The Autumn Engagement

by Stephen Cote

Part 3: Meeting The Ex At The Synthetic Party

  As the chauffeur steered the hovering limousine through the front gate leading to the Welch estate, Janus realized how unprepared he was for the evening. His date, a Transynth Series Two, appeared woefully outdated, and Janus could not keep his mind off the myriad details that made an evening successful. Even its clothes hadn’t been in style for over a year. He wondered whether Victor intentionally requested his services only to meet with failure, or if Victor himself had fallen out of touch with contemporary vices.

  The chauffeur announced, "The Welch estate, sir." She tossed in a smirk at no additional charge.

  "Yeah," Janus muttered. He tugged at his chin with his thumb and index finger, then sat back in the seat and made no effort to open the door.

  "Having seconds thoughts?"

  He shook his head. "I’m probably the only one here who has to be." His date, having already been given explicit instructions to remain quiet, continued to do so.

  "It’s won’t be that bad," the chauffeur offered.

  Janus raised an eyebrow. "My presence with this," he gestured at the Series Two, "Will be a laughing stock."

  "Then chop it," the chauffeur said. She motioned to a patch of shadow on the side of the mansion. "See that woman?"

  Janus squinted. He watched the woman wrestle with the lower anatomy of her date. She dropped something in the bushes and then returned to the house.

  "Five-to-one odds she just dropped a Patterson Pro-Performa."

  "A … what?" he asked.

  "A dong," The driver said. "I bet she pitched a brand new Patterson Pro-Performa ball and socket set." She made a lewd gesture to articulate.

  "And you know this because," Janus prompted.

  "You must know what goes on here. People can’t walk around with spare parts all night. They get as far as the lobby, see what everyone else brought, and run to a secluded spot to change parts. And by my count so far," the driver rustled with several items on the front seat and held them up for Janus to see, "the ladies are not favoring the Patterson tonight. Although tossed aside, they are still in fashion. Even the Patterson is in its prime, so to speak."

  Janus looked at the handful of synthetic male genitals in the driver’s hands. As disgust swelled in his throat, clarity found its way through his moment of desperation. "And you keep all of the discarded items?"

  The chauffeur laughed and then drove the limousine away from the curb. They hovered to the back of the house, and the chauffeur hustled Janus to the service entrance.

  "You don't want to be seen back here, so we need to be quick."

  They walked through the kitchen and into a storage room filled with the latest synthetic parts and fashionable clothes. He bit his lower lip and looked at the chauffeur. "What would it take to let me run through here?"

  The chauffeur smiled and clapped his shoulder. "Courtesy of the host."

  "I don’t understand. Why?"

  She said, "The Series Two, I’m assuming by her frame, has the best chassis of any synthetic for hot-swapping parts. Its peripherals suck, but if I had to outfit someone with the best possible synthetic for a party like this, I’d send them along with a Series Two and have them raid the trash bin." He gestured towards the storage room, "So, with Mr. Welch’s best wishes."

  "Why didn’t you take me here directly?" Janus asked.

  The chauffeur shrugged. "I was instructed to let you make your own decision. Maybe because if you were a genuine fool, you would have deserved to walk through the front door as-is. Maybe you aren’t that stupid. I’ll be waiting for you outside." She turned to leave and touched a rack of evening gowns. "Something from here might look nice." And then she left.

  Janus spent several minutes sifting through assorted appendages before he remembered that he was out of touch with recent fashion. He hurried back to the kitchen, where panoramic displays of the party lined the tiled wall, and watched the women for several moments. It took him a while to discern the real women from the synthetics, and then some minutes longer to identify the common fashions. When he returned to the storeroom, he validated the rack the chauffeur had selected to contain the best options.

  Janus hurried out the back of the mansion with an armful of replacement parts and a long evening gown draped over his shoulder. The chauffeur held open the limousine door. Helping him into the backseat she said, "Amazing what people throw away."

  Janus spread the armload of materials over the seat. He told the synthetic, "Change your chest, posterior, thigh buffers, shoulder slats, lower jaw, and ears."

  As his date silently upgraded herself, Janus wondered how he could identify a person on a shoestring collection of facts. "Any recommendations on finding a particular person in a party like this?"

  "Does the person have a name?" The chauffeur asked.

  Janus shook his head. "I need to ferret them out."

  The chauffeur shrugged. "It would help if you could identify what you are looking for."

  Janus nodded. "Someone who doesn’t think highly of your employer." He set the evening gown in the synthetic’s lap. "Put this on."

  "You ready?" When Janus nodded, the chauffeur started the vehicle. "It sounds like you’re looking for someone who doesn’t belong here."

