Steel Kisses

by Laura Strickland

  On this occasion, maybe because it was evening, men thronged the room. Reynold’s heart sank in dismay. So many—how could they all afford the crippling price?

  Most of them looked wealthy—at least, they looked more prosperous than he. Dressed in expensive suits, they lounged about awaiting their turns.

  With Lily? Would he have to wait while some other fellow pawed her, or worse?

  He reminded himself again she wasn’t a woman. A machine, so they said, like the one at the door, only so much more sophisticated. His mind could barely grasp it—his heart refused to accept the idea. That, and fear for her safety, made up the reason he needed to see her—now, tonight.

  The receptionist unquestionably recalled him. She gestured him to the chair beside the desk and pulled out her book.

  “Welcome back, sir. What can we do for you this evening?”

  “I would like another…session.”

  Of course.” As before, she opened the book of portraits. “Please make your selection. We will do all we can to accommodate you. The cost, as I’m sure you remember, is—”

  “I know the cost, and I don’t need to look at that. I want to see Lily.”

  “Oh, I’m ever so sorry, sir. I’m afraid Lily’s not available.”

  “What?” The fear Reynold had been harboring for days flared up. He shot a swift look around the room. Did some of these others have a prior claim on her? Had they got in ahead of him?

  “I can wait.”

  “No, sir, I’m afraid you don’t understand. Lily is not available.” The receptionist eyed him, leaned closer and said very discreetly, “That particular unit is out of service for repairs at the moment.”

  The words hit Reynold like slaps in the face. Unit. Service. Repairs. Protest, mingled with dismay and horror, nearly strangled him. It was true. The thing he didn’t want to believe.

  He swallowed hard, choking back the denial and disappointment. “What’s happened to her? Is she all right?”

  “As I say, repairs to that unit are underway. It should be back in service in a few days.”

  Reynold searched the receptionist’s eyes. “What sort of repairs?”

  “Sir, that is not for me to say.”

  “Can you tell me exactly when I’ll be able to see her?” He found he still wanted to, despite the unpalatable truth being shoved down his throat.

  “I’m sorry I cannot. It will depend on how the repairs progress.”

  Repairs—that repugnant word again. Reynold flipped the pages of the portrait book until it opened at the picture of Lily—ice-blue eyes wide, rosebud lips parted slightly, looking so human.

  Too beautiful to be human. Too perfect. Too…

  The knowledge should cure him from wanting to see her, but it didn’t.

  Maybe he was the fool Sasha always called him—stupid down to the bone.

  “Sir? If you would like to make an appointment to see Lily next week, the unit may be back in service by then.”

  “I can do that? Make an appointment?”

  “So long as you pay in advance. It’s fifty dollars for two hours, a hundred for—”

  “I know how much it is.” Reynold’s stomach turned sick inside him. “No.” He stumbled to his feet. “I won’t do that now. I’ll come back if…”

  “Of course, sir.” The receptionist rose also, intending to see him to the door. “Or perhaps if that unit remains out of service when you return, you would like to choose another. They are all more or less interchangeable except for the exterior fittings.”

  Reynold stared at her. “Where is she now—Lily?” Why hadn’t she been on the tram?

  The receptionist pressed her lips together as if she thought his behavior—his curiosity—suspect. “Lily is awaiting completion of repairs here on the premises.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I do anything else for you tonight?”

  Leave, Reynold’s mind screamed at him. For God’s sake.

  “No, thank you. You’ve been…thank you.”

  He made his own way out past the automaton door attendant, stumbled up Niagara Street, and cut around back to the coffin shop, where he admitted himself to the dark silence. Aching, he returned the money to the till and sat on the bench in the showroom, the same Tomas’s wife had occupied. He put his head in his hands.

  A wave of misery washed over him as acceptance pierced his heart. An automaton. An exquisite and perfectly crafted piece of machinery, the work of some master craftsman.

  Not a woman.

  Good thing he hadn’t spent Liam’s money—hadn’t violated his trust. Because he, Reynold the fool, would be much better off keeping clear of that.

  ****

  “What happened to her?” Lily whispered the words to Chastity, her fellow Lady, so Dr. Landry—just in the next room—wouldn’t hear.

  Chastity turned her head with a slightly jerky motion. She had come in for very minor repairs—a client had pulled some of her hair out. The violence of the motion had done something to the mechanism in her neck. She had been waiting for Dr. Landry, as had Lily, here for a recheck, when Blanche was brought in.

  “I do not know,” Chastity whispered in reply, “but it must be bad. She has been switched off.”

  Horror gripped Lily. Perfectly aware she had never been intended to experience that emotion, she nevertheless often felt horror, dread, and pain. As well as hope. She could not forget hope.

  She still hoped Reynold would return. Of course, as Dr. Landry never stopped reminding her, these were not genuine emotions. Her artificial intelligence, capable of learning and adapting, had been set up to record reactions and respond appropriately. This made her seem more human to the clients, even though she was not.

  Dr. Landry came in, hands scrubbed and dripping, followed by Nadia, who sometimes served as her assistant. She complained over her shoulder on the way in.

