Lamia Ch. 02

I felt a gentle shaking of my shoulder and a voice spoke softly, "Stephen, wake up."

I opened my eyes, but it took my sleep-addled brain several seconds to make sense of what I was seeing. A stunningly beautiful blonde was stood over me next to the bed, dressed in a short white skirt, a matching blouse, and a frilly pink apron.

"Oh, Christine," I said and yawned.

"Give the man a prize," she said drily. "It's breakfast time. Mistress Patricia ordered me to wake you right before she left."

I sat up and saw that the bed next to me was empty. "Where did she go?" I asked, but before she answered, I added, "And did you just say 'Mistress' Patricia?"

"Yes, that is how she ordered me to address her," Christine said. "If you want, I can refrain from using that honorific when referring to her in the third person."

"Um, yes, please. Just call her Patricia when speaking to me."

Christine nodded. "Understood. As to where she went, she told me to tell you that she had gone shopping."

"Right, makes sense," I said. This new project of hers was probably, in her mind, a perfect excuse to buy a new wardrobe. I hesitated at getting out of bed, but then realized two things. First, Christine was an android, and wouldn't care that I was naked. Second, Christine had not only already seen me naked, but had experienced everything that I had on offer in a very intimate fashion. Sighing as a blush crept up my neck, I got to my feet and bent to make the bed.

"I will take care of that once I have served you breakfast," Christine said quickly.

"Oh, right," I said sheepishly.

"Will you be going out today?" she asked, and opened my closet.

"I need to go work out," I said. "Other than that, no."

She selected a pair of shorts, underwear and the Texas A&M shirt that my wife had bought for me when she was still in school. She stopped on the way back to get my rig from the rack near the door. "Will these do?"

"Yes, that's fine," I said, and took the items from her.

"Would you like to have breakfast in the dining room?" she asked.

"No, the living room," I said.

"And you take your coffee black?"

I nodded and yawned. "That's right." Then I did a double-take. "Wait, how did you know that?"

Christine laughed at my suspicious look. "Your wife told me. She likes lots of cream but said you prefer yours straight up."

"Right," I said. I was glad to hear that the two of them were apparently getting along, "Mistress" title notwithstanding. I realized that Christine was waiting to see if there was anything else, so I added, "Thanks, that will be all."

With a nod, she ducked out. I dressed quickly and checked myself in the mirror. I had a bit of stubble, but it wouldn't matter on a Sunday, so I headed down.

The smell of pancakes was enough to make me stop on the stairs to inhale deeply. I sat on the living room sofa and picked up the steaming cup of coffee, taking sips while I browsed the previous day's news events on a virch display. Christine must have gone for something a bit more sophisticated than the stuff that came out of a can, because this tasted more like something we might get at a bistro.

She arrived a few minutes later carrying two plates, which held pancakes, bacon, a little cup of fresh fruit, and an omelet that took up half a plate by itself. "You're trying to make me fat," I accused her, even as I dug into the omelet. It was light and fluffy and loaded with spinach and other vegetables, with a mix of cheeses that gave it a sharp, slightly smoky flavor.

"There is little danger of that," she said with a smile. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"No, I'm fine," I said, then changed my mind. "Actually, why don't you have a seat?"

She sat next to me on the couch and I banished the news feeds from my display. I sliced into the omelet with my fork and held up the cit piece. "Have you tried this?"

She shook her head slightly. "It is a simple recipe with predictable results. There was no need for me to taste it."

"Here," I said, and held out my fork.

She leaned forward to take the bite and chewed slowly. "Oh, that is excellent," she said, covering her mouth while she spoke around the mouthful.

I looked at her thoughtfully. "Every time you say something like that, it makes me wonder whether you really mean it, or if you are simply returning a programmed response."

Christine looked at me sidelong. "Is there a difference?" She shrugged and stood, leaving me to mull that over while I finished my breakfast.

I stopped at the kitchen to give Christine a list of tasks to do. I decided to leave my instructions a little vague to see how good she was at improvising. She just nodded in response and went on cleaning up the dishes and pans.