  Janus raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

  "These parties cater to the elite. They are for people who use wealth to define their lives." The chauffeur let out a deep laugh. "The staff discusses such things at length during these events. Maybe look for the couple that doesn’t belong."

  "But I’m only looking for one person," he said.

  "Right, but since this is a synthetic party, everyone has a date. And part of the climate is that every person is suitably matched."

  Janus glanced at the synthetic at his side, and then looked at the road ahead. "That’s certainly one thing to look for." The suggestion didn’t quite gel: Finding the right person wouldn't be as simple as finding the out-of-place couple. "Baseball," he whispered. He smiled and directed the chauffeur to let him off near the front gate.

  When the limousine stopped, Janus escorted the synthetic to the walk and strolled slowly towards the front door, giving everyone outdoors the opportunity to see his arrival. It also gave him a moment to practice his social graces. He drew the synthetic’s arm close to his and gripped the ceramic-textured fabric. It was the first time he had touched her, and her skin felt more human than he had anticipated. She responded, as expected, with a curt smile.

  "Track conversation," he prompted, using a high-level instruction for natural robot programming.

  The synthetic asked in a whisper, "Topic?"

  "Baseball. Kinetic energy. Diamonds." He spoke softly as he escorted her up a large marble staircase.

  Janus paraded the synthetic through the foyer, feeling nervous with so many eyes cast his direction. He offered a subtle nod when they passed another couple. Perfectly matched couples strolled, danced, and dined. They looked proverbial, made in heaven. A sham on a magnificent scale. Did everyone really buy into it?

  He readily identified several national league players who had either forgotten him or chose to ignore him. I'd do the same thing. He guided the synthetic to the ballroom, but she balked and thrust her cheek towards an expansive hall.

  Giving the ballroom a quick surveillance, Janus guessed he would have wasted time. Couples seemed more inclined to parade than converse, and he didn’t think the person of interest would be there. Apparently, the synthetic had come to the same conclusion. As he turned to escort the synthetic in the suggested direction, he noticed Victor Welch in the ballroom. It wasn’t the mere presence of the large man that caught his attention, but his escort: an equally obese woman. Individually, both were very unpleasant to look at. However, as a couple, the match was impeccable. Janus walked from the ballroom with a vague feeling of amusement tugging the corners of his mouth into a slight smile. Briefly, he wondered if Victor Welch’s date was a synthetic. He had always assumed the luxu
ry synthetic models would be slim and attractive.

  The overall mood of the party changed as he entered the large hall, replete with library and sitting area. The partygoers appeared to relax from the charade; some dismissed their synthetic dates to the wall. Those that did so were given cautionary stares from the other couples.

  "Partial match," the synthetic whispered into his ear. "Baseball and diamond mines. The two couples by the hearth."

  Janus approached the hearth when a familiar voice caught him off-guard.

  "Well, if this isn’t Janus Franko, it certainly is a passable copy."

  Janus swallowed and produced a curt smile. "Priscilla." He scanned either side of his ex-wife for her escort, and then took in the site of the finely tailored mannequin accompanying her.

  "I didn’t expect to see you here," she whispered and flashed a cutting smile. "I didn’t think this would be your scene."

  "Well," Janus said at conversational volume and looked away from her, "I’ve been enjoying myself so far." Pressured by time, Pricilla's arrival invited the potential for a protracted and unpleasant conversation. The memory of her company overcame him and he struggled to remain composed.

  "I didn’t know you were playing again." Priscilla slipped her arm around her escort’s waist. "At least, I haven’t heard anything."

  "I’ve had other pursuits occupying my time," he lied. "And you? I thought you hated these events?"

  "When it was fashionable to hate them," she said, and sized him over without bothering to pretend she was doing otherwise. "How is your game?" Her eyes wandered across his chest and waist as she spoke.

  Janus pursed his lips, ready with a curse, when his synthetic slipped her arm around his elbow, nuzzled his jaw with the tip of her nose, and asked, "You weren’t privy to know he was back?"

  Janus felt smug with his synthetic’s response.

  Priscilla’s face flushed, not expecting a response from his synthetic date. She laughed gaily. "Oh, yes. I’m quite sure he is back. Minor League is it?"

  "Playing for local disputes, are we?" Priscilla’s beau added.

  Again, before Janus could respond, his synthetic raised her arm and she touched a fingertip to Priscilla’s synthetic’s chest in a playful gesture. "Oh, stop! You are such a comedian." She withdrew her hand and patted Janus on the chest. "The voter-approved initiative passed a few months ago would make that illegal."

  Priscilla gaped, glared at Janus' synthetic.

  It took Janus a moment to realize what had transpired. In a few terse statements, his synthetic socially trounced Priscilla and her date by demonstrating neither were well learned in current events. His synthetic's astute observation surprised him.

