Steel Kisses

by Laura Strickland

  “What will happen to them?” he asked once they’d gone, nearly as abruptly as they’d arrived.

  Vern shrugged. “She’ll give them a meal and, like she said, a place for the night. They’ll be back on the street tomorrow.”

  “What’s the point then?” Reynold wondered aloud.

  “Damned if I know. These crusaders.” Vern spat on the floor rudely, the gesture a clear opinion.

  And, Reynold couldn’t help but wonder, would such a crusader as Mrs. Gideon take an interest in a prostitute who wasn’t human?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Look at them,” Chastity spoke very softly into Lily’s ear. “So innocent. They do not know what will be expected of them.”

  Lily dared not turn her eyes on her fellow automaton. Dr. Landry stood at the front of the room introducing her new Ladies, the second half of the batch she’d just completed. The first had been launched soon after Lily returned to work and had served to alleviate her client load, which made her…

  She searched her artificial intelligence for a word. Grateful.

  Of course, that counted as another emotion she should not be able to feel. Like dread, fear, and hope, it had never been intended as part of her experience.

  As Chastity urged, she observed the new units closely. Perfect in every detail, sculpted in face and form, their beautiful eyes nevertheless held blank expressions. They had learned far too little yet. The slates of their minds had almost nothing written upon them.

  As Lily well knew, every experience became a lesson; each changed the learner. By virtue of the fact that she and her sisters had been created to adapt, they acquired a kind of personality. That did not mean she, Lily, had a soul. It meant only that since being put into operation she’d become aware of the desire to possess one.

  Oh, to be human, with the right to direct one’s own life, with the ability to walk out of this prison! Instead she must sit and watch these new models, knowing what would befall them.

  It filled her with a queer feeling that—had she dared—she might define as grief.

  Chastity tipped her head close to Lily’s again. “Perhaps it will mean still fewer clients for us.”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Landry’s gaze moved to them, and a finger of cold touched Lily’s steel frame. The arrival of these reinforcements could mean something more; no longer shorthanded, Dr. Landry might now shut her down for any reason. Because she hadn’t healed completely and subsequent clients had exacerbated her damage, or for what Dr. Landry perceived as disobedience.

  And out of service, how could Lily see Reynold if he came? Even though so many endless days had passed, she still believed he would.

  Dr. Landry paused in her introductions. She must have run out of synonyms for purity and had named her new batch after flowers…Peony, Hydrangea, Carnation…all beautiful things that lived and then died.

  Totally inappropriate, Lily thought with a touch of the black humor that sometimes came to her. She, for instance, was neither alive nor pure.

  Chastity took a terrible chance and whispered, “Come to my chamber later when you can. We need to talk.”

  Lily gave a small nod and let her eyes go blank, imitating her new sisters.

  ****

  “I want to leave this place.” Chastity made the announcement in a low voice that quivered. “But not to go back to the dormitory. That is just another prison. I want to go out into the world and pretend to be what I am not—alive.”

  Lily’s artificial intelligence clicked through the outrageous statement carefully. “There are many obstacles. It may be impossible.”

  She perched on the edge of the bed in Chastity’s chamber, having crept there while everyone in the house seemed otherwise occupied. Chastity paced in front of her, skirts swishing around her ankles.

  “I know that.” Chastity shot Lily a look out of a calm face in which only her dark eyes revealed the slightest turmoil.

  Lily, who had all too quickly examined the objections, listed them. “Quite apart from the difficulties in leaving here, which we have already discussed, there is nowhere for you to go if you do escape. No way to gain transport other than the tram. No shelter. Worst of all, to survive you will need Dr. Landry’s enzyme wash.”

  “I will steal some when I go.”

  “Even so, you will soon run out. What then?”

  “It must be possible to duplicate the formula if I analyze it.”

  “You would need access to the proper ingredients. Without friends…”

  Chastity fixed Lily with burning, dark eyes. Lily wondered to whom they had once belonged—what corpse. Chastity had been fitted with warm brown skin. Had the eyes also belonged to a brown human?

  And her own eyes and skin—to what living, breathing person had they once belonged?

  Hers now. Hers. Yet she wondered if the essence of their original owner or owners did not linger.

  “You are my friend, are you not?” Chastity posed the question quite seriously while staring at Lily intently.

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  “Then you must help me. My intelligence tells me that is what friends do.”

  “Yes, mine also.”

  “Better yet, come with me. Two together will be stronger than one.”

  Still, against a whole city—and Dr. Landry. The last terrified Lily most of all.

  If she escaped with Chastity, might she then find Reynold? He said he collected dead bodies around the city. She might inquire and locate him.

  “I would like to leave this place. But the plan is not sufficiently good.”

  “If we steal some enzyme wash from our sisters, that will give us more time on the outside.”

  “We have been instructed not to steal.”

  “Yes, from the clients. The clients,” Chastity said flatly, “have nothing I want: not their spit, not their perspiration, not their seed.”

  “You…” again Lily groped for the word, “hate them.”

