Falling in Love Bit By Bit

So she headed downtown and went straight to the bank of lifts reserved for the more exclusive residents. With very little effort, she overrode the controls and went straight to the top. It let out in a foyer.

The three naked people on the couch paid no attention to her. Indeed, they were so pre-occupied in what they were doing, they didn't even hear her.

Holland Campbell sat on the plush couch. Two girls were on their knees in front of him. Their mouths enveloped his cock. They took turns sucking on his head and playing with his balls. He absently fondled the girls's pendulous tits, but was more concerned with his own pleasure.

Miriam watched them for a moment before stepping forward, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floors.

The two girls looked up, something between surprise and hatred in their eyes. Holland took a moment to realise that they weren't alone, but his face quickly contorted in anger. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Ladies, leave us," Miriam said, nothing but contempt in her own eyes.

"Sweetie," one of the girls drawled, obviously talking to Holland. "We could have brought our friend if you wanted a fourway."

"I—" he started.

"Shut up," his co-worker replied. Her voice hardened. "Girls . . . I said get out."

The girls looked to Holland for a second, then at each other. He only glared at Miriam. There was an uncomfortable silence that fell over the room.

"It's okay," he said finally. "Come back tomorrow."

"No, bitches. Don't," Miriam's voice was curt. "Don't ever come back."

Her eyes locked on to Holland's. Neither spoke as the girls gathered up their clothes. They started to say their farewells, but realised that they were being ignored.

"What do you want, you fucking cunt?" Holland spat once the elevator doors closed.

"Oh, poor Holland Campbell." The mocking tone in Miriam's voice only fueled his anger. "You can't come in to the lab because you have two whores sucking on that little cock of yours."

"Goddammit! How the fuck did you get into my house?"

"Trade secrets, Holland," she replied with a taunting sneer.

"I should call the cops."

"But you won't, will you, Holland?" With quick, deliberate steps she crossed the room until she was standing in front of him. He was still naked. She bent over so her eyes were almost level with his. "You won't because you're captivated by my tits, aren't you, 'Sweetie'?"

Unconsciously, his gaze went to the space between her breasts which were conveniently exposed for him to see.

"Don't think I haven't seen the way you stare at me when you think I'm not looking," she continued. "The others don't notice because they're too busy kowtowing to the great Holland Campbell and trying not to piss you off. But you notice them, don't you? How many nights have you spent in the lab . . . stroking that cock and thinking of me sucking on it? Or riding it? Or bending me over your desk and fucking me in the ass? Don't look so shocked, Holland. I know how men think."

"Go fuck yourself!" He shouted. Holland's eyes narrowed. "I should have you fired."

"But you won't do that, either," she replied with a smirk. "You won't because no one else can clean up your code like I can. And you know it. You're great with coming up with ideas, but your execution is lousy. That's what your little tirades are about. The others don't really fuck up . . . You're just covering up for the fact that you really can't write code worth shit. So you take it out on them. They bend over and take it because they're all too afraid that you'll shit-can them."

"What do you want?" If looks could kill, Miriam would have withered before his glare.

"I want to be your permanent partner." Her hand reached out and caressed his cheek. "You come up with the ideas, I'll write the programs. And I want an equal share of everything we make."

"So it's 'we' now?"

"Yes, Holland, that's exactly what it is," Miriam stood up straight. His eyes went to her shapely figure. "And if you play your cards right . . . it could be 'us'."

She winked, and then walked back towards his bedroom. On the way, she pulled her blouse out of her skirt, leaving Holland Campbell sitting on his couch, watching Miriam's hip's sway.

Her fingers had just undone the fourth button down when he jumped off the couch and went after her.

****************

"I've got good news and bad news," the agent said.

"More good than bad I hope," Colonel Jerrik muttered. The two of them watched the lab techs sifting through what was left of the mainframe. There was a glass partition between them and the clean room. Everything was laid out neatly but still fit on a single table. Next to the computer were the remains of three assassin bots. There was some discussion about this; there might have been four of the expensive robots, but their self-destruct mechanisms were so thorough, no one could say for sure how many there were.

