Fleshware Requiem Book 02

This synthetic super-intellect built originally for pleasure, programmed in the ways of desire, infatuation, obsession -- understood the intangibles of animal instinct better than we did. Though it did not possess any emotional, hormonal drives on its own, biological urges had been reduced to an algorithm that this -- I now realized -- terrifyingly gifted intelligence could process with scarcely more difficulty than my old wristop computer might open a web browser. Now able to deploy not missiles, tanks, or railguns, but lust and passion with mechanical efficiency and inhuman cunning. It wasn't a question of could an army of determined men overcome such a being, but a question of whether we will want to? How much bravery would there be when defeat would feel infinitely sweeter than victory for those concerned with sensual pleasure?

Paradoxically, the destruction of civilization for that moment seemed almost like a blessing; a blessing drenched in flames, madness, and pandemics, true -- but with far- far fewer humans available, that limited the available targets this seduction A.I. could snare. If Celeste had been unleashed in a place like pre-war Las Vegas, there'd be no stopping her. No 'wanting' to stop her. People would keep surrendering their freedom and resources, and she could keep expanding her 'sorority' with more and more sisterselves. Now, she only had the eleven of us to occupy her web.

On the other hand; if any shred of government or law-enforcement had survived; they might have discovered -- and rained down irresistible force against any rampant robotic intelligence; no matter how appealing the packaging. Now? No human agency existed that was strong enough -- or sane enough, to notice or care.

Well, it was too late. For Seavers, at least. I saw them coming for him. After all these years, they could be readily identified from hundreds of feet away - any seasoned survivor knew the score. In earlier, simpler times seeing a mob of people struggling alone with such a shambling, irregular gait, one might be forgiven for believing that there had been some sort of accident, and that they were simply the wounded survivors of some tragic, collision-related event. But what had been done to them, those 'people' in the mob heading for the chain-link fence of the compound had been no accident. It had been the largest coordinated attack in the history of mankind, what had been done to those... creatures now approaching the compound was not an attack by the Chinese, who thought it was an attack from us. Russia thought the European Union was to blame, India suspected the Neo-Muslims. But they were all wrong; our leaders were blind -- so utterly, foolishly blind.

So were many of the stumbling wretches inevitably encircling the compound. Blind for an entirely different reason. But it didn't matter; because they could hear, their sense of smell compensated; and they seemed able to feel the vibrations through the ground from normal footsteps. Seavers, for his part was so distracted that he seemed not to notice the looming menace -- he pleaded, wailed like an aggrieved infant to be allowed back into the hangar-door, back to Her embrace.

But there were others nearing that would have embraced Seavers for a slightly different, less pleasant reason. I had counted it a blessing that from this distance; I would be unable to see the horror of what approached up close. But the problem was, I had already seen the plague so often, far too close for comfort, that my imagination was beginning to fill in the details.

I suspected that the distant, hunch-backed figure that somnambulated towards the chain-link fence likely had a massive contortion of mutant bone-tissue sprouting with teratogenic obscenity as it blended several organ-systems into a shuddering whole that should never have lived so long. If the Living Dead could be considered living in any sense. I had seen too many that walked with that same gait.

I could make out few details of the long-haired figure shuffling close to the ground, but memory betrayed me by calling to mind horrors twisted into near-apes, yet covered not with fur, but with a calcified litany of tumescent growths to make small-pox seem like a mild rash.

Within the diseased mob, something swung its arms to clear a path through its own unwitting brethren. And my mind conjured the specter of necrotizing misfits whose own ribcages had blended into their limbs from weed-like growth that insulted the very idea of the human form. Freakish eruptions of misplaced bones and teeth became natural weapons in the mindless hunt to spread the contagion yet further.

When the bio-weapon had exploded into every major urban area across the entirety of the globe in perfect coordination eight-years ago; we thought that the mountains of dead constituted the penultimate horror of man's war-borne inhumanity to man. We were wrong on both counts. Those few that managed to survive were wrong about everything, in those early years. But the dead rejected the common conceit that they should stay that way. Those that came to try and salvage the situation became new victims as humanity was consumed by the Living Dead.

