by Megan Hart
Each booth’s door was made of slightly tinted plazglass. It was easy to see which ones were occupied. Inside each booth, padded armrests and neck supports, along with a three-pronged recharging stud made up the entire contents of each booth. The bots simply stepped inside, attached their USB ports to the outlet, got comfortable, and recharged. It was the closest thing to sleep they experienced.
Checking each booth wouldn’t be difficult, but it would be time consuming. We decided to split up. A bot recharging in a booth isn’t able to easily escape. Eddie took the first two corridors.
The first two booths I checked were empty but for the faint scent of ozone. The next had a blonde occupant. She smiled at me as I peered in. No sign of a quiver, thank the astros.
The next was a brunette, also a PSSN but probably an F-07 instead of an 03. Still, her features at a casual glance could’ve passed for Relava’s, at least through the tinted plazglass. I thumbed the door release, and it slid open with click. The bot’s eyes hadn’t been closed, merely unfocused. Now she blinked. And smiled.
“Hi.”
I showed her my badge. “I’m looking for a PSSN-F-03, street name Relava.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know her?”
A shake of the head. Perfect lips pursed. “Sorry. No.”
This close, I could see this wasn’t the bot I was looking for. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Okay.”
The door slid closed, and I moved on down the corridor. None of the bots in my two halls were Relava. One said she might have seen her earlier today. Another had ménaged with her at a local Lovehut the night before.
“Was she showing any sign of malfunctioning ignition?”
The TITS-777 I was interviewing swiped a tongue along her lips. “Nothing that bothered our client.”
“But she was malfunctioning.”
The TITS, whose street name was Shaedo, didn’t answer for a moment. “She was an older model. Yeah, she could’ve used some upkeep, sure. Who can’t?” She gestured to her own perfect body. “Some of us take more pride than others. Some of us are just better made.”
There’s a definite caste system among Pleasurebots, understandable only to themselves. While regular citizens might have their preferences with models and physiques, one Pleasurebot tends to be treated the same as any other. Among the bots themselves, it’s a different story. The smarter ones look down on those with less installed RAM. The ones with specialty features like anti-grav, removable limbs or additional inputs roll their eyes at more conventional bots. I guess everyone needs something to feel superior about.
I noticed a telltale dark spot on Shaedo’s otherwise perfect inner thigh. “You do realize that I am also authorized to detain and inspect bots I suspect might be renegade for any reason—not just malfunction?”
She probably couldn’t be scared, but my veiled threat had made her a little nervous, at least. Her fingers, tipped with nails the color of platinum, fluttered near her thigh but didn’t touch the dark spot. “I know that.”
I looked very deliberately at the discoloration, which could’ve hidden a private ownership mark—or not. “For instance, bots who jumped the private sector before their contracts were up. If I asked you to show me your ID unit, Shaedo, what would it say?”
She lifted her chin. “Relava nearly blew a gasket last night, okay? But the client was ready for her. He had special equipment, so when she went into clenchdown he wasn’t caught.”
Special equipment. It could be something as simple as a latex sheath, something like the condoms men used to use, that would let the client’s cock slip free of Relava’s clenching muscles. There were other things too. It didn’t really matter.
“He hired her knowing she was malfunctioning?”
Shaedo shrugged. “Paid us both twice the hourly fees to keep our mouths shut.” Her fingers fluttered over the dark spot again. “Don’t ask me to tell you who he was.”
“I’m more concerned about finding Relava. She’s going to hurt someone if she doesn’t get repaired soon.”
Shaedo already knew the worst. “She’s too far gone for that. Unless somebody buys her for themselves, she’s going Oldcity or Offworld. And she knows it too.”
A bot who knew her future would be even more desperate. “See you around.”
Shaedo licked her lips and gave me a sultry stare. “I hope so.”
I ignored her flirtation. She couldn’t help it. It was her programming. I couldn’t be flattered or offended by it.
Eddie hadn’t had any luck with finding Relava, though he’d met up with a bot who had seen her earlier today at the Lovehut we’d detained her in. That was the closest we’d come. With twelve other kennels to search in this District alone, we needed to get on the move.
Kennels are divided into three types: convents, monasteries and dual gender facilities. As their names implied, some housed only female bots, some only male, and some both. It was unlikely we’d find Relava in any of the monastery kennels. At least that would cut out some of the work.
“Where to next?”
“Whiteknee’s.” Eddie named the second biggest kennel in this District.
Luckily for me, we could take a pedtread, not a hovertaxi. We hopped a tread and reached Whiteknee’s in about ten minutes.
We had no better luck there. It had the same layout as Brenda Kitten’s, but all the bots we checked there hadn’t seen Relava recently. Most claimed to never have seen her at all.
“We’re getting colder,” Eddie said, outside the kennel. His stomach rumbled. “I’m starving. Rando’s going to have our asses if we don’t find her before next shift.”
My stomach growled too. “We’re in the right District. I can sense it. It’s out of character for a bot to go to ground too far from her registered home District.”
“Call up the map, G.”
“This is why you love working with me, isn’t it?” I grumbled, but pressed the spot on my temple that activated my internal downloads.
