5.17 - In His Shadow
Furious, I threw the small box at Helen's feet. It bounced off the thick carpet, spinning wildly until it hit the leg of one of her dolls - the name eluded me. Ginger? Something beginning with G, I thought - and fell softly to the ground. The artificial girl smiled sweetly, ignoring the impact. Helen merely stared in shock at the box, then at me.
"I guess that's not on the agenda anymore," I said, as I turned to leave. I nearly collided with Kyle, who was standing directly behind me. "Kyle!" I said, a sick dread taking residence alongside the sense of betrayal. "How... how long have you been standing there? What did you hear?"
"Not a thing, Mr. Peters," he said cooly. "Not a single thing." The thin smile on his lips was completely at odds with the look in his eyes. Had he been a child, I might have dismissed his demeanor as mere awkwardness. Now a teenager, his somewhat off behavior seemed somehow more intentional, more planned. The long string of safety incidents that seemed to follow him lent credence to my growing suspicions. I had tried to tell Kirk before he hired the boy, but he was oddly dismissive of Kyle's behavior.
"I'm sure he just needs someone to reach out to him, James," he had said. "Someone who can really connect with him."
The fact that I had been unable to do so meant nothing to Kirk, as usual. Still, even I was a bit troubled by Kirk's apparent inability to get through to the boy - Or perceive that there was anything wrong.
Here, now, his lack of response was more than a little surprising. He definitely would have heard, even if he had been clear across the outer office when I left my study. Not that it matters now, I thought to myself as I hastily made my exit. At least Helen had the decency not to demand I return and apologize.
I needed to clear my head, find somewhere to think. My offices were centrally located in XR's main building, allowing me swift access to almost any part of the complex. I wandered the halls aimlessly, finding myself in the showroom floor, still closed to the public for remodeling, in anticipation of the upcoming launch date. Vera, the reception unit, automatically sprung to life upon detecting my presence.
"Hello, sir," she said, working off her standard greeting script. "Welcome to XR Innovations. May I show you around?"
At every new product launch, Helen had demanded that Vera's clothing be more and more revealing. What started as a simple, modest dress had gradually transformed into a sexualized costume. The hemline of the skirt had been raised, initially by only a few centimeters, but had recently been cut to above her crotch. The neckline had dipped, then dipped further, then fallen down to her navel. Fashionable flat-soled shoes had been given heels, then higher heels, and had ended up as leather boots with spike heels approximately the same length as her skirt. Her underwear, initially a safeguard against accidental immodesty, had lately become blatantly sexual, and either emphasized by her other clothing, or the primary focus of each new outfit.
Had she been wearing any of it, she would have looked absurd. As usual, Helen had insisted that we re-tailor Vera's clothes for the 9660F launch, rendering the greet-bot nude in the intervening weeks. Although not provided with substitute garments, I noticed that Helen had seen fit to lend Vera a pair of black stilettos and fishnet stockings, neither of which were part of her upcoming costume.
The respectable image I had strived to maintain was being constantly eroded by Helen's attempts at broader appeal. At this stage, it was a wonder that the industry still took me seriously. "Welcome to XR," I mumbled to myself, "luxury you can fuck."
This last word must have been loud enough for Vera to hear. "Would you like to put something in me?" She said, innocently. "I'm happy to be your fuckdoll." So, it was true then. Helen had been toying with her, too. Was there a single 'bot in the factory she hadn't turned into yet another toy? No wonder she was so distant after sex. Her mind was always on other things, even as she demanded that I give it to her harder.
Were her cries of ecstasy merely performances to placate my ego? Unlikely, as little as she cared for my ego. Besides, I knew her habits well enough to know that once she started, she wouldn't stop until she got her orgasm. In every sense, Helen came first. It had become more and more difficult to ignore her increasingly distant attitude. I had thought it was just because I had been so focused on getting the 9660F ready for market, that perhaps I had been neglecting her. Tonight was supposed to change that, to show her how committed I was.