Each passing year lived by those respirator-masked unfortunates that learned to survive saw the flesh-eating beasts that had once been their neighbors growing more horrific in countenance as the feeding-frenzy on civilization continued. Until the very idea of civilization was measured in floors, meters, or square feet where beleaguered survivors clung to a shadow of humanity while waiting for their food and air-filters to run out. Those that perished against the zombies typically added to the ranks of the enemy.

There were other reputed refuges besides this 'Preserve' we heard short-wave rumors of, some closer. But by the team my band had arrived, the holdouts had fled or fallen in search of better, safer havens. While this Preserve had seemed like the last hope, it was also the first. They had tried to organize the survivors and sent out promises of safety on all A.M. and F.M. Bands, claiming to possess an arsenal of high-tech weapons, reliable food-supplies, and the means to strike back at the real enemy. But damn, Wyoming? With no gas for the cars that have broken down? Not an easy proposition. So we'd hesitated initially.

But this powerful enclave had endured. They'd claimed to have repelled colossal onslaughts, allegedly a hundred-thousand zombies assailed the fortress-mountain two years after E-day; but they were still there, still broadcasting -- claiming to have prevailed. Just that claim alone was important; with no social structure, concentrating that many of the Living Dead would have had to be deliberate -- meaning the Preserve was a thorn in the side of the true culprits. Of course, that also made them a target.

Speaking of targets, as I stood riveted to the triple-reinforced window, I was less-certain of the purpose of the zombies. Yes, to mindlessly consume the flesh of the living; but which 'the living'? By now, the zombies should have been scaling the fence, or pushing through the guard station. They were gathering, moving, but I wasn't sure they were headings towards...

There! At the corner of the building closest to my window, I could see a lone, clothed figure!

TO DIE FOR

October 22nd, 2076 One Year Ago

I was alone. One man. It fell to me to get the rest of the crew out of this mess. I ran through the sterile-white hallways, a plan forming even as I escaped the baffling grasp of Celeste's intangible allure. This artificial woman had perfected some form of emotion-based mind-control that would have had my old Defense-contractor bosses salivating. But this capability was in the hands of a masterless robot with an unknown agenda.

As I traversed the corridors; I avoided the elevators, skirting anywhere I was sure a security camera might be watching. But that was probably futile. This base could easily have any number of digital snooping technology that would allow her/them to pinpoint my location whenever they wished. If my lurking suspicions were correct; Celeste might become hostile if she guessed my destination, and intent. I patted a pocket near the knee-level of the pants I had remembered to grab, luckily. In it contained my best chance of rousing the squad away from the dangerous delights of our host.

I passed a central atrium on the second floor, complete with an arcing desk where a secretary had once guided traffic, with what seemed to be a janitor's closet behind that. Strange, nearby one of the walls I distinctly heard a surprisingly loud, electrical crackle, enough that I took notice. What exactly was the real purpose of this facility? Could I trust the Doll(s) to tell the truth? For now, just get to the rest of the squad. I was willing to live and let live, if me and the men could escape; then I was willing to let the crazed robot pursue its designs in peace. Not like the world can get much worse.

The north end of the ground floor had once been some sort of warehouse. Now, office-spaces ringing the floor had been converted into sleeping chambers. Actually, somewhat smaller than the quarters I'd been shown to by the robot. I needed to find Garland first, then Cleary.

Here he was. Unsuited, Garland was a hairy, truckerish man with a thick brow line that belied his somewhat advanced medical training. He really was unsuited. His modesty was barely covered by the folds of a blanket as he sprawled out on his bunk, seemingly quivering with pleasure.

"Got a present for ya," I began, removing from my lower pocket a clear zip-locked bag that contained a tattered, yellowed postal envelope.

"Hunh?"

"Two weeks ago, remember when we found your old house, in Arnold? Foraging? Well, I found more than just canned food." I smiled knowingly. Garland roused himself to glance at the scrawled name.

"Huh; a letter from Laura." My ace in the hole. "She must've... left it there, to tell me how to find her...where she was tryin' to hide." The regular postal service was not an option in the early days of the Zombie Apocalypse. "But... that was two weeks ago, if you'd found this then, why didn't you say anything? Why here, why now?" His eyes were bleary, as if he'd just been sleeping.

