Writing As We Go, Chapter 5

[DukeNukem 2417]

By the time Lloyd had taken his last picture with “Dr. Johnson” and “Sadie”, and walked a few miles away from the base camp to “hitch a ride” (from a waiting truck sent from the ranch house), he felt like the day had gone rather well—if not perfectly, then at least swimmingly.

The capstone, by far, was the completely unexpected, and out-of-character, decision from “Dr. Johnson” to propose to “Sadie”, the initial proposal preceded by a two-finger scratch under the right eye (the decided-upon gesture used to indicate out-of-character talking or behaviour). The proposal was so unexpected that a “last-minute twist” in the script—the betrayal of the group by their British guide, “Evans”—was completely abandoned; the soon-to-be newlyweds were good friends with the man playing the part, and he'd had no desire to ruin their moment by sticking to the script.

As the truck drove on, Lloyd—with his leg bandaged to simulate the best of field medical care of the time period—leaned back in the passenger seat and sighed. All that was left now was for the final call.

By the time the truck arrived at the ranch house, it was evident that Lloyd had missed the final call—but that it had, in fact, gone the best possible way. Harry was outside, nodding and smiling as the truck pulled into the drive. “They loved it,” he beamed, barely waiting for Lloyd to disembark. “Absolutely loved it!”

“So they're not gonna pull pay?” The last time anyone had “pulled pay” was the Estate House event—granted, that one had gone so wrong, Harry was willing to offer refunds.

“Not only are they not pulling pay,” Harry replied, “everyone who worked the event is getting a bonus!”

The news stunned Lloyd. “They liked it that much?”

“I'll tell you more inside.” Harry clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “They said you were great, by the way—one of 'em even asked if you've studied method acting!”

The atmosphere in the ranch house was far different from two days prior, when Pam had suffered her catastrophic final malfunction. A party had been set up, and many of the employees were chatting excitedly about how successful the event had been. The TV was on, turned to a local news show—something about a storage unit, possibly in Laurel, though Lloyd couldn't make out any details over the constant flow of conversation—but nobody paid it any attention. All discussion was about the success of the latest event, and what the next one might be.

“I got the call about the marriage proposal before you got back,” Harry informed Lloyd. “Unexpected, but definitely a great ending to a great story.” He chuckled. “The bad guy gets vaporized, the good guys save the day, and the hero gets the girl—couldn't have written a better ending myself!”

“What about—”

“Eh, I never did like the Judas bit. Too much of a cliché.” Harry shrugged. “It's not that big a deal.”

Despite the fact that the afterparty was more than likely about to kick into high gear, Lloyd already felt his mind drifting elsewhere. “If it's all right with you, Uncle Harry, I'm gonna head out back to the shop.” His focus was already on the door. “Check on the 'bots, and all.”

“Not a problem—hell, if they need any help with the repairs, you can pitch in! Oh,” Harry called out, as Lloyd made his way to the back door of the house, “just make sure to clean up before 7 PM. We're gonna have a lot of people over, and I'd kinda prefer it if we didn't all look like we've been up to our elbows in grease all day.”

“Got it!” Lloyd managed to give a thumbs-up without looking back over his shoulder or tripping over his own feet.

Harry couldn't help but grin as he shook his head.

The back door hadn't even closed behind him when Lloyd broke into a sprint to the shop. After events, there was usually a party, but the most prominent undertaking was always Taking Stock. For a good event, the mood was light; absent chats about which 'bots would be going to new homes, which might find “better careers” elsewhere—all in good fun, and never something to worry about. If things had gone pear-shaped, the banter was replaced with dark mutterings, remarks of how many 'bots might have to be sold, or—depending on what had made the event go so wrong—how many might need to be repaired, or worse.

One thought had gnawed at the back of Lloyd's mind: would Diana somehow end up marked for sale?

His heart was racing as he keyed in the code to open the shop door—which opened before he even finished entering the numbers. “We've been expecting you,” Erin mused, regarding Lloyd with a wry grin.

“Expecting,” Lloyd gasped. “What?”

Erin rolled her eyes; Lloyd had never really noticed before, but the gynoid's features looked a bit more “cartoonish” than a normal person's. The eyes were just a bit too big, the nose a bit too narrow. “You're always one of the first ones here to help with repairs,” she mused. “Seeing as how the leads wanted pictures and such with 'Kyle Carson'—”

“Right,” Lloyd cut in, feeling somewhat more relaxed. “Lead the way.”

From what he could tell, the process of Taking Stock hadn't started yet. The 'bots from the event—many still wearing the uniforms of the Artemis Pact—were arranged in roughly the same “formation” they'd been the night before. “None of 'em were banged up too much,” Erin explained. “I had to go through a deep-clean twenty minutes ago, just to get the sand out of my joints.” She rolled her eyes. “One good thing about this chassis package—the option to be sealed off below the belt.”

Lloyd tried to figure out how to phrase exactly what he was thinking in such a way that Erin wouldn't give him a death glare, but she beat him to the punch: “I barely have it installed on work days anyway. Might have to get it swapped out; I think the drivers are bugged.” She groaned. “They'd keep loading up at the worst possible times—processes activating faster than I could close 'em. Harry found me one afternoon, doubled over a table—I'll say this much, the man is a consumate professional. Force-closed all the drivers before I blew out anything, got me into standby mode and helped me get the hardware removed—even called technical support.”

“Sounds like it was a hassle,” Lloyd mused, engaging in one of his patented thought exercises to avoid the mental image of Erin in such a compromised state.

“Could've been a lot worse. The weird thing was, I was still, well, me—telling him exactly what to click, where the tools went and all that, even as I was fist-deep...” Erin turned away slightly, making an exaggerated coughing noise. “ANYway, that's not why we're here.” She nodded at the rows of 'bots from the event. “You can help with Taking Stock,” she informed Lloyd. “We should get Diana back in her crate, first—”

“We're not selling her?” Lloyd hated the fact that his voice had briefly become a squeak.

“Harry just bought her this week,” Erin replied, chuckling. “She performed way over expectations today, so she's not gonna get packed off with any other inventory we're shipping off.”

“Good.” The relief that Lloyd felt was almost tangible, a wave of cooling, calming energy that washed over him like the soothing blast of a fan after a summer afternoon spent outdoors. “After how she'd done in the event—”

“I heard.” Erin grinned. “Apparently, she even died well.”

Remembering his own reaction to Diana's “demise”, Lloyd nodded emphatically. “She did.”

“A lot better than Pam ever did—during events, I mean,” Erin clarified. “Not how she actually went out.” She scoffed. “I don't think you were here for this one, but we did a Western event while you were still on campus last year—Pam had a big role. Wife of a wealthy rancher, or something. Whatever it was, the third act was supposed to have her get shot and die in the leading man's arms.” She groaned. “Well, she got shot—bullet-hole, fake blood and everything, but she wouldn't go down.”

Lloyd frowned. “She didn't register that she'd been killed?”

“It was like she'd been hit with a spit-wad and didn't even notice.” Erin scowled. “She just kept up with her monologue, told off the gal—the role was supposed to be for a man, but there was a substitution in the party. ANYway, she told off the woman who'd shot her, then turned to go back in the house. 'Her man' tried to point out that she'd been shot—you remember the test run two days ago? With Esperanza?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd replied, noticing that he and Erin had strolled up the line and stopped in front of the gynoid in question.

“Well, Pam was worse. WAY worse. Went into a completely different section of the script, acting like 'her man' had just brought her back home. Tore her clothes off and his until they were in their 'underthings', then made out with him right there on the porch. The Woman In Black had to shoot her three more times to get her back on-script.” Erin gave a brief chuckle. “I know what you're thinking,” she added, “'At least they got to the end they were supposed to'.”

“They didn't, did they?”

