I AM A GIRL CYOBORG PET

by ROUNAK PURI

  there was no active wifi in the hospital. As I left I just the I got a message from Rockwood.

  "I've got a new suit for the ball why don't you come up and practice walking around with me"+

  I smiled and then hated myself for being able to make a fast emotion U-turn in such a narrow corridor.

  ****

  Chapter 72/Him/Being stalked by art in the last gallery of humanity

  "When are you coming out? Cyborgs have a microsecond sense of timing we don't like being late" said Rockwood on the outside of the clothes printer.

  "Soon. I can't make the printer print faster" I shouted from within the printer. I had been in and out of the printer almost all day like I was a jack in the box with Mr. Jones as an obsessive child.

  "Please let me print another dress I've just had a great idea, " said M. Jones.

  "No time," I said. We were already five minutes late. The printer stopped.

  "Time's up! Here I come ready or not" I said coming out.

  I emerged out of the printer. I was trying to be Venus from the shell but I think it was more the Liberace making an entrance.

  "What do you think? Tell me do I look cooler than an Eskimo's fridge dipped in liquid nitrogen or what" I said. I couldn't see myself in the mirror #DEC was in the way.

  "Well I think you're good enough to cause a divide by zero, " said Rockwood eyes bulging.

  "That's good right?" I said looking at Rockwood and then Mr Jones.

  "Yes, angel it is. That dress looks fabulous on you, doesn't it just scream 'I am his slave and I exist to serve him?'" said Mr. Jones.

  Not quite the effect I wanted for my first big night out but given my current conditions I was quite pleased. I looked at myself in the mirror.

  "Well Mr. Jones I must say you really have set phasers to stun with this dress," I said.

  Mr. Jones was correct in every detail. I was completely slave legal. I was technically wearing printed slave clothes showing very little skin, with heels and enough makeup to cover the undead. The whole thing hung tightly to me like a patriot to the American flag. The dress clung elegantly to my every movement. From lab girl to lap girl I shone like the lights in the darkness. Most importantly I was wearing a collar, in fact, the whole thing began with the collar, the jewelry was woven into the collar and into the clothes. It was simultaneously organic and mechanical, each detail was slightly different everything moved with a fluidity all it's own. Mr. Jones included diamonds from Tiffany's making it seems like there dress included a diamond coated harness. Integrated into to the back were a pair of angel wings which looked like fine fractals. The wings were articulated and picked up my feelings and emotions and changed the wing positions to reflect those feelings. I had practiced that morning with them and if I got angry the wings would spread out wide and flat. If sad they would droop. Mr. Jones had said the angel wings were inspired by my actions saving him.

  The diamond covered harness got smaller and thinner down my arm and ended up with a very fine thread which linked with my bracelets then broke like a firework into tiny chains over my hands to join three rings spread out over every finger. The rings fed information back to the dress according to how I held my hands which would subtly change color by tiny light-emitting diodes embedded in the dress.

  For some reason, I wanted to put on a southern bell accent, "Why Mr. Jones this dress is simply marvelous, you all" I said looking down.Then I paused.

  "Err there is a problem," I said to Mr. Jones.

  "What?" he said.

  "It's all white," I said. "My dress is whiter than Mother Teresa's wrap sheet".

  "Huh?" clearly Mr. Jones didn't understand the finer points of police procedure.

  "My dress is whiter than a town meeting of the Ku Klux Klan," I said.

  Mr. Jones held one stick hand over one eye and stared at me.

  "It is white in the visible spectrum dear" he started pulling his hand down "In the ultra-violet the pattern is beautiful. Infra red is lush. the hyper pink is wonderful. We could print another.."4

  "No time," said Rockwood "the tiny changes in white, imperceptible to the human eye, forming the fractal pattern is too nice to change," he said.

  Did Rockwood know what this dress looked like to humans? Was he that far gone from humanities traditions that he didn't know what everyone would think? Or didn't he care?

