The Gentleman Incubus

by E. M. Hardy

  Sighing to himself, Glenn proceeded to his oven. He pulled open the touch-screen interface, wiped away the dust and dirt that built up over the months, and swiped in a few commands to make pizza-flavored slurry.

  The big device hummed to life, processing solid blocks of chemicals and ‘cooking’ them up with water for his earlier-than-planned breakfast. Tasty, nutritious, eco-friendly… and most importantly, cheap as dirt. You could literally live on rehydrated nutri-blocks if you weren’t picky and regularly visited your gene therapist to treat the cancers before they manifest.

  Soon enough, Glenn was busy spooning down his breakfast, stirring into the glass to cool his food down before shoveling the slop into his mouth. He would normally watch a few passive sims with his implant while he ate, hitting up documentaries about the lunar colonization project or the times back when fusion was just a far-off pipedream.

  Without his implant though, all he could do was stare at the empty walls of his apartment while eating. All he really needed was a bed, an oven, and a toilet; anything else was superfluous. Not that he was short of cash right now, but it was just a waste to fill up his limited real-world space. After all, he spent most of his waking hours in the alt-world.

  Growing bored, he stepped out of his apartment with pizza slurry in hand. Fresh, cool pre-dawn air greeted him as he walked out, a stark contrast to the controlled heat of his apartment. The drone blimps were hard at work, delivering goods just in time for people to pick them up in the morning.

  One of the drones buzzed close to Glenn, ignoring him as it dropped off a parcel in front of his neighbor’s door before buzzing back to its mother blimp. Glenn examined the nondescript box, wondering what it contained.

  He only realized his neighbor was a woman when she stepped out to pick up her package, dressed in a rather flimsy tank top with some very short shorts… and she wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath anything when she bent down to pick up her parcel.

  Glenn’s eyes widened at the sight. For her part, the neighbor froze as she became aware she had an audience. Her eyes widened as well, more from surprise than anything, before nodding in his direction.

  “Um. Hi.”

  “Hi,” Glenn replied dumbly, returning her nod with one of his own. It took him a few moments to realize he was staring, which he quickly rectified by shifting his eyes up to meet hers. Instead of the expected revulsion or derision, his neighbor rewarded him with a smirk.

  “I’m Kristina. Kristina Hooper.” She hefted her package, lifting it with her hips, as she stepped in with hand outstretched.

  “Glenn Olson.” He hesitated before shaking her hand. What did the guides say about interactions like these? Firm enough to express confidence, but not too hard that it becomes a challenge? He clasped her hand, and decided to match her firm grip as she pumped it up once, twice. “Pleasure to, um. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Kristina’s eyes sparkled with amusement, taking on a different light. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. I moved in a couple weeks ago, but never really got around to greeting the neighbors.”

  Glenn took the opportunity to stabilize himself, adopting his professional veneer now that he regained some semblance of control over himself. “Well, this is a semi-residential complex after all. Most of the people here—myself included—work and play in the alt-world. Nobody really just lounges around.”

  “Well… you’re lounging about, aren’t you?”

  Glenn thought for a second, then replied with a dry chuckle that would hopefully disarm Kristina. “My implant fritzed out. Planning to visit the cyber doc later this morning, when the sun goes up.” He raised his cup of cooling slurry as he spoke. “Got nothing better to do, so I decided to just hang out here on the balcony while slurping down some breakfast.”

  Glenn pretended to ignore Kristina’s grimace as she turned to look at what he was consuming. “That stuff will give you tumors, you know.”

  For his part, Glenn just shrugged. “I calculated the costs. I’ll end up spending less on regular gene therapy sessions than buying organic foods.”

  “That… really?” Kristina asked, clearly surprised.