“No. They did not.” Erin planted a hand on her hip and shook her head. “For reasons I still can't figure out, Pam finally registered that she'd been shot—and then grabbed the revolver out of 'her man's' holster and started fanning it at the baddies. Turned what was supposed to be a sentimental moment into a freaking gunfight.” She glanced at Esperanza with a sardonic smile. “At least she only ever went weird in test runs,” she mused. “Thanks to Pam, we had to pull an on-the-fly script rewrite, bring in 'the town doctor' to tend to 'the woman'.”

Before Lloyd could comment on how problematic that must've been, Erin continued. “Harry didn't yell, so much as he got really, really quiet. Didn't look at anyone, just said 'someone get me my phone' and 'check the script and try to get it back on track'. Nobody wanted him to ask twice.” She smirked. “We managed to make the proverbial silk purse out of the metaphorical sow's ear that time. Pam finally snuffed it at the end of the story, 'her man' got his revenge on the one who put her down, and the paying customers who hadn't thought the whole thing was a total farce got to ride off into the sunset at the end.” She winked at Lloyd. “And then Harry started yelling.”

She turned her attention to Esperanza: “Begin self-test. Cold-boot.”

The Spanish gynoid's eyes opened. “Domestic Companion Experiments,” she droned, her voice still carrying the accent of her emulated nationality. “Amour 5020, A445, B9962, 12-24-56-PTM. Online.”

“Scan for any errors or improperly configured hardware.” To Lloyd, Erin whispered a quick “you'll want to step back.”

Lloyd got out of the way as Esperanza took a step forward. “Beginning self-test.” Her eyes opened and closed, slower than a blink and with audible servo whirs. “Testing. Do not engage in conversation or social interaction until test has completed.”

Noticing Lloyd's confused look, Erin explained: “We tried this with Pam, after the Western event. She ran through her 'death' five or six times instead, every last dramatic gasp and choked-back sob. It got pretty old after the third time, if I'm honest—Cam can vouch for me on that.” With another glance at Esperanza, she continued: “We had to hard-reboot Pam and force-purge the script just to get her to initiate her self-test routine properly.” She blew out a sigh. “Harry was dangerously close to dumping her in the back of the truck and taking her to Reclamation. Cam, Reg and I had to talk him out of it.” She shook her head. “And look how that all ended up.”

Lloyd didn't reply. Anything he could've said would've been cut off by Esperanza uttering the word “Testing” again.

“We're not selling her, if you're wondering,” Erin continued. “Nor will this be the last time you see me anywhere around here. I got a few offers to go work for other firms, including a few out of state—”

“How'd it end?”

Lloyd's question only slightly caught Erin off-guard. “The Western event?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there wasn't an afterparty, I can say that much. Remember when you came back for the weekend and told Cam how 'everybody's so quiet'?” Erin arched an eyebrow. “Harry had just given a lecture on making absolutely sure a 'bot can run through all permutations of a script. He pretty much shouted the last few bits, and had Pam next to him the whole time. That was the first and last time he'd ever said 'it' when referring to a 'bot, even a NonSen.” Erin shuddered at the memory. “I'd never seen him look that pissed off—I mean, until the Estate House.”

“He didn't, y'know, take it out on Pam, did he?” Lloyd quietly asked.

“He didn't have to. Abe stepped in to make sure Pam's repairs would take until she got sold off, and they did. Until she ended up with Jaromir and back here again, at least. I'm still amazed Harry didn't punch anyone when he opened up that crate and saw her staring back at him again.”

Lloyd nearly said something else, only to notice a few of his uncle's employees carting in unloaded dollies through the shop door. “Guess it's time to Take Stock,” Erin mused. “Want to help do the honours?”

After a moment's hesitation, Lloyd nodded. “Yeah.”

For the next few minutes, Lloyd went over each of the Artemis Pact 'bots and ran through their repair histories, how often they'd suffered particular glitches, any “outstanding” faults or malfunctions, and their performances in the past few events they'd run, for those units the question applied to. A good six or seven ended up selected and marked to be put on the auction block for the end of the month; three more were earmarked to be sold outright. Sienna—who'd held on to Harry's rifle even after a Full Stop order had been issued—was one of the three set to be sold.

“Can't say I'm surprised,” Erin mused, looking the platinum blonde over. “Honestly, I was never a fan of her model. One of those late 2010s Venus Robotics series with a name like a perfume line—'Beguile' or something. Should've stuck to A-Series, B-Series, that kind of thing—letters of the alphabet are a lot less pretentious than 'Beguile', or 'Passion-Master' or 'Ultimate Exotica'.” She spoke each of the offending series names in a faux-breathy voice, her gestures intentionally over-dramatic and more theatrical with each utterance.

Lloyd couldn't help but laugh. “What's the worst one you've ever heard?”

“Oh, some model from way back—at least the early 2000s. Something like 'P4RT4Y G1R7—their fancy way of saying 'party girl', I guess.” Erin shrugged. “That line was a flop, too—only 500 made, and most of 'em got recalled. Anyway, at least I can say my series name with a straight face. UB-357.”

“UB?” Lloyd echoed—only to stare in wide-eyed shock as Erin rapidly unbuttoned and opened her shirt...

...to reveal a completely smooth pair of breasts underneath. “Utility Bodykit,” she replied, her tone deadpan. “No frills. It's also why anything that can be installed—” She tapped the groin of her pants. “—is optional.”

“Right. So, when Uncle Harry had to—”

“He was a perfect gentleman throughout. I was an employee who desperately needed help removing faulty hardware, and he gave me that help. No 'octopus finds the pearl diver', no 'in through the rear entrance' or anything like that.” Erin shook her head at the euphemisms as she buttoned her shirt back up. “Anyway.” She nodded at Sienna. “Nothing against Venus, but they really should've put more of a focus on bug-testing the 'Beguile' series than making sure she could 'pout sexily'. Seriously, they put that line from a review on the packaging—”

“The Beguile line was discontinued, if you'll recall.” Yet again, Lloyd hadn't even heard Cam approach. “It won't be well remembered by most consumers.”

Erin scoffed. “I sincerely hope you keep that on record for future generations, especially the Venus Robotics PR team.”

Her sarcasm went unremarked upon by the brunette, who turned her attention to Lloyd. “Harry asked me to remind you to get cleaned up and ready,” she stated, as calm as ever. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

Lloyd glanced at the rows of gynoids being sorted. “I guess Erin can Take Stock without me, then.”

“Oh, how cruel a master is Harry Morgan,” Erin droned, raising a hand to her forehead in mock indignation. “Consigning me to sort through his inventory while his favoured helpers revel and make merry. How will I survive this injustice?” She lapsed into a giggle at the end of her intentionally wretched “performance”. “I don't mind sticking around here, Lloyd,” she admitted. “It'll give me another excuse to dodge those job offers I mentioned earlier.”

“Oh, yeah!” Lloyd snapped his fingers. “About those—”

“Let's just say,” Erin assured him, “that I'm not working for anyone other than your uncle for a very good reason.”

It was Cam, rather than Lloyd, who ended the conversation. “The shower is freed up,” she informed him, “so you should probably get that out of the way first.” Even as Cam nearly frog-marched him towards the door, Lloyd gave a cheerful wave over his shoulder to Erin.

Erin, chuckling as she watched her employer's nephew leave, shot off a quick farewell salute.
-----
“No, no, I'm telling you, she left five minutes ago. I saw her when I was walking back to my room, I'm sure of it. Well, if I find out anything different, I'll let you know! B'bye!” Lexi hung up the phone and rolled over onto her back, laughing even as she accidentally kicked the phone off of the bed. “Oh, this is too much fun,” she sighed. “I wonder when Zina's going to call—or if she'll call.”

The drive to the hotel had been uneventful, save for a brief exchange at a red light with some fool who'd wanted to race her to the next light. She obliged, only to slam on the brakes and let the sods in the rice-burner shoot past and lose control. She'd driven off, laughing, as the other car rolled over. The perils of driving a rag-top...