"Vera," I said, "shut yourself down."
"Okie dokie, Master," she nodded. She turned to face away from me, bent completely in half at the waist, then reached around behind herself to shove her fingers into her vagina and anus. "Oh!" She yelped, "That feels so goooowwwwwwwwrrrrrrrr..." Her body froze in the ridiculous position. More of Helen's handiwork, I realized. She disliked the ear-port activators, preferring instead to enable the V/A triggerpoint option on her personal units.
The only part that surprised me was that Vera still acknowledged me as Master, and retained heterosexual behavioral parameters. Helen sometimes encouraged me to watch as she played with her toys, but had an aversion to allowing me to participate unless it was just the two of us. I had previously thought it was a kind of possessiveness of the ARAs. Now it dawned on me: She preferred robots to me. We only ever made love when she wanted something, or when the robots were unavailable. I was starting to think letting me watch was just another way of intentionally frustrating me.
I needed to find a place to myself. Somewhere I could be sure Helen hadn't cheapened. There was only one place I knew I could be absolutely alone. One place no other human was allowed. I needed to get to the factory floor.
The factory was almost directly on the opposite side of the complex from the showroom. Normally, the quickest way to get there would have been to cut back to my office, and proceed onward from there... but I had no desire to go back there right now. If Kyle had left, Helen would likely have resumed whatever debauchery she normally got up to on her own. Only one of the girls had been topless when Helen had stormed into my office, but the other two had nothing covering them from the waist down, and Helen was all but nude. I doubted Kyle would have stayed with his mother in that state, but if he was even still in the outer office... I didn't have the nerve to face him right now.
I circled around the outer edge of the complex. Most of the building had been shut down for the day, but a few testing rooms were still active. Crossing through the Southeast wing, I came to an elegantly furnished library in which a dozen upper-class women sat primly, discussing a book of some description.
"Personally, I couldn't disagree more," said one seated facing away from me, "I found the characterization of the protagonist to be, well..." She waved a hand dismissively. "More than a little inconsistent."
"Really?" The woman seated on the armrest of one sofa interjected, sceptically, "Don't tell me you're still hung up on that ridiculous notion of authorial intent."
"Well, it had to have been written for some reason. Why would he spend so much description on things that didn't affect the plot, other than to get a message across?"
"There is such a thing as keeping the reader entertained," said a third woman, seated on a nearby loveseat. "Take out all the fun bits, and what do you have left? So-and-so went here, such-and-such bought that. It would be nothing more than a laundry list of expository descriptions."
"What I don't understand," a fourth woman cut in, "is why the pussy fuck tits I cunt my suck." She blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like a puppet's. Finally, she tilted her head to one side. "Cock?" She inquired.
"That's a good point," said the woman seated away from me. "My fuckhole craves my master's rod." The other women nodded, murmuring their agreement.
Literary analysis was always a tricky area for AI processing. Freudian subtext tended to derail any artificial mind into complete sexual chaos. These units had been debating the symbolism of a book of nursery rhymes for the past three days without pause. It was a bit surprising that they had made it this long before the conversation collapsed on itself. I tried to make my way across to the opposite door without being seen, but it was too late.
"Oh, there he is," said one of the women calmly, "he'll know." She smiled and waved at me. "We'd like a little male input, if that's okay." In one calm, swift motion, she pulled her dress up over her head, and tossed it aside. Wearing only a basic bra and panty combo, she bent over, her backside to me. "Do you think my ass looks more spankable or fuckable?" She said.
The woman sitting next to her pulled her blouse open in one swift motion, popping the buttons off the garment. "Or do you think tits are more fuckable?"
"I... er..." I edged towards the opposite door, racking my brain to remember the program termination code. It had been a simple phrase, easier for me to remember, something related to literature, but could never possibly come up in their discussion... I just couldn't... wait, that was it! "I find Tolstoy far too simple, especially compared to Proust."
