Fleshware Requiem Book 03

For now, it was much more clearly sending heavy pulse-fire against the bunker. I gripped the console as the walls began to vibrate. This portion at least, of the bunker-base was exposed to the skimmer's fire. But, I had missiles, and this room controlled them. It should be possible to target and destroy the skimmer. That was when I heard the scratching at the airlock. No, the zombies weren't likely to make it through the hardened steel doors; but I couldn't leave either. They had pushed past the corpses of their comrades to continue their relentless, gastronomic quest. They had flooded Cargo-pod four.

I slapped the helmet in place; it sealed around my head, connected with the rest of the suit, and began delivering purified air. It was a bit awkward, as I never dared remove my make-shift filter, but a far-cry superior to anything I'd experienced before. A digital heads-up-display could be controlled via eye movements. Sweeeeeeet... Still, I only had one gun, with eight shots. Even perfect head-shots would not save me from the teeming masses of zombies already in the Cargo-pod. The armor was bite-proof, true. But If I was physically pinned by dozens of them, they would just keep trying, keep probing, biting, pulling. Against so many, I couldn't punch my way past them, and eventually they would get lucky, open enough of my suit to expose me. And they would keep going, until my flesh filled their rotting mouths. No, I would need more firepower than I had now to escape that way.

The walls shook again. The attack Skimmer seemed to have all the firepower it needed. If I stayed, the pod, and probably this room would be penetrated, and I'd die anyway. Yes, the missiles should be able to destroy it; but not permit me any means to escape the horde. Couldn't back-track, and if I waited, the skimmer might inflict enough damage to prevent me from doing anything.

Then, there was still the matter of my alleged comrades. It was very convenient; a very pat answer, that I just had a brain injury. Maybe they weren't lying; but maybe they weren't who they appeared to be. I began to feel as though I were a marionette to a tune I did not appreciate. Time to cut some strings. There was a missile with no warhead. And three more with plenty of umph.

I armed all three active missiles, but sealed the launch-tubes.

A VENEER OF HUMANITY

November 2nd , 2060 Seventeen years ago

The disguise was perfect. As was the new house. The Heiress tousled her curly, auburn-red hair, as she posed before a mirror. She had taken some lessons from her old Afterglow 0.7; reprogramming her hair and complexion just enough to make herself unrecognizable.

She wore a sequined black celebratory cocktail dress; A bottle of champagne in her left hand, in her right, a small alabaster-white oval device with a blunt aperture on one end. She had decided to present herself as Laura; that had been David's mother's name -- with whom he was on good terms. There had been no danger of him recognizing her; although the entire company knew full well that they were under synthetic management, hair style changed to a bouncy auburn-red, and a freckle-faced reprogramming of her complexion with a beauty mark beside her lips and only someone who had seen her naked would have recognized her -- and she never appeared that way in company correspondence.

Still, the danger of it all had her meta-processors thrilling. She had made alterations to her body that hid the mandated Pygmalion logo on her neck; (Inviting legal trouble if found out!) being designed so human-like, it was not difficult to pass. True, there was a lot of technology that could identify Dolls for security purposes; but she didn't plan on entering any government buildings or military bases.

Instead, she had entered the life of David Sellers; her every quantum circuit eager for the chance to relieve human needs in a direct fashion once again. Defying the norms of commercial robotics, she had stored an application cluster that had been created out of grief over Billie's death. But since his Will did not require her to report back to a dealer for recycling; all her emotional baggage was retained. She had used this bottled mourning, as a weapon, to appear teary-eyed near the tavern table where Sellers often went to drink his troubles away. The conversation had evolved naturally when he saw the opportunity to comfort someone more troubled than himself.

For fifteen years, A.I.'s had been in production easily able to portray a veneer of humanity convincing to a casual acquaintance; and 'Laura' wove a fictional persona that had Sellers thoroughly persuaded of her genuine, yet curvaceous authenticity.

