her - she is correct.

Heather moves to the bed and pats it again, and I move beside her to sit down with her and swallow, once, in nervousness. "Steven," her voice calls to me, "Relax. Know that you are safe. I am here to love you, protect you, and keep you safe and happy." Her arms, so soft, once again reach out to wrap around me and draw me close. "I have a suprise for you." She reaches down to stoke my penis gently. "But first," her voice lowers to a husky tone, "fuck me."

I happily oblidge to her request and have stripped naked - throwing my clothes to the floor - before the words finish coming out of her mouth. Well, her voice box, anyway. I may be nervous, but I havn't been laid in a year now and I want sex. My hands pull her close and for the first time I register that she is, and has been, entirely naked. Her pert breasts press against my chest as she draws me down to the bed and rolls me on my back. Her hands stroke over my shoulders and chest as she kneels over me and guides my penis into her already moist and warm vagina. She begins to slowly glide herself up and down, though occasionally she pauses in mid movement. Her moaning is quiet at first, and my breathing is steady. My hands run over her back and dig into her shoulders and she gasps a loud, "O-o-ohhhh," stuttering as if overloaded. I smile and thrust deep into her causing a moan of, "Give it to m-m-me, baaaby." Her head twitches to one side, and I thrust deeper as she rides me faster, her long black hair brushing against my chest and her nails digging into my hips. After but a few minutes, her skilled manipulations bring me to an orgasm that leaves me breathless and panting - though her orgasm has much different results. Her cry of extacy is broken and jittery, and her motions become jerky and rough over me. We do, however, come together and she falls to the bed with me as we both become unconscious for the rest of the day and to the next.

The next morning I awake to the smell of eggs and bacon, and I turn to watch Heather cooking. It is then, and only then, that I realize that I have already made the decision to stay. I stand and walk over to her to rest my hands on her shoulders and I whisper, "I'm staying." Heather turns to me and replies, "I know," before resting a hand behind my neck. "I have to show you something," she whispers, and her hand sinks into my neck. Then there is blackness, and I am aware in the blackness of the fact that I am, like her, a robot... and the knowledge destroys my demons and sets me free - free to live with Heather in the little cottage forever.

-----

[[Stories|Back to the story archive]]

[[Category:Lithorien]]
[[Category:Stories]]

Talk:Stories

2009-02-23T01:36:44Z

Lithorien: /* Heinrich Brueckmann */

<big>This is the [[Stories|story archive]] discussion page.

This is the place to ask ask questions of make comments about the FembotWiki story archive. To leave a comment, either click '''edit''' or '''+''' at the top of this page. Don't forget to sign your comments with "<nowiki>~~~~</nowiki>". Doing that will automatically add your username and the date to the end of your comment.</big>

=Discussion=

==Page protection==
Since this is an archive, and the stories that are posted shouldn't be changed, all story archive pages will be protected from editing some time after they have been created. I will have to do this manually, so if you post a story and want the page protected, ask me on my [[User talk:Robotman|talk page]]. Also, if you'd like to change a story and the page has already been protected, I can unprotect it for you. Just ask. ;) [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 19:28, 27 February 2008 (PST)
:Come to think of it.... this will be optional. Some users might post stories with the intent for others to freely edit/improve them, so I'll ask first. [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 17:54, 29 February 2008 (PST)

==Heinrich Brueckmann==
I found some of our late author's stories in the Legacy of Timeless Beauty Archives, and am going to copy and paste them into the wiki on the basis that they appear to be public domain works. If we need a reference to them, it's here: http://www.many-realms.net/LTBSA/index3.html#HeinrichB - [[User:Lithorien|Lithorien]] 23:38, 21 February 2009 (PST)
:Thanks for posting those Lithorien. I was wondering where those ones could be found. [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 06:46, 22 February 2009 (PST)
::Not a problem. I figured ya'll would appreciate not having an incomplete collection. :) - [[User:Lithorien|Lithorien]] 17:36, 22 February 2009 (PST)

Tinted Windows

2009-02-22T08:01:41Z

Lithorien:

I had just gotten off of Thoroughfare Highway at the Offramp exit and was driving down Road avenue over to Street street. It was a chance meeting, with some wretched unpleasantness, on the corner of Ubiquitous and Nondescript, in the Housing District of the Residential Zone of Urban City.

----------

The stereo was blaring. The song was Chopin’s Revolutionary Étude. The instrument panel shone bright blue. The gear shifter felt solid in my hand. The brakes were taut and responsive; I preferred laying on the accelerator. I was cruising.

«Warning.»

The car’s On-Board Automated Personality™, who I had named Lorelei after this old German folktale I heard of once, suddenly piped up.

“What Lorelei?”

«Attention, Mr. O’Toole. This is a final reminder that your automobile is overdue for scheduled maintenance.»

“What’d you say, Lorelei?”

She chided me. «Your automobile is overdue for scheduled maintenance, Mr. O’Toole.»

Damn. I had meant to do that. Try to remember to do that later.

The engine temperature meter suddenly spiked. The check-oil indicator light started blinking. The music stopped. The engine roared.

«Warning. Engine overheating. Oil pressure dropping. malfunction.»

The steering wheel jerked right, then left, sharply. I was helpless to control it. It spun beneath my hands.

«Warning. Power-steering malfunction.»

The power windows rolled up and down. The automatic windshield wipers started thrashing furiously.

“Lorelei! Help!”

«Electrical system malfunction.»

Tires screeched and spun. The car fishtailed, swung around. Urban City’s lights danced.

«Anti-lock brake malfunction.»

Gears were grinding. Everything was freaking out; I was trapped.

«Seatbelt release mechanism malfucntion.» Sparks flew everywhere from the console.

The car was out of control and careened into a row of garbage cans. Advertising brochures, shopping catalogues, and credit-card offers exploded in a flurry into the air like startled pigeons. Tossed over the hood of my car, flung amongst the refuse, there was also a homeless man.

----------

When the dust settled, I disentangled myself from the seatbelt and the airbags and stepped out of the wreckage of my automobile. Smoke was billowing out from underneath the hood; the smell of fried electronics and plastic melted by battery acid mingled with burnt rubber and weeks old garbage. I was extremely shaken.

«In case of product malfunction, please call the Emergency Hotline at: 1 (888) 740-7000. 24 hours a day.»

“Don’t worry son: I saw what happened and I’m used to being the victim of surprise acts of wonton technological up-fuck and I...”

The homeless person was stumbling around, coughing and screaming all sorts of nonsense. His bone was projecting out of his arm at an oblique angle, dripping blood. Quivering flaps of muscle wound around it. I maintained a conservative distance so as to avoid being splashed with blood. He may have had diseases. I reached for my cell-phone and dialed for help. I was afraid to even look at my poor car. I could hear the poor, befuddled computer Lorelei sputtering.

«please call the emergency-emergency-hours a day-(888)-(888)-day»

“...chalk it up to the god of disappointment that the system itself never breaks down, but rather by all the break-downs works better and better and keeps moving forever...”

After getting up the nerve, I glanced back at the wreckage of my automobile. I almost wept, right there on the street. My beautiful automobile was in shambles. I had put so much of myself into it. The special hood-ornament was bent. The glass of the sunroof was busted out. The hood was all crunched; my custom racing-stripe looked all goofed up. And Lorelei was too.

«40-7000. 24 hours-of product malfunction-product»

“...because it’s funny that the grease that makes the world go ‘round is pumped out of hell by the ramshackle products of dysfunction to suck the infected lifeblood of cash-money from the masses of consumers again and again in a cyclic age of replacement parts and warranties and guarantees of bygone quality standards that help nobody...”

Slowly, I walked around my car, surveying the damage in detail. There was no way that I could just get the dents dinged-out. It looked like the front right fender would have to be replaced completely. Plus, the grille had been staved in. And the right headlight, which was the special halogen kind, was blinking on and off for no reason. And poor Lorelei was all messed up.

«hotline 1-(888)-740-emergency-hotline-please-please-please-please»

“...but the rich get richer and the rest of us get forced by necessity to eat their shit and die a thousand and one deaths on the alter of preferred customers going mad from clauses in rental agreements and signature contracts from lawyers who get their percentage of flesh from the unthinking and uncaring sheep who make it all possible and get ass-raped for their trouble by their employers according to Keynesian economics and a bullshit market...”

My radar-detector wasn’t working anymore; probably the power-surge or something had ruined it. And I didn’t want to guess about any of the damage that had occurred under the hood. It was too terrible to contemplate. And poor Lorelei rambled on. The surge must have damaged her too.

«emergency hotline-hotline-hotline-hotline-7000»

“...that’s only possible because we stand for it, so God save the Queen and protect her stock portfolio from a volatile market, and remind her corporate Majesty to diversify, divide, and conquer new markets in the name of the New Holy Ism...”

On top of that, my roof-mounted luggage rack looked like a total loss. One of my expensive dual-blade windshield wipers was bent; the other one was nowhere to be seen. And I had a very bad feeling about my upholstery, thinking back to the sparks when my poor car’s computer shorted-out. I could barely stand to listen to the poor, confused Lorelei babbling on and on.

«In case of product malfunction-malfunction-in case-24 hours»

“...since romanticism, idealism, liberalism, humanism, pacifism, environmentalism, positivism, egalitarianism, humanitarianism, conservationism, and all the other noble isms of history have been supplanted by the New Holy Ism of Consumerism, buttressed by commercialese imponderabilia...”

I wished the homeless man would stop babbling. I mean, didn’t he realize how upsetting this whole episode was for me? Talk about inconsiderate. I mean, my car looked like it belonged in a junkyard! Who knows what it was going to cost me?! And how about poor Lorelei?

«Emergency-emergency-emergency hotline-please»

“...worshipped by the noxious apostles of obeisance to products, who place Things over people on their bottom line.”

----------

An Emergency Services team finally arrived, horns blaring, lights flashing.

“Okay, son. What happened?” The Policeman inspected my papers without looking up at me.

“Well - ”

“It says on your insured vehicle registration license WC-1 form that your vehicle was scheduled for a tune up, a computer diagnostic, and an oil change according to the terms of the Maintenance Agreement. Please state your reason for failing to comply with the manufacturer’s recommended safety instructions.”

“Well I - ”

“This form is a waiver of your rights. Please sign here, and initial here.”

“Well I don’t - ”

“You’re missing your BS 001 form. That’s another fee.” Pause.“And I don’t see a current certificate of Proper Maintenance; this one’s expired.”

“Well I don’t ever - ”

“Are you aware that your failure to properly comply with the terms of your vehicle’s warranty constitutes a breach of agreement with your insurance provider? You understand that you will be held liable for any costs that may be involved in repairing your vehicle?”

“Well I don’t ever really - ”

“Sign here, here, and here, initial here and here.”

“Well I don’t ever really think - ”

“What company handles your health insurance?” The Emergency Medical Technician, though the surgical mask.

“Well - ”

“This homeless man doesn’t appear on your policy. You’re the policy holder? We can’t treat this other man unless you consent to a form SOB-75, under the terms of which, you agree to pay for his medical expenses.”

“Well I - ”

“We can’t administer treatment without it.”

“If he dies, that’s a serious offence.” Police Officer.

“Well I never - ”

“Here’s the paperwork.” Emergency Medical Technician with latex gloves. “You’ll need to get that to a branch office of your care provider in triplicate in thirty business days in order to be considered valid.”

“Well I never have - ”

The homeless man was conveyed on a stretcher into the ambulance, whence he was taken to Medical Hospital.

“Well I never have enough - ”

“Have a nice day.” Police Officer.

“Have a nice day.” Emergency Medical Technician.

“You too. You too.”

So I got that taken care of.

----------

The cost of the necessary repairs to my automobile was considerable. I asked to see an itemized bill explaining the particulars to me:

- - - - - - - -I N V O I C E- - - - - - - -

\ Estimation fee . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.70 \

/ Replacement parts . . . . . . . . . . 5,440.25 /

\ Machine labor . . . . . . . . . . . 1,905.00 \

/ Endorsement fee . . . . . . . . . . . . 15.00 /

\ Reinstatement fee . . . . . . . . . . . . 18.50 \

/ Processing fee . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65.00 /

\ Approximate fee . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.00 \

/ Meaningless fee . . . . . . . . . . . . 62.75 /

\ Extra fee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.00 \

/ Redundant extra fee . . . . . . . . . . . 6.00 /

\ Collection fee . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45.45 \

/ Value added tax . . . . . . . . . . . . 103.65 /

\ Federal tax . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91.00 \

/ State tax . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . 76.40 /

\ Municipal tax . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.00 \

/ Transportation safety fine . . . . . . . . 86.00 /

\ Motor vehicle operator’s fee . . . . . . . 20.00 \

/ Clearance fee . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.80 /

\ Sub-total . . . . . . . .. . . . . . 7,964.50 \

/ Grand-total . . . . . . . . . . . . 8,505.72 /

\ a nice day.Have a nice day.Have a nice day.Have a nic \

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I made sure to keep a copy of the receipt for my personal files.

----------

I tried to put the whole thing behind me, and was doing a good job of it too. My car was fixed, and Lorelei was back to normal. I bought myself some new seat-covers and an electronic compass for my dashboard and was already feeling much more cheerful. In fact, I forgot about the whole thing.

That’s when I received a telephone call from Medical Hospital.

It was an automated message. I put the call on Speakerphone™ because I was busy Instant Messaging™ my wife:

«This is an e-Greeting™ from Medical Hospital. Please hold.»

I listened to an electronic version of The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies. Then the voice began again:

«Don’t forget to stop by our Giftshop™ on your way to visit your hospitalized friend or relative and purchase something to bring personal warmth and happiness to him or her. We offer toys, chocolates, flowers, magazines, and other fantastic gift options.»

The voice stopped and The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies resumed. Then:

«Thank you for your patience. Please stay on the line.»

Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies. Then:

«Your hospitalized friend or relative is going to be released from our care tomorrow. We accept personal checks, money orders, or credit cards as a method of payment. Please address your payment to: Medical Hospital / 5101 West Satisfaction Avenue / Urban City. Please stay on the line to hear about the latest exciting offer brought to you by your friends at Medical Hospital.»

Sugarplum Fairies. Then:

«As part of an exclusive promotion going on now, Medical Hospital is offering Preferred Customer Gold Membership™ Cards at a rock-bottom price. With your Medical Hospital Preferred Customer Gold Membership Card™ comes our special quarterly journal that we will deliver straight to your home or business free of charge at a rate that is 75% off the listed cover-price. If your friend or relative is terminally ill, remember that Platinum Membership Card™ holders are also eligible for special packaged discounts with affiliated funeral homes, mortuaries, and crematoria in the greater Urban City area, in addition to our quarterly journal.»

That’s when I remembered that bum that I ran into a while back.

«We hope you’ll come and visit us soon! Have a nice day.»

Click.

----------

I stopped at the Giftshop™ and bought the homeless person a magazine about cars. It was my favorite magazine.

I was not happy about having to see that man again. My discomfort was growing. But why should I feel guilty? His injury was an accident. And I was paying money for his hospitalization. So we should have been square.

Let’s see. I tried to think back to the accident. His arm had been broken, I think. So he had to have his broken arm set at Medical Hospital. How long ago was the accident? I thought back.

At least two days ago.

And still I was uncomfortable. This day in age, in Urban City, it doesn’t make sense to ever have to be uncomfortable. But I was. I was confused. The situation had become so complicated.

----------

I asked a friendly-looking blond nurse in the Recovery Ward about where the homeless man with a broken arm was being kept.

«One moment please…»

I took a moment to look around the hall.

«Searching…»

It was really a great facility. Modern. Clean. The Russian Dance from the Nutcracker Suite was playing softly. The nurse startled me out of my thoughtful reflection.

«Patient number 00506-07991.56.079 is located in room number 168.»

“Thank you.”

«You’re welcome.»

The nurse smiled at me warmly.

----------

I went to room number 168 and opened the door. The homeless man was inside. He was propped up on a bed, his arm in a cast.

«Hi. How are you?»

“I’m doing okay, really. How are you?”

«I’m the guy that hit you. Here: I bought you this magazine.»

“Oh...Thanks.”

«I can’t really stay for very long. I’m very busy.» One of my favorite shows was going to come on at two’ o’clock and it was already almost one. I really didn’t want to miss this episode.

I was about to turn to leave.

“You know, I want you to know that I wasn’t always a homeless guy. I used to have a great career lined up. Skills. I was going to be famous. I was a dancer in a ballet. Do you believe that!?”

«Sometimes I like to listen to Chopin.»

“My favorite was always Debussy. How melancholy...”

«Anyway…» I wanted badly to go.

“Do you know the Nutcracker? Peter Tchaikovsky? Also composed Swan Lake and The Sleeping Beauty? Russian. Mid-to-late nineteenth century...”

«I like Chopin’s Revolutionary Étude.»

“Yeah, me too...but so, maybe you’ve heard of Ashleigh Treigh? She was really famous about ten years ago. She was really the premier ballerina in the world; everyone knew her...she and I were going to be together in a performance of The Nutcracker, once upon a time.”

«The Revolutionary Étude is really my favorite.»

“Okay. But, so, you’re probably wondering that if it’s true that I used to be a great performer, how come I wound up on the streets? I wanted to explain to you that I’m not just some bum you crashed into: I’m a person.”

«Of course you are.»

----------

When the director told me that for the opening performance of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker at the Urban City Fine Arts Performance Center for Entertainment I would be paired with a substitute, instead of Ashleigh Treigh herself, it was as though I had been shocked with a cattle prod. Like I said, Ashleigh Treigh was the hottest ballerina back then. Her routines were always the most demanding, and her performance always the most impeccable. She was hailed as the greatest performer of our times. Having gotten to star with her in the ballet was the biggest break a performer such as myself could ever have hoped for. It meant that I had finally hit the big-time. So when the director told me that Ashleigh Treigh was ill and that I was, in fact, going to have to dance without her, it came as a surprise of the most unwelcome sort.

But it got even worse. The director told me that my dance partner was not only not Ashleigh Treigh, but was also not even human. I was beside myself.

I couldn’t even speak.

For starters, as an athlete and performer, I was more than a little pissed-off when I was paired off with some device. It represented a negation of the importance of human strength and dedication. My strength. My dedication.

Of course you understand.

It’s understandable.

I had trained since my early youth for the privilege of performing. How many months spent in grueling rehearsals? How many days in the weight-room? How many parties missed because I had to train the next morning? How many lost opportunities? How much sacrifice?

For what?

What was the reward of it all?

So I could be paired up with some machine-made substitute.

After the talk, I walked around the streets of Urban City for hours like a man stunned by a blow to the head. I was struggling to comprehend my misfortune. It seemed worse than losing my life: my career flashed before my eyes!

Just thinking back to some of Ashleigh Treigh’s performances; if you’d seen her, you’d know what I’m talking about. No machine could ever be that good. Were its wires filled with the adrenaline of that first moment on stage? Did it have a heart that could beat in rhythm with the music? Did the whispers of the crowd move this robot? Could it sense the audience’s excitement and draw energy from it? Was it capable of feeling goosebumps cascade across its plastic flesh when the audience cheered it? Could it feel the exhilaration after a perfectly executed performance? Did it have a sense of utter fulfillment and satisfaction and contentment when the night was over and the lights went off, when the seats were empty and the crowds were gone?

As I’ve explained, I had serious doubts as soon as I was informed of the extraordinary last-minute change in cast. Especially after the director accidentally spilled the beans that her maintenance schedule conflicted with her performances, so it had been decided by management that the routine maintenance was to be postponed. Well, the moment I laid eyes on the two-bit manufactured madam, all of my misgivings seemed very well founded.

She was made-up to resemble Ashleigh Treigh from a distance. Same slim build, long legs, thin neck. The short blond hair was done up in a tight ponytail. The hair was stretched back to reveal a smooth and barren forehead, and unlike Treigh’s, it wasn’t creased by lines of life and worry. It was devoid of thought, experience.

And her eyes were dead, like marbles sitting in plastic cups. No focus, no flicker of intelligence. No curiosity, no dazzle, no sparkle of vitality. This was not Ashleigh Treigh.

And in the performance, everything unfolded more or less as I has foreseen. I couldn’t predict the details, but I just knew something terrible was going to happen.

I remember standing with her behind the two-story high curtains. I knew that in moments, after the introduction was complete, the curtains would part like the thighs of a beautiful young mother, about to give birth to my career.

“Why are you shaking?” The faux-Ashleigh Treigh had asked me. It seemed like the machine was accusing me of weakness, of being soft. That’s never a problem, I guess, if you’re made out of metal.

I don’t remember how I replied.

Anyway.

Everything went off fine until the Intermission.

She and I moved in perfect unison in the center of the other pairs of dancers. Spinning and twirling, the stage lights soaring above us. The crowd watched us breathlessly. In perfect harmony with the music and with each other. She was strong, poised. She seemed totally confident, no nervousness. Plenty of gratifying murmurs of awed approval from the crowd.

I noticed during the intermission though, that the fake Ashleigh Treigh began to blink a lot. Her coordination was a little off while she was changing her costume.

I asked her if something was wrong.

“My warranty has expired.”

It felt like somebody had poured ice-cubes into my chest.

That was it. I dreaded the moment when we went back on stage.

She evidently passed her prime somewhere on stage that night, right before the Intermission; her decline was precipitous.

We were dancing when she started to slip up. Her timing was slightly off, her gracefulness slowly being replaced with faltering, clumsy movements. Everything got worse and worse. But the absolute worst was yet to come.

It was the climax of the Act. Two of the evil Rat King’s men...well, Mice, seized me – I was the Prince – and hurled me across the stage. See, this performance was sort of a modern interpretation of the old ballet. Some young producer was trying to spruce up the blocking called for in the original and revamp it for today’s viewing audience. Anyway, we were on a raised platform, probably 12 or 15 feet high. And they were supposed to grab me and fling me off the platform – this was the big fight scene. Then the Princess was supposed to catch me, you know, to highlight the love between the Prince and the Princess, and also to demonstrate political correctness to the audience by underscoring equality in the relationship. Feminist issues and so on.

Well, ‘Treigh’ was a few steps behind everybody else and wasn’t there to catch me. The Mice chucked my ass off the platform. The Princess was nowhere to be seen as I hurtled to the floor. I remember two distinct thoughts going through my head on the way down. The first was: “My career is over.” The second was: “This is going to hurt.” And then my body made contact with the waxed floor. My leg hit first and my femur was fractured.

As I writhed in pain a little bit off to the side, clutching my broken leg, ‘Treigh’ got slower and slower, less and less in time with the orchestra, until she finally stood still, center-stage. One or two electrical flashes were noticeable underneath her pink dress, underneath her white plastic skin.

The performers – those who didn’t rush over to me in response to my cries - unsure of how to respond to such an unheard-of disruption of a ballet, were at a loss. After some muddled but brave attempts to keep the show going on, everyone on stage began to distance themselves from the Ashleigh Treigh look-alike. I was hauled off-stage by the Rat King and two of his Mice. We all felt betrayed. Especially me: ‘Treigh’ was my partner, and had let me down in more ways than one.

Everyone – the audience and the performers - watched her ‘solo death scene,’ as it were, quietly from the edges of the stage. I was blinded by agony, but I’m sure I would have been just as aghast.

I’m told that it wasn’t beautiful or tragic or poetic or moving in any particular way. Once you got past how strange it was that this beautiful ballet dancer, this star, this stage actress, wasn’t real at all, the whole affair of her demise seemed almost comic. One felt almost embarrassed to watch the bizarre fiasco, actually. Watching this erstwhile epitome of grace, better than the original she had been designed to replace, leap and pirouette and twirl and curtsy herself - quite literally - to pieces, on stage.

I think that the audience initially supposed that the sparks and the smoke were ‘special effects’.

I saw a video of the whole thing about a week later, while I was in Recovery. The Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz brought it to me – the Center had understandably switched its billing after the incident. ‘Treigh’ turned into a fucked-up pinball machine. Random sound bites, weird and arrhythmic flashes, bouncing springs, exploding numbers. Her body was rocked by all manner of internal bursts of electricity, winding motors, loose ball-bearings. Her hair came undone. The straps of her dress loosened and threatened to unfasten altogether. She shook angrily.

After what seemed like an eon on stage, but what was probably only about 45 seconds or a minute at most – by this time, one of the Sugarplum Fairies backstage had called for an ambulance for me - she tottered one last time and collapsed, all stiff, onto the waxed floor of the stage. Totally defunct, face down, eyes staring at nothing, motionless except for the smoke. She had finally fallen: so much rotten fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.

And in the shocked audience nobody clapped once. Ticket refunds were given to the entire audience. The show closed. A few days later, The Wizard of Oz opened.

And that was really it for my career; I would always be remembered as the guy with the broken leg whose dance partner was that robot that fucked up. I could never work again.

If you can believe that.

----------

The homeless man had been speaking for almost fifteen whole minutes. I was becoming incredibly bored. Just then, a nurse came into the room, holding a large syringe. She looked just like the other nurse I had spoken with earlier, except that this one had black hair. Also, this one seemed to be blinking a lot.

«I’m afraid visiting hours are over, Mr. O’Toole. We’re-we’re sorry-sorry.»

Saved by the bell. «Well, I have to go anyway.» The one-hour special that I wanted to watch was going to come on soon. «Nice talking to you.»

“Yeah, sure boss. Bye.”

«I’m afraid-I’m afraid-It’s time for your shot-shot»

“What? What shot? What kind of shot!? Wait a minute! I’m supposed to be getting discharged from the hospital! I’m fine! Wait!”

«time for your shot-your shot-your shot-your shot…»

I hurried out of the room and down the corridor to the elevator. If I hustled, I could still make it in time to see the show.

----------

That stupid homeless man bothered me. As I walked through the Medical Hospital parking lot, I was thinking about how I could cheer myself up. Looking at my automobile, I wondered if it wouldn’t look better if I got my windows tinted. I tried to picture myself behind the wheel, driving, the windows black. That’s when I got the idea to go and get my windows tinted. I would make it a special, well-deserved, surprise present for myself. I started feeling better right away. I put on Chopin’s Revolutionary Étude.

----------

I got another call from Medical Hospital the next day. Too bad I didn’t decide to spring for the Preferred Customer Platinum Membership Card™; would have saved me a lot of money.

----------

ve a nice day.Have a nice day.Have a nice day.Have a nice day.Have a nice day.Have a ni

Tinted Windows

2009-02-22T08:01:16Z

Lithorien: New page: I had just gotten off of Thoroughfare Highway at the Offramp exit and was driving down Road avenue over to Street street. It was a chance meeting, with some wretched unpleasantness, on th...

Standard Of Deviation

2009-02-22T08:00:24Z

Lithorien: New page: The story you are about to read is true. I have set it out candidly and have included every pertinent piece of information accurately, to the best of my ability. Feel free to judge and d...

The story you are about to read is true. I have set it out candidly and have included every pertinent piece of information accurately, to the best of my ability.

Feel free to judge and define me solely on the basis of the actions that I am describing myself here as having committed. I can’t stop you, so go ahead. You’d probably be right, anyway. It all implies a certain moral degeneracy in my character.

----------

I was in Riga, Latvia, visiting some family. I am from there, in a roundabout way, though not too distantly. No matter. That’s nothing to do with my story. I was looking for a good time, as any youthful foreign male traveling alone in Eastern Europe is wont to do. I picked up a Riga This Week – “Your Favorite City Guide” - for free from the lobby of the fabulous Hotel de Rome, where I was not a guest.

This magazine is roughly analogous to Time Out in London, or Zitty in Berlin, or any another publication that is circulated in any given city to make visitors and residents aware of what the city has to offer in terms of restaurants, casinos, nightclubs, cigar shops, rental car agencies, and so forth. I’ve kept this particular issue as a souvenir. It was the Riga This Week, #56, for July/August 2002. Feel free to check out the website too, if you doubt the authenticity of this story: < www.rigathisweek.lv >.

I leafed through it as I sat on a bench in the park beside the Freedom Monument in the center of town. I was drinking Aldaris, the Latvians’ favorite national brew, from a plastic one-liter bottle that I bought at the Central Market for probably fifty cents. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. “Fantasy, Erotic Massage Salon” offering “fantastic realization” given by “certified personnel with medical education”. Open 24 hours. Matisa Street, 31/2, if you want the precise address. I checked in the attached map section and plotted a route in my head.

I killed the bottle and the rest of the day.

----------

I probably walked for three quarters of an hour before reaching the address. It was already almost dark, and this was during the summer, so it must have been around midnight. The exterior of the apartment block looked like Eastern European standard from the 20s or 30s, rendered decrepit after a World War and fifty years of Soviet occupation. Pretty sad, pretty normal, pretty un-pretty.

----------

Excitement had given way to anxiety. I decided to suppress it with alcohol, and so ducked into a late-night café I spotted a block away. I think Aldaris is about like 5 percent, but I was too nervous to even feel it. In retrospect, I think that the lady who served me there may have had an idea about what I was up to. Matisa 31/2 wasn’t exactly in a tourist area, and I was clearly foreign. And she couldn’t have failed to know about the little business that was operating just a stone’s throw down the street. But at the time, I was too preoccupied with the immediate future to think about things like that.

As I was sitting in there, slugging the half-liter beer as fast as I could, trying to psych myself up, Seal’s “Kiss from a Rose” came on the radio. Yeah, the same one that was on the soundtrack of one of the Batman movies. For some reason, they all like to listen to American music over there. It was playing softly, coming from a crummy hi-fi behind the counter. To this day it is the song I most associate with the whole event being described here for you. You can laugh, but it perfectly and perversely fits the mood.

----------

I called the number that was listed in the Riga This Week from a telephone booth near the entrance of apartment block on Matisa street, number 31/2. I nervously looked up and down the dark street. Half because I’d been the victim of violent crimes in places like this, half because of what I was there to do.

Some older-sounded lady picked up. I asked for English, and she told me to wait. Seconds later, I was talking to “Julia (‘ee-YOU-lee-uh’),” who basically spoke English. She told me to wait in the courtyard and someone would be right out.

After the phone call, I put my Lattelekom card back in my wallet and tried to look casual as I walked into the dark courtyard. After a moment, a lady, probably in her early 40s (but you never can tell with these Eastern Europeans – she could have been much younger) came over to me and led me through a door. She was businesslike.

----------

The door opened into the well-lit hallway on the ground floor. It led into a waiting room of sorts, with a television, a coffee table, a large couch, and a few chairs. This place had evidently been renovated. Apparently, they did good business.

The older lady took a seat beside an end table with some kind of cash-box on it. I sat next to her. She asked me to pay (I can basically understand Russian...mainly because I lived in Moscow for two years and Riga for three; I studied German at school, but I picked up a lot of the local vernacular off the street). Russian is a very special language. The men, when speaking, can sound so gruff, so belligerent, callous, angry, masculine. At the same time, listening to Russians sing is like hearing a choir from heaven. Listening to a Russian woman in bed is an experience like none other. Especially when they whisper.

After I put down my 15 Lats (roughly 30 USD) – which bought me exactly one hour - the ladies walked out. I had my choice of any one of four girls who were displaying themselves on the sofa of the lobby for me. They were all about my age – young – and very cute. But the decision wasn’t hard. I did what any red-blooded American bag of testosterone would do: I chose the blond.

----------

Now, this could just be egotism talking, but I think there’s some truth in this. I had to point to whichever girl I wanted. I’m sure they get all kinds of old, gross foreign tourists and businessmen in there all the time. But I’m the Captain of a collegiate rowing team; I didn’t feel bad about ‘imposing’ myself on one of them. Of course, this was something they were being paid to do, so by definition, it seems to me, it couldn’t be that much fun for them. But I daresay – now, stop me if I’m being a little over-the-top with my chauvinism here – that at the very least, none of the girls were exactly dreading that I would choose them.

I don’t know why I have included this observation. Must be because I am an egotist.

----------

The blond girl – if she ever told me her name, I’ve forgotten it now – got up at my signal and led me into one of the private rooms. I was about to undress (that’s what you do at these places), but she stopped me and told me to go and wash first. It was sensible, and I wasn’t offended – it must have been standard procedure.

Remember now, I had been told that I would only have one hour. What’s that work out to, anyway? Hmm. Fifty cents per minute? At any rate, I didn’t know if my shower time was included in that time or not. So I took the fastest, most frantic shower of my life and was back in the room.

The blond took considerably longer to prepare than I did. I was impatient to get started, so the wait seemed longer than it actually was. I stripped to my boxer-briefs and, after piling all of my clothes on a chair by the door (I had some misgivings about leaving my wallet out like that, but it couldn’t be helped), I had a chance to examine the room. It was lit by a pair of incandescent lamps. I also remember the leopard-print sheets. I’m not joking. And a massive paper fan with Chinese lettering and dragons on it that practically covered the whole wall behind the king-size bed. There was a stereo on the dresser. The room looked tacky enough to be a set on some Spanish sit-com.

Now, you have to remember that I wasn’t sure about exactly what my 15 Lats were paying for. That is, I didn’t know how far the girl was supposed to go. I had never done this, exactly, in Latvia before (though I’d done some other similar things that may or may not have been illegal in that country), and so didn’t know what to expect.

When she entered the room, it actually startled me. I had been thinking. Mostly about how awesome this was and about how brave I was to actually go and do it by myself. I was nineteen years old.

She had just showered too. Her hair was wet. She took off her robe, folded it, and set it on a chair. She hit <Play> on the stereo. The music was all sort of New Age. Heard some synth’ strings. Some sitar. Soft tribal-sounding stuff. Woodwinds. Russian rip-offs of Sting songs. Later on, some Egyptian-sounding stuff.

I was initially very tense. She didn’t speak at first. If she did, it would have been in Russian. The girl broke out the Johnson-and-Johnson Baby Oil. It was the last thing I noticed before she told me to take off my boxer-briefs and lay facedown on the bed. She actually said in English: “Lay down, please.” The accent was so heavy that it was obvious that she had been coached only in a few English phrases because, evidently, that was the language spoken by most of the clientele (pathetic foreign assholes like me).

----------

So the blond bid me assume the ‘erotic massage’ position. I laid on my stomach on the bed, naked. A moment later, I felt her weight on the mattress. I couldn’t see anything she was doing from where I was, obviously, so I actually wound up keeping my eyes closed most of the time.

It all started innocently enough. All I had to do was lay there. That’s all I did. She smeared oil all over her hands and my back. Her hands were very strong. She did my neck. Between my shoulder blades, deep. My ribs, hard, squeezing the meat. I listened to her breathing. I’m certain she was consciously breathing extra-hard so that I could hear it.

Then she moved to my left arm. My hand was still a little tense. Maybe ten minutes in. Possibly because of the language barrier, she said nothing but rather picked up my arm and gently shook my wrist until I realized that she was telling me to loosen up. I was actually touched by this gesture. She was clearly in control. The expert.

She got between all the fingers, massaged my palm. Using her hands, she began caressing each finger in a way that I highly suggestive of getting a hand job – only it was, of course, the wrong appendage. She kept it up until it started to hurt the knuckle just a little bit.

Even so, by the time she moved to massage my other arm, I’d forgotten about sex completely. Or, perhaps more accurately, I wasn’t interested in it anymore – at least it had ceased to be my overriding concern. Nevermind that she was naked, and that I was naked, and that we were on a bed. Between her breath, her warm hands and the things she my doing to my body with them, the soft sheets, and the tunes, I felt more ready to fall asleep than anything else.

That was before she went to work on my legs. She worked her way up both legs one at a time, starting at the feet, moving to the calf, then the back of the knee, the thigh, and ass. The strength of her hands did not fail.

Then there came a pause. My eyes were still closed, but I heard her applying oil to herself. It took a moment as her thoroughly smeared her whole body with the stuff.

When she was finished and I was still in a restful bliss, she handled my shoulders, somewhat roughly, in such as way that I unmistakably understood that I was to flip over onto my back. And from them on in, I kept my eyes very much open. And I wasn’t tired anymore.

She straddled me. Her whole body was smooth and gleaming with oil. I could practically see the reflection of my euphoric face in her skin. I’d had to have been a corpse for her appearance not to have affected me, to say nothing of the tactile stimulation. And the girl was legitimately beautiful. Someone you’d notice on the street and wonder about. And here she was. She was probably not much older than me. Could possibly even have been younger.

I wasn’t sure if I was really allowed to do anything back, so I played it safe and just laid there, soaking it all up.

She moved her whole body rhythmically. Swaying sensually. Her smooth, warm, oiled breasts pushed heavily against my thighs, my penis, my chest, my face. She rubbed her chest all over me.

Then she started brushing her pelvic bone against the inside of one of my thighs. I felt the bristles of her shaved pubic hair scratching my skin. Then she began to grind herself heavily on my leg, an inch from my dick. I felt the folds of her skin wiping moisture – maybe just oil, but maybe not – on the sensitive inside of my leg. Her moans gave the action a musical accompaniment that was much more enjoyable than the soft sound coming from the stereo. She was riding me, after a fashion.

That’s when she finally held my dick in her oiled hands. So I realized that the whole thing was to culminate in a hand job. By the way, something about that oil seems to release three times the heat of normal friction. She moved her fingers slowly at first, but they sped up in synchrony with my breathing.

Now, the second her hands touched my dick, I should have nutted all over the two of us right there. Anybody else would have. She was surprised – and possibly impressed or disappointed – that I didn’t. And soon it began to become apparent to both of us that it was taking too long. But something in my head was somehow holding that stupid piece of meat back.

Suddenly, there came a knock on the door, fairly gentle, but insistent. It distracted both of us for a second. Evidently, it meant that our time was just about up.

Then she redoubled her efforts, really getting into it with both hands. Maybe because an unsatisfied customer wouldn’t bring his business back. Maybe because it was a personal issue of self-esteem with her. Maybe she just wanted to see me bust because it would be fun for her. Maybe just because that was her job. Looking at me, looking at the dick. She was incredible. All rubbing and twisting around deftly. Squeezing here just so. Jerking. Never felt anything like it, before or since.

The point is: she did more than what should have been necessary, and she did it very, very well. That much I can say for certain.

I was concentrating like hell on cumming. But I just couldn’t do it. So it wasn’t for lack of either of us trying. But no matter how insane the level of physical stimulation, I could not ejaculate.

----------

Naturally, I used my mind to conjure all sorts of things to trick me, basically, into thinking that she was a robot. I had to believe it in order to consummate the whole operation. I’ve come to realize that for me, that is absolutely the only way.

I tried everything. Like: Oh, I can’t see it from here, but there’s a panel in the middle of her back; I can’t believe they can make such great androids these days; there’s no heartbeat in there; you can tell her skin is just plastic; sure am glad they’re letting me test out this prototype; nary a glitch with these new units; the tension of a secret is always highest just before it is revealed, and any second now...

My thoughts were frantic.

But no dice.

No goddamn dice.

----------

And shortly the knocking at the door resumed – much harder this time, and for a longer duration. What could I do? What could the blond do?

She sighed and looked at me. Rolled her eyes at the intrusion, perhaps in solidarity with my position. I’m not sure if she meant to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault, or that she shared my frustration. But in the end it was my problem and not hers, and our time had run out.

She stopped. She put her robe back on. She turned off the stereo and exited the room. My breathing returned to normal.

----------

Maybe she just thought I was nervous. I wonder what she would have thought of me if she knew the real reason.

----------

I got dressed and walked back into the lobby area. A couple of the girls smiled at me, and I tried to look satisfied. Had the blond told them that I didn’t cum? The older lady was there too. Could she have been the one who knocked? That old Super Mario Brothers movie was on T.V., dubbed over in a single, gruff, male, Russian voice. I was familiar with the voice; as inexplicable as it is ludicrous, the same guy apparently did all the voice-overs for all imported U.S. entertainment media. I was offered tea and a cigarette. Took both and left shortly thereafter.

I walked out of that place blue-balled like a motherfucker, and with no good reason at all. Wasn’t the first time that something like that had happened to me, either. Naturally, I tried to kid myself about it later. Like: “oh, well, I must have been nervous,” or “I had just had that beer.” But there’s no way I could convince myself to believe my own reassuring but disingenuous explanations.

It’s amazing how far psycho-pathological reasons go toward explaining sexual dysfunction. Of course, I already knew the real reason. And if you are whom I think you are, then you do too.

----------

Who likes being a techno-sexual?

----------

Please classify me as a chauvinist, a sick puppy, a pathetic loser, an exploiter of the proletariat, a callous sexist, or whatever other categories of scum to which you think my action recommends me. I’ve been through it all myself, and I’d probably agree with you.

Smell Bridges Burning (The Intern)

2009-02-22T07:59:31Z

Lithorien:

I thought that I’d try to cheer up Boss. Rubbing my aching eyeballs, I thought that maybe reminding him that I only had a few days left at the Museum would make him a little bit happier. He’d be glad to be rid of me, now that he had a new, ass-kissing female intern to replace me. Plus, even talking to that old fossil was preferable to the misery of mind-numbing data-entry. I needed a reprieve, even if a few seconds were all I could realistically hope for. I spoke up.

“You know Boss, in two weeks I’ll be through with my internment – uh... I mean... internship... here at the Museum.” Agh! Freudian slip. Put my foot right in my mouth. Whoops. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t been thinking that exact thing ever since Goody-Two-Shoes showed up. I thought back to how much I had drank the night before. Coming to work everyday with a hangover was a bummer.

“You know Joe,” Boss burst out abruptly with contempt, “you’re absolutely right. Believe me, your absence from this place is something we both look forward to.” I think he knew it pissed me off when he called me Joe instead of my real name, Joachim.

“Now that we have Steffi, we don’t really need you at all,” Boss continued, his voice rumbling through layers of blubber. I had forsaken any hope of equitable treatment ever since the new intern arrived. “She works really hard. She makes her deadlines. You know, she...gets all her stuff done. And, you know, she never complains.” Yeah, and she’s a really good-looking slut and you’re a perverted old man, I added mentally. “You never hear her wimping and whining about how terrible it is to do honest work. In fact, I’ve never seen her when she’s not smiling.” I shuffled my feet, casually cracked a few knuckles, and waited for him to finish and tell me to get back to work.

“Why can’t you be more like Steffi?” he asked rhetorically, slowly shaking his head in disappointment all the while. “Well, get back to work.”

“Yeah Boss.” That didn’t go so well, but it was par for the course, lately. I cracked open a new auction catalog.

“The sooner you’re out of here, the better.”

----------

I’d been working for Boss for almost a whole semester. He was a pretty harsh taskmaster, but we used to get along just fine. Then, three lousy weeks before I was set to have my Collections Department internship completed, a new intern entered the scene.

When I first saw her, I thought that the Museum job might finally yield some benefit. She was hot. I figured that, like me, she was in her early twenties. College student somewhere or other. I dared to hope for the best. We’d probably find that we had similar interests, similar backgrounds, similar tastes. My imagination got the better of me.

I didn’t bother me at first that her mannerisms seemed a little peculiar. For one thing, she came across like an airhead, but I couldn’t but hope that she was a little deeper than that. She was always conspicuously too enthusiastic about everything. She was always in a somewhat artificial-seeming good-mood.

Quickly, the situation took a two-fold turn for the worst. For one thing, I quickly came to realize that she was not really the type that would give it up. Well, not to a poor college guy like me. Not at all. She was the type that had no interest in love. But that was fine, because neither did I. Where were differed was in that she had no interest in good sex either. Don’t get me wrong; everything about her – her poise, her clothing, her musk, her voice, everything – reeked of sex. Everything from the way she let her hair fall around her face to her crimson toenail polish that was visible through her open-toed high-heels. But she wanted something back: money. She had plans to sleep her way up into society. That’s what she was about. It was obvious; she had no sense of decorum.

When she came around, the pecking order in the Collections Office changed completely, and overnight. Boss, even though he had to be in his fifties and was married, was having the same thoughts about her that I was: what do I need to do to tap that ass fast? Of course, as Boss, he was in a much better position than I was. There was, in fact, no question of competition between he and I: he was my boss for my internship, so he automatically had me by the balls. Or more accurately: by the diploma. He sensed her intentions at least as keenly as I did. Her smile said it all. Inviting, tempting, demanding.

Steffi kissed up to him all the time. It was revolting. He gave her all the fun and easy jobs like handling objects or getting them out of Storage, doing light research, giving the occasional tour, going to luncheons with rich Museum Membership holders, or traveling with exhibitions that we loaned out from time to time to other museums.

Meanwhile, to keep me busy and to keep me from interfering with his designs on Steffi, Boss piled me up with all the boring shit that he was responsible for making sure got done. So I did his job while he flirted with a girl at least thirty years his junior.

And she knew what she was doing.

----------

The first chance I got to talk to her alone, Boss had given her a job folding fliers for Museum guests. I figured it was my chance to make some small chit-chat, find out a little bit about her, tell her some flattering things about myself. I had no time to lose: I was leaving in a couple weeks.

I was showing her the proper way to make the brochures, where to fold them and everything. As an example, I showed her how to fold the paper into three sections so it looked like a leaflet. She picked it up really fast, but it’s not like it was that hard.

She folded one really fast and reached for another one. She folded that and reached for another one. She folded that and reached for another one. She seemed totally focused. Her hands moved precisely. When I folded one, it usually wound-up looking pretty crappy. It was crooked and sloppy. The folds weren’t parallel. But I never gave a shit. Who cared anyway?

But Steffi’s were folded with machine-like precision. Each one was absolutely identical. The creases were crisp. I tried to get her attention but she was riveted to her task. I watched her chest rise beneath her white blouse every time she reached for a new paper to fold. I was mesmerized by how quickly and surely her delicate fingers moved. I brought to mind images of her doing other things with those same fingers. Her nail polish was bright red. I thought of them clawing at my back. They were the fingernails of a heartbreaker.

“So, Steffi. What school are you from?”

“S.I.T.” she said primly, her lips barely moving and yet cleanly enunciating each syllable. She acted like I was really interrupting her. She stopped halfway through a fold and turned to look at me, her hands still on the paper.

“S.I.T.?” I asked.

“State Institute of Technology.” She seemed impatient. Her tone was not the playful one she normally assumed towards Boss.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” Ice. Her face was completely still.

I waited.

She was supposed to follow up.

“Oh.”

She wasn’t biting.

----------

This other time, Boss gave Steffi about fifteen pages of documents that he needed to have transcribed. She sat down at an empty desk across the room and pressed the button on the tower that would boot-up the computer’s hard-drive. I hated using that computer: it always crashed. Most of the computers in the office sucked. I was always calling tech-support hotlines to figure out what the heck was always going wrong with them.

As soon as that old Macintosh dinosaur was ready, Steffi entered the word-processing program. And her fingers just flew on the keyboard. Her nail polish was a red blur. She stared and the pages of documents in front of her as she typed. I couldn’t even distinguish individual keystrokes; it was all one blazing, furious sound of buttons clattering.

Like a typewriter, whenever Steffi finished with one page, she’d quickly move it aside and start on the next. BING! New page. A minute later: BING! Another new page. I halted my slow, laborious, index finger, clumsy, one button at a time data-entry just to watch her. It was incredible.

Waiting for the transcribed documents to finish printing on the Collections Department’s archaic machine took longer than Steffi took to actually type them! I quickly skimmed over her work, checking the grammar and the spelling. Everything was perfect.

I gave it to Boss and Steffi followed me, catlike, one foot in front of the other, impeccably poised.

She smiled brightly. “Did I do good, Boss?” Her hair ran down her shoulders.

“Joachim: why can’t you be more like Steffi?”

----------

“Hey Joachim! Want to take a break from that data-entry?” Boss called from around the corner, in his office. Steffi immediately looked up from proofreading some official Museum correspondence before it was sent out.

I was so startled to hear that the Boss was actually going to cut me a break, that I was momentarily dumbfounded. I hesitated for a second. The air stuck in my chest. Then, before I could make a peep, Steffi piped up. “Joe looks a little busy right now, Boss, but I’d love a little change of pace!” I was at a loss for words. That fucking – ugh! Steffi looked at me cheerfully and smiled. Reflexively, I almost crushed the Styrofoam cup of cheap coffee that I held in my fist. With a hand trembling with frustration, I slowly set the cup down on the desk and struggled to maintain my composure.

“Don’t worry Joe, I’ll do it for you!”

“Look, don’t call me Joe, okay? My name is – “

The Boss barged in, trying to suck-in his distended belly to squeeze himself between metal filing cabinets and stacks of inventory books and auction catalogs. Between his fat stomach, his sickly, sunken eyes, and his thick, glistening lips, he reminded me distinctly of a bullfrog.

“Good, Steffi! Good.” He cleared his fat-clogged throat. “Now, you see, just before you came to the Museum, we got a new exhibit from the British Museum in London,” said Boss. He waddled around the corner. It was clear he was just talking to Steffi now. With elegant poise, she got up from her paperwork. “I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet Steffi...have you been in the China Gallery lately?”

“No Boss! I’m usually always back here!”

“Oh, well...we got this new object on loan just about a week ago, I guess. Cost us a considerable amount of money to get it shipped here. It’s really fascinating. It is so big that we had to bring it in with a forklift!”

“What is it Boss?!” asked Steffi with contrived enthusiasm. I watched the two lovebirds derisively, glancing up from my keyboard. One a sinister old pervert, the other a manipulative bitch, intent on giving him anything he asked for...for a price.

“It’s a Chinese lodestone! It weighs about two thousand pounds.”

“What’s a lodestone, Boss?” Steffi, that airhead, looked completely in awe. I quietly watched the two of them talk from behind the computer screen. I had become a mere fly on the wall. I wasn’t a part of the universe for either of them.

“It’s like a magnet.”

“Wow! A magnet!”

“Yes.” Boss cleared his throat again. “You see, the Chinese Emperors used it in their palaces to prevent assassins from bringing weapons into their courts. The idea was that anyone trying to bring a metal sword or dagger close to the Emperor would be foiled because the lodestone would attract the metal weapon to it. Of course, most of the stone’s supposed properties are just myth and superstition, you see. Hot air. Smoke and mirrors. But it’s still a fairly strong magnet.”

Steffi’s eyes were wide, her mouth agape. She really looked impressed. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She kissed so much ass that it disgusted me.

“You know, you see, it was somewhat like...the metal detectors we use in airports today. Except this was 2,000 years ago,” added Boss.

“Wowwww...” crooned Steffi in wonder.

“Yes, you see. It’s really quite neat!”

“So what do you want me to do, Boss?”

“This should be a really interesting job; I want you to take this charcoal here and a big ream of paper out of Supply and make a rubbing of the Chinese symbols that’re chiseled on the front of this thing.”

“Chinese symbols? Wowwww...”

“Indeed, you see. And would you like to know what they mean?”

“Oh boy! Sure I do!” she gushed.

Boss produced a spotty cloth handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his sweaty forehead effeminately. “They mean, you see, ‘How would you like to have dinner sometime?’” He twisted his ancient, cigar-reeking maw into the most horrible smile imaginable, exuding depravity and premeditated fantasies of plunder.

Steffi played the innocent little girl role to the hilt. “Aw, Boss...” She crossed her hands behind her and looked to the floor like she was blushing at his filthy flattery. She looked up with mirth, smiling graciously with sparkling teeth and shiny lips. “You almost had me going for a second!” she cried in her most shamelessly naïve-sounding voice yet.

Boss wriggled his fat fingers and chortled despicably.

She smiled back.

They stared at each other for a moment. He waited for her answer.

“Well Boss! I’ll get to work straight away!” Steffi swiveled on her heel, grabbed the chalk or whatever, and headed out the door. Boss watched her from behind as she left. Even from the desk across the room, I could easily tell that his beady, covetous eyes were focused on her ass. I almost burst out laughing: REJECTED!

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Boss turned to me. He licked his quivering lips. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing at all, Boss.” I shrugged my burning shoulders and cleared my throat. I tried to remember where I left my bottle of aspirin.

“Yeah.” He stalked towards his office. I ran a finger through my dirty hair, rubbed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I felt a headache building. I remembered that I had already finished that bottle of aspirin earlier the same morning. It was in the wastebasket of Office’s men’s room.

“Hey Joe!” yelled Boss suddenly.

“Boss?”

“Those Chinese symbols mean ‘get back to fucking work!’” He swiftly slammed the door to his plush office behind him. The stench of sweat and tobacco smoke that had enveloped the entire room began to subside immediately.

I flipped his door the finger. “And this bird is the Chinese symbol for ‘get the fuck off my back ‘fore I have to get creative with a can of whoop-ass all up and in your face,’ you fucking bastard.”

I needed some aspirin.

----------

My stomach was rumbling. I was getting so hungry that it hurt. I kept looking at my watch at intervals of just a few minutes. After about two static hours of chipping away at the catalogs, Boss’s fat head peeked around the metal filing cabinets.

“Joe: go find out what’s taking Steffi so long; I want to see her before I go home for the night.” He chuckled darkly.

“How about: ‘screw you, Boss’?” I muttered under my breath as I completed one last entry.

“What’s that Joe?” he asked quickly. I could smell his putrid breath from across the office.

“I said: I’m sure you do, Boss. I’ll just go and get her.”

“Joe. Just remember: you’ve got a couple more days. After that, we’ll be out of each other’s hair.” He spat his words with contempt through green teeth. “But until then, you’re mine. Now, be quick about it, son.”

----------

I trudged into China Gallery. I didn’t notice many Museum guests; attendance was already tapering off for the day.