The women all froze, then stood at attention as a large panel slid open in the opposite wall. Behind it were a dozen equally-sized shelves and a clothing chute. The women lined up in front of the chute, taking turns removing their clothing completely, and depositing it in the chute. They would each then climb into their designated storage shelf and deactivate themselves.
I just wasn't in the right state of mind for this kind of thing right now. I crossed to the exit and tried to stick to the corridors as I continued to the factory floor, until I reached East wing. More renovations. The corridor had been sealed off. I never took this route, so I had completely forgotten about the detour through Lab C. I waved my badge in front of the sensor, and the door slid open.
"..can't believe how much we have in common!" A young woman's voice was saying. Her words came almost machine-gun fast. "Oh, you know what, we should visit some of my friends in North wing, they do product quality assurance, well, they call it that, but I think they just like playing with the products, which is fine, but..."
Of course. Kimmi was working late. Her enthusiasm was nearly as boundless as her energy. She was wearing her normal lab coat and dress, seated at a small restaurant-style table in the middle of the lab. Across from her was a pretty redhead in an evening gown. The woman gazed into Kimmi's eyes with adoration. I would need to be quiet to avoid...
The door loudly slid shut behind me. Kimmi spun, a look of delight washing over her features. "Oh, Mr Peters! I didn't realize you were here, I thought you had gone home for the night. I'm just visiting with Stephanie here, have you met Stephanie? She's such a great conversationalist. Of course, I should have known you were still here, I mean, you do own the place, and I know you've got a bed here somewhere, then again, there are plenty of beds in some of the testing rooms." She put a hand to her mouth, remembering something. "Where are my manners? Stephanie, take off your dress, I need to show Mr. Peters your body!"
Kimmi jumped out of her seat and dashed over to grab my hand, tugging me towards the table. Stephanie merely stood, still smiling, and calmly unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She wore a simple black thong and bikini style bra, indicating she had been manufactured less than two weeks ago. Coding the units' undergarments to denote manufacture time had been Helen's idea, but was actually one of her more useful suggestions.
Kimmi pulled me around to sit in the chair that Stephanie had previously occupied. She tapped Stephanie on the shoulder. "Bend over the table, Steph." Stephanie complied, of course. "Now," Kimmi said to me, "the first thing I noticed about this model was the increased cushioning and more realistic give in the buttocks, resulting in a much more satisfying spank-jiggle effect." She smacked Stephanie's rear loudly. Stephanie moaned happily.
"Well, I say the first thing," she continued, going a mile a minute, "I guess that's not completely right, I didn't just spank her the moment I got her in here." She pulled Stephanie's thong to one side, indicating the unit's vagina. "I had to compare her pussy to the previous model, and at first I was like everything's about the same what's the deal, right? But I looked more carefully, and, here, feel." She put my hand against Stephanie's exposed flesh. "Feel how smooth the lips are? The previous generation had a kind of friction to it that could get binding pre-lubrication. This version has a molecularly bonded lubrication that keeps it nice and silky, even when it's dry, so no uncomfortable friction on the guy's foreskin."
"Kimmi, I..." I started, trying to extract myself from the conversation.
"So, I thought to myself, what other effects does it have on performance. Of course, it means she's slick and ready for action even before her lube pump goes into action, see?" She moved my finger into Stephanie's warm folds. A slightly disappointed look appeared on Kimmi's face. "Oh, yeah, sorry, she's already primed. Forgot about that. Anyway, it does result in a slight system desynchronization if she's stimulated vaginally before she can load her sexual programs, which isn't really anything new, but now that her unlubricated state is just as ready-to-go as a girl who's motor's running already, that means the partner can get a lot further along before sex programming might be called for. I wonder if the built in lube affects the flavor at all." She leaned forward and experimentally licked Stephanie's nether region. "Bubblegum? Or cherry? I can't quite tell, do you want to try, Mr... Oh!"
Kimmi noticed the obvious bulge in my pants and the look of discomfort on my face. "Oh, Mr. Peters, I'm so sorry, I had no idea! Really I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable like that, can I jerk you off or maybe give you a blowjob?"