“No, I love working with you because you can get a bot off in under three minutes,” Eddie said. “You boost my productivity ranking.”
I had to laugh. The holomap streaming from my eye sockets jiggled for a minute. “Shut up. You’ll make me fritz the map.”
Eddie stabbed the air in front of the map. “Here we are. There are thirteen kennels in this District. Four monks, four nuns and three orgies.”
The map was complete and updated every four seconds. It flickered as we watched, then renewed power. We appeared as two glowing blue specks on the darker gray of a sidewalk. Whiteknee’s glowed a faint red. I blinked twice, hard, and shifted the view toward the next closest kennel.
“K.C. Rogers’ Kinkhouse. Think she might have gone there?”
Eddie nodded. “Most of the other bots we interviewed said they’d ménaged with her, so we know she’s available for other than just vanilla pairings.”
I tapped my temple again and brought up the Kinkhouse specs. “It’s also registered as having a larger repair and maintenance facility.”
“It caters to the rough trade. If she’s going to attempt a self-repair, that’s a likely spot. Let’s move on it.”
The crowds cleared out of our way as we got closer to K.C. Rogers’, which was funny to watch since the people in that area looked a hell of a lot scarier than either Eddie or I. It’s interesting to see how our uniforms make even the baddest of black vinyl clad and piercing-riddled citizens give us wide berth. It proves the Ruling Council right on at least one count—intimidation and the threat of swift and harsh punishment is a better deterrent against crime than weapons could ever be.
I’d rarely come to this part of Newcity before. Bots that service the rough trade are used so hard they don’t usually last long enough to become a problem. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the sorts of acts that went on in this part of town, though. SMBD is not my personal preference, and as an officer it was unlikely I’d ever have to participate in anything like that dur
ing an inspection, but I’d been trained in all of them just the same.
Even the Lovehuts in this part of the District reflected the taste of their clientele. More viddy screens showed hard-core sex videos than sporting events, and the drugs listed on the sidewalk menu boards included some of the heavier, more potent cocktails. Not for the beginner. That stuff would knock you on your ass for a week if you weren’t used to it. Painkillers, pain enhancers, muscle relaxants and paralyzers—a veritable cornucopia of chemicals to make your body do things it normally didn’t want to.
“Up there.” Eddie pointed to the discreet silver and black lettered sign hanging over the Kinkhouse door. The house symbol was a black stiletto pump, outlined in bands of pulsing silver. Pretty classy, compared to some I’ve seen.
Once inside, I could see why. The Kinkhouse proprietor was as classy and sleek as her sign. Long sheaves of brown hair fell past her shoulders. She dressed simply, in a form-fitting gown of black artisilk and shoes that matched the sign outside. If our appearance stunned or unnerved her, she showed no sign of it.
“Good evening, officers,” she said in a pleasant contralto voice. “How may I be of service tonight?”
“We’re looking for a bot.”
Her gaze flickered toward Eddie, and her subtly painted lips hinted at a smile. “My kennel houses some of the best in Newcity.”
“We’re here on business. Not pleasure.”
Now she turned her gaze on me. “Of course. How may I help?”
Eddie showed her Relava’s holophoto. K.C. looked at it with narrowed eyes, then shrugged.
“I don’t recognize her, I’m afraid. She might not be one of my regulars.”
“But she could’ve come here. She’s registered in this District.” I watched her carefully for signs she might be sheltering Relava, but saw none.
K.C. nodded. “I assume she’s been having…problems?”
“Malfunctioning ignition. She ran from us when we tried to take her in for repairs.” Eddie seemed entranced by K.C.’s cool gaze and calm demeanor.
“I see.” K.C. tapped slim fingers on her counter. “A bot like that could be very dangerous.”
“We’d appreciate access to the kennel,” I told her.
Again, she nodded. “You realize, of course, that a bot with that propensity for danger would likely be highly prized in this part of the District. It’s probable she’s engaged in congress right now.”
“If she’s not recharging we suspect she might be attempting self-repair of the malfunction.” I put my hand, not as subtly as Ms. Rogers, on my stunner.
“Of course.” She pressed a button and the door behind her slid open smoothly. “Be my guest.”
The communal area was done in the same silver and black décor as the lobby. Racks and baskets of vinyl and plaz accessories dominated the space. All manner of Pleasurebots, including the relatively rare VCTM models, prepared themselves for the evening.
“Haven’t seen one of those in a while,” Eddie said with a nod toward one of the VCTMs.
She had slash marks all over her naked breasts and belly. Unlike some of the other models, who were busy repairing the minor blemishes their violent activities created, the VCTM was only patting on thin layers of plazskin over her wounds. Any amount of pressure on the slashes would reopen the cuts immediately—which was just the effect she wanted.
She glanced at us from mismatched eyes, a sign she’d been through some heavy action that had required some repairs more major than the ones she was making now. She was exactly the sort of bot whose clients might seek out a damaged PSSN model.
“We’re looking for a PSSN-F-03, street name Relava.” I showed her the holo.
She spoke in a voice like grated glass. “I don’t work with regular bots.”