Our homeowners association maintained a gym for the residents, and I had virched it and a few other common areas for them at no charge when we had moved in two years ago. In exchange, they had agreed to a couple of unobtrusive billboards that floated in virch space, advertising my business.

I started with some cardio on one of the exercise bikes, letting the software pick my environment randomly from destinations that users had chosen previously. I didn't even know, at first, where I had been dropped. I was on the shoulder of a two-lane highway, with the sun off to my left. Palm and deciduous trees crowded the roadside, and I spotted a Florida license plate on a passing car. I pedaled onward, curious to see where my virtual excursion would lead.

Virching a gym was a different type of project than a park. The point was still to entertain, but to use that as motivation for your workout. The exercise bikes and treadmills would take you on little tours of far-flung places. You could take a jog through the redwood forest, bike along the Tiber River in Rome, or climb the stairs to the base of the giant Buddha statue on Lantau island. Some people would end their session one day and pick it right back up on another. There was a woman I knew who had started at Gibraltar and had biked her way along the edge of the Mediterranean over the course of several weeks to Marseilles. She planned to continue on through Italy and Greece, then see what looked interesting from there.

I had procedurally-generated everything using publically-available renders to cover a respectable percentage of the world's land masses. I had even included parts of Antarctica, though there weren't many parts that were pre-rendered. I had made it a sandbox-style open world, rather than putting the users on rails. That meant that there would be a lot of uninteresting scenery, but it allowed the users to discover things for themselves.

Strength-training on the free weights or weight machines didn't offer the same kinds of interactive experiences, so I didn't even try. Instead, I had licensed a high-quality personal training app that let users register, chart their goals, and track their progress over time. It would even monitor the user's technique and offer tips to help them maximize their workouts. It was a simple solution, but the residents appreciated the jump in features and customizability over the free apps they were used to.

All-in-all it had been a good investment of my time and a chance to hone my skills on something a little different. I had a lot more competition these days, but I had built on word-of-mouth and managed to hold my own while more than a few of those competitors had folded up shop.

I knew that I couldn't stay small forever, and that it was past time to start thinking about incorporating and looking for both investment capital and new talent, but I was reluctant to do so. The truth was that I loved what I did, and making the transition from artist, programmer and sole proprietor to manager of a business was going to be a painful one.

I was pulled from my thoughts as I realized that I was approaching a bridge, and the buildings and trees fell away to reveal sea and sky in both directions. Key Largo, I thought, glancing back as I approached the bridge to see that it was, in fact, an island. Smiling to myself at having figured it out, I traveled the route for another half-hour before moving on to free weights and finishing with a swim.

I was on my twelfth lap when a message icon appeared, identifying the sender as "Christine". I sighed, thinking that she had gotten tripped up by my less than exacting instructions, but what I saw instead was both puzzling and troubling.

"Stephen, Patricia arrived home eight minutes ago and told me to retrieve her bags from the car. I was cleaning up the yard as you directed, and informed her that, as my primary user, your directives have highest priority. Patricia became irate and began shouting obscenities at me. She picked up a rake and would have struck my body with it if I had not blocked it with my arm. She stopped her assault for the moment, but I am afraid that I am unable to resolve this situation without your intervention. Please help."

I swam to the side of the pool and grabbed hold of the lip. "Call my wife," I said aloud.

My rig placed the call immediately, but it took several seconds for Patricia to answer. "Hi, Steve, what's up?"

Her irritation was obvious in the brusqueness of her tone. I wasn't sure I wanted her to know that Christine had tattled on her. "Hey, I just thought I would check if you were home yet."

She gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah, I'm here, and I'm not happy. Your android basically told me to fuck off when I asked her to carry my bags in."

"Oh, right," I said, "I probably need to adjust that. Let me message her."

I composed a message quickly to Christine. "I want Patricia to be a primary user equal to me. Can you do that?"

The reply came back an instant later. "Certainly. I now recognize Patricia Coulson as a primary user with equal access and command priority to Stephen Coulson. I will retrieve her bags immediately."

Aloud to Patricia, I said. "There you go. She should be heading out to the car now."

"So she is. Hello again, Christine."