"Kimmi..." I tried to speak again, but her momentum just wouldn't slow down.
"Or, if you wanted, you could put that nice hot cock up my ass, I really enjoy anal, although, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever been fucked up the ass before, at least, if I have, I don't remember it. You know, there's a lot of things I can't remember, hey I've been meaning to ask you about that actually, it just seems like I've been here for I don't know how long, and it's a great job, but Ican't remember for the life of me when you first hired meeerrrrrwwwww..."
Kimmi slowed to a halt, her hand still holding Stephanie's underwear to one side. The deactivation tool I had retrieved from my pocket poked awkwardly out her ear, and she wore a blank expression. I extricated myself from the situation as delicately as possible, and made my way to the exit. "Stephanie, just, uh, put Kimmi back in her box for the night, then shut yourself down on one of the exam tables," I said over my shoulder.
"Yes, master," Stephanie called as I left the lab.
Kimmi was one of the few units that Helen hadn't performed any modifications on, but her series had come pre-installed with a robust "companion" suite of programs so deeply integrated with her basic functionality as to make them impossible to remove. It wasn't that I was completely opposed to the concept of sex-capable robots, but I found it infuriating and crass that state-of-the-art technology and triumphs of software engineering were relegated to little more than sex toys.
Certainly, given human form, it's not unreasonable to expect a robot to be anatomically correct. I would even grant that, given anatomical correctness, it's not unreasonable to expect a robot to be capable of the act of sex, or even to expect them to be good at it. But the market was increasingly dominated by the likes of X-Ero, who had long ago abandoned any pretense of riding my company's coattails with their similar name, and had instead fully dedicated their resources to turning revolutionary feats of technological genius into strippers, whores, and pleasure slaves.
And then there was Kirk. I couldn't claim he made bad decisions. Indeed, the success of ScenariCorp conclusively demonstrated that he had made extraordinarily good decisions. He had found a market niche that he was able to supply with almost infinite variation, and it had made him more wealthy than any of Dad's patents or Mom's product licensing ever did. Business ran in our blood, Dad had told us. And yet my empire crumbles, I thought.
At long last I found myself outside the factory floor. The massive steel bulkhead made me feel even more insignificant than usual. I looked around, sure that no one was watching, or waiting to follow me in, but compulsively needing to check nonetheless. I tapped a code into the keypad, then allowed the scanner to confirm my palm print. Klaxons announced that the heavy gate was unsealing, and it slowly swung open, revealing the airlock chamber beyond. Still nervous of followers, I cautiously walked into the connecting chamber, then pressed the large red "seal" button along the wall. The exterior door gradually swung back in place, and an echoing thud confirmed its sealed state.
I took the respirator mask from its hook as the extractors began to pump the air out of the chamber. The familiar tingling sensation in my extremities began, and I watched the pressure indicator drop further and further. When I could stand no more, I hit the repressurize button.
The air that began to fill the room was laced with an inert gas - harmless to breathe, but easily detectable by the extractors. Once they detected the trace of the inert gas, they would cease extracting, ensuring that only a known quantity of tagged air was present in the chamber. The pressure indicator slowly climbed back to tolerable levels, and I found sensation returning to my fingers. At last, the indicator reached 1 atmosphere, and the pumps instantly cut off.
Still nervous, I pressed the hidden control which revealed the long bank of indicator lights. The Visual and Mass lights were already showing green, as was Volume - the known quantity and pressure of the gas enabled the system to determine if any unknown objects or persons had followed me in, as they would change the amount of gas required to reach 1 atmosphere.
I pulled off the respirator and replaced it on the hook, then took my place in the center of the room. "James Nathaniel Peters," I said, in clear, distinct tones. The Voice light on the security board switched to green. A high pitched trill filled the room, making me wince, as always. It repeated three times, then the Acoustics security light went green. Once again, I knew with near absolute certainty that I was completely alone in the chamber. Near certainty. Nearly good enough.