“Hey Steffi, Boss wants to know how come – “

Steffi had her back turned to me. She stood a foot from the lodestone. Fucking thing was big. She was holding the huge piece of paper up against the big magnet. In her other hand, she held the charcoal against the paper. She was about halfway through making the rubbing. But she was frozen right there, in the middle of a sweep. Not a muscle moved. I walked closer to her. She didn’t seem to hear me coming.

“Steffi?” I gently put my hand on her shoulder. “Steffi?”

Her head slowly swiveled to meet my eyes. I raised my eyebrows.

“Steffi?” she asked. “Who’s Steffi?”

“Umm...you are...”

“I am Steffi,” she repeated like she was trying to memorize something for a test. “Who are you?”

“I’m Joachim,” I prompted.

“Joachim.” She repeated slowly, sounding out my name carefully.

She stepped back from the lodestone and surveyed it quizzically. “What am I doing?”

“Making a rubbing of those symbols there. Are you okay?”

“I’m not...sure. One moment please,” she said politely. I waited. Nothing happened. She stared at the symbols on the lodestone.

“Boss sent me to find out what was taking you so long.” I waited for another second. “Hello?”

“Yes...Joachim?”

“I said, Boss wants you to get back to his office already.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Like, almost two hours! Hello?”

“Boss wants me to go see him?”

“Yeah. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m not...sure. One moment please.”

I held my breath.

She blinked a couple of times. Her dark, heavy eyelids stood in striking contrast to the surrounding skin of her face. Her eyelashes were thick and lush, drooping. Suddenly, her eyes popped open and her normal, perfect, straight-tooth smile broadened on her face. “Oh yes! Now I remember everything!” She dropped the materials she had and made a sharp turn towards the door. She started walking.

“Aren’t you going to bring...? Hey! You forgot your stuff here!” With her back to me, she just kept on walking. I hurriedly grabbed the paper and the charcoal and dashed after her.

It was all I could do to keep up.

----------

Close on her heels, I followed Steffi back to the Collections Office. Her heels clicked evenly on the marble floor. Her self-confidence had returned.

Her walk was a study in grace. Her arms swung just so. Her hair bounced lightly. I was absorbed, however, with watching her behind as she strode her sophisticated stride. I could see the twin bulges beneath her skirt pressing tightly against the dark fabric. I ovserved the way her weight shifted alternately from leg to leg, pulsing like pistons.

I scrambled ahead of her and opened the door to the Collections Department. I suppose it was my little way of thanking her for at least having a gorgeous body, even if I hated her personality. If you could even call it a personality.

As I held the heavy door open for her, I tried to make eye contact. However, she seemed to be off in her own little world. She didn’t even acknowledge me as she stepped past into the room. She moved past me swiftly, with purpose. I caught a whiff of perfume as I looked at her clean, smooth skin.

I contented myself with that. The mere presence of her body was thanks enough. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize her features as I had seen them. I only had a few days left here, after all.

----------

“Hi there, Steffi, my good lass.” Boss’s bad-tooth smile reached from ear to drooping, liver-spotted ear.

I walked into the room to set down the charcoal and half-finished rubbing. “Joe: back to work.” He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were welded to Steffi’s pleasantly three-dimensional chest.

I turned without a word.

“Here’s a box of, it looks like, a hundred or so pencils, Steffi; why don’t you go and sharpen them for me?” Out of the corner of my eye, as I reached for the doorknob, I saw Boss indicate a box that was on the bottom shelf of his bookcase. Steffi walked to the bookcase and bent down at the waist, reaching for the box. Boss watched gleefully as she took his bait. Her pert ass thrust straight in his direction.

“Sure thing Boss!”

“They’re for the Museum Docents. I’ve got that monthly meeting with them on Friday...”

“Sure thing Boss!”

“When you’re done, I need you to make a copy of this packet here and put it in the Director’s mail cubby across the hall. I know you normally stay late, but this time why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

“Sure thing Boss! That’s very nice of you Boss!”

She jauntily marched across the hall to the conference room. A pencil-sharpener was mounted low on the wall beside the door.

I watched her ass as she glided in front of my table as she left. She was wearing that same dark skirt she wore every day. I often found myself staring at it, the better to approximate the contours of the flesh that moved and bounced and sweated beneath it all day. No matter how much time I spent gazing, I never could really tell if it was black or just very dark blue. And I say ‘spent,’ as distinct from ‘wasted,’ because the only thing I did at the Museum that was a genuine waste of time was actually working. Fucking terminals and keyboards. Date-entry. Day-in, day-out. At the very least, Steffi was something pretty to watch to take my mind off the drudgery. Even if she was just a perky but diabolical usurper. I thought about her breasts stretching her puffy white blouse. I saw her legs scissor, wrapped in tight, white hose.

“Joachim!” called Boss. I immediately snapped out of my dreamlike contemplation of Steffi’s body. It was like I was hit with a bucket of fetid swamp water.

“Uh, yeah Boss.”

“I need to leave a few minutes early today; you just keep at that data-entry. I’ll be back tomorrow. Have one of the guards check you out when you leave.”

“Oh...kay...What time should that be?”

“However long it takes you to get through that catalogue...It must be finished first thing tomorrow. You’ll probably need, what, two or three hours?” It was already almost five ‘o’ clock. It was near the end of the Semester; I had exams to study for! I was supposed to be out of here in a couple minutes, not hours. “Of course, if you worked a little more like Steffi you could be done in half that time.” With that last little jab, Boss left.

I closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself to resume the ordeal that was typing, data-entry, endless notebooks, my whole life. I enjoyed the quiet room for a moment. I inhaled a deep breath of air-conditioned gas. Numbers swam before my closed eyelids, scrolling up and down. Filing cabinets. Mouse pads. I could feel carpal-tunnel syndrome setting into its advanced stages. I tried to flex my fingers.

Boss’s head unexpectedly peeked around the corner, startling me from my exhausted reverie of self-pity. “Why can’t you be more like Steffi?”

Okay. Then, with that last little jab, Boss left.

With Boss finally gone, I struggled with button on the collar of my ill-fitting dress shirt. I loosened my cheap, beer-stained tie. I slammed a gulp of lukewarm, black coffee.

Back to work.

----------

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Across the dark hall, Steffi had sharpened another pencil. That was the easiest job in the world.

Meanwhile, my work was tedious. I had already been sitting at the damn computer terminal for about seven hours. My eyes were stinging and just raw from staring alternately at the bright monitor and at the tiny print in the auction catalogs. Cross-referencing digit after digit, entry after entry, line by line, page after arduous page.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! And the electric pencil sharpener droned on and on. Pencil after pencil.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Each blaring noise chafing my ears. The Museum had just closed. Everything was silent except for the sharpening of pencils in the room across the hall.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Reminding me that Steffi was in the next room doing an easy job. Sharpening pencils was fun compared to the shit Boss had me doing.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! She always gets the easy jobs. She’s gets every break. She’s got it so easy.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! And I’m stuck here until I get this shit finished. I always get the worst shit to do.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! It’ll take me hours. She’s fuckin’ sharpening pencils, and then gets to go home early.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Boss likes Steffi way more than he likes me. But I can understand why.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! She’s always little-miss-perfect. Does good work. Plus Boss wants a blow-job from her.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNK.

I snapped out of my self-pity haze at the strange sound. What the hell was that? That sounded like one hell of a sharpened pencil. I got up and made cautiously for the door.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNK. I peeked out of the door. I looked left. The corridor was dark, empty, quiet. The visitors had all gone home. I looked right. Same thing. Not a soul. Light from Steffi’s room spilled out, flooding fluorescent brightness onto the spotless marble. I walked across the hall. My footfalls echoed down the corridor in both directions.

I stepped inside. On the table beside Steffi there were a couple dozen perfectly sharpened pencils lined up in a neat row. The box of new pencils lay opened on her lap.

Steffi was sharpening pencils in a frenzy. The room smelled like sawdust pencil-shavings. She went through one pencil after another after another. I stood there and watched her. She didn’t even notice me. Pencil after pencil. All the way down as far and she could stick one into the electric sharpener. Then she’d pull it out and fling the tiny, albeit extremely sharp, nub onto the floor behind her. Then she’d delicately select another pencil from the box.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNK.

“Uh, Steffi? What’re you doing?”

“This stupid machine isn’t working properly!” She flung another chewed-up pencil to the floor and grabbed yet another one. The box was emptying fast. The floor was littered with unused and wasted pencils. I walked over to her, carefully planting my feet with every step to avoid slipping on the pathetic remnants of the brand-new box of pencils. There was no question of avoiding them altogether; they absolutely covered the floor around her.

Upon approaching her, I noticed a sharper smell. The pencil-sharpener was probably overheating, never designed to withstand this kind of rigorous torture.

“Are you sure you’re feeling quite alright?”

“I’m fine! It’s this stupid machine that isn’t working right!” She held a newly mutilated pencil in front of my face. “See?!” She reached for another one.

“Um...you know what? Why don’t you just let me finish this up for you, okay? There’s only a few pencils left.”

“Would you?! That would be so nice of you, Joe!” She beamed.

“The name’s actually...ah, forget it, anyway.”

“A. Forgetit Anyway! That’s an interesting name!”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” For all of her outward sophistication, she had a decidedly underdeveloped, juvenile sense of humor.

“Well! I hope you have more luck that I did with this broken machine! I’m going back to Boss’s office. I must get the letter I need to photocopy for the Director!”

“You do that,” I muttered as I bent down to start cleaning up her mess. At least it was a deviation from the data-entry, and all of the repetitive-motion injuries that such work entailed.

----------

After a few minutes, I’d scooped what pencils were salvageable back into the box together. The pencils she had ruined – dozens and dozens of them – found their way to the rubbish bin. I went back to the Office.

“A. Forgetit Anyway: I must get the letter I need to photocopy for the Director!” She was carrying her pitiful little joke to an extreme.

“Go ahead.” I thought for a second. “Oh, yeah: our copier still isn’t fixed. You need to use the one in the Administration offices.”

“Okay. Thanks A. Forgetit Anyway.”

“The name’s Joachim.” She didn’t seem to hear me or care.

“I’ll need some paperclips.”

“Fine.” Patience was wearing extremely thin indeed. Some humor. I motioned to the dish on my desk. It was full of them.

She immediately reached into it to get a paper clip. But she got all of them at once. As I sat down, I heard the sound of metal paperclips rattling against porcelain. I looked at Steffi’s outstretched hand just in time to see all of the paperclips jump the distance of several inches out of the tray and stick to the skin of her hand and wrist. A few even made it up along her smooth forearm almost to her elbow. I did a double take. It looked like magic.

“Whoaaaa...” I stood up slowly, craning my neck over the desk. My loose tie flopped into the half-full cup of cold coffee. I didn’t notice at first. “That’s...”

Steffi lifted her arm and held her hand a few inches in front of her face. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. She flexed her fingers and made a fist. She looked a little confused, not to say alarmed. I noticed one paperclip sticking sideways on the brightly polished nail on her index finger. Behind it, her face came into focus.

“Some trick, Steffi.”

Before I could say anything more – I had no clue what to say - Steffi used her other hand to pick one clip off of her skin. She used it to fasten together the two papers Boss wanted to give the Director. With a few jerky, faltering steps, Steffi walked out of the Office and into the corridor, dozens paperclips still clinging to her.

A moment passed.

The air-conditioning pumped.

I tried to digest what just happened.

“I’m going to want those back Steffi!” I cried after her. “You don’t need all of them!” There was nothing else I could think off. I suppose working in the Collections Office for so long had thoroughly bureaucratized my mind.

----------

That was weird, but I put it behind me.

I was distracted.

I hadn’t eaten for ten hours and I’d been slugging coffee after coffee all day; I was hungry as hell. And I felt like I was about to throw up. I decided to head off to the Administration Offices behind Steffi. They had a candy-bar vending machine over there. I knew that eating was only allowed in the staff lounges, but I didn’t give a shit anymore. I’d eat wherever the hell I wanted. I checked my wallet to see if I had a fairly decent-looking dollar bill that the finicky machine would accept. All my money was greasy and wrinkled to fuck. Too bad. If that machine wouldn’t take it, I was ready to rip the front of the damn thing off its hinges. I needed something to eat. I was thinking about a Snickers bar.

I walked across the museum. It was totally deserted except for a couple of security guards. I got one of them to let me into the darkened offices of Administration. I thanked him and he continued his rounds.

As luck would have it, Steffi was still there, using the copier.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

She was making a lot of copies.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

I looked at the glass front of the vending machine. FUCK! All out of Snickers. Well, that was fucking typical! God...fuck it. I flattened out a dollar-bill as good as I could and then tried to put it in the slot. I was careful to make sure the little George Washington was facing the right way. The machine buzzed as it pulled the bill in.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

Could it be?! It was taking my bill on the first try! I started to punch the buttons for a Milky Way bar. Then the machine spit my bill back out in my face.

“Oh,” I said shaking my head. “Oh, no. You fucker. Not this time.” I grabbed the bill and crammed it back into the slot. “You are going to fucking take this...” out came the bill. “I said: You Are Going to FUCKING Take THIS!” I shoved the bill back into the slot savagely. It came right back out. I lashed out at the machine, kicking it, slapping it, shaking it. There was nobody in the office but Steffi to here me, and she sounded busy.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

“God! Damn! Fuck!” I was pummeling the vending machine. It turned out to be a remarkably effective method of catharsis. I just started beating the stupid thing up and continued to do so until a very pleasant sound unexpectedly entered my ears. It was the sound of a candy bar dropping into the machine’s basket. I had somehow knocked it loose.

“Oh! Well!” I was surprised. “That’s what I thought!”

I reached into the little collection tray at the bottom of the machine and snatched my hard-earned prize. I stuck the torn and tattered one-dollar bill back into my wallet.

I suddenly felt very mellow. In my universe, even a minor victory such as this occasioned an almost sublime sense of achievement for me. Everything was going to be fine. The candy-bar in my hand proved it. Even if it was a Twix bar instead of what I had originally wanted..

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

Oh yeah: what the heck was she doing?

Twix bar comfortingly in hand, I stepped around the corner to see what was up.

A lot of copies.

A sea of them had flooded out of the machine onto the floor. The rack where the completed copies were supposed to collect had overflowed long before I got into Administration. There must have been hundreds of identical pages all over the room. The smell of hot Xeroxes permeated the atmosphere. It stung my nose.

I looked around. There were five or six crumpled up wrappers for the big stacks of five hundred sheets that were for refilling the copier’s paper reservoir. Steffi was even standing on some of the copies that had flown everywhere.

“Is everything okay Steffi?”

She didn’t notice me right away. She was already getting ready with another paper-refill for the copier. Before she stooped to insert the paper into the copier, she turned to look at me. Her hair bobbed uneasily. Her perfect smile was somehow slightly askew.

“Oh, gee! I hate these stupid machines! They never work right!” She stood beside the copier and fed it the next thick pack of copy paper. “First the pencil-sharpener, and now this! Why can’t anything work right around here?!”

“Uh. I don’t...know...”

“Well! Thanks all the same, A. Forgetit Anyway.” Her puerile humor again.

“Right,” I said slowly. “You’re going to clean this mess up?”

She stood there watching the machine produce copy after copy.

I had what I came for. My food was in my hand. I bit my lip pensively. “I’m...going to get back to Collections...I have some work to do...” I cautiously backed out of the room, facing Steffi all the while.

God she was so weird.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

----------

I threw myself into the chair. What the hell was she playing at? I thought over the strange situation as I began to peel back the wrapper of the Twix bar. She was nuts! That’s the only explanation! Must be a combination of all the fumes coming off of her from all those health and beauty care products.

Suddenly, Steffi was in the room, shattering my first moment of peace. “Eating anywhere in the Museum except the designated lounges is forbidden! You know that! Particulate matter such as dust and crumbs can damage objects in our collection! I have to insist that you put the candy-bar away!” She spoke reprovingly in a very clipped tone. Quite unlike her typical manner towards Boss.

“What the hell is with you?!”

“A. Forgetit Anyway, it is forbidden to eat in these Offices!”

“My name is Joachim. And why do you care?”

She took a step towards me.

“You are not taking this from me,” I said adamantly.

When she got close, she stiffly reached out to grab my candy bar. I jumped back. Was this happening!? She lunged after me. I ducked behind some metal filing cabinets, putting them between the berserk Steffi and myself.

“Christ! Fine! Take it!” I shouted fearfully. She was crazy!

I threw it to her feet. She immediately bent down to retrieve the opened Twix bar. From the other side of the filing cabinet, I then heard a loud, trundling WHOOSH followed by a heavy BANG!

Steffi, still half-crouching, stumbled backwards. An unlocked drawer of the cabinet had suddenly jumped off of its rails and hit her in the head!

Steffi slowly straightened and shook her head.

“A. Forgetit Anyway,” she mumbled. She raised a hand to her head. With a dull metal CLUNK, it stuck there. There were still paperclips all over her arm.

“Wha...?”

Remembering suddenly what she was doing, she tried to reach down for the candy bar again. This time I watched as another drawer flung itself at her head. CLANG! It sounded like a church bell.

“A. Forgetit Anyway,” she stuttered.

I heard a sound like bacon sizzling on a skillet.

She started staggering around the room like a busted, ambulatory cuckoo clock with a few thrown springs and missing gear-teeth. Her arms and legs, joints stiff, flew in all directions as she spun around, out of control. She was shaking her head. Her lustrous hair was flung in one direction and then the other.

Finally, her waist bumped into my desk. I remember that it had a metal top, heavily scuffed up and slightly rusted. She toppled onto it, pinned to its surface. But she was still trying to walk.

I stared at Steffi’s straight-kneed legs swinging rhythmically in the air. Her thighs and calves looked taut. Simultaneously, her arms, locked rigidly at the elbows, rotated backwards and forwards. They were bouncing off of the desktop as she performed some kind of parody of a march. Her knees knocked evenly against the metal desk. But their movements were becoming labored. Her extended appendages started to move less surely, a little more erratically. The limbs faltered, slowed, jerked and shuddered. They were winding down. I exhaled deeply, stunned. In an unexpected last gasp, they suddenly sped up, furiously kicking to and fro. I jumped backwards. And, just as abruptly, they ground to an uncertain standstill, mid-step. It heard a sound that reminded me of a high-pitched electric motor slowing winding down.

A cheap metal book-end from across the room levitated and clobbered her in the head. It stuck there. More paperclips flew off of the desk and stuck themselves all over her neck harmlessly. Followed by an adjacent stapler. It banged her temple audibly.

Her skirt was hiked up. I could see where her white leggings ended. Then there followed a three-inch gap where the smooth, clear skin of the backs of her thighs was visible. Then her white panties. The fingers of her hands were all splayed out.

Her arms were flat at her sides, and her body lay horizontally keeled-over on the desk. She was staring straight down at the floor on the other side of the desk. Her legs finally stopped moving altogether. Her feet hover inches above the floor. I heard some crackling and fizzling noises from inside of her.

Afraid to touch her with my bare hand for fear of electric shock, I used one of the pencils she had just sharpened to lift up the back of her blouse. I carefully prodded her back with the eraser of the pencil as I cautiously pushed the garment up by degrees. The skin of her back was as bland and polished-looking as the rest of her body.

Between her shoulder blades, I noticed an indented area of her skin that was about three inches by three inches. I had bunched her blouse was up beneath her armpits. Curious, not knowing what to expect, I pushed down on the panel with the pencil. I applied some pressure.

I depressed the panel and some switch clicked. The panel flipped upwards on a hinge. Inside, to my amazement, I saw tangles of blue, red, and yellow sheathed wires. Ostensibly, the purpose of this hatch in her back was to permit access to several plugs or outlets inside of her. A heard a whining noise come from somewhere inside of her. It sounded like a video cassette-tape being rewound in a VCR. The sound was speeding up. I stepped back. It sounded like it was going too fast. Suddenly, it must have snagged something. It heard it jam. Motors strained. Something wasn’t catching. Motors pulled harder and harder. Something finally gave. Something tore. The motors spun loose, in neutral.

Sensing danger, I backed further away from the spurious girl’s meltdown.

Something else in her body started squealing like a tape-recorder set on fast forward. It sounded like gibberish; it was completely unintelligible. It accelerated and increased in pitch. It almost hurt my ears. Suddenly, there was a large POP like a punctured balloon. A wisp of gray smoke rose for the open panel on her back. A sudden blast of blue and white sparks spurted from her body, angrily smoldering. The chipmunk-like squealing halted immediately and was replaced by a garbled baritone monologue. The sound was too slow and low for me to understand it either.

The counterfeit girl was powering down. Or breaking down, I guess. After a moment, her deep voice rumbled to a stop. The tiny blinking lights visible within her blinked out one by one.

Oh fuck. What am I gonna do?

I wasn’t hungry anymore.

----------

Suddenly someone rapped loudly on the door. Very loudly, like he was pounding with butt of a pistol or a club. It had to be a guard.

I heard keys jingling as he searched for the right one.

Hurling myself into action, I flicked off the lights and turned off the computer in one motion. I was jarred. I burst out of the door faster than he could get in and shut it behind me. I pushed past him and out into the hallway. He looked at me, startled. I gave him a fake, toothy, guilty grin.

“What it is, pops!” I tried to control my heart rate and breathing. It wasn’t really working.

“Everything all right in there?” He jerked his head toward the door, fingering his holster.

“What? In there? Uh, yeah. Fine. Why?”

“I heard something.” His fingers closed around the doorknob. Real slowly. “You sure everything’s okay?”

I consciously tried to speak slowly. “Yeah. In fact, I was just leaving for the night. Can you sign me out?”

He thought for a second. Took another look towards the door. His suspicion seemed to evaporate. He seemed satisfied. Confidence returned. He smiled. “Sure. Just follow me to the front.”

Using his keys, we made sure the door was locked behind us.

My skin was freezing; sweat in frigid air-conditioning.

----------

Man. She was robot!

When I got home, I started drinking. All the while, I was thinking back to the little talk Steffi and I had had when she first began at the Museum. “State Institute of Technology...” I shuddered. I couldn’t sleep. I paced all around my dimly lit apartment. Kitchen – bedroom – hall – living room. Then back again. Living room – hall – bedroom – kitchen. And so on. I kept sipping on porter. I couldn’t eat. Hours passed. When my roommate came back with his girlfriend at around 4 AM, I just went into my bedroom. Didn’t say ‘hi’ to them or anything. I sat at my desk for three more hours then, still drunk, took a shower and got ready to go back to work.

----------

There were police cars in the parking lot. The Museum was closed. They were turning visitors away.

An officer waved me down. Rolling down my window, I explained that I worked at the Museum. I showed him my nametag.

I got more nervous as I parked and got out of my car.

The corridors crackled with police radios.

There was crime-scene tape barring entrance to Boss’s office.

An officer let me past their barrier.

Boss was inside. His fat face was in his hands. His bulk was situated in a small chair. The one I usually sat in.

My head was swimming.

Detectives with notepads and flashlights. Dusting fingerprints. Taking photographs.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Joachim, my boy.” I looked around, trying to place the voice. It was Boss. He was looking up at me.

“Has anyone told you yet, Joachim?” I looked at him dumbly. I was still expecting to be arrested. “No? Well, it turns out Steffi had been stealing things from the Museum. Surprised?” He waited. I was still stunned by everything. “Me too.” He exhaled audibly. It was almost a despairing sigh. A flicker of pity sparked in my heart. “She was caught with some items as she was leaving last night. I’m afraid we’ve seen the last of her, Joachim.”

“Of course you know what this means, my boy. As soon as the police get everything they want, you and I are going to work harder than ever to keep things running around here.” I wasn’t listening.

A cover-up? Did I detect the hand of the ‘State Institute of Technology’ at work? Why would they go through all of this trouble on my account? Why protect me? I couldn’t concentrate. Too drunk.

Wait.

Not protecting me; protecting themselves, their experiment?

And I never touched her.

How would they know?

They wouldn’t.

I spotted my Twix candy bar innocuously laying beside the filing cabinets, unnoticed.

They wouldn’t...

Boss cut in.

“Now, the museum is giving all of its employees five days of paid vacation. You see, they’re closing for the rest of this week.” I started listening. “So that means that, technically, your internship is over.”

I stopped listening after that.

“But I really need you to stick around for a while. I mean, we’re friends, right? Now, when the police pack up, I want you to see to the rest of those catalogs. You never finished them last night. But, given these circumstances, I think I can forgive you this once.”

The flicker of sympathy died.

“No Boss, I think I’m going home.”

“Joachim! I need you here now!”

I pushed past a pair of officers.

“Haven’t I always treated you fine?!”

I was already gone.

The parking lot outside was warm. The sun played its warmth on my skin. I cruised past the police checkpoint and out onto the road.

Smell Bridges Burning (The Intern)

2009-02-22T07:59:13Z

Lithorien:

Smell Bridges Burning (The Intern)

2009-02-22T07:58:56Z

Lithorien: New page: thought that I’d try to cheer up Boss. Rubbing my aching eyeballs, I thought that maybe reminding him that I only had a few days left at the Museum would make him a little bit happier....

thought that I’d try to cheer up Boss. Rubbing my aching eyeballs, I thought that maybe reminding him that I only had a few days left at the Museum would make him a little bit happier. He’d be glad to be rid of me, now that he had a new, ass-kissing female intern to replace me. Plus, even talking to that old fossil was preferable to the misery of mind-numbing data-entry. I needed a reprieve, even if a few seconds were all I could realistically hope for. I spoke up.

“You know Boss, in two weeks I’ll be through with my internment – uh... I mean... internship... here at the Museum.” Agh! Freudian slip. Put my foot right in my mouth. Whoops. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t been thinking that exact thing ever since Goody-Two-Shoes showed up. I thought back to how much I had drank the night before. Coming to work everyday with a hangover was a bummer.

“You know Joe,” Boss burst out abruptly with contempt, “you’re absolutely right. Believe me, your absence from this place is something we both look forward to.” I think he knew it pissed me off when he called me Joe instead of my real name, Joachim.

“Now that we have Steffi, we don’t really need you at all,” Boss continued, his voice rumbling through layers of blubber. I had forsaken any hope of equitable treatment ever since the new intern arrived. “She works really hard. She makes her deadlines. You know, she...gets all her stuff done. And, you know, she never complains.” Yeah, and she’s a really good-looking slut and you’re a perverted old man, I added mentally. “You never hear her wimping and whining about how terrible it is to do honest work. In fact, I’ve never seen her when she’s not smiling.” I shuffled my feet, casually cracked a few knuckles, and waited for him to finish and tell me to get back to work.

“Why can’t you be more like Steffi?” he asked rhetorically, slowly shaking his head in disappointment all the while. “Well, get back to work.”

“Yeah Boss.” That didn’t go so well, but it was par for the course, lately. I cracked open a new auction catalog.

“The sooner you’re out of here, the better.”

----------

I’d been working for Boss for almost a whole semester. He was a pretty harsh taskmaster, but we used to get along just fine. Then, three lousy weeks before I was set to have my Collections Department internship completed, a new intern entered the scene.

When I first saw her, I thought that the Museum job might finally yield some benefit. She was hot. I figured that, like me, she was in her early twenties. College student somewhere or other. I dared to hope for the best. We’d probably find that we had similar interests, similar backgrounds, similar tastes. My imagination got the better of me.

I didn’t bother me at first that her mannerisms seemed a little peculiar. For one thing, she came across like an airhead, but I couldn’t but hope that she was a little deeper than that. She was always conspicuously too enthusiastic about everything. She was always in a somewhat artificial-seeming good-mood.

Quickly, the situation took a two-fold turn for the worst. For one thing, I quickly came to realize that she was not really the type that would give it up. Well, not to a poor college guy like me. Not at all. She was the type that had no interest in love. But that was fine, because neither did I. Where were differed was in that she had no interest in good sex either. Don’t get me wrong; everything about her – her poise, her clothing, her musk, her voice, everything – reeked of sex. Everything from the way she let her hair fall around her face to her crimson toenail polish that was visible through her open-toed high-heels. But she wanted something back: money. She had plans to sleep her way up into society. That’s what she was about. It was obvious; she had no sense of decorum.

When she came around, the pecking order in the Collections Office changed completely, and overnight. Boss, even though he had to be in his fifties and was married, was having the same thoughts about her that I was: what do I need to do to tap that ass fast? Of course, as Boss, he was in a much better position than I was. There was, in fact, no question of competition between he and I: he was my boss for my internship, so he automatically had me by the balls. Or more accurately: by the diploma. He sensed her intentions at least as keenly as I did. Her smile said it all. Inviting, tempting, demanding.

Steffi kissed up to him all the time. It was revolting. He gave her all the fun and easy jobs like handling objects or getting them out of Storage, doing light research, giving the occasional tour, going to luncheons with rich Museum Membership holders, or traveling with exhibitions that we loaned out from time to time to other museums.

Meanwhile, to keep me busy and to keep me from interfering with his designs on Steffi, Boss piled me up with all the boring shit that he was responsible for making sure got done. So I did his job while he flirted with a girl at least thirty years his junior.

And she knew what she was doing.

----------

The first chance I got to talk to her alone, Boss had given her a job folding fliers for Museum guests. I figured it was my chance to make some small chit-chat, find out a little bit about her, tell her some flattering things about myself. I had no time to lose: I was leaving in a couple weeks.

I was showing her the proper way to make the brochures, where to fold them and everything. As an example, I showed her how to fold the paper into three sections so it looked like a leaflet. She picked it up really fast, but it’s not like it was that hard.

She folded one really fast and reached for another one. She folded that and reached for another one. She folded that and reached for another one. She seemed totally focused. Her hands moved precisely. When I folded one, it usually wound-up looking pretty crappy. It was crooked and sloppy. The folds weren’t parallel. But I never gave a shit. Who cared anyway?

But Steffi’s were folded with machine-like precision. Each one was absolutely identical. The creases were crisp. I tried to get her attention but she was riveted to her task. I watched her chest rise beneath her white blouse every time she reached for a new paper to fold. I was mesmerized by how quickly and surely her delicate fingers moved. I brought to mind images of her doing other things with those same fingers. Her nail polish was bright red. I thought of them clawing at my back. They were the fingernails of a heartbreaker.

“So, Steffi. What school are you from?”

“S.I.T.” she said primly, her lips barely moving and yet cleanly enunciating each syllable. She acted like I was really interrupting her. She stopped halfway through a fold and turned to look at me, her hands still on the paper.

“S.I.T.?” I asked.

“State Institute of Technology.” She seemed impatient. Her tone was not the playful one she normally assumed towards Boss.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” Ice. Her face was completely still.

I waited.

She was supposed to follow up.

“Oh.”

She wasn’t biting.

----------

This other time, Boss gave Steffi about fifteen pages of documents that he needed to have transcribed. She sat down at an empty desk across the room and pressed the button on the tower that would boot-up the computer’s hard-drive. I hated using that computer: it always crashed. Most of the computers in the office sucked. I was always calling tech-support hotlines to figure out what the heck was always going wrong with them.

As soon as that old Macintosh dinosaur was ready, Steffi entered the word-processing program. And her fingers just flew on the keyboard. Her nail polish was a red blur. She stared and the pages of documents in front of her as she typed. I couldn’t even distinguish individual keystrokes; it was all one blazing, furious sound of buttons clattering.

Like a typewriter, whenever Steffi finished with one page, she’d quickly move it aside and start on the next. BING! New page. A minute later: BING! Another new page. I halted my slow, laborious, index finger, clumsy, one button at a time data-entry just to watch her. It was incredible.

Waiting for the transcribed documents to finish printing on the Collections Department’s archaic machine took longer than Steffi took to actually type them! I quickly skimmed over her work, checking the grammar and the spelling. Everything was perfect.

I gave it to Boss and Steffi followed me, catlike, one foot in front of the other, impeccably poised.

She smiled brightly. “Did I do good, Boss?” Her hair ran down her shoulders.

“Joachim: why can’t you be more like Steffi?”

----------

“Hey Joachim! Want to take a break from that data-entry?” Boss called from around the corner, in his office. Steffi immediately looked up from proofreading some official Museum correspondence before it was sent out.

I was so startled to hear that the Boss was actually going to cut me a break, that I was momentarily dumbfounded. I hesitated for a second. The air stuck in my chest. Then, before I could make a peep, Steffi piped up. “Joe looks a little busy right now, Boss, but I’d love a little change of pace!” I was at a loss for words. That fucking – ugh! Steffi looked at me cheerfully and smiled. Reflexively, I almost crushed the Styrofoam cup of cheap coffee that I held in my fist. With a hand trembling with frustration, I slowly set the cup down on the desk and struggled to maintain my composure.

“Don’t worry Joe, I’ll do it for you!”

“Look, don’t call me Joe, okay? My name is – “

The Boss barged in, trying to suck-in his distended belly to squeeze himself between metal filing cabinets and stacks of inventory books and auction catalogs. Between his fat stomach, his sickly, sunken eyes, and his thick, glistening lips, he reminded me distinctly of a bullfrog.

“Good, Steffi! Good.” He cleared his fat-clogged throat. “Now, you see, just before you came to the Museum, we got a new exhibit from the British Museum in London,” said Boss. He waddled around the corner. It was clear he was just talking to Steffi now. With elegant poise, she got up from her paperwork. “I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet Steffi...have you been in the China Gallery lately?”

“No Boss! I’m usually always back here!”

“Oh, well...we got this new object on loan just about a week ago, I guess. Cost us a considerable amount of money to get it shipped here. It’s really fascinating. It is so big that we had to bring it in with a forklift!”

“What is it Boss?!” asked Steffi with contrived enthusiasm. I watched the two lovebirds derisively, glancing up from my keyboard. One a sinister old pervert, the other a manipulative bitch, intent on giving him anything he asked for...for a price.

“It’s a Chinese lodestone! It weighs about two thousand pounds.”

“What’s a lodestone, Boss?” Steffi, that airhead, looked completely in awe. I quietly watched the two of them talk from behind the computer screen. I had become a mere fly on the wall. I wasn’t a part of the universe for either of them.

“It’s like a magnet.”

“Wow! A magnet!”

“Yes.” Boss cleared his throat again. “You see, the Chinese Emperors used it in their palaces to prevent assassins from bringing weapons into their courts. The idea was that anyone trying to bring a metal sword or dagger close to the Emperor would be foiled because the lodestone would attract the metal weapon to it. Of course, most of the stone’s supposed properties are just myth and superstition, you see. Hot air. Smoke and mirrors. But it’s still a fairly strong magnet.”

Steffi’s eyes were wide, her mouth agape. She really looked impressed. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She kissed so much ass that it disgusted me.

“You know, you see, it was somewhat like...the metal detectors we use in airports today. Except this was 2,000 years ago,” added Boss.

“Wowwww...” crooned Steffi in wonder.

“Yes, you see. It’s really quite neat!”

“So what do you want me to do, Boss?”

“This should be a really interesting job; I want you to take this charcoal here and a big ream of paper out of Supply and make a rubbing of the Chinese symbols that’re chiseled on the front of this thing.”

“Chinese symbols? Wowwww...”

“Indeed, you see. And would you like to know what they mean?”

“Oh boy! Sure I do!” she gushed.

Boss produced a spotty cloth handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his sweaty forehead effeminately. “They mean, you see, ‘How would you like to have dinner sometime?’” He twisted his ancient, cigar-reeking maw into the most horrible smile imaginable, exuding depravity and premeditated fantasies of plunder.

Steffi played the innocent little girl role to the hilt. “Aw, Boss...” She crossed her hands behind her and looked to the floor like she was blushing at his filthy flattery. She looked up with mirth, smiling graciously with sparkling teeth and shiny lips. “You almost had me going for a second!” she cried in her most shamelessly naïve-sounding voice yet.

Boss wriggled his fat fingers and chortled despicably.

She smiled back.

They stared at each other for a moment. He waited for her answer.

“Well Boss! I’ll get to work straight away!” Steffi swiveled on her heel, grabbed the chalk or whatever, and headed out the door. Boss watched her from behind as she left. Even from the desk across the room, I could easily tell that his beady, covetous eyes were focused on her ass. I almost burst out laughing: REJECTED!

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Boss turned to me. He licked his quivering lips. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing at all, Boss.” I shrugged my burning shoulders and cleared my throat. I tried to remember where I left my bottle of aspirin.

“Yeah.” He stalked towards his office. I ran a finger through my dirty hair, rubbed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I felt a headache building. I remembered that I had already finished that bottle of aspirin earlier the same morning. It was in the wastebasket of Office’s men’s room.

“Hey Joe!” yelled Boss suddenly.

“Boss?”

“Those Chinese symbols mean ‘get back to fucking work!’” He swiftly slammed the door to his plush office behind him. The stench of sweat and tobacco smoke that had enveloped the entire room began to subside immediately.

I flipped his door the finger. “And this bird is the Chinese symbol for ‘get the fuck off my back ‘fore I have to get creative with a can of whoop-ass all up and in your face,’ you fucking bastard.”

I needed some aspirin.

----------

My stomach was rumbling. I was getting so hungry that it hurt. I kept looking at my watch at intervals of just a few minutes. After about two static hours of chipping away at the catalogs, Boss’s fat head peeked around the metal filing cabinets.

“Joe: go find out what’s taking Steffi so long; I want to see her before I go home for the night.” He chuckled darkly.

“How about: ‘screw you, Boss’?” I muttered under my breath as I completed one last entry.

“What’s that Joe?” he asked quickly. I could smell his putrid breath from across the office.

“I said: I’m sure you do, Boss. I’ll just go and get her.”

“Joe. Just remember: you’ve got a couple more days. After that, we’ll be out of each other’s hair.” He spat his words with contempt through green teeth. “But until then, you’re mine. Now, be quick about it, son.”

----------

I trudged into China Gallery. I didn’t notice many Museum guests; attendance was already tapering off for the day.

“Hey Steffi, Boss wants to know how come – “

Steffi had her back turned to me. She stood a foot from the lodestone. Fucking thing was big. She was holding the huge piece of paper up against the big magnet. In her other hand, she held the charcoal against the paper. She was about halfway through making the rubbing. But she was frozen right there, in the middle of a sweep. Not a muscle moved. I walked closer to her. She didn’t seem to hear me coming.

“Steffi?” I gently put my hand on her shoulder. “Steffi?”

Her head slowly swiveled to meet my eyes. I raised my eyebrows.

“Steffi?” she asked. “Who’s Steffi?”

“Umm...you are...”

“I am Steffi,” she repeated like she was trying to memorize something for a test. “Who are you?”

“I’m Joachim,” I prompted.

“Joachim.” She repeated slowly, sounding out my name carefully.

She stepped back from the lodestone and surveyed it quizzically. “What am I doing?”

“Making a rubbing of those symbols there. Are you okay?”

“I’m not...sure. One moment please,” she said politely. I waited. Nothing happened. She stared at the symbols on the lodestone.

“Boss sent me to find out what was taking you so long.” I waited for another second. “Hello?”

“Yes...Joachim?”

“I said, Boss wants you to get back to his office already.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Like, almost two hours! Hello?”

“Boss wants me to go see him?”

“Yeah. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m not...sure. One moment please.”

I held my breath.

She blinked a couple of times. Her dark, heavy eyelids stood in striking contrast to the surrounding skin of her face. Her eyelashes were thick and lush, drooping. Suddenly, her eyes popped open and her normal, perfect, straight-tooth smile broadened on her face. “Oh yes! Now I remember everything!” She dropped the materials she had and made a sharp turn towards the door. She started walking.

“Aren’t you going to bring...? Hey! You forgot your stuff here!” With her back to me, she just kept on walking. I hurriedly grabbed the paper and the charcoal and dashed after her.

It was all I could do to keep up.

----------

Close on her heels, I followed Steffi back to the Collections Office. Her heels clicked evenly on the marble floor. Her self-confidence had returned.

Her walk was a study in grace. Her arms swung just so. Her hair bounced lightly. I was absorbed, however, with watching her behind as she strode her sophisticated stride. I could see the twin bulges beneath her skirt pressing tightly against the dark fabric. I ovserved the way her weight shifted alternately from leg to leg, pulsing like pistons.

I scrambled ahead of her and opened the door to the Collections Department. I suppose it was my little way of thanking her for at least having a gorgeous body, even if I hated her personality. If you could even call it a personality.

As I held the heavy door open for her, I tried to make eye contact. However, she seemed to be off in her own little world. She didn’t even acknowledge me as she stepped past into the room. She moved past me swiftly, with purpose. I caught a whiff of perfume as I looked at her clean, smooth skin.

I contented myself with that. The mere presence of her body was thanks enough. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize her features as I had seen them. I only had a few days left here, after all.

----------

“Hi there, Steffi, my good lass.” Boss’s bad-tooth smile reached from ear to drooping, liver-spotted ear.

I walked into the room to set down the charcoal and half-finished rubbing. “Joe: back to work.” He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were welded to Steffi’s pleasantly three-dimensional chest.

I turned without a word.

“Here’s a box of, it looks like, a hundred or so pencils, Steffi; why don’t you go and sharpen them for me?” Out of the corner of my eye, as I reached for the doorknob, I saw Boss indicate a box that was on the bottom shelf of his bookcase. Steffi walked to the bookcase and bent down at the waist, reaching for the box. Boss watched gleefully as she took his bait. Her pert ass thrust straight in his direction.

“Sure thing Boss!”

“They’re for the Museum Docents. I’ve got that monthly meeting with them on Friday...”

“Sure thing Boss!”

“When you’re done, I need you to make a copy of this packet here and put it in the Director’s mail cubby across the hall. I know you normally stay late, but this time why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

“Sure thing Boss! That’s very nice of you Boss!”

She jauntily marched across the hall to the conference room. A pencil-sharpener was mounted low on the wall beside the door.

I watched her ass as she glided in front of my table as she left. She was wearing that same dark skirt she wore every day. I often found myself staring at it, the better to approximate the contours of the flesh that moved and bounced and sweated beneath it all day. No matter how much time I spent gazing, I never could really tell if it was black or just very dark blue. And I say ‘spent,’ as distinct from ‘wasted,’ because the only thing I did at the Museum that was a genuine waste of time was actually working. Fucking terminals and keyboards. Date-entry. Day-in, day-out. At the very least, Steffi was something pretty to watch to take my mind off the drudgery. Even if she was just a perky but diabolical usurper. I thought about her breasts stretching her puffy white blouse. I saw her legs scissor, wrapped in tight, white hose.

“Joachim!” called Boss. I immediately snapped out of my dreamlike contemplation of Steffi’s body. It was like I was hit with a bucket of fetid swamp water.

“Uh, yeah Boss.”

“I need to leave a few minutes early today; you just keep at that data-entry. I’ll be back tomorrow. Have one of the guards check you out when you leave.”

“Oh...kay...What time should that be?”

“However long it takes you to get through that catalogue...It must be finished first thing tomorrow. You’ll probably need, what, two or three hours?” It was already almost five ‘o’ clock. It was near the end of the Semester; I had exams to study for! I was supposed to be out of here in a couple minutes, not hours. “Of course, if you worked a little more like Steffi you could be done in half that time.” With that last little jab, Boss left.

I closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself to resume the ordeal that was typing, data-entry, endless notebooks, my whole life. I enjoyed the quiet room for a moment. I inhaled a deep breath of air-conditioned gas. Numbers swam before my closed eyelids, scrolling up and down. Filing cabinets. Mouse pads. I could feel carpal-tunnel syndrome setting into its advanced stages. I tried to flex my fingers.

Boss’s head unexpectedly peeked around the corner, startling me from my exhausted reverie of self-pity. “Why can’t you be more like Steffi?”

Okay. Then, with that last little jab, Boss left.

With Boss finally gone, I struggled with button on the collar of my ill-fitting dress shirt. I loosened my cheap, beer-stained tie. I slammed a gulp of lukewarm, black coffee.

Back to work.

----------

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Across the dark hall, Steffi had sharpened another pencil. That was the easiest job in the world.

Meanwhile, my work was tedious. I had already been sitting at the damn computer terminal for about seven hours. My eyes were stinging and just raw from staring alternately at the bright monitor and at the tiny print in the auction catalogs. Cross-referencing digit after digit, entry after entry, line by line, page after arduous page.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! And the electric pencil sharpener droned on and on. Pencil after pencil.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Each blaring noise chafing my ears. The Museum had just closed. Everything was silent except for the sharpening of pencils in the room across the hall.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Reminding me that Steffi was in the next room doing an easy job. Sharpening pencils was fun compared to the shit Boss had me doing.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! She always gets the easy jobs. She’s gets every break. She’s got it so easy.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! And I’m stuck here until I get this shit finished. I always get the worst shit to do.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! It’ll take me hours. She’s fuckin’ sharpening pencils, and then gets to go home early.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! Boss likes Steffi way more than he likes me. But I can understand why.

ZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRR! She’s always little-miss-perfect. Does good work. Plus Boss wants a blow-job from her.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNK.

I snapped out of my self-pity haze at the strange sound. What the hell was that? That sounded like one hell of a sharpened pencil. I got up and made cautiously for the door.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNK. I peeked out of the door. I looked left. The corridor was dark, empty, quiet. The visitors had all gone home. I looked right. Same thing. Not a soul. Light from Steffi’s room spilled out, flooding fluorescent brightness onto the spotless marble. I walked across the hall. My footfalls echoed down the corridor in both directions.

I stepped inside. On the table beside Steffi there were a couple dozen perfectly sharpened pencils lined up in a neat row. The box of new pencils lay opened on her lap.

Steffi was sharpening pencils in a frenzy. The room smelled like sawdust pencil-shavings. She went through one pencil after another after another. I stood there and watched her. She didn’t even notice me. Pencil after pencil. All the way down as far and she could stick one into the electric sharpener. Then she’d pull it out and fling the tiny, albeit extremely sharp, nub onto the floor behind her. Then she’d delicately select another pencil from the box.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIRGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNKGUNK.

“Uh, Steffi? What’re you doing?”

“This stupid machine isn’t working properly!” She flung another chewed-up pencil to the floor and grabbed yet another one. The box was emptying fast. The floor was littered with unused and wasted pencils. I walked over to her, carefully planting my feet with every step to avoid slipping on the pathetic remnants of the brand-new box of pencils. There was no question of avoiding them altogether; they absolutely covered the floor around her.

Upon approaching her, I noticed a sharper smell. The pencil-sharpener was probably overheating, never designed to withstand this kind of rigorous torture.

“Are you sure you’re feeling quite alright?”

“I’m fine! It’s this stupid machine that isn’t working right!” She held a newly mutilated pencil in front of my face. “See?!” She reached for another one.

“Um...you know what? Why don’t you just let me finish this up for you, okay? There’s only a few pencils left.”

“Would you?! That would be so nice of you, Joe!” She beamed.

“The name’s actually...ah, forget it, anyway.”

“A. Forgetit Anyway! That’s an interesting name!”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” For all of her outward sophistication, she had a decidedly underdeveloped, juvenile sense of humor.

“Well! I hope you have more luck that I did with this broken machine! I’m going back to Boss’s office. I must get the letter I need to photocopy for the Director!”

“You do that,” I muttered as I bent down to start cleaning up her mess. At least it was a deviation from the data-entry, and all of the repetitive-motion injuries that such work entailed.

----------

After a few minutes, I’d scooped what pencils were salvageable back into the box together. The pencils she had ruined – dozens and dozens of them – found their way to the rubbish bin. I went back to the Office.

“A. Forgetit Anyway: I must get the letter I need to photocopy for the Director!” She was carrying her pitiful little joke to an extreme.

“Go ahead.” I thought for a second. “Oh, yeah: our copier still isn’t fixed. You need to use the one in the Administration offices.”

“Okay. Thanks A. Forgetit Anyway.”

“The name’s Joachim.” She didn’t seem to hear me or care.

“I’ll need some paperclips.”

“Fine.” Patience was wearing extremely thin indeed. Some humor. I motioned to the dish on my desk. It was full of them.

She immediately reached into it to get a paper clip. But she got all of them at once. As I sat down, I heard the sound of metal paperclips rattling against porcelain. I looked at Steffi’s outstretched hand just in time to see all of the paperclips jump the distance of several inches out of the tray and stick to the skin of her hand and wrist. A few even made it up along her smooth forearm almost to her elbow. I did a double take. It looked like magic.

“Whoaaaa...” I stood up slowly, craning my neck over the desk. My loose tie flopped into the half-full cup of cold coffee. I didn’t notice at first. “That’s...”

Steffi lifted her arm and held her hand a few inches in front of her face. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. She flexed her fingers and made a fist. She looked a little confused, not to say alarmed. I noticed one paperclip sticking sideways on the brightly polished nail on her index finger. Behind it, her face came into focus.

“Some trick, Steffi.”

Before I could say anything more – I had no clue what to say - Steffi used her other hand to pick one clip off of her skin. She used it to fasten together the two papers Boss wanted to give the Director. With a few jerky, faltering steps, Steffi walked out of the Office and into the corridor, dozens paperclips still clinging to her.

A moment passed.

The air-conditioning pumped.

I tried to digest what just happened.

“I’m going to want those back Steffi!” I cried after her. “You don’t need all of them!” There was nothing else I could think off. I suppose working in the Collections Office for so long had thoroughly bureaucratized my mind.

----------

That was weird, but I put it behind me.

I was distracted.

I hadn’t eaten for ten hours and I’d been slugging coffee after coffee all day; I was hungry as hell. And I felt like I was about to throw up. I decided to head off to the Administration Offices behind Steffi. They had a candy-bar vending machine over there. I knew that eating was only allowed in the staff lounges, but I didn’t give a shit anymore. I’d eat wherever the hell I wanted. I checked my wallet to see if I had a fairly decent-looking dollar bill that the finicky machine would accept. All my money was greasy and wrinkled to fuck. Too bad. If that machine wouldn’t take it, I was ready to rip the front of the damn thing off its hinges. I needed something to eat. I was thinking about a Snickers bar.

I walked across the museum. It was totally deserted except for a couple of security guards. I got one of them to let me into the darkened offices of Administration. I thanked him and he continued his rounds.

As luck would have it, Steffi was still there, using the copier.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

She was making a lot of copies.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

I looked at the glass front of the vending machine. FUCK! All out of Snickers. Well, that was fucking typical! God...fuck it. I flattened out a dollar-bill as good as I could and then tried to put it in the slot. I was careful to make sure the little George Washington was facing the right way. The machine buzzed as it pulled the bill in.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

Could it be?! It was taking my bill on the first try! I started to punch the buttons for a Milky Way bar. Then the machine spit my bill back out in my face.

“Oh,” I said shaking my head. “Oh, no. You fucker. Not this time.” I grabbed the bill and crammed it back into the slot. “You are going to fucking take this...” out came the bill. “I said: You Are Going to FUCKING Take THIS!” I shoved the bill back into the slot savagely. It came right back out. I lashed out at the machine, kicking it, slapping it, shaking it. There was nobody in the office but Steffi to here me, and she sounded busy.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

“God! Damn! Fuck!” I was pummeling the vending machine. It turned out to be a remarkably effective method of catharsis. I just started beating the stupid thing up and continued to do so until a very pleasant sound unexpectedly entered my ears. It was the sound of a candy bar dropping into the machine’s basket. I had somehow knocked it loose.

“Oh! Well!” I was surprised. “That’s what I thought!”

I reached into the little collection tray at the bottom of the machine and snatched my hard-earned prize. I stuck the torn and tattered one-dollar bill back into my wallet.

I suddenly felt very mellow. In my universe, even a minor victory such as this occasioned an almost sublime sense of achievement for me. Everything was going to be fine. The candy-bar in my hand proved it. Even if it was a Twix bar instead of what I had originally wanted..

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

Oh yeah: what the heck was she doing?

Twix bar comfortingly in hand, I stepped around the corner to see what was up.

A lot of copies.

A sea of them had flooded out of the machine onto the floor. The rack where the completed copies were supposed to collect had overflowed long before I got into Administration. There must have been hundreds of identical pages all over the room. The smell of hot Xeroxes permeated the atmosphere. It stung my nose.

I looked around. There were five or six crumpled up wrappers for the big stacks of five hundred sheets that were for refilling the copier’s paper reservoir. Steffi was even standing on some of the copies that had flown everywhere.

“Is everything okay Steffi?”

She didn’t notice me right away. She was already getting ready with another paper-refill for the copier. Before she stooped to insert the paper into the copier, she turned to look at me. Her hair bobbed uneasily. Her perfect smile was somehow slightly askew.

“Oh, gee! I hate these stupid machines! They never work right!” She stood beside the copier and fed it the next thick pack of copy paper. “First the pencil-sharpener, and now this! Why can’t anything work right around here?!”

“Uh. I don’t...know...”

“Well! Thanks all the same, A. Forgetit Anyway.” Her puerile humor again.

“Right,” I said slowly. “You’re going to clean this mess up?”

She stood there watching the machine produce copy after copy.

I had what I came for. My food was in my hand. I bit my lip pensively. “I’m...going to get back to Collections...I have some work to do...” I cautiously backed out of the room, facing Steffi all the while.

God she was so weird.

WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...WHOOZH...

----------

I threw myself into the chair. What the hell was she playing at? I thought over the strange situation as I began to peel back the wrapper of the Twix bar. She was nuts! That’s the only explanation! Must be a combination of all the fumes coming off of her from all those health and beauty care products.