I heard Christine's voice answer. "Hello, Mistress Patricia. I am retrieving your bags now." It could have been my imagination, but I thought I heard a touch of fear in her tone.

"Thanks, Steve. You'll be home soon?"

"Almost done," I answered. "See you in a bit."

I cut the connection with a two-fingered gesture and messaged Christine again. "Everything okay?"

"Yes. Patricia is giving me additional tasks. I may not finish the yard before you return." She included a little sad-face emoji with that.

An image of her pouting as she sent that entered my mind and I chuckled aloud. "That's okay. There's no rush. We appreciate you."

"Thanks. I appreciate you, too." That seemed like an odd thing to say, but I shrugged it off and finished my laps. I toweled off quickly and headed back to the house in my swim shorts. Though it wasn't even ten o'clock, it was over ninety degrees already.

I arrived back at my house to find Patricia reclining in the living room with a dark cloth over her eyes, fingers tapping the air as she interacted with virch space, while Christine knelt on the floor and worked at her toenails with a file. "You do pedicures, too?" I asked with a laugh.

"Oh, she'll do hair styling, coloring, even makeup," Patricia said without looking my way. "It's all in the manual. I'm going to save a fortune if she's as good as the documentation boasts."

Christine nodded at my gym bag. "I'll get your clothes in the laundry if you want to leave them there." Her eyes roamed over my body with unmistakable interest, and she bit her lip when her gaze lingered for a long moment on what my shorts concealed. She continued her expert handling of my wife's feet as she did this, never giving her any indication that her attention was focused on me.

I felt myself growing hard at the promise in that sexy look, and I admired the luscious curve of her ass for a long moment before locking eyes with her. I wanted to touch her again, to feel her warmth surround me. Christine gave me the merest hint of a nod, as if in agreement with my unspoken thoughts. I came closer to the pair, close enough to touch, so that she had to tilt her head up to look at me. Her eyes dropped lower for just a moment and she actually passed her tongue over her upper lip before lifting her gaze back to my face. I put the gym bag down and turned away without a word, but I swear I could feel her smoldering gaze on my backside as I mounted the stairs.

I looked a little flushed as I examined myself in the bathroom mirror. The depth of my own feeling surprised me. Had it been this way when I had met Patricia? I honestly couldn't recall. I had liked how friendly and outgoing she was, and we had progressed over the course of two years from dating to sex, to sharing an apartment, to marriage. It had seemed the natural thing to do, like we were following a script in our heads. Having kids would have been the next step.

I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself again. Was that what this was all about? Was this my unconscious way of getting revenge for Patricia's betrayal? It had been our second date when I had first broached the subject.

"Just so you know," I had said over dinner, "I want three kids, at least."

She had laughed. "Why, 'at least'? Is there even an upward limit?"

But I had answered in all seriousness. "Well, what if we-if me and the woman I marry end up with three boys or three girls?"

"You know there are ways of controlling that," she had said. "You could let nature take its course for number one, then go to a specialist to ensure the gender of the second one."

I had nodded along with that. "Okay, maybe for number three if I had to."

She had shrugged. "I guess that's fair."

At the time, I had taken that conversation to be her tacit acceptance of my wish, but thinking back now, I was having doubts. Had she ever told me that she wanted children? Or had I simply assumed it, since she had never outright objected to the idea? Had I let myself believe that we were in agreement? And what was her culpability in this? Had she been deceiving me all along? Had she planned this from the very beginning?

"Get ahold of yourself, Stephen," I said, as I realized that I was all but shaking with anger. Trish hadn't hurt me intentionally. While it was true that her going on birth control without talking to me had been inconsiderate, I could understand why she did it. And, all things considered, it wasn't the end of the world. We were both still young and could afford to wait a few more years. Maybe I was the one being selfish.

Yes, selfishness. That's what it was. That's why I had been thinking about my android maid instead of working out how to talk things out with my wife. She would understand that our current circumstances were temporary, that at some point we were going to start a family, and that then there would have to be concessions. I would apologize to her for last night, and then we would work things out like the reasonable people that I knew we were.

