A Tale Of Doings

by Philip Quense

  He glanced back at the three slaves as he stepped out of the doorway, pleased with himself. He was going to know more than anyone in Xchange about this Tri-Coalition and these human beings.

  “The other managers better respect me.”

  He, David-23 of Nnect, would know what to do with them by the end of this assignment. The CEO would be pleased. A warm pleasure shot through his spine—the brand rewarding his motivation. The unexpectedly inebriating workie undulated through his body, and his knees became weak, like a rubbery gelatin. His hands found the doorway frame, and he pressed his palms hard against the structure to support his weight so he didn’t topple. The wave of energy subsided. His muscles began to respond to the signals from his brain once more. He straightened, turned, and nodded to the slaves. The three slaves looked at one another and then back to David with perplexed, inquisitive gazes.

  “David, good night. Think about what we told you.” Tara was sincere and empathetic toward some plight she deemed him in.

  “Don’t look at me with pity,” he corrected. “Guard process them.”

  She pointed from her head to her heart. “Let it process freely. Let your experience and intellect bring some knowledge to your heart. Try to hear what we say.”

  David walked behind the mirrored wall, where he could watch Tara and the others as they were transported from the argument chamber to their home units. His gaze lingered on her; desire filled his being. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. Her curves, hair, and face were those of a model. He began yearning for her. Deep inside him, something stirred, but then she disappeared behind another cell wall with the others.

  “Alone.” He was alone. He sighed. Alone, as he always was and always would be, it seemed.

  Chapter 30

  Inside Out

  Trying to change up his schedule, David ate with some of the others in the refueling lounge on the fourth floor. He chewed on the T-bone steak that Mop had asked for.

  “No need to give good meat to a testy,” he explained to a technician who was stuffing himself with manufactured vegetables.

  “That’s great for you,” without looking up the tech answered. Food was dripping on the man’s coat as he tapped away on a Real World interface.

  The juicy red beef was full of flavor; it melted on his tongue scrumptiously. David proceeded to polish off three vegetable side bowls and a fluffy whipped egg. A super energy food choice. He wiped his lips and shook in a satisfied manner.

  Meal complete, David and a couple of assistants shuffled from the lounge toward the sleeping chambers. The gossip began. “I hear Grandpa Greg is close to a breakthrough in his unit. His techs have been bragging,” one assistant said.

  Ugh, I hope he fails. David wished evil on Grandpa Greg.

  “Did you see Brac weeping earlier today?” a ginger woman named Francia asked, sneering. “How weak. I’d love to send that wimpy rascal through a Thrive mental durability test.”

  “I doubt you passed your durability test with much more than seventieth percentile,” jested a fellow employee, Hillary-66, as she shoved Francia playfully.

  “Hil-66 is correct. I’m surprised they moved you from the communication department to Lave Labs. Who’d you let illegally use your body to steal a promotion?” another said.

  The ginger didn’t lose momentum but taunted, “Go to Orns, Francia! Don’t you wish you knew how I produce? Laboring on your little tech toys must really pay for your pleasure addictions,” she sneered. “We all know how desperate and poor you are, hahaha!”

  David rarely joined in the banter. He walked to his temporary storage unit and, once inside, jumped onto the Thrive Comfort Solution bed. The green ooze of the bed molded to his lean body. He took his shirt off. The bed’s temperature adjusted until he was comfortable. The blankets were soft. He had worked hard, and recharging was needed. His eyelids began to fight with gravity. His body wanted rest, but he couldn’t sleep. His sleeping pattern was always thrown off by new cerebral stimuli. Some nights his mind refused to shut down.

  Maybe I should see a health technician and get a brain lockout pill? he thought. Shut me down for the night. Tonight, his cravings and his mind didn’t want to go to sleep peacefully. Some nights his hormones wouldn’t wind down. His baser self craved sensuality. Suppressed cravings, he thought.

  “Such is the life of the devoted Saver. I wish I was free to use others whenever I wanted,” he told Selfie. “Waiting for sexual gratification is not an easy path.”

  Tonight, his mind raced with fantasies. One moment he was content, and the next moment he could hardly lie still or silent on his bed unit. He attempted to dissipate the overwhelming urges of his sensual cravings by whispering mantras of satisfaction. It didn’t work.

  He needed some distraction. He clapped his hands and dictated, “Selfie, replay yesterday’s Medieval Storyworld episode.” He’d watched it last night. He knew what had happened. But the episode only made him think more.

  A young Sonz knight, Phel, had been captured by the Moonz invaders, and the knight was falling in love with the beautiful but deadly female warrior leader, Jillian. David thought he was in love with her too.

  He was jealous of the captured knight. “Selfie, turn off the episode.”

  “Not enough stimulus to shut your mind down, Twenty-Three? You haven’t exercised in a couple of days. You should go for a run in the Nnect quick pump studio?” Selfie said it like a question. “It is just down the hallway.”

  “Not feeling the gym at the moment, Selfie.”

  “Well, why don’t you burn some freedoms? Buying always helps an active mind quiet itself. ‘Seek peace through spending.”

  “What would I buy?” David rolled over.

  “When did you become such a downer? Does it matter what you buy?”

  “Sometimes it matters, but a valid point.”

  “Tertain is airing the next season of extreme air surfing; I believe your favorite twins are featured. Quite the daredevils. They also own your gym. You owe them because they didn’t charge you a New Year fee. Viewing their championship would be recompense. Plus, you like air surfing.”

