by Olivia Myers
She smirked and rolled her eyes. “If you're sweet you can rent him and find out.”
“Not my type. Tell me when you get a pretty lady-bot in.” He nodded toward the second tier of his den of iniquity. “The guy is over there.”
Stella nodded and headed over, catching sight of the towering blond figure almost immediately. He was hard to miss, even with clothes on, though she wasn't sure where he'd gotten them. Hell, she wasn't even sure how he'd managed to get there. She'd heard of robots with advancing levels of sentience malfunctioning in an attempt to become more human, but had dismissed the stories as either extremely unlikely or at least not likely to happen in her custody. Her bots were one trick wonders. Except this one.
She stopped right next to him at the blackjack table but he didn't look up from his cards.
“You want me to deal you in, Stella?” The dealer looked at her expectantly and the two other high rollers turned their heads.
“No, I'm here to retrieve something.”
R.A.M.-69 finally looked down at her, recognition flickering across his face. Decidedly non-robotic. “Oh, I didn't recognize you from this angle. You were cuter from behind.”
The dealer shuffled his cards and the other two gamblers rearranged their chips on the table.
Stella took only a moment to regain her composure. “I don't know who programmed you with such a smart mouth but I can deactivate your voice box.”
This time, he laughed. “You still think I'm a robot! Damn, you're lucky you're pretty.” He waved his hand over the table. “Look, I'm busy. If you wait until I'm done, maybe you can have another free ride.”
“What did y—”
“Shhh.” He lifted a hand and rested a finger on her lips.
She jerked her head back and grabbed his arm. He didn't need to shake her off for her to realize that she was no match for him in physical strength, but he wasn't going to talk to her like that. She opened her mouth but the words never passed her lips as she was interrupted.
“Save it, Stella.” She looked back at the familiar tenor and frowned at Rhett, who was making his way toward the table. “And don't mess with him. He's just a low-life serial gambler. He could be dangerous.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” She snapped, turning to face him without moving from between the two men.
“Because he owes me money.” Rhett looked past her. “Zain Kriil, owes me 30,000 credits. I thought the bastard hopped ship to the nearest planet.”
Stella's frown deepened but when she turned to the R.A.M.-69, his gaze was focused on Rhett's. He took a step back.
“Oh no.” Rhett chuckled. “I wouldn't run. I have men all along this cell block. You'd never make it.”
“Rhett! He's not even – why wouldn't you tell me?” The question was more an exclamation of outrage than an inquiry. Stella could feel the anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach was turning her fair face red with rage.
“I didn't want you putting yourself in danger. I figured you'd be pissed and go on a hunt.” Rhett looked back down at her, but she couldn't tell if the glimmer of apology was feigned or not. And she didn't care.
“What the fuck did you think I was doing?”
“I figured I'd find him first!” His voice raised to counter hers, but he wouldn't win.
“You knew, you sack of shit! And you just let me look like an idiot!” Her fist connected with his jaw before she gave her arm permission to move, and Rhett shifted back a step, reaching to touch his sculpted face in awe. She'd never hit him before, however tempting he made it. But he'd never done something as infuriatingly underhanded to make her look like a complete moron, either.
Behind them, the chips crashed and she turned to see R.A.M.-69, or rather, Zain, had vaulted over the corner of the table and was making a dash for the door. In vain, as two of Rhett's gangers broke away from the bar to tackle him. Zain struggled, wrestling against one while the other ganger attempted to hold his weight down.
But Canto was having none of it. “One more punch and I'll call station law enforcement!” He crossed around the counter and Stella flashed Rhett a glare before moving away toward the bar. “Rhett, get your goons out of my bar. You,” he looked pointedly at Zain, “cash in your chips and get out.”
Zain grunted, pulling himself to his feet once the gangers stepped away.
“I just came to get my money,” Rhett grumbled.
“You came and instigated a fight in my establishment.” Canto rolled his eyes. He was about as tolerant of Rhett as Stella on a good day. “Keep your problems on your own turf.”
“Can't stay on my side and collect, Canto. He keeps running out on his debt.”
“You'll get it.” Stella interjected before Canto could respond. She glanced to Zain, who didn't seem particularly pleased with being talked about as if he wasn't there. “He'll work it off. For me.”
The five men looked down at her, Rhett scoffing. “You can't just do that. I don't want your money.”
“Please. You want to get paid, why does it matter where it comes from? He works for me. He gets paid. You get paid. You can fuck off.”
“I am here.” Zain cut in. “Do I get no part in this conversation?”
Stella raised an eyebrow. “You have a better idea?”
He didn't seem to have a response. Rhett had no counterargument. It was Canto who spoke again. “Let yourself out, Rhett. Stella . . . Take him and go, please.”
***
In the four month span that Zain had been under Stella's employment, the two had worked out a system around one another. He did general handy-man work that required his strength, processed orders, and answered incoming business calls so she didn't have to deal with delivery mishaps, which was to both of their advantages, truth be told. He didn't particularly care to deal with her sporadic irritability. They talked just enough to maintain contact and avoided burdening one another with their excessive presence.
