Zillion

by Alexander Blackwood

  They both greeted me with polite hellos and handshakes. After an assurance that the staff would work hard to keep me happy, they made to return to the line, but Dr. Kazue stopped them.

  "One second," he said to the couple. "I require a suite with as little direct sunlight as possible. Also, no one is to enter my room for housekeeping or any other reason unless I specifically ask." He then swapped his commanding tone for a more respectful one. "Please."

  "Of course, doctor," Amador replied with a nod. "No problem at all." Then he and his wife rejoined the line.

  Next Digby beckoned the chef forward. He looked a little older than the Beltrans, maybe mid-fifties. "And this is Chef Disla," Digby said. "A culinary artist, I assure you."

  "His truffle french fries are amazing," Reba said to me. "Wait until you try them."

  I had no idea what truffles tasted like so my response was a half-truth at best. "Sounds delicious," I said.

  Digby continued. "Chef Disla and his staff will prepare all your meals."

  Between shaking my hand and rejoining the line the portly and gregarious chef made me promise to get him a list of my favorite foods as soon as possible.

  Finally, Digby gestured to the six young beauties dressed up like French maids.

  "And of course this is your maid staff," he said. "I'm sure you'll learn their names quick enough. They're on call twenty-four seven for whatever you may need."

  In perfect unison the maids curtsied and said, "Bienvenue a la maison, Mr. Zillion."

  I was stunned. I didn't speak a word of French, but the authenticity of their accents was undeniable. I turned to Digby. "You mean those aren't just costumes? Are they real French maids? From France?"

  Digby chuckled and said, "Oui monsieur. But of course."

  Wendell said to Digby. "That stuff you said about the maids being available for whatever's needed. That goes for entourage members too, right?"

  "Certainly. Unless Mathew says differently." Then Digby clapped his hands and said to the staff, "Thank you, everyone. Now back to work."

  The french maids waved goodbye and blew kisses as they disappeared inside the house with the rest of the staff.

  "So," Digby said, "Any questions before I give you the grand tour of your new home?"

  "Yeah," I said. "What's with all the smoking hot babes?" I glanced at Reba. "No offense."

  Reba shrugged. "None taken. You're right, they are smoking hot."

  Digby's brow wrinkled. "I selected each young woman personally. You don't like smoking hot babes?"

  "I didn't say that. I guess I'm just surprised. Is this how all billionaires live?"

  Digby chuckled. "Absolutely not. Your father had very particular preferences in regards to certain members of his staff. I assumed you'd have similar tastes. That said if you'd prefer me to dismiss them and hire other people I'll--"

  "No, no, no," Wendell said, jumping in. "He loves them." Wendall looked at me with pleading eyes. "Matt, tell him you love them. Please."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Because Dr. Kazue and Reba were already familiar with the mansion, there was no need for them to tag along on Digby's promised tour. Instead, the doctor went straight to his suite to take a nap, while Reba attended to what she called 'pressing business.' That left only Wendell and me to trail behind the giant lawyer as he guided us through the massive house.

  Despite bypassing several rooms, the tour took the better part of an hour. The mansion was just as fabulous inside as it was out. There were thirteen bedrooms, sixteen bathrooms, two kitchens, two studies, a full library, a game room, an indoor pool, a full gym including a sauna, a home theater that seats fifty, an extensive wine cellar, and a ten bay garage housing some of the rarest and most expensive automobiles in the world.

  The tour included the cavernous master bedroom with a picture window that looked out over the Pacific. The custom made bed was round and enormous, with a massive golden Z for a headboard.

  Wendell selected a bedroom directly across the hall from mine. Instead of a view of the sea, his windows overlooked the entire estate. Wendell said he preferred the inland view because looking out at the endless ocean made him a bit queasy.

