R-Bots 1.0

[Karel]

A new story (please feel free to comment):

Janey smiled her nervous smile. “So you’re sure you’re okay with anything I tell you?”

Rasany One-C and Rasany Two-C both smiled. The two robots were identical, clad in the same fiberglass hair and brown plastic skin, and, today, wearing identically tight white T-shirts under the same leather jacket. The rubber lips were thick at the centre, over white toothy grins, but tapered to a dramatic fineness at the corner of their mouths. Underneath their bushy black desi eyebrows, their eyes seemed to possess a flat warmth: their liquidity was achieved by unnaturally large black irises beneath constantly flowing films of gel, to soften the harsh glare of glass. Soft dimples crinkled their smooth and pleasing Indian faces in unison.

“Oh no, Janey!” said One-C in its elfin voice.

“Please, we understand perfectly,” said Two-C. The androids spoke with plenty of synthetic sass, without a trace of obvious passivity, but their voices carried a harsh, metallic undertone devoid of personality or humanity.

“You know we love you, baby!” said One-C, flapping its hand in a gesture of solidarity.

“Whatever you say, it’s fine by us,” said Two-C.

The Rasany robots were a bit squat, at only five foot four, a few inches below Janey. Both were wearing the same impossibly tight jeans over plus-size bottoms. They stood side by side, each with one hand of soft pink and brown fingers laying over the other’s far hip, as if they were sisters putting each other on display to a gentleman caller. There was a showy formality to the pose, for all the contrived flippancy of their bearing. They were not sexually entangled, but seemed to hold each other as best friends. Their C-cups heaved under their leather jackets.

Janey’s smile crooked a little further in relief. “Well, gee, guys, that means so much to me.”

“Don’t sweat it,” said One-C. The accent was rude, crude, North American, with just a whiff of desi. It flapped its hand again, shook its head, pursed its lips for a moment into a mocking frown before conjuring up its smile again.

“You know we love you, babe,” said Two-C, exercising the same care.

“You guys are so nice. It’s so special, really.”

“Awwwww,” said One-C, in the most sweetly sarcastic way possible, and it blew a kiss at its master.

“Ok,” said Janey, having summoned her nerve, “We’re going to go with Two-C. Override Gamma-India.”

The smiles on the faces of Rasany and Rasany changed not a whit.

“R Two-C 1076051, slave to my command.”

“Slave to your command,” said Rasany Two-C, in the same sunny aw-shucks just-girls kind of way, with the same harsh metallic aftertaste. Its chest was still.

“Designate Slave One,” said Janey, giving her underbot a designated codename. Her own agency, under which she had sought assurances that her orders would be accepted by the mindless dollies she called her friends, had now been overridden by the master computer, and she was running irreversably through her established programming.

“...I am Slave One. Slave One,” said Two-C.

One-C smiled idiotically ahead.

“Slave One, identify R One-C 105421.”

Two-C’s head swiveled to face its sister.

“R One-C 1 OH OH FIVE OH TWO ONE!” Only the numbers crucial to model identification were spelled out: the others came out as monotonous placeholding ejaculations from the luscious soft lips of the robot lady. “Unit identified,” it said, its tonge slipping seductively back in its mouth.

Rasany One-C stood still as a statue, but its dimples deeped a fraction, and its mouth worked widely across a frozen face: “Oh, that’s me and you know it, byotch!” This was followed by a laugh. A perfectly formed laugh, emitted from an otherwise perfectly still body. The eyes stared straight ahead, undiverted.

“Slave One,” continued Jainey, “Proceed with procedure Delta two kilo for R One-C unit.”

Gingerly, Two C lifted her/its right hand from its sister’s hip, and used its left to lift One-C’s away. It was no longer moving like a human being. Override Gamma-India had frozen every servo in both androids except the speech simulators: as Two-C obeyed its orders, it carried every motion through with cold, clinical, absolute efficiency, without even the slightest deviation from its overbot instruction.

Meanwhile, One-Cs human personality simulation was still in place. “What’s going on, Jainey?” it asked.

Two-C placed its right hand on One-Cs crotch from behind, grabbed the small of its sister’s neck, and bent the other android over at a one hundred degree angle. A barely perceptable rectangular outline stretched out the seat of its jeans.

“Hey, Rasany, what gives,” it asked playfully, its smiling lips still moving on a static face. “What you doin, bizznatch!” It giggled then, and the metallic undertone of its voice crinkled like television static.

Rasany Two-C unhooked Rasany One-Cs belt and pulled down her pants, depositing them around the frozen android’s ankles. Rasany units were programmed to be perky, helpful, gregarious office assistants: neither was equipped for any kind of sexual activity, beyond flirtacious cockteasing, at which they were designed to excel. In any case, joining Rasany One-Cs legs to its abdomen was a smooth, shapely mass of white plastic. Plastered over where her buttocks would have been was a control pad with with fifteen buttons, arranged in sets of nine and six, and a large black dial.

“Oh, no, sister,” continued One-C. Its personality simulation software was limited, but impressive: it lacked emotional range, and could not go beyond enthusiastic chuminess, hence the omnipresent shit-eating grin, but it was now going to plumb the sunny depths of a scripted friendship to prevent its own deletion. Any register of that friendship, however, had been wiped from Two-Cs circuits. Both tools played out their respective functions.

“Come on, babe, we’re gonna go out for mojitos tonight. Come on, what do you say we-“

Two-C impassively turned the dial all the way to the left.

“B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-“ babbled One-C, the same shit-eating grin on its face. Two-C began to dial commands into its sister’s butt, and a deranged syntax returned. “Joey-richmond-baby-clubbing-AYE-bib-bib-Toy-baby-robot-robot-Wanna go and-awful-ABBING-two-two-four-four-two-ABBA-eighties-“

Two-C jerked its sister back upright. Rasany One-C stood there, five feet four inches tall, with its bust stretched out, its pants around its ankles, and its arms extended like those of a broken doll. The smile was gone, replaced by an utterly bland expression on the slithering brown lips, with the pink plastic tongue darting in and out of the soft mouth as it formed meaningless words. Two-C was still dialing commands into her sister’s posterior.

“I-b-I-b-too-desire-telephone-ACTOR-bjeshs-ccccrrrr...”

[Lfrmus]

Aww, deletion.