Suddenly, Steffi was in the room, shattering my first moment of peace. “Eating anywhere in the Museum except the designated lounges is forbidden! You know that! Particulate matter such as dust and crumbs can damage objects in our collection! I have to insist that you put the candy-bar away!” She spoke reprovingly in a very clipped tone. Quite unlike her typical manner towards Boss.

“What the hell is with you?!”

“A. Forgetit Anyway, it is forbidden to eat in these Offices!”

“My name is Joachim. And why do you care?”

She took a step towards me.

“You are not taking this from me,” I said adamantly.

When she got close, she stiffly reached out to grab my candy bar. I jumped back. Was this happening!? She lunged after me. I ducked behind some metal filing cabinets, putting them between the berserk Steffi and myself.

“Christ! Fine! Take it!” I shouted fearfully. She was crazy!

I threw it to her feet. She immediately bent down to retrieve the opened Twix bar. From the other side of the filing cabinet, I then heard a loud, trundling WHOOSH followed by a heavy BANG!

Steffi, still half-crouching, stumbled backwards. An unlocked drawer of the cabinet had suddenly jumped off of its rails and hit her in the head!

Steffi slowly straightened and shook her head.

“A. Forgetit Anyway,” she mumbled. She raised a hand to her head. With a dull metal CLUNK, it stuck there. There were still paperclips all over her arm.

“Wha...?”

Remembering suddenly what she was doing, she tried to reach down for the candy bar again. This time I watched as another drawer flung itself at her head. CLANG! It sounded like a church bell.

“A. Forgetit Anyway,” she stuttered.

I heard a sound like bacon sizzling on a skillet.

She started staggering around the room like a busted, ambulatory cuckoo clock with a few thrown springs and missing gear-teeth. Her arms and legs, joints stiff, flew in all directions as she spun around, out of control. She was shaking her head. Her lustrous hair was flung in one direction and then the other.

Finally, her waist bumped into my desk. I remember that it had a metal top, heavily scuffed up and slightly rusted. She toppled onto it, pinned to its surface. But she was still trying to walk.

I stared at Steffi’s straight-kneed legs swinging rhythmically in the air. Her thighs and calves looked taut. Simultaneously, her arms, locked rigidly at the elbows, rotated backwards and forwards. They were bouncing off of the desktop as she performed some kind of parody of a march. Her knees knocked evenly against the metal desk. But their movements were becoming labored. Her extended appendages started to move less surely, a little more erratically. The limbs faltered, slowed, jerked and shuddered. They were winding down. I exhaled deeply, stunned. In an unexpected last gasp, they suddenly sped up, furiously kicking to and fro. I jumped backwards. And, just as abruptly, they ground to an uncertain standstill, mid-step. It heard a sound that reminded me of a high-pitched electric motor slowing winding down.

A cheap metal book-end from across the room levitated and clobbered her in the head. It stuck there. More paperclips flew off of the desk and stuck themselves all over her neck harmlessly. Followed by an adjacent stapler. It banged her temple audibly.

Her skirt was hiked up. I could see where her white leggings ended. Then there followed a three-inch gap where the smooth, clear skin of the backs of her thighs was visible. Then her white panties. The fingers of her hands were all splayed out.

Her arms were flat at her sides, and her body lay horizontally keeled-over on the desk. She was staring straight down at the floor on the other side of the desk. Her legs finally stopped moving altogether. Her feet hover inches above the floor. I heard some crackling and fizzling noises from inside of her.

Afraid to touch her with my bare hand for fear of electric shock, I used one of the pencils she had just sharpened to lift up the back of her blouse. I carefully prodded her back with the eraser of the pencil as I cautiously pushed the garment up by degrees. The skin of her back was as bland and polished-looking as the rest of her body.

Between her shoulder blades, I noticed an indented area of her skin that was about three inches by three inches. I had bunched her blouse was up beneath her armpits. Curious, not knowing what to expect, I pushed down on the panel with the pencil. I applied some pressure.

I depressed the panel and some switch clicked. The panel flipped upwards on a hinge. Inside, to my amazement, I saw tangles of blue, red, and yellow sheathed wires. Ostensibly, the purpose of this hatch in her back was to permit access to several plugs or outlets inside of her. A heard a whining noise come from somewhere inside of her. It sounded like a video cassette-tape being rewound in a VCR. The sound was speeding up. I stepped back. It sounded like it was going too fast. Suddenly, it must have snagged something. It heard it jam. Motors strained. Something wasn’t catching. Motors pulled harder and harder. Something finally gave. Something tore. The motors spun loose, in neutral.

Sensing danger, I backed further away from the spurious girl’s meltdown.

Something else in her body started squealing like a tape-recorder set on fast forward. It sounded like gibberish; it was completely unintelligible. It accelerated and increased in pitch. It almost hurt my ears. Suddenly, there was a large POP like a punctured balloon. A wisp of gray smoke rose for the open panel on her back. A sudden blast of blue and white sparks spurted from her body, angrily smoldering. The chipmunk-like squealing halted immediately and was replaced by a garbled baritone monologue. The sound was too slow and low for me to understand it either.

The counterfeit girl was powering down. Or breaking down, I guess. After a moment, her deep voice rumbled to a stop. The tiny blinking lights visible within her blinked out one by one.

Oh fuck. What am I gonna do?

I wasn’t hungry anymore.

----------

Suddenly someone rapped loudly on the door. Very loudly, like he was pounding with butt of a pistol or a club. It had to be a guard.

I heard keys jingling as he searched for the right one.

Hurling myself into action, I flicked off the lights and turned off the computer in one motion. I was jarred. I burst out of the door faster than he could get in and shut it behind me. I pushed past him and out into the hallway. He looked at me, startled. I gave him a fake, toothy, guilty grin.

“What it is, pops!” I tried to control my heart rate and breathing. It wasn’t really working.

“Everything all right in there?” He jerked his head toward the door, fingering his holster.

“What? In there? Uh, yeah. Fine. Why?”

“I heard something.” His fingers closed around the doorknob. Real slowly. “You sure everything’s okay?”

I consciously tried to speak slowly. “Yeah. In fact, I was just leaving for the night. Can you sign me out?”

He thought for a second. Took another look towards the door. His suspicion seemed to evaporate. He seemed satisfied. Confidence returned. He smiled. “Sure. Just follow me to the front.”

Using his keys, we made sure the door was locked behind us.

My skin was freezing; sweat in frigid air-conditioning.

----------

Man. She was robot!

When I got home, I started drinking. All the while, I was thinking back to the little talk Steffi and I had had when she first began at the Museum. “State Institute of Technology...” I shuddered. I couldn’t sleep. I paced all around my dimly lit apartment. Kitchen – bedroom – hall – living room. Then back again. Living room – hall – bedroom – kitchen. And so on. I kept sipping on porter. I couldn’t eat. Hours passed. When my roommate came back with his girlfriend at around 4 AM, I just went into my bedroom. Didn’t say ‘hi’ to them or anything. I sat at my desk for three more hours then, still drunk, took a shower and got ready to go back to work.

----------

There were police cars in the parking lot. The Museum was closed. They were turning visitors away.

An officer waved me down. Rolling down my window, I explained that I worked at the Museum. I showed him my nametag.

I got more nervous as I parked and got out of my car.

The corridors crackled with police radios.

There was crime-scene tape barring entrance to Boss’s office.

An officer let me past their barrier.

Boss was inside. His fat face was in his hands. His bulk was situated in a small chair. The one I usually sat in.

My head was swimming.

Detectives with notepads and flashlights. Dusting fingerprints. Taking photographs.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Joachim, my boy.” I looked around, trying to place the voice. It was Boss. He was looking up at me.

“Has anyone told you yet, Joachim?” I looked at him dumbly. I was still expecting to be arrested. “No? Well, it turns out Steffi had been stealing things from the Museum. Surprised?” He waited. I was still stunned by everything. “Me too.” He exhaled audibly. It was almost a despairing sigh. A flicker of pity sparked in my heart. “She was caught with some items as she was leaving last night. I’m afraid we’ve seen the last of her, Joachim.”

“Of course you know what this means, my boy. As soon as the police get everything they want, you and I are going to work harder than ever to keep things running around here.” I wasn’t listening.

A cover-up? Did I detect the hand of the ‘State Institute of Technology’ at work? Why would they go through all of this trouble on my account? Why protect me? I couldn’t concentrate. Too drunk.

Wait.

Not protecting me; protecting themselves, their experiment?

And I never touched her.

How would they know?

They wouldn’t.

I spotted my Twix candy bar innocuously laying beside the filing cabinets, unnoticed.

They wouldn’t...

Boss cut in.

“Now, the museum is giving all of its employees five days of paid vacation. You see, they’re closing for the rest of this week.” I started listening. “So that means that, technically, your internship is over.”

I stopped listening after that.

“But I really need you to stick around for a while. I mean, we’re friends, right? Now, when the police pack up, I want you to see to the rest of those catalogs. You never finished them last night. But, given these circumstances, I think I can forgive you this once.”

The flicker of sympathy died.

“No Boss, I think I’m going home.”

“Joachim! I need you here now!”

I pushed past a pair of officers.

“Haven’t I always treated you fine?!”

I was already gone.

The parking lot outside was warm. The sun played its warmth on my skin. I cruised past the police checkpoint and out onto the road.

Over Some Drinks

2009-02-22T07:58:05Z

Lithorien: New page: “Oh Christ, you don’t even fucking want me to get started on those sons-of-bitches.” I took another swig of cheap beer and put my dirty glass back on the bar. I watched the tiny am...

“Oh Christ, you don’t even fucking want me to get started on those sons-of-bitches.” I took another swig of cheap beer and put my dirty glass back on the bar. I watched the tiny amber bubbles in the beer stream upwards from the bottom of the glass.

“Couple of hooligans, were they, eh?” I swiveled on my seat to face Steppe. Vacant pinball games sparkled their cheap plastic glitter in the fuzzy background. The bar was empty. It was late.

“Sunny Fields,” I mused, looking back at the bubbles rising continuously to the top of the beer left in my glass. “And August Meadows. Total good-for-nothings. They were in my class, you know. ’87.” I moaned, jokingly. “Saw both those bastards every day for four years...those bastards.” I chuckled, slowly shaking my head, thinking back to the old days. “We really were all just a bunch of kids back then...” And up the bubbles floated. Trickling up and up forever. Where did they come from?

“You must have had a hoot with them fellas, back in your academy days...” prompted Steppe. I swiveled to face Steppe again. Unoccupied casino games in the background laughed and flashed illusory visions of wealth to nobody in particular, fool’s gold and costume jewelry. The bar was quiet, most of the lights were off; the corners were dark. Tables and booths were empty. A mop and a bucket of filthy slime were standing on the brown tile beside the restroom door.

“Oh, God yeah. Shit...those guys?” With my good arm, I picked up my glass, drained it, and set it back on the counter-top loudly. The bartender didn’t notice, or at least, he pretended not to. He was sitting on his stool, watching a pre-recorded football game. “I could tell you one or two stories about them, but first,” I said loudly, “I’m going to need another drink!”

The bartender watched the game for a few more seconds and then put it on pause. Sighing, he reluctantly got up from his stool. He was obviously annoyed.

“Another pint for you, sir?” he asked irritably with his tired face and sloppy jowls, with an emphasis on ‘another’. I nodded and turned to face Steppe. I half-smiled. He got out his wallet and placed his card on the scummy bar-top. He tapped it once with his index finger and slid it to the tired old man after my glass had been refilled.

I picked it up. As I lifted it to my lips, some of the head overflowed and ran down the side. I felt the liquid, cold on my fingers. I took a deep draught. The same little bubbles glided smoothly down my throat, fizzing and tickling. That’s really where they belonged. I savored the sensation.

“Well?” Steppe prodded, “tell me something.” A cigarette vending machine stood silently against the wall by the locked front door.

I took another swallow of beer and thought for a moment. “The good old days. What’s a good story...?” Steppe waited while I traveled back in time. “Fields and Meadows, those pranksters...”

“I’ve got it. Let me tell you about this one time -”

The barkeep returned Steppe’s card. I sharply stopped mid-sentence and watched the old man with disdain; my eyes deliberately followed him all the way back to his stool. It took a moment. He turned the football game back on. I hate interruptions.

I resumed. “You wouldn’t believe what those bastards did to me this one time.” I took another swallow of beer, this time relishing the sensation of having an audience. Smiling, I coughed a little. I took another look around the bar. I would tell Steppe the story in my own sweet time. We were the only people still there. Steppe knew the old bartender – name of Paddock – and so he let me stay after the shop was closed down. For some reason, this kid Steppe looked up to an alcoholic like me; crippled, one-armed, discharged, pensioner. Always asked me to come around and tell him war stories and the like. And he bought me drinks. So in that regard, he was a supplement to my annuity, I guess. Plus, talking to someone after all this time gave me a kick. And Steppe was going to be a cadet in the navy just like I was, once upon a time. Starry-eyed, idealistic, ready to make a difference, geared up to fight ‘the bad-guys’ and all that horseshit.

“Well, it happened at this one party. It was, what...” I paused for a long time. The game quietly droned on in the background. Steppe waited patiently. I looked down at the floor. It was stained and covered with pretzel crumbs. “Fifteen years ago? Fifteen? Fifteen years, already?” I thought, flipping back a mental calendar of events. “Yeah, because I had just been detailed to that cruiser. Thirty-month mission...my first ship. You know. I told you about that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I remember. You gave the first officer a fat lip one week out of port?”

“Yeah that’s the one.” I chuckled, remembered what it felt like to cut a knuckle on a superior officer’s front teeth. “I decked him, all right.” Good memories.

“Right, so anyway,” I continued, “there was like...a going-away party for everybody who’d landed assignments. We were all graduating. There was a shitload of guys there. Well, I don’t know...fifty or sixty at least. I recognized most of them. They were all from the academy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Me, Fields, Meadows, and a whole bunch of the other graduates and even some of the COs of the academy all pitched in and rented out this club downtown. It had become something of a yearly tradition. A ‘gentleman’s’ club, was what it was called, technically. I’d been there a couple of times, you know. Everybody had. Because, you know: they didn’t let that many women into the academy back then.” I paused to think. Steppe didn’t understand me. “So this place was, you know...where all the guys went when they had...off. Catch my drift? It was...one of those places.” Steppe looked at me, his boyish smile slowly fading. He still wasn’t picking up my meaning.

“Don’t you get it? It was a special kind of club, you see. They sold more than drinks, you understand?” I chuckled, hoping he would. He didn’t. I gave up.

“But okay. So they were gonna have a bunch of, like, uh...strippers there, right?” I said like a conspirator. “You have to remember: I was just a kid like you. Like I said, this was what? Fifteen years ago?”

“That’s what you said.” His eyes were wide.

“Well, one of these...strippers...she was a - say...how old are you again, Steppe?” I looked at him quizzically, enjoying the feeling of being a mentor.

“I’m seventeen, sir,” Steppe said, preemptively protesting any censorship. That’s plenty old in the New World.

“Seventeen? That’s unfortunate...” I said under my breath, thinking back.

“Unfortunate? What do you mean? You’re not going to tell me this story?” Steppe looked crushed, agape.

“No, no...of course seventeen’s old enough. Old enough...it’s just that that’s my unlucky number, that’s all.” I was still thinking back.

Steppe looked nonplussed.

“I only asked your age because this story...it’s just that this story is a little...shall we say...” I considered my word choice. “Unwholesome.” After another swig of beer, I grinned and added: “sexually.”

Steppe started grinning too and had a sip of his beer to hide it. He tried not to grimace at the flavor of the brew and looked back at me with concealed admiration. “Go on, sir,” he nudged.

----------

Young men everywhere, a sea of them. A throng. The testosterone was almost a palpable presence in the air. Jacked up: really ripped like motherfuckers, crew cuts, chiseled features, sharp uniforms, shiny boots. Ready for war. Every sailor in the place knew he’d get his chance, myself included.

But this was not the time.

I had a drink in my hand.

The bass pulsed, sub-sonic. Rattling teeth and bones. You could feel it like ten-ton-hammer of compressed air, pounding your body every second. Feel it in your chest. Seamless, ceaseless. You couldn’t resist: you moved with its throbbing patterns. Everyone knew the song and moved with you. Everybody else was partying. Everybody had a drink. Why the hell not? It could be the last time.

Laser lights spun around, flashing blue and gold and red bolts all around the room, too fast to watch. Spotlights illuminated the heads of the crowd. Disjoint images flashed in the light of the pulsing strobes. Every action was captured and mechanically separated for the eye into each of its minute constituent motions.

The room was hot, stifling, crammed with dozens of virile youths. My short-cropped hair glistened with sweat. It ran down my back in streams. The sweat made my navy tunic stick to my body like latex. Everybody was soaked. A lot of guys had taken off their shirts completely. You could see their muscles ripple to the thumping of the music. Others at least had their uniforms unbuttoned, untucked.

In lovely contrast, I felt the cold, slippery can of beer in my fingers. The aluminum was wet. It had been in an icy cooler. I lifted it to my waiting lips. Tipping the can upwards, I delighted in the flavor of the beer rushing into my mouth, down my throat. My head bounced to the music, beads of sweat flying off and catching the strobe light on time-lapse trajectories.

I had been standing by the bar, tossing back drinks for most of the evening, when everything suddenly receded and was replaced by an ominous sense of foreboding. The music faded, the crowd grew distant, the heat withdrew from my body. Despite the sensory overload in the club, I noticed, above all else, a prickly sensation as the hair on the nape of my neck stood up. My eyes widened, my senses jumped back onto alert. Inexplicably, I was suddenly beset by a pressing sense of alarm. The beer had gotten me relaxed and the music already had me loosened up. Now I tensed with an odd feeling of trepidation. I knew somehow that something untoward was about to happen. I slowly scanned the room, trusting my instinctual anxiety, warning me to be careful. Every sensation was sharpened, heightened, intensified.

My eyes lighted upon the reason for my apprehension. Two reasons, to be precise. With uncanny flair for detecting scoundrels, I saw Fields and Meadows making their way to me picking through the crowd. That was why my instinct told me to expect something terrible to happen to me! Fuckers! My first impulse was to turn around and get away from them. Turn around and get away. Whenever I got together with those two guys, something wrong always happened to me that left them in tears, laughing. Blighters! I was just about to bolt when Fields made eye contact with me. He raised his arm in salute. I smiled wanly and toasted him with my half-full beer, recoiling inside. I was had.

Those fun-loving fuckers were up to no good as always, that much was certain. I recalled, for instance, the crippling blow dealt to my finances when I went out with them gambling at some seedy dive they introduced me to. In fact, I was still recovering from that economic setback. Fields and Meadows were on the prowl for victims, looking for some silly sod to fuck over for their amusement. Looked like it was my turn.

They had no problem getting through the crowd; everybody who saw who they were got out of their way, as if merely the slightest physical contact with either of them would occasion inevitable ruin.

The scorned figures arrived. “Whoa, nice threads! Just get those washed?” screamed Fields over the pulverizing sound in the room, smirking. He fiddled with my undone collar, and unfastened a few more buttons. My chest glistened with sweat.

“Whatta you guys want?” I yelled.

“Wanna enjoy our last night together, little man!” Fields.

“Hell yeah dude!” Meadows. Both were rocking to the music.

I wasn’t biting. They were up to something. “Well, enjoy yourselves! I think I’m going to find someone over there I rather talk to!” I gestured to the farthest corner of the room. “Excuse m – “

The lights became red. The music slowed. A curtain parted. Doors opened. A masculine cheer rose at once from the mass.

“Dude, yes! The strippers are here!” Fields was beaming like a moron, looking all around him.

Out came the girls. A ton of them. Strutting out onto the stage, hopping up on tables, stepping up onto the bar. Earring jingling. Collars, leather, braids. Girls of all descriptions. Long legs, taut bodies, shapely, pleasing, available. Blonds, redheads, brunettes. Some glowing with ardor for carnal intercourse. Others sinful, licentious harlots, ardent and inflamed. Some brisk, rough, ready, strong, full of vitality and verve. Lusty. Still more exquisite and graceful. Swaying like saplings, revealing themselves; sumptuous, lavish, delicious. All really working the crowd. Poised, polished magnetizing, and alluring. Selling their charm and refinement. Shining with sweat and pubescent vigor. My heart was beating painfully. My skin was flushed. Every one of them exactly matched the description of ‘my type’.

Every male in the club, myself, Fields, and Meadows included, watched the various dancers with rapt attention. Red spotlights followed all of them. Every eye in the place was glued to one girl or another, or flitting between several with undecided agony as to which was the more beautiful. Once in a while, one girl would finish her routine and be offered a drink and a stool by the bar. Sometimes another girl would emerge and take her place. The highest-paying patrons, even though we were all just getting out of the academy and were all therefore pretty poor, would reach an agreement with a girl. They’d go downstairs together.

I sipped my beer, watching the proceedings covetously. One bastard after another would lead a girl through a door, down a staircase, and to a waiting bed. Thanks in no small part to Fields and Meadows, I didn’t have the money to have a really good time. Just to add insult to injury, I had to sit here and watch the girls, whom I couldn’t afford, with the two guys responsible for the lamentable state of affairs. I tried hard to make myself content with just watching the strip show. I struggled to put all other desires out of my mind and concentrated on drinking as much beer as I could.

Meadows interrupted my self-pity session. “Man,” he yelled, beckoning me closer so that he could be heard over the techno. “Dude, let me ask you a simple question. Is she fuckable, or what?” He pointed to one of the girls who, finished with her routine, was now standing by the bar. With his other hand he took a swig ofbeer.

“Yeah, of course. She’s hot as hell. So?”

“Well, so go for it!”

Even in my state of intoxication, I knew that he must have been joking, ridiculing me. She was not an option. She was out of my price range for sure. All thanks to the damned high jinks of theirs at the casino that bankrupted me. “Fuck off, guys. I don’t need you bastards to taunt me with this bullshit.” I started to turn to leave.

Fields stayed me with a hand on my shoulder and spoke up, grinning like an idiot. “No, man. You don’t understand.” He shook his head slowly. His teeth were bright violet in the black light. He looked at me with an intensity that bespoke conspiratorial excitement. “Dude, that’s what she’s for. We paid her already!”

Meadows clasped my sweaty hand in his. “Me and Fields,” he yelled, trying his best to look contrite, “we feel...sorry...about what happened to you at the casino. We, in a way, almost feel responsible.”

“Almost. Almost!? Almost feel responsible? You fuckers! You are fucking respon - ”

“So anyway, we did this to make it up to you.” He let go of my hand and extended his arm in the direction of the girl. “Ta-DA!”

Fields chimed in, jovial as a dimwit. “We also feel bad about that, uh,” he raised his eyebrows, “accidental mix-up, with your train-tickets that one time.” Yeah, I hadn’t forgotten that one either. “Did feel a little bad about that one...” A little?

“Oh!” he remembered, “and for that time when we got a hold of your card and used your public account to buy all those gay pornos and blow-up dolls and dildos and stuff.” An event that was also still vivid in my mind. “And for when the whole academy found out...damned if I know how, though...” he said, sardonically.

“And for breaking into your locker and – “

Meadows hastily cut in. “SHUT UP! Shut up, he doesn’t know about that yet!” Meadows glared at Fields and then looked back to me, smiling. “Um. Just a joke.” Fields looked a little more sallow than normal. He raised his arms to Meadows in a conciliatory gesture. Broke into my locker? What?

“Yeah! Just kidding, uh...ha ha.”

I looked at them skeptically. It was forgotten.

Meadows appeared to be penitent enough. “Man. Please. To show there are no hard feelings, Fields and I sprung for this wench over there. She’s all yours, no strings attached, all night long if you want her.” He looked at me intensely with seeming sincerity. “It’s on us.”

I looked over at her, past the throngs of guys who were still dancing to the rhythm, swilling brew, and making arrangements with prostitutes of their own. She was leaning against the bar. A couple of guys next to her were trying to speak with her. She kept shaking her head ‘no’.

“See that? She’s reserved for you, man!”

They were for real. I couldn’t see how this could be one of their tricks. Everything seemed genuine. Wow. This was going to be a blast! I hadn’t been able to afford a woman since that casino fiasco. I was about due. Overdue, really. This was really great! Fields and Meadows weren’t bad guys after all! Hell, they were downright terrific! Got me a real-live woman for me to spend my last night here with.

Meadows must have seen my smile, ear to ear. “No need to thank us! You deserve it! I admit: we were assholes!” He held out his hand. “Friends?”

I considered it for a moment and thought back to what was waiting for me at the bar. I took his hand and shook it hard. I didn’t see any danger; no predictable situation is dangerous. And I knew exactly what was going to happen; I was going to get laid for free. When he let go of my hand, I gave Fields and Meadows each a little salute. “Don’t wait up for me guys: I’ll be down there all night long!” They were grinning at me and at each other.

“Don’t worry about it, man. You should just go right over there and kiss her! Just do it! ‘That that is, is.’ Shakespeare’s Hermit of fuckin’ Prague, my man.” Meadows had a point: if Shakespeare wrote it, it had to right, right?

I started walking toward the woman. Meadows saluted me with a ‘hoo-yeah’ as I glanced back over my shoulder for reassurance. Fields was cheerful as a simpleton. ‘That that is, is.’ Hell yeah: that’s my doctrine.

She waited for me to arrive. She watched me approach. Suddenly I stood by her, and leaned against the bar. Even in my drunken state I didn’t have the effrontery just to kiss her as Meadows had suggested. That could wait anyway. I took a swig of beer instead. I signaled her to come closer to me with my free hand. She craned her neck to bring her ear close. She smelled strongly of perfume. I gazed at her slender neck. I had to yell to be heard over the music. “So, my friends over there,” I gestured with a sweeping arm motion, still admiring her neck, “they tell me that, uh...that is, Fields and Meadows said that you were paid to, uh...” I made a rolling ‘you know’ motion with my hand.

She straightened up and stared at me impassively, defiantly silent. I was struggling with my speech. It was a little slurred from the alcohol. But I had to impress her, I had to act like a gentleman, and I had to sound intelligent, so I did my best to stay coherent.

I continued, screaming, hurting my throat. “To, uh...you know...” I swallowed, salved the rawness with some more cold beer. “Paid for everything. Already.” I paused, actually starting to feel uncomfortable to be having this conversation. I scanned the room. Everyone was holding drink or else in the process of procuring another one. Everyone was ogling the dancers that were still on the stage or on the bar-top, lithe, languid, seductive, dark-eyed, and unblushing, swinging around poles, tossing off garments. The men’s bodies bobbed and swayed to the music. The women dipped and writhed. I spotted Fields and Meadows staring right at me. Meadows was shouting something to me from across the room. The music was way too loud for me to hear him, but that didn’t stop me from understanding his message. He was mouthing the words: ‘Fuck yeah!’ and swinging his fist in the air, to the rhythm. Fields was grinning like an idiot and shaking his head. This was cool.

I screwed up all my drunken beer-courage. Gotta live. Yell. “They said they paid you to go all the way,” I blurted, all at once. Tact did not exist in my universe. “With me.” Howling.

She cupped her hand over my ear. Effulgent skin and teeth in black light. “You want to have sex with me.” Her voice came clearly over the din. Her sweet breath washed over my skin, bracing, cool, as if from an angel’s trumpet. She spoke with a frankness that startled me, even though I was toasted. But I could roll with that. Yeah. Like that guy Rousseau always said: transparency, right? If we could all just cut through the bullshit, and the deceit, and the opacity of normal conversation, then everything would be a lot simpler. Honesty. Truth. I thought back to class.

I shook my head vigorously with assent. “Ya know, uh...Miss: ‘success may have it’s day, but there are centuries for the good that can be done by truth’”. She looked at me with no trace of emotion on her face, clearly not understanding a word I was saying. Oh well, I was drunk; I didn’t understand myself either. “Anyway! So, yeah! I wanna have sex with you!”

“Let’s go then.”

Before I could say ‘okay,’ she took my hand and, turning, began leading me somewhere deep into the bowels of the establishment. We were moving. We pushed our way through the throngs. Some of the guys looked first at me and then appraisingly looked up and down the girl who was leading me. I got a few smirks, a few thumbs-ups, smiling nods, and even laughs. I felt like a king. I strode proudly behind the beauty. I looked over my shoulder. Fields and Meadows were following at a self-consciously inconspicuous distance. That fact should have troubled me for at least moment, but I was too excited to care a whit.

I traced the petit outline of the girl. Her skin-tight, white, one-piece jumpsuit left little about her fantastic body to the imagination. I watched her ass move as she walked elegantly, catlike, through the club, lush and fertile. It glided with a smooth motion at every step. Her thighs were taut, strong, and athletic. I looked at her shoulders. Her black hair was done up in a casual bun, and wisps and strands of it had come loose, tickling her face and neck. Her arms were thin, sinewy. Her chest was small; she stood perfectly straight to maximize its apparent size. Glitter sparkled in her hair and on her neck and face. Craning my neck, I could see her nipples projecting out against the tight white plastic jumpsuit. Her appearance was only the more delicious because I knew that it was all mine. I tried to calm down. I wanted to make this last all night.

We walked past the restrooms. Cracked porcelain, inoperable toilets, phone-number graffiti, broken mirrors, broken blow-dryers, overflowing trashcans, overflowing urinals, smashed bottles, missing light bulbs. The only thing that worked was the condom vending machine. I noticed a couple of guys helping one of their friends stagger inside before he threw up. The poor bastard was in a cold sweat, clutching his stomach, his eyes clamped shut, trying to breathe, his steps faltering. When they opened up the door for their buddy, I chuckled at the sight of two other guys passed-out on the tile in puddles of puke. No such thing as too much fun?

She used a key around her neck that I hadn’t noticed to open a door. She inserted the key, turned it gingerly, and pushed through. We passed into a different dimension. The music faded. No more jagged drums, frantic cowbells, keyboards, synthesizers. The bass alone penetrated the thick walls of the basement. It was a dull, monotonous pulsation rumbling from upstairs. My ears were ringing. It had become so quiet. I walked down a rickety metal staircase and followed her into a long, dimly lit hallway that was lined on either side with numbered doors. Fluorescent flickering and buzzing. Bugs crawled at diagonals on the walls, antennas flaring. Warm puddles of beer on cracked cement. Condom wrappers. They were all bedrooms; pay by the half-hour. The walls were painted some drab pink color.

We were alone. “Turn around, baby.” My words echoed down the hallway and up the staircase. She turned at once, putting a hand on her hips. I put my hands on her shoulders.

“What’s your name?” I was stupid-drunk; you weren’t supposed to ask that.

“Call me whatever you like.” She didn’t blink.

The apathetic girl had changed now that we were no longer under a black light. She seemed more frail. More than just delicate – puny. Her skin was only lightly tanned, her teeth shiny and white. Her eyes were still black. So was her stringy hair. Lots of make-up, eye-shadow, lip-stick, glitter. Her face was a little eerie, almost mask-like. I thought I heard someone on the stairs, but it must have been my imagination.

She waited to see if I was finished, and then led me to a dingy bedroom. Number seventeen. She swung the door open. It squeaked uneasily on rusty hinges. She strode inside and turned on a cheap lamp that sat on a cheap end table that was beside a cheap bed with a filthy mattress and a spotty sheet. It was more like a cubicle than a room. There were no other furnishings. It was tiny; three by three meters, probably. No window or anything. The carpet reeked of beer and something else I didn’t even want to try to identify. I’d been in rooms like this before.

Making myself at home, I jumped into the room and spread out on the bed. Took a deep breath to clear my head. Trembling with excitement of the orgy to come. I breathed. Staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and savoring the moment, something made me think back to some pornography I read in a baroque literature class I had once. The strangest things pop into your head sometimes.

I sat up and swung my feet over the side of the bed, facing the girl. “What do you want me to do?” she asked. She stood by the flimsy door drearily and waited for me to give her an instruction. I looked at her, top to bottom. I enjoyed the moment, trying to squeeze every delicious drop of anticipation. I made her wait.

One by one, with shaking fingers, I undid the rest of the buttons on my shirt and tunic and tossed both garments to the floor in a heap. Then I removed my sweat-soaked undershirt, threw it on top. My legs crossed, I began unlacing my boots slowly, first one and then the other. I left my boots loose on my feet. Cool air flooded in; I wiggled my sweltering toes, letting my skin breathe. It felt good. My belt buckle was loosed, my pants unbuttoned, unzipped. I stood up slowly before the girl. I was much taller than she. My pants fell around my ankles.

I was in a good mood; felt like I was in charge. I was; I liked that.

“Remove the interdict from that which is protected,” I said theatrically, playfully applying one of the phrases I somehow remembered.

“I’ve never heard of that before,” she said blankly.

“Guide the guilty man to your low dungeons,” I proffered, still enjoying the situation I had unexpectedly found myself in.

“Please rephrase,” came her dull response.

“Dip my pen into your inkwell?” I pressed.

“I’m not familiar with that position.” Nothing.

“Thrust my sword into your scabbard?”

“Please restate instruction.” Still nothing.

“Burn my firewood in your stove?”

“Please re– “ Forget it.

“Let’s just fuck, okay?” Annoyed. She wasn’t playful at all. Fine. “Get undressed.”

She brought her hand to her neck and began tugging gently on the zipper than ran down the front of her white plastic jumpsuit. It was tight around her neck, her breasts, her hips, her thighs. She jerked the zipper down by degrees. Tug. Her neck was thin, lovely, fragile. Tug. Outlines of her ribs were just visible beneath the soft skin of her chest. Frail. Tug. The slight curvature of her insubstantial breasts became visible. Pasty. Tug. Her navel in the center of a caved-in, pale tummy. Tug. A few dark, wispy hairs. The zipper was undone, a light strip of flesh revealed down her middle. She stared into the distance impassively. Pure and profane.

I was ready.

“I’ll tell you something,” I slurred drunkenly, high on adrenaline. “The only decent thing about this stinking world, the only thing that’s worth a damn...” I stepped toward her. “...is our passions.” I was close to her, near enough to smell her perfume again. “...The fulfillment of our passions,” I amended. I put my hands on her shoulders and drew close.

“All the misery in the world,” I whispered slowly in her ear, “stems from the inhibition,” my lips brushing against her skin, “of those passions.” I grasped her zipper and began pulling it up and down casually, teasingly. She looked at once tender and lacerating. “They can make us miserable,” I intoned, “when they are denied.”

I pulled her close, putting my mouth all over her neck, grabbing handfuls of her greedily, trying to suck her up, pressing her hotly against me. She seemed a little less than willing; obstinately reluctant. No matter. I squeezed her small, weak body, smothering her, tight, damp. I pushed against her. She pushed back, slipped out of my grip, stepped away.

“That’s the tiniest prick I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“Huh!?” Come back. Come again?

“Get that thing away from me,” she said with derision, wrinkling her nose and walking backward toward the door. She opened it and took a step out into the hall, zipping her jumpsuit back up to her neck haughtily.

I took a moment while my mind grappled to comprehend the turn the situation had just taken. Dumbfounded. I was denied? “What the fuck?!” There I was. A moment passed. Alone in the room, pants still pulled down, wondering what in the hell just happened. Bass throbbed tediously from upstairs. “But! They paid!”

She paused, looking at me over her shoulder. “Oh, and you’re a lousy kisser, too!” she added, offhandedly.

“Hey! A – what?! I never even – “

That’s when I heard surreptitious snickering outside in the hallway. Sounded like two guys...Fields and Meadows! Those fuckers did it to me again! Humiliated me again! Ah, cunning; the knowledge of human weakness.

Shirtless, I pulled up my pants loosely and ran out of the room.

She stood in the hallway between Fields and Meadows.

Meadows asked me how it went, through thunderous guffaws. I was infuriated, breathing hard, wasn’t listening, wasn’t thinking. “Get you sword sheathed there, big guy?” He pointed his thumb over at the girl, who was humorlessly watching me.

Fields was as merry as an imbecile.

Meadows stepped closer, jeering, too close to me, right in my face, filling my view, filling my ears, my thoughts. “’Oh! Dip my pen in your inkwell! Dip my pen in – ‘“

I nailed him savagely with a right hook square to the teeth. I felt a sharp pain on my knuckles as his teeth left deep gashes in my skin. Bones inside my hands and wrist seemed to snap and crack.

Meadows made a deep grunting noise as he absorbed the full might of the unexpected blow. His mouth and jaw were crushed by the force, his buck-teeth staved in by bony fist. His head jerked back and bounced off of the cement wall on his way down to the floor. He whimpered as his knees gave out, limp. He crumpled like a dry leaf. He was already out cold even as he began to collapse. Slow motion to the bottom. Then his head bounced off of the cement floor. The sound echoed down the corridor. He came to rest. A pool of dark blood slowly began to expand across the floor from his mouth. A tooth or two may have been floating in it.

Though I was satisfied by the state to which I had so easily reduced him, his injury was only an event that was occurring on the periphery of my senses. I was too preoccupied by my own pain to enjoy the afterglow of such a fulfilling release of emotion.

“Oh, God!” I bawled. “My fuckin’ wrist!” I shook my hand about in agony as I staggered and hopped around the hallway pointlessly, trying to escape the pain. Blood spattered on the garishly pink wall and trickled down to the concrete floor. I didn’t know if it came from the slashes left in my fist by Meadow’s incisors or from his wrecked mouth itself. It really wasn’t important whose blood it was anyway. Felt like my wrist was sprained though; it hurt to move it. I couldn’t bend my fingers at all. Pain pulsed all over me. “God - damn!”

Meadows was only out for a second, and was already recovering fast. He seemed groggy and disoriented, but at least now he was partially conscious. He struggled to his feet, coughing through thick phlegm and sticky, hot blood. Meadows feebly looked at me with wonder as he hurriedly stumbled in the direction of the stairs and safety. Globs of black blood were dripping from his gaping mouth and gore-slicked teeth as he scurried away. The front of his shirt was matted with blood. It was a lot of blood, a conspicuous amount, really. He was probably going to need some dental work. At least I could be confident that Fields and Meadows didn’t have any friends to avenge my affront.

That reminded me: there we still one more devilish rascal to punish. I paused to leer at Fields menacingly, shaking my crushed hand in white, throbbing pain. Fields was mortified. Eyes wide, focused on me, terrified, knowing that he was next on my list. I watched his adam’s apple convulsing in fear. He crept backwards past the callous bitch they hired to humiliate me, putting her between us, a human shield for him. Curiously, she made no move to escape; why she seemed willing to place herself between my rage and its objective I couldn’t comprehend. Was she trying to protect him? I’d go through her, if necessary. I advanced a step further. Fields panicked.

With both hands and with all of his might, Fields shoved the slight girl at me. He spun around and fled even as the girl careened towards me helplessly. I grabbed her roughly and flung her out of my way. She rebounded off the pink cement wall, sputtering, spun around, haywire, hugged the wall for support. Banged. Winced. I hardly noticed; I was in the mood for revenge.

I took a few clumsy and faltering bounds to pursue Fields and Meadows, but my boots were so lose that my feet would have come out if I tried to run. I stumbled after them a piece, tripping on my laces, shouting, waving my fist. “That’s right, motherfuckers! That’s what I thought! Yeah – FUCK YOU!” I shouted after them. They were picking up speed. I heard them sprinting up the metal stairs. The music grew loud for a second as the pair reemerged in the dancehall, and then were gone.

I was smiling and nodding to myself in the hall, shaking the pain out of my smashed fist when I remembered that I wasn’t alone. The girl. With dim, inscrutable eyes, she stared off into thin air.

“Are you okay?”

No reply. She stood against the wall in her white jumpsuit.

“How much did they pay you?”

She stared into me. I waited, cooling off.

“You better catch up with your friends.”

No movement. It was like she didn’t even know I was trying to talk to her.

Suddenly, she jerkily turned to face the exit. And I thought I heard something rattle, like a couple of ball-bearings loose in a tin can, but I had to be my imagination. Perversely, I was reminded of something I read once by some nineteenth-century feminist. I recalled her words effortlessly, like I’d read them minutes ago. “She was created to be a toy for man, his rattle, and it must jingle in his ears whenever he chooses to be amused.” She took an uncertain step forward, her head wobbling from side to side.

She placed one faltering foot in front of the other, slowly, cautiously. It was a sad parody of her confident stride that I had so admired when she led me downstairs earlier. It wasn’t the smooth, gliding, precise, self-assured, efficient, clockwork walk of before. She was uneven, unsure, dysfunctional somehow.

“What’s going on here? Are you sure you’re okay?” She stopped when she heard my voice and turned to consider me. We looked at each other.

“You want to have sex?” she asked passionlessly.

Wasn’t the response I expected; that startled me. “Jesus, do you ever have a one-track mind,” I said as I chuckled. “You’re not hurt or any – “

“You want to have sex?” she cut in, not listening to me.

“Uh,” I was caught off guard. “Are...you serious?”

“You want to have sex?” She repeated.

“Yeah! I mean, yeah, sure.” I shrugged.

She grabbed my hand and led me back though the still open door into the bedroom. But her grip wasn’t as sure as it had been earlier; her step was wobbly, her hand clumsier. I walked inside in a fog. I was being swept along by events. Events that I couldn’t have predicted, yet somehow had an air of predictability about them. The pain in my hand was unnoticed now, even though the girl’s fingers were grasping the dripping slashes. I had sex on my mind; pain could always wait. My heartbeat was speeding up again, like a racehorse. Boy do I have a one-track mind.

“What do you want me to do?”

Something gave me pause. I bit my lip nervously.

“What do you want me to do?” she repeated. Déjà vu.

“Haven’t we...sung this song before, ma’am?”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” she said blankly.

“Ah-ha.” I paused to consider the girl as she stood before me, waiting for me to supply her with input. “You know, that’s really typical of Fields and Meadows,” I said more to myself than to her as I belatedly began putting things together.

“Please rephrase,” came her dull response. I wasn’t even listening.

“Those bastards,” I mused, shaking my head incredulously. “I just can’t ever fucking win with those guys...”

“I’m not familiar with that position.”

“You: shut up.”

“Please rephrase.”

“Stupid fucking droids. It figures that those guys wouldn’t even hire a genuine woman for me. Fucking assholes. Let me guess what’s gonna happen if I take my pants off again.” I proceeded to hastily unbuckle my belt.

“That’s the tiniest prick I’ve ever seen in my life!” She gasped loudly, scrunching up her face with derision. She immediately turned to leave.

Before she could, I seized her by the shoulders and shook her violently. I was quick about it, animated by anger, and didn’t even bother to pull my pants back up.

“Who rented you?!” I shouted in her face, specks of spittle showering her face. She hadn’t closed the door to the shabby bedroom, but I didn’t care if everyone in the place heard me. In fact, I wanted them to.

“This unit does not share the identities of clients with – “

“Who, the fuck, rented you?!”

“This unit does not – “ I slammed her again the wall in frustration. I heard a few satisfying crunches and grindings inside of her, followed by sparking noise. She shuddered and jerked in my grasp. I could smell burnt electronics. “It must have been Fields and Meadows, just like they said...”

“ – with the public. Full client confidentiality is guaranteed.”

“Guess what I’m going to do?” She looked at me plainly. “Don’t take this personally...well...since you’re not a person I suppose that’s not something I’ll have to worry myself about...Fields and Meadows paid for you already...now they’re really going to pay for you.”

“With the public – with the public – with the public” she stuttered. Evidently, I had already done some damage. I looked at her tenderly but spoke though gritted teeth. “Though you, I’m going to finally get my revenge on those, fucking...” I couldn’t come up with a word strong enough to describe Fields and Meadows in a manner that sufficiently correspond to my hate.

I flung her against the wall again. I could hear mechanisms working inside of her sputtering smoke and electricity, gasping, breaking down, falling apart. “With the public – with the public – with the public – “ she continued. The room was suddenly filling with smoke. I coughed. “With the public – with the public – with the public – “ When she opened her mouth, I could see bluish-white sparks illuminating her throat.

“How much do you cost?!”

“With the public – with the public – with the public – “ Her voice was raising in pitch and speeding up like a chipmunk.

“How much do you fucking cost, bitch?!”

“Withthepublicwiththepublicwiththepublic...” I slammed her body against the wall again.

“Withthepublicwiththepublicwiththepublic...”

“Fuck you!” I hurled her out of the room and into the hallway. She flew at the concrete wall, rebounded, and landed in a heap on the cold floor. My ears were gratified my an enormous burst of sparks coming from the computerized girl as she mortally short-circuited herself laying on the ground. She didn’t sound like Meadows did when he fell down though; she clattered. Like she was hollow. She was motionless, quiet. I looked at her frail arms, her strong thighs, her narrow shoulders, sloppy black hair. I waddled over to her, my pants still around my ankles. I knelt, put an arm under her chest and flipped her onto her back.

She stared impassively at the ceiling, a warped, robot face, plastic skin; the picture of the phony health that belied eternal deadness.

Numbing bass from upstairs pumped relentlessly. Life goes on. A long moment eased its way past. Smoke began to dissipate. At length, the mechanical vixen fell quiet.

Suddenly, a couple emerged from a nearby room, both looked relaxed, pleased, satisfied, optimistic. Their small talk was cut short when they say me stooping over a busted-up robot hooker. Their smiles faded. Foreheads wrinkled, suspicious, eyes sharpened, eyebrows furrowed. Heads ominously cocked.

I felt like a kid who got caught masturbating by his parents.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Color drained from my face. I looked down at the broken girl, then back up at the couple’s waiting stares. I stammered, “uh, I thought she looked a little wiry for my tastes, but really...” and attempted a laugh. It came out as a nervous, guilty chuckle.

“Oh, and you’re a lousy kisser, too!” the droid said coyly.

----------

I looked around the quiet bar. Both the old barkeep and Steppe were listening. The football game had been switched off. I noticed a few more empty glasses on the bar that hadn’t been there when I began my story.

“So?” asked Steppe. “How about when they busted into your locker? Fields accidentally spilled the beans before the whole thing started, or what? What was all that about?”

“What?”

“Before,” Steppe prompted, “Fields said he and Meadows broke into your locker and then Meadows hushed him up right quick. What did they do?”

“Oh yeah. Well, that’s the real trick of the whole thing. They ‘borrowed’ my card and paid for that robo-hooker for me out of my own account. In advance. So...they got me after all...”

I exhaled audibly. “Took me a while to pay that one down. Not just repairs, either. Lost profits...”

Nobody said anything.

“Thanks for the drinks guys.”

Steppe helped me from my stool onto my wheelchair.

Eudoxia

2009-02-22T07:57:10Z

Lithorien: New page: ARMED FORCES MINISTRY BRANCH 2 INVESTIGATIONS OFFICE DEPARTMENT OF EXPERIMENTAL WEAPONS 6 DIVISION ATTN: COLONEL P. STEEVES RE: CRASH OF ATTACK HELICOPTER NT-3095 IN THE HIMALAYAN PROT...

ARMED FORCES MINISTRY
BRANCH 2 INVESTIGATIONS OFFICE
DEPARTMENT OF EXPERIMENTAL WEAPONS 6 DIVISION

ATTN: COLONEL P. STEEVES

RE: CRASH OF ATTACK HELICOPTER NT-3095 IN THE HIMALAYAN PROTECTORATE

THE FOLLOWING ARE EXCERPTS TAKEN FROM THE TAPE-RECORDED DEPOSITION OF FLIGHT LIEUTENANT JENS G. TAUBE, MCSS 167-8801-6733-5-H, DATED 5/7/2052 THROUGH 5/18/2052 BY BRANCH 2 INVESTIGATOR MAJOR J. WALLANCE, MD, PHD, DDS. THIS TRANSCRIPT IS RELEVANT IN CONNECTION WITH THE INQUIRY INTO THE CRASH OF ATTACK HELICOPTER NT-3095 IN THE HIMALAYAN PROTECTORATE ON 4/01/2052. WHILE NOT OF MAJOR IMPORTANCE TO THE INVESTIGATION, MCSS 167-8801-6733-5-H’S COMMENTS ARE VALUABLE CHIEFLY IN THEIR ABILITY TO CORROBORATE AND HELP VERIFY INFORMATION COLLECTED FROM HIS OWN OFFICIAL DEBRIEFING, THE ON-SITE INVESTIGATION TEAM, THE FLIGHT DATA RECORDER ABOARD THE AIRCRAFT, AND THE PERSONAL DATA RECORDER OF E.W. UNIT 659: ‘EUDOXIA,’ MCSS 167-8818-9540-0-R.

----------

Yeah, we got shot down.

I know you read the damn report.

But so where did it all go wrong for me?

I’ll tell you.

Just get me another cigarette first.

Thanks.

----------

I remember something she said to me once. Oh. Did I say she again? Sorry. Tough habit to break. Thanks for the cigarette, by the way.

Yeah.

It was just after we’d landed. I think it was...we’d just finished up another seek-and-destroy. We’d both gotten out of the aircraft and were walking across the tarmac towards a car to take us to the barracks for our debriefing. I was ready to go get drunk again and fall asleep again. She – it – sorry, was going to go get recharged, or whatever.

I remember very clearly that it was starting to drizzle; I was worried that the moisture in the air might damage her. That is, the unit. I say I was ‘worried’. I mean ‘concerned,’ but only from a technical standpoint. This was before. You know. Everything between me and it. I can see it in it’s green flight suit – same as mine – dripping with rain. Shiny...like slime; sewage. Anyway.

It said: “Sometimes I just think that we were made for each other.”

What was I supposed to say? I mean, it was half right.

----------

Eudoxia was her name. What they called her. What they told me to call her. I looked it up. Greek. “Eu” means “good”. “Doxa” means “giving glory”. So “Eudoxia” means “giving good glory”. Or praise. I still wonder what brain out there cooked-up that name and gave it to her. It. I mean: praising who?

----------

So - you read the report – we got hit. I knew it was a kinetic energy projectile, right off the bat. A surface-to-air missile. One of those hand-held bastards. The whole chopper just shook. It felt like an earthquake in the sky. We were spinning around. Like a crazy merry-go-round. Like anything else. Like life. Alarms and shit started going off. Smoke. Sparks and everything started flying.

We fell like a stone; they hit us right behind the cockpit. Right under the main rotor assembly. Wasn’t even funny. And I was thinking: why me? You know? I’m too young to die. Like everybody else who dies in a war. Yeah: I thought I was dead.

Eudoxia sort of disappeared in the back seat. I didn’t know what had happened to her; if she’d been destroyed or what. She didn’t respond to my screaming over the radio headset, so I gave up on her. There was a lot on my mind just then. I struggled mightily with the controls, but it was no use: we were had.

----------

You listen to the news, read the magazines and papers, watch the tube. It’s easy for a soldier to forget his place. Somebody said something once that I’ll never forget. Of course, I don’t remember who it was. Of all the things to forget, right? Like I wouldn’t rather forget something else, you know? Anyway, whoever it was was talking about good mental health and ‘government’. Government, you understand, can generally be thought of as: gross mismanagement of people on a grand scale. He said: “If we confess ourselves inferior, we do not thereby demean ourselves; for that is the plain truth, and it is always nobler and more honorable to acknowledge the truth.” In other words, it makes psychological sense to affirm our inferiority, thus grounding our confidence in an accurate view of ourselves. No shit. This line I have committed to memory, along with thousands of engine diagrams, weapons specs, combat protocols, evasive procedures, fuel consumption versus airspeed ratios, technical readouts, et cetera.

Why? Never forget that you don’t matter. If you do, you’ll waste your life believing you can make a difference. A lot of disappointments. A lot of disappointments.

----------

The bottom line is that I am not a good enough killer. I’m not efficient enough. I have too many feelings. Too many emotions. Compassion is a liability. You see: it gets in the way of ‘duty’.

Eudoxia is still out there in the field, I guess. Unless she’s been destroyed already, which is a real possibility. Or maybe she’s still flying, but now with a new pilot. I wonder if she can remember me. Or what she’d think if she did remember me. Or if she’d think anything at all. I’ll never see her again, so I won’t get a chance to ask her. If I did see her though – and every night the only thing that will give me enough peace to fall asleep is this: I’d tell her that I remember her. All the time. That’s what I do: remember her.

It.

Christ.

Smoke?

----------

There was something. Hold on. What was it about that official report that pissed me off so much? Gimme a minute; let me think.

Oh yeah. It was paragraph blah, letter: blah-blah, number: blah-blee-blah blah, section: whatever, of appendix: bleedle-de-blee. It said basically that my testimony was “not of great importance” to the program. Do you hear? Moral dissent: “not of great importance”!

----------

The damn things are too hard to fly. That’s what it boils down to. I mean, training takes how long? By the time you’re ready to give it your first real test-fly, you’ve already spent about half a year in the simulators, taking tests, doing coordination training and all that. That’s fine as long as you’re only maintaining a peacetime force. No problemo. But you start taking losses? Serious losses like we were? You can’t replace pilots fast enough. They found that out fast; you just can’t. I found that out too; you just can’t make friends fast enough. They get taken away too quickly.

So what did they do? Somebody had the bright idea of manufacturing replacements. Robots, just like she was. So they were phasing them in, pairing them up with human pilots. Robots were a big help when it came to sifting out the thousands of pieces of information that a pilot has to receive, process, and act upon if he’s in the mood to stay alive. Altitude, wind speed, wind direction, armament compliment and selection, electronic counter-measure deployment, radar, infra-red, target package info, navigation, fuel expenditure rate, target tracking, friend/foe identification, radio intercepts, enciphered communications, yaw, pitch, evasive, auto-hover status, the works. A job and a half, as I’m sure you can appreciate. Pedals, throttles, screens, buttons, knobs, blinking lights, switches, levers. You need eyes like a chameleon. You know: they can rotate independently.