I pulled off my clothes, stowing the contents of my pockets in the box for retrieval. Shirt, socks, trousers and briefs all went in separate chutes for vapor analysis. Shoes went into the particle scanner to check for recording or transmitting devices. I returned to the center of the chamber, nude. "Begin," I said.
The airflow system once again began cycling air - this time heated, for my comfort - from directly above me, into the grate directly below me. I watched as the Chemtrace security light flashed amber for a few seconds. Finally, it switched to green. I wasn't under the influence of any detectable chemicals, only traces of my own scents had been picked up. If I wasn't alone, then whoever or whatever might have joined me would have to be invisible, weightless, occupy zero physical space, reflect no sounds, and carry no trace particles. I was safe. No one other than myself could ever enter the factory beyond.
The inner door, just as imposing as the outer one, made its *thunk* noise, and slowly swung open. I grabbed the robe from the hook next to the respirator, the keys jingling in its pocket. I threw it on, then approached the last door.
It was a simple, standard door, with wood panelling, and a doorknob. I sorted through the keys to find the appropriate one, the unlocked the door and entered, closing and locking the door behind me.
Once inside the modestly furnished living space beyond, I turned and leaned my head against the door. My whole body sighed.
Delicate, feminine hands slid across my cheeks and covered my eyes. "Guess who," a woman's voice whispered.
I didn't need to guess. Her voice was unmistakable, even when she whispered.
"Helen," I sighed, turning to face her.
She was dressed in a modest summer dress, and had a pout on her face. "You peeked," she said.
"Not yet," I said, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck, "But I can if you want." I kissed her shoulder. "Would you rather I peek up your skirt, or down your top?"
"Hmm..." she sighed contentedly, "You know I'm no good at making choices like that. Which do you prefer?"
I let my hands drift down her back, around her hips, resting them on her thighs. "Tough choice," I worked my way up her neck to just below her ear. "I think it will be a lot simpler if I just take the dress out of the equation."
My hands darted down to the hem of her dress, pulling the entire garment up over her head and tossing it aside in one swift motion. She raised her arms compliantly to make the process easier.
While her dress had been modest and conservative, her undergarments were anything but. Her sheer bra might have provided some modesty, if not for the nipple holes torn in it. Her black satin garter belt held up the tops of her tam stockings with clips decorated in silhouettes of nude women. She wore no panties, just as I had instructed her previously.
She stretched with her arms still above her head, a relaxed smile on her face, then shimmied as though the lightweight dress had been a bulky jacket that she was glad to be out of - which I knew she was. "Mmm, keep looking at me like that," she said, "and a girl might think you had something on your mind." She turned to face away from me, grinding her rear into my groin. "Welcome home, dear," she said, sweetly.
From behind, I reached down between her legs and began to explore her warm wetness. She reciprocated, leaning her head back to kiss me while pressing her butt more insistently against my now obvious erection. My fingers drenched in her juices, I pulled out of the kiss and brought my hand up in front of her face, fingers outstretched. She gasped as though I had given her an expensive gift, lunging forward to lick and suckle my fingers.
"Tell you what," I whispered in her ear, "I think I might have something you want."
She reached back, running her hand along the length of my penis through the robe. "Mmm-hmm," she nodded.
"Why don't we find somewhere nice and intimate to do something about that?"
She sighed happily, as if my suggestion were her innermost fantasy. A mischievous smile appeared on her face. "Actually," she said, "I wanted to ask your permission on something." I raised an eyebrow. "My friend Celia and I were talking and... she's kind of bi-curious, you know..." I smiled, knowing where this was going. "She was wondering if you'd let her... strip for you and..." she moved in close, apparently embarrassed at what she was about to suggest. "She wants to watch you rub your cock between my breasts and cum on my face."
I had to chuckle at the suggestion. "Oh, I think I could put up with that," I said.
