Vaela

Vaela reattached the last four cables to the electrical module and wiped her brow with the green sleeve of her coveralls, smearing grease and sweat into her pale blonde hair.

"Is that any better?" She called up through the tracks for the hydraulic arms. The PL9 could hear her through her earpiece, but she liked to imagine the sound was coming from the machine itself, rather than a server in the South wing.

"Much better. Thank you, Vaela," the PL9 replied.

Finally. She'd been troubleshooting for nearly three hours, and in the end it was only a loose connection that had stopped production. But it was an odd place for a loose connection; there were no moving parts in the electrical alcove, and no reason for anyone to be here. Maybe someone had dropped something from the check bay overhead—but Vaela had done the last few checks herself, and couldn't remember dropping anything.

"Has anyone come back here lately?"

A double blip sounded, indicating communication with the remote hub. "Two workers were in the area from 7:53 to 8:12."

"Cleaning staff?"

"No, two mechanic uniforms were identified, but their identity tags were unreadable. Would you like to review the surveillance tapes?"

They had probably put foil over their badges and come back here to slack off. Vaela shook her head. "Tomorrow. I'm already on overtime. Thanks, L9."

"Of course, Vaela. Have a good night."

"You too, L9. I'll see you tomorrow." Vaela crawled out of the alcove. Time to go home.

~~~

She arrived on the 47th floor, and put her hand on the door to push it open, annoyed by the slight delay before the lock gave way. The door was waiting for contact before reading her prints, which meant either the fiberoptic sensor or the infrared sensor was out of whack. But just like she had for the past week, she decided to leave it for now.

Vaela looked around her unit and wrinkled her nose. She'd left empty drink packets and machine parts strewn about, and a pile of unwashed clothes in one corner. She'd have to do some tidying up.

Later. She took off her boots and flopped face-first onto the unmade bed. After a sweaty 13-hour day of troubleshooting and repairs on top of her regular maintenance checks, all she wanted was sleep. Well, sleep and maybe a bit of self-indulgence.

Thank you Vaela, L9 had said. It wasn't nearly often enough she heard that from any of the machines, much less L9.

She turned her head to look back at the floor, inadvertently smearing machine grease from her face onto the sheets. There on the rug was her current project—her future husband, she often joked to herself. Right now it barely had a form, and to anyone else it would look like a mish-mashed pile of parts. But eventually, it would be able to talk to her like L9, and to move—to hold her in place, just like this, on the bed. Its steel framework would press against her from behind, pushing her ass in the air while its cold, polished phallus extended out to brush against her soft blonde pubic hair...

Vaela slid her hand down between her stomach and the sheets, enjoying the soft warmth of her skin beneath her fingers. The long, smooth curve between her tummy and her side was so different from hard, straight steel. In its grasp she would be pliable, vulnerable.

She fumbled with the button of her jeans, then moved her hand down over the soft trimmed patch of hair, and pressed lightly, rubbing the lips over her clitoris with one finger. Closing her eyes, she envisioned how her creation would look. It would have hydraulic arms like L9—the ones that moved so smoothly, yet with so much force behind them. Its four-pronged grips, coated in stiff silicone composite, would be large enough to grab and hold her thighs, and dextrous enough to pinch her nipples with perfectly calculated force.

Her free hand slid under her shirt to her breast, almost on its own. First she pinched gently, then more firmly, eliciting an electric nerve response. She gasped, her head tilting back as the tiny shock travelled through her.

It would have a head—something the PL9 didn't have—with eyes to see her with, to monitor her responses. Scent receptors would let it know when she was aroused. It would know when she was wet, and what she needed.

She could hear her own slick fluids now, as her finger slipped between the folds to touch her clitoris directly. She moaned softly, then paused, slowly sliding her hand down, and pushing her finger in and up. Soon, she added another, to feel the stretch of her vaginal entrance. Her juices coated both fingers, and after only a moment of gentle stretching and pressure, she slid them back to her clit.

Beneath her fingers, her clitoris was a toggle switch, flipped back and forth in rapid sequence, with each motion sending an electrical impulse to her core. Her breathing came faster, and her body arched against her hands until she shook, and the lightning bolts under her skin branched and spread and warmed her deeply. She revelled in the feeling a moment, holding her body in an arch with her fingers still brushing her clit lightly, extending the impulse, sending shivers through her body.

After a moment and a long, slow breath, she relaxed. Vaela tugged a pillow from the twisted pile of blankets, rolled onto her side, and slept.

