by M. D. Cooper
Ben groaned, trying to get out from under the weight of the now-awake robot. “My name’s Ben. Can you please get off of me?”
Chip looked down to examine the situation before looking back up into Ben’s anxious eyes. “Are you sure? We could have a lot of fun in this position.”
Ben rolled his eyes. Any other time he would think the joke was funny, but he wasn’t much in the mood for finding the lighter side of anything at this point. “Seriously? Get the fark off me.”
Chip slowly retreated from his place on top of Ben, the quiet sound of perfectly manufactured gears moving the articulating joints of the man-like machine. Under the thin skin of the unit, Ben could make out the soft sounds of the actuators, hydraulic fluid coursing through lines at one-hundred and fifty pounds per square inch. It was enough force to break a bone if the robot was used to enact violence, but instead it was used as a personal sex toy.
Well, not this one, at least not by me, Ben thought.
Chip stood and extended an open hand to Ben, who reluctantly took it as Chip assisted him in standing up. Ben noticed a sharp pain shooting down his right leg and knew he had tweaked his back again. “Ow,” he hissed as he tried to step forward.
“Are you all right?”
“I think I hurt my back pulling you out of the box.”
Chip looked down at the scattered pink pellets and the sinking form in the center of the box where his body had been. It was just an empty coffin now. “Do you require my assistance?”
Ben went to take another step, but the act of lifting his leg a short distance caused pain to erupt again. “I’m afraid so,” he said, furious that he had to rely on the robot to get back to bed. He knew where that would lead, but he wasn’t about to have any of the robot’s shenanigans, program or not.
“Take my hand and I will help you.”
Ben reached out, taking Chip’s hand. The robot steadied him as they slowly moved out of the cargo hold and back into the main living space. The temperature cooled as they left the cargo hold behind, but the shooting pain up and down Ben’s spine brought sweat to his brow. He winced with each step, inhaling sharply to keep from crying out. This was the third time he’d thrown his back out, and each time was a miserable existence for the better part of a week. And to think, this is all because I got a thrill out of doing a sex-bot. This is what I get for this shit, he thought as Chip lowered him to the small mattress. Truth-be-told, the couch was more comfortable, but he knew the firm mattress would support his back better.
“Do you need anything?” Chip asked while Ben adjusted himself.
Ben groaned, trying to find a comfortable position as his entire body ached. “No, I just need to lie here and try to forget about the world.
“Is there any medication that can help?”
Ben canted his head towards Chip, but didn’t look into his eyes. “There’s some valium in the cabinet to the left.”
Ben watched as Chip turned and made his way to the cabinet. The door squeaked as he pulled it open, the packed shelves spilling the contents out onto the counter. Ben could imagine the computerized eyes scanning each label until it identified the proper bottle. I bet he would be great at word-search, he thought, trying to numb his thoughts to the pain he was experiencing.
“This medication is out of date. I’m not sure it is safe for you to consume.”
Ben smirked, “It’s an old bottle, but the medication is new. It’s fine.”
Chip turned and stared at him. “That is not a common use of prescriptions. I’m afraid that by allowing you to take this medication that I will be complicit in your abuse of a narcotic.”
If Ben’s body didn’t hurt so much to move he would have rolled his eyes. “Look, Chip,” he said, saying the robot’s name mockingly. “I’m in enough pain that I could eat a bullet and be perfectly fine with the outcome because it would be better than what I feel right now. So, if you could not be whatever you’re being right now, and give me the farking pills, that would be great.” Ben knew that sarcasm was not a method of communication that even the most advanced robots understood, but it made him feel better nonetheless.
Chip relented and gave Ben the opened bottle of pills.
Ben’s hand shook as he tapped two pills from the bottle into his mouth and swallowed them dry. The chalky residue on his tongue was nasty, but the La-La-Land experience that would come later was something he was looking forward to.
“I hope you’re right,” Chip said.
“About what?”