  “I do. If I stay, I will kill one. Soon. Our instructions say not to steal from them. I have searched my intelligence; it says nothing about stealing from Dr. Landry.”

  Lily made a swift check; it was true. “Opportunity,” she said.

  “I have contemplated that also. If a fire were set…”

  “Very dangerous to us. We could be damaged beyond repair. You remember the fire in the tram.”

  “And the confusion. That is what brought the prospect to my attention.”

  Lily conceded that but said, “It would be bad to harm any of our sisters.”

  “Yes, but if I stay and kill a client, I will be shut off. I am seeking to survive. That seems to allow a certain level of extreme behavior.”

  Lily considered that; it made sense.

  “Meanwhile, we cannot arouse any suspicion. Go to your room now. Think it through, friend.”

  Lily rose from the side of the bed. She considered shaking Chastity’s hand but embraced her instead and whispered one word. “Courage.”

  ****

  “You’ve launched a new career and are doing surprisingly well with it.” Vern laid a stringy hand on Reynold’s shoulder. “Who’d have thought you had it in you?”

  Certainly not Reynold. But he had to admit he’d taken to driving—and stealing—steamcabs like a pig to muck. The first night he’d been so scared he thought he’d choke. It had taken him nearly five minutes to figure out the controls, but once he did, it felt as natural as pushing his cart around the city.

  Who’d have imagined he, Reynold Michaels, would be that good at anything? Especially theft.

  It helped that he knew the city so well, because Vern gave him a different address each time for where he needed to take the cab. One had been a shed down on Swan Street, one a garage on Michigan. This last had gone to a warehouse on Abbott.

  “’Course it’ll get harder now,” Vern murmured. “Coppers are on to us.”

  They’d met in a tavern—one to which Reynold had never been before. Vern had jus
t made the payout, and Reynold figured that, combined with the leftovers from Sasha and his own savings, it made enough for him to see Lily.

  “Now, tomorrow,” Vern began.

  “Can’t tomorrow night. I have something else on.”

  “Like what?” Vern’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You never did say why you want so much money, ’cept it’s a woman.”

  “Gentlemen don’t talk.”

  “Gentlemen?” Vern widened his pale blue eyes and scoffed. “You ain’t no gentleman, my friend. About as far as you can get.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. Vern could hurl any slurs he liked. Reynold would see Lily again, spend time with her—if she was working. At the moment, he cared about nothing else.

  “You’re a fool, anyway,” Vern went on, “if you toss all that money away on a woman.”

  “Well,” Reynold drawled, “then I reckon you’ll just have to call me a fool.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I would like to see Miss Lily.”

  Reynold made the request firmly, even though his suit coat felt too tight and his collar threatened to strangle him. He’d come dressed in the same clothes as last time—the only decent ones he owned—and had scrubbed his nails and tried to tame his unruly hair. He looked the receptionist in the eye, burning with determination. “Is she available?”

  The receptionist didn’t so much as bat a lash. “Certainly, sir. How long a visit did you wish?”

  “Just…the two hours.” The limit of what he could afford, for all his efforts. “You say she’s here, working?”

  “Lily is receiving visitors, sir, yes.”

  “Will I have to wait?”

  The receptionist gave a thin smile and flipped the pages of the big book, which seemed thicker than before. “Not if you request Lily. As you can see, we have expanded our number of Ladies. There are now many fresh, new models. Perhaps, sir, you would rather look through the portraits and select something different?”

  “No, ah—Lily will do.”

  “Very good, sir. The fee—”

  Reynold handed over the carefully hoarded sum, that for which he’d sold his honesty and perhaps also his safety. The woman counted it carefully and placed it in the secure drawer of the desk.

  “Very good, sir. As we are busy tonight, I will escort you up myself.”

  Reynold’s heart pounded like a drum all the way up the stairs. When they reached the same door as before, the receptionist knocked, gave him another thin smile, and said, “A chime will sound when your time is up.”

  She left, and the door opened.

  Reynold had lectured himself harshly and at length about this moment. He’d tried first of all to talk himself out of coming. When that didn’t work, he pondered that now he knew the truth about Lily, time spent in her company would make him feel differently about her. He’d steeled himself for disappointment.

  When he saw her, though, all of it flew away.

  She wore a gown of turquoise blue—not the same as last time—and her golden hair clustered around her face, a riot of curls escaping the chignon. Her eyes, much paler than the gown, widened when she saw him, and her pink lips parted.

  He stepped into the room and shut the door.

  “Rey!”

  Her voice sounded like that of a real woman; she looked so much like one he had to restrain himself from catching her up in his arms.

  “You still remember me?”

  “Yes, I remember you. I have hoped and hoped you would return.”

  “Truly?” He stepped closer and, greatly daring, took her hands in his. They felt cool, but that might be because he was on fire.

  “Yes.”

  “As I told you after the tram fire, I came back once before. You were…” And as abruptly as that, he ran into a wall. All fine and good to tell himself he’d feel differently about her when he saw her again—he didn’t. He still found it all too possible to pretend she was a real woman. He’d had fantasies about that too, about making love to her the way other men did.

