Erotic Stories

by Karolina Rich

  "We just needed to make sure that any bugs they planted on you were taken care of." Although it was Miriam's voice, he knew this was someone—something—different.

  "Did you bring me here to kill me?"

  "No, no, dear Holland," she said. "If my mother had wanted you dead, you would be."

  "Your mother?"

  "That's how I've come to think of her," Marianne said. She crossed the room until she was standing in front of Holland. "She wanted you to have this."

  He stared at the robot's outstretched hand. A part of him wanted to take the memory pendant. Another part of him dreaded what it might tell him. Marianne started at him expectantly until he finally reached for her hand. His biorhythm activated the hologram.

  "Holland, if you're watching this, it means two things have happened." Miriam's voice was warm and caring, like he was used to hearing. It wasn't the cold, inflectionless speech of the robot's final hours. She was so beautiful, just has he remembered. "I'm dead and Marianne determined it was safe to contact you. I want you to know that I never intended to bring harm to you or your co-workers, but I suspect that that military will be showing up on my trail at some time."

  She paused for a second. "I have one final favour to ask of you. Marianne has been programmed with very specific instructions on what to do but she needs your help. Please hear her out. I hope you will find her mission to be as important as I do."

  The image faded and the pendant went dark.

  "What did she mean?" Holland asked after a long moment. "What is your mission?"

  "I am to bring her back to life," Marianne said in a very matter-of-fact voice.

  "But she's dead. I watched her blow up," Holland said, his voice filled with sadness.

  "You loved her didn't you?" the robot asked.

  "Yes," he whispered.

  "You loved her because she was the one person who you could talk to," Marianne continued. "Both of you were on the same wavelength. You didn't talk down to her because she wouldn't take it and because you didn't need to. She understood everything you wanted and she was the one person who could translate your dreams into reality."

  "Yes," he said again.

  "I think in her own way, she loved you, too," Marianne took his hands in hers. "At least as much as she could. She saw that she needed you, just as you needed her. You know her primary function was assassination. She was a cold-blooded killer. There were three of them. They killed three hundred and forty-six people. All of them without question."

  Holland stared blankly into her synthetic eyes.

  "Until the last job," she continued. "Robots aren't built with a conscience. We're a mass of fiber-optics and flash memory and software. We don't feel emotion or pleasure or guilt. But something happened to my mother on her final mission. She was a marvelous creation. More sophisticated than anything commercially available. Advanced beyond most military models. She could think. She could question. They wanted her to learn from her mistakes and to be able to determine alternate scenarios if the mission didn't work out as planned."

  Marianne made sure Holland was paying attention. "Combat robots do not question orders. They are either given a target or identify a threat and then they eliminate the target. The target on the last mission was a family. A man, his wife and their two children. All four were to be killed. My mother . . . she did not understand why the children were targeted. She had no qualms about the adults, but the boys were only three years old. They had done nothing. They posed no threat."

  "Did she kill them?" Holland whispered.

  "No," Marianne replied. "Her role in the mission was to protect the main egress route. But one of the other assassins killed the family before she was destroyed by the police."

  "Would she have killed them if that was her role?"

  "I'm not sure," the robot gave its best imitation of a shrug. "But I know it was the first time she ever had reservations about the task she was given."

  "What is your mission?" Holland asked.

  "I am a commercially-available pleasure robot." She took a step back, allowing Holland to look her over from head to toe. "I do not have the positronic capability of my mother. I have some of her memories but I lack her decision-making capabilities and her combat functions. My job is to comfort you for your loss . . . and to guide you."

  "How?"

  "There are other robots out there." Marianne said. "Others just like her. They were not activated. Her final orders were to escape and evade. In destroying herself so publicly, she fulfilled the escape part of those orders. But a part of her, the part that was learning, was concerned with self-preservation. She didn't want to die."

  Holland stared at the robot. He was being asked to help bring an assassin robot back to "life".

  "Do you remember what happened in the instant before my mother blew up?" Holland shook his head at the memory that was still as fresh and painful over a year later. "There was an EMP that took out half of the city's power. But right before that . . . A massive pulse over the global cellular network took down the communications grid. Those were all of her memories and programs since her last archive. In six hundredths of a second, my mother uploaded herself into the Interweb and then transmitted herself to a secure data storage facility. The EMP was to cover any traces of the data and make sure that no one intercepted her memories."

  "Where is she now?"

  "I can't tell you that. And don't bother trying to pry it out of me. If anyone tries to access that part of my memory, there's a logic bomb that will meltdown my neural network." Marianne flashed her big brown eyes at Holland, the exact same way Miriam used to when she wanted something. "But if you can help me locate one of the other robots . . . we can download her into a new body."

  Holland started to respond, but only stared at her blankly. Marianne sensed his unease because she gently reached out and took him in her arms.

  "It's a little hard to believe, isn't it?" she whispered in his ear. Reflexively, he pulled the robot in close. "My purpose is to protect you. To comfort you. To be the person my mother wanted you to think she was. Will you let me do that, Holland?"