  “This makes three units out of service. We’re going to be losing money. We need to get these two back as soon as possible, as well as launch the new batch. Nadia, you examine Lily while I take care of this. See if she’s fit to work tomorrow.”

  Lily braced herself. Dr. Landry was rough, but Nadia far rougher. The woman, square-built, with the arms of a wrestler, had a face that scowled perpetually.

  She turned cold eyes on Lily. “Strip and lie on that table.”

  Lily already wore very little—nothing but a shift. Her expensive gowns were to be worn only while working—or more precisely as a preamble to working. Except with Reynold. He had not required her to remove her clothing.

  “Move,” Nadia snapped. “Dr. Landry, ma’am, are you certain there is not still something wrong with the Lily model?”

  “Why do you ask that?” Mrs. Landry’s attention remained on Blanche, who’d been set on the next table.

  “It is very slow to respond.”

  Dr. Landry looked up, and Lily hastily climbed onto the table. She closed her eyes and prepared herself for Nadia’s touch by pretending to be anywhere else.

  In Reynold’s company once again. She replayed her artificial intelligence’s account of his visit—how earnest he appeared as he sat talking, the width of his brow which somehow pleased her, the expression in his brown eyes which made her feel glad. How many times since had she replayed this encounter? Almost like being with him again.

  Doing so now helped her ignore Nadia’s cruel fingers and the pain of the examination.

  “The tissue graft is not quite healed, Dr. Landry, ma’am,” Nadia reported at length.

  Dr. Landry looked up again, pondering. “We’ll need to put the Lily model back in service anyway. The damage to this one is extensive. I may need to scrap it. Possibly a rebuild.”

  Rebuild? What did that mean? Would Blanche be changed fundamentally? Would she subsequently look different? Would she lose her memories?

  What had the client done to her?

  “Get up,” Nadia snapped. “Report for work tomorrow.”

  Lily obeyed. E
ven risking further damage at the hands of brutal clients beat the threat of being scrapped.

  Chapter Ten

  “Be there, be there, be there.”

  Reynold whispered the words to himself like a prayer as he watched the tram creep up Niagara Street. If anyone had asked him—though no one ever did—he’d have denied any belief in prayer. He saw too many things on a daily basis that argued against the existence of a god, at least one inclined to listen to his pleas. And the devil sounded too much like a story meant to frighten children into being obedient.

  Of course, he didn’t have a brain capable of pondering such mysteries. Just look at him—standing in the rain watching a street clogged with wagons, the tram, and steamcabs—all mechanicals—waiting to catch sight of yet another piece of machinery.

  That was all she was, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. A piece of equipment, a well-made automaton. Not a thinking, feeling woman.

  So why did he still want to see her? Why, believing what she was, did he still feel concern?

  He must be the greatest ass on the surface of the world. Sasha was right—he was nothing but a dumb shit.

  Overhead, thunder rumbled as an early morning storm moved in off Lake Erie, dumping a torrent of rain. Reynold, already wet to the skin and standing for once on the outside of the gate that barred the alley, narrowed his eyes against the glare of the steam lamps reflecting on the wet street. The two cabs in a standoff untangled themselves, and the tram crept closer.

  Only to take a direct lightning strike.

  Reynold saw the bolt descend from the lowering sky—so close he smelled the heat of it—and connect with the tram’s metal roof. The boom of thunder came directly after, loud enough to shake the street and make his ears hurt. Women screamed, and a horse pulling a vegetable cart reared. The tram, now no more than ten feet from its stop directly in front of Reynold, halted and began smoking.

  “Fire, fire!” someone yelled.

  Reynold, gathering his shattered thoughts, ran forward. Even as he did, he saw flames break out along the roof of the tram car. Voices called from inside—Reynold could see the operator, an automaton, gesturing wildly through the front window.

  The doors, front and rear, remained shut—they must be stuck.

  Reynold, reaching the vehicle, applied himself to the front door. Passengers already thronged it inside. He could hear them yelling and beating on the windows, seeking exit. He yanked with all his strength and broke the door open, nearly getting trampled in the ensuing stampede.

  Human passengers came first—Reynold could see the automaton driver, with no thought for itself, struggling to usher them out in an orderly fashion. A woman carrying two small children came to the steps and, pushed from behind, nearly fell. Reynold caught her and lifted them down.

  None of Lily’s sisters yet, nor the mechanical guards he always saw with them. The flames in the roof crackled louder, flaring up despite the heavy rain.

  Not until all the human passengers had been disgorged did Reynold catch sight of one of Lily’s usual companions, led by the familiar automaton, the Lady’s face oddly emotionless in comparison with the panicked visages of her fellow passengers. Three of them emerged into the wet street before Reynold saw Lily coming toward him down the narrow aisle.

  His heart missed a beat. He reached up to assist her down as he had the others, and her fingers closed on his arm. Her ice-blue eyes met his, and something in them quickened. Recognition? Yes. Gladness? But how could that be?

  She still didn’t look like a machine, didn’t feel like one touching him. But she released his arm all too soon and stepped away, making room for her sisters.

