What Dreams May Come Ch. 06

***

"Rose... I need you," he called to me as I was washing the breakfast dishes instead of letting Mantha do it, mostly because it bugged Simon when I did it.

I wiped my wet hands on my jeans and padded barefoot through the habitat to the bedroom. "What do you need me for?" I asked.

He was hunched looking over a machine near the bed and had a bundle of wires with things at the ends in his hand. "One does not end a sentence in a preposition, Rose. More correctly, it is 'for what, do you need me?" he said, not bothering to look up from the machine.

"I'm starting to think you don't need me badly enough," I said.

He looked away from the machine and smiled at me. "I need to make love to you," he said.

"Yay!" I said, doing my best to play coy and hard to get.

"After I glue twenty EEG electrodes to your scalp," he finished.

"I'm sorry, but you were calling *me* a 'maladjusted sexual deviant?'" I snarked, still taking off my clothes anyway.

"Well, I had wanted to make love to you in the PET scanner at Stanford. I am studying pleasure signals from the limbic system and how they might be used as real-time empathy data inputs for Mantha's AI. Unfortunately, for some reason Stanford declined to participate in the research," he said, vaguely bewildered.

"Imagine that. You know, you should have told them we just wanted to sneak in there for a quick fuck. Why do you have to call it 'making love' all the time now? Makes it sound like we'd be in there for hours," I said, climbing up on the bed, and sitting cross-legged.

"I call it 'making love' now because, as you have frequently observed, I am almost completely lacking in artifice... and also because I love you."

"Oh..." I said, my capacity for words gone. He loved me.

"'Oh,' indeed. Now, hold still..." he said, taking my head in his hands and turning it from side to side, plotting where to put the sensors.

"Yes Sir," I said, using the form of address that I knew made his cock twitch.

"Mmm..." he growled appreciatively, then picked up a tube of glue, put a blob of it into the hair on my scalp, and stuck a sensor onto it.

***

"Sir? Sir? What's wrong?" I asked, running into the room after hearing the door slam shut and a crash shortly after.

"Bastards..." Simon seethed enraged, his hands clutching the back of the chair he was leaning on.

"Well, obviously. Give me their names, Sir. They won't know what hit them," I said, ready for a fight.

"Do not joke now, Rose."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I was nervous. You turned the table over..."

"They sold it. They sold the technology..." he said, his voice strained.

It didn't connect. We were nowhere near selling Mantha. We had made amazing progress, and the potential alone was incredible, but selling it now was out of the question. "Already? How? It's not ready. We need another few months and additional trials! I just got us connected with the dementia, blind and hearing-impaired communities for—"

"They sold the original technology. The client wasn't interested in the finished product," he said bitterly, the betrayal in his voice wrenching my gut.

"Who would—oh, tell me it's not the military or something..."

"No. It is not the military. Not yet, anyway. The client was a consortium of corrections, training and community management companies..." he said, sitting down on the sofa and covering his face with his hands.

"That sounds like—"

"Private prison companies. Instead of helping people, Mantha will be used, without empathy or accountability, to turn them into cattle," he said despondently.

"What?" I said, outraged, "They can't do that! It's your software! It's your name on the patents! Fuck them! We'll go and do it right! Start your own company and—"

"It was my company, Rose," he said, hopelessly. Then, lowering his hands from his face, he explained, "When I accepted the venture capital funds to achieve the mission, it became their company... the original Mantha patents, the materials, the habitats, everything... all of it belongs to the company. When they told me, I resigned in protest. They cashed out my shares on the spot. It seems they were already searching for a new, more personable, individual to run the company," he said, staring at the ceiling, blank faced.

I shook my head in disbelief. "But... they can't... Mantha is..." I said, tears rolling down my cheeks, now.

Simon pulled my head down to his chest and encircled me in his arms, "Don't cry, Little One. There is no reason for you to be sad. The man who loves you unreservedly is a multi-millionaire, now..." he said.

I pushed up off his chest, offended. "After all this time, that's what you think I cared about? Is that why you think I stayed? I came here for you, Sir... just to be with you, that was all I ever wanted," I whispered.