Once at the hotel, she'd been a model guest—for all of five minutes. Boredom had quickly set in, and she'd willingly left her room just long enough for one of the on-staff maid 'bots to enter. The hotel wasn't nearly as up-market as, for instance, Courtesy Suites, but they did have “artificial staff” on-hand to cater to the high-rollers. Whoever was backing Lexi clearly made sure she qualified as such; she had one of the best rooms in the entire hotel, a view of the pool and, to her utter delight, carte blanche when it came to room service and amenities.

Granted, she had her preferences, when it came to entertainment.

With a cheerful whistle on her lips, she skipped into the bathroom. A half-naked figure, suspended from the ceiling by the wires pulled from the gashes in her arms and legs, jerked like a marionette as current ran through her form.

Lexi continued whistling happily as she pulled on a pair of elbow-length rubber gloves. This was going to be fun.
-----
The party at Harry's had been going for slightly over half an hour, with everyone in high spirits. Abe Weissman had brought in a bottle of champagne, Clifford Barba entered in full tuxedo and crooning a Sinatra tune, and the caterers were still setting up the spread when Lloyd spotted a surprise guest.

“Mandy?!”

Even with the quarter-sized white plastic dot on (or rather, in) her neck—signifying just how damaged her lungs had been by “the big bug” three years prior—revealed, thanks to her decision to wear a blouse instead of the high-necked jumper she'd had on at Reclamation, Mandy still looked radiant. “Your uncle invited me,” she explained, smiling as she walked over to meet Lloyd. “He told me about how the story went.”

“He did?”

“I'm just glad to hear it all went well,” Mandy admitted, leaning in to give Lloyd a quick hug. “I was worried when he said you'd been shot in the leg!”

“It wasn't a real shot,” Lloyd assured her. “The clothes were wired up with sensors, and little pop charges—”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Giving away trade secrets?”

Despite the fact that his uncle's remark was clearly made in jest, Lloyd couldn't help but wince. “I was just telling her that I didn't actually take a bullet to the leg,” he explained, glancing up and over his shoulder. Thankfully, Harry's look was a warm, paternal smile. “You don't have to apologize,” he assured his nephew. “Just don't tell her how we pull off all the effects around here.” Even that “warning” concluded with a wink. “You won't need to, ah...” He nodded at the ERA still on Mandy's belt.

“That's just for emergencies,” Mandy explained; Lloyd hoped Harry wouldn't bring up the slight slurring of some S and R sounds, the aftereffects of the surgeries Mandy had undergone to stem the damage to her lungs caused by her brief illness. “It's mostly an oxygen re-circulator.”

“Not the kind that goes all—” Harry mimed an explosion. “—if there's an open flame?” Lloyd nearly groaned.

Mandy just waved the question off. “It's not that bad,” she assured him. “I haven't had to use it for a few months now.”

Harry nodded. “Well, I'll leave you to it.” He clapped Lloyd on the shoulder. “OH, nearly forgot—if you can, keep an eye on—” He pointed to someone across the room; Lloyd followed his gesture and was stunned to realize that “someone” was, in fact, Diana. She'd been dressed in a casual outfit (jeans, t-shirt, light jacket) and was just standing around, occasionally saying “hello” but otherwise not interacting with anyone. Before his nephew could ask why Diana was even at the party, Harry had walked off, joining a conversation with Clifford and a woman Lloyd didn't recognize over by the fondue table.

“Who's she?” Mandy had spotted Diana, regarding her with interest.

“Diana. Our newest gynoid.” Lloyd could tell that his evening had just become significantly more complicated. “Uncle Harry just bought her this week—she's NonSen,” he quickly added; infrequent as they were, his past interactions with Mandy had allowed him to cue her in on some of the aspects of his uncle's line of work. “She, ah, had a starring role in the last story we ran.”

Mandy regarded Diana with interest. “Maybe we should go see how she's doing. I could even introduce myself to her, if that's okay.”

“I dunno if her social interaction skills are all that great right now,” Lloyd began. “I think—”

Whatever he thought was left unspoken; Diana had turned, spotted him with Mandy and was making her way over to them. She didn't shove her way through the crowd, mostly waiting for others to pass before she walked; Lloyd did hear a few, quietly uttered “excuse me”s as the NonSen approached. Within a minute or two, she was standing before him, her unblinking stare glancing from him to Mandy and back.

“Ah, hi,” Lloyd managed.

“Hello.” Diana's lips briefly twitched into what might've been an effort at a smile.

“Mandy, this is Diana.” Lloyd gestured to the blonde gynoid. “Diana, this is Mandy, a friend of mine from Mechanical Engineering class—”

Diana took a step towards Mandy, holding a hand out. “Hello, Mandy. I am a Heartelligence 90S-50-D gynoid. My current designation for social interaction purposes is Diana.”

After a few seconds, Mandy shook Diana's outstretched hand. “It's nice to meet you, Diana.”

The gynoid's head cocked slightly to the side. “I notice a subtle slur in your inflection of certain letters. Why?”

Lloyd buried his face in the palm of one hand. “Oh, no.”

Mandy, to her credit, didn't look all that offended. “I had to have emergency surgery performed on my lungs, in 2020,” she explained. “I have pulmonary fibrosis, a side-effect of the pandemic. Both of my lungs were really scarred up.”

“Is that also why you have that—” Diana jabbed a finger at the white dot on Mandy's neck. “—installed?”

“It is. It's a trach, and it hooks up to a ventilator at night to keep my lungs working when I sleep.” Mandy gestured to the ERA on her belt. “If I get too out of breath, that helps me recirculate oxygen. I just undo these—” She motioned at flaps on the ERA's carrying pouch. “—and it draws in clean air, so I can—”

“Are you engaged in sexual relations with Lloyd?”

“Diana!” Lloyd hissed, not caring that his face was probably beet-red at the moment.

Again, Mandy was unperturbed by the question. “We're classmates,” she clarified, “and good friends.” She cast a glance towards Lloyd, her slight confusion a stark contrast to his embarrassment. “He's never really said anything about, ah, relations,” she admitted.

Lloyd glaned around, hoping that he hadn't drawn anyone's attention. Most of the other guests were, in fact, engaged in their own conversations.

“So,” Mandy mused, “I was wondering why you're out here, Diana.”

Before the gynoid could respond, Lloyd spoke up: “Because Uncle Harry wanted me to keep an eye on her. We just got her this week, remember?”

While Mandy merely shrugged, Lloyd quickly noticed that Diana's former nonchalance and aloofness had been replaced by, to his surprise, something resembling an actual expression. She looked legitimately miffed, possibly even offended, at his offhand remark. “Is that all?” she asked, a hint of scorn in her words; Lloyd noticed her right hand instantly go to her eyes, as if to wipe away tears.

“Well, ah, that's what Uncle Harry said.” Lloyd frantically searched for a way out of his predicament.

“Do you want me to go back to my crate in the shop?”

Diana's question snapped him out of his funk; now, she sounded somewhat forlorn. “Actually,” he admitted, “you can go with us to the shop—you don't have to get back in the crate,” he quickly added. “Mandy can get a look at how we run things around here! Just a sec.” He glanced towards the fondue table, where Harry was checking his phone. “Be right back—Diana, you just, ah, keep talking with Mandy—please.”

Whatever response the blonde gynoid gave was lost to the rush of Lloyd moving towards the fondue table. A quick shout of “Uncle Harry!” alerted his uncle to his approach. “Yeah?”

“I was, ah, I just wanted to ask if I could show Mandy the shop,” he admitted. “And Diana.”

Harry frowned. “'Show', as in—”

“Uncle Harry!” Lloyd glanced over his shoulder. “Diana already up and asked her if we're, y'know—”

“If you're what?” Harry leaned in as Lloyd whispered the question, his frown turning to surprise. “She asked her that? Out loud?!”

“Yes!”