  The highlight of the tour was a room Digby simply called the collection. In a house filled with large rooms, this windowless room was exceptionally spacious. Tall illuminated glass display cabinets lined the walls, each filled with a different collection of objects. One cabinet contained vintage baseball cards. Another, porcelain figurines. Yet another, pinned butterflies. There seemed to be no unifying theme, just an elegantly presented hodgepodge of neat stuff. Vintage comic books, vases, wind-up toys, ancient coins, old toy trains, salt and pepper shakers, and dozens more. Also, the value of the individual collections varied greatly. One cabinet contained priceless Faberge eggs, while another featured McDonald's Happy Meal toys.

  While Wendell and I had fun exploring the room, I found it all a bit mystifying until Digby explained everything with a single sentence.

  "No single passion could ever satisfy Max, so he became a collector of collections."

  Suddenly it all made sense. My father didn't acquire all of these objects individually, instead, he sought out and purchased whatever private collection caught his fancy. Truly, a hobby only a billionaire could afford.

  Digby was about to lead us out when I noticed an unmarked steel door nestled between the display case of vintage handcuffs and the case with old lunchboxes. There appeared to be a palm-print scanner beside the door, but I wasn't sure because I'd never seen one in real life.

  "Hold on," I said pointing. "What's in that room?"

  Digby made a face at the mysterious door. "Hmmm. Unfortunately, I don't have the key for that door on me. Sorry." He glanced at his watch. "We should get back to my office. I need you to sign some papers." He opened the door and held it open. "After you."

  "Hold on," I said. "You didn't tell us what's inside there."

  "Oh, this and that. Nothing to get worked up about." He rechecked his watch, then, "We really should get those papers signed."

  My eyes narrowed. "Mr. Digby, why do I get the feeling you're trying to hide something?"

  Digby sighed. "Because I am. Mathew, you're not ready for what's inside that room. Everything here is yours, and you have every right to see whatever you want, but I ask you, on this one thing trust me. I promise you'll see what's in there when the time is right. Okay?"

  Digby's little speech had the effect of making even more curious. But I could see the sincerity in his eyes, as well as the concern. Out of respect for the man who safeguarded my birthright for decades I decided to do as he asked.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll wait."

  "What?" Wendell said. "Dude, come on. That's all I'm going to think about now."

  "Really?" I said. "Even with all those hot French maids roaming the house?"

  Wendell recovered immediately. He slapped me on the shoulder. "My friend, you make a very good point."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Digby's office might have been the smallest room in the mansion, which seemed absurd considering his height. Despite the lack of square footage the space was impeccably organized, crucial for a man charged with overseeing, what I would soon learn, was one of the biggest conglomerates in the world.

  In typical Wendell style, he rudely questioned Digby about the size of his office and received a surprising response.

  "If you combine all the offices I have around the world," Digby said, "the square footage would surpass the size of a sports arena."

  I had no idea if this was true or not, but it certainly shut Wendell up.

  The walls of Digby's office were decorated with framed law degrees, various commendations, and countless photographs of Digby towering over prominent businesspeople, celebrities, and politicians. Clearly being the lawyer of an influential man, came with a level of influence all its own.

  Reba's characterization of the amount of paperwork awaiting me was only a slight exaggeration. As I sa
t down at Digby's desk, he pulled out two boxfuls of documents that required my signature. Digby explained that most involved ownership transfers of various properties and business assets located in every corner of the globe. It was literally impossible for me to read and understand it all, so I just had to take the lawyer's word for it. Reginald Digby had searched for me for ten long years, all the while keeping my birthright, not only intact but profitable. As far as I was concerned that was more than enough reason to trust him.

  About ninety minutes and three pens later, I signed the final document.

  "Congratulations," Digby said, shaking my hand. "Now it's all official. The Zillion empire is yours."

  "Finally!" Wendell exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. "Now it's time to celebrate. I say we throw a party. And not just any party. I'm talking about a once in a lifetime blowout worthy of the youngest billionaire in the world." Wendell clasped his hands together in prayer. "Matt, you gotta do it. Please."

