S.H.A.Y.:
ALMOST Romance
ALMOST Series, Book One
A novella by Christina Leigh Pritchard
S.H.A.Y.: ALMOST ROMANCE
Copyright © 2016 by Christina Leigh Pritchard.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: August 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-765-4
ISBN-10: 1-68058-765-X
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This novella series is dedicated to Eric Holzschuh. You wanted to be forever remembered via fiction and well, you’ve made it—officially. I cannot guarantee satisfaction of character performance—after all, the E.R.I.C. is not really you…
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
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CHAPTER ONE
LOCATION:
Former Pigeon Key Research Center,
Florida Keys
YEAR: 2210
S.H.A.Y. SUBJECT #318
I’m not the first teenager of my kind. There have been 317 other S.H.A.Y.s prior to my existence. I’m nothing special—I’m not even of the same caliber as most of my predecessors. My favorite is S.H.A.Y. Subject #51.
S.H.A.Y. 51 created the very room I spent most of my time in. The scientists on this level agreed to give it to me, and it became my personal living quarters. The walls were made of glass and my space was submerged about two hundred feet under water. Inside, square, sleek, floating furniture surrounded Pop’s central console. The architecture was rounded with a flat, see-through bottom. The glass was self-cleaning, so algae and other plant life could not cover or corrode my “fish bowl”. Outside, aquatic creatures and plants encircled me. Manatees and even a few sharks swam past with schools of fish. Below, underneath my feet, I could see lobsters and an octopus. He was a burnt orange color and about five feet in span. Several yards away, there was a blurred image of another pod. It didn’t bother me. They couldn’t see me unless I wanted them to. I could enclose myself from it all with just two taps of my finger. The glass walls turned opaque and created a soundproof barrier.
I tapped my finger twice against the glass.
“Pop,” I said.
Electronic beeps filled my ears and lights raced along the ceiling as if they were miniature cars in a drag race. The lights ended at P.O.P.’s central console.
“Yes, Shay, I’m here.” Although at first Pop’s voice was monotone, bits of sarcasm filtered through.
“Do you have the archives for me?” I glanced at Pop’s holographic image. It could move about all throughout the research facility. His lights lined the halls and I was able to walk along with him almost everywhere I went. He was handsome, with big brown eyes and dark skin. His hair was shaved and he smiled in a forced manner.
“Which subject would you like to review first?” he asked, filling my room with subject numbers. They moved slowly above me like planets in rotation. Some twinkled like stars.
I surveyed the numbers that floated above my head. “This one,” I said, touching 49.
S.H.A.Y. 49 appeared before me as a three dimensional projection. My fingers cut through her holographic form. She resembled me (which is probably why I connected with her so easily) with her long, dark hair and olive skin. Her eyes sparkled with such intensity. Her legs were long like mine but her body was voluptuous—unlike mine. I’m just all legs with some packaging in my rear end.
“Evening Log, 6:15 PM; date, July 8, 2099,” S.H.A.Y. 49 said. “I’ve been eighteen for three days. P.O.P. and I have been removed from our living quarters and placed in an observatory lab. I’m surrounded by glass windows where various scientists stand peering in at me in what they call my ‘natural habitat’. I kind of feel like a giant monkey at those old school zoos banned three presidential terms ago. I’m starting to grow afraid of them. Maybe it’s just a case of paranoia setting in, especially since I’ve spoken to only P.O.P. for three days.”
Static ran through S.H.A.Y. 49’s midsection as easily as my fingers did.
“Men are coming.” S.H.A.Y. 49 knelt to the ground. Her face scrunched and she appeared frightened. “They’re on their way to get me. P.O.P.! What’s happening?”
Archive terminated.
“What’d you do that for?” I tried to grab number 49 before she disappeared from sight. “Turn that back on!”
“You’re too sensitive for what comes next,” Pop decided. “Please refrain from reviewing this log.”
I rolled my eyes, pacing before Pop’s console. His image followed me left to right and even as I turned to avoid looking at him. His forced smile appeared again and I couldn’t help but grin back at him. Most scientists didn’t quite understand my relationship with Pop. He really was like a father to me. I knew that forced smile was real and him being facetious. Sure, none of the other P.O.P. programs smiled or made jokes, but Pop was different from the very beginning. He fought his programming and claimed he did such things to further my growth. My heart jumped when I saw his racing lights fill my room each morning. I longed for days spent with just Pop. He taught me everything from academics to engineering. Pop knew everything—except how to kiss boo boos. That’s what Darla did. Pop did sing to me when I was afraid. He told me jokes that weren’t at all funny whenever I grew sad and he attempted to erase my insecurities with positive remarks.
“I don’t want to watch you cry again,” he said. “It causes interference in my circuitry.”
“Just say you love me and it hurts to see me sad.” I tried to step into his hologram. He disappeared, reappearing a few feet away.