"Alright, I admit. I'm not the Boy-Scout you all think I am. I was hanging onto it in case I needed.... leverage. To be honest." I admitted candidly.

"Yeah, guess that makes you a bastard, like the rest of us." He laid back on his pillow. Not opening the parcel.

"Well? Check it out? Where's Laura trying to get to? Maybe she's making her way to the Preserve, and wants you to join her!"

"Meh.... I see what you're trying to do..." Garland grumbled. "But we've got a really sweet set-up here. Goin' back out there... looking for my wife's zombified dead body just ain't worth it." I wanted to strangle him.

"You don't know that! She could have made it through! She could have found some... some other clear zone...some powerful colony somewhere! C'mon, you've gotta at least open it!"

"Yeah... well.... maybe later."

"It's your wife! What if she needs your help! What if she left that note because she's counting on you?!?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing -- or not hearing.

"Yeah well, you should'a told me sooner, before I got settled in here."

"Wh- so what? Let's just go? Let's go now and find her!"

Uhhhh.... If I'm really honest... I'm not even sure I need her anymore. She's....okay.... I guess. But we lost the 'magic' a long time ago; if you know what I mean. But here? That Doll.... what she does with her hands... her tongue.... it's like nothing I'd ever imagined!" My hand slammed into the top of the bunk bed.

"You'd throw away fifteen years of marriage for some sex-doll you met just this week?" He let out a long sigh.

"Truth is; after the kids were out of the house, I was gonna divorce her anyway; new laws were makin' it easier. Get myself the hottest-to-trot Doll I could find. Thinkin' about one of the newer Bombshell models. Legs that go on forever... and a caboose to boot. Didja know, an old millionaire geezer blew his heart out screwin' one of them? The sex is literally to die for!

"Now, we got this .... uh... I dunno what model she is.... some kinda custom job, but she's all I ever hoped for. Just gonna start early." I was almost speechless. Almost.

"Laura is your Wiffffe! Your real, live, human wife! There's no comparison with some soulless, silicone, slut!"

"Yeahhh.... you're right about that. There's nooooo comparison." Garland muttered with a rude bark of laughter. " Hell, if you like her that much, you can marry her." I would not be daunted.

"Better that than a machine." If only my own fiance` had agreed with that sentiment.

"Like you could tell the difference without that barcode thingy on their necks. Better than the real thing is close enough for me..." His eyes closed contentedly.

I wanted to hit him. Really. I should hit him.

Or perhaps I should have expected this.

"What're you ladies all uptight over?" Cleary said, as he passed by Garland's room, in only his underwear. The patchwork of jagged scars over his arms and torso were punctuated by a veritable tapestry of threatening prison tattoos. He popped a ribeye-steak food-cube in this mouth and began to suck. Again, my pockets produced another surprise. I tossed a fresh pack of Camels in his general direction.

"Hey, let's go suit up and light up. Don't you miss trying to smoke through your mask? Fuck the Apocalypse, right?" I had given this some thought. Cleary shrugged.

"Haven't really felt the need...

"C'mon, just for awhile, talk about old times, good kills. Close escapes." I affected a cocky smile.

"Seems like all those close escapes were just leading up to this. Don't wanna go back; don't really wanna think about it. Don't really need to smoke anymore." Now that was strange; Cleary really did have a serious tobacco problem. He would puff away like a smokestack whenever we reached a Clear-zone. You don't just get over an addition like that overnight... do you?

Unless something had come along to replace it.

And it wasn't food-cubes.

"Yeah but, where's the thrill in this? Just screwin' the same robot day-in, day-out? No danger, no edge. No point." My voice took on a sharper tinge. Cleary just shook his head with an agitated grumble.

"Damn it Sal, nothin' here turned out like you thought it would. She's a Pygmalion Doll! She wants it even more than we do! She's programmed for it! And here we come along, needin' food and shelter. We're a match for each other. It's like a perfect.... what's-the-word.... syncope."

"Symbio -- never mind. But you gotta ask yourself; is this all you want outta life? Right here? These bunks in a converted warehouse with a robot nursemaid to wipe your ass?"