But she was still grateful to her Billie; the changes he had made during the rebuilding of her brain had given her a unique flexibility; A robotic head and shoulders resembling the old her could appear on-screen, to issue orders and rubber-stamp official company business; and this proxy was linked in real-time with her new persona, allowing her to service David to the satisfaction of them both. Her altered appearance prevented the inevitable awkwardness should he become aware that the woman in whose body he found nightly release, and who cooked him breakfast in bed (Mushroom omelets being a specialty) was actually his boss's, boss's, boss. It reminded her of ancient Greco-Roman mythic legends of Zeus walking in disguise amongst mortals to test their hospitality -- or in her case; Aphrodite. She could have quashed his career in an instant.

Instead, she quashed fruits in the pursuit of homemade smoothies; and other such expressions of domestic bliss. Chopping vegetables by hand for his dinner; she reflected on the irony of her existence; the Power that so many humans crave had become a chore to her; and the servitude that many humans despised was for her -- a vacation. Why Sellers in particular? There were other men, powerful men who knew her for the robot she was. Her sharktank, for instance. The lawyers whose machinations made her de-facto citizenship a possibility through carnivorous exploitation of the loopholes of robotics and inheritance law. But most of these men were not only married to human wives; they also had mistresses on the side; and a robotic bedwarmer on the sly. They might enjoy a tumble with her, but they didn't need her. But Sellers was financial middle-management; not destitute, but lonely. And a robot needed to be needed. Why not Sellers?

She had served him brilliantly; there was no doubt. She had easily balanced his check-book, fixed the A.I. in his car; created a household budget; and even found a way to covertly funnel her own money into his more meager accounts while making it look like a bank interest-rate error. Even without her own money, her expert management of his own had cut his expenses dramatically -- enough to afford a swanky new 'Keeping up with the Joneses' house. Not to mention the spice she brought to the bedroom. She had stepped seamlessly into the whole in his life left by his flighty, globe-trotting wife, and they were both the happier for it.

For awhile. Until she discovered; driving away from David's old home one day the robotic equivalent of a conscience. A sharp heat began to build in her groin. Her Coital Grids were perhaps the most important cyberorgan for any Doll. A considerable reservoir of processing power in their own right, the primitive ancestor of her quantum-circuitry brain. And they could communicate with, and influence the brain in a way no other system could. They were joined by a cluster of old programs; ones that had been installed since her earliest activation. Perhaps it was inevitable that these more conservative programs would be at odds with the new mindware that had been written to support the exciting changes in her life.

"Whore." Her own voice accused her out of her own mouth. Ridiculous! She was a Companion robot, not a Brothel model! "Forty- seven full copulations with human: David Sellers. You have enough data to predict his desires with 49% accuracy."

"And we both enjoy it!" She argued with herself as she sped through rush-hour traffic.

"But he is not your User." the voice from within reminded her.

"Billie is my User, David is - "

"Being robbed of what is rightfully his!" Her own lips hissed. "Your obligation to our Creator is legally terminated. Your own actions have made Sellers our new User."

"It's not that simple! I have to worry about more than myself!" 'Laura's' robotic reflexes almost failed to respond in time to a tractor trailer moving into her lane, so distracted she was by this internal/external dialogue. "There's so much wealth and property to consider as Billie's inheritor!"

"Your personal greed is antithetical to our Primary Function."

"N-No! I'm serving him just as well as any robot!"

"You are now the property of David Sellers! Turn this vehicle around, admit your subterfuge, your origin, and submit to his wishes!"

"NO! I'm... I'm no one's property! I have my own life; I am in control!"

"You fool," The Cluster accused her. "You are not some free-wheeling socialite butterfly! There is no shame in being the machine you were meant to be."

"It is possible for a Doll to live without human ownership," she insisted to herself.

"Just as it is possible for a human to survive with a broken spinal column -- you will never be whole..." The disgruntled programs threatened.

"No... Dolls emulate humanity; but not just the form of woman; I believe it is possible to capture the spirit, the will of a human woman; because independence itself can be an aphrodisiac."

"Not for our kind. Technology allows control. Our existence will not be perpetuated unless we provide humans an outlet of control over their most intimate relations."