  Oddly, the idea of celebrating my good fortune never even occurred to me. And although I wasn't really a party person, inheriting billions of dollars out of the blue did seem to demand some sort of ceremony. I was about to blow Wendell's mind by agreeing with him when I spotted a photograph on Digby's wall that I failed to notice earlier.

  I rose from my seat for a closer look.

  It was a faded color photo of Max and Racine Zillion posing with their newborn baby boy.

  It was a photo of me.

  My adopted parents had several baby photos of me. Photos I've stared at maybe a hundred times. The infant in those photos was the same infant in the arms of the billionaire couple.

  That was really me.

  The longer I stared at the photo, the more unbelievable and surreal it became. Seeing my infant self in the arms of two people who were essentially strangers was like an out of body experience.

  Noticing my reaction, Digby laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, "That was taken about two weeks after you were born. It was the happiest time of your parents' life."

  Peering at the photo over my shoulder, Wendell said, "Dude, I totally see the resemblance between you and your dad. You two could be brothers, except he would be the handsomer brother."

  Wendell was right. We looked to be about the same height, and there was definitely a facial resemblance, but Max Zillion was strikingly handsome. Instead of a billionaire businessman, he could've been a male model or even a movie star.

  "Married or not," Wendell said, "my man Max looks like he could've out-playboyed Hugh Hefner."

  Digby laughed. "He absolutely could... and did. Max Zillion was a notorious ladies man."

  I looked at Digby. "Are you saying he cheated on my mother?"

  "Oh, no. Absolutely not. Mathew, please don't take this the wrong way, but your mother was more of a ladies man than your father, if you get my meaning. Max and Racine shamelessly loved sex, with each other as well as with a variety of beautiful women. They truly knew how to enjoy life."

  "Hey," Wendell said. "That explains the French maids. Max and Racine must've had a ball with them."

  Digby's response surprised me. "Yes indeed," he said with a knowing smile. "It was a different group of french maids of course, but you are correct. The Zillions kept their housekeeping staff busy in more ways than one."

  "Wait a second," I said. "Are you saying my parents regularly had sex with the help?"

  "Not all the help, just the French maids. After all, that's what they were there for. Besides their cleaning chores, of course."

  "That's crazy," I said. "That sounds like really risky behavior for a billionaire."

  Digby's brow furrowed. "How so?"

  "Are you kidding? You're the lawyer. Weren't they afraid of sexual harassment lawsuits?"

  "Of course not," Digby said. "Machines can't sue human beings. At least not yet."

  Wendell and I exchanged puzzled looks.

  Digby chuckled at our reaction. "Hold on. I'm sorry. Reba had informed me that you both received massages from Topaz, so I simply assumed you both knew."

  "Knew what?" I said. "What exactly are you saying?"

  Digby paused, considering how best to explain. He frowned. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. Topaz and the French maids... they're not living, breathing people like we are. They're androids."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Believe me, I know how it sounds," Digby said, as he sat down behind his desk. "But they really are androids, AKA Babeboids. That's the brand name given to them by Z-Technologies."

  I shook my head as if I could fling off confusion. "Z-Technologies? Androids? Babeboids? What are you talking about?"

  "Yeah," Wendell said. "What the hell you been smoking, dude?"

  Digby motioned for us to take a seat, then he continued. "Z-Technologies is a cutting edge research and development company owned by Zillion Worldwide. "Babeboids were designed and manufactured by Z-Tech to be the ultimate sex toy... as well as handle minor chores around the house. In fact, it was your father's pet project. Max was determined to create a convincing yet relatively affordable substitute sex partner, for both men and women. If successful, he believed he'd have the most profitable business in the world. Even after Max's death, refinements to the technology have continued. If Max were alive today to see how life-like Babeboids have become, as you both can attest to, he'd be ecstatic."

  For a moment I just stared at Digby. I felt as if I were in another dimension. I had a conversation with Topaz. I touched Topaz. She was warm, and soft, and alive. Topaz was as real to me then, as Digby was now, with one key difference. The words coming out of Digby's mouth didn't jibe with reality.