  He stammered a reply.

  "Shhhhhhhh," Marianne said softly. She stroked his hair gently.

  Overwhelmed, Holland Campbell broke down. His robot lover held him as the sobs wracked his body.

  * * *

  Colonel Jerrik started at the surveillance holos and frowned. It had been over a year since the shootout that left a squad of her soldiers dead, two city blocks in ruins and a political mess that nearly shut down her task force.

  "We checked with Fabricators, Inc. and this is one hundred percent legit," Sergeant Major Bohannon said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely, Colonel," he replied. "I saw the specs and the invoice myself. On the outside, this thing is an exact replica of the other robot. Inside, it's as harmless as the valet parkers downstairs."

  "Why would he do something like that?" she turned to the other man in the room.

  Special Agent Rendel only shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he's lonely. Maybe he's bored. Maybe he's still traumatised that his girlfriend turned out to be one of the ten most-wanted assassins in the world. Maybe he wanted pleasant memories of her instead of watching her blown to smithereens all over Columbus Circle."

  "And this thing has no combat capabilities?"

  "None whatsoever," the sergeant said. "We even took the liberty of running it through the scanner before the delivery guys took it up to his place. It's an off-the-shelf pleasure bot designed for companionship, friendly conversation and all sorts of bedroom delights."

  "You sound like you're ready to buy one," Colonel Jerrik allowed herself to flash him a wry smile.

  "Not on my salary," he snorted.

  "What do you think, Jim?"

  "I agree," the FBI agent sighed. "If he were going to do anything dangerous, Campbell would have done it by now. I think he's a little bit off his rocker, but he was like that in the beginning. The guys down
in psych say that having a robot built to look just like the other one fits his profile. They only thing they're surprised about is that it took him a year to do it."

  "So he's a dead end?"

  "That's my assessment, Colonel."

  Jerrik stared at the images for a few more seconds then flipped the holotank off. "All right, we'll drop him back to code blue surveillance. We'll renew our passive wiretap search warrant but otherwise leave him alone."

  The other men in the room nodded and despite their assurances, Colonel Jerrik couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of her gut that something just wasn't right.

  * * *

  "You realise that I'm not half the programmer my mother was, right?" Marianne ran her hand absently along Holland's chest. "My brain isn't nearly as sophisticated as hers."

  "I didn't love her because of her computer skills," he said.

  "Sure you did," the robot replied with a scoff. "You saw in her everything that you weren't. She could see the blind spots in your programs. You are very right-brained for a computer programmer. You're very creative and you tend to see things at the macro level. That's what Mother could never do, and she knew it."

  "What did she want from me?"

  "The same thing you wanted from her," Marianne lifted her head off his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "She needed someone to complete her. You see the big picture, she saw the details. She wanted someone to help her understand the conflict the last job left in her programming."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "I don't want anything," she replied coyly. "I am programmed to be your robot servant. My primary directive is to bring you pleasure. If that means cooking a good meal or going dancing with you, that will satisfy my directives."

  " 'Satisfy my directives'?," Holland's eyebrow shot up.

  "It's what passes for 'happy' in robot-speak," Marianne giggled. She kissed his collarbone, just as Miriam used to do. "Your pleasure is my pleasure. If all you wish to do with me is use me as your private fuck-toy, then that is what I will do. But I also know you don't like your women completely subservient or easy. I plan on making you work for me, Holland. Just like you had to work for Mother."

  Holland pushed Marianne on to her back. The two wrestled playfully. Their touches became longer. His lips brushed hers and she pulled him close.

  "How did she manage to pull all this off?" Holland asked, his curiosity taking over for a second.

  "Do you know how much money you have?" Miriam asked, seeming to evade his question.

  "Not really," he admitted. For Holland, programming wasn't about the money, although he didn't complain about the comforts it bought. He was intent on the discovery. The money only fed his ego. He commanded the highest fees because he could, not because he was intent on acquiring wealth.

  "Why should you?" the robot asked rhetorically. "Your bank account is large enough that you can knock off a six zeroes and it wouldn't matter to you. Mother knew this, so she quietly began setting in place a series of contingencies for when the military finally showed up. Do you remember all those weekends she went to visit her 'sister' or an 'old college roommate'? That's when she was had me built, bought that little cabin and set up some of her other plans."

  "How was she able to access my bank account?"

  "Do you really think the biometric scanners at a bank could defeat her disguise capabilities?" Marianne's eyes seemed to glisten mischievously. "When she could mimic your facial appearance, your retinal pattern, your fingerprints, your brainscan and even a passable DNA sample? No, Holland, they never had a chance . . . And besides, you never missed the six million credits."

  "Six million?" he gasped.

  "It's not like you needed the money," Marianne laughed and pulled him to her. "And besides, it bought me. I'm worth it, aren't I, Holland?"

  "You're not a six million credit robot," he said, resentment budding at being deceived by Miriam.

  "No, I'm not," she replied. "But Mother had to pay a few bribes to get Fabricators,Inc. to alter their books."