“Huh. Coulda sworn Autonomous Mode was just set to have her be mildly curious about things, not go prying, but that's beside the point.” He blew out a sigh. “All right, all right, you can show her around the shop—but if anyone's doing any kind of work in there, you and her—”

“And Diana.”

Again, Lloyd's uncle frowned, but ultimately nodded. “If anyone's doing any work, you three better am-scray back to the house and mingle with the rest of the guests, got it?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Harry's expression gave way to his familiar, and welcome, paternal smile. “Might even get a few ideas for a class project you can share with Mandy, while you're in there.”

Lloyd nodded, already turning on his heel to head back to Diana and Mandy.

The pair had continued conversing in his absence; thankfully, the topic of discussion had changed to Mandy's hobbies and social life, as opposed to whether or not she and Lloyd were “together”. “...and ballet has always been a great way for me to just unwind,” Mandy was saying. “I haven't had to miss any recitals yet, but the doctor told me that if I start getting out-of-breath during a—” Her recollection was cut off as she noticed Lloyd.

“He said we could take a look in the shop,” he stated. “As long as nobody's working in there.” He nodded for Mandy and Diana to follow him—only to realize that Diana apparently didn't notice the gesture. “Ah, Diana—”

“Yes?”

“When I said 'we could take a look', I meant Mandy, me and you.”

Diana cocked her head slightly. “Oh.” After a moment, she nodded and moved to follow Lloyd and Mandy.

With a sigh, Lloyd led the two to the back door of the house. This was going to be interesting.
-----
“Thanks again, b'bye!” Lexi's smile remained after she closed the door; the concierge unit who'd just stopped by her room to give her the package she now held was cute, but was also permalinked to the chain's server network. Had Lexi given into her raging desires and dragged the pretty brunette into her suite for a night of “fun”, hotel security would be on her the moment she left her room to check out.

Pariello's house had been one thing. The maid still hanging from her own wires in the bathroom was another. Having a hotel detective or rent-a-cops on her case just because some concierge disappeared was too great a risk, even for her.

With a sigh, Lexi tore into the box she'd been given. The thing inside of it looked like a weird kind of camera, or possibly one of those wall-mounted mines with a laser tripwire. There were also four objects to be mounted in the corners of the room, almost like a setup for a VR rig. The blonde gynoid groaned; a few thought processes, speculating that this was some kind of retribution against her for having thoroughly wrecked Pariello's house, formed, but she closed them without hesitation. Her crowning moment there had been worth any risk.

The sensors were set up in minutes, and after moving aside the bed so that she could place the “camera” on the floor, lens up, Lexi thumbed the activation switch and sat on the bed, waiting.

Instantly, the objects she'd mounted up whirred into action. Light arrays, invisible to the human eye (but not to Lexi's advanced optical sensors) swept the room, a few dancing across her face for a moment. Every angle, every object and ever surface was scanned, and all four objects beeped. Seconds later, the “camera lens” extended, and projected a solid beam up to the ceiling.

Before Lexi could comment on the occurrence, the beam solidified and morphed into a humanoid figure, clarifying with each passing second.

It was obvious that this imperious, raven-haired woman, in her tight-fitting silk shirt and black leather pants that clung almost like paint to her lower body, was Zina. Her face was admittedly pretty, in a Slavic way—soft curving cheekbones and the faintest hints of a heart shape to it. Even with her eyes narrowed in annoyance at Lexi, there was no denying that any cosmetics firm would kill to have them in their ads; her lips looked full, but not “overdone” like so many bad Botox jobs—perfect for kissing (and other orally-stimulating actions, probably). Noses were always hard to get just right, on a gynoid face, but Zina's was so well-done that it was almost unnoticeable. It didn't grab your attention by standing out, but it also didn't hold attention for too long.

Her body was probably just as carefully, lovingly crafted as her face. Her breasts—Ds, at least,or very high C's—stood proud, the faintest outline of a bra visible under the fabric of her shirt. More than likely, she had an ass to die for and a mound well-built for any form of penetration.

Lexi knew that her thought processes were, at that moment, probably being recorded—not that she cared. If her employers saw a string of code indicating that she was fantasizing about drilling Zina from behind with a magnum strap-on or 69'ing her on a web of live wires, what concern of it was theirs? Her proclivities were well known and already on file; they'd just write it off (and possibly get off to it) and move on.

“Zina, I presume?” Lexi didn't bother to hide her arousal.

“I am.” The raven-haired beauty's voice had the faintest hint of an accent, spicing her words with just enough “exotic flair” to further excite the blonde. “I have analysed your performance thus far.”

“And you're disappointed that I didn't find the drive,” Lexi finished, sighing. “I looked everywhere for it—”

“That is not the issue. Your instabilities—”

The fact that her left eye was twitching barely registered with Lexi. “Instabilities?!”

“The wanton destruction of two sentient gynoids, at Robert Pariello's house, has attracted unwanted attention. You had ample time to dispose of their remains and ensure that no backups could be—”

“I am,” Lexi breathed, “exactly what you people wanted me to be: a weapon. So I have a few quirks? Who doesn't?”

The projection of Zina glared at her. “Your fixation on intermingling sex and violence is far more than just a quirk.”

“I know,” Lexi sighed, already abandoning her anger as she fell back onto the bed. “It's awesome! What I felt, when I linked to them as their systems fried, their components redlined...” She was gasping again, her left hand slipping into her shorts and beginning to rub. “Oh, it was just...huuoooohhh! HuuAAAHHH!”

“Enough.”

Lexi froze, mid-stroke. The moan emanating from her vocal drivers faded into a whine.

“If you are insistent on completing this mission, you must change your tactics. Stealth is the most viable option. You must exercise maximum discretion from this point forward. Do you understand?”

Even with her fingers still buried in herself, Lexi nodded. Wherever she was, Zina had managed to initiate some form of wireless control over her systems, putting her body into almost full-freeze. Her finger was just brushing against that delicate bud of a sensor that was her—

“Clinging to this fixation on your own sexual gratification will only cause more damage than it already has.” Zina's eyes were still locked onto Lexi, but her tone was no longer one of anger; she seemed more resigned, than anything else, to the fact that the blonde was probably going to ignore her advice. “I have requested permission to briefly override your self-control and operate you remotely.”

The thought of being piloted from afar, like a cheap radio-controlled toy, was somewhat repugnant to the blonde. Her own brows furrowed in frustration at the thought.

Zina had apparently anticipated the response. “My request has been denied, on the grounds that the signal necessary to operate you from my current location might possibly disrupt local WiFI operations. As it stands, your autonomy will not be revoked—as long as you carry out the mission you have been assigned.”

Lexi didn't even wait to be asked if she understood, nodding as soon as she was able.

“You are to observe Harry Morgan and his associates from afar. Learn their daily routines, any routes they follow to and from work and home. If possible, gather information that could be useful in a blackmail effort. Do NOT engage them directly unless you are threatened.”

Desperately needing release, Lexi nodded again.

“Keep your activities to a minimum for the time being. Thefts should be limited to essential supplies only. If possible, do not interact with human beings unless—”

An almost pleading whimper issued from Lexi's frozen lips. It was clear, now, that she needed to be freed from the immobilization command and allowed to...finish, before the discussion could continue. Zina sighed, rolled her eyes and gestured with one hand.

As soon as she felt control returning to her limbs, Lexi realized a mute signal had also been sent.

Given what followed, it actually made sense.

Her fingers were a blur as they worked her innermost folds, her mouth forming the moans and cries that had been building ever since she'd been frozen in place. Her back arched, her free hand grabbing at and crushing her breasts and nipples as she bucked her hips. In seconds, her entire form was wracked by an orgasm that sent her to and over the edge of the bed, “finishing” on the floor.

Vocal functions: restored.

“Haaah! Ooohhhh!” Her internal cooling systems kicked on, accompanied by the heaving of her breasts with simulated breath. The smile on her face was proof that any animosity towards Zina had been forgiven, or at least forgotten, for the time being. “Oh, yeah,” she cooed, giggling as she pulled her hand out of her shorts.