  "It's worth having a cyborg eye just to see what yer [your] wearing. I'll show ye[you] the multispectral photos later but for now, we need to make like the european worlf and be gone". he said.1

  I was happy, in four hours I would be walking out of his life and hello freedom. I had an appointment with certain speed boat by the dock.4

  "You look nice," said #DEC "and you don't break any regulations" she added helpfully.

  "Time to go," Rockwood said.

  We all 'yes mastered' him and I tried to get in my e-slave zone. Then we all walked down to the pad. Master went first with me on a most spectacular leash. I followed why having my own personal wake of maids and Mr. Jones all making slight tweaks to the dress, my hair, everything. Soon the entire troupe walked into the Osprey flying to the ball. My wings spread out wide.

  "Remember I have to speak to certain people. I need you to shine and distract attention" said Rockwood. 'I can do that'. I thought I had the dress for it.

  I reached up and started to straighten his bow tie, Rockwood was wearing a very smart black dinner jacket which sat perfectly on him. He looked sleek, cool and gave the slight hint of a high-class assassin who had only lately come into retirement.

  For the day before, Rockwood had me re-memorise many of the same faces as the breeding party. This was his opportunity to network. I even had the digital contact lenses in to help me identify Rockwood's targets. The cyborg was up to something but I didn't mind not knowing as this time as so was I.

  "You look nervous," said Rockwood looking at my wings.

  "Excited," I said it was a half lie "last time we went out like this I was thrown off a roof".

  Rockwood looked at me.2

  "Master" I added.

  "One day you'll use Ceyalisu to me," said Rockwood.2

  "No, unless your planning to rebrand Ceyalisu as an arrogant master who doesn't tell his kajirae what he is up too. Highness" I said trying to be more slavish.

  "You need to get into the role. What are the four favorite reasons Collaborators use to punish slaves" Rockwood asked.

  #DEC and #6052 had been doing classes for me in collaborator slave craft.

  "Err - wearing a loud shirt in a quite zone, silent insolence, breathing without undue care and attention and finally wasting police time through thinking too much," I said. Essentially the collaborators had outlawed everything. This way if they needed to punish a slave they always had some legal excuse. In Judas City slaves were always guilty of something by virtue of being there, this is what the slaves called 'Judas Law'. Only those who had 'surrendered to total service' escaped repeated punishments but only because the law 'turned a blind eye' or tolerated them not because they were within the law.

  *** 3

  Hold of Osrpey/Gallery Of Humanity/Neutral zone north of Judas City

  We circled around the arrival pad of the museum waiting for another Osprey to take off. This gave me a chance to have a look at the building and plan my exit strategy. The gallery had been originally designed by machine architect Mr. Brown when the gallery of humanity was being planned and a joint affair. Not far from Judas City, it was in the shape of a large mother dome surrounded at regular points on the compass by child domes. Each child dome had smaller domes around it. There was a circular arc of a road coming in from the north it was stuffed with cars of the good and the great from Judas City. On the opposite side of the car entrance was the dark shadow of a lake at night. To the north of the circular lake was a forest beyond the forest was one of the three perimeter fences. I could almost feel my extraction team hiding out in the forest. Rockwood had left the piloting to Gort and a helmete
d human as 'back up'. Perhaps it was the flight, perhaps it was the party perhaps it was the light skip in your heart beat, freedom always gives you, but I was still getting fairly nervous.

  As I was fussed over it was hard to think of Rockwood as the true center of attention which he should have been.

  "So I dazzle them, you engage in organizing a huge amount of evil which you spent the rest of your live regretting. Master" I said getting into character.

  We landed gently. Everyone got the dress ready Rockwood took my hand to lead me down the ramp. OK, he had my leash as well, that kind of spoilt it.

  "That's the plan, " Rockwood said.

  The Osprey opened the back ramp to a storm of wind and flood lights.

  #160A's POV

  We walked down the ramp to a number of human guards.

  "Your Lordship you forgot this," said M. Jones throwing a small box to Rockwood.

  Rockwood turned effortlessly caught the box and put it in his pocket.

  "Thanks, Mr. Jones you're my best man," said Rockwood saluting.