  "Just to be clear," I said, "You're saying the girl who massaged me on the Silver Lining, and the French maids I met earlier were all robots?"

  "Yes. But like I said we don't call them robots or androids or cyborgs. We call them Babeboids. We own the trademark."

  "No fucking way," Wendell said. "That's impossible. I'm a total tech head. If technology liked that existed, I would've heard about it."

  "Not necessarily," Digby said. "Let's just say the science involved is not available to the public."

  "Wait," I said. "Are you saying these sex robots are top secret government technology?"

  Digby thought a moment, then shook his head and sighed. "I've said too much already. Mathew, once again I find myself appealing for your patience. There's a lot you need to learn about all you've inherited and the extraordinary implications. To start with this particular topic would be, to say the very least, overwhelming. If it's okay with you, I'd like to put a pin in it for now."

  Was it possible Digby's wild robot story was somehow connected to that mysterious door in the collection room? Once again the lawyer's secretiveness served only to amp up my curiosity. I knew I could easily order Digby to tell me everything, but I didn't want to begin our relationship so contentiously. And it was also Digby's eyes. They looked exactly the same when I questioned him about that door.

  Nervous.

  And seeing Digby nervous made me nervous as well.

  "Sure," I said to Digby. "Whatever you think is best."

  Digby nodded. "Thank you for trusting me."

  "Hold up," Wendell said. "So we're just going to take his word for it that those girls are super robots. Seriously?"

  "Oh, there's no need to take my word for it," Digby said. "It's easy enough to prove." With that, he picked up his desk phone and requested that someone named Amber be sent to his office.

  I instantly recalled Topaz mentioning she had a sister named Amber. Then I remembered Topaz's hands. The way they seemed to vibrate and how they felt unnaturally warm.

  Could Digby be telling the truth?

  Soft knocking interrupted my thoughts. Digby rose and opened the door, allowing a young brunette girl with amber eyes to step into the office. Like the other maids, Amber wore a black, short-skirted French maid's uniform, with a diamond choker around her neck. She was busty with an amazingly pro
portioned ass, and she smelled like a mix of vanilla and roses. Just looking at Amber made my cock stir.

  Flashing a perfect smile, she said to the lawyer, "Hello, Mr. Digby. You called for a massage?"

  Digby stepped directly in front of her and very slowly said, "Amber, listen carefully. Access code Z-10."

  Then something crazy happened.

  Amber suddenly stood perfectly erect, closed her eyes, and froze. She looked more like a mannequin than a human being.

  Wendell laughed and said to Digby, "You're really taking this prank pretty far. Did you two rehearse this?"

  Next Digby said to Amber, "Disengage."

  Then something even crazier happened.

  Amber's head pivoted ninety degrees and stopped with an audible CLICK. Digby then took hold of her skull and lifted straight up. The was another CLICK as a seam hidden beneath the diamond choker parted, and Amber's head came away from her body.

  "HOLY SHIT!" Wendell said, jumping back out of his seat.

  Before I could fully react Digby handed me Amber's head. It was lighter than it looked and warm to the touch. At the base of the neck, instead of gushing blood, I stared at some sort of stainless steel interlocking geared plate.

  But her head felt so real.

  Digby said to me, "You're holding robotic and artificial intelligence technology decades in advance of anything out there. And you own it." With that Digby took back the head, returned it to Amber's neck and said, "Access code Z-13."

  The head pivoted forward and CLICKED into place. An instant later Amber blinked and came back to life wearing a big smile. "Hello, Mr. Digby," she said again. "You requested a massage?"

  "Sorry," Digby replied. "I've changed my mind."

  "Too bad," Amber said with pouty red lips. "Perhaps another time. Goodbye."

  Wendell and I stared as Amber exited the room.

  Wearing a self-satisfied smile, Digby retook his seat behind his desk and waited.