"I do know that, Little One. Forgive me," he said. "Pack our things. We will go to a hotel until I find a home for us somewhere—"

"Sir, what if we didn't?" I asked. "Find a home, I mean. What if we just lived for a while? There's a whole world out there... let's go heal your heart."

***

"Rosie... Rosie... give me your answer, do... I'm half crazy all for the love of you... It won't be a stylish marriage... I can't afford a carriage... but you'll look sweet... upon the seat... of a bicycle built for two..." he sang loudly behind me.

"How much could a carriage cost? Seriously, how much? My butt hurts! Why are we riding this thing?" I griped.

"It affords me a nice view," his voice low and insinuating.

"Said the guy riding a tandem bike along La Cote D'Azur. Look around! This place is nothing but nice views!"

"Ah, but this view is better, it is so good I intend to fuck it tonight. There are no other views. But, you still haven't answered my question, Little One. Why not let it be here? Become my wife."

"You're still going through the stages of grief. I refuse to take advantage of you," I said.

"Anal is a stage of grief? May I never pass through it. Acceptance and hope cannot possibly surpass your tight embrace."

"They've been trying to call you all week. Something is going on. Aren't you even curious?"

"No more than I would be curious about the lover of an ex-girlfriend calling for my advice in pleasing her. I have moved on to better things."

"Is that why you keep humming 'Daisy, Daisy?' That's the same song HAL sang when he died. You miss Mantha. She wasn't your girlfriend, she was your baby. You need to call them. It might be something good."

"'Good' would be securing lifelong access to your perfect bottom, mademoiselle. You are 23 years old, now. Let me make an honest woman of you," he said, yet again raising the topic I had been side-stepping for months. I loved Simon, and I knew that would never change, but the idea of marrying felt like a noose around my neck. Keep a home, have children, hold everything together for everyone, help your husband's work... what if I didn't l didn't like it? What if I wasn't good at it? Marriage was forever, but what if it was forever of the wrong thing? I couldn't just tell him what I was scared of... it wasn't grounded in fact, only feelings. He fixed things. He couldn't fix the unknown. My unfixable problem would make his brain explode.

"That's the worst proposal yet. No more butt stuff until you call them back. I want to find out about Mantha," I said.

"Je suis desole, mon amour. Your wish is my command," he said, as I silently marveled how quickly anal sex could motivate a man.

***

"What did they say?" I asked. Simon walked back in from the hotel balcony as I set out some bread, wine, cheese and strawberries for dinner.

"Hm? Oh nothing, really. It was just a patent troll reminding me of my obligations to assist Cerebrotech in perfecting a couple of the patents..." he said, sounding vaguely disappointed.

"So, you just have to sign some stuff for them? That's all? What, were you three months behind on your email or something?" I asked. Something was just not adding up.

"Mm... certainly not."

"Lemme use your laptop for a second, Sir?" Simon slid his laptop over to me and I began googling like a madwoman.

"Of course. Shopping? Preparations for a lifetime of wedded bliss?" he said, leaning in and nibbling on my neck.

"Something like that... Don't you find it a little weird they called you four times in a week about signing some papers that they could have just handled by email? They're in a hurry."

"What do you suspect?" he asked.

"Blood in the streets, maybe..." I murmured, pursuing a finding that seemed promising. "Hey, wasn't Management Training & Communities part of that consortium of private prison companies that wanted to use Mantha? They had a cybersecurity breach... problems with their new automation system getting hacked... they sued Cerebrotech. They've really dragged Mantha through the mud on this, the assholes. Looks like nobody will touch Mantha or Cerebrotech with a 10 foot pole."

"Stop reading it. It does not matter anymore... water under the bridge. Let us go cruise the Aegean, instead, and plan a wedding in Santorini..." he said, pulling me into his lap and stroking my hair, trying to get me to meet his eyes as he always did.

"I don't think we should... I'm not sure you can afford it now," I said, wondering how much it would cost to do what I was hoping was possible.

"Do not worry yourself, Little One. I no longer have interests or liabilities in Cerebrotech... and what I made from cashing out is more than we could spend in a lifetime living this way."

"That's good... because I was hoping you'd buy something before dinner tonight."

"Ah, finally she consents! Where shall we go? Tiffany? Cartier? De Grace?"

"Cerebrotech. I think they want those patents finished quick because they're closing shop and holding a fire sale. You're gonna go buy your fucking patents back, Sir."