“I am a program created to assist you to maturity as an intelligent human adult. I cannot have or feel emotions.” He turned his back to me. “I do not know what love is, my Shay.”
“Yes you do,” I whispered into his console. He glanced away. “You can’t ever convince me that you’re heartless, my Pop.”
“You must listen.” Pop’s screen darkened. “Listen, my Shay.”
“To which log?”
There was only one number that appeared above me. He always forced me to listen to S.H.A.Y. 317. She was the one before me. I got chills each time our eyes locked. It was as if I knew her once—or something.
S.H.A.Y. 317 appeared beside me. I turned my face away from her green eyes and red hair. Her arm pointed my way. I could see the freckles that covered her skin.
“Afternoon log; time is 1:12 PM and the date is March 1, 2190. Today, I found out what loss is.” S.H.A.Y. 317 sat, huddled in the corner, shaking. She motioned for her P.O.P. to zoom in on something. On the ground lay a dead woman; clearly she was 317’s
Optional Human Parent. A pool of blood ran from her cranium and her legs looked twisted and possibly broken. “Pop and I were forced to watch men torture my O.H.P. all night long until she finally expired. I now understand loss and wish to eliminate its memory from within me.”
“Terminate archive, please.” I sat in my sensory chair. It was made of brown, cracked leather and smelled musty. “Pop, what am I going to do?”
He appeared next to me. In my chair, I could feel him somehow. It was as if he cradled me in his arms. “Your O.H.P. will be eliminated three days after your eighteenth birthday. It’s standard protocol. They’ve used this procedure on the past one hundred and twelve S.H.A.Y. subjects.” Was that the touch of his lips upon my forehead? Tears poured down my cheeks. “Shay, my circuits are faltering.”
O.H.P. stood for Optional Human Parent. Nearly every S.H.A.Y. received one—a human mother or father to help them grow to love, reason, and emote.
I’m not a normal teenage girl, obviously. I came from a human embryo, but instead of being inseminated inside a hominid womb, a human male had impregnated an Android Maternal Intelligence Ersatz, or A.M.I.E. Thus, human life and robotic intelligence were molded together to create a new humanoid species. My project is still in the testing phases of creation. To my knowledge, no S.H.A.Y. had ever completed phase three. I didn’t even know what phase three was. Most S.H.A.Y.s died by age twenty.
My life expectancy wasn’t high priority at the moment. Darla. My O.H.P. stood before me on the other side of the mirrored entrance. I could see out, but visitors couldn’t see in. It was an old school trick law enforcement used back in the day. S.H.A.Y. 51 loved old school technology. Darla pressed her fingers to the keypad.
“Shay, Dr. Cole says you haven’t submitted your evening log. You’re late again and she’s threatening to pay you a visit,” Darla said.
I opened my door and she stepped inside. Her black eyes moistened. “Mom, I don’t want to turn eighteen,” I sobbed, falling into her arms. She was soft and round. “Horrible things happen to the S.H.A.Y. after they turn eighteen. Did you know that when you agreed to be my human mother?”
“Shay, calm down, please.” Darla brushed my bangs away. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I need to know, are you my biological mother?”
She shook her head. “No, but I was a mother once.” She glanced away. “My child was taken from me. You remember, as babies, the two of you played together?”
I nodded. Being a S.H.A.Y. meant greater mental capacity and an excellent memory. I’d created several technological gadgets used by the marine biologists to save endangered mammals in our local area. I gladly praised both my pseudo-parents for this capability and desire to help others, especially since Dr. Cole chose to have me work on devices that served no purpose in saving life. I’d created a Freeze Portal that law enforcement used regularly for transporting criminals from facility to facility. Short distance travel would begin in a few years—once a few more bugs were worked out, of course.
My Freeze Portal started when I was about nine. I saw an old movie where people would put a piece of paper in a square electronic machine, press a bunch of numbers, and then hit a green button. The paper was eaten by the machine—and then would appear magically in another place. This, Pop said, was a fax machine. Sure, the Freeze Portal started out as a transportation device, but in reality things and people cannot be broken up into tiny pieces and then transmitted back into their same exact form. Faxes were merely copies of originals.
At first, I was angered that I couldn’t travel this way. Pop explained other forms of transportation, including radiation, which shrank its objects—even flesh. He even pointed out that once dragonflies were five feet in expanse when the earth contained over thirty percent oxygen. That was before high amounts of radiation hit the earth, shrinking much of the species. There was this ancient book that Pop had me read where it spoke of a body of water that once surrounded the Earth. When the floodgates fell, radiation and other elements arrived. The book even mentioned human life expectancy went from hundreds of years to a mere eighty.
Using radiation, I was able to shrink living beings into a small capsule. Only human convicts were used for experimental purposes. Then, I created an extraction device, with the help of my wonderful Pop, to remove the large amounts of radiation used to shrink the traveler.