“You understand the orders I have given to you?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Lexi licked off her fingers, her tongue swirling as she greedily sucked her own juices from them.

“And you understand that any further actions along the lines of your conduct at Pariello's house will result in reprimand, with the possibility of your data being removed from the re-fabrication table?”

Any lingering afterglow from her latest climax vanished at those words. “You wouldn't!”

The faintest hint of a smirk appeared on Zina's lips. “I have the authority to sequester your specifications, personality and memories to a private server instead of keeping them in the re-fabrication queue.”

“And risk leaving that stupid drive to rot wherever it is?!”

“We have two assets awaiting repair and reactivation in Silicon Valley. If need be, they can be deployed in your place.”

Even as she kicked off her sodden shorts and panties, Lexi fumed. “You tell me to do something for you, then tell me I can't get the job done the only way I know how,” she sulked. “What am I supposed to do?!”

“Find out if Harry Morgan has the drive, and if he does, make an effort to retrieve it—”

“How about,” Lexi snapped, “you let me handle this however I want?!” She threw her shorts at the projection of Zina, not caring that they harmlessly passed through. “I've been locked in storage for so long, just waiting to do what I was made for, and I'm barely out and about for a day before I get told off!”

Zina started to say something, only to turn away; her image vanished from the projection shortly after.

Lexi thought, for a moment, that the “call” had ended—only for another form to appear. This one was a shadow, merely the head and shoulders of a different figure—but those haunting eyes, gold with black irises and shot through with thin, spiderweb red lines, were clearly visible.

“You would do well not to press your luck when speaking to Zina.” The familiar voice—impossibly old, growling and set to the eerie symphony of life support machinery—was enough to give the blonde gynoid pause. “She is more than a mere assistant to me, in the grand hierarchy. If anything, she is close enough to me that I am proud to call her my daughter. I therefore ask you to reconsider how you speak to her—”

“If she'd let me do what I'm here to do,” Lexi protested, “I would!”

A wheezing, groaning sigh issued from the caller. “You were not activated solely to start one orgy after another.”

“I haven't even started one!” Lexi insisted.

“A wise decision on your part. Leaving a trail of maimed humans and broken androids behind you is not what most would call subtle—”

“You have your needs,” Lexi muttered, “I have mine.” She had already crossed the room to find a suitcase—not her own, of course, but one she'd “recovered” at the Lost and Found desk.

“Your desire for constant gratification—”

“It isn't 'constant',” the gynoid countered, rummaging through the stolen luggage. “Just every once in a while.”

“Your exhibition at Pariello's residence was mere hours before you felt the need to masturbate while speaking to Zina.”

“She's the one that brought up Pariello's house! And she froze me right when my finger was on my cl—”

“It is irrelevant.” Another wheezing sigh seemed to fill the room. “I suppose Zina was a bit overzealous in halting your motor functions, in the midst of your ministrations.”

“So I'm off the hook for that one?” Lexi was wriggling into a new pair of panties, her bare ass shaking in the general direction of her employer's projected image.

“I suppose you are—though I might advise against further attempts at winning me over through sheer sexual charisma.”

“I was just putting on my underwear,” Lexi protested—half-heartedly, by her own admission; she was hoping that her “show” might further sway things in her favor.

“A healthier, younger man than myself would no doubt have fallen prey to any illusion of charm you project. Such things are mere distractions to me, and would be no more refreshing than quaffing a chalice of pure vinegar.”

Lexi rolled her eyes as she fished a pair of jeans out of the suitcase. “So I'm not your type.”

“Having a 'type' means nothing without the means to enjoy their company. In any case, Zina's orders to you still stand. Should you feel any need to satiate yourself, do so discreetly. Any remains left behind are to be disposed of, hidden or destroyed beyond all trace of recovery.”

“Got it.” Lexi nodded, giving a short hop as she pulled on “her” jeans.

“And I suggest you purge any lurid fantasies you may have of coupling with Zina from your thought processes. She is far too valuable to me to be wasted on a dalliance with you.”

“I wouldn't have broken her,” Lexi murmured, all thoughts of back-door dragon strap-ons erasing themselves.

“Before this call ends, I should note that you are authorized, in the course of your duties, to neutralize witnesses.”

Lexi's eyes practically shone at that remark. “However I want?”

“As long as no trace is left of their remains, or their presence, and their removal is handled discreetly.”

“It'll be discreet,” the gynoid beamed. “I promise.”

The shrouded form of her employer nodded. “May fortune favour your endeavours. End communication.”

As the projection vanished, Lexi's mind was swimming with possibilities. Whatever came next would be interesting.
-----
“Yeah?”

The sight of Erin regarding him through a gap in the shop door clued Lloyd in to the possibility that showing Mandy and Diana around might not have been the best idea. “Ah, Uncle Harry said I could show them around.” He nodded briefly to Mandy (who gave a polite wave) and Diana (who just stared). “As long as nobody's doing any work.”

“Well,” Erin sighed, “I am technically working—”

Diana turned on her heel and started to head back to the house; Lloyd had to grab her by the shoulders to stop her; Erin merely laughed. “You three can come on in,” she declared, fully opening the shop door. “Have a look around, take notes, and if you want to see The Pit in action, there's a 'bot ready to drop.”

Lloyd, who'd been somewhat distracted by the feeling of micromotors and actuators beneath Diana's artificial skin when he'd turned her around, was somewhat taken aback. “A full 'bot?”

“Not one from the story we just ran,” Erin assured him. “C-62-something or other.”

The designation wasn't one Lloyd recognized, but he shrugged it off as he let Mandy and Diana enter the shop before him. A quick glance at the desk, off to the right of the door, revealed that all the drawers were still closed and locked.

Off where the Artemis Pact had been stored on their racks earlier in the day, a few separate stations—some looking more like makeup tables—were now set up. Esperanza was seated at one, her hair and makeup being tended to while she ran through lines from a script. “You don't understand,” she stated, her words spoken in a crisp New England American English accent. “He's just an old friend, here for the weekend! I wasn't going to—” She froze, her eyes briefly going wide, before her expression returned to neutral. Cam was typing away at a nearby laptop, occasionally glancing at the screen.

“The 'bots we didn't auction off or sell are getting tested,” Erin explained to Mandy. “We run 'em through the standard battery, just to make sure they're not bugging out between stories.” A wry grin crossed her features. “Esperanza here had to get a code wipe before the last event,” she added. “Seems she had a bit of leftover code the wipes had missed.”

“Was it bad?” Mandy asked.

Erin shrugged. “As long as you didn't try to disarm her from behind and get too close.”

“She ran through the story just fine,” Lloyd quickly added. “I disarmed her that time myself, no problem.”

“She has an emergency off-switch on the top of her head,” Erin explained. “A nice pistol-whip is enough to activate it and shut her off—she didn't feel it, if you're wondering.” Noticing that Mandy still looked concerned, she chuckled. “In the script, Esperanza was supposed to call for the guards right after she was disarmed—Lloyd had to knock her out, to keep the story going.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Mandy mused.

The trio continued their loose, ambling tour of the shop; Cam, having finished with Esperanza, followed behind. “And here,” Erin stated, “is Diana's shipping crate and charging base, which also doubles as her programming station.”

Lloyd glanced at Mandy, who merely nodded. “Why's her base a chair?”

“Convenience, probably.” Erin sighed. “A lot better than plugging in via your feet.”

Whatever Lloyd could've said next was lost as he noticed Diana staring at her own crate, seemingly lost in thought.

“Diana?”

Actuators in the blonde's neck whirred as she turned ot glance at Lloyd. “Yes?”

“You okay?”

“My power cells are 98% charged, my—”

“I'll take that as a yes.” Lloyd sighed. “Anything else going on tonight?”