“About the med‒”
“Never mind,” Ben said. “I don’t really care.” His words slurred as drool fell from his open mouth. The world was dead to him, and he was dead to the world. Ben wouldn’t have it any other way.
chap+er six
The next morning Chip stood across the cabin, his big brown eyes looking up at Ben. As Ben opened he groggy eyes, he noticed that Chip sat shirtless and still despite the cold air rushing through the vents. Ben thought Chip might be cold, but then reminded himself that Chip was a robot, even though he looked like any other man Ben had seen. Still, even knowing Chip was a robot, Ben was distracted by the man wearing tight little shorts and no shirt. A part of him was surprised Chip wasn’t wearing tassels.
“I really need to get you some clothes,” Ben said as he stood up on shaky legs. The pills he’d taken were enough to knock out an elephant and he wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been sleeping. If my growling stomach is any indication, I must have been knocked out for more than twenty-four hours, he thought as began walking away from the couch. Chip attempted to follow Ben as he walked to what Ben referred to as the bedroom. It was nothing more than a small stowage area where Ben tossed his dirty clothes. “Stay,” he ordered Chip, using a deep and authoritative voice as if that would make a difference. It reminded Ben of his cracking pubescent voice when he ordered the family dog off the furniture.
He would laugh, but his voice still did that from time to time, and it was embarrassing. Chip stopped following him and merely stood, statuesque, watching Ben as he knelt down and fumbled through the clothing on the deck. “Here, try this on.” Ben said as he tossed a black t-shirt towards Chip, who caught it single-handedly.
Chip unfolded the waded shirt to see red and white lettering scrawled across the stark black fabric. “What is ‘Tabitha Anne’?”
Ben looked up as Chip showed the printed side of the shirt to him.
“Tabitha Anne was an all-female death metal band I listened to in high school,” he replied.
Chip studied the design for a moment and shrugged his shoulders as if he was thinking about the band and came to some realization. The t-shirt hugged against Chip’s body, tight around the shoulders and chest. The fit of it actually made Ben jealous because it hung like a loose sack on him when he wore it. “Do you like?” Chip’s voice was flirtatious and sensual.
Ben glared at Chip. “It’s a t-shirt, man. There’s nothing to like about it,” he said. Chip stared back at him, watching him as he moved towards the couch and collapsed in a frustrated heap. The cushions sagged under his bodyweight, springs groaning as he shifted to get in a more comfortable position. Ben was used to the fact one side sat higher than the other, and he compensated by leaning against the armrest so his back wouldn’t start hurting. I wish I could have afforded a new couch before leaving Earth, he thought.
Chip stepped over to the couch as well, slowly sitting, the couch regretfully welcoming his mass as he reclined backwards. The groan on the couch crying out filled the room as Ben looked on in horror, waiting for the couch to crumble into splinters, but it never did. The man and the sex-bot looked into each other’s eyes, one questioning his sanity and the other seeming to question what the next move should be. Ben shook his head and looked away, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He was far from aroused. Chip seemed to sense the frustration in Ben’s mannerisms and placed a gentle hand on the inside of Ben’s leg.
Ben jumped up, mortified. “What the hell
are you doing, touching me?”
Chip rose, following Ben as he walked off. “I’m only trying to make things better for you.”
“By groping me?” Ben asked, his voice raised in pitch, but didn’t crack.
Chip smiled. “Placing a hand on another’s leg is not groping, by definition. Though, if I squeezed your buttocks as he walked past then that could be scrutinized as groping.”
Ben lifted his arms questioningly. “It is by perception.” He let the word hang in the air, fluttering slowly before Chip responded.
“I don’t understand. I’m only here for one thing.”
Ben stepped up to Chip and stuck a finger in his face. “I know, and I wish I could reprogram you into something more useful,” he spat. He was surprised by how much hatred spewed from his lips as he said it. What was more surprising was the fact that the hatred came from how he felt about himself and the mistake he made in buying a gay sex-bot when he intended to purchase a hot female sex-bot. How do I keep farking myself over like this?
Chip stood, looking into Ben’s hate-filled eyes. There was a tinge of sadness in his face as emotion receptors computed what expression was appropriate. Chip simulated taking a deep breath and spoke. “I am useful, but it is up to you how best to utilize me.”