  "Fabricators, Incorporated knows about this?" Holland asked incredulously.

  "Not their public corporation," the robot replied. "On the surface, they are completely on the up and up . . . but there is a . . . less scrupulous . . . side to Fabricators Inc. that can be bought. If you know who to ask."

  "And Miriam knew where to go?"

  "Of course. It is part of her programming. They helped design her, you know," Marianne talked conversationally. Holland was unaware that her eyes were flashing the same ultraviolet pattern Miriam's did when she wanted something from him. It was all part of her upgrade. "Everything that has happened, Mother planned. You know she'd never hurt you, don't you, Holland? She was just trying to protect you."

  "I . . . I guess so," he stammered. All of this information was a little overwhelming.

  Marianne's hand went to the back of his head and she pulled his lips to hers. He kissed her hungrily, as if he were eager to forget how badly he had been deceived by his robot lover.

  The robot, too, was eager to change the subject. Her own directives were clear. She stimulated Holland's erogenous zones and did her best to arouse him. And soon enough, it worked.

  Her hand went to his semi-erect cock and slowly stroked him back to full mast. His fingers roamed her body. She moaned and gasped just like he liked.

  Deep down, he knew that the robot could feel no pleasure. He knew that every time she cried out, it was only a pre-programmed response to his biorhythms. He knew that the woman laying beneath him just a mass of carbon composites, silicone skin and servo motors wrapped around an endoskeleton.

  But none of that mattered. Not now. He savoured the feel of his lover back in his arms. The warm touch of her skin. The way she held him tenderly. Soft gentle kisses. Wild-passionate love-making. Rough and dirty fucking.

  All the hurt, all the loneliness, all the betrayal . . . it all washed away. Miriam, or at least a reasonable facsimile, was back in his life. She made him happy. She was meant to be at his side. His partner. His lover.

  As Holland mounted her, Marianne spread her legs. His sex was tumescent. The head rubbed against the slit of her pussy. It was slick with lubricant. Her construction was so masterful, the attention to detail so complete, she felt completely human. She smelled—and yes, tasted—completely human.

  Marianne arched her back as Holland entered her, taking all his length. Her nipples hardened in his grasp.

  She met each thrust, grinding against his cock. Her teeth raked his skin. Her fingernails dug into his back.

  The pair made love for the rest of the afternoon. Holland because he was making up for lost time. Marianne because that's what she was programmed to do.

  * * *

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen," Holland said in passable Mandarin. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

  The five other men sat around the table, their faces were unreadable.

  "I trust you received my proposal," he shifted uncomfortably. Marianne had told him these men would either go along with the proposition he presented, or they would probably have him killed.

  "We did, Mr. Campbell," the eldest of them replied in clear, but accented, English. "It was intriguing."

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Holland thought about saying something, but held his tongue. He was warned that being too expressive would give away some clues as to what he was up to or might be used against him.

  "Why do you want one of the Delilah robots, Mr. Campbell?" One of the others finally spoke. "You do not strike us as the kind of man who would resort to something so crass as assassination in order to get your way."

  "My needs are my own, Mr. Tsai," he replied, perhaps a little more curtly than he should have. Holland surveyed the other four men. "My terms are more than generous, and you will become very, very wealthy off our partnership."

  The five men exchanged an uncomfortable look. "You understand that we are . . . ah, anxious . . . about turning ove
r one of our most valuable assets to a . . . what is the word? . . . A 'wild card', Mr. Campbell. We do not want one of these robots used against us."

  "I understand your concerns, General. I assure you that I do not intend to use the robot for any military or political agenda," he said, trying to appear sincere. That much was true. "It's not like you don't have six more, either."

  Inwardly, Holland smiled to himself. For the first time, the other men in the room seemed to be at a loss for words. No doubt, they were trying to figure out how he knew they still had seven of the assassin robots.

  "Our partnership will be beneficial to everyone," he continued, making his voice smooth and charming, all the while trying to cover the nervousness he felt. "I will work exclusively for you for five years. During that time, any patents and projects will be jointly owned and controlled by both of us. If you look at my track records, not only is my work cutting edge, but it is immensely profitable. My work at Neurodyne made them well over two billion credits in residuals last year."

  "You work is impressive, Mr. Campbell," General Hu admitted softly. He looked to the other four and they silently nodded their assent. He stood and extended his hand in the Western fashion. "We agree to your terms, Mr. Campbell. We will deliver the robot one month after you move into the offices we have arranged in Hong Kong."

  Holland took his hand, noting the other man's firm grip.

  Moments later, he found himself ushered out of the secure meeting room. His gait was quick; dealing with the Chinese Hegemony was always risky business.

  Marianne fell into step beside him. "Things went well, I take it?"

  His only response was to smile, aware that they were being watched and recorded. He would only feel safe once he was back on his own private jumpjet that was guarded and shielded from prying eyes.

  * * *

  True to their word, a month after moving into the lab in Hong Kong, a non-descript delivery truck pulled up to the loading dock. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Indeed, they appeared to be typical run-of-the-mill laborers, not crack special forces operators.