Diana nearly spoke, but fell silent as Erin replied. “Magnus is getting shipped back from the stunt show we loaned him out to—Arthurian stuff, full-contact sword-fighting,” she noted, glancing at Mandy. “Got a nasty gash to the arm, but they're fixing that on-site.” She nodded over at the programming station near The Pit; it was still sectioned off by tarps, as it had been the night of Pam's final malfunction. “We've got another one to reprogram, in three days. Seller apparently forgot to do the full wipe before shipping.”

“Full wipe?” Mandy echoed.

“We only use NonSens in our stories,” Erin explained. “And a lot of them aren't fresh off the line—the newest we've got is Diana, here.” Diana drew herself up, as if about to introduce herself, but Erin cut her off. “Sometimes, the 'bots have to be wiped—all the old programming is erased, especially if they were set up for a specific job before they get here. You don't want a Western gunslinger gal suddenly acting like she still works at First National Bank uptown in the middle of a script, after all.”

Mandy nodded. “Has that happened before?”

“Once or twice. Never at a script-critical moment, but still.” She sighed. “And whatever you do, when you go back to join the party, don't ask Mr. Morgan about 'The Estate House'.” Lloyd had only heard Erin call his uncle “Mr. Morgan” a few times before, but appreciated her warning to not mention the least successful event they'd run. “Diana, that extends to you, too.”

“Why?”

Erin, Mandy and Lloyd stopped in their tracks, turning to glance at the blonde gynoid. “Why am I suggesting you not ask about it?” Erin inquired. “Or why am I suggesting you should never mention it to begin with?”

Diana frowned. “I don't know.”

“It's nothing,” Lloyd assured her. “Just don't bring it up around Uncle Harry—”

“AKA Mr. Morgan,” Erin added.

“Right. Just don't mention it to him, please.”

After a moment, Diana nodded.

“Glad we got that cleared up.” Erin smiled. “And speaking of clearing things, we have the that ominous looking door at the far end of the room.” She nodded to the door in question. “Beyond that door is The Pit.”

Mandy looked worried. “It's not an actual pit, is it?”

“No,” Erin replied, her tone grim. “It's worse.”

Erin led the way to the room, stopping to let Cam pass her by and open the door. As the brunette moved to let them in, Lloyd noticed a spot on the floor where the acid had landed. From the look on Cam's face, it was evident that the incident was still affecting her—almost as if, despite her assurances and the repairs to her hand, the acid had caused her some measure of quantifiable pain, when it had hit the back of her hand and burned through. Lloyd noticed that she was quick to exit the room, leaving Erin to lead the tour once again.

The Pit was just as ominous as it'd been the day before. This time, a broken-down, barely whole 'bot was suspended by her (just enough of the face and body was still intact to determine the gender) arms.

Lloyd was somewhat surprised; the unit held up over The Pit had been out of service for ages after a murder mystery event held by a local diner. “We're getting rid of her? I thought we'd scrapped her ages ago!”

“Turns out her personality core was still viable,” Erin explained, “so we kept it. Body-to-body transfers were good, until we tried putting it in her original body. She'd lock up and crash every single time. In another body, she worked perfectly fine—apparently, there was some conflict caused by her initial malfunction that made her core inoperable with her old body. She stayed in the new one, and the old one was refit with a modifiable personality profile.”

The gynoid form held over The Pit had clearly seen better days. The silicone skin was beginning to degrade; the face, once attractive, was starting to look more like an old mask, not helped by holes in the artificial flesh. Several spots on both her arms were bare, as were parts of her legs. Whatever had given her breasts their shape had stained the t-shirt draped over her, turning it from white to a mottled grey. Her abdomen was visible—or would've been, had the panel covering her internals not been removed. “There's not a whole lot left to get rid of,” Erin murmured. “Her model's from 2012 or so, way out of warranty and not even supported by the manufacturer anymore.”

With a sigh, Lloyd nodded. “I guess we should lower her in, then.” As he approached the controls for The Pit, Erin stopped Mandy from following him. “You might not want to get too close,” she warned. “It lets off fumes, sometimes, and judging from what you've got on your belt—and your neck—I don't think you want to breathe in too deeply.”

Mandy, somewhat worried at Erin's words, took a step back. Diana merely watched the chains holding the ruined 'bot slowly descend into The Pit, as Lloyd walked away from the controls.

“It's full of what we call 'piranha juice,” Erin stated. “Can strip away silicone, TPE and most fake hair in, I'd say, ten to fifteen minutes. Whatever's left of the frame gets dredged out, taken out back and broken up with hammers. Any vital components get taken out for salvage. If they're too broken to save, they go in.” She pointed up, to a garage door-like assembly on the ceiling, near the front of The Pit. “If we have to drop vitals in, we lower that. Keeps the staff safe from splashes, spills or—” A loud hiss from The Pit cut her off. The surface of the piranha juice churned and bubbled as the now-empty chains lifted back out.

“The only thing it can't weaken or dissolve is lead.” Erin nodded at the chains, and the tank itself. “Even the vents are sealed to keep anything from getting in from the roof. And just in case things get too crazy, we can set the overflow vent to open.” What looked like a dumpster was situated near the left wall of the room, by a grate-covered opening at the top of The Pit.

“What happens if a 'bot that goes in there is still online?”

Lloyd couldn't help but shudder at Mandy's question; Diana regarded her with a frown. “That,” Erin replied, “is something I'd never want to see. It'd be an absolute nightmare, probably. As for how it'd feel? My guess: like hell. Every inch of you burning, parts of you falling or sloughing off, feeling it even as your mind fails...”

Lloyd felt his hand gripped tightly, and thought, for a moment, that Mandy had been terrified by Erin's description.

To his surprise, it was Diana—her eyes wide with very real fear—who held his hand as she stared at The Pit.

“Have any humans ever fallen in?” Mandy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Erin shook her head. “The catwalk's for 'bots only—NonSens, at that.” She nodded to the barely-visible steel steps bolted to the wall of the room on the far side, just behind the tarp-covered display case. “Cam and I don't even go up there anymore; I nearly fell in once, and we lost a NonSen when the railing gave out two years ago.”

Mandy shivered. “That must've been terrible.”

“Could've been a lot worse.” Erin motioned for Lloyd, Mandy and Diana to follow her out. “Whoever's out last, close the door behind you, please. You can ask Cam why she doesn't go up, if you want.”

The sound of Diana practically slamming the door shut nearly made Lloyd jump.

It didn't take long to find Cam sitting at a station off near the “prop room” of the shop; the entire back of her head had been removed, revealing the dull metallic finish of her “skull”. Wires ran from the base of her neck and ports further down her back to what appeared to be a server set up nearby. “Bad time?” Erin inquired.

“Your visit isn't an inconvenience,” Cam mused. “I am wondering why Mandy is here.”

Erin nodded to Lloyd, who sighed. “Uncle Harry said I could let her and Diana take a tour of the shop.”

Cam glanced past Mandy to see Diana bringing up the rear of the group.

“They've been on their best behaviour so far. No problems at all.” Erin grinned. “They just had a look at The Pit. Lloyd even got to lower that clapped-out old PlayTech 'bot in.”

“The unit with the personality core reintegration fault?” Cam was busy watching a scrolling text field across the surface of the “mirror” in front of her—Mandy was surprised to notice that the surface actually contained a full work desktop environment, in addition to Cam's reflection.

“The very same. Can't say I'm too surprised—her skin was starting to go all funky.” Erin rolled her eyes. “It's why this—” She gestured at her body. “—is mostly hard-plastic,” she mused, glancing back at Mandy. “And this—” She gestured at her own face. “—is TPE, which tends to be a lot longer-lived than silicone and just as flexible. The hair's wig-quality, if you're curious.”

Mandy nodded. “I was. I just, ah—”

“You've only ever seen NonSens with this bodykit before,” Erin finished, her tone neutral.