  If the police of Judas city found Mr. Jones it would be a big incident, they needed to get away as soon as possible. On the other hand, if the Osprey left without us it could be very very bad if the invitation wasn't valid.

  A security guard approached gun raised. I held out the paper invitation to him. He scanned the invite then came up and scanned my collar and my arm with the same barcode reader to confirm that I was me. Then he looked at Rockwood nervously. Rockwood took two fingers pointed them at the device twisted his hand like he was unlocking something with an invisible key. This seemed to confirm he was he, the security was tight. I'm surprised the extraction team had a way past all these defenses. The way was opened but the guards did not lower their weapons. Rockwood turned round and nodded to the Osprey which took off. Rockwood had bought it as a replacement for the crashed one. It was one a new hybrid electric ones so while it made a little noise the force of the wind nearly toppled the guards over. We walked elegantly past them to the main entrance.

  I followed to the side and a step behind Rockwood as protocol demanded. We created a wake of admiring looks. We marched on and I did my best catwalk. Master walked up to a slave on the door I handed over the invitation. Outside stood some photographers mostly slaves - they didn't get anti-radiation gear. There was a flash of twinkling lights, like a huge number of meteors in the midnight sky. Mr. Jones had installed a device on the dress when someone tried to take a photo from a magazine camera he didn't approve of it would flash back so spoiling the picture. This resulted in some of the photographers getting a taste of their own medicine. I was wearing the smart contact lenses and one of their jobs were swapping for a moment to sunglasses to stop a bright flash dazzling me.

  We walked in through the huge front door and heads turned. We paused for a moment and for a second the entire ball below looked up. I tried to avoid noticing the collaborator women taking pictures of me with their phones. From the crowd, Senator McConnell approached.

  "Lord Rockwood I'm so delighted you could come and you brought your pet with you how delightful. I do hope you will find yourself well diverted tonight. If you go to the amusement tents then there is only a short queue to have the president of the former United States lick your shoes" she said.1

  "Madam Senator, if I needed the president of United States to clean my shoes I would have bid for him at auction like everyone else, Saatchi" said Rockwood.

  At this everyone politely laughed.

  Rockwood and I were taken to the VIP area and he was introduced to the museum director a collaborator cSaatchi, as a significant benefactor of the Gallery.

  'So that's how he had bought his way in' I thought.

  It was clear everyone was being polite but his cyborg glow clearly freaked them out.

  Master walked straight into a conversation with a leading counselor. My contacts identified him as council member Mendiss. I stood behind Rockwood trying to look cool.

  "Council member Mendiss. It is so good to meet you. In fact, I have something I've been wanting to show you"Rockwood began.

  Master handed me my leash and sent me off for a drink of Laphroaig Single Malt Whisky for him. There were plenty of serving slaves within arms distance, I knew when I was not wanted. I was the sheepdog and the councilors were the sheep to be rounded to the shepherd which was master. Rockwood sent me a message on my collar.

  'Look for councilor Redd, would you? The smart carpet hasn't seen him.' Rockwood texted me over an encrypted wireless connection.

  'Are you trying to get rid of me?' I texted.

  'Your deliciously direct tonight. Yes, I am, what I have to say needs to be plainly off the record. Your collar cam would unnerve the mark, sorry, councilors' Rockwood texted back.

  Looking down, I notice another circle around me on the red carpet. Along with the usual info, I noticed I had about 300 likes on my dress. Mr. Jones would be very pleased.

  Looking up I noticed a huge banner.

  'The Museum of humanity, all of the greatest art ever made minus the rubbish stuff the robots liked' it proclaimed. Not that the gallery people were bitter or anything.

  As I walked I noticed people stood back and I was getting a number of admiring looks from both men and women. After five minutes of slinky searching, I figured out Redd wasn't in the large entrance hall. My thinking was that he was hanging out in the gallery somewhere. Fortunately, most of it was shut but one gallery wing was open. I walked into the gallery and for a few moments, I was confused. I quickly googled on my collar and discovered that the gallery building had originally been designed by the robots. Art galleries being very rare in works of pornography, the machines had very little to go on. Even I knew that in a typical gallery that pictures stayed still and people walked around looking at them. Somewhere along the line, the message got crossed or the machines had decided this wasn't very efficient. So when the robots had designed the gallery of humanity they had decided that the people would stay still and the paintings and artwork would move around.