~~~

The following morning was dull and overcast, and Vaela was glad to get to work. As usual she was twenty minutes early, and the only one around was Chan, finishing up the night shift. She gave him a nod on her way in, put her coveralls on in front of her locker in the console room, then headed to PL3 for its weekly maintenance check.

PL3 was four years older than PL9, and its sole function was to box up the delivery orders it received from PL9's gift packaging outflow. It took up a mere 600 square feet of floor space—only one eighth the size of PL9—and had far fewer points to check. By the time she'd finished, replaced a worn seal, and started PL3 back up, it was barely time for her shift to start.

It looked like Jeremy had arrived on time and no earlier. He was hanging up his coat when she got back to the console room. Mariette and Hamid were nowhere in sight.

"Morning," she said absently, punching in her user code.

"Fuck you, blondie," Jeremy replied.

She ignored him, and pulled up the machine logs. She could have PL9—or almost any of the machines—read them out, but it was faster to glance over the colour-coded entries on the console. It didn't look like anything of interest had happened overnight.

Mariette breezed in with her fake red curls and overdone makeup just as Vaela was signing off the machine. She smelled like cotton candy and fizz mints, which was a bit much for this early in the morning. Vaela excused herself.

"Hey L9. What's on the agenda today?" she asked, stepping into the PL9's West maintenance corridor. It was noisy here, but even with the constant crunch of cellophane wrapping, the clunk of the baskets dropping to the tie slots, and the hiss of ribbons pulling off their reels, it was one of Vaela's favourite places. She loved to watch PL9 at work.

"Good morning, Vaela," the PL9 replied. "You have entered maintenance log information for PL3 already this morning. PL2 is up for a weekly maintenance check, and PL7 needs an annual check and review. Your reporting is up to date. Your equipment log is up to date. Your morale credit is 97. Your employee file requires an update. Has your contact information changed in the past six months?

"No changes. Can you read me the review on PL7 from last year?"

The PL9 read the report aloud to her, and as she listened, she watched the machine at work. Each rectangular basket dropped into a slot lined with cellophane, pushing the film up around it. The PL9's pronged grips—four of them—grasped and twisted the cellophane, then tied an intricate bright blue bow onto the packaging.

Vaela watched the machine arms, admiring the composite coating on the grips. The PL9 adapted to custom orders every day, on verbal command alone. Her eyes closed, and she could already feel her body warming as she thought of it. Those coated steel 'hands' could slide down her body with a precision no human could ever achieve. Could deftly undo her coveralls, pulling them gently from her breasts, then down her thighs—

But something the PL9 said pulled her from her fantasies.

"Repeat that, about the fluid supplies," she said.

"Core fluid storage for PL7 will require full replacement next year in order to comply with facility air quality regulations, as indicated by the Federal government. Material degradation ratings for PL7 supplies are low, thus a replacement has not yet been required since installation of the machine. Costs are expected to—"

Ugh.

"Thanks," said Vaela. "I forgot about that."

She wasn't looking forward to sending in the request. She'd have dozens of questions to answer before the hub would approve that kind of order.

"We need a dedicated mech manager," she muttered.

"That need is not listed as pre-approved. Shall I begin a position justification application?" asked the PL9.

Vaela laughed. Sometimes the machines took things seriously that weren't meant to be, even with sarcasm detection in their code. "No, L9, I don't think that's a good idea. I'll go get started on the PL7's review. Can you see if Mariette can handle PL2's weekly?"

"Of course."