  “Really. Meat, grains, fruits, vegetables… regularly buying the good stuff will set me back a couple thousand credits a year. Nutri-blocks cost only a fraction of that, while preventive gene therapy goes for about a hundred credits after insurance.” He shrugged for emphasis before spooning some of the slurry into his mouth. “I don’t mind slurping the stuff down. The flavor and texture mods do a good job of covering up the crickets, algae, and curd anyway. Plus, the taste kinda grows on you after a while… comfort food, really.”

  Kristina shuddered, holding her shoulders while doing so. “Everything you say makes perfect sense, but sheesh… the thought of just drinking slurry for all your meals is just depressing.”

  “Want some?”

  The woman eyed his outstretched glass warily, then sighed with a shrug. “Sure… but on one condition.”

  Glenn tilted his head, expressing curiosity with raised brows. “Condition?”

  “Yeah. I’ll have some of your… reconstituted slush… but you’ll have to try some of the stir-fry vegetables I made last night. I have some leftover. Just give me a few minutes to nuke a plate to warm it up.”

  Glenn thought about it, then frowned. The guides claimed that frowning usually conveys displeasure, but it can also indicate thought and sympathy that will help connect to other people in troublesome or distressing situations. Depends on the situation, they said. “Is that a fair deal for you? I mean, a glass of cheap slurry against a plate of organic food?”

  Kristina laughed softly, waving her hand away. “We’re not talking about returns on investment here, Glenn. I just want to be a little neighborly. And besides… I like what I see.”

  Kristina eyed Glenn up and down with obvious interest. Where Glenn shifted his eyes away from her very casual clothing, she didn’t bother to hide the way she drank in his bare legs and exposed arms. Glenn immediately stiffened as he saw that spark of interest there in her eyes, a jolt of attraction passing between them.

  There, there… such a good boy. Such a good, obedient little boy, aren’t you? My little pet… just keep going… there… right there… don’t stop…

  Strangely vivid memories came flooding back to him, almost making him drop the professional façade he carried around clients and strangers alike. Her words echoed in his mind, clearer than ever before, piercing through the fog of forgetfulness that weighed down his heart.

  (Good boys do what they’re told, forget what they’re told to forget. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?)

  And just like that, the fog came roiling back. The clear memories slipped away into obscurity, leaving him confused for a split second before he realized the awkward situation he found himself in.

  “Thank you, Kristina,” Glenn replied stiffly, pulling his lips up in the pleasant smile he wore for work. “What flavor of slurry would you like?”

  Kristina’s smile drooped lower, sensing his rejection from the way he abruptly changed topics. For his part, Glenn maintained his professional veneer, smiling like the training manuals taught him to.

  “Whatever you’re having,” she replied with a twinge of sadness in her voice. “Meet you back here in five?”

  “Sure thing, Kristina. That’ll be a credit and a half. Would you like some fries and soda with your order?” His next-door neighbor laughed at his strait-laced reply, injecting some vigor back into the conversation. Follow rejection with a little light-hearted humor… the manuals professed it would help reduce tension in the long-term. Better to make friends than enemies, they said. A philosophy that Glenn found quite useful in his life.

  Ten minutes later, and he admitted that Kristina’s stir-fry really was a different kind of experience. The cabbage and carrots were crisp, while the sauce she used had just the right balance of sweet and savory. As for Kristina, she kept
on complaining about the risk of developing a brain cancer that gene therapy couldn’t cure while simultaneously scraping the bottom of her glass clean of slurry.

  It was strange, however, that Glenn still found himself hungry. Two glasses of slurry plus a plate of vegetables, and he still found himself craving for something he just couldn’t put his finger on.

  ***

  “And there you go, Mister Olson. Right as rain.” The cyber-doctor turned his chair around, cracking his neck and disconnecting his cognitive link to the robotic tentacles poised above Glenn’s bed. Scalpels, pliers, saws, soldering irons, hypodermic needles, magnetic clamps—the multi-limbed device possessed everything a cyber-doc needed to work on his patients.

  Glenn blinked, sending a mental compulsion to bring up his heads-up display.

  ImmerCorp Alter version 10.3.98b

  -Safe Mode-

  Running diagnostics: 79/83 tests remaining…

  Progress of current test: 24% complete…

  Warning!