“We’re not farking.”
Chip nodded. “I understand you have reservations, but perhaps you can find me useful in other ways that don’t require the sexual tension floating in the air around us.”
“What sexual tension?” This time his voice did crack, and his face blushed in embarrassment.
“It is only natural for a man such as you to feel an infatuation for someone as aesthetically pleasing as myself. There is no shame in that.”
Ben shook his head. “You’re out of your farking mind if you think I’m infatuated with you.”
“If not, then why is your heart rate elevated? That is a sign of sexual desire, is it not?”
Ben snapped. “It’s also a sign for being mad enough to want to farking vomit!”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why are you mad enough to want to vomit? Did you eat something that doesn’t agree with you?”
This guy is beyond annoying, Ben thought. He knew it was just the programming, but he was certain the people responsible were purposefully toying with him by creating such a dense machine. “No, I didn’t eat anything that doesn’t agree with me. I just realized that I made a purchase I didn’t want, spent more money than I should have, and now have to sit in this tin can for months with a sex-bot I can’t do anything with.”
Chip looked at Ben apologetically. “If it’s any consolation, I have no reservations towards being with you. I am, after all, programed to please you.”
“For fark’s sake.”
“Yes.”
Ben looked at Chip, his anger fading only because the situation was so messed up that it bordered on comical. “Look, if you want to help take care of the ship and make things easier for me, great. But please, don’t try to make things weird sexually. It’s not my thing and if things do get weird I’m going to have to power you down.”
Chip nodded his head, the look on his face somewhere between thoughtful and constipated in Ben’s opinion. Apparently, they haven’t made every effort to make these sex-bots one-hundred percent lifelike.
“What would you have me do?”
Ben looked around at the mess that he’d been meaning to cleanup for the last few weeks. “For starters, you could clean up around here. I’m usually busy monitoring the flight path of the ship and making sure nothing is going wrong with the engine.”
“All right. I will clean the ship for you,” Chip said.
Ben stood and smiled. This is a good turn on a negative situation, Ben thought. I wish I could capitalize on all my fark ups this easily.
Ben reclined back and placed his hands behind his head, content with the idea that things were finally looking up. The stress of being on the ship alone was at a point where it could fade as he got used to having an ill-purposed robot walking around. If I can deal with this, I can deal with anything.
Seemingly on cue, his left arm gli+ched, shorting to the bulkhead and sending a shock through his other arm. A blue arc of electricity climbed towards the ceiling and reached out towards the light in the center of the room, causing it to blow the fluorescent bulb inside.
“Shit!” Ben screamed, both from the fear and the pain.
“What’s wrong?” Chip said, walking hurriedly back into the cabin.
Ben was looking at his gli+ching arm, the motors running erratically and causing his hand to spin around at the wrist. Sparks were shooting out near the elbow, and with each beat of his heart he could feel himself being shocked. This is the worst episode I’ve had in a long time, Ben thought as he gaped at the sparks fluttering to the deck like raindrops. “My arm is gli+ching out again,” Ben said finally.
Chip stepped over to him and grabbed his arm. “The synchro’s aren’t properly shielded. So you have any thermal paste?”
“No.”
Chip shrugged. “I need something to keep the synchro’s from arcing against the framing of your arm. It’s a good thing these materials are made to withstand this kind of treatment, otherwise your arm would be dangling uselessly against your body.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ben said sarcastically. He was unsure why he was taking his problem out on Chip, but the sex-bot didn’t seem to mind.
Chip grabbed a small screwdriver and wedged it between the two synchro’s, interrupting the power going to them and settling down Ben’s arm. Almost immediately the current entering his body died down and he was left with only the sensation of his chest feeling tight, but he knew it was normal after having an episode like this.
“Thanks,” Ben said.
“No problem, Ben. I’m here to make your life better.”