"That's not everything," Helen continued. She sounded afraid that she would offend me. "I was kind of hoping you would be willing to... kind of... fondle her some first. And, well..." She hesitated. "Maybe you could let her feel your cock." She looked apologetic. "It wouldn't have to be a blowjob! Unless... if you wanted..."
"Well, if I'm supposed to fuck your tits," I said, noting the shudders as I said "fuck" and "tits," "you'd have to help make sure I didn't finish in her mouth before I got to you."
"You'll let her?" She bounced, overjoyed. "Oh, thank you so much! I promise I'll make this up to you!"
I tried to look understanding. "We'll think of a way," I said, smacking her playfully on the ass. "Why don't you invite Celia over, and we can discuss this a bit more." Helen made an excited noise and dashed off to call Celia. I watched her leave the room, her beautiful backside swaying as the walked away.
The duplicate Helen had taken months of development and customization. Just obtaining the requisite reference data - photographs, motion studies, voice samples - had taken weeks, and I had to assign much of the actual development to my personal staff, just in case I had to delete any sensitive data from their drives. I couldn't even begin to imagine how the real Helen might react if she ever found out about her doppelganger.
Celia was a name I didn't immediately recognize, but it would have been one of the dozen randomly selected girls assigned to Helen's circle of friends for the week. Yesterday, it had been Zara, and she had wanted to watch and participate while I took Helen from behind. The real Helen thought nothing of imposing upon others. This Helen worried that fulfilling my every fantasy was itself an imposition.
Once Helen made the call (No actual conversation occurred: The system just listened for her to say a friend's name, then disconnected while Helen continued talking to and answering a dead line), her "friend" would be retrieved by the storage system, pulling her oblong storage pod from the racks adjacent to the simulated house. The armature of the storage system would then separate the pod into two halves, with Celia suspended by her armpits in the upper half. It would then set her down gently just outside the "front" door - the one leading to the factory and warehouse - and the supporting rods would be removed from under her arms.
Depending on the length of Helen's randomly generated, one-sided conversation, she might answer the door before the system had completed this process, which would temporarily lock her own systems.
Sure enough, Helen strode, still essentially nude, to the door and opened it to greet Celia. "Hi Celi-" She froze. I could see beyond her that the armature had just set Celia down. I noted with some satisfaction that Celia was a particularly leggy model, her whisper thin dress clearly communicating the presence of a thong. As the top portion of the pod was lifted up off her head, I realized that she was one of my most recent additions to Helen's social group. I had not noted the name assigned to her: At the time, she had simply been a XR4350D with some modifications.
Once the pod was clear of her, Helen came back to life. "-a, c'mon in." She waved the friend in.
Celia didn't react to Helen's nudity, but entered, a look of shy anticipation on her face. "I'm really glad you called me over," she said, "but you didn't say why you wanted to talk." She turned to see me standing in the living room area, clad only in my robe. "Oh, I didn't realize your husband was here!" She waved. "Hi Mr. Peters, I'm Celia Lastname."
Helen came up on Celia from behind, and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "I asked him."
Celia's eyes went wide. "I don't mean to put you to any trouble," she said, "it's just that she has such beautiful tits, and I haven't sucked a cock before. I hope you don't mind, but I wasn't sure you would accept, so I wore underwear anyway. I can take it off, it you'd prefer..." She pulled her skirt up as she said this, showing me the black thong she was wearing over her bodystocking.
I couldn't take any more. "Helen," I said, "I've changed my mind. I think Celia and I are just going to have regular sex for a while." She nodded enthusiastically as I said this, while Celia reacted as if I had just made the most romantic gesture in the world. "You can watch and play with your tits," I told Helen, "but you can't put anything in any of your holes."
"Okay," she said, smiling. "Whatever you say, dear."
I did eventually go forward with Helen's original suggestion, but only after going a few rounds with Celia, and having Helen stimulate her orally. Hours later, my energy spent, I lay panting on the massive bed with Celia deactivated at my feet, and Helen lying with her arm across my chest, and one leg resting across my body. I'd long since lost track of where either woman's clothes had gone, but they had managed to retain their shoes throughout the activities.
