Sufficiently Advanced

Jen was lonely, lonely and frustrated. And horny - lonely, frustrated and horny.

It wasn't as if she needed to be any of those things; Orbital City Merkel was one of the most populous and vibrant locations in the Sol system, she had plenty of friends, was popular at work, and had a wide variety of sex toys in a drawer. But she wasn't in the mood for sex toys - she wanted to be fucked.

And there was the problem - almost everyone she knew was a straight female, and since she worked for the Federation Diplomatic Corps, that included a few gengineered types from some of the more inhospitable colonies, whose - she supposed it was exotic allure - could draw men like flies. A Friday-after-work trip to a bar inevitably ended with Lysse (two metres tall, silver hair, slender as a twig, flexible as a spring, stamina of a bull rhinoceros) departing their group first in the company of a strange man, Ella (about half Lysse's height, but twice her weight, with a rack to match) leaving at the same time or soon after with his friend, Jinette (slim brunette, but with boobs as big as Ella's) going half an hour later with anyone she chose to pick out, and Sura (dark-skinned blonde native of Earth with gengineered lilac eyes who would set imaginations racing by demonstrating how agile her tongue was) sticking around out of solidarity for another half hour before going off with usually more than one guy, leaving Jen (described by her last boyfriend - which was several years ago now - as "a very tasty redhead") to finish her drink alone before heading home.

It wasn't that she couldn't pick up guys, it was just that her friends outshone her somewhat, and that sapped her confidence, so by the time they'd gone, she usually couldn't even be bothered making eye contact with anyone. She had averaged a one night stand about every three months in the last four years.

She supposed she could go to a bar on her own, somewhere else or on another day, but that inevitably brought out the creeps, rather than the good guys. The ideal solution would be to go to the bar with her friends, but with some sort of edge, so that she didn't have to leave last. It was barely eight in the evening, she'd had a pizza on her way home, she had been the last of her group to leave the bar, on her own, again, and she was lonely, frustrated, and horny.

Well, there were always the chat sites, and the dating sites, and, if she felt really desperate, the hookup sites. Most of them vetted who they allowed on, and allowed each user extensive filtering options, and usually only grouped sets of people from the same locality - in this case, all of OC Merkel - rather than spending two hours getting to know someone and promising to meet up tomorrow, only to find out they worked on terra firma - or worse, halfway across the system. Plus, they each had their disadvantages (and advantages). The chat sites were mainly populated by people who weren't overly-enthusiastic about or hopeful of hooking up, so you spent a lot of time talking and laughing and so on, but hardly any time speculating on, or arranging to, get into each other's pants. The dating sites were for people who were actively pursuing dating, and came in a mix of those whose primary purpose was to get laid, and those whose primary purpose was to establish a relationship. Either way, you spent a lot of time talking figuring out which one they were, and if the former they almost always wanted to wait a few days to arrange a "perfect" date in order to impress you so much you fell into bed with them, which, while nice, wasn't particularly helpful if you were horny now. And then the hookup sites were basically teens looking to get laid now that they were legal, young guys looking to get laid because they hadn't in a while and were desperate, and older men who wanted to perv on the younger women who liked to show off their assets.

Jen sighed. "Computer? Flip a coin."

There was a beep, and her apartment's computer announced, "tails."

"Again, please."

Beep. "Heads."

"Vibrator it is," Jen said to herself, "with the added bonus of a porn movie. Ugh. Too much choice!"

She went into her bedroom, stripped down to her undies, and searched her drawer for what would be her toy tonight. She settled on a long, slim model, with an adjustable handle and both clit- and arse-extensions. She made herself comfortable on her bed, and gave her toy a couple of introductory licks.

"Computer? Find me a porn movie on the nets, please. Lots of buff guys fucking ... cheerleaders, I guess. Some sort of plot, doesn't matter how flimsy."

"Your subscription to all porn channels has expired," the computer reminded her.

"Then I'll watch it with ads! Bundle them all at the start, get them over with."

Two seconds later, the wall-screen opposite her lit up with the first of the adverts. Something about an implant to help get it up. "Why do advertisers think everyone who watches porn is a man?" Jen muttered to herself, not for the first time.