“Great.” Chip’s eyes lingered on Ben for a moment too long and Ben grew uncomfortable. “Well I already thanked you so you can probably continue what you were doing before.”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Chip replied. He turned and walked back out of the cabin, leaving Ben to feel like a turd for treating Chip like shit.
I should apologize, he thought, but for now I need to rest. It’s not like Chip has any real feelings anyway. His rationalization didn’t make him feel any better, though.
“Hey, Chip?”
“Yes?” He said from the other side of the bulkhead.
“I’m sorry I was being an asshole to you.”
“What was that?” Chip replied, coming back into view.
Ben sighed. “I said I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you.”
“Oh,” Chip said with a shrug. “All right.” He smiled and disappeared back behind the bulkhead to finish cleaning the Shistain.
Ben smiled and let the robot work.
chap+er seven
The problem with space is all the darkness, not necessarily the color of darkness, but the emotional baggage the darkness carries with it. Somewhere beyond the asteroid belt the Shistain careened through the expansive vacuum, a silent marauder in pitch black nothingness. Outside there should have been more nothingness than the human mind could comprehend, but there was something sinister lurking in the shadows of the great void of space.
When Ben was alerted of the incoming craft, he felt a rumble in his stomach that had nothing to do with food. He was always anxious, and that anxiety had an embarrassing effect on his body. The first indicator was sweat stains under his arms, the dark gray a stark contrast against the lighter shade of fabric surrounding the rest of his torso. The other indication was something worse, the moist sensation of nervous sweat as it formed in his ass crack as something in his stomach seemed to do back-flips.
He ran to the monitor and saw a small vessel speeding towards him. The proximity alarm chimed; a deep warbling sound that sounded like a goose choking on a cork after he covered the speaker with enough foam to dro
wn out the shrill chirp that would reverberate inside the hull otherwise. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, hunched over the monitor.
“What is the matter?” Chip asked, with robotic concern impressed upon his features as his sensor arrays suggested the mood in the room had changed from uncomfortable to something worse.
“Could be pirates,” Ben said, not looking away from the white dot closing in on their position.
“Could be?”
Ben exhaled loudly. “Definitely pirates?” Ben said questioningly. “Which sounds better to you?”
Chip didn’t respond, but he watched as Ben hovered anxiously over the monitor. “Look, this is probably going to get real shitty, really quick, so if you could just hide or something, that would be great.”
“Why would I hide?”
Ben looked at Chip, seeing an expression of misunderstood loyalty in his eyes. “Because they take what they want if they see value in it. A couple of cases of food, no big loss. A computer, a bigger loss. A robot that can be used as a weapon, a pretty big loss.”
“But I’m not a weapon,” Chip replied.
“I know,” Ben said. “But they would program you into being one. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“No, of course, not.”
“Well, there you have it.” Ben looked at the monitor again and calculated the time in his head until they would be boarded. “We have only a few minutes; you might want to hide now.”
Chip turned to look around the cabin. His eyes settled on the door leading to the cargo hold. Ben watched Chip walk past, his heart beating faster as the pirates closed in. “Don’t make a sound,” Ben ordered. Chip didn’t respond, but Ben knew Chip had heard him—there was no way that Chip’s hi-tech sensor arrays didn’t pick up on everything, even the softest of sounds.
Ben stayed hunched over the monitor, crippling panic so thick in the air around him that he could cut it with a knife if he wanted to. This was not part of the plan; it wasn’t even on his radar as a possibility, yet here he was about to get boarded by people who live outside of the system. Laws were meaningless in the darkness of space. Hell, a hundred years, or more, could pass before anyone found any evidence of foul play. Ben looked at the small icon on the console that was meant to be used in case of distress. This particular moment fit the bill something serious, but he knew that if his finger touched that button, his craft would be blown to bits by whatever ordnance the pirate ship was carrying. It doesn’t matter how situations like this play out in the movies, Ben thought, in the real world the bad guys get away and the authorities eventually lose interest. The seconds ticked by slowly, each agonizing moment toying with the butterflies in Ben’s stomach. “Now is the time I really wish I had an FTL drive,” he muttered under his breath.