Despite what most people might think, the VCTM models are actually among the most intelligent. They have to be. Dumb bots putting themselves in situations where they’re caused constant physical harm as part of some citizen’s sexual thrills would be destroyed so fast it wouldn’t be worth constructing them.
“She’s got a damaged ignition.”
“Well, that changes things.” She gave the holo another look. Her flat gaze took in the picture, and then she nodded. “I’ve seen her.”
People expect Ops to be taciturn and steadfast all the time, but when we get a break we get just as excited as anybody else. I maintained my composure better than Eddie, who let out a long, hissing “yesss!” The VCTM gave him a jaded glance that reminded me how much some of these models are really like women.
She pulled a complicated contraption of spikes and vinyl from a rack and looked at it for a moment before slipping it over her breasts. The spikes, instead of pointing outward, dug into her skin. She didn’t flinch.
Intelligent or not, she obviously still needed leading. “Where did you see her?”
Luck had finally caught up with us. She jerked her head toward one of the corridors. “She was recharging back there a while ago.”
Sometimes, my instincts scare even myself. Before I even turned, I knew Relava had entered the dressing room. The quiver had become so pronounced, her high heels chattered on the floor.
There’s not much loyalty among bots. The ones gathered in dressing room scattered like rats startled by the light of a hovertaxi. Relava didn’t waste any time. She shot through the room, shoving the VCTM model aside with one arm, and barreled through the room at top speed.
Eddie was quick, but I’m just faster. Relava flew past him. Her eyes met mine for one startled minute, and then she was past me too. I whirled in place and followed.
She pushed through the doors and into the lobby, and I was close enough on her heels to smell the stench of ozone that clung to her like bad perfume. I swiped a hand at my stunner, but she put on an extra burst of speed as we rounded the edge of the desk and I couldn’t get close enough to reach her.
In another moment, she hit the street. The plazglass doors cracked behind us, but we kept going. Relava lurched through the crowd, which had become larger as night fell.
I switched easily into hyperdrive with nothing more than a mental push. The muscles and tendons in my legs took energy from organs getting less use at the moment, like intestines and kidneys. My lungs expanded the additional fraction that allowed me to take in extra air. I pushed off from the pavement. I’m not truly able to fly, but in those moments of hyperdrive, it’s as close as any person can ever get. My hand swiped at her and caught the trailing strands of her dark hair. My fingers tangled, and she stumbled.
It wasn’t quite enough to stop her. She kept going for another few feet, right into the path of traffic. The hovertaxi screeched to a stop, but not soon enough. The vehicle struck her, hard, in the midsection.
Her torso split, and her limbs separated from her body. Her head rolled along the ground. She was still smiling.
Blue sparks arced for a moment between the sad, scattered pieces of her body before fizzling to black smoke. A finger twitched, and one eye closed. As quickly as that, she was deactivated.
“God-of-choice, I hate doing a Blade Runner,” I muttered. My stomach twisted.
The crowd didn’t pause to gawk. The hovertaxi driver got out and inspected the front of his undamaged vehicle, asked me if he needed to stick around, and cursed when I told him he’d have to fill out some paperwork.
Eddie appeared with a tarp from inside, and we waited until a cleanup crew arrived to pick up the pieces. That and the inevitable forms we had to fill out took a good part of an hour, and by that time, darkness had fallen over this part of the District.
Eddie clapped a hand to his stomach. “I’m starving.”
Relava’s flight and demise had stolen my appetite. “Let’s call it a day.”
“Hey, G,” Eddie said with a glance at his timepiece. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”
The world seemed to stand still for a moment. I checked my internal clock. “Oh, no.”
I’d forgotten all about
Declan.
Chapter Eight
It was too much to hope he’d waited for me. Torn between wanting to shower and change or rush straight to the park, I opted for the latter. The park was dark when I got there, the show long over, and even the last lingering lovers had disappeared to other pursuits.
I gripped the metal fence with fingers gone numb with disappointment. Even though I scanned the grounds of the small area with my night vision, I knew I wouldn’t register Declan. I forced my spine to stiffen. There was no sense in falling to pieces.
Newcity never sleeps, but I’d never longed for empty streets and dark alleys more than I did now. I didn’t want to mingle in the groups of citizens heading for their evening’s entertainment. I only wanted to go home, get undressed and wash away my frustration beneath a stinging hot shower, synthetic water or not.
The minute the door to my apartment slid open, Kaelyn fluttered up to me. “My Gemma looks tired.”
“I am tired, Kaelyn.”
She cocked her head to look at me. “I programmed the steam shower for my Gemma.”
I grasped her slight arms and kissed her cheek. “You are a treasure.”
Her face pinked with pleasure. “My Gemma looks sad too.”
“Did…did anyone call for me here tonight, Kaelyn?”
Her fine features crumpled in concentration. “No.”
I hadn’t thought another surge of disappointment could fill me at her answer, since I’d expected it, but my already low spirits sunk further anyway. I couldn’t be surprised. Declan probably thought I’d stood him up. Why would he have bothered to call me?
I put my soiled uniform in the disposal unit and paused at the interdomicile supply port to order another for the next day. The viddy display showed Kaelyn had already taken care of it for me. I wasn’t exaggerating when I called her a treasure.