He slept in the guest room. He cooked dinner. And he fucked her almost daily, which he supposed was the highlight of his employment. He had quickly grown to like the sweet sounds she made at his touches, and the sensitivity of her body when he was handling her. And her petite frame was all too easy to maneuver into any position he pleased – which she never seemed to mind.
He realized she took him in as a jab at his debtor, but he didn't care to explore her reasoning too deeply. She didn't need a thank you and he didn't need to feel further indebted. Their agreement was palatable as long as it remained as it was. These were the things that occurred to him as he logged cargo and filled out maintenance reports in the downstairs shop.
Just as he moved to pull the lid from a storage crate, his arm seized and locked up once again. It wasn't anything highly unusual for him, but the situation was becoming more and more frequent. He tried the usual waving around maneuver that unlocked it, but the process freed up the actuators in his arm violently, making him punch a hole straight through Stella’s work bench.
“Fuck,” he mumbled.
As he predicted it would, the loud noise had Stella running over from the kitchen where she was taking a small break, only to find him trying to extract his arm from the desk.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn't go around destroying the property of the person who so graciously gives you shelter and a way to pay off your debt.” Her voice wasn't the usual screech of irritation he got from her, but it wasn't friendly either.
And his pride was hurt, but he’d be damned if he was going to show it. He moved his sparking arm behind his back. “Maybe if you didn't have such shitty quality furniture, this wouldn't have happened. And graciously? You keep me around as hired muscle and a good fuck!”
“Shitty furniture?” She fired back. It didn't take much to get the motor going. “That’s 50 millimeter manganese steel plating! I asked for it specifically because I didn't want any spasming bots damaging it, but you went ahead and punched it through . . .” Her voice trailed before the demand came. “How the hell did yo
u do that? Nothing short of military grade parts should have that force!”
Zain backed away from the desk, not wanting to deal with an explanation. He didn't make it five steps before a surge of nerve feedback from his arm sent him screaming to the ground, clutching his arm. Stella jumped, but hurried over to crouch beside him. His position made it impossible not to notice the sparks flying out of his arm, singing his skin, and the damage he inflicted upon himself.
“Oh my god, why the fuck did you not say something? You're hurt!” She sounded concerned, but of course she was still angry about it. At least there was concern.
She muttered, “This reminds me of my father’s own pain spasms with neurograft prosthetics. It was extremely painful for him.”
Zain managed to grunt out an, “I am fine,” as he edged away from her, only to be brought down again by another set of nerve feedback.
“You clearly aren't. Let me see that.” Her voice took on a different sternness from usual – one less demanding and more anxious – and allowing no challenges. She leaned over him to examine his arm through the broken synthetic skin. “The tech is outstanding,” she murmured, with a tinge of awe that he might have found adorable if she wasn't consistently bitching at him.
She spoke more to herself than to him. “The tech is decidedly military grade, maybe even experimental. Maybe I can fix it…. But it’ll be hit and miss, especially since it’s clear this jackass has done no maintenance on it.”
“This jackass happens to be sitting right here,” he said. Despite his mild irritation at the name-calling, he was relieved that she’d be able to help.
“Stand up. I’m going to have to strap your arm to the table. This might hurt, and I don't want this super arm of yours punching straight through me.”
Zain followed the instructions like a reluctant child, but at least he followed them. Once his arm was safely secured, she brought over her tools and started her work.
“So, what's the verdict, doctor?” He took a jab at humor, since it didn't usually grate her nerves.
She answered casually as she fiddled with his mechanical insides. “The technology is sophisticated, but it’s really just an upscale version of what I work with every day. The motors are working in pristine condition, but the actuators have blockages from lack of maintenance and that's what causing the arm to lock up. You're a moron for putting it off this long.” She raised her gray eyes to glance at him through a thick fringe of black lashes. “The neurotransmitters seem to be working overtime, so whenever the actuators freed a lock, it’d send the equivalent of several hundred muscle rotations back to the brain, simulating a brutal pain spasm.” She paused when he stared cluelessly back at her, then shook her head. “Never mind. I think I have most of the parts on hand to fix it, and what needs to be ordered won't take too long.”
“Right.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably. “And what needs to be ordered, how much is it going to be?”
She lifted her head to look back at him, as if not expecting the question. She didn't answer for a moment. “Don't worry about it. It's little stuff.”
Unsure how to respond, he opted for silence and she looked back down at her work for the next hour.
*
Stella tried to concentrate on her work, and Zain spent the time gritting his teeth, letting out short grunts or muffled groans. Stella could swear he blacked out at least once, but thankfully there was no screaming. There had been something endearing about the brave front he’d put up for what she knew was an excruciating operation. Her dad often did the same, even working on himself at times.
“All right,” she sighed and pulled back. “I’ve done what I can for now. I’ve taken your strength down a notch, but that’ll prevent further lock ups until I’ve got all the parts for a thorough repair.” She noticed his eyes fixed on her with an expression she didn't quite recognize. “What?”