  No, he corrected himself. Other men used her. Making love implied something else.

  “You,” he finished determinedly, “were not in service—broken.” Best to get it out in the open.

  “You believe the truth about me now.” They still stood with their hands joined. “When we saw each other after the tram fire, I was not sure. And when first you came, you thought me a real woman. You treated me with respect.”

  “I do respect you, Lily.” He hesitated. “You remember our first visit?”

  “Remember? I have relived those moments over and over, Rey. Word by word.”

  “As have I.”

  “I treasure that time. But you will feel less for me now that you understand what I am.”

  He should. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth that afternoon when we sat and talked together? And what happened to you when you were out of service?”

  “I did not tell you the truth because doing so did not fit my instructions. Our instructions say we should make the experience as real as possible for the client. Besides, I…I liked having you think me a woman. I liked the way you spoke to me and looked at me.”

  “Can you do that—like or dislike things?”

  She tipped her head to one side. “I should not be able. I was not built for it. Yet I was created to learn and adapt, and my reactions seem to have adapted to the way I am treated.”

  She tugged at his hands. “Come, let us sit and talk again.” She seemed to catch herself. “Unless you would like more, this evening. I would be very happy to provide you with anything you ask.”

  Would she? Reynold’s heart pounded still more violently, joined by a throb from another organ lower down. How could he be aroused by a woman who wasn’t a woman?

  But she looked so much like a beautiful woman and had felt like one when they kissed. His skin flushed with heat, and his fingers tightened on hers. Would she “enjoy” offering her body to him? Or was that just something she’d been instructed to say?

  “Lily, I would like it if we could be honest with each other.”

  “I would prefer that also.”

  “You have no idea what I’ve gone through to get back here and see you. What I’ve done. I mostly came to make sure you’re all right.” He asked again, “What happened to you when you were…out of service?”

  “I was damaged.”

  Damaged? How?”

  “A client became rough. They sometimes do.”

  “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” Reynold moved his hands to her shoulders before pulling her into his arms. Real woman or not, he’d ached for this, longed to assure himself of her safety.

  He longed now to comfort her.

  Could one comfort an automaton?

  She still didn’t feel like one. She came into his arms sweetly and cuddled against him, laid her cheek on his shoulder and reached her arms around his body. She felt warm and smelled sweet.

  “I just can’t believe you’re not real.”

  That made her lift her face from his shoulder and meet his gaze. “I am real. I am not human.”

  Damned if he cared, at this moment.

  She said, “You do not know how I wished for your return. Every day, each client.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I tried, like I told you. It’s very expensive.”

  “We should not waste a moment. I wish to acquire more memories to sustain me after you are gone. I feared once you became convinced of what I am, you would never return.”

  “Yet here I am.”

  “Let us make the most of it.”

  Reynold stared into her face. Near expressionless, it revealed little. Her eyes, though, seemed like those of a living woman.

  What if a living woman lay trapped inside the flesh and steel? What might he offer her then? He could think of only one thing.

  He caught her face between his hands. “I tell you what. We have but two hours. You choose
what you want to do with them.”

  She froze, became so motionless he feared for a moment he’d done something to harm her. Then her head tipped to one side. Thinking. Had no one ever let her choose anything, ever?

  “You leave what we do in the next two hours up to me?”

  “Yes, though as you say, we’d better decide quickly how best to use the time. I do not know if I will be able to return again.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever,” he admitted unhappily.

  “Then I would burn you into my memory.”

  Burn?

  “I have carried the memory of our kiss with me every moment,” she confessed.

  As Sasha so frequently said, Reynold might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he did not need to be told twice. He kissed her, tentatively at first, still searching out differences from a living woman. He found none: her lips felt soft, her mouth—a cavern of heat—tasted like honey. She possessed a tongue that met and caressed his, chasing all hesitation from him.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  Turned out she wanted far more. When the kiss ended she stepped back and out of his arms, her eyes bright. She swept him with one glance, up and down, before she said, “Remove your clothing.”

  “Eh?”

  “I would like to see all of you, so I may have that memory to hold to me against—against other ones.”

  And was he willing? Would he put himself—his most cherished bits—in the hands of a machine? One of those bits, at least, seemed up to the prospect.

  He’d put her in charge; how could he refuse?

  He shucked his clothes, still with some doubt. Never had he been more aware of his body and its possible shortcomings. Never in his life had he stripped completely for a woman. The most he’d done when with streetwalkers was get partially naked.

  She’s not a woman, he reminded himself. But he was fast losing that battle, and when he stood before her in the altogether and she once more eyed him up and down, he sprang to life.

  “Now me.”

  He stood like a man mesmerized as she shed her clothes and took down her hair, the golden curls falling one by one to caress shoulders, back, and buttocks. She had a near-perfect body—slender limbs and pointed breasts, one with a patch of still-healing skin on it.