"Thanks L9. See you after lunch later."

~~~

Vaela sat at the PL7's machine console, poring through the log data.

This thing has had 47 mechanical failures in the last two months. Why hasn't it been replaced?

It was easily the oldest machine in the facility, going on 26 years. It wasn't capable of the advanced diagnostics the other machines used, and weekly checks took nearly two hours to complete with two mechanics working together—if she was one of them. Last week Mariette and Jeremy had done the check and clocked in at nearly five hours. And sure, Hamid was faster—but he was usually doing dedicated support for the inflow lines and for PLs 10 through 14.

Maybe I should recommend a management position for myself, she mused. At the very least I'd whip this team into shape; might even save the company some money.

"L9, can you call Jeremy over? I need him to get started on the checks for PL7. I'll start the paperwork for the core fluids."

"Of course, Vaela. I'm paging Jeremy now," replied PL9.

"Thanks L9."

Vaela rarely bothered talking to the other production line machines, and PL7 in particular had an irritating voice she'd rather not hear this early in the morning. L9's voice was smooth and deep. Much more pleasing.

She was almost finished with the purchase request by the time help arrived.

She could smell Mariette before she saw her. Vaela wondered briefly if Mariette subsisted entirely on fizz mints and candy-scented perfume.

"Where's Jeremy?" Vaela asked, without looking up from the console.

"Dunno. L9 paged me in to sub."

"You're done with P2 already? That was fast."

"Yup."

Mariette's lips smacked when she talked, and when Vaela turned to look at her, she saw that Mariette, with one hand on her hip, was chewing gum with her mouth open.

"Can you get started on PL7's hydraulics? Don't worry about fluid levels unless they're below the set line. I'm putting in a PO for fluid replacement."

Mariette nodded and laughed. "Sucks to be you, hon," she called behind her as she headed out of the console room.

Vaela finished the request up quickly with PL9's help, but the memo to head office presented a problem. She stared at the screen, trying to think of the wording that would convince management not only to buy new fluids for PL7, but to use the recommended—and more expensive—brands, even though the machine was well out of warranty.

Or, you know, replace the machine.

She rubbed her temples. Should I do up a second PO, and suggest in the memo that they make a decision?

"L9?"

"Yes, Vaela?"

"Can you do up a cost comparison over five—no, ten—years, for fluid replacement versus complete replacement of PL7? It will need to include an estimate of maintenance time costs."

A single beep sounded immediately to indicate the request had been processed. "Fluid replacement and projected maintenance time costs over ten years are prepared. May I contact Dovelle Machinery for a replacement estimate?"

"Yes, and an alternate company if you can find one. Ask for the same specs and get a separate quote showing upgrade costs. I'm going to go help with the maintenance check."

Her heart beat more quickly as she stepped away from the console; she'd never sent anything so audacious to the hub before. But she was willing to bet costs would decrease over time if PL7 was replaced, and if management liked anything, it was cost savings.

As she walked into PL7's domain, she couldn't help but wonder what a new cold-print machine would look like. And, come to think of it, what it could do. PL7 was mostly used for printing simple specialty fixtures, like basket pedestals, and decorative corners for boxes. The new machines could print directly onto a surface, and in a far wider range of materials.

Maybe even onto people.

Could a replacement machine print cuffs directly onto her hands and feet? Or perhaps it could print custom parts meant for insertion into the 'gift' on the packaging outflow. Vaela caught her breath as her groin contracted at the thought. She could almost feel her panties dampening beneath her green coveralls.

But she had work to do.

"Mariette?"

Vaela could smell the candy perfume, but Mariette didn't respond, and was nowhere in sight.

"Mariette? Are you here?" Vaela called again, frowning at the room. Mariette should be done with the first-stage hydraulics by now. Maybe she had moved on to the cartridges.

Vaela went to the ladder at the North end of the room, and started climbing. She'd check the cartridges first. Sometimes they were tough to get loose.

"Here!" A voice called from behind her.

Vaela turned, and saw Mariette, tugging at her coveralls as though adjusting her clothes beneath them. Her hair looked rumpled and she wasn't chewing gum anymore.

Vaela frowned briefly, then decided she was relieved. "I thought you might be having trouble with the cartridges. Have you done the first stage hydraulics yet?"

"Uh, no. The shut-off valves were sticking so I was going to do a system shutdown." She pulled a new pack of fizz mints from her pocket and tore back the wrapper. "Want one?"

Vaela shook her head. "Good call. Let's get the system shut down and take a look at the valves."

They requested the system shutdown and headed for the hydraulics, then listened as the cool down processes counted off. Neither of them spoke.

Eventually, the last low clunk sounded from the overhead tanks, and L9 announced that PL7's systems were clear for repairs.

To Vaela's surprise, the shut-off valves pulled back smoothly. She pulled back all four valves, then opened the casement to check the levels on the inside tubes.

"Huh. Maybe it was the pressure." Mariette shrugged.

It was possible, but unlikely. Had Mariette checked them at all?

Vaela decided not to make an issue of it. They were both here now, and with the system shut down they could get the check done by lunchtime.

"Let's go do the cartridges."

Mariette nodded, and they headed for the ladder.

