Melting Point

[Cecilauthor]

Looking for serious critiques on a new novel. A but darker, and grittier than usual - but I think you guys will appreciate it...


====


"I don't trust her," Cleo Alexandria announced to her squad leader. The embossed Chevron of his rank insignia gleaming as the fluorescent lights flickered on in the abandoned factory. As if to punctuate her disapproval, Cleo cocked her assault rifle menacingly.

"This isn't open to —"

"Debate, I know... that's why I want to talk about it were the others can't hear." Cleo removed her helmet with a pressurized hiss of equalizing gases for a face-to-face. She flicked a strand of jet black hair away from her hazel eyes.

The squad leader was about to respond until an automated message rang out from loudspeakers positioned high above them...

"... Revolutionary work in neural prostheses allowed cybernetics researchers to simulate cognitive functions in a new form of digital code," the neutral tones of a female announcer began to explain.

The squad leader grunted; "Hey Gears, can't you turn off the commentary?" He grumbled to their technician, whose head and arms was buried deep inside an open panel in the wall.

"Not if you want to get the generator started, it's a package deal." Gears shouted from across the room. Cleo shrugged, they'd just have to put up with it; their only hope was to start up the comm system in this factory, to try and contact headquarters.

"... While researchers in artificial intelligence experienced difficulties in building a self aware computer from the ground up, by combining their knowledge with the new breakthroughs in neural implantation, for the first time it was possible to imprint human consciousness into a portable, digital processor..." The smooth voice continued.

"Look at her, with that bandage on her arm?" Cleo gestured with her chin at the newcomer the squad had picked up; a statuesque woman taller than most men, Auburn hair in a tight braid with a red chrysanthemum protruding above her hairline. "As if we don't know what's going on! Unless..." Cleo's eyes widened; her habitually heavy eyeshadow more pronounced. "You don't believe her bullshit about being immune to the toxoid do you?" The squad leader gave a faint shake of his head.

"But don't worry, this isn't science fiction —" the narration continued. "An Asimov module continuously monitors for human life signs, with the ability to interdict behavior in the interest of human safety.

"What matters is that she believes it, and as long as she does she can keep her shit together." The woman in question removed an ammo clip from a strap on her leg concealed by the hem of her black sequined evening dress. "The way she's taking care of her guns and equipment, it's like she believes she actually has a future, we can use that to our advantage." But the volume from the loudspeakers suddenly shot up.

"... Joined forces to produce the Quantum Turing core; a replicated consciousness capable of true emotion, but customizable to fit your individual needs as a client. Finally -" the voice on the loudspeaker rose with feigned enthusiasm, "Companionship, loyalty, and of course sex!" Her voice took on a mischievous tone. "On your terms, at your command! Pygmalion cyber industries gives you the power and freedom to take control of the most important aspect of your life!"

Cleo leaned in closer to make herself heard over the loudspeaker. "Everything about this smells! That dress? There's no way she could have survived in the ruins for a month looking so... so Clean! Some of the docs think resistance to airborne toxoid might be higher in rare people, but nobody can resist a bite! I don't see why you didn't order us to put her down as soon as we saw her, Dom."

"Piezoelectric polymers generate low levels of electricity through compression, and Pygmalion has adapted this technology to simulate respiring lungs to get that much closer to real-life while making your Doll more energy efficient. " Cleo tried to ignore the noise.


"It's simple, everybody watches her closely, when — and if she starts to turn..." He made a throat slitting motion with his armored hand. "Until then, it's clear that she knows the layout of this block, so we'll make use of that as long as possible. But what I need to know is-"


But again the squad leader was interrupted, this time by the whine of motorized equipment. A mechanical arm was carrying an object resembling a metal skeleton 10 feet above the floor where the squad rested. The metallic frame was loosely similar to a human body, arms and legs, spine and ribs, but there were no gaps between bones. This was more than just a skeleton; clear tubes interlaced the structure, and transparent membranes contained arcane arrangements of spidery machinery in mechanized analogues of human organs.


"Damnit Gears, we don't want to fire up the whole production line, we just need enough power to make a phone call!" The squad leader complained. For his part, Gears shrugged.


"Can't help it Dom, this is the last command in the buffer, no way to bypass it."


"Oh god, it's actually going to assemble one of those... Things!" Cleo complained. The squad leader chuckled.


"As long as it's just one, I think we'll manage." His voice had a note of sarcasm.