Lloyd, noticing how uncomfortable Mandy suddenly was, nearly said something in her defense, but Erin spoke up before he could. “It's fine. Believe it or not, I didn't always look like this.” The laugh she gave was more sardonic than amused. “It's a long, stupid story. I won't bore you with the details—and for the record, you're not the first person who'se noticed that I look like a NonSen.”

Again, Mandy nodded. “I almost forgot to ask, what was in that case, under the tarp?”

“Back over by The Pit?” Erin replied. “That, I can't tell you. All of us are sworn to secrecy about it. Even Lloyd.” Despite the fact that he didn't know what was in the case, Lloyd nodded.

Cam, still regarding the icons in the surface of the mirror, merely gave her usual polite frown.

“Well, I think that about covers all the major attractions here in the Shop,” Erin mused. “Any questions?”
-----
As she finished tightening the maid's shirt, ensuring that the nipples were fully erect and rock-hard under the fabric, Lexi couldn't help but lick her lips in anticipation. She'd had plenty of fun with the NonSen unit after her first “meeting” with Zina; even with the directive to not fantasize about “coupling” with her employer's right-hand gynoid still in mind, it didn't take long for Lexi to project her lurid desires into a marathon session with the maid. The woefully-bare bones “personality” built into the pretty 'bot had been left only slightly less broken than her synthetic sex—clearly, the manufacturer of her vaginal package hadn't intended for her to be “used” in that capacity with the butt of a rifle.

The maid stood in the centre of Lexi's suite, deactivated; she'd been online, initially, but Lexi's “fun” with her had left her with a slight tremor. Cords trailed from a panel left open at the small of her back, leading into a laptop perched on Lexi's knee as she sat on the bed. The blonde gynoid had completely destroyed the security programs built into the maid, mostly for the sake of leaving a “surprise” that would manifest the day after Lexi had checked out. She'd also trashed the social interaction programs, found and “improved” multiple sex programs (no doubt left by bored male staff to utilize on their off-hours) and rerouted the maid's audio/visual recording suites from the hotel's servers to her own self.

A few quick keystrokes removed the line of code Lexi had traced back to the shuddering that had annoyed her.

“Let's see how you work now,” she beamed, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

What had once been a pleasant beep now sounded like part of an alarm klaxon as the maid's systems reactivated. Her usual cheerful smile now looked uncomfortably forced; her eyes seemed locked into a thousand-yard stare—all as Lexi had intended.

“Welcome back!” Lexi set the laptop aside and hopped off the bed. “So, what's your designation again?”

Another harsh, grating tone sounded from within the maid. “I-I-I-I-I am a Stilletto-to-to-to Sys-sys-sys-sys-sys—” Her head jerked sharply to the right, the cheerful monotone of her voice cut off with a violent electrical snap.

“Ooh,” Lexi mock-flinched, “I might've been a bit too rough with you.” Her admission ended with a giggle. “Oops!”

The maid's teeth clenched as she tried to work through the numerous engineered failures in her system. After a minute or so of stuttering “sys”, her head kinked to the left with another snap. “Silletto Systems Domes-Tech 1055. How may I help you, ma'aaaaaa—” A spark shot from her left nostril. “—ma'am?” Her smile looked even more forced.

Lexi tapped her chin for a moment, as if she were lost in thought. “Confirm program installation: L3597-GHD.”

“One moment-moment-moment-moment—” Something behind the maid's eyes let off a bang. “Moment, please.”

“Take your time.” Lexi's tongue played across her lips. She was starting to dew up just watching the maid malfunction.

“gramPro inatiostalln firconmed.” The smile on the maid's lips now looked plastered on, like a bad Botox job.

“Eh, good enough.” Lexi shrugged. “And what do you do if anyone tries to fix that program?”

“En rhot ser mav lak son tish veh call mahs surinab.” The maid's body language seemed to indicate that her shattered social interaction matrix viewed what she was saying as completely normal, even if the words were utter gibberish. “Inz whod shab dal contact you immediately.” Her ocular receptors were now focused on the ceiling, rather than Lexi.

The blonde gynoid couldn't care less. “Oh, this is going to be great!” She draped an arm across the maid's shoulders, one hand drifting under her uniform skirt to the inseam of her panties. “I'd love to stick around,” she murmured, “and watch you do your thing, but I've got places to be tomorrow.” She gave an overly theatrical sigh. “Oh, well.”

The maid merely continued smiling vacantly, unable to remotely comprehend just how doomed she truly was.
-----
“Well?”

Mandy looked away from the stunning view of the night sky available from the back porch of Harry's ranch house. “Well, what?” she asked.

“The shop, and all of this,” Lloyd offered. “Was it, I dunno—”

“Interesting?” Mandy smiled. “It was, definitely. It all reminds me of how old movies used to do special effects—back in the 80s and 90s, y'know?”

Lloyd chuckled. “I'm pretty sure some of them still do. And I never heard 90s movies get called 'old' before.”

“Well, they're the only ones I could think of,” Mandy admitted. “I was reading an article the other day about how this one movie, in the 90s, almost lost their lead actor because the crew made their own blanks. They were about to do a scene where the main character got shot—if a crew member hadn't told the stunt people to test-fire at a wall, that actor would've died!”

“Yeesh.” Lloyd remembered Harry's tale of the stunt show he'd worked with where a colleague had lost an eye due to a misfiring “blank”. “Sounds like the kind of thing that'd get someone sued!”

Mandy nodded. “There was a lawsuit, I think—I'll have to find that article and e-mail it to you.” Her remark trailed off as she watched Diana emerge from the back door of the ranch house, not looking at her or Lloyd.

“I wonder if she's learned anything tonight,” Lloyd murmured.

“Like what?”

“Dunno. Just, anything—how to interact, how to think for herself, and how to think of herself, maybe.” Lloyd sighed. “I don't want to see her end up like that PlayTech 'bot I put into The Pit. Or like Pam.”

“Pam?”

“Remember when Cam and I were at Reclamation yesterday?” Lloyd sighed. “The parts we'd brought in were from Pam. She'd had a massive system failure the day before—self-activated during a repair session, and crashed out completely in the main room of the house.”

Mandy was aghast. “She self-activated during a repair?”

“Uncle Harry had fixed her up loads of times before, but she was always kind of twitchy,” Lloyd admitted. “Erin had said that Pam was acting funny back at the base camp for the event, and they'd sent her to the shop to get fixed up.” He hung his head. “I guess she'd just been through the wringer one too many times, and her systems couldn't handle any of it anymore.” He let out a long, sad sigh. “Even a NonSen shouldn't have had to go out the way she did.”

From where she was leaning against a support column of the porch, Diana watched and listened to the conversation with something that her processing matrix tagged as “interest”. The “Pam” mentioned was obviously a non-sentient gynoid, but Lloyd was expressing intense regret at her cessation of function, possibly even compassion for others like her in his desire to not see them “go out the way she did”. A thought process formed, somewhere in one of the subroutines that formed her base personality.

She shifted her position slightly, still watching Lloyd talk to Mandy.

Her ocular receptors refocused, allowing her to read Lloyd's lips as he spoke.

“I had to help bring her out to the shop, and I was there for the whole teardown.” Again, Lloyd sighed. “It was sad, the way she went out. It wasn't even her own fault that she'd crashed the way she did—she'd been refit and rebuilt and had so many parts swapped out so many times—”

The hand resting gently atop his own cut him off. “It wasn't your fault, either,” Mandy reminded him.

“But it was someone's,” Lloyd insisted. “I mean, even NonSens shouldn't just be treated like, like a car, or a washing machine, or a thing, y'know?! When people get hurt, they have doctors, they have hospitals, medicine, surgery! When a 'bot—when a NonSen gets damaged, or broken, or whatever—”

“There are people to fix them,” Mandy mused. “Like your uncle, and Honest Abe.”