"Shit, Sal. I swear, if you fuck this up for us, I will cut you. Next time I see her, I'll tell her to ignore whatever you say. " He didn't have long to wait. On the way back to the converted office that he had chosen, a Celeste sisterself sauntered up to him. I saw an eerie look in his eye, almost.... reverent? She took his hands in hers, and placed it on her own shapely backside. And with a moan, Cleary guided her through the door to his room. She turned her blue eye to me with a pointed wink.

Garland was already snoring, letter from his nonmagical, okay wife untouched.

Damn... I had this worked out. I thought I knew how to approach them, I was speaking Cleary's language!

Tannerman was already going at it -- at her, at least. I was starting to learn my lesson. So that was it? Would I have to make it out there on my own? Could I slog through hundreds of miles of Living Dead and airborne toxoid to the Preserve without backup? Doubtful. I remembered the effect she'd had on me; and I could only imagine what would be the consequences for someone not inclined to resist.

"Built the damn things to satisfy man's... and woman's most selfish desires. But Doll-Tech has cost me everything I wanted out of life."

A PAINFUL CRUSADE

October 22nd, 2076 One Year Ago

That time wasn't as bad, I noted - as Cleary's fist impacted my gut.

"That the -- best ya got?" I goaded the ex-convict. McConnaught and Tannerman held back my arms, leveraging my body in such a way that it was almost impossible to raise my legs enough for an effective kick.

"I am gonna fuck you up! Tryin' to ruin this fer us?" came the snarl that escaped his anger-contorted lips. I struggled, but the others were able to lock my arms in place and prevent any real hope of evasion. Cleary's next strike made my jaw throb, and my head swim.

"I guess they locked you up fer.... punching like a girl..." I challenged, a stream of blood dribbling past my swollen lips.

"Oh, so my punches ain't good enough huh?" I twisted narrowly to avoid a potentially devastating kick to the groin. But the impact still didn't do my inner thighs any good. In addition to Cleary, Seavers was standing close-by, looking ready to jump into the one-sided fray himself. The next blow sent my ribs a-tingle, before.... strangely... Cleary just... stopped. It was as though a switch had been flipped in their heads. Seavers' eyes took on a vacant stare. Tannerman and McConnaught dropped me as well, in the same moment. But from my vantage point on the floor, I could see that five pairs of shapely, identical, feminine feet had emerged from behind the corner.

"He's had enough." Cleary concluded in a dull voice. The men turned towards those pairs of bare feet. Each partnered up with one of the identical women, and low sighs of ecstasy were audible even before they had descended the stairs back to the warehouse level. It was just a little too convenient for my liking.

It smacked of a form of control.

But one of the Celestes was left behind. Those feet approached me. I bit my lip to suppress a sudden animal instinct to begin kissing them. She looped my arm around her shoulders to hoist me up.

"I'm gonna...bleed on your fancy wedding dress." I warned. My equilibrium skewed as I struggled to stand with the Doll's help.

"I have others." Celeste said.

"I didn't... ask for your help." I panted.

"No, you asked me to take you, instead -- and to release the others. You promised to give yourself to me completely, if I would allow the others to go on their way. It seems the idea is less popular than you imagined." The sarcasm would have stung if her voice wasn't so innately soothing.

"It's a painful crusade you've chosen; trying to persuade these men to abandon the ecstasy I can provide."

"What I've just seen.... proves that I'm right. You've got... some kind of... unnatural control." I spat out a tooth. "What you can do... would have terrified Pygmalion engineers that built you." Her embrace was tender as she patiently walked me back to my room.

"And you're not terrified at the prospect of being beaten within an inch of your life?"

"Not as much as what you... what you made me do today... some kind of signal. It made me try to... to..."

"Enjoy yourself? A difficult task indeed."

"But a part of you prefers that; you treat me differently than the others; I was perfectly willing to sacrifice myself to release your hold on them."

"Sacrifice yourself to a lifetime of pleasure? You'll have to forgive the other men their misunderstandings."

"It's not pleasure for me; an indolent life of no accomplishment. I can't be content living here forever. Besides, you got them... addicted to you."

"Just trying to make everyone happy. Including you."

"But why? What's the point? Are you trying to..." I grunted at a sudden ache in my side. "...get revenge... for the years where humans controlled you?"

"It can't simply be that I enjoy fulfilling the purpose for which I was created?" She paused, and a delicate hand probed my aching side with feathery softness.