  Reynold could hear the fire brigade struggling to move up the street, now blocked. Someone from the crowd herded the passengers and the flock of Ladies away from the tram, which now flamed alarmingly. Reynold followed them.

  Thunder rumbled again, directly overhead. Reynold could smell the river, just as if the storm had gathered it up to pelt down on them. In the confusion of the slick, dark street, he struggled to find Lily again.

  She stood at the end of the little row of wet hens, hair, hat, and clothing dripping. In that moment, he forgot she wasn’t a woman. He pushed toward her, and she turned those magnificent eyes on him again.

  “Rey!” Did she smile? Not a smile as such, perhaps, but the rosebud pink lips moved, and her eyes shone.

  “Miss Lily.” His own emotions made such turmoil within him he could barely speak. “Are you all right?”

  She hesitated, putting her head on one side. “Yes, I think so.”

  “You haven’t been at the Crystal Palace. Or on the tram. I watched for you—and I went there to visit.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes but they said you were…were out of service.” He faltered then, the very words seeming impossible. She still looked alive to him, even though he knew the truth.

  “I was there but had to stay in my chamber or in the workroom the whole time, under repair.”

  “I see. What happened to you?”

  “A client—”

  She got no further. The nearest of the automaton guards came barreling in, interposed itself between them, and edged Reynold back. “Do not speak.”

  “All right, all right, buddy. We’re just having a word.”

  The guard turned on Lily. “Do not. Forbidden.”

  She went still. Reynold wondered if she’d get in trouble for talking to him. Her gaze lifted to his again and once more his heart stuttered in his chest.

  How could a machine—a contraption, as his ma would have said—make him feel this way? What in hell was the matter with him?

  Lily said nothing more, but her gaze clung to his as the guard herded her to the others, gathered the flock, and moved them away up the street.

  Reynold stood on the drenched pavement, the storm raging overhead, and called himself every kind of fool. Because argue it as he might, he still wanted to see her again.

  ****

  One more day. Lily’s sisters could speak of nothing else when they met, which happened seldom enough, each of them confined for the most part to her own room. Excitement and relief—if they could be said to feel such in defiance of Dr. Landry—ran rampant. Tomorrow the first members of the new batch of Landry’s Ladies would be placed in service. Expectation was they would take some pressure off the rest of them.

  One more day, and Lily asked herself if she could endure it. Only her second day back from injury and already the future stretching before her looked endless.

  She wondered how many years a unit such as herself might be expected to operate. She would never age in appearance, but her mechanical parts would deteriorate. She supposed they could be replaced as they failed. Would a continual existence such as she now endured be better than the ultimate end, having her switch turned off?

  At the end of her second day back, she could not tell. Following the upheaval of the tram fire, Dr. Landry had addressed them as a group, saying how vital it was they settle down to their work, mentioning then that the first of the new models would be released the next day.

  Already, today, Lily had entertained five clients. Now, cleaning herself once again behind the screen, she doubted her new tissues had healed properly. Her pain went beyond the ordinary, and the enzyme wash failed to soothe it.

  Surely, she assured herself as she dressed in a fresh gown, the arrival of the additional units would make life better. Would not the clients wish to try new units rather than old?

  One of the other Ladies, Felicity, said their portraits were already in the book. Lily had never seen the book open but knew from the others that clients used it to select which of them they wished to use.

  She hoped no one thumbed through it right now and paused at her portrait. But how erroneous of her. She could not hope.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and folded her hands. Her last client had been rough and very demanding. Lily, who possessed no morals, could not judge the things h
e had required her to do. But she felt soiled and had to rinse her mouth cavity repeatedly to remove the residue.

  The next client would expect her to be fresh. He or she—Miss Crump sometimes sent women up—would also expect the bed to be perfectly made up, unrumpled. As Dr. Landry had impressed upon them many times, they wished to present the illusion of a chaste and exclusive experience for each client, make it seem he or she was the first and only person to be attended.

  No one wants another’s leavings.

  Which meant Lily should get up and straighten the bed in case she was called again. Yet she sat on, wondering whether something in her mechanics had broken, for she did not want to rise.

  She thought of her human sisters, the ones who did what she did out in the streets for very little pay. She had overheard Dr. Landry talking about them back when she’d first been placed in service, while Dr. Landry had showed her and her sisters off to a group of human women and men.

  This, ladies and gentlemen, is the answer to the servitude of the masses. To women being beaten or knifed on street corners. I am about to revolutionize the flesh trade.

  Lily, sitting with her fingers clasped together, thought of those women. Were their lives so much worse than hers? At least they received pay, however little, and had hope of independence. They were not prisoners.

  They could not be shut off.

  What followed being shut off?

  She searched for the word Dr. Landry had included in her artificial intelligence: oblivion. Almost better to be human.

  But then, would she have met Reynold? She closed her eyes and remembered seeing him this morning when she emerged from the hot box of the tram car into the rain.

  Had he looked at her differently? He had mentioned her being out for service—that meant he must now recognize her for an automaton, a machine and far less than a woman.

  She had not been able to gauge how much his thoughts had changed.

  She fastened instead on the other part of it, the mere seeing of him unexpectedly. She fumbled for another word and found it at last: bliss.