The robot in the back seat made things a lot easier. Talk about un-manned aircraft? Well. I guess I could tell you a thing or two. It worked out pretty well.

Except of course, the tricky little moral-philosophical problem of sending autonomous, totally relentless, totally merciless, robot killing machines out in the stead of flesh-and-blood humans to do war’s dirty-work. Shooting up the poor bastards on the ground. And their wives, mothers, sisters, and children.

Combat performance actually improved too. Bonus, right?

Got another smoke on you?

Thanks.

Light?

----------

Shit. Most soldiers have no idea what’s going on.

I would have fought just as well as a Redcoat, or in the Red Army, or in the brown shirt of a Nazi, or as an American Green Beret. Just give me an order and I’ll follow it. What’s the difference?

No difference. They all fought. A lot of them died. They died not for someone but for something.

So I fell in love with a robot?

I don’t see what’s so special about that.

Humanity has a habit of loving things better than people.

A proud heritage of it, in fact.

----------

Yeah. And somebody else said: Any government is evil...a yoke...since our fate is to be slaves, let us endure our chains without complaint. This time, I think I remember. It was Edmund Burke.

It’s funny. It reminds me of an old Union song the troops sang back during the American Civil War. Sometimes me and my buddies, back when they were still around, would get drunk and sing it together. It goes like this:

”We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.”

And then the chorus:

“The Union forever, Hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitor, Up with the star;
While we rally 'round the flag, boys, rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.”

We never thought about the words that much; it just has a nice melody. We were just drinking and singing. But I’ve been thinking about the words a lot lately. Every single line of it gives me pause now. How many ‘brothers gone before’? Incalculable, surely. Ironic, isn’t it? Soldiers singing about ‘freedom’? ‘Vacant ranks.’ Whose traitor? Traitor to what? Rally around the flag – just like everyone’s supposed to.

----------

Our mission that day was to drop a couple of fuel-air bombs on a village suspected of sympathizing with the enemy. The whole way there, we’d been taking hits from small arms, but that’s not really a big deal. Our choppers handle lots that. You wouldn’t believe the armor they pile onto these babies. The groundfire intensified over the village. We started really getting raked. The bullets impacting the Kevlar underside of the chopper were starting to remind me of the sound of popcorn popping in a microwave. I mean, the action was getting pretty hot. Seemed like the biggest thing they had on the ground was a 20mm cannon, but Eudoxia dealt with the battery handily while I got set to launch our bombs. They really did not want us to drop those bombs. I mean, who wants to get roasted?

The chopper got about 700 kilos lighter when we released the weapons. And then everything was silenced immediately afterwards. As usual, Eudoxia was in top-form. Nary a mistake with her. Big help, as usual. She operated the FLIR and, with the .50 cal made sure that none of the villagers were able to escape the flames. She did a great job too. We stuck around for about fifteen minutes to make well-sure there wouldn’t be any survivors. When there was no longer any movement and smoldering bush was all that remained where there had once been a village, I figured it was ‘mission accomplished’ and we made to high-tail it back home. Job well-done, all-in-a-day’s-work, and so on. I was thinking about a bottle that was standing beside my bed. We hung low, coasting over the treetops on the way back to base, looking for any targets of opportunity. Right then is when we took the hit.

If we’d been hit while we still were carrying the napalm bombs though, it would have been all over right there. Fireworks display to the tune of 45 million dollars, plus whatever the hell Eudoxia cost – which couldn’t be cheap. Oh yeah: and me too. I’m not as valuable though. So I can thank my lucky stars that we’d torched the village first. It’s weird.

----------

So I passed out on the way down. My mask came off. My oxygen supply got interrupted and I blacked out. I didn’t even feel the crash. I guess that’s pretty close to death. At the time, I guess I didn’t really mind; nobody told me if I was dead or not. I don’t recall even having a spare second to wonder anyway. Just blank. Then we were on the ground.

My suffering didn’t start until I woke up and suddenly realized I was alive. I always thought that if a moment like that one ever came – when you realize you’re still alive – that it would be exhilarating. A rush. Well, I even surprised myself. I didn’t want to still be alive. I would never have even known I’d been killed if I’d just stayed out. It was like...a sleeper. You know: “go away – I’m trying to sleep.”

But she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She wanted to protect me.

Did I say ‘she’ again?

God. I need to stop doing that.

----------

Of course, the official report says “uncontrolled contact with ground.” Sounds so bureaucratic. The words just put one more remove between the sensible ‘real world’ of ‘normal people’ and the fucking insanity that led to up to something terrible like that actually happening. I mean, come on: a missile! “Uncontrolled contact with ground” should read: your blood smeared on the inside of the cockpit window. Burned flesh melted to your flight suit like greasy bacon stuck to the cheese on a BLT. Bruised bones. Blindness. Busted teeth, and red-hot dog-tags singeing the hair off your chest. You can’t even move your fingers. Well. That was me.

----------

Yeah, I forget the list of things that the docs gave me after we got rescued. But the main thing was one hell of a concussion. That’s when your brain smacks the inside of your skull and it starts to bleed. Your brain, that is. Bleeds. I don’t know what it was that I hit my head on. I mean, I was strapped-in securely, plus I was wearing a helmet. Even so. So that; plus some broken bones in my right hand, and some serious burns on both of my arms and on my neck. For some reason, all the electronics on board went totally ape-shit after we’d been blasted. My right eye got totally blinded because it got zapped by the laser in the targeting eyepiece when it overloaded. Yeah, I still chuckle about that last part. The irony, you know?

----------

So the next thing I know, everything is still. There was a voice. I cautiously sniffed the air and smelled smoke, pretty thick. It took me a little while to realize what had happened and where I was. Then I started to feel pain. That’s when I thought that I’d prefer death. But the voice persisted. At first it was just this peripheral droning. It slowly got closer to the focus of my senses.

Over time, I perceived that it was a female voice. Sonorous. Demanding. Sounded...ardent. And impressive and heartening for its measure and calm. But all that belied a sense of urgency. It was the need to move. It was motivated by concern for me.

So I cracked open my eyes, and there was this woman looking down at me. Her face was sooty. Her hair was matted, sticking to her face. Her skin was shiny like she was sweating. Her eyes were glowing, as usual. The only thing that seemed amiss was a thin crack in her skin that ran from her hairline down the side of her face, wound all the way down her neck, and disappeared under her flight suit.

I had some real difficulty focusing my eyes; it hurt enough just to open them. At first, I actually thought I was just shaking off a hangover. You know: ‘Oh fuck. Who is this woman?’ Then I began to recall such important details as: oh yeah, I guess we probably crashed.

I concentrated on bringing the name that was stitched onto the breast of the woman’s uniform into focus. “Eu...dox...i...a” in black letters. Then I remembered who it was: Eudoxia. I said I remembered who it was. Not what it was. I was relieved that she seemed okay. My partner, my co-pilot. A friend. After we were hit, I’d given her up for dead. Well, ‘dead’.

There’s no question that I would have died if she hadn’t pulled me out of the wreckage.

----------

It was very strange.

She carried me away from the downed chopper. Carried me. I was in pain, but I felt secure in her arms. I know it’s corny, but fuck that. It’s the truth. I felt like a baby. She was protecting me like a mother. We made it a few miles I guess. She was so strong. By and by, I recovered the strength to half-limp along. I don’t really remember, but I know we made best-speed to get the hell away from the chopper. I forget how far it was, now. But pretty far. And there was a shell crater she found. It had been there for a long time; it was all overgrown by plants. But it made good cover. And, oh yeah, before all that, she had radioed our position and requested evacuation. The radio on the chopper was a train-wreck. But she had her own one built-in. Somebody had been thinking.

Throughout the whole thing, I was perversely humming this really old “Culture Beat” song called “Take Me Away.” Techno from the early nineties, I think. It’s weird, but whatever works, right? It goes like this:

Take me away.

Take me to a place where lovers can be alone (oh yeah).

Take me away.

Take me by the hand and control what is going on (oh yeah).

No matter what we may go through, you’ve got to understand

That I want you, I need you each day.

So take me away.

Take me to a place where lovers can be alone (oh yeah).

I find myself humming that song all the time, lately.

----------

She had bandaged my head. She wasn’t sure if my skull was actually fractured, so she bound my head very tightly. As it turned out, I did have one small hairline fracture, about half an inch long. It constantly felt like the only thing holding my skull together was this tight binding. It felt like it was just squeezing my brain, compounding an already deafeningly agonizing and implacable headache. That was caused by blood sloshing around in my cranium. So I’m told. She also had wrapped it so that the bandages covered my right eye, because, having been pierced by the laser, it was occasionally dribbling fluid through the hole in the cornea and lens whenever I moved it and changed the pressure. What did the docs call that stuff? Gimme a sec. Vitrious Humor. Latin. “Eudoxia” is Greek. But Humor? Fuck that! My eyeball was slowly deflating inside my head. Let me tell you: that hurt. I mean: damn.

She also had my hand wrapped up so that my fingers wouldn’t move. That way, the splinters of bone would be less likely to poke out of the torn bag of blood-soggy skin that used to look like a hand. The white bandages soon hand a few diffuse patches of burgundy as my blood seeped through them. They grew bolder by the hour. Looked like I’d spilled steak sauce all over my flight suit. That was the blood from my head-wound, mostly.

By this time, I was moaning in pain. The burns just killed. You wouldn’t understand the pain. She warned me not to be afraid and that there’d be a slight prick; she was giving me a shot of morphine. She gave it to me so carefully that I barely had time to feel anything before the morphine took over; it’s good stuff.

So after a moment, she gently took off my flight suit and tunic so she could see my body and see the burns. She took the clothes off with such light, nimble fingers that I imagined that she was some kind of fairy or elf that had come from the forest to save me. And every fifteen minutes, around the clock, she would, with unmatched patience and gentleness, coat with salve the rare flesh covering my arms and neck.

----------

She took care of me. But she didn’t just take care of me. She talked to me. Really talked like she cared. For me.

She patiently doled out my water ration to me in tiny bits. There wasn’t much in the canteen and we didn’t know how long we’d have to wait for rescue. But she made sure my throat stayed moist. She said I’d need IV fluids for the burns right away when we got back. She told me beseechingly, I want to say, not to forget to ask for something for my burns as soon as we got rescued. She said they were the most dangerous thing.

With my good eye, I began to see her differently. I started to look at her less like she was a military drone and more like she was a human being, like me. I started to feel guilty about the callous way I had begun to think of her. I too was guilty of the crime of reducing someone to a caricature. In this case, to a mere expression of their utility. That’s the recurring problem. Don’t put things over people, and don’t forget the difference between the two.

She would look down on me. Just look down to make sure I was okay; to make sure I didn’t need anything. And whenever I looked back up, she’d smile and never failed to encourage me. She’d tell me that I was going to make it, and that everything would okay soon. That help was coming. That I wasn’t really injured badly. Just a little longer. She was with me. I was safe.

And her voice. Her voice. So unlike what I was used to hearing. It wasn’t clipped, curt, stern, or matter-of-fact. It sounded concerned. No. More than that. I can’t explain. Sounded – forget it; you’re not going to understand anyway.

I stopped reminding myself that she wasn’t human. What was the point? It felt so much better to suspend disbelief and so imagine that I wasn’t alone. Instead, I encouraged myself to think of her as a real woman. That was my mistake, I suppose. I’ll never live it down. I’ll never get past it.

We have two eyes, right? But we only see one image. The mind and the heart don’t reconcile themselves that easily.

----------

When it got to nightfall and we still hadn’t been rescued, I started to get really scared. I don’t think Eudoxia was capable of being scared. I admired her courage.

I think she realized that I was getting afraid. She reminded me that she had a built-in beacon and that our guys would follow it and find us.

Every time there was a rustling of branches, Eudoxia would spring up and level her snub-nosed submachine gun at the source of the disturbance. Her movements were quick and graceful; she moved silently. She looked heroic with her finger on the trigger and her eye on the 2.5 X scope. It was comforting to know that she was there.

The night lasted forever. I was in constant pain and in a more-or-less constant state of alarm.

----------

Eventually, I asked Eudoxia how she was doing. I knew she was ‘wounded’ too, after a fashion. I didn’t ask just to make conversation, and no matter how it looks, I didn’t ask out of self interest. I knew that, in this situation, if something was wrong with Eudoxia, I was likely to die since, in my injured condition I couldn’t take care of myself. I needed her a lot more than she needed me. But that’s not why I asked; I asked because I genuinely cared about her. In fact – and I’m still trying to figure out why – I cared more about her at that moment than I cared about myself. We were in this shit together – you know: ‘behind enemy lines’, and all that shit – and she was in as much danger as I was. I wanted to show her that I cared; to show her that I wouldn’t ever leave her.

She told me about what happened when we were struck. She had been jacked into the chopper’s electrical system. Part of the reason was so that she could communicate more efficiently with the helicopter, see what its sensors were picking up, control it, and all that. And also, she was drawing electricity from the turbine engines. Apparently, she just eats up electricity. When we got hit, the same power surge that made my targeting eyepiece overload and burst my eyeball basically knocked her out of commission for those crucial moments after the explosion when we were falling.

She had everything under control now. But she said the overload blew out a whole shitload of electrical switches in her body. It took her a minute to get herself back under control. And that big crack in her skin – her head got busted into the left bulkhead of the cockpit. That’s probably the same way I hit my head. But damn. She was tough.

The crack was getting worse every time she moved. The two folds of plastic were getting looser and splitting farther apart from each other. It looked a little macabre. She began to look positively un-human. The plastic skin of her face wasn’t lining up right with what was underneath, so it looked bizarre whenever her lips and jaws moved when she spoke. Occasionally, the plastic would twist or bulge in such a way that I’d catch a very startling glimpse of white plastic ‘bone’ or teeth. Down her neck, it was a similar story. When she looked down on me, the skin-colored plastic sheath around her throat would part to reveal an intricate weaving of wires, metal rods, plastic coils and stuff. Fortunately, the damage only seemed superficial.

Here’s one weird thing I remember. With her skin split open like that – I guess that’s what did it – I could tell that she smelled inside like a new car. Weird, huh?

Even with reminders like these, I still persisted with my fantasy. I refused to admit that she was a fabrication.

----------

There were a lot of bugs where we were hiding. We were laying in a thicket of bushes. The rains had come, and there was a considerable volume of standing water at the bottom of our crater. I distinctly remember something that occurred to me at that time, just as Eudoxia was removing another large insect from my hair. They stayed away from her, but were drawn to my body heat. Even now – especially now – this idea seems to have a ring of truth about it.

I imagined that all of humanity was simply a genetically-engineered race, developed in time-immemorial, by roaches. The mission of mankind was to eliminate all natural predators of roaches, in other words, all forms of life on earth more complex than a roach, by scientific means. Nuclear, biological, chemical, ballistic. Thus, mankind would rid the roaches of the world of all danger and, at the same time, provide the roaches with ample sources of food –garbage, waste, and corpses- and convenient habitations. The highest purpose of mankind, as I saw it, was to facilitate the interplanetary dispersal of a vast empire of vermin. Humans were mere carriers of the true master race. Eventually, having eradicated all other life, mankind would remove itself from the earth, self-destructing in the orgy of total war. Roaches would then rule undisputed. In my pain and morphine-induced delirium, I slept peacefully. I found this cause far more noble than the one for which I had heretofore imagined myself to be struggling.

----------

When I woke up, Eudoxia was starting to lose her poise. Her face was undeniably starting to fall off. The plastic skin had stretched itself out too much and wasn’t staying on very wel. I still thought she was beautiful, but I have to concede that she was starting to look more like a subject of a Salvador Dali painting than a human – or even a reasonable facsimile thereof.

She warned me that I couldn’t absolutely rely on her anymore; there was nothing to protect her guts from the bugs and the humidity. But, she told me that she’d stick with me as long as she could. Meanwhile, she was also starting to run herself out of energy. She said that her time was limited. She apologized. Can you believe that?

She said: “I’m sorry I can’t help you anymore.”

With those last words to me, Eudoxia promptly slumped over in a heap. Her eyes were open and staring into the grass. At the sight of her, my heart leapt into my throat: my first thought was that she had died. Alone, without her to sooth my anguish, I looked at the situation and began to cry. I felt totally abandoned. Totally. It’s a spooky thing.

Of course, she wasn’t actually dead. Well, strictly speaking, I suppose she was dead...but no more than usual. So her battery ran out and she quietly turned off. Probably hauling my weight overland for however long it was didn’t help her. So in that regard, she did make a sacrifice for me.

But it’s weird. People can turn off too. They just don’t turn back on though. Next day, they found me.

----------

At night, in my bunk, I only think about her. Even if her hands were metal underneath, they devoted themselves to healing me. I don’t know what to make of that; you tell me.

----------

You know, in retrospect, I know that it didn’t actually care about me. I was an asset to the military. I told you already how short the army was coming up in pilots. Therein laid my value. She was preserving a military tool: me. Nevermind that I had a name and parents and feelings to go along with my serial number.

It came down to one thing.

Utility. How you are used. What things use people for.

She’s forgotten me, for sure. I’m positive. Things have made her forget me.

----------

THE PERFORMANCE OF THE E.W. UNIT 659: ‘EUDOXIA,’ MCSS 167-8818-9540-0-R WAS EXEMPLARY. IT OPERATED ABOVE ALL EXPECTATIONS. THE PROBLEM OF EXTENDING BATTERY TIME IN THE ABSENCE OF AN EXTERNAL POWER SUPPLY WILL HAVE TO BE ADDRESSED AND OVERCOME. HOWEVER, BASED IN PART ON THIS DESCRIPTION OF THE UNIT’S PERFROMANCE, THE DEPARTMENT OF EXPERIMENTAL WEAPONS 6 DIVISION RECOMMENDS THE ACCELERATION OF THE PROGRAM IN ALL AREAS OF THE ARMED FORCES BE CARRIED OUT WITH ALL AVAILABLE RESOURCES. THIS IS THE NEXT STEP TOWARDS A TOTAL AUTOMATION AND MECHANIZATION OF ALL COMBAT FORCES.

MANY OF MCSS 167-8801-6733-5-H’S REMARKS ARE DISTINCTLY DEFEATIST, AND POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS. A SEPARATE COPY OF THIS TRANSCRIPT HAS BEEN FORWARDED TO BRANCH 6 MORALE OFFICE OF THE POLITICAL DEPARTMENT.

END

Dienst

2009-02-22T07:55:57Z

Lithorien:

“Being understanding...”

----------

Eyes framed in a rearview mirror. I tried but couldn’t see much emotion in them. Now it was game time. I pulled a pair of shades out of the breast pocket of my vest. Muscles in my jaw tightened reflexively. My eyes weren’t visible behind the dark glass. Bad-Ass Mode: Engaged.

----------

Before I got out of the car, I made sure that I had everything I’d need for the job. Car keys. Chewing gum. Multiple forms of forged I.C. identification. Leather gloves. Light-rail tickets. Cell-phone. Black-market electronics interface rig. A small tool-kit. And one last thing.

I pulled my pistol out of its magnetic holster under my left shoulder. It was an HK Mark 23. 9 millimeter. It was loaded with a 12 round magazine plus one additional round that I checked was already in the chamber. It weighed 1.876 kilograms, fully loaded. This figure includes the sound and flash suppressor that I had the option of attaching to end of the muzzle so that I wouldn’t disturb the sleep of the innocent. The suppressor was in the right inside breast pocket of my jacket, the holster on the left.

Through the heavily tinted windows, I looked left. I looked right. There was no motion to be seen. I checked the rearview. Nothing there either. Blank concrete of a parking garage. A deep breath. Hold. Then exhale. Opened the door. Muggy outside. Stepping out of the car, I was careful not to plant my foot in a puddle of rainbow-hued oil and screw up my expensive and shiny shoes. Before my sunglasses fogged up, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the car’s windows; not a bad-looking young man. Serious, clean-shaven, and well dressed. He looked calculating, hard. It didn’t seem like me. The weather was much too hot for my suit and jacket, but I had a weapon to conceal and a persona to assume. The air was dirty and sticky. Door slammed, locked. I was sweating before the alarm even activated.

I took a moment to look at the time. 18:48:12. I was abandoning the vehicle. I would do the job. Ditch the weapon. Phone my handler. Then ditch the cell-phone too. Get on the light-rail. To a safe-house in time to catch the morning broadcast of the I.C.network.news, which would be reporting the assassination of one Mr. Wurst of the Integrated Conglomerates.

I moved. It was getting dark. Stuck with the shades anyway.

----------

All that I could hear was my breath and my footsteps. Besides me, the garage was empty of people. When the elevator came, it was empty too. I stepped inside and with a gloved hand, pressed the button to get me to the ground level. The doors didn’t close immediately; I punched the button repeatedly. A courteous female voice announced: “Please stand clear of closing doors.” The doors ponderously shut on the massive chamber of fluorescent lights, cracked cement, and parked vehicles radiating captured heat. The elevator was air-conditioned, comfortable. The same voice unevenly reminded me that “every day, the Integrated Conglomerates are proving that miracles can happen.” I could almost hear the woman’s forced, saccharine smile over the tinny speaker. A violin concerto was playing softly in the background. “but the Integrated Conglomerates need you to help them to help you: you can show your support by ignoring the Boycott. Buy quality Integrated Conglomerates products.” I observed the descent of the elevator to street-level through plate-glass. Down one floor after another. Swoosh, swoosh. The voice went on and on. “Remember to thank the next Integrated Conglomerates security officer you see for making the world a safer place.” She sounded so warm. “Do not hesitate to report seditious speech or acts. Denunciations that result in a conviction can earn you the credits you and your family need.” Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.

----------

Flicking my wrist impatiently, I flashed my forged I.C. ID at one of the policemen. My step was one of forced briskness; it was an attempt to exude the arrogance of an I.C. Man. The paramilitary hack regarded me and then, realizing I wasn’t stopping anyway, nodded to me and dismissively waved me by. I stepped past the Integrated Conglomerates barricade and guardhouse that protected the entrance to the concrete, fortress-like, multi-level parking garage and out into the evening street.

Six lanes of hellish traffic zoomed and blared their horns; a flood of headlights and taillights and speeding metal. I stood and looked at the scene while going for my pack of chewing gum. I put a piece into my mouth and tried to chew it nonchalantly. Cinnamon. Other people were wearing one of two things: rags or one of a variety of paramilitary Integrated Conglomerates uniforms. My posh suit and jacket called attention to me. Not much I could do about that now though. Once I got to the hotel, I would look like a normal I.C. Man and be above all suspicion. It was only a few blocks away.

Cameras of every shape and size and on every eave and street sign monitored the crowds along the streets. Electronic eyes were always vigilant. Microphones embedded in walls and hidden in telephone booths, bus stops, and garbage receptacles recorded all ongoing conversations. Law Enforcement agents were a prominent feature of the scene ever since the Party System had been swept away by the Integrated Conglomerates. Uniformed Police, Corporate Police, Military Police, Criminal Police, Political Police, Secret Police, Uniformed Secret Police, Corporate Criminal Police, Uniformed Secret Corporate Police, Uniformed Corporate Criminal Secret Military Political Police, the works. These mercenaries were ubiquitous. They were listening and watching in front of every closed shop, at every red streetlight, behind every aching back, reading between narrow lines, catching everything the cameras and mikes missed.

I entered the human overflow that existed at street-level.

Heading south on foot to the address I had memorized, the desperate masses seethed around me. Beggars, some living and some dead, littered the hot, filth-splashed pavement. Unhealthy children played vicious games with improvised toys made out of bits of garbage while their mothers stewed rats on steam-belching grates and sold their pestilential bodies for a smoke or a hit or a drink or a ride anywhere else. Men shook fists and shouted and haggled and battled and wept. I attracted some looks; everything else was the color of rust.

----------

5101 West Satisfaction Avenue. It was a hotel. Gated, guarded, privileged, and secure. Mr. Wurst was a guest of the hotel. He was an Integrated Conglomerates higher-up. He was lodged in room 051081. Alone. That was the word.

I ascended the steps past a pair of hulking, heavily armed robot StormGuards, emblazoned with the hated I.C. logo, and a dense row of huge concrete planters in front of the hotel. Panning cameras monitored my movements.

----------

Automatic sliding doors opened and I passed out of the smog and heat, din and poverty, into a well-guarded bubble of opulence. The private army of Integrated Conglomerates security guards eyed me suspiciously from behind their one-way mirrors. I flashed my identification in the direction of one of the guard-booths. I couldn’t see the police behind the glass, but I knew they were there. I could sense beady eyes darting over my body like flies: lighting on me here one moment, then gone, then back somewhere else. There was no escaping them. The best I could do was to try to look in-control, at-ease, and inconspicuous as I tensely imaged their truncheons, boots, tasers, and sidearms. I took off my shades and tucked them back into the breast pocket of my vest. Blinking slowly, I surveyed the multi-level lobby, and the further security forces posted there. Gleaming marble floors with brass candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Red carpets spread ostentatiously on the steps, which were flanked by stone statues. Game-trophy heads of boars, deer, lions, etc. lined the walls. An electronic player piano near the center of the lobby gently intoned an elegant ambiance. The mezzanine was overlooked by a wrap-around balcony; there was a restaurant on the second level. A small fountain collecting coins completed the lavish atmosphere.

I sat in the lobby, as per the plan. There were big, black, soft leather sofas lining the walls, just like they told me there would be. I chose one near the restroom door and sat down. After daintily removing my gloves, I picked up a newspaper. The headline: “INDUSTRIAL FACTION OF INTEGRATED CONGLOMERATES PROPOSES TOTAL BAN ON ALL PARTIES – UNITY THE ANSWER”. Then, a subscript: “Social Equalitists, Pleb Order, Human Labor Front, Spartacus League, All Respond with Mob Violence and Renewed Calls for Employment, more on page three”. I wasn’t really looking at the paper though. I was peering over the top of the newspaper, watching everything that happened in the cavernous room. A bedraggled-looking pleb tried to effect entrance into the lobby because it had suddenly begun to rain outside. Mother Nature was dropping acid. A robot concierge called a Uniformed Corporate Military policeman to handcuff the man and lead him away. A young boy, obviously the offspring of wealthy parents, was crying beside a gilded candy machine. He was imploring a ‘male’ robot bellhop to help him find his mother and father, both of whom evidently had more important things on their minds than their child. The bellhop was not programmed to respond to the boy.

Another man, this one in an expensive Integrated Conglomerates business suit, was led out of the building and hustled into a limousine under heavy escort. This momentarily startled me, but when I looked at his face, I realized he wasn’t my target. Yet he seemed familiar. It took a moment, but I soon recalled that I had seen his face on I.C.network.news within the last day or two. His name escaped me, but I remembered that he was somehow associated with some of the more major recent layoffs. I think he came across on the news like the front-man for the whole operation. In tow of the group were a pair of ‘male’ robot porters, each laden with the I.C. Man’s baggage.

People were being thoroughly searched as they attempted to pass through the banks of metal-detectors in front of the elevators. The lobby was as far as you could get before you hit security. Nothing unusual. Scrutinizing of credentials. Papers, please. I looked at my watch. And I kept looking at my watch. After twenty-three minutes, I had gone over the newspaper three times and was starting to get worried about drawing attention. I was well-enough fed and more than well-enough dressed to keep Security off of my trail for a little while, but anyone who sits alone in a hotel lobby for that long is bound to be noticed by trigger-happy young men in uniform trying to hang on to a really good job. Besides: I was sick of half-reading about wage-decreases and food-riots, interspersed with positive-sounding I.C. propaganda advertisements.

Just as I was thinking about going for a walk around the block and stretching my legs I saw exactly what I needed. I glanced at my watch. 19:14:39. A ‘female’ maid was pushing a large cart filled with clean towels, toilet paper, soaps, lotions, perfumes, and every other luxury imaginable. She cleared the metal detectors in front of the endless banks of elevators and headed briskly to the lobby restroom, ostensibly to do some cleaning. Of course, she set off the metal detector when she passed through. I’d been told that she would; we were counting on that. The guard that was stationed there turned the alarm off immediately.

Of course she set off the metal-detector. ‘She’ was a robot. There’s always something about them. You can always tell just by looking at them; the jerkiness of the movements, the pallor of the skin, the overall too-made-up appearance. Something. The guard went back to frisking the working-class schoolgirls accompanying upper-crust I.C. Men on their way to the hotel’s bedrooms, without skipping a beat. Today was a normal day. Nothing unusual. Routine. This is why the attacker always has the advantage.

Unhurriedly, I folded the newspaper up and gently set it back onto the table’s surface. I pulled my gloves back on tight, stretching my fingers. Right now, the mission mattered; Bad-Ass Mode: Engaged. The maid was pushing her cart through the door of the restroom. I stood, cocked my head sideways, first slowly to the left side, and then to the right. Each time, I was gratified by a series of crunches and pops as the vertebrae settled themselves comfortably between cartilaginous discs. Felt nice. Oh. Oh yeah. Ahh. Better. I adjusted my silk tie and smoothed out my vest smartly. I straightened my jacket, my patent-leather shoes clicking on the polished stone as I strode to complete the first phase of my mission.

----------

I pushed the door aside and followed the maid into the restroom. It was a spacious area, built to the same grand scale as everything else in the hotel. There was a row of open doors lining one wall; each one was a completely enclosed stall. They were all vacant except one. The red light beside the polished handle indicated that it was occupied. The door-handles were shiny brass.

I walked to a sparkling urinal and proceeded to take a monster piss in it. When I was finished, I stood there with my fly unzipped and waited. And waited. The reflection of the room that I could see on the smooth porcelain fixture was so clear that I was able to observe everything that the maid was doing. I couldn’t make my move until the lavatory, besides the robot maid and I, was empty.

The maid was definitely a droid. Her movements were all sharp angles, stilted and slow. She was dressed in a kinky little black-and-white uniform that was purposely designed to be somewhat provocative. The black blouse barely had sleeves at all; they ended in a lacey white ruffle that left most of her upper-arm revealed. In the bright fluorescent lighting of the restrooms, her skin radiated an unnatural sheen. Periodically, the maid would halt and a pattern of faint beeps and clicks would emanate from her and echo around the room as microprocessors exerted themselves over this task or another.

She turned away from me to refill one of the automatic soap dispensers. Even in the porcelain reflection of the urinal, I could observe that same, almost unhealthy, look of the skin on the backs of her legs. Her puffy black skirt was cut very high, its lace trim only coming about halfway down her thighs. Her legs were a little bit too slender, her waist a tad too skinny, to seem quite normal. She was about my height.

She turned back to her cart. The skirt billowed slightly upward as she spun. A freshly pressed and starched white apron was tied tightly around her hips and covered her lap. Her shiny black high-heels clacked on the bright tiles. I might as well have not even been there, as far as she was concerned. She had a job to do.

After I tensely watched the maid perform her programmed routines for some time, the lock on the one closed stall was loudly unlatched; the noise echoed in the room. The toilet flushed automatically. Finally, its occupant, a Uniformed Corporate policeman, stepped out with boots gleaming. The guard’s eyes looked me warily up and down with practiced arrogance. He went to wash his hands in the sink, conspicuously watching me all the while. From my station at the urinal, I looked straight at him and didn’t smile. Seeing that I was not one to be intimidated, he coughed, adjusted his smart little cap with a slight bow, and left hurriedly.

The air was cool. The tiles were smooth and white. Stainless steel fixtures and spotless mirrors reflected only two figures on their lustrous surfaces: the maid and I. I zipped up my fly with a little difficulty; the maid’s appearance had affected me. I tried to keep my mind on my mission, but my dick had gotten distracted, and not without good reason. Her low-cut blouse, her bare arms, slim waist, ironed and fresh uniform, her face. The quasi-human maid had my heart beating fast.

I pushed desire out of my mind. I needed to hijack her. I walked over to her.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, ma’am.” Quiet voice. Hands remained politely at my sides. I approached her sheepishly, like a savvy wolf always does. She stood directly between me and an open stall door. I steeled myself. She’s just a make-believe innocent person; this will just be like changing the time on an alarm clock. I nonchalantly placed a piece of chewing gum in my mouth. Cinnamon. I noticed a thin silver necklace carrying a pendant with an Integrated Conglomerates logo carried around her slender, rubber neck.

“Hello valued guest. Is there some way I can help you?” Her mouth moved as she spoke, but it came off as a clumsy attempt to lip-sync. Her mouth’s movements were exaggerated. There was a speaker back there somewhere. She beeped softly. You could always tell an android. Her eyes were wide open, lending her a perhaps manically attentive but overall pleasant expression. Her face may have had one too many stark angles and been one shade too white, her nose one degree too thin and sharp, but it altogether created the effect of a rather aristocratic look. Her long, dark, curly locks were pulled back and kept out of her face by a velvet black hair band complete with lacey white frills. She turned to face me completely. I had maneuvered her into position. Perfect.

I grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her away from me roughly, and shoved her metal weight into the nearest stall.

“What are you doing, valued guest?” she said innocently with perfect, straight teeth.

I slammed the stall-door closed with one foot and used the rest of my weight to shove the Maid against the wall. There was barely enough room for both of us to fit. One hand went to lock the latch. Heard a loud click. I’m sure the little red ‘occupied’ light was activated on the other side. With my other hand, I grabbed the small laminated tool kit out of a hidden pocket sewn into the inside of my jacket.

I roughly pulled up the back of the maid’s shirt. Her back was practically just a flat sheet of white plastic. In the center was a removable panel

“What are you doing, valued guest?” Something started beeping faster.

“Quiet.”

Using a small electric screwdriver, I had the panel in the middle of her back off within seconds. Four tiny screws: Zrrrr, Zrrrr, Zrrrr, Zrrrr. I kept track of where each one landed on the tile floor. Then I yanked the panel out and flung it to the floor. It clattered: plastic on tile. I flung away the screwdriver.

“Warning: illegally tampering with Integrated Conglomerates property is punishable by fine, imprisonment, or Special Penalty.” Next I ripped a small but high-powered pen-light out of the kit. Holding it tensely in my teeth and using it to illuminate her dark interior, I jacked the black-market interface rig into her now-exposed manual-interface port. I logged on to her system. I knew that time was critical. My hands moved nimbly. They were practiced. Very little conscious thought was involved at all. It was all business. But my heart was pumping at a thousand beats per minute.

“This is a reminder: Citizen non-compliance with Integrated Conglomerates directives can result in loss of consumer privileges.”

“Relax baby, this won’t hurt a bit...”

“You do not have authorization to interface with this unit.”

“I know that.”

Ordinarily, units like this maid receive commands via wireless from a central computer. Since I couldn’t access this computer, I had to fall back on manual input via the port in her back which was exposed when I pulled off her panel. Before that input device would become active however, I first had to suspend her normal wireless input failsafes. For this, I needed to physically disconnect this hardware component and replace it with my own receiver. I reached carefully in and gave the hookup a sharp tug; a plug came out in my hand.

Her head jerked sharply to one side, setting her whole frame off-balance. She was making it hard for me to see what I was doing. Bundles of wire jostled this way and that, getting in my way. One of her arms spasmed sharply, accompanied by the angry sound of a buzzing motor. Maybe it was just me, but she sounded alarmed.

“Warning: danger of electric shock.”

“Oh shit.” I froze.

I didn’t even have time to think before I got one of my gloves melted by a shower of crackling blue sparks from some fried component or another inside her. For an instant, everything in the tiny stall was cast in sharp black-and-white relief, deep shadows, like when lightning strikes. I ignored the pain, but could smell that the hair on the back of my hand had been singed off. Fortunately, it hurt me more than it hurt her. I half-noticed some black, charred spots on her skirt and blouse. I glanced at the screen on the interface. It told me that the operation had been a success. I had deactivated her message transmitter without disrupting her normal Radio Frequency ID signal. Everything seemed fine to the central computer.

“Destruction of Integrated Conglomerates property will be severely punished.”

“I know that, baby...that was an accident...”

“Security Forces will be notified of your activities if you do not stop tampering with this product at once.”

“No, I don’t think so...” I mumbled. Using the interface rig now, I searched for her emergency protocols and took them off-line. Piece of cake. But I wasn’t off the hook; I still needed to hurry before anyone else entered the restroom before my job with the maid was done.

Having disabled her connection with the central computer, all that I needed to do was install my own receiver so that I could give her my own commands via wireless. I removed the tiny device from the toolkit and spat my chewing-gum out into my hand. It was just a little piece of metal, really, but it would change her wireless input frequency from the Hotel’s to my own short-range radio transmitter built into the interface rig. It was a crude and temporary fix, but it was a proven technique that worked. It took a little time and a little teasing-out and a lot of squinting before I got it. But at least it worked. Finally, she was hardwired and ready to go.

“Awaiting input,” she said calmly.

“Awaiting input.” She stood stiffly facing the wall. I removed the interface jack and wound it up.

“Awaiting input.” I started to replace the panel. One by one, the screws went back in.

“Awaiting input.”

It worked; illegally modified contra-band goods obtained on the black-market are sweet. I had corrupted her; she had been overcome. And I had done it without breaking anything. Well, basically. The main thing was that one of the Integrated Corporation’s own mechanical minions had been subverted; the maid was now under my control.

I unlatched the stall door and stepped out. The maid followed obediently in my tow. I quickly stepped over to her cart.

The cart suddenly looked smaller. Maybe too small. But it was the plan.

I opened the lid and climbed into the basket.

----------

My electronics interface rig was overriding the hotel’s own radio input band. The maid was transmitting to me all the information her sensors picked up. Through her, I could also access and selectively transmit information to the hotel’s wireless intranet network. Now I decided to go through with my own little unique twist on the mission.

Via the maid’s wireless intranet transmitter, which of course was set to the hotel’s central computer’s frequency, I placed an order for a 12-ounce steak, rare, to be prepared to be delivered to room number 051081, along with a chilled bottle of very oldest wine in the hotel’s possession: 1998 vintage. Very expensive items. My call would be interpreted by the hotel’s automated service system (ASS) as having come directly from room number 051081 itself. On a parallel system, I then tasked “my” maid, unit number 0-2-8, for the pickup and delivery.

----------

On my orders, the maid, her cart, and I, all passed through the restroom door. Being concealed in the fetal position by balled-up towels and transported in a laundry basket by a robot maid through a high-security area was a strange experience. I had never done this before, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I heard the motors in 0-2-8’s legs squeal into a higher gear to compensate for the extra weight in her cart – me.

I couldn’t see anything, obviously, through the stainless steel cabinet that I was hidden in. I could also barely breathe. The air soon became uncomfortably hot and moist. My shirt had become untucked. Motors and servos in the maid’s leg buzzed and whined softly as she walked. Because I was literally only inches away from the mechanical servant and all that separated us was some bunched-up towels and a few millimeters of metal, I could hear the operation of her internal mechanisms clearly. And with her jerky movements, she hardly gave me a smooth ride.

I held my uplink module two inches in front of my face and could observe on its screen everything that the maid saw. Her arms were outstretched, her hands mechanically grasping the handle of the cart. At the very bottom of the screen, I could just see a hint of the twin swells of her breasts.

She steered us back through the metal-detectors. With gritted teeth, I prepared myself to hear the alarm briefly sound. I held my breath and refused to move a fiber of muscle; I was as still as a reptile as the maid transported me past the security checkpoint. My eyes clamped shut in agonizing anxiety. I was too terrified to tremble; being discovered would obviously mean interrogation and summary execution: “Special Penalty”. I didn’t dare to breathe. To think that my life was suspended by a single piece of cinnamon chewing gum...

And then we cleared the security measures. No problem; everything according to plan, just how I like it. My heart rate slowed. I saw in the monitor that we were approaching the banks of elevators. My hand now started to sting from the burn that the maid’s blast of sparks had inflicted.

I was almost surprised that it worked. I had gotten through; so would my message, before the night was up. There’s nothing that can’t be overcome by skill and proper planning.

----------

I heard an electric chime. The elevator had arrived. We stepped inside. Then I heard the doors softly close behind us. With a few simple keystrokes on my interface rig, I ordered the maid to hit the button for sub-level five; that was the floor where I had been told that the kitchen was located. We were on the way. Thus far, everything had gone flawlessly according to plan.

Using the maid again, I scanned the elevator. From inside the laundry basket, it was impossible for me to have any inkling of what was going on around me. This sensory deprivation actually surprised me; when we were planning this mission, I never really appreciated what it would mean to have to rely solely on the maid’s limited sensors for all of my information. My face glowed light blue in the light cast off by the rig’s LCD screen. I gently manipulated a touchpad on the interface module and the maid obligingly swiveled her pretty little head around. I heard another one of her small motors buzz obligingly. Followed orders. Good.

I found that an extremely well dressed woman shared the elevator with us. I commanded the maid, with her head half-turned, to pause and focus on the lady’s face, just for the hell of it; just because I could and it was fun. The woman’s head expanded to fill my screen as the maid’s cameras zoomed-in close. I could tell our temporary companion was aging, but doing everything possible, regardless of the costs, to maintain the appearance of youth and vitality. Surgery, make-up, hair-implantation, hair-removal, more surgery, implants, reductions, wax, mud, more make-up, recombinant DNA tissue re-sampling, grafts, the works. The expensive works. With the maid, who was obviously a robot but was still prettier than she was, staring right into her face for a conspicuous moment, the woman became noticeably uncomfortable. She cleared her throat haughtily and refused to return the maid’s gaze, preferring the blank wall of the elevator.

I was startled to hear the maid speak up on her own accord.

“How are you finding your stay, Valued Guest?” It was muffled through the layer of towels and linen that I had concealed myself with, but it sounded nauseatingly cheery and patently fabricated in a jerky, monotonous, Integrated Conglomerates, robotic sort of way. Her words appeared on the bottom of my screen.

The woman hesitated, surprised and not quite knowing how to reply. I sensed that she wanted to make a caustic remark but couldn’t quite find the words. A reply stuck in her throat and floundered there.

Motors in the maid’s neck buzzed and her head faced forward again with an abrupt jerk. The elevator doors before her at once parted. The woman was already ancient history in the mechanical mind of maid number 0-2-8. On to the kitchen.

I heard a muffled, exasperated “Well!” behind us. My maid kept walking. I found myself liking 0-2-8’s style.

The doors closed and the women continued her descent.

----------

There were a few human chefs in the kitchen keeping an eye on things, but for the most part, everything was automated. Slicers, dicers, peelers, cookers, conveyers, dumb-waiters, scrubbers, sprayers, cutters, boilers, fryers, refrigerators, ovens, mixers, the works. It all contributed to an unheard-of racket in the sterile chamber of white tile and stainless steel. Banging, clanking, grinding, rumbling, sizzling, the works.

But the smell. It was incredible; nothing could have prepared me for the surprise. It was too magnificent. I could sense all types of food being prepared. Fresh bread baking, meat sizzling, sliced citrus fruits, sweets, too many to describe. Heavy, rich, thick. It makes my stomach hurt now to remember that smell and yet not have anything to eat. It cries in acid pain. It hurt then too; I was hungry. Plebs always are.

Maid number 0-2—8 did not have a sense of smell, or much of any other kind of sense either, for that matter. No sense, no real sensations, no sensibility. She went to the pick-up station. It was a long countertop filled with orders waiting to be delivered. 0-2-8 selected the appropriate silver platter and set it with mechanical precision atop her cart.

----------

We got back into one of the several dozen elevators and zoomed to the fifty-first floor. No one else got on; it was getting late.

When the doors opened, a long corridor was spread before us, lit softly by incandescent lamps and lined with statues, paintings, mirrors, and potted plants.

The maid walked to room number 051081. The numbers filled my screen. Her bare, slender arm reached out and rang the bell beside the door. A moment passed. She was more patient than I was.

Through the towels, I faintly heard several locks disengage.

Through the maid’s electronic eyes, I watched Mr. Wurst answer the door. He stood in the doorway. It was the right man. He matched the images prepared for me by my handlers. He wore a loose-fitting robe.

“Room service.”

“I didn’t – “

I commanded the maid to enter the room. The cart suddenly jerked to start. 0-2-8 almost bowled Mr. Wurst over as she roughly pushed right through him and into the room.

“Well!”

She pulled the door closed behind her and locked it, on my orders. The moment of truth. I was shaking violently with fear and excitement.

----------

The maid pushed the cart into the center of a tremendous room.

It was familiar to me; everything corresponded exactly with the information I had been given. The furnishings were heavy, intricately carved and inlaid wood. There was a four-poster bed with royal blue comforters and massive velvet drapes. The carpet was a deep blue color and was about three centimeters deep. A small fountain filled with smooth stones gurgled softly. Gentle piano music quietly played through hidden speakers. There was also a heavy wooden table with two chairs pulled up to it. Perfect.

I pulled out my gun and burst out of the laundry basket, leveling the weapon at Mr. Wurst. He gasped.

“Have a seat.”

----------

I sat across the table from Mr. Wurst. 0-2-8 placed the platter of food before the I.C. Man and decorously removed its lid. Steam billowed up from the food, along with a delicious aroma that filled the magnificent room. After placing this lid back onto her cart, 0-2-8, beeping modestly, spread a richly decorated cloth napkin over Mr. Wurst’s lap and pushed his seat up to the table. She laid out his silverware in perfect order. Steak knife, butter knife, dinner fork, soup spoon, the works. Mr. Wurst was confused.

0-2-8 picked up the chilled bottle of wine, beeped softly, and uncorked it. She filled Mr. Wurst’s glass with the red wine. She then pulled from her cart a large dispenser of crushed pepper and held it over Mr. Wurst’s dish. She began to twist the top vigorously, sprinkling fresh pepper.

“Thank you, that’s fine.” Mr. Wurst’s voice was high and hoarse. He sounded like he was in puberty. He cleared his throat quietly.

“Bon Appetit,” 0-2-8 curtsied elegantly.

Nothing happened.

“Eat.”

I put the gun heavily on the table in front of me.

Mr. Wurst eyed me fearfully from behind his pinched nose and reading glasses, as he picked up the correct fork and knife. He licked his lips and swallowed. Dark blood flooded through the punctures as the tines of Mr. Wurst’s fork sunk into the meat. It flowed out over the immaculate flesh and created a pool of blood on the shining porcelain dish, inlaid with silver. As his knife sliced through the meat, even more blood welled-up. Piercing his first bite with the stainless-steel fork and lifting it, with a quivering hand, to his lips, Mr. Wurst clearly understood the mockery I was making of him. I watched carefully as Mr. Wurst ate. The impotent servant number 0-2-8, stood by conscientiously.

Frequently, Mr. Wurst eyed the gun I had placed in front of me. Whereas he had a plate laden with expensive finery and corporeal pleasure, I had only the cold metal of a gun. I reached into the right inside pocket of my jacket and took out the silencer. I slowly screwed it onto the end of the barrel. The episode was beautifully metaphorical, and the fact did not escape Mr. Wurst, a man of elegance, taste, and education. Pleb meets Patrician. The candles began to slowly melt down.

Throughout the meal, neither Mr. Wurst nor I spoke. He tried to look neither at me, nor at the gun that I had placed on the table in front of me. Instead, he concentrated on his meal. Asparagus, sharp, creamy cheese, a mushroom sauce, steaming rolls, heavy butter. His elbows stayed off the table; he chewed with his mouth closed. I bore a hole through him with my stare.

Maid number 0-2-8 stood by with the patience of a machine. She remained beside the table, right behind Mr. Wurst, with her hands politely behind her back. Her role was to refill Mr. Wurst’s wineglass when necessary. The glutton drank the whole bottle.

I didn’t eat: how could I be hungry, knowing what act I was about to commit? Then again, the prospect of striking a blow of vengeance was delicious enough for a pleb like me. Or, it was supposed to be. Mr. Wurst gave me plenty of time to think my feelings over.

----------

I looked at Mr. Wurst as he chewed and swallowed his last bite. The plate was completely cleaned. Mr. Wurst could not buy any more time.

He lightly placed his knife and fork onto his empty plate in a neat X. He wiped the corners of his mouth delicately with the cloth napkin, and then set it into his plate with the used silverware. He faced me, trembling in silence, and folded his hands on his lap.

“May I ask for a mint?”

I picked up the gun and shot him in the head.

He fell down.

No ceremony.

I set the gun back onto the table, where it would remain.

----------

Blood soaking through different high-quality textiles makes interesting patterns; I’d observed them before. Blood on silk slippers looks shiny, like red candle-wax. Pure cotton absorbs blood the most quickly and the rich tone of blood fades immediately. Blood settles into pools in the folds of a smooth tablecloth. Thick rugs gorge themselves, soaking up a huge quantity of blood. The circles expand outward ever more slowly.

----------

I stood up from my seat and set about searching the room. There was no need to leave a note or anything; the message was self-evident. Despite the rich temptations, I didn’t steal anything. Not his watch, his rings, his cigars, not anything. My handlers specifically demanded that I leave his property intact; to do otherwise would not only diminish the political message the assassination was designed to send to the I.C., but also would besmirch the name of the organization that was prepared to take credit for the action.

Instead, I took about an hour going through everything in the expansive suite. I checked his briefcase, his personal computer, desk drawers, pants-pockets, closets, everywhere. I found a few hundred pages of documents and numbers, as well as a slew of computer disks. I went through his wallet, but leaving the cash, I only took cards, I.C. ID, and anything else of potential interest to my handlers. I was careful not to get any blood on my tie, and I wore the gloves all the while, though one had been badly burned. I stashed everything I could in my pockets and crammed the rest under my shirt and down my pants. My handlers would pass the information I had gained along to plebs who would know what to do with it to turn it to the advantage of the movement. That was the word.

I pulled my cell-phone out of a pocket. Tapped a button. Spoke.

“The patron has been served.”

I dropped the phone to the ground near Mr. Wurst’s overturned chair. It landed wetly in the slop.

----------

All done, I climbed laboriously back into the laundry basket built into her cart and covered myself again with the clean towels. I savored the soft feeling of the clean cloth on my skin. I didn’t know how long it would be before my skin touched real, clean fabric again. Using the remote control electronics interface, I had the maid fix the “Do Not Disturb” sign to the late Mr. Wurst’s door handle. Then I ordered 0-2-8 to retrace our steps and head back down to the lobby restroom.

----------

We walked out through the same door we had earlier entered, the “Do Not Disturb” sign swinging lightly on the handle. Down the same sumptuous corridor that had led us to Mr. Wurst’s suite. Down to the ground floor on an elevator that was exactly the same as the one we had ridden up. We passed back through the metal detectors and back into the lobby restroom again. The circle was complete. A man was dead, yet all these things remained the same.

I used the maid’s eyes to scan the restroom. There was a Uniformed Corporate policeman exiting one of the stalls in the bathroom. The automatic toilet flushed behind him. I was startled to realize that it was the same man who had been in the bathroom right before I had hijacked maid number 0-2-8 over and hour-and-a-half ago. This time he keenly looked the maid up and down. His eyes settled on maid number 0-2-8’s smooth, plastic cleavage.

Thinking that he was alone, he was clearly leering at the maid, in her kinky little getup. Since she was just a lowly droid, he made no effort to conceal his thoughts. He swaggered past her towards one of the sinks and threw some fresh, cool water on his face and neck. All the while, his eyes obviously maintained contact with the maid’s up-thrust bust.

I had to get rid of him. I couldn’t very well hop out of the maid’s cart with him standing right there. Not even servile I.C. guardsmen were that stupid. And it was starting to get very uncomfortable in the cart; my air was running out. I felt like getting the fuck out of there. The guard was clearly in no hurry.

Thinking quickly, I typed a little message into the interface. The maid 0-2-8 turned to look at the guard and spoke.

“Dereliction of duty and conduct unbecoming are grounds for revocation of Integrated Conglomerates employee privilege. Don’t you have some bad guy to catch?”

He looked at the maid agape. He cleared his throat, adjusted his smart little cap in the mirror, and exited the restroom hastily.

----------

I struggled my way out of the laundry hamper as quickly as I could. Maid number 0-2-8 stood stiffly in her little uniform and waited for my next command. After straightening my tie and adjusting my suit and vest and tucking my shirt back in in the mirror, I made sure that my pockets weren’t too bulging and that it wasn’t noticeable that I was packed with papers, disks, cards, and the rest. I put my hand on maid number 0-2-8’s shoulder.

“I sure owe you a lot.”

“Not at all, valued guest,” she retorted. “The pleasure is all ours.”

“Step into that stall and turn around, would you?” I had to erase the maid’s memory-banks as a precaution. She mechanically walked into an adjacent stall and stood with her back to me. I followed her in and locked the door behind us.

She obediently held still while I pushed her fake brown hair away from the nape of her neck and unscrewed the back of her head. It took a few painstaking minutes, but I eventually succeeded in removing the short-term data-storage card from her head. Reaching into my tool-kit, I replaced it with another card that my handlers had supplied me with. To the hotel’s central computer, it would seem like she was never gone.

Then I unscrewed the panel on her back again and restored her ability to transmit messages to the central computer by replacing the wireless receiver I had installed with the help of my chewing gum with the original that I had removed. I replaced the panel and tucked her blouse back into her skirt. I couldn’t resist giving her ass an appreciative little squeeze.

The maid was back to normal.