~~~

By lunchtime, the check was done, and both girls were sweaty and tired.

"Ciao," said Mariette, heading for the door. "Going to have lunch with Jackjack."

"Say hi for me," said Vaela. Mariette's kid was a lot less irritating than Mariette. So at least she had 'good mother' going for her.

Vaela took her sandwich out of the fridge and headed back to PL9's West corridor.

"How's it going?" she asked, watching the packaging flow. She caught her breath, as she did every day, at L9's smooth, precise motions. Every grasp, every movement, every release, was perfect.

"Everything is going well," replied PL9. "The current flow runs at nine hundred packages per hour. Scheduled completion is at 4am.

"Is night shift routing in another order?" She bit her lip and looked away from the flow, sitting with her back against an insulated coolant tank.

"Probably not. We have received the specs but not the input load."

Vaela nodded to herself. Trucks weren't likely to arrive before 5:30 with the input load, and by the time the production line was loaded, she would already be arriving for tomorrow's shift.

She took a bite of her sandwich, then chewed quietly for a moment, thoughtful.

"Hey, didn't you have a video for me to watch?"

"Yes. The video log from the NorthEast electrical module. Would you like to view it now?"

"Sure," she said. She took another bite of her sandwich and turned to face the wall. It lit up with a projection showing the module. Another camera angle, in a smaller box in the top right, showed two people in maintenance uniforms approaching the corner.

She recognized Mariette's red curls immediately.

So she has been slacking off. Who's she with? Ah.

Her question was answered immediately as the pair entered the main screen. Jeremy was tugging at strands of Mariette's hair, and she looked like she was laughing. Then both of them sat down beneath the emergency stairwell, a few feet from the module.

I guess that answers my ques-

Vaela was about to ask PL9 to end playback, when the talking and laughing subsided, and Jeremy leaned over Mariette, putting his mouth on hers and unzipping her coveralls in the front with one hand. He squeezed her breast firmly, then ran his hand around to her back. Mariette was smiling as she pulled the green coveralls from her shoulders, revealing her bra, which hung loose around her breasts. Jeremy must have undone it in the back.

Vaela bit her lip, conflicted. She should ask PL9 to turn it off, but this was... interesting.

I should at least understand what's going on.

...what a weak excuse.

But Vaela continued watching as Mariette grabbed Jeremy's crotch through his matching coveralls, rubbing and squeezing until Vaela could see the bulge growing beneath Mariette's hand.

There was something to be said for the way a penis expands and lengthens on contact. It wasn't as desirable as cold, hard steel, but Vaela soon unzipped her coveralls and slid her hand awkwardly past the zipper down into her jeans, as she watched Jeremy shrug halfway out of his coveralls with Mariette's help.

She teased herself, touching only her outer labia as Mariette pushed Jeremy back, laying him down onto the cement floor. She could see Jeremy's lips moving on the video. Without audio Vaela wasn't sure what he was saying, but a moment later, his hand was on Mariette's head, guiding her downward, pressing her face toward his engorged penis.

Mariette's hair fell down around Jeremy's hips as her lips opened and enveloped him. Then her head began a slow movement up and down, her hands grasping and clawing at his chest. Vaela pressed her own tongue against the roof of her mouth, sucking it gently as she imagined the feeling. Her fingers toyed gently with the fluid beneath her labia, occasionally straying upwards to her clitoris.

Jeremy's lips were open, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, his hand still clenched in Mariette's bouncy red curls, pressing her down again and again, thrusting his hips up against her face. Then suddenly, he pulled her away, rose to his knees, and grabbed Mariette by the hips, turning her. With barely a pause he used one hand to guide his penis to Mariette's smooth hairless vaginal entrance. And as he thrust quickly into Mariette's vagina, both hands grasping her hips tightly, Vaela slid her finger between her own slippery folds.