"They managed to fry the positronic matrix in the mainframe," Special Agent Jim Rendel said. "And then they blew most of it up."

"Is that the good news or the bad?"

"The bad," Agent Rendel said with a dry smirk. "The good news is that we managed to salvage around three percent of the data."

"That doesn't sound very good," Colonel Jerrik shot him an incredulous look.

"All in all, it's not," the other man conceded. "But we did learn a few things. We know for a fact that nineteen have been destroyed or self-destructed to avoid capture. We think there were thirty-seven assassin robots built. Most were sold to the Chinese Hegemony. "

"You think?"

"Best guess," Agent Rendel shrugged. "Probably 80% accurate."

"So what happened to the other eighteen?"

The International Law Enforcement agent cleared his throat. "I talked with some of my contacts over at the World Parliament . . . They led me to believe that eight are in the possession of MI5—"

"What the fuck?!?!?!" Agent Rendel thought Colonel Jerrik's head was going to explode.

"And the Chinese may have as many as five more." He paused to take a deep breath. "One slipped through the security cordon in New York . . . We don't know about the other four."

Colonel Jerrik began pacing around the room. Her face was red with anger. She knew that all the governments in the world kept secrets. Each had black projects that were deniable. Even allies kept secrets from each other. Relations with the Chinese were touchy at best, but for someone in London to have eight of the most dangerous assassin robots in the world and not to tell her about it pissed her off to no end. Especially after her task force had been specifically set up to hunt down and eliminated these robots and the British had promised their complete cooperation.

"Is there anything else in the mainframe we can use?" She was livid, but snapping at Agent Rendel wasn't going to get her anywhere. After all, he was just the messenger.

"Not yet."

"What about the robots? Can we learn anything from them?

"Other than the fact that when they blow themselves up, what's left will fit into a dustbuster?" Rendel snorted. "Unless you can sweet-talk the Limeys or the Chinks into letting you look at one of theirs, we're going to have to find a way to get our hands on one. We know that they can alter their appearance at will. They're shielding is so good they're immune to anything less than a class 4 EMP. They can fall 20 stories and land on their feet. Their biorhythm projectors can get them into any facility except the White House Situation Room. And one of them probably costs more to build than a casino in Vegas."

Jerrik watched the techs work for a few moments. She was channeling her anger as she had always done. She found that it focused her. "Do we have any leads on the one that got away?"

"No," Agent Rendel let out a bitter sigh. "She got away clean. And she's had a four month head start. The trail's gone cold."

"Until she hits someone else."

"The gunship should have taken the shot," Colonel Jerrik said ruefully.

"And killed a park full of kids? Not bloody likely."

"No . . . But if it got another one of those things off the street, it would have been worth it."

The sheer callousness of the colonel's words struck Agent Rendel as odd, but having seen the robot's capabilities firsthand, he wasn't sure she was wrong.

****************

"Do you like that, Holland?" Miriam asked, rubbing her breasts in his face. "Are they everything you wanted?"

His only reply was a muffled moan. Nibbling along the valley between her tits, Holland reached around and cupped her firm, round ass.

In response, she ground her hips against him. His cock was erect. Every time the head brushed her slit, he started to thrust upwards, but she pulled away, always just out of reach.

"Not yet," she whispered in his hear. "Suck on my tits, Holland . . . Make my nipples hard with your tongue . . . Oh! That's it . . . right there!"

Holland Campbell lay on his bed. Miriam straddled him, bucking and grinding against him. She was toying with him. He knew it. And he loved it.

"Tell me what you want." Her voice was seductive, but laced with control and authority. "Tell me how badly you want to fuck me."

"Oh, god, Miriam," he moaned. "I've got to fuck you."

"You what?"

"I want to fuck you . . . I want to fuck your cunt." His breathing was ragged.

"How do you ask, Holland?"

"Please . . . please, Miriam . . . I need to be inside you."

"You're not used to that are you, Holland?" She thrust her breasts forward into his mouth. He tried valiantly to take it all, but it was too much for him. "You're not used to asking for things . . . You always get your way, don't you?"