Helen gazed longingly at me, absently tracing little circles on my chest. "Maybe we should make this a more regular thing," she said, oblivious to the fact that it was already something we did at least every day. To maintain the hesitating innocence I found so appealing, her memory would be automatically reset as soon as I left the factory-warehouse.
I didn't answer, my thoughts chasing each other in tight little spirals. As much as I resented the industry's focus on sexualizing our products, within the guaranteed privacy of my factory retreat, I was hardly immune to their allure. It was intoxicating, and even a bit frightening, feeling such absolute control over another person - or, at least, what appeared to be another person.
But hadn't I risen above such shallowness? I'd given Helen a boost in intelligence from her stock model, something approaching an imagination, allowing her to come up with the day's scenario without pre-scripted patterns, but that merely served my libido. Hadn't I given my duplicate Helen more sophisticated emotional simulation? More refined observational skills?
As soon as these thoughts formed in my head, they were demonstrated with cruel precision. "You look stressed about something. What's wrong?"
The question tore me out of the comfort of my fantasy and into the pressures of reality. "It's... nothing," I lied. "Just thinking about the 9660F launch." This was almost true.
"Oh, I hope everything is going well," she said encouragingly. "Did Kirk get the pre-launch unit yet?" She broke into a cheery smile. "It's so sweet how you two have such a strong relationship." She sighed. "You're so generous with your brother. I bet you used to share everything."
As she spoke, I almost felt like I was in freefall, but at this last sentence, it was like slamming into concrete. "Helen," I said, a stab of guilt already indicting me for what I was about to do, "I am so fucking tired of you, you worthless whore."
Instantly, her body became ramrod stiff. "Joint coupling disengaged," she stated in a polite tone. "Electromagnetic supports disabled."
Her body suddenly came apart at the hips, waist, and shoulders. I hated to do it, but I hated Helen more right now - and unfortunately, she had just reminded me of that fact.
I got out of the bed, not bothering to dress, and staggered to the "front" door of the dummy house. I burst out into the factory area beyond, making my way up the twisting metal-grated staircase to the control room high above, I threw myself into the simple chair and gazed down at my creation.
The factory was a constant bustle of activity. As a matter of privacy and trade secrets, all the workers in the factory were ARAs, each one a unit previously manufactured by the very machinery they now operated. I had internally justified their lack of clothing as a practical matter of cost-cutting: I was the only person permitted in the factory, and they hardly needed clothing for modesty purposes. Their synthetic skin was more durable than most fabrics, so it wouldn't have given them any meaningful protection from the liquid metal of the foundry smelter, or the volatile chemicals used in their manufacture.
Justifying the high heels had been a bit more difficult. I had reasoned that their models were originally designed with heeled shoes in mind, and were generally less stable flat-footed. I knew this was merely a matter of software modules, and could have easily installed the necessary software to enable them to walk bare-footed with no difficulty, but thruthfully, ensuring that the software was consistently more stable than the default across so many different models would have been more expensive than simply buying a pair of pumps for each of them.
I gazed out the large observation window, angled downward to provide clear view of the factory floor, watching the beautiful simulations of femininity as they moved from station to station. Each was a vision of perfection, nude sculptures that testified the magnificence of the female form. They moved with grace and poise, their activity just as intricate, precise, and complex as the industrial machines they used to make their sisters.
I knew this clockwork hive of womanly visions was all down to my own designs, my own plans, my own programs. I had done this. I had done all of this. I stood, taking a deep breath. "This is my best. My everything." Helen's words - those of both the real and the duplicate Helen - came flooding back to me. "And it's not enough." I gripped the chair, struggling to lift it. "It will never be!" I hefted the heavy chair. "It' never enough!" I cried, hurling the heavy object through the plate glass of the observation window. I was momentarily stunned that I had the strength to break the glass, but was distracted by the smashing sound it made as it fell on a passing worker. I could hear the electrical sparks and mindless, random gibberish of the damaged girl, even from this height.