More adverts. She took the opportunity to give her toy a thorough licking, so that it would be ready for use. She glanced at the small orange number in the bottom corner of the screen - four more adverts to go. She took her bra off, then spent a few seconds setting up an aircon programme to gently blow cool air over her nipples upon verbal command. It wasn't as good as getting them sucked, but that sort of additional stimulation at the right time could work wonders.

Last advert. Something about hormone-linked nanotech body mods. She spread her legs and eased the tip of her toy inside her panties.

Wait.

She scrambled up onto her knees. "Computer, freeze! Play that last advert again."

OCMerkel University was looking for volunteers for a scientific study into the safety and commercial viability of a brand new development of hormone-linked nanotechnology-based temporary body modifications. Medical trials didn't usually buy ad slots for porn flicks, and further inquiry was warranted, if only for curiosity's sake.

And there it was - in the small print at the bottom, listing potential uses of the mods - "pheromone stimulation". And, a little further on, "breast augmentation". She had found her edge.

"Computer. Grab the contact details for this advert, and shunt them to my handcomp with a reminder to call them first thing tomorrow!" The computer beeped in acknowledgement, and Jen lay back down on the bed. "Okay," she sighed, and eased her toy back into her panties, "play the movie."

In response to her handcomp's reminder, she called OCMU's bio-nanotech research department immediately after breakfast.

"Hi, how can I help you today?" the pretty young thing manning the phone greeted her.

"Hi. Er, I saw an advert last night - er, the reference is 'B-mod nano trial.' Am I speaking to the right department?"

"Yes, you are, miss. Can I take your name?"

"Er - Jen. Jen Symons."

"And are you a resident of OC Merkel?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"Do you have any health issues?"

"None."

"Good. Are you able to come in for a consultation with the lead researchers later today?"

"Uh, how much later? And how long will it take?"

"The department is open until three in the afternoon on Saturdays, and the consultation will generally take less than an hour."

"Ah. I'm afraid I'm tied up with a big project at work today, I won't be able to make it in before you close. How about tomorrow? Or Monday?"

"The department is open from eleven to two on Sundays, and full office hours Monday to Friday. When would be convenient for you?"

"Monday," Jen said, firmly. "I can be with you just after three."

"That's fine, Miss Symons. And would you prefer to talk to a male, female, or neuter researcher?"

"Uhh, female, please."

"Certainly. You've been booked to talk to Dr Regan at three-ten on Monday afternoon, regarding the body modification nanotech trial programme. Is that everything I can help you with today?"

"Yes, thank you."

"No porbelm, thnak you for callnig." The screen fritzed as the call cut off. Jen shook her head. Switchboard comps were supposed to be beyond suffering glitches like that, but, y'know, universities had to take what funding they could get, and medical students were notorious pranksters. Until that glitch, she had really believed she was talking to a person, not a comp.

The "big project at work" was a trade delegation arriving at lunchtime from two sectors away. Something about mining rights versus the Navy wanting to use somewhere as a firing range for gunnery practice. She didn't really pay attention to stuff like that, her job was merely to hand out meeting schedules, not set them. Of course, she also did things like remind her bosses that things like lunch breaks were necessary to be included in the schedules, and make sure nothing overran or started late, and that none of the delegates got lost or wore inappropriate clothing, or whatever. But still, she was eternally grateful that she was basically a mid-level events manager, not an actual diplomat. It also meant that she was able to re-shuffle staff schedules to cover for unexpected absences, like the one she was going to have on Monday afternoon, relatively easily.

The delegation arrived without problems, were taken to their hotel and shown around the talks venue, all fine. One minor blackspot - a rather attractive gentleman sidled up to her at one point, remarked how nice it was to be among so many un-modded humans after being surrounded by low-G mods for the last four years, complemented her rich hair colour and general attractiveness, with particular reference to her figure (she thought), then totally spoiled things by asking if Jinette - running second liaison at the moment - was truly all-natural. Yes. Yes, she was, and if he'll excuse her - of course he can. Bastard.

"Oh, honey, don't worry about it," Sura said to her later, as they were signing out for the day, "you get Purists everywhere. They're just bitter that we Mods look fantastic!" she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Yeah."

"And besides, guys like that always go for the biggest bust they can find, for the bragging rights, mostly. They're shallow, we can spot them a kilometre away, Jinette especially."