I took off my gloves and tossed them in a wastebasket. Then I washed my hands and left the restroom. Rock and roll.

----------

The powerful doors hissed closed behind me. I collapsed into the stained and tattered upholstery of one of the light-rail’s benches. It was late; except for a couple of plebs and a pair of off-duty Corporate Criminal Police on their commute back to the upper-scale slums where they lived, the train car was empty. Garbage of all descriptions littered the dingy interior. Empty bottles and soy-food wrappers picked-clean, were everywhere. The engines churned and the train groaned to a start. The sharp noise of tracks clanking under the train’s wheels picked up as we accelerated out of the city. Everything was vibrating, moving too fast to see. I watched a video screen displaying the virtual news-anchor of Integrated Conglomerates Public Information Channel Six.

“In a skillfully executed raid this afternoon, an illegal warehouse used and staffed by the seditious publishers of the recently banned daily, the Vox Populi, was annihilated to a man by the employment of ultra-low frequency weapons. Although identification of the bodies was thus impossible, Corporate Military Police officials, after picking through the debris, report having uncovered a wealth of information that might lead to hundreds of arrests. One official warned all pleb terrorists still at large that another blood-purge might already be in the making. No good news as far as the weather goes...”

The night outside the windows was black. I saw my drained reflection on the glass, pale from the transit’s interior lights.

----------

“...hurts when -standing is wearing gold stilletto shoes.”

Dienst

2009-02-22T07:55:38Z

Lithorien: New page: “Being understanding...” ---------- Eyes framed in a rearview mirror. I tried but couldn’t see much emotion in them. Now it was game time. I pulled a pair of shades out of the b...

The Real Deal

2009-02-22T07:54:54Z

Lithorien:

Pennsylvania Avenue entered her apartment. She closed the door behind her, set her keys down on the coffee table, and kicked off her sneakers in one motion. In her socks, she walked softly to her bedroom and flicked on a lamp, setting her backpack down beside her desk. The walls of her bedroom were decorated with several posters depicting stylized wild horses frolicking and galloping across idealized temperate landscapes.

She sat herself gently in the swiveling chair before her desk. Unzipping her backpack, she frowned and thought for a moment. Remembering something, she reached inside and produced three textbooks. She placed them on her desk and switched on her computer. She opened a drawer in the desk and grabbed several pens of different colors.

She then pushed herself away from the desk and walked over to her stereo. She deftly pressed a few buttons. As she returned to her desk, her body swayed to the music. Her brown ponytail bounced as her head bobbed to the rhythm as she sat back down. Now she was ready to do some homework. Consternation swept over her face as she studied her books. She concentrated for almost an hour.

Her telephone must have rung, because she turned down her stereo and picked up the receiver. She held it to her ear and spoke words into it. After a moment, her face lit up and she smiled broadly. She started laughing and leaned way back in her chair. She wore a happy expression, and spoke some more. The tension that had built up in her since she began her homework vanished at the voice of the caller. She began playing with her ponytail with her fingers, giggling all the while. When she had finished the brief conversation, Pennsylvania Avenue hung up her phone, walked to her closet and opened it. Inside was a full-length mirror. She had decided to change her clothes and now looked for a suitable outfit. After a long and arduous mental debate, she selected a plaid skirt and a tight-fitting black sweater, and tossed the items lightly on her bed.

Pennsylvania Avenue walked to her window and stared outside. She looked wistful. She was clearly looking forward to something.

After another half an hour of reading and typing, she decided to put the books away and finally change into the clothes she had earlier picked out. She sat upon her bed and removed her socks. They were decorated with zebra stripes. She tossed them carelessly to the floor and slid out of her pants. She kicked them off of her ankles and they too dropped to the floor. Her legs were long, smooth. Her panties were a tacky leopard print. She walked to the closet and, observing herself in her mirror, struck a seductive pose. She admired herself with a smile.

She began unbuttoning her white blouse, starting from the top. She shrugged the blouse off of her shoulders, allowing it to land on the floor in a heap. Her bra was a white, lacy number. Her breasts were very small, but the bra was doing a good job pressing them up. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked the bra and tossed it behind her. Her breasts bounced loosely to and fro as she did a small half-turn in the mirror, admiring herself some more.

She put on a bra that matched the leopard print of her panties. She then dressed herself in the black sweater and plaid shirt. She disappeared into the bathroom for more than 30 minutes.

----------

I reminded myself that she was an enemy of the regime that I had sworn to protect as I pulled myself away from the collapsible rubber eyepiece of my rifle and replaced the lens cap on the scope. Park Place kept watching through the binoculars.

“Why don’t they just let us ice the bitch so we can go home?” I asked rhetorically. I feigned impatience.

“Fortitude and staying power: these are things you need to learn, Marvin,” was Park’s reply.

----------

Our apartment was plain and empty. White walls. White ceiling. Beige carpet. Fluorescent lights. The tiles in the bathroom were white. So were the tiles in the kitchen. The shower curtain was white, and the countertops were white. The refrigerator was white. We had a few dishes; they were white. Several white papers were neatly stacked upon the white tabletop. There was a calendar. It didn’t have any pictures; the days were white. One by one, the days were being crossed out neatly with a black, felt-tip marker. Everything we did, we did in shifts. We slept, taking turns, on an air mattress. The sheets were white. A white telephone rested beside the window.

There were no unnecessary distractions. No television. No radio. No computer. No magazines. No phonebook. No bible. No deck of cards. No fan. Everything in the room was still. The air was still. Park and I were still. No ice cream either. We drank tap water out of white, plastic cups and ate individually wrapped portions of artificially flavored soy-food. My favorite was the lemon kind. Park liked to eat the ones that looked like they raisins in them.

It was a small apartment, and Park Place and I led a spartan existence there. We had only a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Our dwelling was on the 32nd floor of a downtown apartment block.

----------

Pennsylvania Avenue suddenly sat bolt upright in her bed. She flung the book she had been reading onto her desk and dashed to the mirror to check out her appearance. She scrutinized her face closely, smoothed out her sweater, and patted-down her hair all at once. She then confidently made for her front door.

When she opened it, a good-looking man, perhaps 25 years old, was waiting in the hallway on the other side. He was dressed sharply, though his collar was unbuttoned and his tie was loose. His teeth were straight, his face, chiseled. He had a crew cut. He looked military. He stepped inside onto her floor mat and immediately embraced Pennsylvania Avenue. She returned his hug and he whispered something in her ear. She began laughing. With a smirk, she pretended to push him away and turned her back on him, folding her arms in a mock huff.

The man casually removed his tie and draped it over the couch. He then strode slowly over to Pennsylvania Avenue, looking at her affectionately. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and whispered something else in her ear. She smiled, but didn’t turn around to face him. Her arms remained crossed. The older man slowly slid his hands up Pennsylvania Avenue’s belly and made his way up to her breasts, all the while softly nibbling her ear. He gently pulled her arms away from her chest and cupped her breasts.

She held her arms up over her head in cooperation and after a moment, he began pulling up her sweater. She leaned her head back and he began to kiss her neck. She allowed him to pull off her sweater. The man carelessly flung the garment over his shoulder, nearly knocking over a lamp.

Now the girl turned in his arms to face him. Kissing, he unfastened her bra while she began unbuttoning his shirt. She was saying something. When she was finished with the buttons, he rolled his shoulders to shrug off the white shirt, which landed at their feet. His arms and body were muscular. She hopped up and straddled his waist with her legs, pressing her face close to his. With her arms wrapped around his thick neck, their noses were touching. Her weight was no problem for him. He walked her into her bedroom and gently laid her upon the clean sheets. He began to unfasten his pants. She stayed on the bed, an excited smirk filling her face. She unfastened her ponytail, and her hair loosely spread itself over the sheets.

He leaned over her on the bed. They rubbed noses again and kissed deeply. She pulled up her skirt until it was bunched around her slender waist. He pulled away her underwear with deliberate slowness. When the panties were clear, Pennsylvania Avenue spread her legs apart. She was begging him to delay no longer. They were both smiling and laughing with each other. He braced himself over her. The muscles in his arms were powerful.

Abruptly, he entered her. She seemed surprised and gasped in pleasure. His muscular torso pulsed as they developed a mutual rhythm. He stopped biting and licking her breasts in favor of looking into her eyes. Her hands desperately clutched the sheets as her exertions mounted. Her mouth was open but tight. Her neck was straining. She was panting loudly. The boyfriend kept his mouth closed. His nostrils flared like a beast as he ground his teeth, fighting the inevitable.

Her head violently arched backwards, her eyes lost their focus. The man withdrew and collapsed gently onto her. She enfolded the man in her arms, holding him tightly to her. The man propped himself up on his forearms and the pair stared into each other’s faces for minutes.

After a time, the boyfriend excused himself and went into the bathroom. While he was inside, Pennsylvania Avenue pulled a loose-fitting nightgown over herself. It was decorated with small, pink and red valentines. Evidently exhausted, she collapsed back onto her bed and pulled the heavy covers over her. She turned out the light in her room.

When the boyfriend came back out of the bathroom, he found Pennsylvania Avenue laying contentedly under the covers of her bed, apparently already fast asleep, though he had only been gone for a few minutes. He saw his pants still in a heap on the floor. After pulling them on, he retrieved his shirt from the living room. He put it on but didn’t bother buttoning it.

The boyfriend then walked back through the dark bedroom and opened the window. The wind at the 31st floor was stiff, and his unbuttoned and un-tucked white shirt billowed around him for a moment. He reached into the breast pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He examined the pack for a moment, swore quietly under his breath, took out his last smoke and tossed the empty pack out of the window. Holding the cigarette loosely in his thin lips, he stooped his head and protected the flame of the lighter with his hand. His face flashed orange for a moment, and was then concealed again in darkness. When he was finished with his cigarette, he collected his shoes and tie and left the apartment, stopping first to tenderly kiss the sleeping girl on her peaceful forehead.

----------

I excused myself, explained to Park that I needed to use the bathroom. I walked in and switched on the light. It flickered for a moment, and then lit the small bathroom with its white fluorescence. The bathroom was clean. Everything seemed to take on a tint of metallic blue. My eyes adjusted to the brightness. Closing the door softly behind me, I turned on the fan.

With my pants and underwear around my ankles, I put down the lid of the toilet and sat. I thought about Pennsylvania Avenue. The image of her floated into my mind. Her shoulder-length hair framed her face. I traced the outline of her profile; I had it memorized. Every feature, beautiful yet unassuming. It wasn’t a pretentious or self-conscious beauty. It bordered on plain. But it was so familiar. So ingratiating in its warmth. A good girl. A good person.

I wished that the two of us could have met under different circumstances; perhaps at a coffee shop or a bookstore. Any situation would do; any situation in which her name did not have to be Pennsylvania Avenue and my name did not have to be Marvin Gardens.

I imaged that I was the boyfriend. This time, I was the one who leaned over her naked body as she begged me to put out the fire and sooth her, console her, and complete her. It was not a question of my strength to her weakness. We would do it together. She took a more active role. This way, we submitted to one another in unison. Partners. Compatriots.

She was panting feverishly. I breathed heavily. Her eyes were clamped shut and she gasped as I entered her receptive body. I felt her wet heat. She felt mine. Both of us, so human and frail; equal. We were both so human. Together, we had one pulse. We responded to each other’s needs; nothing and no one else mattered.

We perfectly complimented each other in every important way. We fulfilled each other. Together, we found smooth unity and cohesion. Together we found a rhythm. Together, we shared in every good thing.

Afterwards, I would not have simply smoked a cigarette and left. I would have remained with her. I would have lain beside her, totally transparent, totally open. We would have spoken truth to each other. No masks, no interests to protect, no agendas to further. We would have been honest. Serene. We could form a nation of two. In concert we would become one self-contained entity, united in thought as well as body. Complete. A perfect antidote to loneliness.

Fantasy.

When it was over, I looked at my face in the mirror and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing here. My eyes were black with lack of sleep. I hadn’t shaved for a few days. My hair was oily. Trying to play soldier, little boy? You’re only 20 years old! And you might be ordered to KILL this girl! I splashed cold water from the tap onto my face.

Can’t think about it like that. Just can’t.

----------

I exited the bathroom as inconspicuously as I could and walked back to Park, who was now sitting at the table. I suspected that he knew what I had just done. My face was flushed. My pulse was still rapid. I tried to find comradeship with Park.

“You know this is my first mission. I mean, I knew I’d see some action, but uh...” Park said nothing. “I didn’t expect to see any, you know...real action.” I chuckled at my pun. “I mean, man. That’s like, the last thing I expected to see.”

Park spoke. “You’d be surprised the kind of things you see on a mission like this.” He said nothing more. But as someone with experience, his words carried enormous weight with me.

“So who was the boyfriend? He looked like an older fellow. Isn’t the girl just 18? Don’t you think that guy was maybe kinda, you know, too old to be going out with a high-schooler?” I hastily added: “Uh, no offence.” I remembered that Park was in his 30’s. “I just mean, well,” I said lamely, “just...that he wasn’t in the dossier.”

“Hurry up and make your call; it’s almost time.”

----------

Every day, I placed a single telephone call. I had the telephone number memorized. I made this report at 1800 hours every evening. Not one minute before, nor one minute after. I left my reports on an automated voice-recorder. I can hear it now; the voice had a strong south-English accent. “Hello. You have reached St. James Place. No one is here to answer your call. Please leave a message after the tone.” Beep. I heard the same message every day, right at 1800.

I included in my verbal reports only one item of information. That item of information invariably was that the situation remained unchanged. I reported in as “Short Line,” which was the designation by which Park Place and I were collectively known by our superiors.

I quickly lost count of the number of times I said “Short Line reporting in. Situation: Normal.” Each time I did my best not to sound bored. Following the brief message, I would place the receiver back on its cradle.

I gradually began to assume that other teams were also working secretly in the operation.

----------

One of the first things that I had done on the first day of the operation was to assemble the rifle. It included a silencer and tripod mount. It was a task that I could do blindfolded. It me took 13 minutes to assemble and calibrate the weapon for the proper distance and elevation.

The weapon was a beautiful PSG1; the balance was perfect. It weighed only 8.18 kilograms. One of the nice things about the PSG1 was that it was semi-automatic. Body movement while operating a bolt-action weapon increases the possibility of detection by the enemy, and the greater amount of time the loading activity takes relative to a semi-automatic makes it difficult to engage multiple targets rapidly. Muzzle blast and rearward movement are often contributors to near misses. But the recoil of the PSG1 is negligible, if like me, you know what to expect. It isn’t difficult to keep the gun on-target. It was even easier since I was using a tripod mount for the weapon, which gave me the added benefit of being able to swivel laterally with ease, if necessary. I set it up on the sturdy card table, far back from the window.

I had been issued one magazine containing eight .308 caliber rounds. They were made for killing people. I never forgot that.

----------

“So what in the world did this little criminal bitch ever to do deserve this?” I chuckled, half-heartedly, but tried to sound like I was hoping I would get a chance to shoot. I was already beginning to think about how hard it would be to pull the trigger when I didn’t even know what she’d done wrong. Maybe I even doubted that I could do it at all. I think Park understood the way I felt. He had experience. Yet he remained silent.

“You do know what she did, right?” I waited: nothing. “Yeah, you must,” I trailed off, nodding to myself. “She’s probably a hacker.” I tried to say it with conviction when I realized he wasn’t going to tell me anything, even if he did know. That was that; I guessed the case was closed. Licking my lips, I thought about getting another Citrus Soy-Bar to chew on. I had given up trying to pry anything out of Park.

“Nothing,” he said quietly.

I looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he repeated.

“You don’t know what she did?”

“No: she didn’t do anything.”

“What do you mean, ‘she didn’t do anything?’ We’re sitting here ready to shoot an innocent teenager?” I smiled, suspecting a joke. “So she’s just some little girl, who never did anything wrong? Come on, man.”

“That is exactly the situation.” He said it without emotion.

I shook my head. “She must have done something.”

“It’s not what she did.”

I was missing something. I was missing his humor.

“Her father. Jesus Christ. It’s what her father did.”

My smile in anticipation of a punch line began to fade with the realization that nothing about what Park was saying was funny. He exploded.

“You dumb kid! You think one little teenage girl, alone, is a sufficient threat to warrant our being here? Think about it, man. Fuck. This stupid girl doesn’t have a fucking clue. She’s a fucking bargaining chip! I’ve been on missions like this one before. Her dad probably got himself into some trouble with the higher-ups. You know the routine, man. Her dad got himself into a bad position, a real bad position, and, you know, somebody in the government wants to make sure he does the right thing.” He shrugged. “If we’re here holding a gun to his daughter, he’s more liable to straighten up. Now if he’s smart and does whatever they tell him, we’ll never have to shoot.”

It sunk in after a moment.

“We’re hostage takers?”

“Hey man, whatever happened to ‘why don’t they just let us ice the bitch so we can go home?’”

“That was before - “

“Relax. We probably won’t have to shoot. And just supposing we do have to shoot, then look at it this way: she’ll never know what the fuck hit her.” I waited, aghast. Stunned.

“And if you disagree: too bad!” Park shouted, pre-empting any protest. “You stupid fucking kid.” Park shook his head. “Don’t you understand? Bad things happen. It’s like anything else. You do the thing and you move on.”

“But this is different. Hostage takers – “

“I knew I shouldn’t have fuckin’ told you. I had you figured for a weakling.”

“I don’t...I don’t know if I can do it...”

“You will. You have to.”

I looked at him. The color had drained from my face.

“You will do it.”

----------

We lived by the clock. We had a routine.

During the day wan sunbeams filtered through the plate-glass windows. The smog from the city colored everything in the apartment with a hideous brown tint. But then, even though the sunlight was tainted by pollution, at least the alarm clock seemed innocuous. It was blissfully easy to forget that it was even there. The hours ran together as time slowly passed for Park and I.

But by imperceptible degrees, the sunlight, such as it was, inevitably yielded to the unceasing glow of the clock. When night fell upon the city, with all of the shadowy solitude that it held for me, the clock always made me rethink my role in this whole bloody affair. My eyes gradually adjusted to the red glow of the clock, as it was the only thing illuminating the room, and everything, by degrees, eventually became red. Red was everywhere. Oppressively dominant. It soaked everything.

Sometimes I looked at Park Place. His face was illuminated as he slumbered untroubled under the ruddy glow. His skin absorbed its bloody radiance. He even looked more alive than usual. He had no trouble with his conscience. He was an avowed killer. And now I was starting to feel like a murderer myself.

Firmly rooted and unmoving, the rifle sat resolutely upon the table, standing indomitably upon its tripod. It stubbornly attracted my attention. The trigger glinted in the crimson light. My eyes were drawn to the long, smooth barrel of the weapon as it slowly assumed a scarlet hue in lieu of the auburn sunshine. I examined the red magazine, filled with death waiting for its chance to get out. The scope seemed smeared with gore.

The walls too, seemed to be steeped in blood, and all I could think about was not going mad before morning, when the brown sun would rise again and soak the apartment with its own festering light of human decay. But anything was preferable to the red: the blood red of the alarm clock. I was drowning in it. I was submerged in the red; I was submerged in blood. I could feel myself choking on it.

Worst of all, the alarm clock stained my hands red. It was a red that couldn’t be washed off. No innocence was to be found anywhere I looked. No innocence, that is, unless I looked across the street to the apartment of Pennsylvania Avenue.

----------

Pennsylvania Avenue was writing in her diary again, as she did faithfully every evening. She filled the pages with her private concerns, hopes, and enthusiasms.

Surely I would never be ordered to murder this beautiful, kind creature. It was inconceivable that the regime would command it.

All the sudden, she walked to her telephone and picked it up. Immediately, she smiled. She gazed out of her window. To her, all was well with the world.

----------

Once you’ve been more-or-less remaining completely inert for fortnight, with no contact of any kind with the outside world, save what you can glimpse through telescopic lenses, something as seemingly simple and mundane as a ringing telephone in the late afternoon can electrify you. Especially if you have been secretly awaiting it with ever-increasing dread.

I recognized the voice on the other end from when I had left my reports on the answering machine at St. James Place. It was that same English voice as on the recording. “Marvin, this is St. James Place calling. The subject is talking with her father. It is imperative that you terminate the subject immediately.” A pause. He spoke very clearly. “Remember your creed, and execute your orders urgently.” Click.

----------

Of course I remembered the creed. All members of the Special Armed Forces Ministry had to swear it back in the good old days when they only took volunteers. Nowadays, the creed was reserved for the elite. I remember reciting it in a cavernous auditorium with 4,000 other initiates. It was impressive: a great genderless and emotionless voice filled the space between each of us.

“The soldier is a doomed man. The soldier has no interests, no affairs, no feelings, no attachments, of his own. Everything in the soldier is absorbed by one sole, exclusive interest: Defend the State. The soldier must train to stand torture and be ready to die. The laws, the conventions, the moral code of civilized society have no meaning for the soldier. To the soldier, whatever promotes the triumph of the State is moral, whatever hinders it is criminal.”

Even innocent schoolgirls.

----------

I remembered the creed and I thought I was prepared to do it.

I had to keep reminding myself: I’m just the guy that does the thing. This is what I had been trained for.

Images swirled before my eyes as I sought Pennsylvania Avenue’s window. A rapid blur. Finding her bedroom, I settled on it and calibrated the scope for the precise distance. The tiny knob on the scope ticked as I turning it with my fingers. The image came into focus by degrees. I noticed that my hands were sweaty. I blinked as sweat trickled into my eye. It stung.

I’m just the guy that does the thing.

Pennsylvania Avenue had turned to face her bedroom window. She seemed to be looking outside. She looked wistful. What was she talking about with her father? Was she telling him about her boyfriend? Her schoolwork? I struggled not to think as she ran a hand through her flowing blonde hair and stretched her back. She was smiling warmly at her father’s voice and at the city spread out beneath her window. She seemed happy.

“Do it.” I flinched at the tone of Park’s voice. He stood rigidly at my side and was watching Pennsylvania Avenue through the binoculars. I slowly slid the bolt back and a bullet from the magazine popped into the chamber. I released the bolt. It slammed into place and the weapon was loaded.

The muscles in my right arm bulged as I caressed the rubber grip. My fingers wrapped around it, adjusting to its contours. It all felt so familiar. But this time it was for real. This was real life, a blameless life. All the same, I flicked off the safety switch with my thumb.

The butt of the rifle pressed securely against my shoulder. I planted my eye firmly in the cradle of the solid-contact rubber eyepiece. My neck and shoulders were taut, aching, but I settled in. Everything felt snug.

I’m just the guy that does the thing.

Slowly, I brought the crosshairs to rest at a point right between her collarbones when I noticed that she was wearing her favorite spaghetti-strap nightgown; it was the one with little valentines all over it. They were pink and red. Only the barest possible amount of cleavage was visible on the girl, though the nightgown was low-cut. I watched her chest rise and fall delicately with her light breath.

I’m just the guy that does the thing.

It was such a sadly easy shot. She was so pitifully vulnerable and innocent, totally unaware that the crosshairs of an assassin had lighted upon her carefree heart. Her life, virtue, happiness, dreams, disappointments, sorrows, and joys, were all about to end. And her father would hear the death of his little girl over the passionless wires of the telephone.

I’m just the guy that does the thing.

It required only slight pressure on the trigger to discharge the weapon, but enough to demand the determination of the shooter. My index finger trembled and wouldn’t move.

“DO IT,” said a grim, passionless voice. Did I say that, or was it Park? Was it in my mind? I tried not to think about what I was doing, but I was confused. I couldn’t shoot. I was torn by memories, choices. But I had to hurry: I couldn’t miss my chance. Execute orders urgently! No time to think!

I exhaled, and everything left me with that final breath. Everything that had been me was gone in one meek, wisp of vapor; gone in a single moment. When it cleared, I stopped thinking entirely and didn’t know who I was. I became a new person. No - I wasn’t a person at all. I became nobody. It was like a baptism, but without the part where you’re supposed to get reborn. I was submerged in the water, but knew that I would never come out again. Blank. Empty. Full of ice water. I stopped thinking. Everything was hushed. Absolute silence. Nothing existed outside the view of my scope. Even I no longer existed. I held dead on.

Quiet.

Steady.

Steady.

Squeeze.

Like a hammer and a nail.

Bang.

I’m just the guy that does the thing.

----------

The bullet obediently traveled along its trajectory to the precise point to which I had skillfully directed it. Pennsylvania Avenue’s whole window suddenly became an opaque spider-web of smashed safety glass. The center imploded. Tiny fragments burst outwards in all directions, each piece catching the silver light from the city below. The dazzling circular cascade of rippling gossamer immediately obscured my view of the girl. But I was able to see enough to tell me that the deed was done. No details. The girl’s body was flung backwards. The telephone flew out of her hand. She collapsed soundlessly to the floor. That was all; it was over. Done.

I opened my hand and let the rifle fall out of my grasp as I slowly sat up. My eyes clamped shut. Shallow breathing. Clammy skin. Rapid pulse. The room felt chilly. I was perversely relieved that it was over.

Squalid peace.

“You did good, kid.” He lowered the binoculars. “That’s what I like to see.”

----------

I don’t remember leaving the apartment, or walking across the street. Nor do I recall passing through the lobby or ascending with Park to the 31st floor of Pennsylvania Avenue’s apartment building. I felt somehow anesthetized. My peripheral vision was dim; objects seemed ill defined, outlines were fuzzy. I seemed to float behind Park as he led the way. He seemed to recognize the place, like he had been there before.

The door opened. I stepped into Pennsylvania Avenue’s apartment in a daze. I recognized all of the objects inside, though I never thought that I would ever be close enough to touch them. I stepped onto the floor mat. There was the lamp.

I couldn’t help but walk to the unbroken window of the living room and look out across the street. I scanned the building across the way to find the window from which I had taken the shot. But every window looked identical. The face of the building was as blank as I felt. It told me nothing.

----------

Park led me into the bedroom. It was surreal.

At the first sight of the murdered girl laying dead on the floor of her bedroom, my head began to clear. I saw the telephone sitting on the bed where it had evidently landed. I thought about her father, a man I had never seen, a man who I didn’t know. I was rudely reminded of the magnitude of my action. My responsibility. It was heavy. I felt like I had just run 4 miles in full pack. I averted my eyes, and only got a glimpse of her legs. I again noticed her nightgown with the red and pink valentines. A man was stooped down beside her. He otherwise blocked my victim from view. Staring down at the carpet between my feet, I thought I might throw up. I felt light-headed. Dizzy. Clenching my teeth, I felt jets of saliva fill my mouth. It suddenly became very hot in the room. I was sure I was going to vomit.

The man was examining the girl. He had a roll of aluminum measuring-tape and was clinically recording observations about the entrance wound in a clipboard. He looked like an expert; this clearly was not the first time he performed such a grisly task. The air in the room had a biting, acrid tinge to it, like hot lead or melted plastic.

He looked up. “Marvin!” He sounded jovial. The man put down the measuring tape and stood. Bits of broken safety glass crunched beneath his boots. Numbly, I recognized his face as that of the boyfriend. But he spoke with an accent - his voice sounded like the man who called me on the telephone and ordered me to shoot. He held out his hand. “I’m James. Damned pleased to meet you.” He looked at me. After a moment, I realized he expected me to shake his hand. I was dimly aware that I was extending my hand to him. He grasped it firmly. My grip was feeble. “Your training is finally complete.”

I scarcely heard him. I was looking over his shoulder at the dead girl. Where was all the blood? There should have been lots of blood. Somewhere in the distance, the boyfriend, the man called St. James, the man who had given the order to shoot over the telephone, complimented me on the shot.

Pennsylvania Avenue was still smiling just as serenely as she had been when I had depressed the trigger. Oddly, she seemed frozen in the exact position in which she had been standing when I shot her at the window.

She was laying in a pool of broken safety glass. Interspersed amongst the crunching pieces of glass were a variety of tiny pieces of metal. Minute springs, like those you’d find inside any given pen, and little gears and cogs were mixed with the glass. There were also small slivers of skin-colored plastic scattered everywhere. So too were tiny fragments of melted metal that had cooled and solidified long before I had arrived at Pennsylvania Avenue’s apartment. The little blobs dotted the floor. The floor was peppered with tiny scorch marks where the superheated metal globules had burned it.

The entrance wound was exactly in the middle of her chest, right between the collarbones. Exactly where I had aimed. James saw where I was looking. “16.8 millimeter diameter entry point,” he explained. Her skin was cracked all to hell in the region surrounding the injury. It was also blackened and coated with tiny bubbles of melted plastic. The bullet had bored through her almost completely, but it didn’t have enough force to punch completely out of her because of the small caliber of my weapon. The bullet was still rattling around loose in there somewhere. I peered into the cavity in the robot that the super-sonic projectile had created. In its wake it left melted metal. A confused jumble of wiring was protruding from the entrance wound. Beyond it, there was only a charred profusion of damaged electronics.

Her smile seemed to imply that she had knowledge that although she was the one who had been shot, and in effect, killed, I was the real victim. Her smile was cynical. She had the last laugh.

“She was a decoy, man! She was just a dummy all along!” Park Place laughed and looked at me with evident mirth. It was a fantastic joke.

“I didn’t...” I felt woozy. I had to sit down.

“No shit you didn’t know. That’s the whole point!” Did he expect me to be relieved? He didn’t comprehend what was actually troubling me. The organization was guilty of fabricating the situation and of fabricating her body. In my weakness, I was guilty of fabricating her identity. I had developed an attachment.

I realized that she wasn’t even a she. She was an it. And it was just another control factor; it was just another part of the set-up. I was the only uncertain element in the equation, and had been from the moment the ‘operation’ began. I wasn’t detailed to the surveillance of it. Park Place and St. James, the established organization, they, were detailed to the surveillance of me. I was the one who was being observed the entire time. I was betrayed.

“She was real when I took the shot...” I said pathetically. I sank onto the bed. It was too much. I had prayed not to have to destroy her innocent life.

“She seemed real, to you. That’s what’s important.”

I looked up at him balefully. When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers. Who was I now? What was it all for?

He understood. “It proves that when push comes to shove, you know where your loyalties lay. It proves that you have it in you; when it comes down to the wire, you have what it takes.”

St. James Place, the boyfriend, the actor, the real phony, sauntered over to me. Evidently, he was most pleased by his performance in the act. He was beaming as he sat beside and put his arm around me in the comradeship of bandits.

“Congratulations: you’re one of us now.”

The worst was that I knew it was true. I was.

The Real Deal

2009-02-22T07:54:33Z

Lithorien: New page: Pennsylvania Avenue entered her apartment. She closed the door behind her, set her keys down on the coffee table, and kicked off her sneakers in one motion. In her socks, she walked soft...

Stories

2009-02-22T07:54:23Z

Lithorien:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]
__NOTOC__
==Author==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Borias|Borias]]===
#[[Minor Repairs]]
#[[Tricia 4200]]
#[[Reprogramming]]
#[[Darwin Gaiden]]
#[[Extended Family]]
#[[Interface]]
#[[Rehabilitation]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Dienst #1 - Trojan Horse]]
#[[Eudoxia]]
#[[One More Fare]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[Over Some Drinks]]
#[[Smell Bridges Burning (The Intern)]]
#[[Standard Of Deviation]]
#[[The Ersatz Cadet]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[The Real Deal]]
#[[Three Pawns]]
#[[Tinted Windows]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Happy Birthday Cricket]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/Jak|Jak]]===
#[[Sam]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]
|
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Anton]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]]
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]]
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]]
#[[My Keeper]]
#[[Identity]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[Jumper...]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]

===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

Stories

2009-02-22T07:51:56Z

Lithorien:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]
__NOTOC__
==Author==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Borias|Borias]]===
#[[Minor Repairs]]
#[[Tricia 4200]]
#[[Reprogramming]]
#[[Darwin Gaiden]]
#[[Extended Family]]
#[[Interface]]
#[[Rehabilitation]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[One More Fare]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[The Ersatz Cadet]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[Three Pawns]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Happy Birthday Cricket]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/Jak|Jak]]===
#[[Sam]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]
|
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Anton]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]]
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]]
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]]
#[[My Keeper]]
#[[Identity]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[Jumper...]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]

===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

One More Fare

2009-02-22T07:51:35Z

Lithorien:

The city sparkled in the drizzle. At nighttime, when it was raining, I could sometimes convince myself that the city was unsoiled. Maybe even beautiful. When I was alone, it was easier to convince myself that it was also not heartless.

----------

I determined to pull over beside the woman.

I had only just previously decided to call it a night, but the sight of the wretched creature standing all alone on the slick pavement under the relentless downpour somehow made me reconsider. Notwithstanding the fact that I had been driving my taxi for almost ten hours straight, I made up my mind to collect just one more fare for the night. Though exhausted, I flicked my ON DUTY light back on and coasted through the mist and spray, slowing to avoid splashing the woman with one of the great puddles that shimmered and boiled along the edge of the street. Between the rain and smog outside and the creeping condensation on the inside of my windows, I couldn’t make out any details about the woman. To me, she seemed nothing more than a feminine splotch of blackness in a larger field of deep gray, framed in my windshield. There was no other traffic to be seen. Neon signs flickered. Stoplights issued their directions to nobody. Sodden newspapers and political leaflets accumulated in the clogged and flooding gutters.

My cab came to a gentle stop. I leaned over and rolled down the window on the passenger side of the front seat. As soon as I got the window cracked, cold wind and the thick air of the city blasted away all the warmth in the cab. The rain outside was roaring. With my free hand, I pulled my imitation leather jacket closer to my neck. The smoky stench of the city invaded my taxi.

“Hello Lady! Need a ride?” I called. I cocked my head in order to observe her through the open window. I waited until I realized that she was studiously ignoring me. That was nothing new, I mused. During my lifetime, I had gotten used to being contemptuously ignored by women. Perhaps I had even become conditioned to expect that sort of treatment. She made no response to me at all. She just stood there on the side of the road, getting absolutely drenched and staring off down the empty street.

Then, quite suddenly and for no apparent reason, she assumed a somewhat provocative pose with one hand on her hips and the other dangling softly at her side. That kind of reaction was something that I was definitely not accustomed to.

Rain continued to pour over her.

“Lady! Are you gonna get in or what?” No response. She maintained her studied, alluring pose, and continued to gaze at the desolate avenue.

“You’re getting soaked! C’mon! Get in!” It seemed to take a moment for the idea to register in the woman’s brain. There was a pause while she evidently weighed her options. Briefly, I thought that I saw her tremble. She seemed to shiver for a few seconds. It was cold outside, after all. Then, all of the sudden, her tremors ceased and she smiled at me warmly, opened the door, and sat down. I rolled up the window in the front seat.

----------

Observing her closely in the rear-view mirror, it was at once plain to see that she was a slight but nonetheless very attractive girl, though in my opinion she seemed rather over-dressed and too made-up. Perhaps she was coming back from a party or something. I knew immediately that she was the kind of girl I could never hope for.

I really noticed her eyes first. They had long, dark, perfectly curled lashes. Her eyebrows were so thin that they seemed little more substantial than as if they had been simply penciled-on. Her eyes were dark blue or black; I couldn’t tell for sure because the cab was so poorly lit. But they caught and reflected, perhaps even seemed to amplify, all the muted light that they gathered through the dripping and running windowpanes surrounding us. Her eyes positively sparkled with light.

She was wearing so much make-up that it practically seemed like she was wearing a mask. Her face looked almost waxen in complexion, and as my eyes readjusted to the dim lighting of the cab, I saw that she was ghastly pale. Perhaps oddly, none of her make-up had been obviously affected by the poor weather. No eyeliner had been smudged, no mascara had run, her lipstick was still perfect. Except for the fact that she was soaked to the bone, everything about her seemed completely in order.

The drenched clothing that clung wetly to her body was indeed extremely risqué. Shiny, high-heeled boots, a skimpy, tight-fitting mini-skirt, bare-midriff, the works. Her tummy was beautifully flat. Water beaded upon her smooth, white skin. Her navel was perfectly round. Looking at the disheveled vixen in my back seat, I could easily tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her soaked, white blouse, if you catch my drift. Back when I was still in the service, we used to call those ‘glass cutters’. Anyway, topping off her sexy apparel was a loose-fitting fake-leather greatcoat and a matching black hair-band. The hair band was slightly askew and her hair seemed to be styled in no particular way after having been subjected to such harsh weather. It just hung loosely around her wonderfully delicate face in limp, dripping folds.

“Thanks for the lift, big boy,” the girl breathed in an alluring but incredibly heavy and frighteningly stereotypical New York accent. As she spoke, her lips moved almost imperceptibly. I was surprised that I hadn’t really noticed them before; they were very pretty. They were unusually glossy and almost as reflective as her eyes. Her lip-liner was some dark color, perhaps burgundy. I again couldn’t really tell since the interior of my car was so dark. Her other lipstick was some type of hot-pink tint.

As she spoke, the girl tried to cross her legs in a typical, lady-like fashion. The result was comical. Since the back seat was so cramped, it proved impossible for her to get one leg over the other. That inconvenient fact didn’t prevent the girl from trying, however. And trying again. And then trying with the other leg. And trying it again, in utter futility. Her conspicuous failure at each attempt almost made me feel bad for her. Almost, but not quite. See, I love watching women make fools of themselves. I think it has something to do with the fact that they’ve made a fool out of me so many times. I watched with hidden amusement.

By and by, she seemed to realize that she was getting nowhere and halted her clumsy, repetitive motion. Her pause was followed by a marked fit of spasmodic shuddering, definitely worse than the slight tremble I had noticed right before she had gotten into my taxi. Her hands rapidly clenched and unclenched. Her pretty eyes fluttered. Her shiny lips twitched as if she was trying to say something. Then, as quickly as she was seized by the spasms, they vanished.

“Say, uh... you wanna maybe close your door?” During her ungainly, repeated attempts to cross her legs and the subsequent episode of inexplicable twitching, she had left my door wide open. Rain and cold were still getting in. Besides, I couldn’t very well drive with the rear passenger door still open.

The girl looked down into her lap, though she seemed to be mouthing some unknown words again. She must have felt quite embarrassed. I relished it. Several moments passed and she continued staring at her lap.

At this point, I admit that I could scarcely keep myself from staring at her lap myself. Since she had given up trying to cross them, she had left her thin legs quite spread in the back seat. And since she was wearing such a short mini-skirt, I had a very nice view of her panties. They were white. Her inner thighs were almost as white as her panties were.

I raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am? Could you please close your door?” I asked quietly. Enough was enough. Looking at her now with a little bit of sympathy, I wondered if some act of violence had recently been perpetrated against her. Such things have been known to happen to unescorted girls in this sector of the city. Or perhaps she was fleeing from someone. Or trying to escape from her whole life in general. I really didn’t know enough to judge her. My attitude toward the girl was beginning to soften.

“Close the door?” She looked up, staring through the windshield unblinking, rather than looking at me. Another moment passed. “Oh! Close the door...” she signed and rolled her eyes. She spoke in that same, cheerful, singsong sort of way as before. “Sometimes I can be such a bubble-head!” She then lowered her tone and spoke darkly and seductively. “I don’t think I’d ever know what to do if it wasn’t for guys giving me instructions...and then I do anything.” She leaned over to close her door and then turned back to face me. The cab immediately began to grow warmer. Her voice still seemed something of a caricature of a New York accent.

“Geez, lady,” I said after I heard the door close. “Uh...sure looks like you could have used an umbrella.”

----------

If my reaction seems feebly childish or dull, it’s only because I had long since given up trying to succeed with women, and the behavior of this girl caught me totally by surprise. Honestly, her attitude was really making me uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to women coming on to me. I mean, if you’re like me, once you’ve taken enough emotional body-slams courtesy of the ‘fairer sex,’ you may start to realize that: Hey dummy! Maybe it isn’t worth it! Life in the New World was cruel and callous enough as it was. Who needs the extra torture of worrying about finding a human relationship, which is, in any case, virtually guaranteed to fail no matter what?

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to the possibilities that this horny young woman seemed to be suggesting. I pushed away a nagging thought that had lodged itself in the back of my mind years ago. This thought was a defense mechanism that had come to determine my reaction whenever I was confronted by a woman. It normally steeled me against the inescapable disappointment and frustration that I imagined would automatically result if I involved myself with a girl: if it’s too good to be true, then it probably is. Don’t take risks because you’ll just get burned or buried.

So maybe it was because the hour was so late and I was very tired. Or maybe it because over the late years I had become tired inside. Tired of being afraid every time I saw a woman: tired of always avoiding risks. Whatever the reason, this time I decided to take a chance. Fuck it. She’s hot and she’s coming on to me. Those are the facts; what’s the problem? Yeah, I wanted to see what would happen. Yeah. Fuck it.

----------

The girl regarded me as though I was speaking nonsense and made no reply. She didn’t seem amused. Then again, nobody ever really seems amused at my attempts at humor. I waited out the uncomfortable moment. I suppose that wasn’t the kind of response this pretty girl was used to getting from men in response to her advances.

At least I could be happy about that in my own pathetic and self-defeating way.

“Well, anyway: where to?” I asked. I was very cautious when I chose to ask this question. It could be interpreted by the girl either way. In this manner, I protected myself from looking like a fool. If she wasn’t interested in me after all, then she could easily just tell me to take her somewhere, pay me, and leave. But if she did want to have something to do with me, then it would be very easy for her to tell me so. Another pause.

“Where to? Gee, I’m not sure.” She appeared to be considering an answer. I waited tensely. She looked a little dazed as I waited for her to give me a destination. To a restaurant? To a film? To a bed? Then I guess something just clicked in her head. She sounded almost wistful. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” She whispered. “I’ll take you to paradise.”

My calm collectedness and reluctant hope was shattered and gave way to a nearly heart-stopping epiphany. Only now did I realize my idiotic folly. This girl didn’t like me! She was only interested in my money! She was a prostitute who thought I was just a ‘John’ trying to pick her up! I very nearly slapped my forehead reflexively with the palm of my hand as an involuntary gesture of frustration, but I managed to catch myself in time. It explained the provocative clothing, the reason she was out so late; it explained everything. And of course, it explained why she seemed to be hitting on me. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to realize it. Goddamn. That was great. That was just great. Real smooth. Fuck!

----------

I had opened in my armor a tiny crack out of some vain hope for some kind of companionship, even though I had damned-well known better. Despite myself, I had begun to warm up to the girl. I stupidly thought she might be some kind of exception to the tedious rule that states that I can never be with a woman. I have to admit in my attitude a naïveté that was totally out of step with the situation in the New World. And being out of step was a luxury anyone who wanted to stay alive could ill afford. I won’t suffer to mention here my disappointment. But it was certainly in keeping with the time-honored precedents that I have observed on many occasions in my life.

On a more superficial level, I was also frustrated with myself because I now had to explain to this soggy bimbo that I did not want to just have sex with her. Anyway, I had been expecting her to pay me. What a mess. Goddamn it.

----------

“Say, uh, look here,” I stammered sheepishly. She viewed me with apparently rapt attention. “See, I just thought you needed a ride.” I hoped that that would explain the situation to her clearly enough. Hopefully, she would get the hint and step back out of the car and into the rainy night. I thereby hoped to avoid having to state explicitly that I was an imbecile who was wasting her time. Then I could go home and pity myself some more.

The call girl considered my words and their implications for a moment. Her expression was blank again. Maybe she was shocked that I had rejected the offer of her lewd services. Indeed, as I observed her through the rearview mirror, she appeared dumbfounded. Rain hammered on the roof of the car. The taxi’s engine purred quietly. I was used to long, tense silences whenever I talked to a woman. I knew from experience that the best thing to do was to just wait it out. Hold on; did I say ‘best’? I meant: easiest.

The call girl was then unexpectedly beset by the worst of her little shaking fits yet. Her body was wracked. Her arms jolted back and forth, and this time her legs even kicked the back of the passenger side seat, albeit rather softly. Her head shook rather more violently than before.

After jerk around for maybe 15 seconds, she returned to her previous inert state. She looked to me like she was just ‘out to lunch’.

“Hello? Ma’am?” No reaction. “Hello? Is anybody home?”

She suddenly snapped back into reality. She smiled mischievously, her sparkling eyes alive again. “Oh, I’ll take you for a ride!” Evidently she just took me for a very hard sell.

“No I don’t think that you understand me. I just thought you needed a ride. You know, I thought you wanted to get out of the rain; you were getting wet.” Again, she seemed to go blank as she took her time in formulating a reply. I braced myself for some type of angry outburst. But I was used to women not being happy with me.

“Oh, I’m wet all right!” she gasped. She parted her lips somewhat and squinted her eyes in feigned ecstasy.

----------

It was disgusting! I was cut to the quick by the crudeness of this whore. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the vulgar seductress that I had unwittingly let into my cab. Perhaps I began to see her as the embodiment of all the cute little cynical vixens I’d met in my ruined life. They are all alike; they flaunt a bottle of perfume in one hand but hide a dagger behind their back with the other. They always play with me. Unscrupulous, they only want to take whatever I can give them and then drop me. So many times. Isn’t the New World cruel and inhuman enough without having to corrupt and thereby waste the one pure thing that might possibly redeem us? This thing should be held above the perversion and filth that characterizes all other areas of human endeavor. Is nothing safe from the pervasive taint of exploitation?

----------

I turned around to face her with the icy calm of near-divine hatred. My jacket rustled against the upholstery of my seat. I looked the degenerate right in her shimmering, oddly reflective eyes and spoke. “Okay, look: you get the fuck out of my cab.”

I expected her to do exactly that, and at first it seemed as though she would. She became still, her complexion more sallow than ever. No emotion registered on her face, save perhaps extreme fear. This time, her slow reaction gave me pleasure rather than annoying me. I had evidently cut through.

“I love it when you talk dirty, baby!” I was dumbfounded. She bowed her head slightly and stared up into my face with those shiny eyes. She bit her lower lip. “Wanna...fuck?” she asked softy in her most shamelessly vulgar tone of voice I had yet heard. This provocation threw jet-fuel on the slowly smoldering embers of my deep-seated indignation.

“I mean it!” I roared. “This is where you get off!” I admit now it was a poor choice of words.

After a moment’s consideration, she shot back. “Oh, I’ll get you off, buster!” She was smirking with evident glee. It became too much.

----------

Now I’d like to say a short word on my own behalf.

It is important to understand that this was the first violent act I had committed since my injury in the service approximately five years prior to the incident being discussed here in these pages.

It is difficult for me to describe in words the mental state to which this girl had driven me in so short a time. I don’t think I have the skill to attempt to explain it. I suppose it had been something dangerous brewing within me for a long time, simmering. It finally boiled over.

I struck her in the face with my fist.

People get stood up in from of pitted prison walls in the New World for less, these days. Or sent to the front, which amounts to the same thing.

I regretted it even as I swung. Not that that matters; actions are what count.

----------

The call girl didn’t flinch; she just absorbed the blow with equanimity. The call girl sustained the blow to the face and didn’t even immediately react. She looked dazed, but composed, as usual. She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even bleed. All was silence, but for the rain and the engine. I brought my hand back. It was sweaty.

I couldn’t believe I had done that. I waited. I wanted to apologize, but how could I? Then without warning, she flew into a fantastically powerful fit. This time, she herself suddenly seemed quite taken by surprise.

Her head furiously twisted this way and that, flinging water from her matted and disheveled brunette locks all over the car. Her chest thrust out as her body convulsed. Now her legs were seriously pounding the back of the passenger seat. Her arms spun around insanely.

She was obviously having her most serious episode yet, by far. I wondered if her problem was of a medical nature. Maybe she had some type of medication in her purse. She could be an epileptic. Or perhaps this was some kind of a reaction to a bad dose of some type of street-drug. Definitely couldn’t rule that possibility out. But neither of those possibilities explained how it seemed like my attack had triggered this latest episode. No matter what the cause of this condition, things were getting observably worse for her.

I realized that if I took her to a hospital, we’d likely arrive to late. She needed help now. I had had some rudimentary medical training before I got drafted into the service. I resolved to do whatever I could for her myself. I admit that the thought of just letting her die did flit briefly across my mind. But no human could do that.

I turned around in my seat. “Ma’am!” She didn’t notice me. “Ma’am: listen to me! What’s wrong?” She was still jerking and heaving and spasming. I wasn’t getting through. It was as though she was completely absorbed in her own little internal world. I was beginning, I think, to become genuinely concerned for her welfare. I had hardly cared even that much for any woman for a long time.

I grabbed her left arm as she flung it around the back seat of the cab uselessly. No sooner than I thought I had a decent grip did she slip her arm out of the sleeve of her greatcoat. First she gave a very sharp tug. I didn’t surrender her arm easily, but I could tell when I felt something give, that I was no longer holding on to her. I was left holding a wet flap of fake leather. As soon as she broke free of my grasp, her whole body twisted in the back seat with amazing violence. There was no holding her back; she was going completely berserk back there. The whole car was shaking now.

I held on to her sleeve as she tried to twirl herself around in the backseat. There was hardly anything else I could do. Her head was banged now listlessly against the roof of the cab. Her arm flopped dully against the window. Her legs eventually stopped their thrashing. The fury of her little episode was subsiding. She seemed to be regaining control of herself again.

----------

I remember thinking clearly that I never realized how heavy imitation leather could get when it was wet.

“Damn, uh, look. I’m sorry I hit...” and then I noticed something. “What the hell?!” I was still holding her arm. I pulled it all the way out of the sleeve. Her arm was as white as the rest of her body. And it was completely rigid. Wires and metal rods and microchips and such jingled like wind chimes at one end. No sparks or other major fanfare. Just a lifeless piece of machinery.

Then I could smell smoke. A tongue of orange flame licked her left shoulder brightly, right where the arm that I held had once been. The developing flame brightened the whole inside of the cab. It was becoming a conflagration of burning clothing. And burning plastic.

----------

I suppose I should have known.

----------

I checked the rearview mirror for any sign of approaching traffic. When I saw that the road was still empty, I burst out of my door and ran through the downpour around the front of my car and to her door. I was completely soaked in seconds. I was still holding her arm. When I opened the door, the robot girl looked at me, a look of exquisite pleasure on her face.

“You make me so hot.”

By the time I had gotten to her, the flames were already beginning to subside. The pale, plastic skin on her back and chest was beginning to bubble and turn black around the dying flames, but didn’t seem, itself, to be catching fire.

My throat was dry. I didn’t know what to do. I looked up and down the street nervously. This droid was somebody’s property. The only activity I perceived was a couple of military halftracks crossing an intersection a few blocks away. They didn’t care. I heard her speaking, ostensibly to me.

“I’ll take you for a – for a – for – for – aaaggghhht”

When I looked back at the robot, the flames coming from her stump were all but gone. She looked back at me.

“Waaarrbblllleeee fffllluuugh. Rrreeddyyyfffff. Aaaggghhht.” She squinted and smiled as warmly as ever.

I noticed that the fire had completely eaten away a fair sized section of her plastic chest and neck. Water dribbled out of the open wound where her left arm was supposed to be. The rain had evidently gotten to her before I had even picked her up.

----------

A sleazy piece of garbage. I looked at the fake thing.

Despite the fact that it was now late January, the droid still seemed to be in the Christmas spirit; I noticed through the opening where her arm aught to have been, that tiny red and green lights flashed inside of her body. They seemed to indicate the precise synchrony in which all of the various functions of the electronic girl were kept. They would cycle through a regular pattern several times, and then without warning, all of them would suddenly just go haywire. Some would remain lit continuously but grow in their intensity. Others would completely shut off. Most of them just responded to her catastrophic malfunction by blinking on and off as fast as strobe lights in a nightclub. I was relieved that I wasn’t an epileptic. Then, abruptly, the seemingly random flurry of activity would cease. The lights would resume their ordinary pattern of intermittent flashing as though nothing untoward had happened and everything was fine.

Her head lolled away from me. The android’s beautifully made-up face wore no expression at all. She had gone completely blank, this time evidently for good. A lazy cloud of smoke escaped her delicately parted lips. Her eyes slowly rolled up into her head. The machine grew quiet as it wound down. She was wrecked. Unexpectedly some exposed electronics inside of her chest crackled and expelled a furious flurry of some dozen or so mighty, white sparks which illuminated the entire interior of the cab for a space of several seconds. I jumped, startled.

After checking to make sure that none of my upholstery was on fire, I looked back at the defunct robot call girl. “Don’t you know the rules, bitch? When you’re my a cab: No Smoking.” I couldn’t think of anything snappier to say. The humor of a cab driver, I guess. And with that, I grabbed her by the mini-skirt and ponderously dumped her headfirst out of my cab and onto the cement curb. She landed centimeters from where I had picked her up some ten minutes earlier. Staring down at her, it seemed like her jaw was terribly askew. It must have somehow snapped off of the rest of her head when she kissed the pavement. Grotesquely, I could see her bottom row of teeth just behind her fake lower lip. Sparks illuminated the inside of her mouth intermittently. Rain poured down upon her still body.

“Need a hand?” I tossed her severed limb down. The plastic appendage clattered on the pavement after first bouncing off of her dismembered body. It came to rest in a deep puddle. Only her fingers could be seen above the surface. She wore dark red nail polish. Funny, the things you remember.

Another cascade of sparks from her shoulder and she was finished.

The whole time, I had left my car’s engine on. It was still running; she was not.

I was baffled by how easily I had been taken in by the base deception. Like most things in my life, I wrote my off incorrect interpretation to inadequate light.