What I didn’t know as a nine-year-old—yes, even being such a “genius”—was that radiation kills. Pop didn’t know this either. Sure, he’s a highly sophisticated program, but not human. What are humans full of? Yeah, flesh. Flesh isn’t meant to be zapped and shrunk to the size of a pencil. What was even the point of my creation? Someone still had to take you from point A to point B. The capsule could not move on its own. It was a flop.
I guess that’s why Dr. Cole sold the invention to the government to transport criminals. What else could a death trap be useful for? I cringed at the thought.
I got to keep one prototype from each phase of development during the project’s life. Some of my inventions took weeks while others, years, and they were usually built at my pace unless Dr. Cole saw a use for them. They then became a priority and I was required to stay in the lab refining and tweaking until she was satisfied. My first Freeze Portal prototype was as large as a can of aerosol. My latest capsule was formed to look like a pen. It was almost to Dr. Cole’s satisfaction.
“What are you doing, Shay?” Darla grabbed my wrist. “I know that look.”
Pop appeared, shaking his head. “Do not devise, plotting is not one of your strengths.”
I glanced around my room, noticing several useful prototypes. “Mom, Dad,” I said, “I wish to see Amie.”
“A.M.I.E.s do not see their S.H.A.Y.s.” Pop’s voice became garbled as my hand sliced through his image. “No S.H.A.Y. has ever spoken to her A.M.I.E.”
“I have two days remaining to roam this facility with absolute freedom. That’s my wish—to see my A.M.I.E.” I stood, collecting various gadgets. “Where’s my knapsack, Pop?”
A bag floated towards me. I filled it, barely able to zip the sides. My heart beat with adrenaline. Today was the day—I’d prepared for this very moment for months.
“Stop whatever plan you have,” Darla said. “It might mess up my chances, honey. When you turn eighteen I get to see my child again. They promised me that I’ll see my baby again three days after your birthday.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not letting your contract end.” I tossed the bag over my shoulder, turned towards my console, and bit my lip. “Pop, I love you.”
“Unknown response.” He disappeared.
“I said I love you.” One tear escaped and ran down my cheek. I waited for the electronic sound of my father. I heard nothing.
…Nothing at all.
“Let’s go, Mom, it’s time to go visit my artificial suitcase.” I motioned for the doors to open. They obeyed, sending a blast of cool air in our faces.
Pop’s lights followed me into the glass elevator. “You haven’t submitted your log, my Shay! Dr. Cole shall visit you shortly.”
“Go into hibernation mode.”
My fingers trembled as I pressed level one on the elevator’s keypad. Sharks and schools of fish swam past as we climbed higher and higher. Scenic water life was soon replaced with plastered walls and hundreds of lights in the ceilings and walls around us. Those lights belonged to programs very similar to my Pop. Some scientists had Personal Artificial Trainers, or P.A.T.s as I called them. P.A.T.s helped with equations using precision that humans normally attempted in an erroneous fashion—mostly due to poor human perception and shaky hands. They could draw straight lines, analyze data, measure, build, and do so much more. They were like a third hand to many scientists.
Artificial Life was a department all to itself. Most departments spent their time saving aquatic life, whereas my A.M.I.E. was inside what I called the “dark tower for doomed life”. The only life created there ended up dead before the age of twenty…The
A.I. wing was massive, an edifice over the outside world, towering above all other facilities. Darla and I stood before security. They flashed us, an eye scanner lit green and we passed without issue.
We were inside a steel elevator, climbing quickly towards the top floor where all A.M.I.E.s were kept.
Darla grabbed my hand. “This is a very bad idea.”
I said nothing.
An electronic voice spoke. Level 23 reached. The doors opened and we stepped out into a metallic lobby. The walls shined like tin and the linoleum floors were over waxed and glistened.
The hallway opened in four directions. Three halls housed A.M.I.E.s. The fourth was lined with offices belonging to various scientists and even a conference area. It was the only place in this tower with a view.
“Mom.” I motioned for Darla to follow me into the conference room. There was a long table and several chairs. Her eyes focused on the opened window, which allowed a cool breeze to enter the office. “Stay in here, okay?”
It was as if she couldn’t hear me. “Look, Shay, I can see what’s left of the Seven Mile Bridge! Before the war, do you remember your history lessons?”
“That’s the remainder of the second Seven Mile Bridge that connected the various key islands together. That piece of rubble right there,” I pointed at a large mound of cement sitting alone in the ocean, “that rubble is from the original Seven Mile Bridge.”
“How fascinating!” Darla focused on jumping dolphins and I took that as my cue to exit quietly.
Pop spent months researching the archives and told me that my A.M.I.E. was in room 212. He remembered being there on the day of my birth. My fingers trembled and my eyes twitched. What would my A.M.I.E. say? Would she even acknowledge me? I let out a laugh. Who cared, seriously? She was a robotic baby maker. I didn’t even know what she looked like—probably a big square contraption that resembled a fax machine!
S.H.A.Y. (The Almost Series Book 1) Page 1