  Then, he remembered a social grace and smiled apologetically. It wasn’t good form to leave another couple on a sour note. He took his synthetic’s hand and walked away. As he passed Priscilla, he remarked, "You have chosen a suitable match."

  When they were out of earshot, his synthetic whispered, "Ouch. Nice parting shot, while maintaining acceptable decorum."

  "Thanks," Janus said, and started to feel better.

  The couple Janus intended to investigate had moved during his interlude with Priscilla, so he continued walking through the library to the far end of the hall. As they approached a secluded section of the library, Janus made a subtle gesture directing the synthetic to sit. He sat beside her, took her hand in his, and kissed the backs of her fingers. Etiquette dictated he treat the synthetic as an actual person, a romantic interest. As he acted and kissed her hand, he whispered, "I thought you were a Transynth Series Two. But you proved me wrong. What is your model?"

  His synthetic offered a softened smile and touched his cheek when he kissed her fingers. Contrary to his instruction to sit, she stood and said, "Continue with your original assumption. However, you may refer to me by name." Her eyes twinkled; another sign her design eclipsed the Transynth series. "Anastasia."

  Janus stood. "Anastasia. Alright." He thought for a moment, "I’m starting to feel led astray, that you …" but he stopped when she raise her finger to his lips.

  "I am a synthetic, if that was to be your question. You watched me strip myself down." She turned and glanced towards the foyer. "Was that a former girlfriend?"

  Janus nodded. "Yeah."

  Anastasia snaked her arm around his waist and gave him a gentle hug. "Don’t fret."

  "She’s a deceitful …" As he spoke, Anastasia’s tongue flicked over her lips and he didn’t hear himself cuss.

  "White noise," she explained. "Don’t swear." She continued providing a supportive hug. "She plays the beauty queen, but her age precludes the role."

  "She’s not that old," Janus said.

  She raised an eyebrow. "She may appear in her twenties, but her skin condition reveals her closer to fifty."

  Janus shivered, but then, to his surprise, found little concern for Priscilla. He reconsidered his approach. "It would take a lot of resources to fix a baseball game. Anyone responsible must be smart enough not to broach the topic in public."

  Anastasia nudged him and offered a warm, supportive smile. "Would you like to try a different tactic, other than baseball and diamonds?"

  He nodded. "Yes, but I’m not sure what. I noticed surveillance screens in the kitchen orientated on the food. If the kitchen is monitoring the food, I suppose Mr. Welch is watching most other areas as well. Do you have access to those feeds?"

  Anastasia’s smile brightened, and she nuzzled his cheek. Her playfulness became irksome since, after all, she followed a program. Nevertheless, she played the game well. Most synthetics he had encountered were not able to make such gestures. "I'll ask."

  "Yes," she said moments thereafter. "I do have access."

  "Then shall we dance while you read?" He smiled and even gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Since his synthetic socially trounced Priscilla, and now knowing he could simplify his search, Janus relaxed. He led Anastasia to the ballroom.

  Mid saunter, he asked, "Can you filter all the conversations for anyone using metaphors and a scholastic vocabulary? Elements that indicate education?" He patted her hand, nodding to several passing couples.

  Anastasia likewise nodded, and Janus noticed her neckline had plunged dramatically and the opacity of her gown diminished to be revealing. Anyone, everyone, could see she wore nothing beneath the dress. Embarrassed, Janus' cheeks flushed.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  She replied pleasantly, "You gave me a dress that is able to shift in spectrum and opacity. I’ve observed the other women are trending less conservative." She tipped her head to indicate one woman who appeared all but naked.

  Janus stopped at the ballroom entrance and Anastasia faced him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to be led onto the dance floor. "Janus," she said, "I’m aware of your dispassion for synthetics."

  "Wha…" he began, but she shook her head to silence him.

  "Parading about the sitting room and library is one thing, but on the dance floor you have to put aside your disdain and treat me like a real woman. You will have to try harder if you want others to consider us a perfect couple."

  He remained silent, chewed on his lip.

  "You have to touch me," she said. "You have to act like you are attracted to me."

  They started to dance, but Janus argued, "Is putting up this pretense necessary? You can access the security system. I don’t see how playing out this sick game will help. I’m here, and you can help. Why do we have to pretend?"

  Anastasia frowned and danced with him, but her movements were less fluid, more mechanical. "Is that all I am to you? Your robot?"

  "You’re on-loan," he said.

  "Real classy," she snapped and walked away.

  Janus followed her. Those he passed gave disapproving stares and his confidence dissipated. He walked through the hall, past the dining room, and onto the terrace.