  Your ImmerCorp implant is currently in safe mode while running post-reset diagnostics. If possible, ImmerCorp strongly recommends avoiding the use of your implant until these diagnostics are completed. Thank you for your understanding.

  “Oh, wait, I forgot to mention. Your implant is still running a couple dozen deep tests to make sure everything’s A-Okay. Just wait a couple hours before accessing your HUD or the alter-world, just to be safe.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Mendel. Um, could you write up a medical certificate addressed to my boss? His name is Park Lee Min, Customer Support Supervisor for Immentrop-Reubens Robotics. I need to send it to the human resources department at IRR. I need it so accounting doesn’t dock my pay… at least too much.”

  “IRR, eh? Sure thing, son. Do you want a copy of my findings along with that certificate?”

  “Yes, please. That’ll help out so much.”

  “All right… one second.” Doctor Mendel’s eyes unfocused, no doubt accessing his HUD. A few moments later, and the doctor came back to the real world. “That’s a certificate acknowledging your reason for skipping work without leaving word, and a sheet detailing the repairs conducted on your implant.”

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “No problem at all. Nothing wrong with the implant itself, just some glitched-out software. Nothing a factory reset won’t fix. No real need for surgery or anything, just a couple hours for the programs to update themselves.”

  The doctor, however, squinted his eyes as he examined Glenn. “Which is why we recommend that you leave auto-updates turned on, young man. They’re annoying, sure, but those updates fix problems that start off innocent enough until they blow up and become major pains in the ass.”

  “Will do, Doctor Mendel, but aren’t auto-updates turned on by default? I’m positive I didn’t mess around with any of the settings.”

  The cyber-doc rubbed his hands on his chin, a frown on his lips. “True… you’re sure you haven’t been playing with the default system settings?”

  “Hundred percent, doctor. Last thing I want to do is fool around with the implant hooked up to my brain.”

  “Technically it’s hooked up to your spine, but at least you’re speaking common sense. I’m telling you, some of the brain-cases I deal with are just sad. Young punks who think they’re having fun with toys end up frying their brains with illegal mods and bootlegged apps.”

  Glenn shook his head at that. “I’m not brave enough to tinker with the default settings of my synaptic implant, much less experience with black-market synaptic tech and software.”

  Doctor Mendel sighed at that. “If that is so, then I have absolutely no idea what happened to your implant. I had to reformat its contents, reinstall the operating system from scratch. In any case, your implant will be working overtime to reinstall your apps and relevant ImmerCorp updates. Don’t forget to get a lot more food into your systems to feed its bio-converter.”

  “Yeah, now that you mentioned it, I have been getting hungrier since this morning.”

  “Since this morning? You mean when your implant first fritzed out?”

  “Yes,” replied Glenn, patting his stomach. “Weird that I don’t feel full, though. I’m already bloating a bit from all I’ve eaten, but I still feel this strange sense of hunger that food doesn’t fill up.”

  Doctor Mendel pursed his lips for a few moments before nodding. “Excuse me for a minute,” he said as his eyes unfocused. They scanned something invisible in the air, probably going through text or photos. “Yes, I see nothing wrong with hardware, software, wetware… no signs of neural damage or faulty synaptic connections.”

  The good doctor eyed Glenn for a few more seconds, his lips still pursed. “While I would recommend that you get yourself admitted for a full bio-cyber diagnostic, I can’t see any probable cause that your insurance company will accept. Not until you show more overt reactions that will justify such an in-depth procedure.”

  Glenn noticed the doctor’s distaste for insurance companies, and decided to mirror his sentiments with a wry smile of his own. “I understand perfectly, doctor. Gotta help the insurance companies cut down on expenses, right?”

  The old doctor shot out a bark of laughter, his white hair shaking as he drummed his belly for good measure. “Indeed, son, indeed. Someone has to pay for those executive bonuses and company retreats.”