***

Feeling most of the eyes in the room glued to my ass and breasts, I sat down next to Simon, putting a cup of coffee next to him and took a sip from my own. Buying back everything that was Cerebrotech ate up most of the money Simon had taken out of it, so to finish things and get Mantha into use, we had to get more investors. After months of researching venture capital firms to help us get the new version of Mantha into the healthcare market, we finally found Fulton & Associates that was willing to finance the final stages of development and marketing. It seemed to be going well, but I didn't understand business, finance or patents well enough to say what was a good deal or not. This part was all talking, anyway. I guess the contracts were what took the longest to get through.

"We are concerned about your speed to market, however. You said you are filing a new patent for the user interface?" said the head VC guy named Jeff Fenton, not bothering to look up from whatever he was looking at on his laptop.

"Yes. The original patent was filed before significant changes were made as a result of work performed in collaboration with my associate Rose Andersen," Simon said, nodding to me. "The new patent will include the coding on real-time empathy, the limbic system inputs, and her name as a co-author." I watched most of the eyes in the room dart to me in surprise. I didn't know if it was because I was a woman, or because none of them expected Simon to ever share credit for his patent. Even I had tried to talk him out of it when he told me, but he wouldn't consider anything but full credit as co-author for Mantha. It still didn't sit well with me.

"Is this *the* Rose Andersen?" asked the VC guy named Kurt Bates, the most brazen of those ogling me in the room. "I'd heard tales around town of a very young blonde that went into Simon's habitat and never came out... and look at you now, the prettiest patent co-author in Silicon Valley..." he said with a smirk, his tone subtly suggesting that any real contribution I made to the patent was done while on my knees. Torn between behaving myself for the sake of getting the money to finish Mantha properly, and teaching Bates' balls some empathy with my knee, I smiled and sipped my coffee.

Simon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, tapping them lightly on his lips as he considered his words. "The collaboration with Miss Andersen took the interface to a level it never would have reached without her insights," he said, his eyes narrowing at Bates. He had also picked up on Bates' insinuation, and he didn't like it. I usually couldn't sit for a week after I provoked Simon into giving me that look. I almost began to feel sorry for Bates... almost.

Jeff Fenton looked up from his laptop to Simon, "The point is you can file claims against the original patent and address the real-time empathy and limbic input applications and go to market far sooner—" he began.

"But, filing claims against the original patent would not allow provisions for crediting a new co-author, which is, of course, why a new patent is needed," Simon finished smoothly.

Fenton looked at Bates who smiled back at him and raised his eyebrows in silent communication. "We will need to consider our position with that in mind, then," Fenton said, closing his laptop and sliding it away from him.

***

That evening, still frustrated that I hadn't been allowed to knee any of the VC guys' balls in the meeting, I left my cart in the middle of the Trader Joe's produce section and began wandering around for the week's food. I was talking myself down into buying only three bags of the absolutely delicious-looking cherries. I always seemed to make the mistake of going grocery shopping while hungry. Simon was considering having Mantha send notices to me whenever I put something into the cart. I was going back to my cart with a completely necessary fourth bag of cherries, when a familiar voice spoke, "Well, if it isn't my favorite patent co-author! How is life in the habitat these days, Rose?"

I turned to see Kurt Bates leaning his hip against a display of peaches. "Mr. Bates," I nodded in greeting, knowing I couldn't pull off any of the usual pleasantries with sincerity. "I thought guys like you had assistants for this sort of thing."

"We do. I've sought the personal assistance of many unemployed liberal arts undergrads over the years, but when it comes to sweet, juicy fruits, I prefer to inspect the goods personally before buying. So, how does a CSU East Bay Anthropology student convince one of the most brilliant minds in AI to share his patent with her?"

I entertained myself by imagining Bates rocking on the floor in the fetal position gently cupping his crushed testicles, handing over a check for Mantha. "You'll have to ask Simon that," I said, tersely. "I can only assume that he found my contributions valuable."

"Oh, I'm certain he did. That first night, alone, was worth a few million at least. We thought he'd never get laid, just sitting there in the habitats taking his little notes on everything. Were you really a virgin? How the fuck does that even happen?" he asked, taking a cherry out of one of my bags and biting into it.