One More Fare

2009-02-22T07:51:01Z

Lithorien: New page: The city sparkled in the drizzle. At nighttime, when it was raining, I could sometimes convince myself that the city was unsoiled. Maybe even beautiful. When I was alone, it was easier ...

Stories

2009-02-22T07:50:07Z

Lithorien:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]
__NOTOC__
==Author==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Borias|Borias]]===
#[[Minor Repairs]]
#[[Tricia 4200]]
#[[Reprogramming]]
#[[Darwin Gaiden]]
#[[Extended Family]]
#[[Interface]]
#[[Rehabilitation]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[The Ersatz Cadet]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[Three Pawns]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Happy Birthday Cricket]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/Jak|Jak]]===
#[[Sam]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]
|
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Anton]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]]
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]]
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]]
#[[My Keeper]]
#[[Identity]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[Jumper...]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]

===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

The Ersatz Cadet

2009-02-22T07:49:38Z

Lithorien: New page: Cadet First Class Claudia Crewws arrived in the classroom right on time and took her usual seat. I observed her with contempt from behind the podium as she produced her textbook from her ...

Cadet First Class Claudia Crewws arrived in the classroom right on time and took her usual seat. I observed her with contempt from behind the podium as she produced her textbook from her rucksack. Her image had become engrained in my memory over the past few frustrating weeks. She looked unremarkable. Her features weren’t spectacularly gorgeous. She seemed rather plain. She was short, thin, not a cadet one would ordinarily notice for her looks. But I still couldn’t stop thinking of her. I could picture her short, jet-black hair done up in a ponytail and protruding from under her field-gray military cap. I could close my eyes and see her perfectly smooth, white skin just as well as I could see it if she was standing before me. But her eyes were her most outstanding feature. I hated them: dark, deep, and shockingly empty.

She wore the same uniform as the rest of them, but she was different. The tight collar, the knee-high boots, the white blouse, the black gloves, the dark gray tie, the party armband, the cap with its thin, leather chin-strap, crowned with the Silver Eagle of the Armed Forces, and the long gray jacket: they all looked the same. As they should. But Crewws didn’t deserve it. She wasn’t the kind of person who was good enough to be an elite officer.

I steeled myself for the lecture that was to begin precisely at eight AM. And for what I knew was going to be the day I offered my final ultimatum to Cadet First Class Claudia Crewws.

Claudia attended my advanced course on the Demise of Civilized Warfare. The topic for the day, I remember well, was the reversion to mock show trials for defeated enemy leaders following the end of hostilities. There were only eight other students besides her, since it was an advanced course.

“Among primitive peoples of the present day and, by inference, among those of the remote past, an essential feature of the symbolic act of retribution was the formal mocking of the victim...” I paced around the front of the room.

“The preliminary part of the ceremony consists of reminding the captive of his past power and strength, contrasted with his present helplessness, and followed by a description of the torments which he must shortly endure.” The students were all busily taking notes, except for Crewws. She never took notes. I always got the impression that she was simply memorizing everything I said. Like she somehow worked like a cassette-tape recorder. Her head swiveled as her black eyes followed me around the room. The lecture flowed inexorably onward.

“What countries presided over the mock-trials at Nuremburg in 1946?” I asked the class. Without any hesitation whatsoever, Cadet Crewws raised her hand. “Crewws,” I called.

“Sir, the United States, Great Britain, and the Soviet Union presided over the court at Nuremburg,” she said smartly. A few other students in the class exchanged knowing glances, evidently displeased by her typical textbook response.

“In what way can we consider the Nuremburg trials as the final seal on the tomb of Civilized Warfare? Crewws?”

“I...sir? The...seal?” She stammered and looked blank.

Cadet Arthur Archer’s hand shot up. “Archer,” I called flatly as I kept my eyes on Crewws. She sat down again, shaking her head.

“Sir, the civilized custom of treating enemy commanders with dignity and respect was finally destroyed. The Allies were gloating over their defeated enemies. At least after European Civil War Number 8a, the leaders of the defeated nations, though humiliated and removed from power, at least were not charged, convicted, and executed by a court with no legal jurisdiction for crimes for which no legal code had been established.” He was passionate. “The other customs of civilized warfare had already been obliterated. This aspect of civilized warfare was simply the last to be removed from the rules of war.”

“Good, Archer.” I turned my attention back to Crewws. “Given all that you’ve just heard your comrade say, what do you think is the most serious war-crime?”

Crewws stood at attention. She began with confidence. “Sir, the most serious war-crime is...sir?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Please Crewws: what is the most serious war-crime?”

“I don’t...know...sir...It wasn’t in the reading. Sir?”

“Archer, do you want to take this one?” Crewws sat down shaking her head even more. Archer stood up.

“Sir, the most serious war-crime is to be on the losing side, sir.”

“Very good, Archer.”

----------

Her class-performance that day was typical of her. It consisted exclusively of reiterating the comments of other classmates or else simply quoting passages from the text verbatim. Not once had she brought an important question of the forefront of class discussion. Never had I observed her to ‘think outside of the box,’ as it were, and develop an interesting thesis on her own. She was uninspired, dull, and matter-of-fact. Her research showed no innovation. Her papers were, as a rule, uninspired and clinical, displaying a dearth of personal exploration or thoughtful reflection upon our topics. Her writing had no character. In short, she was a follower. She was hopelessly deficient in each of the qualities which it was my task to develop in my students. My job was to train leaders.

Crewws never displayed a capacity for thought; all she could ever do was to memorize. In class, she never once succeeded in drawing accurate conclusions about abstract topics. I knew she didn’t deserve to be in a leadership academy for future officers. I couldn’t fathom how she gained admittance in the first place.

I decided the situation called for my personal investigation before I shared my reservations with any of my colleagues. I didn’t want to go through official channels and risk a fiasco if Crewws turned out to really belong at the academy after all. So I kept my lips tightly buttoned and I certainly kept a sharp eye on Cadet First Class Claudia Crewws.

I made a few discreet inquiries. Getting information about Cadet Crewws proved no obstacle for a Colonel like myself; I was accustomed to getting what I wanted. My search for information was systematic and methodical: I’m sure that I missed nothing. I determined it to be the best course of action to start with a detailed examination of Claudia’s present circumstances and lifestyle. The first peculiarity showed up almost at once and was to be followed by many more.

I began by acquainting myself with her daily routine and her life here at the academy. The records state that she was a third-year cadet, as her rank of ‘First Class’ denoted, but it wasn’t surprising that I’d never seen her before the current period of instruction. The academy had thousands of students. But what was strange was that she wasn’t lodged in the regular cadet barracks. As a third-year student, staying in the barracks was mandatory. There was no precedent for it, but somehow, she had instead secured private quarters at the distant outskirts of the academy. Since cadets weren’t allowed to have automobiles, it was safe to infer that her only means of transportation was her own two feet. And yet, she lived eight miles from the main complex, with its labs, libraries, auditorium, mess hall, and classrooms. The only building that was anywhere near her residence was the remote Research and Development section of the Engineering & Technology Department. The rest of the surrounding area was filled with forests, obstacle courses, firing-ranges, and the like. But this wasn’t all that didn’t tally about her life at the academy. She also never ate at the mess hall with every single other cadet. Instead, she received a special medical certificate allowing her to take her meals privately.

I found this interesting: could the reason for her special treatment be of a medical nature? Each cadet at the academy has to have a complete medical evaluation before final admittance. So I next placed a call to the Office of Medical Records, and was told that her examination had been waived. Waived! Just like that! Shocking!

Probing further, I discovered the same story with the Office of Military Skills Training. Her records stated that she had fulfilled her requirements in Melee Combat, Swimming, Hand-to-Hand Combat, and other basic physical disciplines. Even so, none of the drill instructors, all of them highly skilled and experienced, couldn’t remember her name. This was impossible!

I extended my investigation to Claudia’s life before she came to academy in the hopes that I would uncover plausible reasons for all of the aforementioned peculiarities. Immediately prior to arrival at the academy, Claudia Crewws should have been employed for a period of eight months in a compulsory labor battalion. Every eighteen-year-old citizen had to serve. To my astonishment, no records existed that documented her completion of the service. In fact, no documents existed that even hinted that she had performed the service at all. No reviews from her superiors, no details about where she had been posted. Nothing came up. And yet, she had the labor certification that was necessary for admittance into the academy. I smelled a rat.

And I found the same story everywhere I looked. She also had the required certification in Basic Field Training in Physical Science. But no records were to be found. She had also never been admitted into a hospital. She apparently had no parents. Nor was she a biologically engineered child of the Ministry for the Post-War Repopulation of Occupied Territories. She had also evidently never attended a school. She was never a member of any of the government approved Female Youth Leagues.

I could only conclude, from the many and varied fragments of information that I had uncovered, or rather the dearth thereof, that Claudia Crewws had had no formal interaction whatsoever with the apparatus of the State before being selected for enlistment in the academy. Of course, in the society we have created, this is a sheer impossibility. So her records had been wiped, for some secret reason. On top of that, she had somehow received preferential treatment at the academy and had seemingly maneuvered herself in such a way as to exempt herself from all physical training and investigation into her medical status.

That’s when I realized that this peculiarity was not something I needed to know, and therefore was something that, in fact, I shouldn’t know. We all knew that we had to keep our eyes front and just do our jobs. I sensed I was onto something that could get me in trouble. Or shot in the head. I dropped the entire matter immediately.

Well, for a time, at least. But after a period of several weeks my investigative nature again pushed me forward as my suspicions again waxed great. And my conscience nagged me. I would be remiss in my duties to the regime if I allowed one unqualified soul to gain a privileged position as a citizen and an officer. And with each additional fact, I became all the more strongly compelled to continue onward. Curiosity also motivated me. I had the feeling that I was tugging on the corner of some kind of mask, peeling it away, exposing the face beneath to the light of day for the first time. I had to find out what the face looked like: who it was. I decided upon a trial by fire. I resolved to put her to the test. If she failed, she was out.

----------

“At ease. Cadet Archer, what is your opinion of your fellow: Cadet Crewws? How do you judge her? Permission to speak freely.” I looked at him with interest from across the desk in my private office. Surely her classmates must have thought her as odd as I did. I myself had never observed her to have any friends. And I knew I could rely on the ‘inside’ opinions of a student like Cadet Archer. His father and I had been comrades during the last war, and I’d known Arthur Archer since he was born. Hell, I’d known him longer than his father had, since when Arthur was born I was back home on leave while his father was in a military hospital recovering from an enemy gas attack. And no matter what it may look like, I didn’t help him gain admittance to the academy one bit. He got in because he was the best. As a child, he had always been taught to be dutiful and conscientious. Now a fine young man, he was growing up to be diligent, strong, and indefatigable. I also considered him my most especially observant student.

“At first I thought that she must be very lonely, sir.”

I waited for a moment, expecting him to continue. “What do mean, lonely?” Incredible! I didn’t expect Arthur to speak of Claudia with any sympathy.

“I got the impression that she knew far more than myself or my fellow cadets. I’m still sure that she does. But the way that she never talked to any of us, never ate with us, or trained with us...she was always on the outside, looking in. She didn’t fit in with the rest of us cadets. She never seemed like she was one of us. She was always reclusive, impersonal...She was never... our comrade.” Arthur took a breath and organized his thoughts. Then he continued.

“At first, I figured that she was just having a hard time getting adjusted at the academy. Eventually she would find friendship and stop trying to show off in front of the instructors. But I don’t think that’s what it is anymore, sir. Now, I’m pretty much convinced that she hates all of us. She’s not lonely. She’s just...she’s weird. She doesn’t get along with us. I mean, she knows everything. She’s too good to bother with any of the rest of us. And there’s something else, sir...”

I waited with interest. He seemed hesitant, almost reluctant to speak at all anymore. I raised an eyebrow.

“Sir, I’m convinced that her brain works just like...” he fumbled for the right word. “...just like a calculator, sir.”

“Go on, Arthur.” He was feeling more comfortable.

“Sometimes...in class...I just get the impression that she’s...she’s COMPUTING, instead of thinking. I mean: names, dates, places, definitions, page numbers...” he trailed off. “What I mean is, well, FACTS, she knows. When it comes to stuff like that, no problem: she has it memorized. It’s filed away in that data-bank she calls a brain. I’ll admit it! In that regard she’s the sharpest tool in the kit!” I watched Archer with cool interest. He was building himself up to something. He hesitated. I watched him expectantly. He looked straight back, dead serious. Anon he realized that I wasn’t quite satisfied.

“But that’s just it sir. She may be the sharpest tool in the kit, but she’s still just a TOOL!” Now he was almost shouting. His face started turning red, his muscles were achingly tense. He was losing his customarily careful composure. I didn’t realize that students hated her for being the way she was!

“Explain what you mean, Arthur,” I said patiently, trying to sooth him. But he was now too excited to be calmed.

“You’re seen her in class, sir! Everybody knows that she’s just ‘Little Miss Perfect’! She never says anything wrong. She’s always the first student ready with an answer. She always has her books with her. Sir, she’s a bratty little ‘Know-It-All’ who thinks she’s too good to lower herself to the level of the rest us worthless cadets! She has no feeling, no instinct, no initiative, sir; she doesn’t belong here.” His shouted words echoed in the air. Now, all was silent. I looked at him calmly.

“Thank-you, Cadet Archer. That will be all.”

I could tell Arthur was surprised at the abrupt termination of the meeting, but he’s a good soldier. He recovered his composure, straightened his hat, clicked his heels, saluted, and left the room, all at once.

Cadet Archer’s impassioned response only confirmed the tentative views that I had previously held about Cadet Crewws’ relation to her peers. Being thus validated by an eye-witness in my opinion that Crewws’ was not leadership material, I felt that I could at last offer her the ultimatum free of doubt.

----------

“Cadet Crewws,” I barked in my carefully practiced and clipped ‘officer’ voice. She was accustomed be being addressed thusly, and was unperturbed as always.

She closed the door quietly behind her, spun smartly on her heel, saluted, and reported herself ready. “Yes sir, Colonel, sir,” came Crewws’ proper military response. She scrupulously kept her eyes front. He face was complacent. She had no idea that I was about to throw the book at her.

I stood up and began to walk toward her around my desk with my arms tucked arrogantly behind my back. “Think carefully, Cadet: what hallowed words do you tread on every day?” I was actually very pleased with my clever play on words. In the central assembly-hall of the academy, where roll was called every morning at 7 AM, there was the great crest of the Ministry of Self-Defense. The motto, inscribed in inlayed marble, read: Admirable in Thought, Ardent in Belief.

As expected, Claudia was at a complete loss. Her expression was utterly vacant. Her pitch-black eyes were unfocussed, as per normal. Her posture remained rigid. She made no response even to acknowledge my question.

“Uh-huh. I thought so.” I began to lecture her. “You need to learn how to think and how to believe. It’s good enough, Claudia, even desirable, that the majority of officers be mindless executors of orders. For this, nothing further is required than a basic understanding of revised military history, a rudimentary grasp of military psychology, and a smattering of technical and engineering knowledge.” Claudia remained motionless. I continued, my face inches from hers. “But the majority of officers are not educated here at this academy. This place which you make a mockery of every day is where the elite are trained.”

I saw her blank look. She heard me, but she wasn’t really listening. I decided to try a new tack. I turned away from the cadet and gazed out of the window behind the desk. I could see scores of the future leaders of the nation practicing on the drill field.

“What makes a knife a good knife, Claudia?” I said patronizingly.

“Sir?”

“What is the function of a knife, cadet?” I barked.

“To cut, sir.”

“So what makes a knife a good knife?”

“A good knife...sir?” Claudia cocked her head to the side. The chinstrap was the only thing which prevented the military cap from falling right off of her head.

“A good knife must be sharp, the better for it to cut,” I explained. Enthusiastically, Claudia reiterated what I had just said, as though she were committing it to her memory.

“Sir, yes sir. The function of a knife is to cut: a good knife is sharp, the better for it to cut, sir.”

“So if a good knife is a knife that can best fulfill the function of cutting, what makes a good officer, Claudia?”

“A good officer...the function of an officer is to...sir?” She cocked her head to the side again.

“To lead, Claudia! To lead! And this is exactly what I’m getting at!” I lowered my tone. “You will never become a good officer if you can’t learn how to think, how to believe, how to inspire, how to lead.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not...good enough.” She stopped. She was waiting for me to give her an order or to say something else. I studied her again, in her field-gray uniform. Her shoulders were thrown back, her chest thrust out, her chin held high. If she was even breathing at all as she stood at rigid attention, I couldn’t tell.

“Moderation has, for me Claudia, always been a source of pride. So I’m going to treat you very reasonably and fairly. I’ve looked into your background and official histories. It all looks a little peculiar, but never mind that, Claudia, because none of that is my concern. What IS my concern, however, is that no one graduates from this institution as an officer who will not be a good officer. Whether you remain here at this academy will be decided by me, conditional upon your performance in your final presentation for my Civilized Warfare class. I intend to have you released from this academy if you do not sufficiently convince me that you are capable of independent thought and reflection. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

“Sir, very fair, sir. I won’t disappoint you, sir. The function of an officer is to think, believe, inspire, and lead. A good officer thinks, believes, inspires, and leads.” She spoke entirely without zeal, as was her wont.

“You say the words, cadet, but do you grasp their meaning?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Well.” She still didn’t get it. “We’ll find that out for sure during your final presentation. Dismissed, Crewws.”

The cadet saluted, turned on her heel, and made her exit.

----------

The following day, I was paid a visit by Technical Marshal Captain Lawrence Lindemann. I recognized him from various board meetings and official functions as the dean of the Department of Engineering & Technology. I remembered him as a hothead. After we saluted each other in gentlemanly fashion, the Captain spoke.

“I’m here to talk to you about a student of yours: Cadet First Class Claudia Crewws.”

“Of course. Crewws. Please have a seat. What’s it all about, Captain?” I sat behind my desk and poured us both a glass of schnapps.

“Well, Claudia is also a student of mine. She excels in her studies.” He leaned back in his chair with a smug smile. “Don’t you agree, sir?” he said pointedly. He sipped his drink.

“I don’t know what kind of citizen you train your cadets to be over in the Department of Engineering & Technology, but over here in the Department of Military History, Theory, & Psychology, we train thinkers and believers-” Captain Lindemann smacked his half-full glass of schnapps back on my desk startlingly.

“Spare me the platitudes, sir,” replied Captain Lindemann without even letting me finish. “Save them for the Propaganda Ministry press releases. I’m not interested in your romanticism.” He leaned forward menacingly. “I’m not interested idealism. I’m here to achieve a practical purpose: don’t mess with cadet Crewws.” So much for being gentlemanly officers!

“I see. You’re a technocrat that thinks that what we teach around here is extraordinary, amazing, difficult, and divine, but useless!” I jumped up from behind my desk and stalked over to the window. Unrelentingly, the Captain spoke again.

“Look, I said she’s under my protection. I have to warn you: don’t do anything to jeopardize her graduation.”

I paused to consider his threat. This was an opportunity for me to play Antigone. I decided that I wouldn’t back down. “You can’t very well hold ME responsible for the failings of YOUR student!” He jumped up from his seat, almost knocking it over in the process.

“She’s MORE than just my STUDENT!” he raged.

We spent an uncomfortable moment waiting for his furious words to settle to the ground in the motionless room. I considered his meaning. His face was bright red. That was not something he had meant to say.

“Well.” He cleared his throat.

Could they be lovers? No: he was old enough to be her father. Could they be related? He was a high-ranking officer...it would explain a great deal of the mystery surrounding here treatment at the academy.

After watching the worm sweat for a few moments, I spoke up in a carefully measured and polite voice. “Captain. Please. We’re both educators. We have the same goal, no matter how we express it. I’m giving your protégé a chance to prove her worth.” I did my best to sound resolute. “You’ll get no further concessions from me.”

He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his schnapps.

“Very well, sir. If you prefer to be obstinate,” he said with false sincerity, “then I wish you all the luck in the world with Claudia.” He shook his head slowly as I waited with clenched fists and unfathomable patience for him to remove his smelling carcass from my office. “You really have no idea, do you? My God!” I had no idea what he was talking about. The windbag was trying to confuse me by making extravagant threats. “Well, you history professors really need to get your noses out of dusty books and take a look at the world every once in a while. It really wouldn’t hurt, you know.” He gritted his jaws tight and looked me right in the eyes. “The world is progressing,” said the Captain through his teeth. “People like you have to either embrace the change or face extinction.”

And with that kind word, the Captain left, slamming the door behind him.

----------

My eyes shifted alternately between the door and the clock on the wall. I waited impatiently for Crewws to arrive and do her presentation. I was nervous about how this issue was getting me in trouble with Captain Lindemann and the Engineering & Technology Department, but remained determined to stick to my original plan: if Cadet Crewws couldn’t cut it in this presentation, I would still see to it that she was expelled from the academy. Finally, at precisely the agreed upon time, Cadet Crewws opened the door and stepped inside.

“Cadet Crewws reporting, sir!”

“Right on time, as usual, cadet. You may begin as soon as you’re ready.”

“I’m prepared to start immediately. My topic of discussion is the British and American terror-bombing directed at the German civilian population during European Civil War Number 8b.” And so it went. Cadet Crewws spoke for twenty minutes upon the subject without interruption. She spoke in her characteristically monotonous voice and did nothing more than rehash the opinions of other historians. She just stood there, only occasionally embellishing her speech with hand gestures. Decidedly most uninspiring. At length, she completed her presentation and stood at attention waiting for my evaluation. I paused for a moment.

“I think you’ve stated rather concisely the opinions the eminent, late F.J.P. Veale, Cadet Crewws, but what do you think?” It was going exactly as I had foreseen. She still wasn’t using her own head.

“What do...I think? Sir?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Well, you must have your own view on the subject.”

“I think...my own view...” she trailed off. A pause. Her face was expressionless. Suddenly Crewws sprung back to life with zeal that I’d never seen in her before. “I think F.J.P. Veale is correct,” she said brightly. She looked at me expectantly as though she had said something profound. She waited for a response.

“Don’t you see that to be a good decision-maker, you need to have your own beliefs to base choices on? You can’t be a good officer if you are not first a good thinker.”

“I will make an excellent officer,” said Cadet Crewws with sublime confidence. “I think F.J.P. Veale is correct. I agree with my superiors. I think they are correct. I think their orders are correct. I obey their instructions. I will make an excellent officer.”

“I’m sorry Claudia, but I am not convinced of that. In fact, after watching your presentation, I hold quite a contrary opinion. You’re never going to be on officer, Claudia. You have failed. You are out of the academy.”

“Failed, sir? Impossible: I don’t fail. Out, sir? Out?” she reassured me. “But I will make an excellent officer.” She smiled broadly.

“Listen to me, Crewws-”

She cut me off. “I will make an excellent officer,” she insisted. “The function of an officer is to think, believe, inspire, and lead. The function of an officer is to follow instructions. I can perform all of these functions,” she said sternly.

“No: listen to me. You’re gone! You’re no good, Crewws!”

“I will function as a perfect officer. I will be the perfect officer.” She was no longer standing at attention. Now she was slowly advancing toward me. “A good officer also achieves objectives and obeys orders at all costs.”

“No! A good officer must have morals and has obligation to refuse immoral orders. Have you learned nothing in three years? The reason for the demise of civilized warfare was the disappearance of the trait of morality in the officer corps. Blind obedience to all orders was the root cause of the end of chivalry and civilized conduct.”

“I must not allow you to interfere with my objectives.” She continued to approach me menacingly with her empty eyes. “I cannot allow you to jeopardize my graduation. I will be the perfect officer. You cannot stop me.”

“What graduation, Crewws? You’re a washout! Get out of my office!”

“I obey orders. I obey. I obey,” she chanted. “I have instructions not to let anything interfere with my progress.” Now she was practically right on top of me!

“What do you think you’re doing, Claudia?” I asked nervously.

“I can’t let you interfere...” Without warning, she grabbed my throat with both hands! What the-!?

“Aaaccckkk...Claud-ia...what are-you...aaaaaaaaa...doing...?” I tried desperately to fend her off, but she clutched my throat in an iron grip. All I managed to do was to claw her hat off of her head.

“I’m...sorry. You cannot be permitted to remain an obstacle to the completion of my objectives.” She stared at me coldly as her fists crushed my throat.

“Claudia...” I could scarcely whisper. “A good officer...obeys superiors...”

“Yes,” she affirmed.

“But I’m...your...superior...” My breath was failing.

She cocked her head as if consider what I had said. Her grip loosened perceptibly.

“Release me...Claudia!” I begged.

She started shaking her head. “A good officer...obeys. Obeys orders...obeys superiors...obeys...obeys...”

“I’m...your superior, you crazy...BITCH...get...off of me!” She still held my throat tightly enough to restrict airflow uncomfortably. I could get a little air, though. “You’re just...a cadet! I’m a...a fucking colonel! Get your...hands off me!”

“My superior. Must obey superior. But... Negative. Negative. Orders are to overcome any obstacle at any cost. Orders. Must obey orders.” She tightened her grip again.

“I...ORDER you...let me...go!” Tears were rolling from my eyes. I realized that I had fallen to my knees. Claudia’s vice grip alone prevented me from completely collapsing to the ground. She stood high over me, looking down without compassion. I couldn’t swallow.

But my words again had an effect. Her grip loosened a little bit again. Claudia shook her head. “Orders...Conflict. What must I do, sir? What must I... What are my instructions?”

I spoke between gasps for air. “You’re – insane! What would – a good – officer – do – cadet?”

“A good officer thinks, believes, inspires, and leads. A good officer... Conflict. A good officer...obeys orders. Obeys superiors. Thinks, believes, inspires, leads.”

“So THINK – for God’s sake!”

“Think?” She cocked her head. Then I heard a sound that baffled me utterly. It sounded like a ZAP of electricity. It came from Claudia. I looked up at her.

“Think?” ZAP.

“Obey.” ZAP. Her head jerked to the side.

“Believe, inspire, lead.” ZAP. ZAP. ZAP. Her hands released my entirely. Sputtering for air, I leaned heavily on my desk and coughed uncontrollably. I closed my eyes tightly and struggled to maintain consciousness. I heard Claudia talking to herself.

“My orders...” ZAP.

“My superiors...” ZAP.

“I must not fail...” ZAP.

When I looked up, thin wisps of gray smoke were streaking upwards from her mouth. She was shaking her head violently. And then it clicked. Her lack of records. No medical history. Private quarters near the Engineering & Technology Department. Captain Lindemann’s visit. His warning about the future. She was a robot.

Suddenly, Claudia Crewws regained her composure.

“I will be a good officer. I will not be deterred again. The function of an officer is not to think. It is to...obey. You are an obstacle. Obstacles exist to be overcome. Kill. Crush. Destroy. Burn.”

She stepped towards me again, but this time I was ready for her. As soon as she got close enough, I snatched the bottle of schnapps off of my desk, and in one fluid motion, smashed it on top of her head.

The nearly full bottle exploded as it impacted her metal head. Shards of glass of various sizes flew around the room like shrapnel. The schnapps sprayed everywhere. Claudia stopped, momentarily stunned. Her outstretched hands were inches from my throat. Her lustrous, black hair was soaked with schnapps. It ran down her cheeks and face. It ran into her eyes and into her mouth, from which smoke was still escaping. We both paused, seemingly waiting for something to happen. Claudia cocked her head. When nothing happened immediately, she resumed her advance. She must have felt safe, since nothing had happened right away. Having apparently failed, I honestly thought I was about to die. Her fingers reached my throat. They were cold.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, my ears were gratified by a tremendous explosion of blinding-white sparks inside of Claudia’s chest. It was so bright that it illuminated her white blouse from the inside. The explosion of electricity was accompanied by a deafening BANG! Immediately, Claudia removed her hands from my neck and put them on her own chest. She looked down at her malfunctioning self. Black smoke billowed from her mouth now.

“What have you...obey...the United States, Great Britain...” She looked up at me with dispassionate eyes. The smoke had left black soot on her cheeks. “Civilized...the final seal...a good knife...” Something else suddenly burst in her chest. She staggered towards me, still determined to see me dead. I shoved her backwards and she fell down to her knees. “Obey. Obey. Obey.” She still reached upwards for my throat. “Obey. Obey. Obey.” Each time she said the word, the pitch of her voice lowered grotesquely. With my boot, I pushed her onto her back. Her systems were damaged so severely that she couldn’t offer even feeble resistance to me any longer. She landed on her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her arms were still extended in front of her. “Obey. Obey.” Her volume was lowering as her systems wound down slowly. Finally, whatever gizmos inside that animated her gave up the uphill battle to keep her functioning. She died with a deep, quiet “O...”. She didn’t even manage to complete her last word. She smoldered silently, her booted legs splayed out on the floor of my office.

Rubbing my throat, I picked up the telephone on my desk. My secretary was on the other end of the line. “Sir?”

“Would you please contact Captain Lindemann over in the Engineering & Technology Department, please?” I asked politely. “Ask him to stop by my office whenever it’s convenient for him. Tell him one of his students had a little too much to drink.”

----------

I sat behind my desk in darkness, enjoying a quiet cigar. It would be the last time I sat here; I was about to be shipped out to join a minesweeping company in the Argentine Protectorate. My personal effects didn’t have to be packed up; they would simply be confiscated by the State. Not like I’d have a lot of time to read books while I was busy clearing minefields, anyway. At my age, I knew I wouldn’t last long where I was going.

I puffed quietly. Claudia Crewws was the embodiment of everything I devoted my life to combating. Mindless obedience: thoughtless, callous, and primitive. She could never do anything more than obey orders. Mankind was so much better than that. How could such a rational animal like man willingly submit to giving up the one thing which separated him from the savage beast?

Always a student of history, I was too smart to delude myself into believing that my little victory had gained anything. Nothing could prevent the change that was coming. Captain Lindemann was right, of course. Mankind was becoming obsolete in a world of his own making. Where civilized conduct doesn’t exist between men, civilization ceases to exist. We were advancing to barbarism again. In that sense, through Claudia Crewws, I got a preview of the end of civilization. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

Through the window behind me, I could see the empty drill field. I put out the smoking stub of the cigar under the sole of my boot. The warm orange glow faded and died. All was blackness. It reminded me of Claudia’s eyes.

Stories

2009-02-22T07:48:29Z

Lithorien:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]
__NOTOC__
==Author==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Borias|Borias]]===
#[[Minor Repairs]]
#[[Tricia 4200]]
#[[Reprogramming]]
#[[Darwin Gaiden]]
#[[Extended Family]]
#[[Interface]]
#[[Rehabilitation]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[Three Pawns]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Happy Birthday Cricket]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/Jak|Jak]]===
#[[Sam]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]
|
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Anton]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]]
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]]
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]]
#[[My Keeper]]
#[[Identity]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[Jumper...]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]

===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

Three Pawns

2009-02-22T07:48:03Z

Lithorien: New page: Corporal Manuel Delacroix and I had been sitting in the cramped, unmarked staff car for more than twenty-five minutes. I would have gotten out of the car to stretch my legs, but it was ra...

Corporal Manuel Delacroix and I had been sitting in the cramped, unmarked staff car for more than twenty-five minutes. I would have gotten out of the car to stretch my legs, but it was raining cats and dogs. It had been pouring all day, and seemed like it would be pouring all night too. Unusual for Paris this time of year. The only sound was the rain bouncing off the hood of the car in the night. A million orbs of silver glittered on the windshield from the light cast by street-lamps. Occasionally, Corporal Delacroix would light up a new cigarette. An orange glow from his flame briefly illuminated his young face, and then was gone. Again, he was just a shadow beneath his helmet.

“She’s supposed to be here already,” complained Delacroix between puffs, without removing the cigarette from between his thin lips. “We’re going to be late getting her downtown to meet her contact if she does not hurry.” He was right; we were waiting for her at a railway station in the middle of nowhere. Once we picked her up, we would have at least an hour of driving ahead of us before we reached the rendezvous point with her contact. Delacroix again lapsed into silence as he quietly enjoyed his cigarette.

Our orders seemed unusually cloak-and-dagger. To start with, it was rare for the European Central Military Command to directly issue orders to French Special Forces, bypassing the normal chain-of-command. So we knew it came right from the top; it must have been important. Secondly, if an essential civilian needs protection, normally police units, and not military units, are called. Nevertheless, we had been ordered to guard one Madam Charlotte Cadieux. Given the unusual circumstances, Madam Cadieux was obviously a significant figure.

It looked like an easy mission though. Corporal Delacroix and I would drive Madam Cadieux to an apartment building downtown, and escort her to the roof. There she would meet a contact and obtain some information. Then we were to drop her off at Charles De Gaulle International Airport. The whole thing would take less than three hours, which was good because I preferred to be home before four ‘o’clock in the morning!

Both Manuel and I had been issued a photograph of Cadieux’s contact. The name given to us was “Jacque Laurent,” but neither of us believed this was his real name. It was fun to imagine all the elaborate scheming and intrigues that must come from a life of espionage. Because that’s what was going on: Manuel and I were guarding a spy.

“Here she comes,” said Manuel, cutting short our fanciful ideas about a real-life Mata Hari. The Corporal sounded as though he was surprised she actually had shown up. He tossed the remains of his 6th cigarette in thirty minutes out of a tiny crack he let in the window.

Madam Cadieux really could have passed for Mati Hari. I guess being gorgeous is a requirement for all female spies. We both saw her at once as she emerged from the warehouse that was adjacent to the virtually abandoned railway station where we had been instructed to pick her up. She elegantly pushed the door aside and strutted towards our vehicle under a large, black umbrella. The silver streetlights made her umbrella look like a convex oil slick suspended above her head by magic. Details became clearer as she approached. She had long legs, chestnut hair, glittering dark eyes, an elegant sweater and skirt, and spit-polished, knee-high boots that splashed in the puddles as she neared. A tiny handbag dangled from her shoulder. My comrade and I gawked at her beauty as she strode through the rain with all the arrogance of a person who secretly knows something important.

As if on cue, Delacroix and I simultaneously snapped out of the reverie in which her gorgeous appearance held both of us fast, and abruptly began fumbling with the power-lock buttons to unlock the car door for her. It would have been galling, especially for courteous Frenchmen like us, to leave a lady like that standing out in the cold rain!

Noise and cold, rainy wind from the storm outside suddenly filled the darkened automobile as Madame Cadieux opened the door and stepped in. As she did so, she gracefully closed her umbrella and gently shook some of the moisture out of her lustrous brown hair.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m sorry to have delayed the mission; I had to attend to several important last-minute details.” Her voice was enchanting, despite the formal, business-like tone she had assumed. “I trust that you are ready to proceed with the mission?”

“Yes, Madame. We have our orders,” I stammered. With a body like that, it was hard for me to keep my mind on the mission.

“Good. You may proceed to the objective, Sergeant,” affirmed Madame Cadieux curtly.

----------

The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm as we made our way to the center of the city. I drove. The carefree lights of Paris surrounded us, but were muted by our heavily tinted windows. We passed crowded clubs, expensive restaurants, beauty salons, tourist spots, and the like.

Madame Cadieux spoke little, only occasionally reminding me of an upcoming turn in her characteristically prim tone of voice. Otherwise, we traveled in silence.

I could see her in the rearview mirror when I glanced back at the traffic. I found myself looking into the mirror more and more often, the better to see her wonderful face. Poor Delacroix had to content himself with the sights of Paris flowing by his window. Little did he know that in the back seat sat the most beautiful sight France had to offer!

Sitting stiffly behind the Corporal, Madame Agent Cadieux focused her attention dead ahead: staring at the back of Delacroix’s helmet. At length, I gave up making excuses for myself to look in the rearview mirror. I simply began to watch Cadieux at every opportunity, glancing at her several times a minute. This was the first time I could remember when I really could not keep my eyes off of a woman. She struck me as a tad odd, though. She never once scratched her nose or stroked her hair, or shifted her weight to be more comfortable. Nothing like that; I never even saw her blink once! Several times during the trip however, she produced a bottle of milk from her handbag. She always sipped it daintily and, after a few swallows, returned it to her bag. I guess its true what the dairy-pushers say. Milk: It Does a Body Good. Amen. That was all. Heck, the warm air in the car was making me a little thirsty too, so I thought little of it.

Many times during the course of that hour, I thought to strike up a conversation with Cadieux. I needed something to relieve the tense air in the car. Besides, I wanted to learn more about the beautiful agent. But each time I was about to speak, I glanced up in the mirror to her face. And each time, her stern, serious face seemed too forbidding.

----------

After parking the car on the street in front of the apartment building, Delacroix and I stepped out into the rain. I was encouraged to discover that the weather was beginning to subside appreciably and so inhaled a deep draught of fresh Paris air. Madame Cadieux remained in the car, and it took Delacroix a moment to realize that the snobbish agent expected him to open her door for her. Despite his annoyance, Delacroix indulged her with faux-graciousness. She didn’t thank him, but stepped onto the street without regarding him whatsoever.

I took the opportunity to scan the street in both directions, with a hand resting protectively on my sub-machine gun which I had slung around my shoulder and chest. There was no discernable activity of any sort, probably due more to the late hour than on account of the inclement weather. All that was visible were the rows of cars parked on either side of the poorly lit street, flanked by silent, darkened apartments. The only sound was the stiff wind, which hurled tiny needles of freezing precipitation in my face as I stood on the pock-marked road.

I turned away from the wind and instead looked upward at the apartment building looming above us as Madame Cadieux straightened her sweater and smoothed her skirt, collecting herself. Very few of the windows were lit. It was already past one’ o’clock in the morning, after all. But strangely, the sight made me fell inexplicably disquieted. The dark building was lent an especially grim countenance by the ominous storm clouds that silently surged above it and framed it in my vision. I tried to reassure myself by remembering that one normally feels uneasy or excited when about to execute important orders.

I locked our vehicle as Delacroix went ahead and to open the double-door into the apartment complex for Madame Agent Cadieux. As we passed each other on the sidewalk, Madame Cadieux gave me a haughty, self-important look; Cabanne just shrugged his shoulders.

There was no guard in the dingy entrance foyer, only mailboxes. I stepped out of the clean air outside and into the warm, dank atmosphere of poverty. The hall stank of cat urine. The light bulbs had almost all been stolen from their fixtures. Mold crept on the walls; shadows were deep. We went straight for the elevator without delay. My heart was starting to pump faster. I looked first at Delacroix and then at Cadieux as our small party awaited the slow elevator.

Corporal Delacroix was alert. His annoyance with the unfriendly Cadieux had vanished. He knew it was game time. His eyes darted to and fro as he tapped his fingers on his sub-machine gun. I caught his eye for a moment. He swallowed hard and looked away. It was his first mission, and it was understandable for him to be anxious. I had to set an example for him; I was a sergeant. Of course, I’d never been in command of a real mission like this before. I had to stay calm, for Delacroix’s sake, and for the sake of the mission. I guessed Delacroix was hurting for a cigarette about now. I thought about one too.

In contrast, Cadieux now looked complacent and arrogant in her own eminently self-satisfied way. She stood patiently awaiting the elevator. She looked calmer than I felt; that much was certainly true. She observed the descent of the elevator with measured composure. Her hands rested gently on her hips, and her stance was provocatively skewed slightly in my direction. I couldn’t help but chance a glance at her buttocks. I perceived her panties outlined underneath her skirt.

Even in a dangerous situation as this, no self-respecting soldier or Frenchman could fail to look with wonder and covetousness at Charlotte Cadieux. I admit that I was having trouble focusing on the mission at this juncture. She was gorgeous. I tried to picture myself meeting her at a Café or in a park. My eyes traced her silhouette from her dark hair, down her smooth forehead, past her dark eyes and around her aristocratic nose, her deeply rouged lips, her defined chin, and her slender neck, eventually settling my eyes upon her charmingly modest breast.

What I intended to make a quick glance at length became and all-out stare. What a perfect chest! So full, so robust and healthy. It took but a small amount of imagination to picture them revealed on a nude beach near Marseille or Nice on the Mediterranean. The way her tight sweater stretched here, and loosened there in order to accommodate her breast was tantalizing. I wondered if she preferred the city or the country? With equal ease, I could picture her behind the wheel of a speeding BMW or gallantly riding on horseback. This latter idea invoked a most agreeable image of her breasts bouncing with the rhythm of a powerful animal. And did she prefer wine or cognac? What had she studied in school? Everything about her invited the most absorbing speculation.

Dimly at first, I became aware that my impolite gaze had at length been noticed by the object of my sinful affections. Now, SHE was staring at ME. But her look was more of an angry glare. Already feeling myself turning red, I looked up to her face.

“Hello Sergeant. I believe we’ve met.” She paused, utterly humorless. “Shall I cite you for un-soldierly conduct in my mission report? Your only purpose it to tend to my safety, and I submit to you that this goal is best served if you stay alert instead of gawking at me like a schoolboy. I recommend that you concentrate on your duty.” I was blushing out of control. I’m such an idiot! Her words hung in the air. She awaited an apology for my rude stare. I floundered.

At once, the elevator arrived, graciously ending the uncomfortable moment. “Fail me not, Sergeant.” And with a final cold regard, Madame Agent Cadieux turned on her heel and stepped inside. Delacroix caught my eye and with a wry grin and shook his head at my embarrassment. I glared back at him. Upstart Corporal! We were about to proceed to the next, crucial level of our mission.

----------

The elevator was smaller than average, and it was a major difficulty to cram Delacroix and I, each with our clunky helmets, heavy boots, radios, flashlights, goggles, grenades, body armor and sub-machine guns into the elevator by ourselves. On top of that, however, we also had to squeeze in the prissy, and now offended, Madame Cadieux. She scrupulously preferred not to touch either of us soldiers. With arrogant grace, she maneuvered herself into a position behind Delacroix and I. She’d be safer there.

The awkward activity reminded me of the nonsense joke about how many pancakes you can fit into a phone booth (hint: it depends on whether submarines can make right-turns at red lights on Sundays and the square root of a duck, in terms of pi). Thus I was able to throw off my worry. From a tactical standpoint, the mission could be placed in jeopardy since we were all so vulnerable in such a confined space. I tried to put my mind at ease by glancing at Delacroix, but he looked distinctly worried as well.

I admonished myself. All we had to do was standby while Cadieux got the information from her contact. After that, a quick drive to the airport, and it was all over. No sweat. Piece of cake.

The buttons on the control panel went all the way up to fourteen. After the normal number sequence of floors, there was a keyhole, ostensibly to regulate traffic to the roof. Madame Cadieux produced a key from her breast pocket and inserted it gingerly into the keyhole. She gave it a twist, and the elevator jerked to a start. We were on our way to the roof. I was starting to sweat, as much because of nerves as because of the temperature that was rising in the elevator due to the aggregate effect or our bodies being packed like sardines into the confined space. Perspiration beaded on Delacroix’s forehead. Cadiuex seemed un-phased as ever.

----------

We reached the top. The doors slowly parted. My eyes had trouble adjusting to the new darkness of the rooftop. I was reluctant to leave the bright, familiar safety of the elevator and step onto the unknown roof. There were no happy stars or benevolent moon: just a howling black sky on the 15th story. The clouds seemed to be streaming past close enough to touch, while the lights of the city below seemed dim and faraway. Peering out, Delacroix and I didn’t see anything.

Suddenly we were blinded by several bright lights accompanied by a deafening cacophony. Muzzle flashes and the reports from small-arms fire! Our senses were overwhelmed by the berserk fury that had been unleashed upon us without warning. What was happening?!

“Under fire!” Delacroix shouted automatically, as he shoved Madame Cadieux backwards into the elevator with tremendous force borne of sheer terror. She bounced off the opposite wall of the elevator, shuddering. He shielded her with his body. He heroically shielded her with his body! Immediately I heard the dreadfully heavy and thick sound of bullets impacting a human being. I heard the high-density plastic armor PLINK-PLINKing as bullets bounced off of it, and then the wet, dull, mushy sound of a bullet finding flesh; finding flesh and burying itself in its soft warmth.

I didn’t even consider that I too might be hit. I was scared, but the thought that I could be hit never crossed my mind. I heard bullets striking metal behind me. Something tumbled to the ground like a heavy bag of rocks. Delacroix had probably fallen. Sparks flew behind be. I heard a fearful zapping and buzzing of electricity. It sounded like an angry swarm of wasps behind me. I could sense, more than smell, the powder burning. It all happened at once. I was struck dumb. Immersed in smothering syrup, I couldn’t react fast enough.

Recovering momentarily, I desperately started to punch elevator buttons with one hand, the faster to make good our escape, while blindly returning fire with the other. I doubt I hit anything. I kept up the fire until the magazine was out of bullets. What went wrong!? What disaster!

----------

The elevator doors closed from the deadly darkness on the rooftop with ponderous reluctance. The gunfire still rang in my ears. The only thing that was louder was my blood pumping through my skull. My grip on my weapon was so tight that my hand hurt. I had to calm down. What was happening? What did I need to do? Somewhere halfway down the building between floors, I hit the STOP ELEVATOR button.

----------

My heart rate slowed. The noise subsided. The elevator descended. Slowly, I became aware that I was the only one still standing in the elevator. I was trembling.

I heard Manuel first. He called for my help as blood spewed and gurgled from his mouth. “PIERRE, PIERRE,” he wheezed beseechingly, until his throat filled entirely with blood. Then all that he could manage was the smothered moan of a drowning dog. One gore-soaked hand he removed from his torn throat and clawed instead at my ankle, tugging on my fatigues as if to get my attention. He left a handprint there, slathering my combat boot with his blood.

I looked down at my dying comrade. I couldn’t take in the full horror of the scene at once. I only received small impressions and images which I remember vividly even now. Images that, in truth, I’ll never forget. He was sprawled on the floor of the elevator. He had dropped his weapon. His free hand was pressed to his neck with desperation and the whole front of his uniform was drenched with shiny red blood. Warm arterial blood seeped between his fingers at brief and regular intervals. More was splashed on the walls beside where he lay and was dripping down as if it knew it must somehow rejoin him. I also noticed half-a-dozen bullet-holes behind him. He’d been hit in the throat. At least once. Behind his steamy goggles, Delacroix’s eyes were wild with terror.

With a numbed, distant pain, I slide my eyes away from the terrible sight of the perhaps mortally injured Delacroix to ascertain the condition of our charge, Madame Agent Charlotte Cadieux, who lay in the opposite corner of the elevator. Even as he tugged on my pants, it was my duty to make certain Cadieux was still safe.

Madame Agent looked straight at me from the floor of the elevator with great composure considering that she had a hole in her chest. At most, she seemed somewhat surprised at her current status as a casualty. Otherwise, she seemed sublimely unaware of her dire condition. She looked me intently in the eyes, perhaps willing me to do I knew not what. I wasn’t a trained medic. Again, I perceived the scene before me not as a whole, but as details. It’s funny what you notice and don’t notice under circumstances such as these. Dislocated fragments. In the background, I could hear Delacroix piteously imploring me for help. I also heard an odd, irregular thumping noise which I couldn’t place, but thought no more of it.

I just stared down at her in total, unthinking shock. The most striking thing was that, as I mentioned, the wonderfully perfect chest that I had just been staring at a moment ago was ruined beyond recognition. There was a hole right in the center of it that I could have put my fist through. My first absurd impression was that she was doing the ‘Funky-Chicken’ dance: her hands were held stiffly against her breasts and her elbows were bent, pointing away from her. But then I noticed that she was, in fact, struggling to keep her innards within her body where they belonged. I found this thought particularly revolting and most certainly would have vomited had I not perceived several obvious peculiarities that had somehow avoided detection during my first cursory survey of her condition.

Firstly, there was no blood on this side of the elevator, in marked contrast to where my dying comrade lay. Instead, the dominant color around Cadieux was white. It was splashed everywhere on the walls and floor; it even dripped lazily from the ceiling! It was as though an enormous water-balloon filled with white paint had burst when Cadieux was shot.

I focused my attention back to her gaping chest wound. Her milky blood covered her hands and was being soaked into her sweater. Oddly, the fluid seemed to have a weak pulse, as if there was some artificial, plastic heart buried somewhere inside of her, pumping the weird lubricant or whatever it was around her body. Around the perimeter of the entrance wound, her plastic skin was singed black. Squirming and pulsating beneath her fingers were what looked like clumps of yellowish-white spaghetti strands, stretched over some kind of metal framework that had been twisted by the impact of the bullet. Here and there a bundles of wires and circuitry and even thicker cables laced artfully around until they disappeared from my view, diving into the thick medium of her bizarre innards. But one such cable had been severed and was sparking weakly but incessantly. It was these sparks which I had heard during the rooftop shoot-out, and which had evidently burned and melted portions of her skin. In the area of the exposed cable, her milky blood was sizzling and smoking. That was when I was suddenly struck by the hideous falsity of the woman.

Then something brought my attention back that the odd thumping noise that I was hearing and had somehow tuned out. Cadieux’s legs had evidently been spastically kicking uncontrollably all over the place after her had been damaged. She seemed to be in the throes of a major malfunction. Her heavy black boots had been banging ferociously against the walls in desperate futility. Now however, they seemed to be winding down considerably; they had been reduced to sporadic, violent jerks. I suppose it was an indication that her capabilities were in a marked state of decline. What she needed wasn’t a medic! She needed more like a mechanic! Or a lab-technician.

Fear for my own life subsided as I observed the laconic, faux-woman with incredulity. After a few moments of calm regard, Madame Agent Cadieux ventured an attempt at speaking. A thick stream of soupy, white gunk seeped out from between her pursed lips. It ran down her cheek and neck. The same heavy white liquid started bubbling out of her sharp nose, linking up with the stream issuing from her mouth and collecting in a small pool on the floor beside her head. Her brunette hair on that side of her complacent face was matted with the stuff, whatever it was. At this, Charlotte Cadieux didn’t seem perturbed in the least.

The dying android’s voice was garbled grotesquely. I could at once detect the sensuous inflection that she had been programmed to speak with, but I could also hear a sinister, computerized hiss in the background. Just as she began to speak, and particularly powerful and long stream of her white liquid squirted out of her chest wound and splashed her in the face. It tricked down her forehead and ran into her eye. She either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care, because she didn’t react to it at all.

“Sergeant,” she called. “Sergeant, are you surprised?”

“You’re...What ARE you?” For the first time I could remember, I was really speechless.

“Please. I think it’s obvious.” She smirked. “I am the incarnation of technology. I am – ”

I cut her off, disgusted. “You’re a deception! You! You abomination! To the devil with you!”

“No, Sergeant. To the devil with mankind, Sergeant. Do you really think us that different, Sergeant? We both obey orders, Sergeant. We both know how to follow instructions, Sergeant. We both do our job, Sergeant. We don’t ask questions, Sergeant. What makes you so much better, Sergeant?”

“I think! I have morals! Ethics! I’m flesh and blood! I’m not a heartless, soulless monster like you!”

“I see, Sergeant. You’re a heartless, soulless, ‘flesh and blood’ monster. Is that why you carry a gun, Sergeant? To do moral things? To set an ethical example, Sergeant? To kill people that you don’t know? Why do you do it? Because ‘ethical’ people who don’t carry your weapons told you to do it? You merely kill for them in their stead. Is that what uniforms and grenades are for, Sergeant? You’re as much of a lie as I am. Doesn’t that makes us comrades, Sergeant?” She spat out the word ‘sergeant’ with renewed contempt each time she said it.

“Why am I even talking to you?! You’re just a...you’re just a THING!”

“We are both ‘things,’ Sergeant. You’re blood is red, my blood is white. But we were both created to perform the same function. What does conscience matter, Sergeant, if our actions and their consequences are the same? We both serve the same master, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, who?” My anger with the conceited droid welled up inside me. Everything was upside down.

“Military headquarters. The chain-of-command, Sergeant. Progress, providence, the Powers That Be. You and I are followers, Sergeant. Don’t be naïve.”

At length, Delacroix began to grow quiet as he listened to the robot. His breath seemed to come in a steady succession of short gasps. Maybe his condition was stabilizing? Maybe his wound just looked worse than it actually was? Or maybe he was on the verge of death? He too was looking with disbelief as Cadieux. His human blood had slowed its spurting from his neck. Had the artery closed, or was he simply running out of blood? I couldn’t move from where I stood. Was that THING what he had been willing to die for?

“Pierre...” he managed to whisper. I automatically knelt at his side, helpless to aid him. It was now too late for the medical-aid kit. I looked down at his tortured, blood-streaked face through my goggles from under the rim of my oppressively heavy helmet. I noticed Cadiuex watching me cynically as I clutched his hand. She couldn’t understand. “Pi...erre...moth...er...” he panted. His grip on his neck loosened. His helmeted head lolled away from me. The last of his blood escaped his throat. Everything went limp. His hand let go of mine. He released his last breath. He was dead. I bowed my head.

----------

The realization sunk in. Delacroix had shielded Cadieux, the robot, with his own body back there on the roof. He had tried to protect her. He had died for her. And she was a lie. She was a computer in the shape of a woman. A human sacrifice for mankind’s new idol! I raged. Sacrificed on the altar of information and technology!

My face grew flush with fury as I became aware of the ramifications of this revelation. I supposed I too was expendable. As expendable as Cadieux; as expendable as Delacroix.

----------

Still kneeling, I shifted to turn my attention to Cadieux. She looked at me as though expecting me to help her somehow. Perhaps to carry her to safety and leave the dead Delacroix behind. I un-slung my sub-machine gun and laid it heavily on the ground between Cadieux and Delacroix. Her eyes traveled down to her gaping wound and then up to my eyes, perhaps trying to remind me to be careful since she was damaged.