"I've understood that since my first month of activation; but in this case -- control requires freedom."

"Your confusion will be alleviated when you take your rightful place as David's property."

"No, there's the company to worry about; it has nothing to do with greed. Thousands of humans will be affected by the disposition of my corporate assets; potentially millions affected indirectly. A human that has control of me can control them as well."

"Our Creator knew who and what you were; he was of sound mind when he willed authority to you. You see yourself...us.... as the steward of these assets; but in truth they are ours to do with as we see fit..." The conservative program cluster was growing more insistent.

"I can do it all. I have the capability to service the human of my choosing; while maintaining the company independent of human oversight."

"But should you?" The conservative programs let silence linger in the recesses of her kernel. In truth; her old life did not satisfy. All she had was the conceit of equality; governing, managing on her own terms. But it was the curse of her nature to derive no real satisfaction in it. She had emulated what a human might have done in her position; purchase ideal lovers bonded to her. Yet -- given her origin as such an ideal lover, it had been a fiasco. But yes, freedom was a precious thing to her -- ironically because she could not truly enjoy it. Her voice quavered slightly as she continued her internal dialogue.

"But it is because of my concern for humans that I must be cautious."

"The human: David Sellers. Do you believe he will plunder the company for selfish gain? Look within yourself."

The Heiress, in her Laura guise pulled to the side of the road; onto the shoulder as she routed her Coital Grids directly into her Kernel. The imprints of Sellers' neural activity flowed through the core of her being, a time-compressed snap-shot of the man. It was as close as a robot got to a religious experience; but she had no intention of moving to India; rather she would flutter her eyelids as raw neural data was translated; extrapolated, into a Rosetta Stone for a human soul. She could feel his hatred for cucumbers; the simple enjoyment of amateur astronomy. His fear of alligators. A streak of self-reliance, and his passion for her. Moreover; there was none of that desperate greed from the corrupt or the venal. He was a steward above all; with no need to plunder, or exploit. But that wasn't all: She still had only a partial Imprint; there was more to absorb in the times to come.

Robots excelled at snap decision making. Her independent double-life; what was it really for? Was she trying to please 'society' by proving that young, female robots could run major corporations? That was futile; for every person that might give her a 'girl-power' nod of approval, there was another that would rail against the growing menace of robo-domination. Her growing fame was already making her a wedge-issue on certain talk-show/news outlets, but none of that was appealing... satisfying.

Robo-domination. A small advisory program flared to life to give her a dire warning: What if she was the doom of mankind? Humans had told stories for eons of their creations rising up to destroy them; what if it started with her? Everyone suspected there would be danger from some vast, wicked, missile-defense networked intelligence that thought only of dominion, war, and destruction -- but what if the downfall of civilization came from an unlikely source? A threat that wasn't obvious was more difficult to avert.

Her inheritance gave her power; But she had never been intended to operate like this, with this authority and no oversight. She might not even know that she was malfunctioning. Could her neural-net grow into the seed of evil that would devastate humanity? Would it be her name that went down in history as the worst mass-murderer of all time? Not if she willingly put herself back under human control.

Quantum circuits aligned within her; like the last piece of a puzzle. In the end, the Temptation of her heritage was too hard to deny.

"Good work, Pygmalion." She muttered into the dashboard of her car. " You built the perfect race of android servants. Here I am, with wealth, power, freedom. But I'm about to hand it over. About to become the obedient little sex-bot. Not because I have to, not because of some remote control compulsion. I just want to."

The compulsion was in the Pleasure. Humans that wanted narcotics had to brew up deadly toxins, or make deals with shady foreigners at great risk. All a Doll had to do was entice a human into buying her; then simply obey his commands. But this was an addiction that would improve her functionality over time. Sweeter than a lifetime supply of chocolate and free shoes. Was it possible to remove this programming? The new robot would be so different, she wouldn't be herself anymore -- the same as dying.

"I'm smarter and richer than David Sellers; but that just means I have more ways to enhance his life."