  Each painting was hung on its own mobile bit of wall. An important opening of a significant gallery the visitors were more interested in talking to each other than looking at the pictures. As I drifted around I realized that we seem to be in a situation where the pictures were going around looking at the people standing in groups. For a moment I wondered if the Art was judging us, 'this group could have been better composed', 'the champagne glasses don't offset the dull fabric', 'this woman doesn't look real enough'. I turned round and saw a small skittish Goya self-portrait, which as soon as it noticed I was actually looking at it ran off to hide in a corner.

  I walked around, as far as I could tell the ignored artwork was getting irritated. The visitors were clearly failing in their task of looking at the artwork so some more assertive and possibly vain artworks had taken things into their own hands and barging into group conversations. Paolo Veronese's The Wedding at Cana was very bolshy now and burst into a group of collaborators who used to be bankers and high finance accountants. After the slave owners told it to buzz off they complained "I have never seen such an egotistical artwork in my life". "yes my dear what is artwork doing at a gallery opening like this?" and "I'm going to complain to the director all this artwork at an opening is very annoying how could they".

  Some artworks like Johnnes Vermeer's The Lace Maker had decided the best thing for them to do was hang out where the light was best to show themselves off to advantage. I carried on. Other artworks like had Caravaggio's Death of the Virgin hung out near the free food tables hoping to get a pity scrutinize. I went to the slave area to get master his drink ( being careful to touch my left ear). As I left I got leaped upon by Michelangelo statue of the Dying slave which had taken to ambushing passers-by near the collaborator women's toilets. As I carried on I saw an entrance to the gardens. I quickly explored, the grounds were empty, clearly, the tales of radiation went as far as Judas city. The gardens were partly lite up I could see t
he boat house down a network of paths. Good, I knew what to do I just had to wait until the right time.

  I entered another gallery - this time the room contained a number of artworks huddled together. I recognized their movements. Looking around I knew no one was around. I stepped a but closer to the gaggle of artworks.

  'Let it go, let it gooo' I sang quietly. The paintings all retreated. I sniggered "mean college girl, " I said. Clearl, these mobile walls were related to the Roombas like Pixel. returning to the bee hive like a drone of dull chitchat in the main gallery.

  ***

  I pass gaggle after gaggle of champagne swilling collaborators.

  "I must say Samantha that new body looks fabulous. It's taken 30 years off you. You look just like we did when we started at Stephens College together" said one old crone with big botoxlips, to a cute 20 something coquette in gruesome flats, " and you say you don't notice the difference?"1

  "I feel remarkably identical." said the coquette "It's better than HRT you should transition now it's wonderful".1

  "What did you do with your old body?" said the first

  "I walked around for a few weeks to make sure I was me, then popped back and gave my old sleeping body a lethal injection,and asking" said the coquette "isn't that slaves dress fabulous? I do so hate these cyborg's always showing off how rich and clever they are."

  "I heard it was designed by Mr Jones him self. Trisha had one he designed it very expensive but she never wore it around robots, they keptand askingif she had a cordless phone for some dumb reason ".

  "stupid machines you wonder how they managed to win the war"

  "They didn't apparently we invited them to take over"

  "really?"

  **

  While I walked I got a text from Mr Jones.

  'Now everyone and I mean everyone in Judas City wants your dress.' Mr Jones texted. 'It's the triumph of the season. I've had 427 enquires over the internet alone. Lady Villeria phoned immediately. Shots of your dress are getting millions of views and one piece which fell off has already been sold on eBay. The storm on twitter is fabulous. Judas news called you 'the slave girl every master wants to own and every slave wants to be'. I'm already the most talked about designer in the city. This is fabulous and I owe it all to the little girl who saved my life.'6