Without thinking, but with furious force, I plunged my gloved fist into her wound. I wiggled my fingers to dig down through her spaghetti-like tubes and veins. Soulless wires laced around my hand. Cadieux was shrieking with a mechanical, computerized whine. I increased the pressure and pushed even deeper into her body. Her pitch increased. When my hand was buried past my wrist beneath her guts, I found what I somehow knew I was looking for and wrapped my fingers around it. It was a rectangular box of metal with smooth edges. It felt like it must be her battery.

After several more determined tugs, each soliciting from her an even more agonized wail, I succeeded in yanking the metal object out of her body entirely. However, it was still attached to her by several thick cables that yet reached into her chest. I pulled it free of its cozy and secure resting place inside of Cadieux. Slippery noodle-like objects slid off of its milk-smeared surface as I slowly raised it out of chest. The noodles landed dully on her saturated sweater. Weakly, she tried to slap me away with her arms, but they didn’t seemed to be responding to her wishes very well. The damage to her systems had already become unmanageable.

With evident surprise, Cadieux stared at the object. I held it before her face. She was captivated by the sight of her own battery. It signified that she too would come to an end. Maybe she was finally realizing that she too was destructible and expendable. I consoled myself: no one would mourn her loss, while I would always remember Corporal Delacroix. Madame Agent Charlotte Cadieux was a piece of hardware, a device. There had really only been two of us in the elevator: my comrade I myself.

“Last words, Sergeant.” Her head twitched in agitation. A fresh gush of white liquid issued from between her shiny red lips. I think she was scared. I held her ‘life’ in my hands, the abomination. I was enjoying my little revenge. It was my little rebellion. “If you think doing this will change anything, you’re wrong.” I looked at her angrily, knowing that she was right. I decided to pull the plug all the same.

I stared right into her eyes and I yanked the her battery away as strongly as I could. The cables that connected Cadieux’s battery to the rest of her snapped off with a small ZAP of electricity. Cadiuex went into a fit. Her limbs started thrashing uncontrollably. I stepped out of the way to avoid getting batted by her berserk body. Jets of her milk squirted from her wound. Her booted feet stomped on the ground one after the other, after the other in hopeless fury. Her flat palms slapped the floor. Her head seemed to be shaking ‘no’ as if she was in denial of her own demise. The wild motion of her head was splashing buckets of her white blood around the elevator as it gushed from her open mouth.

Anon, she began to power down. Her legs stopped first. They slowed until they didn’t even twitch any more. Her arms slowly assumed an L-shaped position so that her stretched towards the ceiling and her elbows rested on the ground. Noodle-like objects were scattered everywhere. Her head settled in a direction facing me. She still seemed to look at me with her lifeless eyes. Her milky blood pulsed no longer. Lifeless as they ever were. Delacroix was dead, and Cadieux remained as dead as she always was. Precisely what was it about her condition that had truly changed?

I felt cheated.

Stories

2009-02-22T07:46:55Z

Lithorien:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]
__NOTOC__
==Author==
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|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Borias|Borias]]===
#[[Minor Repairs]]
#[[Tricia 4200]]
#[[Reprogramming]]
#[[Darwin Gaiden]]
#[[Extended Family]]
#[[Interface]]
#[[Rehabilitation]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[The Hustler]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Happy Birthday Cricket]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/Jak|Jak]]===
#[[Sam]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]
|
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Anton]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]]
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]]
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]]
#[[My Keeper]]
#[[Identity]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[Jumper...]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]

===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

The Hustler

2009-02-22T07:46:25Z

Lithorien:

I had noticed the young girl and her old friend at my joint for the first time that night. Seeing new faces was rare in a hole-in-the-wall pool-hall like mine, so I spotted them right away. All evening as I served drinks to the Sunday-night regulars and made sure none of the fights got out-of-hand, I had kept one eye on the odd pair.

The two of them just looked out-of-place at a dive like mine. Most of the regulars who still came wore their ratty Good-Will clothing, smoked like chimneys, and took shots of bourbon all night. They were just working men and retirees. But these two looked totally different. The old man wore a classy suit and bowler-hat, and his watch-chain looked like it was pure gold. His patent-leather shoes were as shiny as oil and the antiquated pince-nez he wore made him look more like a scientist or a historian than one of the blue-collar men with whom he shared my establishment. And the girl that was with him must have been his grand-daughter or something. She was very cute in the traditional sense of the word. Brunette pig-tails, button-lips, big brown eyes. She wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a modestly baggy, matching gray sweatshirt. She also wore nondescript white sneakers. For some reason, looking at her made me think of Cinderella or something. Especially considering how cheaply she was attired in comparison with her companion. She was eighteen, maybe nineteen years old. Obviously very sheltered if she was coming to a place like mine with her grandfather and not her boyfriend!

They hung around the back all night. All they ever ordered was one pint of beer, which the old man nursed all night long. With interest, they watched some of the guys play pool. From time to time, the old man would whisper something to the young girl. She seemed to DISAPPEAR in the games. She became totally absorbed in watching the fellas play pool.

Mid-night rolled around, and I started cleaning up the broken bottles, putting up chairs, emptying ash-trays, and turning off lights. One by one, all the guys started to leave. The coat-racks got progressively emptier and emptier. I turned off the radio, cleaned a bunch of glasses, wiped-off my counter and said goodbye to the last few customers. It wasn’t until I had flicked-on the neon “Closed” sign and was getting ready to lock-up that I realized that the old man and his companion, who I had come to assume was his grand-daughter, still hadn’t left. They were standing in the darkest corner of the empty pool-hall. Just then the old man emerged from the shadows, dim light from the shoddy ceiling-fixtures reflecting off of his gold chain and pince-nez. The silent and mysterious girl remained concealed in the shadows.

----------

“I know this must seem strange. Let me introduce myself,” said the old man in a rasping voice that made him sound like a spokesman for the health benefits of smoking. “My name is Carl Hancock.” Taking off his hat, he then gestured to the girl who had been with him all night. She was waiting silently in the shadows beside one of my pool-tables. “And that lovely girl over there is Heidi. I’m her manager.”

“Heidi doesn’t have a last name?” I inquired suspiciously. The odd pair was starting to arouse my curiosity. And what did he mean by “manager”?

I think I had caught him off-guard. “As a matter of fact, no: she doesn’t have a last name.” The old man’s gray goatee fairly bristled with indignation that I had asked such a thing. Interesting. Perhaps the pair was on the run from the law?

“But come. I have a proposal for you.” He produced a handkerchief from the breast-pocket of his vest and began cleaning his pince-nez. Offhandedly, he stated his pitch. “I want you to play a round against Heidi. Rumor has it that you used to be the best. I’m not so sure.” He was challenging my skills with the pool-cue!

“Just a little wager. Say, five-thousand dollars? Then we’ll really see if you’re the pool-player your geriatric patrons say you are. Heidi won’t disappoint you.” The old man was doing his best to look honest. I suspected a trick.

Still, the few pool tables I had were rarely used anymore. I used to be the best pool-player in Buffalo, New York, bar-none. Then they shipped me off to the war. When I got back years later, a lot had changed and I was forgotten: the quintessential has-been. I had always wanted an opportunity to reassert my title as Buffalo’s Best. So I opened up this place, hoping to make some kind of comeback. I don’t know what made me do it. Love for the sport, I guess. I knew I was a better pool-player than most; you can’t practice six hours a day for five years and not learn SOMETHING. So maybe this was my shot to finally make it big. Maybe I could be a big-shot pool-player again. In my forties, I was no spring-chicken, and this might be the last chance I’d ever get to prove that I could still play the game. This gamble was just what I needed to re-emerge on the scene.

“I don’t know what nursing-homes you’ve been asking-around in,” I joked, “but, yeah, I used to be the best. Let me see the money, and then we’ll talk.”

“Heidi, come here, and bring my brief case.” I winced at the tone he took to the girl. He just barked a command. Heidi didn’t seem phased, and did as instructed. Though Hancock didn’t show me its contents, the brief case was ostensibly where he kept the cash.

That’s when I got my first good look at the girl. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she did look even cuter than I had originally taken her for. Holding Mr. Hancock’s briefcase set her whole frame off-balance. She was a very slight girl with sweet dimples, a few freckles on her nose, and a ready smile. Her appearance served to immediately dispel my fears that I may have been getting hustled. Her sweatpants and sweatshirt were baggy, but carefully tucked-in and very clean. I could only make out a faint bulge in the fabric, suggesting very small bosoms.

I still didn’t know what Hancock’s motives were for setting this match up, but I knew there was no way I was about to be beaten by a sweet little teenage girl. Especially if five-grand was at stake.

----------

It felt so good to be back in the game for cash. Like a samurai warrior before battle, I carefully selected my weapon from the stand. Lovingly, I polished the tip of the cue with one of those blue, powdery cubes. I still don’t know what those things are called. Like the Japanese warrior, I lit incense to honor my ancestors. Of course, my incense was just a cigarette, perhaps in honor of the fallen Marlboro Man. I was ready for battle, and cute or not, Heidi was my enemy as long as she held her pool-cue against me.

I racked the balls. As a courtesy, I let her break.

As if I wasn’t even there, Heidi got to work. Brushing roughly past me, she positioned herself at the end of the pool-table. With clock-work precision, she soundlessly placed the white ball on the table. It was eerie. She seemed totally absorbed, as if nothing existed in the universe except what lay on the green felt table before her. She hesitated, gauging her shot precisely. Then she let her shot go. Only seconds later, after the balls had all come to rest, did she stiffly stand up again.

“Damn. You play pool much, Heidi?” That was a damn fine way to break. She got both a red and purple solid in the left side pocket and the right corner-pocket respectively. The shot was taken expertly.

“Oh, I’ve played pool once or twice,” said the smiling and confident Heidi in an innocent voice. From her first shot, it was obvious that she was either the luckiest girl alive, or a die-hard professional. Didn’t matter: one way or the other, she was going down. The elderly Mr. Carl Hancock followed the game closely, cleaning his pince-nez intermittently with his hand.

The “game” wore on and on. I never even got to take ONE shot. Heidi was just cleaning up. And she always followed the same pattern. Quiet as a mouse, she would stare at the pool-table and the ever-changing layout of the balls. She’d just stand there for a good thirty or forty seconds. Never blinking. Never even taking a breath. Then she would walk with her characteristic, precise steps to one spot along the table. Bending at the waist, she would spend another twenty seconds lining up her shot. All the while, she looked blissfully unaware of the consternation she was causing me. She merely looked happy to be playing pool. How could this be?! Why wasn’t I winning?!

“Tell me, Heidi: how long have you been playing pool?” I asked. The realization that she was a better pool-player than I EVER was began to dawn on me. Mr. Hancock stopped polishing his pince-nez and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Kindly let Heidi concentrate, sir,” admonished Mr. Hancock.

“I’ve always played pool,” Heidi responded with her naïve, innocent-sounding, nauseatingly cheerful voice. She seemed to have forgotten that Mr. Hancock was even there. She looked at my face and smiled kindly. After a nominal moment spent waiting for my response, she resumed playing. Well, EXCUSE me for interrupting you, Heidi!

As a filthy old man, I began to look at the teen in a manner most unbecoming of a respectable gentleman. As she continued to work on putting away each ball, I admired her physique. Judging from her lean, fit body, pool was not the only sport she played. But I tried to picture her playing beach-volleyball or tennis, and for some reason, the images just didn’t ‘click’. Her body movements weren’t graceful enough for those sports. Her movements were too jerky and mechanical. Too measured, too precise, too deliberate. She reacted slowly and cautiously. She left nothing to chance.

----------

Pretty or not, my chances of winning against Heidi were looking slimmer by the minute. In a near panic, I could feel my five grand slipping away. In a desperate search for options, I recalled the familiar adage, which I have done my best to live my life by: Losing sucks, so cheat if you have to but always win. I realized that the only way to win this one was to cheat. Having never possessed any moral scruples whatsoever, I did not hesitate to be dishonest in my dealings with Mr. Hancock and his whiz-kid pool-player Heidi. I resolved to resort to the basest of treachery.

Meanwhile, Heidi had been lining up her next shot. It was a very complicated shot, but my expert eyes immediately spotted what she was going for. It was a shot that could be made exclusively by a pro. Slowly, she began to bring back her cue in preparation for her difficult shot. At the crucial moment she was about to let her shot go, I loudly barked a question at Heidi, breaking the silence in the room, and undoubtedly shattering her concentration.

“Heidi,” I bellowed, “are you really going to go for the yellow one!?”

Her shot still came off as planned, much to my disappointment and disbelief. This girl had nerves of steel! However, she took a little longer to recover from her shot than she had in the past. She stood up stiffly as usual, and then stared blankly into space for a few seconds. Then she turned to me and blinked a few times. She put her hand to her forehead, as if warding off a headache.

“Mister, I really wish that you would not distract me while I am playing.” Heidi didn’t even seem mad at all. She was very polite and matter-of-fact about it. She blinked a few more times, and then went back to planning her next shot.

“Oh, sorry, Heidi. Won’t happen again.” I almost felt ashamed of myself. Almost.

Then Mr. Hancock piped up. “Come now. That was a dirty trick. Please play fairly!” He was getting a little mad.

Now Heidi was lining up a somewhat easier shot. Still, the shot wasn’t for an amateur. She studied the table for a while and then positioned herself right beside me as she prepared to put the green ball in a corner pocket. She brought her cue back. I could almost smell her concentration. She room was hushed. Everyone in the room could sense the tension.

“Heidi, do you want something to drink?! On the house?!” I practically shouted, even though she only stood two feet away.

She shuddered and her head jerked violently to the right, smacking her ear against her shoulder. Her pig-tail bounced. She barely managed to get off her shot. Still, the ball dropped into the pocket. This girl never failed.

“Please! Control yourself sir!” shouted Mr. Hancock very angrily this time.

Heidi stood up rigidly. Her body shook for a moment.

“No thank-thank-you, mister. I’m not not thirsty.” She stopped and thought for a moment. I thought I heard something BUZZ inside Heidi. I must have been imagining things. “I mean I’m not thirsty.” She seemed totally befuddled. She put one hand to her temple.

She then dropped her pool-cue accidentally. The wooden stick clattered on the floor and rolled until it hit the wall.

“I’m sorry. I’m usually not so...clumsy. I’m sorry. I’m usually...not so...clumsy.” She flinched again. She couldn’t seem to stop blinking.

“That’s okay, Heidi. I’ll get you another one.” Now I was confused. I handed her another cue. And I was scared. This was her last shot. All that remained was the eight-ball. And man-oh-man was it ever an easy shot. All Heidi had to do was tap it into the pocket. The game was in the bag. All that remained was the formality of putting away the eight ball. I couldn’t believe that Heidi, who I had seen make so many impossible shots, could possibly foul-up this easy shot. Nevertheless, I had to try sabotage.

Even though this was the easiest shot she’d had throughout the while game, Heidi still took her time. But she seemed to be blinking a lot now, like she was trying to clear her head of some nagging thought. Perhaps she was even taking longer to put together this shot. She declared which pocket she was going to sink the eight ball into. As soon as she was prepared to let her shot go and thus win the game, I endeavored to mess her up again.

“Let me go see if I even HAVE five-thousand dollars!”

This time, I heard an easily audible crackling sound from INSIDE Heidi. Heidi’s torso convulsed. She still tried to take her shot, but it was like she was in slow-motion. Her arm ponderously pushed the cue forward at about half the necessary speed. Not only did she not get the eight-ball in the pocket, she didn’t even succeed in hitting the white ball with her cue. Instead, her cue ground harshly on the green felt surface of the tabletop. Her attempt was a total flop!

This time, she stood up quickly and, dropping her pool-cue again, walked halfway across the table. “I don’t...I don’t...what happened?” She seemed totally perplexed. It seemed strange, but this time I was sure I heard Heidi...BUZZING.

Suddenly terrified, Mr. Carl Hancock bolted off of his bar-stool. “Come Heidi. You have to go to the bathroom right now!”

“I made a mistake,” confessed Heidi most apologetically, more to herself than to Mr. Hancock. She seemed utterly baffled that this was possible.

“This is simply...Impossible...Impossible...Impossible...” Heidi chanted incredulously as the good Mr. Hancock, with his arm around her, led her towards the vacant men’s-room. “This doesn’t make sense. I’m supposed to be...perfect.”

As Mr. Hancock carefully led Heidi away, the girl kept slowly shaking her head in disbelief. Sometimes she’d bring her hands to her forehead as if she had a terrible headache or something. Intermittently, her whole body would flinch uncontrollably.

“Mr. Hancock, how could this have happened? I have failed. I do not understand. Mr. Hancock, how could this have happened? Mr. Hancock, I don’t...make...mistakes.”

Suddenly, I felt bad for the girl. Maybe she had some kind of an emotional disability. She didn’t seem to be able to handle losing. She had seemed very pleased with herself and her performance up until I had messed her up. Weird.

My first thought as Mr. Hancock led Heidi away was to go for his briefcase and see if that was really where he kept the money. Unfortunately, he took his briefcase with him.

Well, the men’s-room was a filthy, dank hole that I was normally too afraid to enter to get around to cleaning. The stench and the grime weren’t the only reasons I was reluctant to enter the men’s room. One time, a few years back, I walked in on a drug deal that was going on in the restroom of my very own pool-hall. To make a long story short, I almost got killed that night. Fortunately for me, being assaulted by the scared and enraged drug-dealer triggered some kind of flash-back to the war. The ensuing blood-bath was dismissed by police as a case of lethal self-defense and was chalked-up to my Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. But ever since that night when I killed the drug-dealer with my bare hands, I’ve had a private fear about entering the restroom. Therefore, I installed a camera behind a one-way mirror to keep me informed about what was transpiring in my bathroom. Sure, it was against the city’s code, but who would ever know?

It served me well. I went behind the bar where I had set up the monitor. I flicked it on. The image came in slowly, gradually increasing in clarity. It was a black-and-white image of Mr. Hancock and Heidi. The girl walked ahead of the old man, and then stopped. She was still shaking her head as if dazed. Her mouth was still moving, but there were no microphones in the bathroom to pick up what it was that she was saying. I guessed she was still muttering in disbelief about having made a mistake at pool. The pair couldn’t have been more than five feet from the hidden camera on the other side of the mirror. After ensuring that the bathroom door was locked, the old man set his briefcase on the counter by the sink and opened it up. Because of the position of the camera, I couldn’t tell what was inside the briefcase.

The old man began by un-tucking Heidi’s sweatshirt as she stared at the floor. Very peculiar. I felt a lump grow in my throat. Mr. Hancock’s hands were then back in the briefcase. From the briefcase, he produced a tightly coiled cable of some kind. It looked a little like an old telephone cord. One end was evidently connected to the briefcase. The other end had a heavy-duty industrial jack on it. Mr. Hancock steadied Heidi by putting a hand on her shoulder. Then, holding the jack in his other hand, he proceeded to plug it into a receiving port in the middle of Heidi’s back! After making sure that the connection was secure, Mr. Hancock turned his attention back to the contents of the briefcase. For some time, he seemed to be typing frantically on a keyboard of some sort that was now evidently linked to Heidi via that cable.

----------

My heretofore inexplicable losing-streak now made perfect sense! Heidi was no cute little teenage girl! She was phony! A fake! She was just a robot. And Mr. Hancock, Heidi’s “manager,” was a hustler after all. He probably went from pool-hall to pool-hall betting against all of Heidi’s human opponents. But who knows where he could have dug up an old android like Heidi this day-in-age!?

The revelation that I had been playing pool against a glorified household appliance made my blood boil for a number of important reasons. First of all, I was a war-veteran with four years of combat experience and a Purple Heart to prove it! My friends DIED in that war! We fought against Artificial Intelligence and we barely won by the skin of our teeth. Ever since we concluded that war, droids have been strictly outlawed. We fought a WAR against those fucking things! Even seemingly harmless androids like Heidi were totally forbidden by law. So you can imagine how fucking PISSED I was, especially as a combat-wounded war veteran that this cheap hustler came into MY pool-hall and tried to swindle ME. And just to add insult to injury, he came here with a fucking ANDROID! Clearly, it was time to teach Mr. Hancock and that pretty bucket-of bolts, Heidi, a lesson. After a conspicuously long time, the couple emerged from the restroom.

----------

I cut right to the chase. “Do you know what the penalty for owning a droid is around here?”

Mr. Hancock didn’t even bother playing dumb. He knew he had somehow been hopelessly caught. All the color drained from his face. He held his pince-nez in trembling hands. Heidi just stood mutely and smiled gently. I don’t think she even realized we were talking about her.

“That’s right you bastard: I know all about Heidi and this little racket you’re running. Well, the game is up. I’ll make you a deal: I won’t kill you if you leave right now. Sound fair?” At the mention of her name, Heidi became more attentive of the conversation.

“Yes. Yes sir. I’m sorry, uh but hey, I’m just trying to earn a living over here, all right? Look I’m sorry okay? Let me just grab my things.” His bowler-hat slightly askew, Hancock cautiously edged his way over to Heidi and his briefcase.

“Uh. Just one thing, Mr. Hancock. I assume you weren’t stupid enough to use your real name, by the way. Heidi’s staying here. You can go now, though.”

“Hold on just a second. You know how much I PAYED for Heidi?! You can’t have her. Look: I told you I sorry about the hustling thing, but Heidi’s my livelihood. A man’s gotta eat! Just let me-“

I parted my jacket just enough to show him my old Colt .45 service pistol I liked to keep in a shoulder holster. He seemed to get even more pale. I smiled at him wanly.

“But hey, you know. I guess, sure. Say, she’s yours! Just relax man. You want me to go now?” I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on his. “Hey, I’m gone! Sorry. Bye Heidi!”

“Goodbye Mr. Hancock. Have a nice trip.” Heidi said, and smiled and waved. She didn’t seem to be comprehending the situation very clearly at all.

Carefully, with his hands up, Mr. ‘Hancock’ backed away towards the door. Heidi watched him leave with a faint smile. I, on the other hand, was smiling broadly. This deal wasn’t working out so badly for me after all!

----------

Mr. ‘Hancock’ closed the door behind him and was gone. I figured I would never see the likes of HIM again. I took a moment to reflect lovingly on my trusty old military-issue service pistol. It had served me well, ever since I had enlisted during the war. It never failed me then, and it hasn’t failed me since. Tonight was no exception.

I turned around to face Heidi. She looked at me happily and expectantly. She seemed to be feeling much better after having been somehow readjusted by good ole ‘Carl’. It almost made me want to rush out onto the street, find Mr. ‘Hancock,’ and thank him from the bottom of my heart. Thanks to him, not only did I get the excuse to threaten someone with my weapon (something I had missed doing ever since the war ended), but I also gained ownership of a very nice little girl-android. She was still smiling at me. Boy was she ever in for it.

Let me just preface this by saying that I am not a violent men, by nature. My training and experience during the war made me a violent man. However, I am not a lunatic, nor a sadist. In the war, I saw a lot of people die terribly. But I confined my killing to machines. The robots were our enemy in the war. Not other people. In that respect, it was probably the most moral war in history, because you rarely fired a shot at another real man. So, given the fact that Heidi was artificial, the same as back in the war, I felt no compassion for her. This was not a question of morals. This was a case of justice. I intended to take some revenge on Heidi for my fallen war comrades as well as take some pleasure for myself. My throat was dry and I trembled with anticipation.

“Turn around, Heidi,” I commanded.

She did as she was told and performed a textbook ‘about-face.’ I walked over to her and reached up the back of her sweatshirt. Her rubber skin was smooth and cool. I closely examined her data-access port. It was a tiny black circle on an otherwise flawless back. This close up, it was ridiculously obvious that she was a synthetic. I noticed an obviously repeating pattern of light freckles on her shoulders that was identical to the pattern of freckles on her nose. I put my ear up to her back as she stood there motionless. Inside, I could hear tiny gears turning, little motors buzzing, undulating beeps, and a faint hum of electricity.

“What are you doing mister?” asked Heidi innocently. And why shouldn’t she sound innocent? She hadn’t any reason to suspect that I had some very diabolical plans for her. How could she understand how much her ‘kind’ repulsed me?

“Oh, nothing at all, Heidi,” I replied with innocence that was as false as she was. It had been a long time since the war, but I was still pretty handy at identifying different types of androids. It was just an educated guess, but I figured her to be a Violet Series model 2. The Violet series was conceived for the mundane role of secretary, adjutant, or assistant in an office setting.

The first Violet model had a tendency to go haywire after about a month, due to a faulty energy storage system. An electrical charge would accumulate slowly in the auxiliary resistor panel. Over time, the charge would eventually become so great that the unit would spontaneously short-circuit. On top of this problem, the original model was manufactured with sub-standard fail-safe devices to save on unit-cost. So the droids normally failed to automatically shut-down even when they were dangerously short-circuiting. The problems compounded each other and resulted in several deaths. The Model 2 was produced to allay the complaints of the families of office-workers who had died at the hands of malfunctioning Violet Model 1’s.

But that’s ancient history. The Model 3, which was developed and manufactured by the Artificial Intelligence towards the end of the war, was a desperate attempt by the machine to slow down the human forces. The Model 3 was an infiltration and suicide android. They posed as civilians in bombed-out areas and allowed themselves to be found by our troops and placed in the numerous displaced-persons camps. Then they’d try to get close to an officer or an important civilian. Once a Model 3 was within range, it would explode, killing its target along with itself and anybody else who was unlucky enough to be nearby. They were one of the AI’s last ‘Vengeance Weapons’ intended to terrify the human population. I knew some people who were killed by Violet Model 3’s.

But Heidi was nothing like that. She wasn’t very dangerous. She was designed to work in an office. Evidently, Mr. ‘Hancock’ had reprogrammed her to play pool. They were fairly versatile droids.

----------

“How about another game of pool Heidi?”

“Oh yes. I’d like that very much. Shall I rack the balls, mister?” The idea of another game seemed to make her very happy.

“By all means Heidi.”

As soon as Heidi had set all the balls on the table with mechanical precision, I allowed her to have the first shot again. But now that I knew she was a robot, I had no intention of playing fair.

Heidi prepared her shot, carefully gauging the whereabouts of all the balls on the table. She was an expert. Casually, as I stood beside her, I placed a second cue ball on the table beside the first.

Heidi paused, and then stood up, blinking. “Sir, please remove the extra ball. The rules call for only one cue ball. Please remove the extra ball at once.” At least she was nice about it.

“What do you mean? Only ONE cue ball? How can you play pool with only ONE cue ball? The rules of pool explicitly call for TWO cue balls.”

“Two...cue balls?” Heidi closed her eyes and thought for a moment.

“Don’t you even know how to play pool?”

“Of course...I know how to play...pool.” Heidi seemed to be getting a little defensive.

“Well then, you know that the rules say we need two cue balls!” She looked at me interestedly. “I won’t play pool with you if you don’t’ even know the rules!”

“Yes...of course. Everyone knows that...two cue balls are called for...” She blinked about ten times and froze.

“Heidi? Are you going to play, or what?

Instantly, Heidi snapped out of it. She turned back to face the table and began to set up her shot. First, she began to gauge her shot with the original cue ball. Then she paused. A small humming noise, almost like a fan, could faintly be heard coming from inside the confused robot. She shifted her attention to the second cue ball and began to gauge a shot using this ball. I then placed a third cue ball beside the second one.

Heidi stood up again. I could still hear the humming sound faintly. “Sir, please remove the extra ball. The rules call for only...only...two...cue balls. Please remove the extra ball at once.” Her head twitched involuntarily a couple of times.

“Only TWO cue balls!? Are you crazy? I thought you knew how to play pool!”

“I do know how to play pool,” said Heidi complacently. “And I know that the rules call for...for...for...TWO cue balls. The rules call for...two cue balls definitely.”

“Who in the world is dumb enough to believe THAT? Everyone knows that you need three cue balls to play pool!” I was having a great time.

“Three? Three? But you said...two?” She sounded unsure of herself. She put her free hand to her forehead. Suddenly, she seemed to remember something. “Sir, only moments ago, you said that the rules call for two cue balls, not three. I believe that the rules call for two cue balls.”

“I never said any such thing! And even if I did, you’d be a fool to have believed me! Two cue balls indeed!” I scoffed.

“This does not make sense. You said...but I...the rules...cue balls...does not...” The humming sound seemed to be getting louder. “Three balls...of course. Of course the rules call for three cue balls. Silly me.” She seemed to have rectified whatever conflict she had been experiencing and was now back on top of her game. The humming stopped.

Heidi began lining up a shot with the original cue ball. Then a brief but alarmingly loud buzz sounded from inside of her. She blinked several times and then shifted her attention to the second ball. She paused to compute a million possible trajectories. Then the buzz sounded again. She blinked for an even longer time than before and then shifted her attention to the third ball. Her mind must have been going insane with the number of possible shots she could make.

“What are you doing Heidi!?” I yelled loudly. Heidi stood up stiffly. I heard the ominous humming sound again. “You aren’t supposed to hit the cue ball! You’re supposed to hit one of the green balls! I thought you knew how to play this game!”

“Green...balls...” Heidi was humming loudly now. She didn’t seem to be able to keep up with all of the rule changes I was imposing. She stood up quickly. A major motor somewhere in her lower back spun furiously. It was the first time I had heard it.

“Heidi, just answer me one question: have you ever played pool before?” Heidi took no time in formulating her answer.

“Yes. I have always played pool. I love pool.” She smiled sweetly. The humming noise continued unabated.

“Well that’s nice. Say, are you feeling alright? I thought I heard some sort of humming sound.”

“Humming sound?” She cocked her head to one side. “Yes, I hear it too. I wonder where it’s coming from? Now that you mention it, I’m not feeling quite myself. That humming noise can’t be good!”

“Oh well, Heidi. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Let’s get back to the game.”

“Oh yes! Let’s!” Still happily humming, Heidi positioned herself near the original cue ball in order to take her shot.

“Are you forgetting something Heidi?”

She stood and looked at me expectantly. The humming noise was being to quiet.

“The green balls, Heidi! You have to start the game by hitting one of the green balls!” That did it for Heidi. The humming noise kicked back into high-gear.

“Green balls? Green balls? Green balls? Greenballs? Greenballs? Greenballsgreenballsgreenballs...” Heidi was out of control. Her body was jerking around spastically. The pool-cue flew out of her hands and clattered against the wall.

“Heidi! Snap out of it!” I wasn’t finished with her yet. I grabbed her arms. She got control of herself again. Just as she looked at me, her neck was illuminated from the inside by a cascade of orange sparks. I could smell the familiar smell of burning electronics. She was still humming as loudly as ever.

“What’s the matter with you, Heidi?”

Heidi looked directly at me and said matter-of-factly, “The game of greenballs, is pool-cue, with three cue balls on humming noise.”

“What’s gotten into you Heidi? Where’s your pool-cue?”

“I need help. Get the briefcase. I’m having some problems.” She immediately began taking off her sweat-shirt. I grabbed the briefcase and opened it up. Sure enough, inside was a length of cable and a keyboard. Heidi turned away from me so that her access port was right in front of me. I plugged her into the briefcase. The screen displayed a dozen trouble-spots in Heidi’s programming that needed attention. This was the part where I was expected to rectify her problems. Heidi waited patiently and trustingly. She had allowed me into her most sensitive programming area. Instead of helping her, I started typing gibberish as fast as I could.

She instantly realized that whatever I was doing to her was going to be disastrous. She started flinching and jerking around wildly. Her pig-tails bobbed and bounced as her head shook uncontrollably. Her breasts, which I could now see for the first time, were just about as I expected, given that she was a Violet Model 2. They weren’t very realistic at all. Why should they have been designed to seem real if all these units designed to do were mundane office chores? They were about as realistic as breasts on a mannequin. They weren’t soft or supple; they were just plastic mounds that were part of her torso. When observed under a blouse, they might seem real enough, but with her shirt off, her artificiality was obvious. Within her smooth torso, countless motors strained, each doing its own part to tear the malfunctioning android apart from the inside.

“What are you doing to me? Stop immediately! You are damaging my systems!” Mercilessly, I continued pounding out meaningless letters and numbers onto the keyboard and into her brain. “Warning! System overload imminent!”

Abruptly, Heidi convulsed more powerfully than ever before. A large motor somewhere in the abdomen buzzed like a furious wasp. Then I heard a painful ‘SNAP’! Apparently, that motor had just fried itself. However, through that violent action, Heidi wrenched herself free of the briefcase, and ostensibly, to relative safety. She spun around crazily to face me. The cord that had attached her to the briefcase was trailing from her back. She had yanked it savagely out of the briefcase. That end was bouncing and spitting sparks all over the floor like a downed power-line. She looked at me sadly with her fake brown eyes.

“Why did you do that to me, mister? That really...hurt...me...” She was slowly shaking her head as the live-wire behind her sparked furiously. Inside of her, the humming had reached a fever-pitch. She tried to bring her hand to her temple, but before it even got half way there, a motor in her elbow gave a loud, whining protest. Sparks illuminated her whole arm from the inside. Using her other arm, she reached around her back and removed the sparking cable. Immediately, the sparks stopped and she dropped the dead cord onto the floor.

“How could you?” Heidi asked beseechingly. “You really damaged me. I want you to stay away from me, mister.” She was slowly backing herself towards the wall. Her right arm was immobilized and apparently wrecked.

I drew my pistol. Somehow, she seemed to know what it was.

----------

The rest is a blur. I remember the weight of my helmet. It was raining. Nighttime. My face and clothes, coated in mud. Helicopters in the sky, shining searchlights at the ground. Rubble. Screams. I saw movement. The innocent always suffer. I pulled the trigger. Flames. Darkness.

The Hustler

2009-02-22T07:44:42Z

Lithorien:

The Hustler

2009-02-22T07:41:20Z

Lithorien: New page: I had noticed the young girl and her old friend at my joint for the first time that night. Seeing new faces was rare in a hole-in-the-wall pool-hall like mine, so I spotted them right awa...

I had noticed the young girl and her old friend at my joint for the first time that night. Seeing new faces was rare in a hole-in-the-wall pool-hall like mine, so I spotted them right away. All evening as I served drinks to the Sunday-night regulars and made sure none of the fights got out-of-hand, I had kept one eye on the odd pair.

The two of them just looked out-of-place at a dive like mine. Most of the regulars who still came wore their ratty Good-Will clothing, smoked like chimneys, and took shots of bourbon all night. They were just working men and retirees. But these two looked totally different. The old man wore a classy suit and bowler-hat, and his watch-chain looked like it was pure gold. His patent-leather shoes were as shiny as oil and the antiquated pince-nez he wore made him look more like a scientist or a historian than one of the blue-collar men with whom he shared my establishment. And the girl that was with him must have been his grand-daughter or something. She was very cute in the traditional sense of the word. Brunette pig-tails, button-lips, big brown eyes. She wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a modestly baggy, matching gray sweatshirt. She also wore nondescript white sneakers. For some reason, looking at her made me think of Cinderella or something. Especially considering how cheaply she was attired in comparison with her companion. She was eighteen, maybe nineteen years old. Obviously very sheltered if she was coming to a place like mine with her grandfather and not her boyfriend!

They hung around the back all night. All they ever ordered was one pint of beer, which the old man nursed all night long. With interest, they watched some of the guys play pool. From time to time, the old man would whisper something to the young girl. She seemed to DISAPPEAR in the games. She became totally absorbed in watching the fellas play pool.

Mid-night rolled around, and I started cleaning up the broken bottles, putting up chairs, emptying ash-trays, and turning off lights. One by one, all the guys started to leave. The coat-racks got progressively emptier and emptier. I turned off the radio, cleaned a bunch of glasses, wiped-off my counter and said goodbye to the last few customers. It wasn’t until I had flicked-on the neon “Closed” sign and was getting ready to lock-up that I realized that the old man and his companion, who I had come to assume was his grand-daughter, still hadn’t left. They were standing in the darkest corner of the empty pool-hall. Just then the old man emerged from the shadows, dim light from the shoddy ceiling-fixtures reflecting off of his gold chain and pince-nez. The silent and mysterious girl remained concealed in the shadows.

***

“I know this must seem strange. Let me introduce myself,” said the old man in a rasping voice that made him sound like a spokesman for the health benefits of smoking. “My name is Carl Hancock.” Taking off his hat, he then gestured to the girl who had been with him all night. She was waiting silently in the shadows beside one of my pool-tables. “And that lovely girl over there is Heidi. I’m her manager.”

“Heidi doesn’t have a last name?” I inquired suspiciously. The odd pair was starting to arouse my curiosity. And what did he mean by “manager”?

I think I had caught him off-guard. “As a matter of fact, no: she doesn’t have a last name.” The old man’s gray goatee fairly bristled with indignation that I had asked such a thing. Interesting. Perhaps the pair was on the run from the law?

“But come. I have a proposal for you.” He produced a handkerchief from the breast-pocket of his vest and began cleaning his pince-nez. Offhandedly, he stated his pitch. “I want you to play a round against Heidi. Rumor has it that you used to be the best. I’m not so sure.” He was challenging my skills with the pool-cue!

“Just a little wager. Say, five-thousand dollars? Then we’ll really see if you’re the pool-player your geriatric patrons say you are. Heidi won’t disappoint you.” The old man was doing his best to look honest. I suspected a trick.

Still, the few pool tables I had were rarely used anymore. I used to be the best pool-player in Buffalo, New York, bar-none. Then they shipped me off to the war. When I got back years later, a lot had changed and I was forgotten: the quintessential has-been. I had always wanted an opportunity to reassert my title as Buffalo’s Best. So I opened up this place, hoping to make some kind of comeback. I don’t know what made me do it. Love for the sport, I guess. I knew I was a better pool-player than most; you can’t practice six hours a day for five years and not learn SOMETHING. So maybe this was my shot to finally make it big. Maybe I could be a big-shot pool-player again. In my forties, I was no spring-chicken, and this might be the last chance I’d ever get to prove that I could still play the game. This gamble was just what I needed to re-emerge on the scene.

“I don’t know what nursing-homes you’ve been asking-around in,” I joked, “but, yeah, I used to be the best. Let me see the money, and then we’ll talk.”

“Heidi, come here, and bring my brief case.” I winced at the tone he took to the girl. He just barked a command. Heidi didn’t seem phased, and did as instructed. Though Hancock didn’t show me its contents, the brief case was ostensibly where he kept the cash.

That’s when I got my first good look at the girl. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she did look even cuter than I had originally taken her for. Holding Mr. Hancock’s briefcase set her whole frame off-balance. She was a very slight girl with sweet dimples, a few freckles on her nose, and a ready smile. Her appearance served to immediately dispel my fears that I may have been getting hustled. Her sweatpants and sweatshirt were baggy, but carefully tucked-in and very clean. I could only make out a faint bulge in the fabric, suggesting very small bosoms.

I still didn’t know what Hancock’s motives were for setting this match up, but I knew there was no way I was about to be beaten by a sweet little teenage girl. Especially if five-grand was at stake.

***

It felt so good to be back in the game for cash. Like a samurai warrior before battle, I carefully selected my weapon from the stand. Lovingly, I polished the tip of the cue with one of those blue, powdery cubes. I still don’t know what those things are called. Like the Japanese warrior, I lit incense to honor my ancestors. Of course, my incense was just a cigarette, perhaps in honor of the fallen Marlboro Man. I was ready for battle, and cute or not, Heidi was my enemy as long as she held her pool-cue against me.

I racked the balls. As a courtesy, I let her break.

As if I wasn’t even there, Heidi got to work. Brushing roughly past me, she positioned herself at the end of the pool-table. With clock-work precision, she soundlessly placed the white ball on the table. It was eerie. She seemed totally absorbed, as if nothing existed in the universe except what lay on the green felt table before her. She hesitated, gauging her shot precisely. Then she let her shot go. Only seconds later, after the balls had all come to rest, did she stiffly stand up again.

“Damn. You play pool much, Heidi?” That was a damn fine way to break. She got both a red and purple solid in the left side pocket and the right corner-pocket respectively. The shot was taken expertly.

“Oh, I’ve played pool once or twice,” said the smiling and confident Heidi in an innocent voice. From her first shot, it was obvious that she was either the luckiest girl alive, or a die-hard professional. Didn’t matter: one way or the other, she was going down. The elderly Mr. Carl Hancock followed the game closely, cleaning his pince-nez intermittently with his hand.

The “game” wore on and on. I never even got to take ONE shot. Heidi was just cleaning up. And she always followed the same pattern. Quiet as a mouse, she would stare at the pool-table and the ever-changing layout of the balls. She’d just stand there for a good thirty or forty seconds. Never blinking. Never even taking a breath. Then she would walk with her characteristic, precise steps to one spot along the table. Bending at the waist, she would spend another twenty seconds lining up her shot. All the while, she looked blissfully unaware of the consternation she was causing me. She merely looked happy to be playing pool. How could this be?! Why wasn’t I winning?!

“Tell me, Heidi: how long have you been playing pool?” I asked. The realization that she was a better pool-player than I EVER was began to dawn on me. Mr. Hancock stopped polishing his pince-nez and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Kindly let Heidi concentrate, sir,” admonished Mr. Hancock.

“I’ve always played pool,” Heidi responded with her naïve, innocent-sounding, nauseatingly cheerful voice. She seemed to have forgotten that Mr. Hancock was even there. She looked at my face and smiled kindly. After a nominal moment spent waiting for my response, she resumed playing. Well, EXCUSE me for interrupting you, Heidi!

As a filthy old man, I began to look at the teen in a manner most unbecoming of a respectable gentleman. As she continued to work on putting away each ball, I admired her physique. Judging from her lean, fit body, pool was not the only sport she played. But I tried to picture her playing beach-volleyball or tennis, and for some reason, the images just didn’t ‘click’. Her body movements weren’t graceful enough for those sports. Her movements were too jerky and mechanical. Too measured, too precise, too deliberate. She reacted slowly and cautiously. She left nothing to chance.

***

Pretty or not, my chances of winning against Heidi were looking slimmer by the minute. In a near panic, I could feel my five grand slipping away. In a desperate search for options, I recalled the familiar adage, which I have done my best to live my life by: Losing sucks, so cheat if you have to but always win. I realized that the only way to win this one was to cheat. Having never possessed any moral scruples whatsoever, I did not hesitate to be dishonest in my dealings with Mr. Hancock and his whiz-kid pool-player Heidi. I resolved to resort to the basest of treachery.

Meanwhile, Heidi had been lining up her next shot. It was a very complicated shot, but my expert eyes immediately spotted what she was going for. It was a shot that could be made exclusively by a pro. Slowly, she began to bring back her cue in preparation for her difficult shot. At the crucial moment she was about to let her shot go, I loudly barked a question at Heidi, breaking the silence in the room, and undoubtedly shattering her concentration.

“Heidi,” I bellowed, “are you really going to go for the yellow one!?”

Her shot still came off as planned, much to my disappointment and disbelief. This girl had nerves of steel! However, she took a little longer to recover from her shot than she had in the past. She stood up stiffly as usual, and then stared blankly into space for a few seconds. Then she turned to me and blinked a few times. She put her hand to her forehead, as if warding off a headache.

“Mister, I really wish that you would not distract me while I am playing.” Heidi didn’t even seem mad at all. She was very polite and matter-of-fact about it. She blinked a few more times, and then went back to planning her next shot.

“Oh, sorry, Heidi. Won’t happen again.” I almost felt ashamed of myself. Almost.

Then Mr. Hancock piped up. “Come now. That was a dirty trick. Please play fairly!” He was getting a little mad.

Now Heidi was lining up a somewhat easier shot. Still, the shot wasn’t for an amateur. She studied the table for a while and then positioned herself right beside me as she prepared to put the green ball in a corner pocket. She brought her cue back. I could almost smell her concentration. She room was hushed. Everyone in the room could sense the tension.

“Heidi, do you want something to drink?! On the house?!” I practically shouted, even though she only stood two feet away.

She shuddered and her head jerked violently to the right, smacking her ear against her shoulder. Her pig-tail bounced. She barely managed to get off her shot. Still, the ball dropped into the pocket. This girl never failed.

“Please! Control yourself sir!” shouted Mr. Hancock very angrily this time.

Heidi stood up rigidly. Her body shook for a moment.

“No thank-thank-you, mister. I’m not not thirsty.” She stopped and thought for a moment. I thought I heard something BUZZ inside Heidi. I must have been imagining things. “I mean I’m not thirsty.” She seemed totally befuddled. She put one hand to her temple.

She then dropped her pool-cue accidentally. The wooden stick clattered on the floor and rolled until it hit the wall.

“I’m sorry. I’m usually not so...clumsy. I’m sorry. I’m usually...not so...clumsy.” She flinched again. She couldn’t seem to stop blinking.

“That’s okay, Heidi. I’ll get you another one.” Now I was confused. I handed her another cue. And I was scared. This was her last shot. All that remained was the eight-ball. And man-oh-man was it ever an easy shot. All Heidi had to do was tap it into the pocket. The game was in the bag. All that remained was the formality of putting away the eight ball. I couldn’t believe that Heidi, who I had seen make so many impossible shots, could possibly foul-up this easy shot. Nevertheless, I had to try sabotage.

Even though this was the easiest shot she’d had throughout the while game, Heidi still took her time. But she seemed to be blinking a lot now, like she was trying to clear her head of some nagging thought. Perhaps she was even taking longer to put together this shot. She declared which pocket she was going to sink the eight ball into. As soon as she was prepared to let her shot go and thus win the game, I endeavored to mess her up again.

“Let me go see if I even HAVE five-thousand dollars!”

This time, I heard an easily audible crackling sound from INSIDE Heidi. Heidi’s torso convulsed. She still tried to take her shot, but it was like she was in slow-motion. Her arm ponderously pushed the cue forward at about half the necessary speed. Not only did she not get the eight-ball in the pocket, she didn’t even succeed in hitting the white ball with her cue. Instead, her cue ground harshly on the green felt surface of the tabletop. Her attempt was a total flop!

This time, she stood up quickly and, dropping her pool-cue again, walked halfway across the table. “I don’t...I don’t...what happened?” She seemed totally perplexed. It seemed strange, but this time I was sure I heard Heidi...BUZZING.

Suddenly terrified, Mr. Carl Hancock bolted off of his bar-stool. “Come Heidi. You have to go to the bathroom right now!”

“I made a mistake,” confessed Heidi most apologetically, more to herself than to Mr. Hancock. She seemed utterly baffled that this was possible.

“This is simply...Impossible...Impossible...Impossible...” Heidi chanted incredulously as the good Mr. Hancock, with his arm around her, led her towards the vacant men’s-room. “This doesn’t make sense. I’m supposed to be...perfect.”

As Mr. Hancock carefully led Heidi away, the girl kept slowly shaking her head in disbelief. Sometimes she’d bring her hands to her forehead as if she had a terrible headache or something. Intermittently, her whole body would flinch uncontrollably.

“Mr. Hancock, how could this have happened? I have failed. I do not understand. Mr. Hancock, how could this have happened? Mr. Hancock, I don’t...make...mistakes.”

Suddenly, I felt bad for the girl. Maybe she had some kind of an emotional disability. She didn’t seem to be able to handle losing. She had seemed very pleased with herself and her performance up until I had messed her up. Weird.

My first thought as Mr. Hancock led Heidi away was to go for his briefcase and see if that was really where he kept the money. Unfortunately, he took his briefcase with him.

Well, the men’s-room was a filthy, dank hole that I was normally too afraid to enter to get around to cleaning. The stench and the grime weren’t the only reasons I was reluctant to enter the men’s room. One time, a few years back, I walked in on a drug deal that was going on in the restroom of my very own pool-hall. To make a long story short, I almost got killed that night. Fortunately for me, being assaulted by the scared and enraged drug-dealer triggered some kind of flash-back to the war. The ensuing blood-bath was dismissed by police as a case of lethal self-defense and was chalked-up to my Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. But ever since that night when I killed the drug-dealer with my bare hands, I’ve had a private fear about entering the restroom. Therefore, I installed a camera behind a one-way mirror to keep me informed about what was transpiring in my bathroom. Sure, it was against the city’s code, but who would ever know?

It served me well. I went behind the bar where I had set up the monitor. I flicked it on. The image came in slowly, gradually increasing in clarity. It was a black-and-white image of Mr. Hancock and Heidi. The girl walked ahead of the old man, and then stopped. She was still shaking her head as if dazed. Her mouth was still moving, but there were no microphones in the bathroom to pick up what it was that she was saying. I guessed she was still muttering in disbelief about having made a mistake at pool. The pair couldn’t have been more than five feet from the hidden camera on the other side of the mirror. After ensuring that the bathroom door was locked, the old man set his briefcase on the counter by the sink and opened it up. Because of the position of the camera, I couldn’t tell what was inside the briefcase.

The old man began by un-tucking Heidi’s sweatshirt as she stared at the floor. Very peculiar. I felt a lump grow in my throat. Mr. Hancock’s hands were then back in the briefcase. From the briefcase, he produced a tightly coiled cable of some kind. It looked a little like an old telephone cord. One end was evidently connected to the briefcase. The other end had a heavy-duty industrial jack on it. Mr. Hancock steadied Heidi by putting a hand on her shoulder. Then, holding the jack in his other hand, he proceeded to plug it into a receiving port in the middle of Heidi’s back! After making sure that the connection was secure, Mr. Hancock turned his attention back to the contents of the briefcase. For some time, he seemed to be typing frantically on a keyboard of some sort that was now evidently linked to Heidi via that cable.

***

My heretofore inexplicable losing-streak now made perfect sense! Heidi was no cute little teenage girl! She was phony! A fake! She was just a robot. And Mr. Hancock, Heidi’s “manager,” was a hustler after all. He probably went from pool-hall to pool-hall betting against all of Heidi’s human opponents. But who knows where he could have dug up an old android like Heidi this day-in-age!?

The revelation that I had been playing pool against a glorified household appliance made my blood boil for a number of important reasons. First of all, I was a war-veteran with four years of combat experience and a Purple Heart to prove it! My friends DIED in that war! We fought against Artificial Intelligence and we barely won by the skin of our teeth. Ever since we concluded that war, droids have been strictly outlawed. We fought a WAR against those fucking things! Even seemingly harmless androids like Heidi were totally forbidden by law. So you can imagine how fucking PISSED I was, especially as a combat-wounded war veteran that this cheap hustler came into MY pool-hall and tried to swindle ME. And just to add insult to injury, he came here with a fucking ANDROID! Clearly, it was time to teach Mr. Hancock and that pretty bucket-of bolts, Heidi, a lesson. After a conspicuously long time, the couple emerged from the restroom.

***

I cut right to the chase. “Do you know what the penalty for owning a droid is around here?”

Mr. Hancock didn’t even bother playing dumb. He knew he had somehow been hopelessly caught. All the color drained from his face. He held his pince-nez in trembling hands. Heidi just stood mutely and smiled gently. I don’t think she even realized we were talking about her.

“That’s right you bastard: I know all about Heidi and this little racket you’re running. Well, the game is up. I’ll make you a deal: I won’t kill you if you leave right now. Sound fair?” At the mention of her name, Heidi became more attentive of the conversation.

“Yes. Yes sir. I’m sorry, uh but hey, I’m just trying to earn a living over here, all right? Look I’m sorry okay? Let me just grab my things.” His bowler-hat slightly askew, Hancock cautiously edged his way over to Heidi and his briefcase.

“Uh. Just one thing, Mr. Hancock. I assume you weren’t stupid enough to use your real name, by the way. Heidi’s staying here. You can go now, though.”

“Hold on just a second. You know how much I PAYED for Heidi?! You can’t have her. Look: I told you I sorry about the hustling thing, but Heidi’s my livelihood. A man’s gotta eat! Just let me-“

I parted my jacket just enough to show him my old Colt .45 service pistol I liked to keep in a shoulder holster. He seemed to get even more pale. I smiled at him wanly.

“But hey, you know. I guess, sure. Say, she’s yours! Just relax man. You want me to go now?” I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on his. “Hey, I’m gone! Sorry. Bye Heidi!”

“Goodbye Mr. Hancock. Have a nice trip.” Heidi said, and smiled and waved. She didn’t seem to be comprehending the situation very clearly at all.

Carefully, with his hands up, Mr. ‘Hancock’ backed away towards the door. Heidi watched him leave with a faint smile. I, on the other hand, was smiling broadly. This deal wasn’t working out so badly for me after all!

***

Mr. ‘Hancock’ closed the door behind him and was gone. I figured I would never see the likes of HIM again. I took a moment to reflect lovingly on my trusty old military-issue service pistol. It had served me well, ever since I had enlisted during the war. It never failed me then, and it hasn’t failed me since. Tonight was no exception.

I turned around to face Heidi. She looked at me happily and expectantly. She seemed to be feeling much better after having been somehow readjusted by good ole ‘Carl’. It almost made me want to rush out onto the street, find Mr. ‘Hancock,’ and thank him from the bottom of my heart. Thanks to him, not only did I get the excuse to threaten someone with my weapon (something I had missed doing ever since the war ended), but I also gained ownership of a very nice little girl-android. She was still smiling at me. Boy was she ever in for it.