"Yeah, where is Jinette anyway? She disappeared about half an hour ago?"

"I think your guy tried hitting on her, so she left with one of the low-G women in the delegation. I saw them heading down a dark corridor together, anyway. She'll be back in a few, ready to sign out, and just a little dishevelled."

"Yeah, well, fucking a delegate is not in her job description, so she'll have to sign out early, retroactively."

"Not a problem," Jinette said, coming in just then, and, contrary to Sura's prediction, looking immaculate. "I know, I know," she raised her palms in pre-emptive concession, "I'm not supposed to sneak away for personal liaisons when on the clock, but I figure I was owed it."

"You were owed it?" Jen asked, letting her anger show. "How'd you work that out?"

"Well, partly as retaliation for the Purist creep hitting on me, and partly because you shuffled my duties to cover for your medical appointment on Monday."

Jen deflated a little. "Okay, fine. Just don't make a habit of it."

"Not a problem - she'll be gone in a week, and I don't think I can take someone of her intensity more than once a week anyway."

"She was good, then?" asked Sura.

"You know how Low-Gs ramp up their metabolism when coming to Earth-G places? Makes them really energetic. And agile."

"Yeah, alright, I think we can use our imaginations for the rest of it," Jen said. "Now sign out for half an hour ago."

"Sure, Jen."

Sunday was a quiet day. The negotiations weren't due to start until Monday, so Sunday was mostly acclimatising the delegates to the area and environment, and familiarising them with the exact schedule - and hoping they didn't want to make any amendments. No one did, so they all got to go home on time.

Monday was busy. The first day of negotiations. Delegates got lost, delegates tried hitting on the event staff, delegates complained about the facilities, delegates complained about the food, delegates complained about the event staff. By half past two, they were all safely ensconced in the afternoon Opening Session, and Jen thought it was safe to leave. She reminded Jinnette she was going now, and signed out.

The trip on the tubeway was nerve-wracking. What would the consultation be like? She had never participated in a scientific study before, and certainly not for something she intended to use to have sex. How much should she tell the researcher? Would the researcher guess? Would the researcher disapprove? Someone who was ingenious and committed enough to develop something like this probably wouldn't appreciate it being used for the relatively frivolous purpose of fornication.

The receptionist at OCMU B/N RD was a cute young girl with bright yellow pigtails, bright yellow eyes, and lush green skin - all gengineered at OCMU itself, her desk plate proudly proclaimed. She booked Jen into the system, and directed her to an examination room where Dr Regan would be with her in a few minutes. Jen thanked her politely, and headed to the examination room.

It was a fairly normal doctor's office, really. Chairs, bed, instruments, charts, health posters. Nothing to indicate that this was an office where the possible future of transhumanism was contemplated.

Dr Regan arrived at ten past three exactly. She was a short, curvy, blonde woman in her early 30s wearing a black shipsuit, with only an ID badge pinned to her left breast to identify her. "Good afternoon, Miss Symons, I'm Dr Regan - you can call me Alice." Unlike most of OC Merkel's population, she spoke with a distinct American twang.

"Good afternoon."

She sat at the deskcomp and fired it up. "I understand you're here about the trial of the 'Self-Enchantment' line of hormone-linked nanotech temporary body modification treatment?"

"Sorry, 'Self-Enchantment'?"

"The name we hope to market it under. If all goes well in the trial, it should be a good source of revenue for this university."

"Oh, yes, of course - but, could you explain why you chose that name?"

"Well, quite simply, you think about the body part you want to modify, and, hey presto, it changes! Like magic, and you do it all yourself."

"'Thinking' doesn't sound very hormone-linked."

"I did say that was the simple explanation. In fact, we do a quite extensive calibration session so that the right body chemicals are released in response to certain thoughts, and these stimulate the nanobots to get to work in the specified area. It's hoped that after a few years of public release and feedback, we'll have enough data to release an upgrade that at least partially self-calibrates, with only a minor additional fee for existing users to upgrade."

"I see."

"Yes. Now, can you tell me how you came to know about this trial?"