"What?" I asked feebly, all feeling leaving my body. He must have gotten the footage... but how?

"Sorry. I guess I have you at a disadvantage," he said, chewing the cherry's meat off the pit in his teeth. "You see, I was in Cerebrotech's VC firm, back in the day. Never got to meet the great Simon Ellison, of course, but I got to do a decent work up on him. Anyway, you know that all his research became ours when he stepped down, right? Some of the more juicy video logs might have been passed around a bit. But, back to that first night... fuck that was hot. And he actually popped your ass cherry before breaking in your cunt. Now, that, takes balls. It was your first time up the ass, too, right? I could see it in your face. Tell me it was, we have a pool going on it in the VC community," he said, spitting the pit into the bag and taking another cherry.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, pushing my cart around him, when he grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him.

"We have a bit more to talk about, Rose," he said, his fingers biting into the flesh of my arm. "Now, getting an entirely new patent will take easily another two years, which is ridiculous when you think about the fact that we could have all of this done and be on the market in a few short months if he filed claims on the original patent. Time is money, you know. We want Mantha on the market. We want to make Simon rich... so rich, he'll never need to worry about money again. This technology is going to change everything, but instead of doing what's smart, he decides he has to give his girlfriend a patent. When it comes out that Simon Ellison did this all for a piece of ass, no one will ever fund him. We'll make sure of that." My head was spinning. I had to protect Simon.

"So, someone doesn't do something exactly the way you want them to do it, you ruin someone's life? What the hell is wrong with you? Pass on the deal if you don't like it! Nobody's forcing you to fund Mantha!" I hissed, trying to pull my arm away from him, but he had me pinned against some shelves and I couldn't get enough space to free myself.

Bates smiled pleasantly and leaned into me, acting like he was just any other guy talking up a girl at a grocery store, then adjusting his grip so that his fingers pinched a nerve that made my entire arm go weak. My arm throbbed with electric agony. I felt my legs go weak, but he still held me standing, his fingers curling into a spot under my ribcage that was a whole new fresh hell of pain. "Please..." I panted, not understanding how I could be in such pain with so little effort on his part.

"That's more like it. I like hearing you plead with me. You're going to leave Simon, Rose. You're going to do it for his own good. When you do, he will think the better of this chivalrous gesture to put your cunt name on his patent and then everyone will be much happier. Even you, Rose. You're going to trade up. The moment I saw that fucking footage, I decided I had to own you. I even built a room for you in one of my homes. It will be our special place when I'm not introducing you to some of my friends in the community. You have no idea how much of a celebrity you've become. Simon will understand. If he had any sense, he'd be trading you in just before he went to market, anyway. A fucking patent co-author... he doesn't really understand what you need, does he? You know that he doesn't, or you would have married him already. Now we're going out to my car, and I'll let you suck my cock all the way to your new-"

"Ma'am, is this guy bothering you?" a huge bearded guy wearing thick frames and a full sleeve tattoo on one arm, asked me while looking only at Bates. Normally, I get annoyed when people ask me questions without looking at me, not to mention calling me 'ma'am', but I decided this guy was totally forgiven. I'd even share my cherries with him. My knight in hipster armor positioned himself closely enough to force Bates to take a step back, releasing his hold on my ribs. I collapsed and gasped for breath, while Sir Fullsleeve Thickbeard narrowed his eyes at Bates. I never found out what Bates said to my gallant rescuer to explain himself, because I flung that completely necessary fourth bag of cherries across the floor, pulled my arm out of Bates' grip and in the commotion, I ran like hell out of there.

***

"Jeez, Lake... that was why you left him? What did you do? How did you live? Shit! You had big money after you! How—" I cut off quickly, seeing Sloan enter the room.

Lake followed my eyes to Sloan, she had become almost herself again, the darkness mostly gone from her. "She hid, of course," Sloan replied, looking only at Lake. "She drove her car to a junk dealer to whom she sold it for cash, discarded all her electronic devices and credit cards, and then she joined the only community in San Francisco that could conceal her. She lived invisibly right under all our noses, having immersed herself in the only population that our eyes are trained not to see. For nearly a year, I lived with the knowledge that the love of my life was homeless."