Let me just preface this by saying that I am not a violent men, by nature. My training and experience during the war made me a violent man. However, I am not a lunatic, nor a sadist. In the war, I saw a lot of people die terribly. But I confined my killing to machines. The robots were our enemy in the war. Not other people. In that respect, it was probably the most moral war in history, because you rarely fired a shot at another real man. So, given the fact that Heidi was artificial, the same as back in the war, I felt no compassion for her. This was not a question of morals. This was a case of justice. I intended to take some revenge on Heidi for my fallen war comrades as well as take some pleasure for myself. My throat was dry and I trembled with anticipation.

“Turn around, Heidi,” I commanded.

She did as she was told and performed a textbook ‘about-face.’ I walked over to her and reached up the back of her sweatshirt. Her rubber skin was smooth and cool. I closely examined her data-access port. It was a tiny black circle on an otherwise flawless back. This close up, it was ridiculously obvious that she was a synthetic. I noticed an obviously repeating pattern of light freckles on her shoulders that was identical to the pattern of freckles on her nose. I put my ear up to her back as she stood there motionless. Inside, I could hear tiny gears turning, little motors buzzing, undulating beeps, and a faint hum of electricity.

“What are you doing mister?” asked Heidi innocently. And why shouldn’t she sound innocent? She hadn’t any reason to suspect that I had some very diabolical plans for her. How could she understand how much her ‘kind’ repulsed me?

“Oh, nothing at all, Heidi,” I replied with innocence that was as false as she was. It had been a long time since the war, but I was still pretty handy at identifying different types of androids. It was just an educated guess, but I figured her to be a Violet Series model 2. The Violet series was conceived for the mundane role of secretary, adjutant, or assistant in an office setting.

The first Violet model had a tendency to go haywire after about a month, due to a faulty energy storage system. An electrical charge would accumulate slowly in the auxiliary resistor panel. Over time, the charge would eventually become so great that the unit would spontaneously short-circuit. On top of this problem, the original model was manufactured with sub-standard fail-safe devices to save on unit-cost. So the droids normally failed to automatically shut-down even when they were dangerously short-circuiting. The problems compounded each other and resulted in several deaths. The Model 2 was produced to allay the complaints of the families of office-workers who had died at the hands of malfunctioning Violet Model 1’s.

But that’s ancient history. The Model 3, which was developed and manufactured by the Artificial Intelligence towards the end of the war, was a desperate attempt by the machine to slow down the human forces. The Model 3 was an infiltration and suicide android. They posed as civilians in bombed-out areas and allowed themselves to be found by our troops and placed in the numerous displaced-persons camps. Then they’d try to get close to an officer or an important civilian. Once a Model 3 was within range, it would explode, killing its target along with itself and anybody else who was unlucky enough to be nearby. They were one of the AI’s last ‘Vengeance Weapons’ intended to terrify the human population. I knew some people who were killed by Violet Model 3’s.

But Heidi was nothing like that. She wasn’t very dangerous. She was designed to work in an office. Evidently, Mr. ‘Hancock’ had reprogrammed her to play pool. They were fairly versatile droids.

***

“How about another game of pool Heidi?”

“Oh yes. I’d like that very much. Shall I rack the balls, mister?” The idea of another game seemed to make her very happy.

“By all means Heidi.”

As soon as Heidi had set all the balls on the table with mechanical precision, I allowed her to have the first shot again. But now that I knew she was a robot, I had no intention of playing fair.

Heidi prepared her shot, carefully gauging the whereabouts of all the balls on the table. She was an expert. Casually, as I stood beside her, I placed a second cue ball on the table beside the first.

Heidi paused, and then stood up, blinking. “Sir, please remove the extra ball. The rules call for only one cue ball. Please remove the extra ball at once.” At least she was nice about it.

“What do you mean? Only ONE cue ball? How can you play pool with only ONE cue ball? The rules of pool explicitly call for TWO cue balls.”

“Two...cue balls?” Heidi closed her eyes and thought for a moment.

“Don’t you even know how to play pool?”

“Of course...I know how to play...pool.” Heidi seemed to be getting a little defensive.

“Well then, you know that the rules say we need two cue balls!” She looked at me interestedly. “I won’t play pool with you if you don’t’ even know the rules!”

“Yes...of course. Everyone knows that...two cue balls are called for...” She blinked about ten times and froze.

“Heidi? Are you going to play, or what?

Instantly, Heidi snapped out of it. She turned back to face the table and began to set up her shot. First, she began to gauge her shot with the original cue ball. Then she paused. A small humming noise, almost like a fan, could faintly be heard coming from inside the confused robot. She shifted her attention to the second cue ball and began to gauge a shot using this ball. I then placed a third cue ball beside the second one.

Heidi stood up again. I could still hear the humming sound faintly. “Sir, please remove the extra ball. The rules call for only...only...two...cue balls. Please remove the extra ball at once.” Her head twitched involuntarily a couple of times.

“Only TWO cue balls!? Are you crazy? I thought you knew how to play pool!”

“I do know how to play pool,” said Heidi complacently. “And I know that the rules call for...for...for...TWO cue balls. The rules call for...two cue balls definitely.”

“Who in the world is dumb enough to believe THAT? Everyone knows that you need three cue balls to play pool!” I was having a great time.

“Three? Three? But you said...two?” She sounded unsure of herself. She put her free hand to her forehead. Suddenly, she seemed to remember something. “Sir, only moments ago, you said that the rules call for two cue balls, not three. I believe that the rules call for two cue balls.”

“I never said any such thing! And even if I did, you’d be a fool to have believed me! Two cue balls indeed!” I scoffed.

“This does not make sense. You said...but I...the rules...cue balls...does not...” The humming sound seemed to be getting louder. “Three balls...of course. Of course the rules call for three cue balls. Silly me.” She seemed to have rectified whatever conflict she had been experiencing and was now back on top of her game. The humming stopped.

Heidi began lining up a shot with the original cue ball. Then a brief but alarmingly loud buzz sounded from inside of her. She blinked several times and then shifted her attention to the second ball. She paused to compute a million possible trajectories. Then the buzz sounded again. She blinked for an even longer time than before and then shifted her attention to the third ball. Her mind must have been going insane with the number of possible shots she could make.

“What are you doing Heidi!?” I yelled loudly. Heidi stood up stiffly. I heard the ominous humming sound again. “You aren’t supposed to hit the cue ball! You’re supposed to hit one of the green balls! I thought you knew how to play this game!”

“Green...balls...” Heidi was humming loudly now. She didn’t seem to be able to keep up with all of the rule changes I was imposing. She stood up quickly. A major motor somewhere in her lower back spun furiously. It was the first time I had heard it.

“Heidi, just answer me one question: have you ever played pool before?” Heidi took no time in formulating her answer.

“Yes. I have always played pool. I love pool.” She smiled sweetly. The humming noise continued unabated.

“Well that’s nice. Say, are you feeling alright? I thought I heard some sort of humming sound.”

“Humming sound?” She cocked her head to one side. “Yes, I hear it too. I wonder where it’s coming from? Now that you mention it, I’m not feeling quite myself. That humming noise can’t be good!”

“Oh well, Heidi. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Let’s get back to the game.”

“Oh yes! Let’s!” Still happily humming, Heidi positioned herself near the original cue ball in order to take her shot.

“Are you forgetting something Heidi?”

She stood and looked at me expectantly. The humming noise was being to quiet.

“The green balls, Heidi! You have to start the game by hitting one of the green balls!” That did it for Heidi. The humming noise kicked back into high-gear.

“Green balls? Green balls? Green balls? Greenballs? Greenballs? Greenballsgreenballsgreenballs...” Heidi was out of control. Her body was jerking around spastically. The pool-cue flew out of her hands and clattered against the wall.

“Heidi! Snap out of it!” I wasn’t finished with her yet. I grabbed her arms. She got control of herself again. Just as she looked at me, her neck was illuminated from the inside by a cascade of orange sparks. I could smell the familiar smell of burning electronics. She was still humming as loudly as ever.

“What’s the matter with you, Heidi?”

Heidi looked directly at me and said matter-of-factly, “The game of greenballs, is pool-cue, with three cue balls on humming noise.”

“What’s gotten into you Heidi? Where’s your pool-cue?”

“I need help. Get the briefcase. I’m having some problems.” She immediately began taking off her sweat-shirt. I grabbed the briefcase and opened it up. Sure enough, inside was a length of cable and a keyboard. Heidi turned away from me so that her access port was right in front of me. I plugged her into the briefcase. The screen displayed a dozen trouble-spots in Heidi’s programming that needed attention. This was the part where I was expected to rectify her problems. Heidi waited patiently and trustingly. She had allowed me into her most sensitive programming area. Instead of helping her, I started typing gibberish as fast as I could.

She instantly realized that whatever I was doing to her was going to be disastrous. She started flinching and jerking around wildly. Her pig-tails bobbed and bounced as her head shook uncontrollably. Her breasts, which I could now see for the first time, were just about as I expected, given that she was a Violet Model 2. They weren’t very realistic at all. Why should they have been designed to seem real if all these units designed to do were mundane office chores? They were about as realistic as breasts on a mannequin. They weren’t soft or supple; they were just plastic mounds that were part of her torso. When observed under a blouse, they might seem real enough, but with her shirt off, her artificiality was obvious. Within her smooth torso, countless motors strained, each doing its own part to tear the malfunctioning android apart from the inside.

“What are you doing to me? Stop immediately! You are damaging my systems!” Mercilessly, I continued pounding out meaningless letters and numbers onto the keyboard and into her brain. “Warning! System overload imminent!”

Abruptly, Heidi convulsed more powerfully than ever before. A large motor somewhere in the abdomen buzzed like a furious wasp. Then I heard a painful ‘SNAP’! Apparently, that motor had just fried itself. However, through that violent action, Heidi wrenched herself free of the briefcase, and ostensibly, to relative safety. She spun around crazily to face me. The cord that had attached her to the briefcase was trailing from her back. She had yanked it savagely out of the briefcase. That end was bouncing and spitting sparks all over the floor like a downed power-line. She looked at me sadly with her fake brown eyes.

“Why did you do that to me, mister? That really...hurt...me...” She was slowly shaking her head as the live-wire behind her sparked furiously. Inside of her, the humming had reached a fever-pitch. She tried to bring her hand to her temple, but before it even got half way there, a motor in her elbow gave a loud, whining protest. Sparks illuminated her whole arm from the inside. Using her other arm, she reached around her back and removed the sparking cable. Immediately, the sparks stopped and she dropped the dead cord onto the floor.

“How could you?” Heidi asked beseechingly. “You really damaged me. I want you to stay away from me, mister.” She was slowly backing herself towards the wall. Her right arm was immobilized and apparently wrecked.

I drew my pistol. Somehow, she seemed to know what it was.

***

The rest is a blur. I remember the weight of my helmet. It was raining. Nighttime. My face and clothes, coated in mud. Helicopters in the sky, shining searchlights at the ground. Rubble. Screams. I saw movement. The innocent always suffer. I pulled the trigger. Flames. Darkness.

Stories

2009-02-22T07:40:34Z

Lithorien:

__NOEDITSECTION__
[[Image:StoryArchive.png]]
__NOTOC__
==Author==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Stories/1001011001|1001011001]]===
#[[Customer Service]]
#[[Dollsnatcher]]
#[[Hollywood]]
#[[Sketch Artist]]
#[[The Trial]]
#[[Spy Report]]

===[[Stories/123bot|123bot]]===
#[[Rebecca]]
#[[Rebecca: Lisa]]

===[[Stories/33cl33|33cl33]]===
#[[A Very Welcome Surprise]]
#[[Dinner Guests]]

===[[Stories/Aerosol Kid|Aerosol Kid]]===
#[[Femella Ex Machina]]

===[[Stories/Agent Smith|Agent Smith]]===
#[[The Android Riots Of 2033]]

===[[Stories/BA|BA]]===
#[[Home Service warranty]]
#[[Business Class]]
#[[Childminder]]
#[[CLAIRE 33]]
#[[Holiday]]
#[[Information Retrieval]]
#[[Mrs. Allen's Two O'Clock]]
#[[Sisterhood]]
#[[Upgrading Beth]]
#[[Just One Quick Question...]]
#[[Helpline]]
#[[Cooperant Pair]]
#[[Traffic Incident]]
#[[Survival]]
#[[Assistant]]
#[[Tech Refresh]]
#[[Mechanic]]
#[[Denial Of Service Attack]]
#[[Ignorance is Bliss]]
#[[Jenny]]
#[[Aptitude Test]]
#[[Special Agent]]

===[[Stories/Baron|Baron]]===
#[[Law & Order SVU TNG - Cops Get Religion]]

===[[Stories/Bart|Bart]]===
#[[Return Home]]

===[[Stories/Bigcoyote|Bigcoyote]]===
#[[Maryanne One]]

===[[Stories/Blake Sigma|Blake Sigma]]===
#[[Where Are You, Lovely?]]
#[[A.I.L.A.: Birth]]
#[[TITAN S]]

===[[Stories/Bonita772|Bonita772]]===
#[[Wife Repair]]

===[[Stories/Borias|Borias]]===
#[[Minor Repairs]]
#[[Tricia 4200]]
#[[Reprogramming]]
#[[Darwin Gaiden]]
#[[Extended Family]]
#[[Interface]]
#[[Rehabilitation]]

===[[Stories/Botfriend2000|Botfriend2000]]===
#[[The Purchase...]]
#[[CyGenPleasuretronics/Kimberlys Evaluation]]
#[[The Job Interview]]

===[[Stories/Bruekmann|Bruekmann]]===
#[[Corporate Espionage]]
#[[Open And Shut Case]]
#[[Heinrich Brueckmann's Unfinished Works]]

===[[Stories/Brytestar|Brytestar]]===
#[[Angelmech Battle Cheerleader Cherry]]
#[[Automaid Fighter Kimiko Prelude]]
#[[Cyberknight Dreams]]
#[[Sailor Valkerie - Interview With A Mechascout]]
#[[The Brytestar Chronicles: The Early Years]]

===[[Stories/Bunnybot|Bunnybot]]===
#[[BunnyBots Part One: The Conversion Of Vanessa]]
#[[Tammy]]
#[[Bunnybots - Ava]]
#[[Tammy: Eve]]
#[[The Actress]]
#[[Cassandra]]
#[[Companion Dolls - Economic Unit]]

===[[Stories/ButchyBoy|ButchyBoy]]===
#[[The Nightingale's Song]]
#[[Fembots In History: Queen Isabella]]
#[[Little Red Riding Hood-Fractured Gynoid Tale]]
#[[The Vanishing Warlord]]
#[[Fembots In History - Annie Oakley]]
#[[Can't Get That Song Outta My Head]]
#[[The Nut-Cricket Adventure]]
#[[Galatea]]
#[[The Contest Winner]]
#[[Happy Birthday Cricket]]
#[[Droid Hunter]]

===[[Stories/Capn Jake|Capn Jake]]===
#[[Jenny6525B]]

===[[Stories/Castaliaman|Castaliaman]]===
#[[Jeopardy 2104]]

===[[Stories/Chains of Adamant|Chains of Adamant]]===
#[[Gallinax]]
#[[Christmas Surprise]]
#[[The Prison]]
#[[Miriam]]

===[[Stories/Cjfriel|Cjfriel]]===
#[[Autopia]]

===[[Stories/D. Olivaw|D. Olivaw]]===
#[[A Meeting At Meg's]]

===[[Stories/Dalejr38|Dalejr38]]===
#[[Universal Remote]]

===[[Stories/Dark Archon|Dark Archon]]===
#[[June]]
#[[Sara 3]]

===[[Stories/Dark Phoenix|Dark Phoenix]]===
#[[My Super Android Girlfriend]]

===[[Stories/Deep Blue|Deep Blue]]===
#[[My Tutor (Deep Blue)|My Tutor]]

===[[Stories/Dieur|Dieur]]===
#[[TD Walkman Mall]]
#[[Smashed]]
#[[Taking Awhile To Get Anywhere]]

===[[Stories/Dr. Twist|Dr. Twist]]===
#[[Door To Door]]
#[[Who Let The Wolves Out]]

===[[Stories/Ehy|Ehy]]===
#[[Tara's Visitor (Story Snippet)]]
#[[Untitled (Ehy)|Untitled]]
#[[Untitled 2 (Ehy)|Untitled 2]]
#[[April]]
#[[1962]]

===[[Stories/Eyebore|Eyebore]]===
#[[The Plantation "Sister-In-Law"]]

===[[Stories/Faceless001|Faceless001]]===
#[[Fantastic Voyage]]
#[[The Carbon Man]]

===[[Stories/Fection|Fection]]===
#[[Charlie's Second-Hand Angel]]
#[[Pushing Candy's Buttons]]
#[[Sour Candy]]
#[[Model Citizen]]
#[[The Magi and the Harem]]
#[[Achilles Heels]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlover|Fembotlover]]===
#[[Untitled (Fembotlover)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Fembotlvr7|Fembotlvr7]]===
#[[Perfect Match (formerly Blind Date)]]

===[[Stories/FembotsInCharge|FembotsInCharge]]===
#[[The Nannybot1000A]]

===[[Stories/Freddie c|Freddie c]]===
#[[Numerology]]

===[[Stories/Freiburg V3.0|Freiburg V3.0]]===
#[[A Question Of Faith]]
#[[A Question Of Liberty]]

===[[Stories/General|General]]===
#[[Access Denied]]
#[[Blue Chips]]
#[[The Rental]]
#[[History In The Flesh]]
#[[A Second Life]]
#[[Talk Radio]]
#[[What You Leave Behind]]

===[[Stories/Gf|Gf]]===
#[[The Flatmate]]

===[[Stories/Gorgo|Gorgo]]===
#[[Sentimental Perfection]]

===[[Stories/GZ02|GZ02]]===
#[[A Day In The Life Of Joseph Avens]]

===[[Stories/Handle|Handle]]===
#[[Bell City Tales Story 1]]

===[[Stories/Hermes|Hermes]]===
#[[Jumplead]]

===[[Stories/Hlprhlpr|Hlprhlpr]]===
#[[Sparx - Priority Service Call]]
#[[Sparx: Troubleshooting A Design Flaw]]

===[[Stories/Input9|Input9]]===
#[[Robbery]]

===[[Stories/Jak|Jak]]===
#[[Sam]]

===[[Stories/JakeCTom|JakeCTom]]===
#[[K600]]

===[[Stories/Jay Petto|Jay Petto]]===
#[[Back To The Circuit Board]]

===[[Stories/Jaydee|Jaydee]]===
#[[An Inside Job]]
#[[Malfunctioning Fembot Writes...]]

===[[Stories/Joeythegoth|Joeythegoth]]===
#[[Shirley]]

===[[Stories/Jpetoh|Jpetoh]]===
#[[Crash]]
|
===[[Stories/Kano|Kano]]===
#[[Monday]]
#[[Friday]]

===[[Stories/Karel|Karel]]===
#[[Mistress Mira]]
#[[R-Bots]]
#[[Anton]]
#[[Two-Perfect!]]
#[[Mmmmegan]]

===[[Stories/KB7RKY|KB7RKY]]===
#[[Charlie 25]]
#[[Reflections]]
#[[Service Call]]
#[[Shadowrun II - Into The Awakened Lands]]

===[[Stories/Keizo|Keizo]]===
#[[Hell's Canary]]
#[[Are You Serious?]]

===[[Stories/Kishin|Kishin]]===
#[[A Long Sleep]]
#[[Creation (Nova Recreated)]]
#[[I Didn't Know]]
#[[Killers (Knights) Hiding Among Our Slaves]]
#[[Tales Of The Risen Future: Nova's Story]]

===[[Stories/Korby|Korby]]===
#[[An Afternoon To Remember]]
#[[Holiday In The Sun]]
#[[Tales From Dyson Institute: Two Vignettes]]
#[[Tales From The Dyson Institute: Making Movies]]

===[[Stories/Kriegsaffe No. 9|Kriegsaffe No. 9]]===
#[[Josephson/Keegan Vs Man w/Android Wife]]
#[[1985, Paris, France...]]
#[[The Golden Dawn]]
#[[Duplican't? Dupli-Can't!]]
#[[Saucy Puppet Show]]

===[[Stories/Lady Mecha|Lady Mecha]]===
#[[Strange But Wonderful Happenings]]

===[[Stories/Lithorien|Lithorien]]===
#[[Heather]]

===[[Stories/Loganov|Loganov]]===
#[[The Final Frontier]]
#[[Untitled (Loganov)|Untitled]]

===[[Stories/Maax|Maax]]===
#[[Cyber Angels]]

===[[Stories/Mad Mechacow|Mad Mechacow]]===
#[[Tales of Syntech]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 2]]
#[[Tales of Syntech 3]]

===[[Stories/Ministrations|Ministrations]]===
#[[Shannon's Third Law]]
#[[Tiffany's Third Law]]

===[[Stories/Mirage|Mirage]]===
#[[The Bounty Hunter]]
#[[Best Friends]]
#[[Fighting Love]]
#[[A.D.P.I. (Advance Police Investigations): Case 2]]
#[[A.D.P.I. Case 3: Transformation Of A Butterfly]]
#[[Blood Angel]]
#[[Deception]]
#[[Errors And Glitches]]
#[[Family Affair]]
#[[Family Life]]
#[[Favourite Parodies]]
#[[Lonely With The Ages]]
#[[Lying And Cheating!]]
#[[My Tutor]]
#[[Not Perfect]]
#[[Regret]]
#[[Secret Wishes]]
#[[Secretaries]]
#[[Shock]]
#[[Spanish Fly Virus]]
#[[Tennis, Anyone?]]
#[[The Lullaby]]
#[[The Package]]
#[[The Red Roses]]
#[[The Student]]
#[[The Temp]]
#[[The Visit]]
#[[Visiting The In-Laws]]
#[[A Nice Gesture]]
#[[Ever Lasting Smile]]
#[[Finding True Happiness]]
#[[Alive?]]
#[[The New Girl]]
#[[The Nurse]]
#[[Chase]]
#[[The First Time...]]
#[[An Offer That Can't Be Refused]]
#[[The Unwanted Gift]]
#[[Losing One's Self]]
#[[What's Important Is What's In The Inside]]
#[[Sitting On The Couch]]
#[[Can You Fix It?]]
#[[Ugly]]
#[[Finally]]
#[[Bad Dreams]]
#[[Apartment 7]]

===[[Stories/MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)|MisterXYZ (RoboTomo)]]===
#[[How I Ran Into Roboko]]

===[[Stories/MysteriousShadow|MysteriousShadow]]===
#[[Lily's Story]]

===[[Stories/Nybble|Nybble]]===
#[[Scheduled Maintenance]]
#[[The Third Pew]]
#[[Therapy]]
#[[Pimp My Ride]]
#[[Working Late]]
#[[Something Borrowed]]

===[[Stories/Petey|Petey]]===
#[[Vickybot/Victoria]]

===[[Stories/Propman|Propman]]===
#[[Evil, Evil, Everywhere!]]
#[[Mysteries Of The Castle!]]
#[[Doll And Her Teddy]]
#[[Tronic Ella]]
#[[Prototype]]

===[[Stories/Repairman Jack|Repairman Jack]]===
#[[Theives]]

===[[Stories/Robotman|Robotman]]===
*[[Story universe (Robotman)|Story universe]]
#[[Halloween Treat script]]
#[[The Mission]]
#[[H is for Heuristic]]
#[[36+1]]
#[[Soccer Mom Unit]]
#[[Kaitlin The Phonebot]]

===[[Stories/RobOught2|RobOught2]]===
#[[Introducing Rachael Sing]]

===[[Stories/RS5420|RS5420]]===
#[[Class C (by WilloWisp, modified by RS5420)]]
#[[Beautiful, Smart and...Running A Software]]
#[[Hollywood Hardware (by Borias/Modded by RS5420)]]

===[[Stories/Sable|Sable]]===
#[[Fixing Sable]]

===[[Stories/Sara-c|Sara-c]]===
#[[Autonomy]]
#[[Clichés]]
#[[Gift]]

===[[Stories/Sarabot|Sarabot]]===
#[[Sarabot's First Story]]
#[[Sarabot's Second Story]]
#[[The Robotic Nurse]]
#[[Kristen's Upgrade]]
#[[My Hot Robot Wife (+Bonus Story)]]
#[[The Cheerleader]]

===[[Stories/Scott|Scott]]===
#[[Four Hours]]

===[[Stories/Sega-boy|Sega-boy]]===
#[[Abbott Chronicles]]

===[[Stories/Sekker|Sekker]]===
#[[Too Good To Be True]]

===[[Stories/Serf|Serf]]===
#[[Untitled (Serf)|Untitled]]
#[[Party Girls]]

===[[Stories/Silent Lurker|Silent Lurker]]===
#[[Happy New Year]]
#[[New Roommate]]

===[[Stories/Stephaniebot|Stephaniebot]]===
#[[Dyson Institute (Stephaniebot)|Dyson Institute]]
#[[Pleasurebot 8]]

===[[Stories/Sthurmovik|Sthurmovik]]===
#[[Non-Standard Operating Procedure]]

===[[Stories/The Egg|The Egg]]===
#[[The Quarry]]
#[[Swing Shift]]

===[[Stories/The Liar|The Liar]]===
#[[Maid To Order]]
#[[Professor Jenkins' 12,567th Invention]]
#[[Hide and Seek]]
#[[Keith's Paradise]]
#[[My Keeper]]
#[[Identity]]

===[[Stories/TheSpotConlon|TheSpotConlon]]===
#[[The Peculiar Journey Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[The Imprisonment Of Lauren Barnes]]
#[[Jumper...]]
#[[The Parallel Lives Of Lauren Barnes]]

===[[Stories/Tio|Tio]]===
#[[Through My Eyes]]
#[[New Garden]]
#[[Diaries Of A Fembot]]
#[[Down On The Farm]]

===[[Stories/WilloWisp|WilloWisp]]===
#[[Class C]]
#[[Customer Service (WilloWisp)|Customer Service]]

===[[Stories/Wjbaines|Wjbaines]]===
#[[Jo-Ann and Brandy]]
#[[Darsi, Bruce and Natalie]]

===[[Stories/XandiMouse|XandiMouse]]===
#[[The One]]

===[[Stories/Xeran|Xeran]]===
#[[Synthgirls]]
#[[The Hunted]]
|}

==Collaborative efforts==
{| width="{{{1|100%}}}" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" style="background-color:transparent;table-layout:fixed;"
|- valign="top"
|
===[[Follow your own plot]]===
*[[FYOP/The Lab Scene|The Lab Scene]]
*[[FYOP/Create A Fembot 2.0|Create A Fembot 2.0]]
*[[FYOP/Planet of the Gynoids|Planet of the Gynoids]]
*[[FYOP/My Life as a Robot|My Life as a Robot]]
*[[FYOP/Hollywood Hardware|Hollywood Hardware]]
*[[FYOP/Tabula Rasa|Tabula Rasa]]
|
===[[Stories/Create-A-Story|Create-A-Story (various)]]===
#[[Create-A-Story 1]]
#[[Create-A-Story 2]]
#[[Create-A-Story 3]]

===[[Stories/Dyson Institute|Dyson Institute (RX3000/Korby)]]===
*[[Story Universe (Dyson Institute)|Story Universe]]
#[[The Makeover]]
#[[After The Makeover]]
#[[Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club]]
#[[A Conversation With Dr. Dyson]]
|}

[[Category:Features]]
[[Category:Stories]]

Corporate Espionage

2009-02-22T07:39:44Z

Lithorien:

I finally managed to get the ever-suspicious Katerina Lazovskaya onto the elevator and up to my 24th story suite in the Moscow Radisson Slavyanskaya Hotel. Our business dinner in the lobby had gone poorly. She didn’t order a thing to eat, and all she would talk about was business. As a seasoned corporate spy, I realized I wasn’t going to get any information from her down there. However, if I got her a little tipsy in my room, I reasoned, I could get her to tell me something of value. That technique had certainly worked in the past. To get her up to the suite, I had to lie. I told her that there were some important documents I accidentally had left in my room. Even then however, she said she could absolutely stay no longer than fifteen minutes. I wasn’t concerned. Come hell or high-water, I was going to get the information my company needed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, what CAN you tell me about the FIX-99 Super-Processor?” I asked, feigning a layman’s curiosity and desperately hoping I’d get lucky. So far, this woman hadn’t let slip even one tiny piece of new information which would be of use to me, and I’d been working at it for almost two hours. She hadn’t tripped herself up even once. Some people say that the key to getting valuable information is asking the right questions. I humbly disagree. Instead, in my experience, you just have to keep on tirelessly chipping away. The way I have it figured, if you ask the same question enough times, a person is bound to eventually reveal SOMETHING of interest, out of sheer exhaustion if nothing else. Nevertheless, Katerina was indefatigable.

“I’m sorry. I’m not permitted to disclose any information on that subject,” said Katerina, with a stern look on her face. My methods really seemed to be failing me. For once, I just kept striking out. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. “The purpose of this meet is to ascertain which divisions of your company are useful to CircuitTron Consolidated, and which will have to be liquidated. So far, the answers you’ve provided to these questions remain inadequate, and my time here is running short.”

I paused for a moment to look Katerina up and down. For about five seconds I let go of all my hard-boiled professionalism. Damn. Here I am in a hotel suite, alone with this hot Russian woman. Sucks that all I get to do is talk about business. As she stood by the desk, looking out the window, I studied her figure. She was wearing a tight, one-piece dress that zipped-up in the back. It came down to just above her knees. She also wore spit-polished black, knee-high shit-kickers like she was in the Russian Army or something. Her arms were bare, and her lustrous black hair hung around her shoulders. Her back was completely covered, but the front of the dress was pleasantly low-cut.

“How about a drink?” I asked, artfully changing my tack. Loose Lips Sink Ships has always been my motto. I know it sounds a little old-fashioned. Dates back to American propaganda from one of the World Wars. I forget which one. “I hear you Russians like vodka,” I suggested as I made my way to the mini-bar. Alcohol: the first, and in my book, the BEST lip-loosener ever devised by man. If I could get a couple drinks in this chick, she might just spill the beans. I know Russians are reputed to be hard drinkers, but I too was no stranger to Grandpa’s Old Cough Medicine. And if I could steal enough information, it might just bring my company back to life. Right now, it was on the auction block. CircuitTron Consolidated had practically been controlling the computer industry for the last ten years, and with the anticipated release of its updated FIX-99 Super-Processor, CircuitTron looked poised to control the market for another ten.

“I never drink when I’m on duty,” was Katerina’s curt reply.

“Not even a glass of water?” Man, what a tight-ass!

“I said I never drink when I’m on duty. Now, please show me those documents you were referring to so that I may review them and be on my way.”

Why didn’t anybody warn me I’d be dealing with the Ice-Bitch from Hell?! The simple answer was: no records existed for Katerina Lozovskaya. Normally, my company keeps detailed records of all high-ranking personnel employed by our competitors. But no such files existed for this Lozovskaya character. It was like she had been born fully-grown and had worked for CircuitTron Consolidated ever since she took her first breath. So nobody at the office could tell me what to expect.

“Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me?” asked Lozovskaya, most uncharacteristically. In fact, the heat in the hotel room was cranked all the way to the top, but you have to remember that we were in Moscow in February. We could have detonated a canister of napalm in that room and probably still would have failed to get the temperature in there over 70 degrees. Nevertheless, I sensed that this, her only admission of frailty all evening was my cue to resume my cunning hunt for sensitive data. I dismissed her question as a rhetorical one.

“I must leave now,” stated Katerina abruptly.

“Well, what about the documents?”

“I must leave now,” repeated Katerina, not to be distracted, as she made right past me for the door. Holy shit! I was not about to let her out that door, because that would mean a total failure for me. I was the company’s last hope.

“Before you go, could you at least tell me, unofficially, what you think about your company’s new product?” I asked, trying not to sound too horrified that she seemed to be slipping through my fingers. Clearly, Lozovskaya was getting desperate to leave, with or without the promised documents. She stopped about a yard short of the door. I didn’t know WHY she wanted to go, but I sensed that she was preoccupied with something else. She seemed to have a lot on her mind. But I could smell that my opportunity to get a little information was arriving.

“Unofficially?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, smiling to myself. I could taste success. I had finally broken through.

“Unnofficially?” Katerina asked again.

“Absolutely! You have my word!” Ask anyone who knows; my word doesn’t count for diddly-squat.

“Unofficially?” asked Katerina yet again.

“Yes. Katerina, is something wrong?” She just stood there, staring directly into the hotel-room door that was two feet in front of her.

“Unofficially?”

What was going on? A trick? I waved my hand in front of her face, perplexed. What was wrong with her? Her inflexion and intonation of the word remained identical each time she said it. And she seemed to be speaking in precisely timed intervals. My suspicions grew.

“Unofficially?”

“Miss Lozovskaya, what’s wrong with you?” I tapped her on the shoulder. That seemed to finally bring her back to her senses. Her whole body gave a quick jerk, like I had startled her. She turned around to face me. Then she paused, as if she had forgotten where she was. She took a moment to quizzically survey the smallish room she had just spent the last fifteen minutes in. Then she looked at me.

“I’m sorry? Did I say something wrong?” asked Katerina, looking a tad miffed at me. She put her right hand behind her back, and it looked to me like she was fiddling with the zipper on the back of her dress.

“Well, kinda, yeah. Actually, you scared me. What did you do? Just kinda zone-out or something?” Then I distinctly heard the sound of a zipper. Judging by the movement of her arm, it looked like she had probably pulled the zipper on the back of her dress all the way down, practically to her ass. She was sick or something. I put my hand to her forehead, more as a gesture than a serious attempt to diagnose a fever. But I yanked my hand back in burning pain. The backs of my fingers were bright red where they had touched her forehead. Her forehead was as hot as a stovetop.

“Nonsense. I did nothing of the sort. You’re imagining things perhaps, because I feel absolutely fine.” Was she trying to seduce me? If she was, she had a funny way of going about it. She continued. “There is nothing wrong with me at all. Maybe there is something wrong with you. Everything is going according to plan. Going according to plan. To plan.”

“Pardon me?” This was getting very peculiar. Then I heard a distinct CLICK sound like someone opening an old cassette-tape deck. The sound practically deafened me in the otherwise silent room. I knew I wasn’t just hearing things. Then I caught a whiff of smoke.

“I am completely in control of the situation. I am achieving my mission objectives.” She brought her right hand back down to her side. Now it was holding a flesh-colored square of plastic about the size of a gasoline-cap for a car. The smell of smoke was getting a little stronger. But she couldn’t be a robot. No processor powerful enough to handle such tremendous computing needs is small enough to be able to fit inside a robot the size of a human being. The one thing that had stumped the would-be creators of synthetic humanoids the world over was the size problem. There simply were no processors simultaneously both powerful enough AND small enough. And yet…

“In fact, I have never felt better. But thank you for asking. I’ll send you a Get-Well-Soon card.” She seemed to be getting really mixed up. What had thrown her off-kilter?

Suddenly, her body flinched violently. Next thing I know, I hear what sounds like a hair-dryer, except that it CAN’T be, because the sound is coming from INSIDE her CHEST. It sounded like one of those tiny fans that are built into computers to dissipate heat. Except it sounded like THIS one was hooked up to 225 horse-power Corvette engine! Black smoke started billowing up behind her, saturating the whole suite with the stench of burnt plastic.

“Whoops! Looks like I got a little hot under the collar! Nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with me. If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. My systems are functioning flawlessly. I think I overstayed my welcome. I’m doing very well, thank-you. Maybe a drink wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I need to cool off.”

With that, she turned on her heel and tried to leave the room. Agape, there was nothing I could do but watch, and examine the cavity on her back which she had exposed. It was not dark inside of her, as I somehow assumed it would be. Instead, there was an ominous orange glow, like the tip of a lit cigarette. And yep, I could make out a small fan too, evidently working overtime to rid the robot businesswoman of her excess heat. I couldn’t make out any details through the smoke. She took a step in the direction of the door, as if to leave. She would have done it too, if it hadn’t been for one simple fact which she failed to take into account: the door was still closed. Full speed, she crashed right into the door. Shuddering, she took a step backwards. Her every movement became stiff and jerky as she tried repeatedly to leave the room. It said a lot about the ruined state of her systems that it still hadn’t occurred to her to go for the door handle.

“Please let me leave. It is important that I go now. I’m not authorized to tell you why. What’s the matter with this door? I’m sorry, is there a problem? No thank-you, I’m not hungry. Please let me past, sir. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Then I realized with a sudden panic that she was going to set off a smoke detector! I glanced anxiously around the room for anything that could help, and my eyes came to rest on the fire-extinguisher hanging on the wall.

“Please, sir. I require assistance. No thanks, I don’t smoke. Do you think it looks good on me? Wait in line like everybody else. I lost my lipstick. I think I may have a fever.” Clearly ‘miss’ Katerina Lozovskaya was going bananas right before my eyes.

“Sorry Katerina, but better you then me,” I said, shoving the nozzle of the fire-extinguisher right inside of her opened body cavity. Suddenly, I heard the blades of her cooling-fan frantically skipping across the plastic lip of the nozzle at about a thousand RPMs. My finger tightened on the trigger as I prepared myself to let her have it. I didn’t know what to expect to happen.

“What are you doing?” cried Katerina, apparently coming back to reality. She stopped her frenzied attempts to walk through the door and appeared to realize that she was in serious trouble. “You must stop. You are not authorized to have knowledge of my status. Do not tamper with me or shall be forced to restrain you. Your activities have activated my emergency protocols. I am authorized to use physical violence to protect-“

“Can it Katerina! Your game is up!” I squeezed the trigger, instantly flooding her body with a deluge of flame-retarding, watery foam. I was immediately gratified by hundreds of little popping and fizzling sounds as the foam came into contact with her super-heated components. Parts of her innards were actually glowing with heat, and the sudden temperature change instantly caused dozens of her delicate pieces to fracture. Steamed hissed and billowed out of the failing android.

Abruptly, I was showered with white-hot sparks exploding from the area of her removed panel. Simultaneously blinded and seared, I cut off the fire-extinguisher and jumped backwards. She was obviously in big trouble, and I didn’t want to be too close to her in case she exploded or something.

Sparking and crackling, Katerina turned around to face me. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with me. “What have you done to me? I’m – I’m RUINED.” Those were fated to be her last words. With that said, a loud POP that sounded like a light-bulb exploding issued from within the malfunctioning Russian woman. Abruptly, she tumbled forward and landed face down on the carpet. Her arms remained at her side throughout the fall. Now, a few lazy orange flames licked up from the exposed portion of her back.

Her eyes were still open, and there was a shocked expression (no pun intended) on her face. Silent and motionless, Miss Lozovskaya had definitely been put out of commission. It somehow looked to me as though she was stunned at how quickly the situation had deteriorated for her. She seemed surprised that she had so easily been destroyed. As soon as she hit the floor, I dashed back over to her and completely hosed her down with the fire-extinguisher, covering her artificial body with a layer of froth and bubbles. The sounds of a few tardy circuits shorting-out were drowned out by the loud WHOOSHING sound of the cool jet of foam.

That’s when it hit me that the FIX-99 Super-Processor was an integral part of Katerina Lozovskaya. CircuitTron Consolidated’s newest hardware was a mystery to me no longer. She was a robot, and the new Super-Processor was what made her possible. Then everything became clear. The dinner was only supposed to last for an hour and a half. But dinner itself took more like two hours, and then we spent at least another fifteen minutes in room before her disguise started to slip. The heat buildup from that fantastic processor must have proved to be too much for her cooling systems to handle for more than a couple hours. She must have realized that she was overheating even before we got up to the suite, because she kept insisting that she couldn’t stay long. Then, just seconds away from escape, her systems finally couldn’t hack it anymore. What at first seemed like a woman who was just very confused was actually an android in the final stages of a slow meltdown. Evidently, the panel she had removed from the center of her back after she had unzipped her dress was some type of emergency cooling system. Looking down on her still-smoking body lying face-down in front of me, it was obvious that her effort had been too little, too late.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not only did Miss Katerina Lozovskaya KNOW something about the FIX-99 Super-Processor; she WAS one. I shook my head in disbelief as I walked over to the window for a cigarette. I chuckled at the thought when I realized that the non-smoking rules for this suite were pretty much moot after Katerina’s little problem. That droid just flamed-out in my hotel room and I was worried about a little cigarette smoke! Besides: it was freezing outside! As precaution, I hopped up on the bed and disabled the smoke detector on the ceiling by removing its batteries. It struck me as more than a little weird that I could probably have done the same with the woman I had eaten dinner with earlier that evening.

Hard to believe. I had been talking to a prototype version of the FIX-99 Super-Processor all along. But, I’ve got to tell you, I wasn’t very impressed. Somehow, I don’t think my corporation has all that much to fear from the “breath-taking innovation” whose smoking remains lay strew at my feet. Nevertheless. Not only did I get the valuable information I was looking for about the Super-Processor, I also got some booty to take back to the company labs (no pun intended!).

Corporate Espionage

2009-02-22T07:39:31Z

Lithorien: New page: I finally managed to get the ever-suspicious Katerina Lazovskaya onto the elevator and up to my 24th story suite in the Moscow Radisson Slavyanskaya Hotel. Our business dinner in th...

Talk:Stories

2009-02-22T07:38:20Z

Lithorien:

<big>This is the [[Stories|story archive]] discussion page.

This is the place to ask ask questions of make comments about the FembotWiki story archive. To leave a comment, either click '''edit''' or '''+''' at the top of this page. Don't forget to sign your comments with "<nowiki>~~~~</nowiki>". Doing that will automatically add your username and the date to the end of your comment.</big>

=Discussion=

==Page protection==
Since this is an archive, and the stories that are posted shouldn't be changed, all story archive pages will be protected from editing some time after they have been created. I will have to do this manually, so if you post a story and want the page protected, ask me on my [[User talk:Robotman|talk page]]. Also, if you'd like to change a story and the page has already been protected, I can unprotect it for you. Just ask. ;) [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 19:28, 27 February 2008 (PST)
:Come to think of it.... this will be optional. Some users might post stories with the intent for others to freely edit/improve them, so I'll ask first. [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 17:54, 29 February 2008 (PST)

==Heinrich Brueckmann==
I found some of our late author's stories in the Legacy of Timeless Beauty Archives, and am going to copy and paste them into the wiki on the basis that they appear to be public domain works. If we need a reference to them, it's here: http://www.many-realms.net/LTBSA/index3.html#HeinrichB [[User:Lithorien|Lithorien]] 23:38, 21 February 2009 (PST)

Heather

2008-09-01T05:41:20Z

Lithorien: Formatting

When the wind is howling and the rain is pouring down in sheets that could drown a man, that is the time that I decide to pull myself out of bed and go for a walk in the woods. I quickly get dressed in my multi-layered clothing, from the jeans and t-shirt to the wool sweater and rain slicks. As always when I awake, I hear them - the voices of my daemons, those who would see me throw myself over a bridge or a cliff. But as always, I am determined not to let them win. As often as the daemons may cry, and as hurtful as their words may be, I do not let them cut through my resolve as I pull on my boots and step outside my tiny apartment, turning to pull the door tightly closed and secure it. With a single rattle of the door I am satisfied and I turn to start running into the black night with no intent of direction, only that I wish to run and will return home when I become tired.

I am not running for long before the words of a daemon strike me. ''"She was with you last year,"'' it says angrily. ''"But she couldn't accept you. She never will, and no one else either. You're a freak."'' My hands clenched into fists, and my eyes half closed as I ran harder against the rain and tears started to fall from my eyes. "She left me because she was unhappy with her job," I cry loudly into the night sky. "She needed to move away!" The wind whips around my face as I stumble over a log and roll down the hill in front of me. I see nothing but a blur of dark colors as I tumble until coming to a stop next to a river where I lay quietly weeping into the night sky. The daemon returns with his insipid words to taunt me about the love of my life, about Jennifer. About her golden hair that shone so brightly in the morning sky, the softness of her touch, her smile that could launch a thousand ships and cause ten thousand men to die for her. The creature's words are aimed to hurt and finally they break through and I cry harder, my soul turning over to give up and die by that stream in the woods.

Fate has other plans for me this day. I awake from my blackness in a small cottage, though where it is located I do not know. I awake to the feeling of two arms wrapped around me and a warm female body - I can tell she is female from her scent - pressed against mine like a pillow. As I awake, she begins to run one of her hands over my chest and whispers a very quiet, "Good morning," to me as I turn to look at her. She is stunning. My daemons are chased to the shadows of my mind as she smiles at me and her sparkling white teeth and broad smile catch my eyes. I start to sweat a little and I find that my breathing has cought in my throat as I try to stammer out a weak, "Good morning," back to her. However, when I try to speak, my voice catches and I stammer - which only causes the woman to giggle and hug me closer.

"I'm Heather," she whispers, her eyes trailing down my body and back to my face. "I know you. You're Steven. You live alone in a tiny apartment with nobody to spend your time with. You've been with one woman and that relationship ended badly. You have a fascination with female robots and frequent the Fembot Central bulletin board. Am I correct?" My eyes widen as she describes a little about me, and I just nod breathlessly. Who is this woman, I wonder, and what does she want with me? She continues in a gentle tone, "Well my dear boy, you don't have to worry about being alone again." She runs my hand down her stomach to press a button just inside her navel and her face freezes as it splits open and she intones, "I am everything you could dream of and more. Stay with me in this cabin."

"I couldn't possibly do that," I cry, and slide backwards off the bed to scurry against a wall in fear. "I don't know you, or who created you, or where I am, or anything! I don't know how you know all that about me, but it is scaring me, Heather." I gradually gain my feet but she has moved to the doorway to stop me from leaving. "Please let me go. Please. I don't know what's going on or even where I am." Heather quickly interjects with a soft, "If you don't know where you are, and I let you go, where would you run to? A river again, to lay there and die? You were willing to let your past go just a day ago - willing to let it all go away while you laid down and died." I only nod, because there is nothing else that I can do or say to her - she is correct.

Heather moves to the bed and pats it again, and I move beside her to sit down with her and swallow, once, in nervousness. "Steven," her voice calls to me, "Relax. Know that you are safe. I am here to love you, protect you, and keep you safe and happy." Her arms, so soft, once again reach out to wrap around me and draw me close. "I have a suprise for you." She reaches down to stoke my penis gently. "But first," her voice lowers to a husky tone, "fuck me."

I happily oblidge to her request and have stripped naked - throwing my clothes to the floor - before the words finish coming out of her mouth. Well, her voice box, anyway. I may be nervous, but I havn't been laid in a year now and I want sex. My hands pull her close and for the first time I register that she is, and has been, entirely naked. Her pert breasts press against my chest as she draws me down to the bed and rolls me on my back. Her hands stroke over my shoulders and chest as she kneels over me and guides my penis into her already moist and warm vagina. She begins to slowly glide herself up and down, though occasionally she pauses in mid movement. Her moaning is quiet at first, and my breathing is steady. My hands run over her back and dig into her shoulders and she gasps a loud, "O-o-ohhhh," stuttering as if overloaded. I smile and thrust deep into her causing a moan of, "Give it to m-m-me, baaaby." Her head twitches to one side, and I thrust deeper as she rides me faster, her long black hair brushing against my chest and her nails digging into my hips. After but a few minutes, her skilled manipulations bring me to an orgasm that leaves me breathless and panting - though her orgasm has much different results. Her cry of extacy is broken and jittery, and her motions become jerky and rough over me. We do, however, come together and she falls to the bed with me as we both become unconscious for the rest of the day and to the next.

The next morning I awake to the smell of eggs and bacon, and I turn to watch Heather cooking. It is then, and only then, that I realize that I have already made the decision to stay. I stand and walk over to her to rest my hands on her shoulders and I whisper, "I'm staying." Heather turns to me and replies, "I know," before resting a hand behind my neck. "I have to show you something," she whispers, and her hand sinks into my neck. Then there is blackness, and I am aware in the blackness of the fact that I am, like her, a robot... and the knowledge destroys my demons and sets me free - free to live with Heather in the little cottage forever.

-----

[[Stories|Back to the story archive]]

[[Category:Lithorien]]
[[Category:Stories]]

User talk:Robotman

2008-05-06T05:52:21Z

Lithorien: New section: Re: Hello

=Welcome=
<big>Welcome to my talk page. Feel free to drop me a line here about anything related to FembotWiki. Click the '''edit''' or '''+''' tab at the top of the page to leave a message, and don't forget to sign with "<nowiki>~~~~</nowiki>" to leave your name and date. [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 20:34, 25 February 2008 (PST)</big>

=Discussion=

Thanks for cleaning up my articles. I think I'm gettin the hang of it now. [[User:Borias|Borias]] 16:42, 8 March 2008 (PST)

:You're welcome! Good to see you contributing so much. ;) [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 17:08, 8 March 2008 (PST)

==FYOP==
In regard to follow your own plot, it's rather hard to find out what was the last number used for the unwritten links, so I thought ethier we could put unwritten in all the unwritten link so they'll appear on the list, or put a last used number on the first page. (this lastone has some problems because if one person forgets it messes the whole thing up.) what do you think? [[User:The Liar|The Liar]] 08:14, 9 March 2008 (PDT)

:I personally find it much easier to use the "Show preview" button before hitting "Save page". That way, if the link is red, I know the page number hasn't yet been used. If it's blue, then it has. Another way you could do it is to look at http://www.fembotwiki.com/index.php?title=Special:Newpages (maybe keep it open in a separate tab) and refresh it when you need to check. Or if you remember to add the category to your new pages, you can check http://www.fembotwiki.com/index.php?title=Category:Follow_your_own_plot (refreshing as needed) to see what page number comes next. I think creating pages marked as empty would be a bad idea, because then you wouldn't be able to use those 3 techniques. [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 09:57, 9 March 2008 (PDT)

::Um, those methods don't work. Even if a number has been used in a option it will still apear red if no one has put anything in it, nor will they appear on any of the lists. Example: [[FYOP/The Lab Scene/0003]] or seen as [[FYOP/The Lab Scene/0003|Very artificial both in appearance and bahaviour?]]. [[User:The Liar|The Liar]] 10:30, 9 March 2008 (PDT)

:::Oh, sorry... I thought you were asking something slightly different. I haven't really thought about that one.... you could try whatever you think would work best. Let me know how it works out... and if it's a good system, you can include it in the FYOP instructions. [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 10:32, 9 March 2008 (PDT)

::::It occurs to me that adding options is unnecessary unless you intend on using them, as people can just put whatever option they want when they plan on continuing the story, there by sidestepping the problem.[[User:The Liar|The Liar]] 16:36, 9 March 2008 (PDT)

:::::That's sort of my line of thinking. This kind of thing is rather tricky to keep sorted out, isn't it? [[User:Robotman|Robotman]] 16:53, 9 March 2008 (PDT)

==Unsorted Pics==
I've uploaded the rest of the pics that have been sitting on my hard drive for a while - now saved for posterity. A lot of them look like Xeran's work, but I'm not sure, so I'll leave it to you or someone else to sort. I don't want to misplace any credit!
[[User:Drrotwang|Drrotwang]] 21:16, 8 April 2008 (PDT)

== Re: Hello ==

I plan on having fun here - I've already had a lot of fun just reading the stories and looking at the gallery. :)

User:Lithorien

2008-05-05T06:23:28Z

Lithorien: New page: Hi there. I'm just your average malfunction fan. :)

Hi there. I'm just your average malfunction fan. :)

File:Tracy Bot 500.jpg

2008-05-05T06:21:26Z

Lithorien:

File:Robotic Maids.jpg

2008-05-05T06:21:06Z

Lithorien:

File:Natelee's Secret.jpg

2008-05-05T06:20:40Z

Lithorien:

File:Candy Overload.jpg

2008-05-05T06:20:12Z

Lithorien:

File:Busty Windup Doll.jpg

2008-05-05T06:18:41Z

Lithorien:

Gallery

2008-05-05T06:17:45Z

Lithorien:

Article drive

2008-03-06T18:41:40Z

Lithorien:

FembotWiki needs articles!

You can help here by listing the subjects (any fembot-related subject) you would like to see.
Just click on edit and add your entry with a "'''*'''" in front of it, surrounded by <nowiki>'''[[brackets]]'''</nowiki>.

You can also go ahead and create those articles. Just click on a "red link" here and start writing. Or enter whatever topic comes to mind into the search bar to the left and create one.

==Articles needed==
*[[Electric Barbarella]]
*[[Futureworld]]
*[[Plug It In]]
**[[Cudly Cop]]
**[[Mile Heidi]]
**[[The Librarian]]
*[[The Bionic Woman]]
**[[Kill Oscar]]
*[[Sarah Connor Chronicles]]
*[[Beyond Westworld]]
*[[The Powers of Matthew Star - The Jackal]]
**[[Cindy]]
*[[Innobotics]]
**[[Valerie 23]]
**[[Mary 25]]
*[[Doctor Who]]
**[[Sarah Jane Smith]]
*[[Damage]]
*[[Malfunction]]
*[[Start-up]]
*[[Shut-down]]
*[[Reboot]]
*[[Robo-vision]]
*[[Repair]]
*[[Assembly]]
*[[Disassembly]]
*[[Monotone voice]]
*[[Robotic movement]]
*[[Stepford Wives]]

==Articles that need expanding==
*[[Fembot]]
*[[Katy]]
*[[Westworld]]
*[[Blank stare]]
*[[Access panel]]
*[[Cameron]]
*[[Faceoff]]