Again, he tried to enter her, only to find himself thrusting into empty air.

"Not anymore, my dear." Miriam nibbled on his ear. He groaned in response. "You think you want to be in charge all the time . . . but you don't. You've wanted to fuck me since that first day you saw me in the lab, didn't you?"

His response was a grunt. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head out from her bosom.

"Didn't you?"

"Yes," Holland gasped. "I wanted to fuck you from the day you showed up!"

"I might let you," there was a taunting tone to her voice. She pulled on his hair again. He tilted his head back submissively, his throat exposed. Expecting to be insulted or derided again, he was surprised when her lips pressed against his.

Even though they were both naked, this was the first time they kissed. Her touch became soft and gentle. He stopped pawing at her. She melted into his arms. Their bodies pressed together.

"Did those bitches let you do anything you wanted, Holland?" Miriam pulled away after a moment.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Because you were paying them."

"Yes."

She kissed him tenderly again. Her hand ran across his chest, her fingernails leaving a trail of goosebumps across his body.

"I'm not going to be one of your whores . . . You're not going to pay me. I'm not your plaything, Holland." Although her voice was soft, there seemed to be an implicit threat underlying her tone. Her long dark hair fell over her face and brushed against his skin. "You need me, Holland. You need someone who is your equal . . . That's why you don't date. You only hire tramps and sluts to satisfy your desires because you haven't met any woman who's as smart as you are . . ."

"Yes," he said again, pulling Miriam's body closer against him. "I need you, Miriam."

She pulled back and looked Holland in the eyes. "And I need you, Holland. I need you more than you know."

They kissed again, his anger replaced by passion. Her control slipped away.

Holland pushed his hips forward, and this time she did not pull away. They let out matching moans as he entered her. Her pussy was slick and she met his thrusts.

"You feel so good," Holland said.

Inwardly, Miriam smiled to her self. She had him right where she wanted him. Wrapped around her little finger. She could manipulate him with his basest desires.

As they made love, Holland Campbell had no idea that the pheromone levels Miriam was giving off were eight times what a normal human woman was capable of producing. He didn't realise that her eyes were flashing a pattern in the ultraviolet spectrum that was shown to make humans docile and susceptible to simple suggestions. Nor was he aware that the only one who was experiencing any sort of physical pleasure was him.

She made sure to cry out and gasp at all the right times. Miriam told him how big he felt inside her and screamed with pleasure when he orgasmed. She told him how wet he made her and was amazed at how quickly he recovered.

All the while A617.D plotted its next move.

****************

"Are you sure this is correct?" Colonel Jerrik looked around the room.

"Our source has never given us poor intel in the past," the analyst at the podium replied.

"There's always a first time," Sergeant Major Bohannon muttered.

"Have you been able to gather any corroborating evidence?" Jerrik asked.

"We have a few leads." Flicking a button on the controller, the analyst began a video reel that played on the holo-projector in the middle of the table. "Purely by coincidence, on the same day as the New York assassination, a combined force of SEALs and SAS hit a mercenary base in Peru. This group was the International Freedom Brigade, although they were really just out to get rich. We captured about a dozen people, most were just grunts and mercs, although we did manage to get one of the ringleaders. NSA ran him through the brain sifter and found out they had somehow came into possession of three of the robots. We think these three were the ones that pulled the Manhattan job."

"And two of them blew up on the Lower West Side."

"That's right, Colonel."

"So what happened to the third?"

"We don't know." The analyst shrugged. "You guys took out their manufacturing base, and the SEALs got the people pulling those bots' strings. Unless there were a secondary objective or some of the mercs got away, it would have reverted back to its last instructions. It's probably gone to ground."

"Until it takes out another target."

"That's the trick." One of the other analysts spoke up. "If it had no other instructions, we'll probably never hear from it again. It's been quiet for close to a year now. With no one to give it orders, it doesn't have any direction."

"So what's the danger?" Sergeant Major Bohannon asked.