He didn't speak immediately. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since somebody has done something like that.”
He wasn't looking at her anymore, his eyes downcast. Nothing like his usual cocky attitude. And she realized what that look was. Vulnerability.
“It’s no big deal. It was just like one of my father’s pain spasms from his prosthetics. Couldn't very well leave you alone knowing how much those hurt.” She paused. “And it wasn't your fault you smashed the desk.” She added the last part a little bit sheepishly. Like hell was she about to admit she was at wrong in shouting at him.
He looked up at the mention of her father. “Your father had neuroprosthetics? Was he ex-military?”
Stella shook her head. “Nah, he was miner in one of the nearby mining satellites. Faulty safety protocols led to the loss of both his arms, huge lawsuit. Enough to buy the prosthetics and set up this little business in Orcus proper. But what about you? You ex-military?”
Zain looked like he was about to withdraw again, but he relented with a sigh. “Yeah, Orbital Trade Route Wars veteran. This arm here is a gift from the government, for dedicated service.” He paused, as if unsure if he wanted to continue. “But they won't ever make up for what all of us lost there.”
He averted his gaze, that thousand yard stare Stella had seen countless times in the Understation where her dad had worked, of men who’d lost too much to count.
***
They slipped easily back into their routine. Zain found himself quietly becoming fond of this woman. Yes she was attractive, but he'd had his share of attractive women. Stella was different in her dedication and will alongside the glimmers of sweetness and the well-maintained mask of callousness. He was finally giving her credit for her depth.
Meanwhile, Rhett was showing up more and more often at the shop, always with a petty excuse. Zain noticed it more lately, and that day would be no different.
“Hey love, I brought those flux capacitors you requested.” The sound of Rhett's voice hummed through the room as he threw a bag at Stella, who just barely managed to catch it.
Stella peered inside the bag and let out an exasperated sigh that set off a twinge of glee in Zain's churning stomach. “One, flux capacitors aren't a real thing, and two, what the hell are you doing bringing me chocolate?”
Rhett shrugged. “Figured we could eat some while we discussed real business. In private.” He added the last part with a pointed look in Zain's direction.
Stella didn't look too pleased. “All right, fine. Zain, keep the shop and call me if anything urgent happens.”
Zain shrugged and went back to work. There was still plenty to be done and he figured she’d be back out rather quickly. He could occupy himself with going back to helping some of the other employees with doing inventory.
Minutes continued to tick by though, and by the time the hour mark hit, Zain was past feeling a little suspicious. What could possibly be taking so long was up to his overactive imagination, but the work kept him busy enough that it was only at the back of his mind.
Rhett finally emerged from Stella’s office just short of the two hour mark, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.
“Wild woman, isn't she, Zain? See ya later, boy-o.” Rhett grinned at him and clapped Zain's shoulder as he passed.
Zain's stomach turned at the thought of Rhett's grimy hands scouring Stella's tiny frame, coaxing forth soft gasps and groans, but he wasn't sure what to do with this new wave of emotions. So he immersed himself back into the inventory work. She was his employer, he reminded himself. Their arrangement was one of convenience, not passion.
*
It was no sooner than he had managed to get his greasy shirt off that there was a sharp rap on his door, followed immediately by the click of the slide mechanism and Stella's all too familiar combat boots tromping toward him.
“Woman!” He turned, not bothering to cover himself. “I was getting dressed!”
Apparently, so had she before she decided to visit. She had made her entrance in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely beneath her underarms, her damp hair plastered against
her pretty cheeks and her pale skin still tinged pink from the hot water. This kind of entrance wasn't unusual, but he wasn't expecting her that night. She usually told him when she wanted to be laid rather than bursting in without notice, and never looking so . . . vulnerable.
“Nothing I haven't seen before.” She shrugged and her eyes flitted over him before reaching for his mechanical arm just a bit more roughly than usual. Her small hands were unlikely to damage him without a wrench in them, but he noticed. “How's your new synth-skin? Holding up?”
“Holding up fine.”
“You feel that?” She traced the tips of her nails along the inside of his wrist, where a human arm had veins but his mechanical one had a series of thousands of tiny neural transmitters beneath his fake skin.
“I feel that.”
She nodded, but didn't look up at him as she leaned in to press the softness of her breasts around his mechanical bicep and rested her head against his chest. Pressed against her the way he was, he could feel her heart beating. “Feel that?”
He tilted his head to look down at her, and carefully swept his real hand down her back to rid her completely of her towel. The sensitive touch coaxed her to arch right into him. But he could feel that something was off. Nothing about the current arrangement was normal and, as he recalled, she had been on edge all day. Not only with him but with everyone in the shop – sometimes even customers who got too mouthy. She’d been in a mood for the past several weeks, really, since Rhett had started hanging around like he had a right to be there. The guy was making impromptu visits to hang out in her office for hours on end or to poke his nose into everything around the shop, and Zain, quite honestly, was unsure why she tolerated him. It wasn't Zain’s job to confront her about it though. He was her employee, and if she was fucking someone else for whatever reason, it wasn't really his business.