  Doctor Mendel could probably afford the longevity treatments to restore his youth if he wanted to, but Glenn had to admit that his stylistic choice of ‘affable old grampa’ suited his line of work. He thought about getting a similar treatment, but no—people calling up customer support wanted young and capable, not old and condescending.

  “And in other news today, we have been receiving increasing reports of unidentified mysterious animals prowling the cities at night. The Nu Angeles Police Department is urging citizens to be considerate and call in only when they have legitimate emergencies to deal with. The NAPD has added that the penalties for pranking are—"

  “I’m really surprised that you’ve managed to bring back that television set to life, Doctor Mendel.”

  “Oh, just an old hobby of mine. And frankly, I’m surprised that someone as young as you can still remember what televisions are.”

  Glenn smiled his professional smile, filing the information gained from Doctor Mendel away for later use. Knowing the good doctor was interested in antique technologies would be useful for building rapport in the future. At least that’s what the guides say about connecting with other people.

  ***

  This is… weird, Glenn thought to himself as he awkwardly ambled away from Doctor Mendel’s cyber-clinic. He led with his right, his left leg trailing behind him as if he were walking with an injury of some sort. His weird gait was actually caused by a painful erection that threatened to tear through his thick denim pants—a throbbing, massive erection that felt far more urgent than he ever felt before.

  Worse still was that it took every ounce of his willpower to stop staring at all the women passing by.

  It was like his eyeballs kept sliding toward any female form. He was perfectly fine earlier in the morning, but it all started as soon as he stepped out of Doctor Mendel’s operating room. The cute secretary handling patients, the petite brunette waiting in line with a spazzing cyber-arm, the busty blonde cradling her infant child, the dazed office lady tapping her feet and scowling angrily at empty air—probably arguing with someone via implant.

  Maybe I suffered some sort of nerve injury? That could explain my current condition, but the doctor just cleared me, saying everything was a-okay with my hardware, software, and wetware.

  He thought about turning around, head back to the clinic and report this new development just to be on the safe side, when he thought twice about it. Doctor Mendel would no doubt start asking uncomfortable questions, maybe even force him to recount some history.

  No. No, he would much rat
her not, because doing so would risk her secrets.

  It was imperative that he told no one about her, kept her confidence. He didn’t know why it was so important to keep her secret. It just was, and it made perfect sense to him. He couldn’t even remember her name, her face, but every fiber of his being insisted that he must absolutely not tell anyone what they had done together.

  (Good boys keep secrets. You’re being a good boy, aren’t you?)

  He shook his head, the fog clearing the moment he decided against going back to the cyber-doc. He instead squeezed nearer to the buildings, avoiding the other pedestrians hurrying along, and attempted to flag a taxi using his implant. Realizing his implant was still running diagnostics, he stood to the side of the road and awkwardly raised his hands to call for a cab.

  People nearby stared at him incredulously, some shaking their heads at his quaint display. Since he couldn’t blurt out that his implant wasn’t working, he could only press his lips together and ignore their silent ridicule.

  He finally managed to flag down a vehicle. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the driverless car ferried him to his apartment, all while he tried his best to give his painfully stiff manhood as much room as he could. He tried to think hard on how to banish the unwanted erection, wishing he could bring up a search engine with his implant. He decided to slow his breathing while counting up as fast as he could. He sighed in blissful relief when—upon nearing the count of one thousand—the stiffness went away.

  That relief was short-lived, however. The moment Glenn stepped down from his taxi—the service automatically deducting fare from his account—his erection returned with a vengeance as he laid his eyes on a young jogger panting and sweating while she focused on her gait.

  Or specifically, the sway of her hips and buttocks, as the tight fabric of her shorts left little to the imagination.

  Glenn grimaced then resumed his awkward shuffle to the elevators. He closed his eyes, focused on deep breathing, and did everything he could to ignore the two shapely housewives gossiping about so-and-so getting it on with what’s-his-name from who-cares-where.