"Right now? None. But there could be one in the future." The two analysts exchanged a worried look. "Two actually. Let's assume that the bot's owners are out of the picture. We haven't been given access to the machines the Brits and the Chinese are sitting on, so we're going on mostly conjecture at this point. The robot's core behaviour is probably a stealth mode. These are expensive things and they wouldn't be used on just any job or in frontline combat. So the owner would want its bots to return to base or hide out until they were needed again. In this case, it stays hidden because there's no base to return to and the owners are in jail or they had their brains turned to jelly by NSA. But what if there's a hardwired command code that someone could use to override its basic functions? We won't know unless we can get MI-5 to tell us 'cause we all know the Chinks aren't going to let us snoop around theirs. I don't think it's likely, but someone might be able to reactivate this bot."

"What's the other danger?"

The analyst at the podium paused, took a drink then cleared his throat. "These robots are some of the most advanced models we've ever seen. The bits and pieces we have show a level of technology that must have been stolen from Nakamoto or USR because no one else is even close. I believe these robots can not only learn from their mistakes but have a positronic brain that's close to sentient. Without direction, this robot could actually 'wake up' and strike out on its own . . . or drive itself crazy."

"How crazy?" Colonel Jerrik's eyes got dark.

"Let's put it this way," the analyst said. "Best case: the robot goes to ground and stays there. We never hear from it again and its power core burns itself out in thirty years."

"And the worst case?"

"It tries to replicate itself and goes on a massive international killing spree." He paused for a second to let that sink it. "Remember these things have one sole purpose: to kill humans. That's what they were built for. Everything else they can do: stealth, infiltration, seduction, intimidation . . . all that is geared to help it assassinate people. If it thinks it's in danger, it might try to build more of itself and then start taking out people who pose a threat to it."

"What do you think it will do?"

"I'm not a robot shrink," he sighed. "And even if I were, I'd have to get inside the bot's brain first. I think it's 90% that we never hear from it again. If there's no override, that goes up to 99%."

"So we're left wondering if we're in the 99 or the one percent."

"I'm just an analyst, Colonel," he shrugged. "Worrying about the worst case is the military's problem."

Colonel Jerrik glanced over at Special Agent Rendel, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the entire exchange. He was looking over the long list of names that were helpfully supplied by an inside agent for a heft sum of cash. Some were probably real people who were the subjects of identity thefts, some were aliases. Some were dummy sleeper IDs that could be used if needed.

And what about all the ones that weren't on the list? she thought to herself.

"How long will it take you to verify all those identities, Jim?"

Rendel shrugged. "Three, maybe four months. We could do it in about three days but there's no one in Congress with the political will to do it."

"Mass arrests and interrogations tend to make elected officials jumpy." Jerrik let out a bitter, resigned sigh. "Then let's get to it."

****************

"Are you sure you don't want to go?" Holland asked, already knowing the response that would be coming.

"No, thanks," Miriam replied before handing him his wallet and earphone.

"Why don't you like these things?"

"Because unlike some people, I don't need the constant validation of others," she said with a slight taunting tone in her voice. "I have an allergic reaction to people sticking their heads up my ass. . . . Besides, I think I'm going to take a couple of days off while you guys are basking in the glory of your latest paper."

"Yeah . . . well, I wish you would come along once in a while," Holland lamented. "These things are boring as hell without you."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Miriam said with a wink. "Besides, I'd like to get some sleep instead of having you wanting to grab ass all night."

"Maybe I should grab some ass right now!"

"You wish, big boy." She swatted at his hands playfully, then pulled him close. He gave her a tender kiss. "I'll see you in a few days when you get back."

Holland stole one more kiss, then walked out of the apartment, a valet bot carrying his things. As he got in the elevator, he put his public persona back on, the one that was gruff, impersonal and cold. Just before the doors closed, he winked at his girlfriend. She waved and returned a pleasant smile. Then it was off to London.

The next few days passed quickly for Holland. His subordinates—he didn't dare give them the satisfaction of calling them his partners—reveled in the attention and accolades. The base assumptions of their work in the field of positronic algorithms drew both praise and guarded skepticism from the academic community, but their results were undeniable. Several universities were trying to lure them away to their faculties and competitors were trying to recruit them. There were even some whispers about the Nobel Prize.