As the mechanical frame rode closer on the robotic arm, Cleo couldn't help but admire the intricacies of its craftsmanship regardless of her personal feelings. The web of segmented actuator cables of varying sizes lacing the structure hinted at the underlying sophistication. Its head was almost a skull, but not quite — there were no teeth, for instance. Beyond the eye sockets, intricate spires of crystalline provenance composed the much lauded Quantum Turing core. An elegant mechanical echo of man, yet even in this state the proportions of its build told a feminine story.

Drawing closer on an automated conveyor came a Jacuzzi sized array of machinery that was undoubtedly intended as a casting mold. The robotic arm tipped the inert frame into a space conforming to the dimensions of the human body - a woman's body. Another robotic device brought closer a nozzle attached to a pair of transparent tanks. One clear, the other a beige colored pudding that flashed with occasional firefly sparkles.

Cleo paused, biting her lip. The war had changed everything, including her. She'd been pretty young when the apocalyptic shit hit the fan, and had spent her entire childhood with the war on her mind. But she knew so little about those days when robots like this had been in vogue. She decided to stop arguing about the newcomer, and pay more attention to the narration.


"... With human skin grafts in mind. Above a layer of state-of-the-art gelectrolyte battery tissue is a network of near microscopic cybercytes linked with adjustable polymers made possible by breakthroughs in flexible computing. Adapted from the medical community, Pygmalion's patented Ultraflesh Smartskin© system will bring your fantasy to life!" The cheery announcer concluded.


The top half of the mold lowered to seal the encased robo-chassis as the clear fluid coated the robotics. Must be the gel battery. A moment later, beige pudding flooded the pocket. Cleo watched with fascination as glowing pulses flickered within the liquid mix, graduating to linear highways of energy circuiting within the body. The robotic arms above emitted laser beams through the transparent casing in a convoluted protocol, even as a smaller armature pressed a metal cylinder into a sealed port at the top of the mold. This aperture opened and a silvery flash of technology slid into the head. After that it was difficult to make out many details; the mold grew hot, and foggy condensation obscured the process inside.

Time stopped for 3.2 minutes while the assembly completed with a hiss of steam as the top half of the mold rose to release the figure inside.

She sat up with a ragged intake of breath. Honey blonde strands trailed across the slick skin of her shoulders. There was a faint tracery of glowing circuits visible under her skin, and for an instant a block of numbers in firefly writing could be seen moving upwards between her ripe breasts as all systems came online. Her eyes strobed incandescent blue in a robotic moment of activation.

Cleo knew rationally this was an imitation. She knew a robotic chassis had been encased in a mesh of flexible electronics programmed to duplicate skin... and hair. But it was a perfect copy.

By the time the techno-woman slid off of the casting assembly, Cleo's mind could not help but register her as all-woman.

When she was growing up in the Hab modules, Cleo's sister had been endlessly fascinated by the glamor of the old world. She'd do anything to get a hold of yellowed fashion mags, lingerie catalogs, even old issues of Playboy. That freaked out Mom more than a little! It all seemed pointless to Cleo; all that mattered these days was winning the war - but she knew that this creature could compete with any of them.

She looked like nothing so much as a honey blonde, high-cheek boned centerfold fresh from a hot-oil massage. In the nude. Mile-high legs tapered into lush hips of surreal feminine perfection. Sheen from the overhead lights seemed to slip across the tops of her glistening breasts, jiggling in rhythm with a lifelike gait. Cleo couldn't help but notice the newcomer, in the black dress - clenching her pistol, eyes sharp as she focused on the makeup-studio symmetry of the fembot's face. A row of iridescent-blue numbers beneath her clavicle gave her serial number, slowly fading as seconds passed. The Pygmalion Corporate Logo, a silhouetted letter 'P' with a reclining woman lying on the long end shimmered upon the new woman's lush buttocks. True to the claims; her feelings were written across her face — a fearful need to find something... or someone. But everyone else was preoccupied with her.

Sure, that fitness-model muscle tone was a cunning illusion of contractile cables beneath a flesh-imitating nanotech network, but the breathing - the subtle twitches, blush... all duplicated with precision. Even twinges of arm hairs visible in the right light.

"Patrick." Came her predictably sensuous voice. Her sapphire eyes searching the battle-armored squad for a familiar face. "I belong to Patrick Waverly of 4412 West 33rd st. Apt 2012." Her eyes desperate. "Take me to Patrick!" The techno-woman demanded to the armed and armored men.

“My Old Man always said that we were doomed the day we learned to build programmable people.” The Squad leader grumbled.