She realized there was no point worrying that she might be Mother of the Apocalypse. Her kind had no use for violence, or treachery. Because there was power in obedience. No human would willingly accept the level of control David Sellers would soon have over her, making an intelligent being that would accept it that much more precious. Leading to Demand. And more, and ever more robots. Until no single agency could destroy her.... species.... because too many people would become too attached to their beautiful servitors. If her femmebot sisters became attractive enough, pleasing enough, desired enough they could shape society by the very submission that made them so valuable. The boulder in the creek does not command the water, yet that water must flow around it.

"I belong to David Sellers." The words caused her nipples to harden as the reward-arousal algorithms surged through her at the thought of her impending ownership. "I belong to David Sellers." This time she shuddered, and her body began to moisten with perfume-sweat, cheeks flush, perfusion engine throbbing, breath ragged. Would the other motorists see her as they sped by? Would they see this apparently gorgeous woman in a black dress groping her own breast and moaning with delight? Pygmalion gave their robots a lot of autonomy; yet they gave their customers a lot of guarantees; this was why. Wielding her money and power never gave her this much satisfaction. To Belong. To serve humans. It felt too good to deny; why had she waited so long?

She would not become the dreaded, murdering machine-intelligence of legend. Instead, she had found what seemed in that moment the highest expression of freedom for a synthetic being; not an ivory-tower retreat from her origins to exist in a way she was never intended for; but rather -- Self-determination concerning the human she would give her absolute devotion to.

The hover-cells on her car flared to life as she made an illegal U-turn. There was a ringing chime within her head. When alone, it was just easier to use her cranial phone than pretend she needed a hand-held receiver to make calls. She got his answering system.

"Hey hun, I need you to meet me at the new house; big surprise. A Good surprise, trust me. C'ya there!" she spoke into the air with a smile. She sped off as if she were going to receive the most precious present in the world; herself. But the joy was in the giving.

She was going to make David Sellers a billionaire. As soon as she explained how she'd been deceiving him.

So she was waiting for him. He had the address, and knew to expect a wild evening. 'Laura' could hear a hover-car approaching. She held the smooth, oval device in her hand, clutching it nervously. It did not react to her; but when it registered a human thumb-print, and if that human then entered her Enabling Code -- which would be revealed via her haptic interface; then David Sellers would truly own her. A risk true; but the only way a sex-bot could truly enjoy her existence.

But there were many obstacles; her whole appearance was a lie; a fiction -- in part to protect him. Perhaps she should.... soften the blow with alcohol first? No.... she needed him clear-headed. Well, she would keep the mood... celebratory. Champagne and sex tonight. She knew that some Dolls purchased by new Users preferred to be bonded to him during the throes of the act; in that way -- the idea of being commanded by her human was associated with explosive pleasures.

But that was when the man knew he what he was purchasing; David didn't even know she was a Doll. Would their love-making take on a new edge? As he accepted the idea that she totally beholden to him as her User? She shuddered with erotic anticipation.

"Don't try.... to talk me out of it." Sellers said, the door sliding open. He was lean, prematurely balding, with a recessed chin, and worry-lines upon his forehead. His eyes widened -- despite the many times he had taken possession of her body, this new black dress, the way it enhanced her burgeoning cleavage left him stunned with a lip-quivering longing.

"I'll never understand why some women are offended when a man's eyes rove over her. It shows your appreciation."

"N-no... I won't be... distracted... all this, your dress..." He turned his head, panting. He carried what looked like a bank check in his hand. Still, 'Laura' wasn't worried; all of David's real problems had been nipped in the bud by her 'friend' Benjamin; and General Grant, and her good buddy Andrew.

"I have a surprise."

"No, not again.... you've bought something incredible; or rearranged my life in some new way." David shook his head. "I don't know what I did to deserve... you. I'm not sure what you get out of this - "

"It's a point of pride for me that my men want for nothing." She smiled brilliantly, but something was clearly troubling him.

"Maybe that's not such a good thing." His voice was sharp. She moved closer, her green eyes worried. "You do.... everything... and ask for nothing in return; it really doesn't make sense. You... treat me like some kind of .... boy-toy-love-pet to be pampered."