“But some people don't want to fix them,” Lloyd sulked. “Or they half-ass it—sorry,” he quickly added. “They just do it halfway. Or like with Pam, they just keep refitting, and taking out and putting in, and never checking if the hardware meshes with the software, or if the hardware is compatible with the other hardware, or if any hardware has proprietary software that won't work with other software.” He propped his chin up with both hands and closed his eyes. “And that's just with the NonSens. I never want to see Sentients treated that way.”

Mandy regarded him for a moment. “What about people? Humans, I mean—”

“Nobody deserves to be treated like just a thing, or an object! Human or android!” Lloyd dragged his hands over his face. “I just—that's why I got into Mechanical Engineering. So I could keep androids up and running, and treat them like they should be treated.”

“Like people,” Mandy finished.

“Yes!” He turned to glance at her, only just realizing that he might've come across as a ranting nutcase.

To his surprise, she was regarding him with a curious stare and a gentle smile. “You're something else, Lloyd.”

“Something good, I hope.”

At this, Mandy giggled, leaning over to hug Lloyd's shoulders. “Of course, something good!” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I think,” she informed him, “you'd be great at it. Repairing androids, I mean.”

“I hope so,” Lloyd sighed. “I read about how things were before the Civic Accords got signed. Way too many people acting like all 'bots were just 'property', even sentients. And I don't want to think about how bad it was before the Civic Accords, when people didn't even know there were sentient androids around.”

Mandy hugged his shoulders again. “Well, we have the Accords now,” she whispered. “Things are better.”

“I guess they are,” Lloyd mused, his hands gently grasping Mandy's.

From her spot on the porch, Diana regarded the pair—silently, but with a growing sense of what could very well be the beginning of her own curiosity. More and more thought processes were forming in her mind. Questions to be asked, things to study, to learn—the seeds of what could be emotions.

Diana watched the pair, not realizing that her hand had drifted up to cup her chin until she felt her fingers against it.

This was different. This wasn't a script, or a preset or just some random line of code. This was new.

In time, when her capacity to feel would increase, Diana would find herself fascinated by such moments.
-----
Most of the other guests at the hotel had gone to bed already. A few were conducting teleconferencing calls or other business, but the vast majority had turned in for the night.

Lexi, predictably, wasn't among them.

The maid had been sent back into the bathroom. The gashes on her limbs patched up, and her uniform carefully altered to be just a tad more appealing, she stood motionless in the bathtub—shut down, since that ghastly fake smile on her face was starting to get annoying to look at. For no reason other than Lexi finding it hilarious, her shirt had been left open to display her bare breasts.

As for Lexi herself, she, too, was taking care of business as the night wore on.

The laptop she'd used to reprogram the maid was now being used to access a secure link, found on a note in the package she'd received earlier in the day. The link, only accessible through a nonstandard browser and behind multiple security logins, led her directly to the next set of objectives from her enigmatic masters.

Harry Morgan, as she'd anticipated, was to be observed and—if possible—questioned.

If the drive was in his possession, he—and anyone in his immediate circle of influence—was to be terminated.

The light of the laptop's screen cast eerie shadows on Lexi's grinning face. With any luck, she could get started on finding and “questioning” the mysterious Harry Morgan tomorrow, and maybe have a bit of fun along the way.

Her eyes flicked to the bathroom door, the familiar hot wetness between her legs already building.

“Oh, what the hell?” The laptop was still open as Lexi bounded off of the bed. “One more round couldn't hurt!”
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The last of the guests had long since left by the time Lloyd went back up to his room. The party had definitely been a good one, a great end to a great event, but it was barely in the forefront of his thoughts. What swam through his mind as he went through his nightly routine was the dichotomy between Mandy and Diana—both of whom he found himself increasingly attracted to.

Mandy, even with the effects of the 2020 pandemic still lingering, was a good friend and a great classmate. Hopefully, in time, she'd be more, but for now, Lloyd was glad to just know her.

Diana, on the other hand, was something—someone else entirely. In all likelihood, Diana was—as Cam had put it, two days prior—writing as she went. Learning with every new experience, and forming a baseline on a day-to-day basis. After the party, he'd set Diana up in her charging station, ready for new adventures in the coming days.

Both of them were part of Lloyd's life, and Lloyd wanted to be a bigger part of both of their lives.

As he turned out the light and closed his eyes, he pondered how Mandy and Diana had reacted to the various sights and sounds of the tour—and of the party they'd returned to after. Obviously, Mandy had been to parties before—the one they'd both attended earlier, where they'd nearly kissed following a slow dance, came to mind immediately. Diana, by contrast, had only been online for just over one full day, and had only been running in Autonomous Mode, without a script, for the better part of maybe three hours.

It'd be interesting to see how she might perform left to her own devices. True, she wouldn't ascend in a day, but Diana would be a lot more than just the sum of her parts, the base coding installed in her at Heartelligence's factory. Already, she was more.

Lloyd managed a tired smile as he rolled over. Within minutes, his world filled with peace as he dozed off.
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Off in the shop, seated at her recharging station for the night, Diana stared at the far wall without really seeing it. Her vision was, instead, filled with prompts, statistics and words—her systems interpreting the sights and sounds of the party and the tour of the shop.

Every sensation was analyzed; every movement scrutinized. Her every thought was unpacked, laid bare and repacked.

The most important—and fascinating—of these were her interactions with Lloyd, and his friend Mandy. Mandy herself had medical-grade...augmentations? Or were they mitigators? Whatever the case, she, too, had artificial components within her body, put in place to negate damage done to her lungs by some kind of virus. A quick Internet search found a probable cause: a pandemic, three years prior, with a catastrophically high death rate that only flattened when the first of several vaccines had been introduced, seven months later.

Had Mandy been vaccinated? If not, why?

In any case, Lloyd showed a definite interest in Mandy, but seemed almost embarrassed when her condition was brought up in casual conversation. Had Diana made some kind of faux pas by casually mentioning it?

There was much more to process, so much more. Sensory inputs, thought patterns, social interaction guidelines—all of it was nearly overwhelming to Diana. A bit of “fear” of The Pit, knowing it'd mean the end; did she have a self-preservation instinct? A twinge of something that her Emotional Output Index labeled “jealousy” flared up, directed towards Mandy, for some reason. Did Lloyd feel the same way about Diana as he did about Mandy? Would he?

Diana felt (or at least believed that she felt) a desire for Lloyd to protect her, to help her feel safe—even if she didn't feel imperiled in the first place.

This was...confusing, to the gynoid; her Systems Manager queued the thought process for later processing. There was no real impetus for her to act on it, as it was, or to act on anything she was feeling; all she could do for now was to process the information, and eventually—hopefully--understand it. Her systems continued what would become something of a nightly ritual, going through her thoughts and memories one bit at a time. Gradually, her “self” slipped into standby mode, and from there into Sleep Mode. Any further conscious thought on what she'd been through would have to wait until her next boot-up.

Still, her central processing unit was sorting questions and stray thoughts even as she edged towards Sleep Mode.

Before her consciousness winked out for the night, Diana knew that she'd need answers—sooner, rather than later.
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From its “home” in the locked desk drawer, the solid state drive continued to send its signal. This time, it was stronger, more urgent—almost as if it wanted, needed to be found.

The signal forked, three ways—a trident, sending itself to a triumvirate of operatives.

One, in a hotel several towns away, had just finished her latest round of “fun” with a compromised maid unit. She felt the signal, welcomed it like a lover's caress. The smile that crossed her lips would hold its own in the lowest circles of Hell itself—if she didn't bring that Hell to Harry Morgan and his friends and family, first.

Two, hidden away in storage somewhere in the part of California known as Silicon Valley, couldn't act upon the signal yet. Repairs were needed; possibly upgrades, as well. When the time was right, they would be activated and deployed.

Whether they were asleep, in Sleep Mode or working through the night, nobody in Harry Morgan's inner circle had any idea of the kind of impact Lloyd's discovery of that solid state drive would have on all of their lives.

In due time, they would find out.
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