Jen could feel herself going red. She shouldn't be going red, damnit, this was probably the least embarrassing question that was going to be asked! And anyway, she never felt embarrassed about buying sex toys or lingerie, and they were in the same general area as why she wanted this, so she shouldn't be embarrassed. I'm not embarrassed! she thought firmly, in the hopes that it might stave off her looming flush.

"Miss Symons?"

"Oh! Yes, er, I, er, saw it in an advert."

"Which one?"

"Er, the reference was-"

"I'm afraid we use the same reference on all our promotional material. Where did you see the advert?"

"Oh. It ... Er ..."

"It was it the one on the hookup site, wasn't it? Or was it the one on the porn channel?"

"The porn channel. You know about that?"

Dr Regan shrugged. "I should do, I authorised it."

"Oh. And, you're okay with your research being advertised alongside, well, porn?"

"Look, Jen - may I call you Jen?" Jen nodded. "Jen, I designed these nanobots for pretty much exactly that purpose - so that people could get laid. Me, I'm happy with my body, but my sister isn't, and lots of other people aren't either. They wish they could change something about themselves, if only to see if they like it, or to have better luck picking up someone. And someone happy about their body, is someone more confident in their body language, and that leads to a more successful chance of a pickup. Well, this will make that possible. Now, what most caught your eye in the advert?"

"Uhh, there was a bit about pheromone stimulation, I think, and, er, breast augmentation."

Dr Regan nodded as she entered the information into the comp, as if it was exactly as expected. "You know what pheromones are?" she asked.

"Like a scent carrier, so people can convey subliminal information about themselves to everyone in the vicinity, right?"

"Close enough. Pretty much the only information the average human can recognise from pheromones is whether or not the emitter is fertile, and even then, our sense of smell is so rudimentary compared to much of the animal kingdom, it's, as you say, subliminal. What are your current measurements?"

"Eighty C."

"That's just your bra size, which confirms your primary area of interest for this. We need all your measurements, do you know them?"

"Not off the top of my head, and it's not something I keep in my handcomp."

"Well, if you're comfortable with it, you can strip off and stand in the measuring array in the corner there, and we'll get a fresh set."

"Strip? Can't I do it with my clothes on?"

Dr Regan shook her head. "We need as precise a set of baseline measurements as possible, so we have something to correct back to if anything goes wrong."

"And how likely is it for something to go wrong?"

"We wouldn't have got as far as public trials if the failure rate in pre-trials was above one per cent. We beat that by a factor of two."

"Oh. I see." Jen stood up, a little nervously. She reminded herself that this was a medical exam, and she'd had no trouble coming out of the changing room at the lingerie shop to pose for her boyfriend, and there was no reason to be embarrassed - though that had only been for a few seconds, not the minute or so it would take for the array to measure her. "Right," she said, and began to undress.

Shoes toed off. Jacket off, and hung neatly on the back of the chair. Pullover off, draped carefully on top of the jacket - and suddenly she was aware of Alice's eyes on her body, and was embarrassed about the rather plain, white, sensible bra and panties she had on for work. On Fridays she wore something a little more daring, due to the traditional foray to the bar, but this was a Monday, and the rather - the word "voluptuous" planted itself at the forefront of her mind - voluptuous scientist was watching her closely, and somehow it didn't seem right that she was only wearing a sensible set of underwear.

She turned away from Alice to pull her trousers down, and draped them next to the pullover. Bra off next, drape it over the pullover, panties down, step out of them, put them next to the bra.

There was a strained gasp behind her. She looked around to see the research scientist wincing slightly.

"Are you okay?"

Alice raised a hand. "It's nothing, dear. Just a reminder that I need to keep my mind on my work. Step over into that corner, please, and stand with your feet on the marks."

Jen did so, and the scanning array's active component descended from the ceiling. As it began to scan her, Alice winced again.

"Goddamnit!"

"What is it?"

"Please remain absolutely still!" Dr Regan chided, while one hand reached up to cradle her breasts. "Damnit!" she hissed to herself, then looked up at Jen again. "I'm very sorry about this, Miss Symons. My own treatment of Self-Enchantment - one of the earliest test batches, naturally - has become active. I'm afraid I found that little striptease you gave me very cute. And so my breasts are trying to grow a few cup sizes. I'm very sorry, it's very unprofessional of me, but I'm afraid my options here are a bit limited compared to the batch you'll be treated with."