I felt much better as I changed my clothes and took a shower. I saw movement through the frosted glass and opened the door a crack to see Christine gathering up my discarded clothing. She looked my way and smiled. Seeing her again brought back a wave of desire, but I firmly rejected it and closed the door again. I could not entertain those kinds of thoughts. Not if I wanted to remain in this marriage.

I made sure that the bedroom was empty before I stepped out of the shower and toweled off. I was going to need to have a talk with Christine as well and give her explicit instructions about what my limits were. I wondered if she could erase her memory of my indiscretion if I ordered her to. In my gut, I knew that telling Trish about it was the right thing to do, but I was afraid of what her reaction might be. Even I hadn't been quite able to convince myself that it wasn't cheating if it was with a machine.

I decided to let the matter lie for now. Maybe with a bit of time and some emotional distance, I could view what had happened between Christine and me with more objectivity. Maybe I could tell Trish without guilt or fear of reprisal.

When I came back downstairs, I found Patricia still in her chair and immersed in virch. "Where did Christine go?" I asked, glancing around.

"She went to work on the yard," she said absently. As if to punctuate that fact, the warbling grumble of a lawnmower engine sounded. We'd been putting off getting an automated mower for months, and I smiled inwardly at thinking that we'd gotten one after all.

"Can you take a break?" I asked. "I want to talk to you."

She sighed. "Alright. Give me a minute to notate some changes."

I knelt by the chair and waited while her fingers moved in an indiscernible manner for several seconds, then she took the blindfold away and blinked a few times, focusing on me.

"I'm sorry I yelled-," I began, at the same time Trish started to say, "I'm sorry I didn't-." We both laughed. I gestured for her to continue.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the birth control," she said. "I wasn't lying. I really did think we had both agreed. Since I had some time to think about it, I realized that we weren't on the same page. I should have made my intentions more clear."

I nodded along with her apology and waited a moment to be sure she was finished. "And I'm sorry that I yelled at you. I should have waited until we could really talk about it instead of spouting off on you in the middle of the night."

"Okay," she said, and took my hand. "You want to talk now?"

I nodded, gathering my thoughts. "You know I want kids," I said. "I've never been shy about it."

She chuckled. "You talked about it on our first date."

"Second date," I corrected, thinking back to the conversation I had recalled while in the bathroom.

She shook her head. "No. At dinner, there was a couple two tables over and you remarked to me what a cute little girl they had. You said you wished you had one just like her."

I smiled at that memory. "Oh, right. Anyway, this is very important to me. I need to know. If we're going to wait, how long?"

She frowned, her face clouding in consternation. "Stephen, I just...I don't know. I thought maybe I would quit after we got the house, but I really like my work. If this campaign is a success, I could be managing my own department by this time next year."

I felt my hope beginning to dim. "In two years, then?"

She sighed. "Well, maybe. Probably, if things don't work out the way I want. Could you quit your business and stay home with kids?"

The possibility hadn't actually occurred to me, so I considered it. I had been programming since I was eight. I had started my business at nineteen, a few years before I had met Trish. It had always been my dream job. "I'm not sure I could do that," I said.

She gave me a pointed look, as if to say, And you expect me to?

"What about Christine?" I asked. "There is a nanny package available. She could care for them while we're gone."

Trish wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. Having our kids raised by a robot? It just doesn't feel right."

"Think about it, at least?" I said. "You would only have to miss a few months of work at most. I could scale back and spend more time at home."

She nodded, but said, "But we can't do it right now. I'm going to be working seventy or eighty hour weeks for the next six months at least. I can't do all that and be pregnant."

That made good sense, though I wondered what made her think she was going to have more, not less, time in the future. "Okay, let's give it six months and see where we are," I said. "Then we'll talk again."

I still had my doubts, but I felt much better about it than I had since last night's fight.

Patricia perked up. "Oh, speaking of upcoming events, things are already moving fast. They want me to fly out to headquarters and meet with some potential artists and production people this week. I'll leave tomorrow and come back next Sunday. They're putting me up in a luxury high-rise apartment in Manhattan that they keep for branch managers when they fly in. Can you believe it?"