I slumped over the control panel, my actions now driven by a toxic combination of emotional pains. "Kirk Peters, golden child," I sobbed, flipping switches, "Kirk makes it look so easy. Kirk never misses a thing." I turned the dial on the large console all the way into the red. "Kirk is a champion of industry. Kirk Peters is a household name. ScenariCorp is more popular than GySys and X-Ero Tech combined." I slammed my hand down on the massive red button. A loud alarm bell sounded, and all the workers below stopped working, and simply stood at attention.
"James Peters designs an intermodal bypass chip, the world yawns. Kirk uses it in his 'directive interruptor,' the school nearly trips over itself funding his research." I started down the stairs again. "James Peters build the highest quality robotic assistants the industry has seen, and the press mocks him as being 'too niche!'" I didn't stop at the dummy house. "Kirk whores them out in fun parks, he gets showered with critical acclaim!"
I grabbed a loose pipe from the parts cupboard. "Oh, sorry to hear how maladjusted your boy is, Miriam, but at least Kirk seems to be getting along!" I smashed the pressure valve on one of the chemical vats. Noxious gas vented out at high pressure. "What the hell's the matter with your son, Alex? Sure, Kirk's so friendly and charismatic, but James needs help!" Another swing took out the safety monitor on the welding station.
My eyes were blurred with the tears. "IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!" I screamed, swinging blindly. I heard more sounds of glass and electronics smashing, then collapsed, sobbing. Shards of broken glass sliced into my naked skin. I barely felt the cuts, but felt the warmth of a nearby heat source.
The bulk of my energy spent, I let the blind rage and sorrow take its course. I don't know how much time passed, but the tears eventually stopped. The pain didn't. I looked up, realizing the source of the warmth: The foundry. The massive vat of molten metal. The air around it shimmered from the heat. I stood with some difficulty.
"James makes a revolutionary leap forward for cybernetic engineering," I said calmly, approaching the foundry controls. The damage I had inflicted with the pipe earlier caused one of the pressurized chemical tanks to burst, spraying the workers nearby in the corrosive liquid. They didn't blink, but merely stood motionless as the chemical ate away their artificial skin, revealing the gleaming chrome underneath. "No one believes him when he tells them what it can do," I said, punching in a code on the foundry controls.
"FOUNDRY PURGE INITIATED. OPENING RESERVOIR GATE," intoned a clearly synthetic voice. The large, circular area of the floor directly in front of the vat began irising open.
"Kirk buys one ahead of time to secretly use in a tourist attraction," I mumbled. I flipped up the safety cover on the control link toggle button. "The crowd goes wild," I said, stabbing at the button. The gate stopped, then sealed itself again.
"WARNING, GATE NOT RESPONDING, PURGE HALTED."
"James falls in love," I said, punching in the purge override code. "Kirk sleeps with her." Fires began breaking out in the chaos surrounding me. Massive machinery slowly moved the vat out of its normal position, towards the gate. "I couldn't even have that victory, could I Kirk? I couldn't even look at the woman I was going to marry and know that she loved me alone."
"MANUAL OVERRIDE ENGAGED. PLEASE ENSURE GATE IS FULLY OPEN."
Even at this distance, the heat from the vat was searing. My eyes stung as I watched the brightly glowing liquid slowly pour out, splashing in a hiss on the surface of the gate. The gorgeous women standing near the gate were silently engulfed in the blazing heat. They melted like candles, soon transformed into unrecognizable lumps of metal and ash.
"You win, Kirk," I said quietly, watching the lethally hot metal make its way across the factory floor. It crept closer and closer to the vats and tanks labeled with "Danger: Explosive" warnings.
"James Peters forfeits the game. Kirk gets a one-of-a-kind toy." I smiled sardonically. "Just don't tell me what you use her for."
The metal reached the hazardous materials area. A sound like a huge drum filled my ears, and I was blinded by a white hot-