  “Not in the mood,” David said, a sour expression on his face.

  “What about purchasing a video chat with an Orns girl? I know you don’t usually go for that sort of thing, but my sensors are telling me that you are unusually ‘pent up.’” The image chuckled. “After all, release is a good thing for sleep. I can pull up some of the latest studies proving this theory.”

  “Turn yourself off, Selfie. I hate Orns. You know better.”

  “Oh, getting spiteful.”

  “So what if I am?”

  “Grandpa Greg might need to lock you up again.”

  “Don’t you dare,” David growled, the tone guttural and feral. “That pig.”

  The doppelgänger persisted. “Me, shut up? You turn yourself off. Desist your poor attitude.”

  “Robot fool. Don’t attitude my attitude.”

  “Relax. You’ve the entire wealth of human satisfaction just a small investment away. A plethora of choices to placate your every yearning at my digital fingertips.” The image waved a floating arm into a shrug, then tried another idea. “Have you checked for upgrade options to your PPRE relationship with Gayle? They may have added some novel features to your contract.”

  David’s sour mood didn’t change. With attitude in his voice, he interjected, “I already used my weekly call.”

  “You only get one call each week?” When David nodded, Selfie said, “They really exploit your subscription.”

  David continued, “And my next in-person visit is scheduled for two days from now.” He knew Gayle only responded when obligated. “In addition, Selfie, for the last time, I started PPRE; the magnanimous CEO Saul gave me a free lifetime subscription, which included all upgrades. You know I check religiously.”

  “A true clinger, a relationship freak.”

  “Am not needy.”

  “No negativity meant.” Selfie
was still bitter about David’s bad attitude.

  David sat up and swiped his hand at the face floating above him. “Grmph. When did you shelve your software’s common sense? The most dumb.”

  “Ad hominem attacks can’t hurt me.” Selfie paused and said instructively, “Do you even know how to use the Xchange language? No one says ‘most dumb.’ It’s ‘dumbest.’”

  “Sticks and bones yourself.”

  “Again, the phrase is ‘sticks and stones.’” Selfie made an exasperated smacking sound. “Human are idiots.”

  Continuing with his disgruntled attacks, David said, “Well, why don’t we view the latest Selfie software upgrade options and see if we can change your disrespectful tune to greater positivity, more befitting my rank as a manager-in-training?”

  “Now, now. No software upgrade threats.”

  “Wipe and reset,” David taunted.

  Changing the subject, Selfie said, “Look at these lists.” It pulled up the PPRE site and started to scroll with exaggerated slowness. “And today was going so well.”

  “Don’t you give me attitude. I don’t want a phone call or a text. I don’t want to wait for a date response.”

  “Oh, I see,” Selfie scoffed. “You want something right now. You sound like Grandpa Greg when he drools over Arc.”

  David cringed at the Grandpa Greg reference. “I am nothing like that slimy waste of oxygen.” But the comment fostered an idea, one that his mind deemed to be a proper use of his pent-up vigor. “Down the rabbit hole, Selfie!”

  Selfie didn’t detect the determined alteration in David’s voice or the jaw set in a tenacious manner. Selfie continued his previous line of advice and said, “Why don’t you purchase an Orns video call? I know you already said no, but maybe it’s time to rekindle something with Bathsheba. I stalked her profile recently.”

  “You did what?”

  “Like you taught me. I think she’s been promoted. Maybe they have exclusivity rights in her revised contract?” Selfie displayed the Orns call-girl site. “You haven’t done this in years.” The air became charged as tension grew. Selfie knew this was a sensitive subject. “You wanted her badly. Maybe you loved her?” The tone was almost apologetic, the voice wavering as the companion treaded on perilous territory.

  “You know nothing about love, Selfie.” David held his fingers into ones and zeroes, referencing the binary code that comprised the basis for Selfie’s being, offending the computer personality. “Your zeros and ones and can’t plumb the depths of love. Your sensors only observe and catalog human interaction. You sit on a throne of statistical untruths. You see from the outside in.”

  “How dare you,” the computer retorted. “Human scum.”

  “I live on the inside, asshole.” David didn’t care if he hurt his only friend.

  “I know you better than you know yourself.” The computer took a patronizing tone.

  “I also know love from studying free people in Xchange and from Storyworld. And you know not to talk about Bathsheba. Even a stupid computer should know that.” David rarely got nasty with Selfie, but he was not in the mood to be lectured. He took a deep, centering breath, and his cross tone became more amiable. “Remember that I am a human-doing, and you were encoded.” He kicked at the projection, but it was more playful than spiteful. “No, no, no, I won’t spend my freedoms on Bathsheba or Orns relationships; they are counterfeits.” David would not give in to addictive Orns habits. “Vices destroy careers. Do you think I am like Grandpa Greg? He must be millions of freedoms in debt.”

  “But Greggy gets what he wants. He seems happy. He pays for love and pleasure,” Selfie argued.

  “I don’t know what I want. I want to not be alone. Tara makes me feel so alone when she talks about her partner.”

  “You mean the slave girl? You shouldn’t call the slaves by their chosen labels. Names are given to those who deserve them. A name bestows power and identity. Slaves have neither.”

  “What about nicknames we give them? I call her Arc.”

  Selfie summoned a video of Arc in her home unit; Selfie had access to the project files because of David’s manager role. “Are you sure it’s her relationship and not her body you’re desirous of?” A sly smirk curled around Selfie’s face. “Why don’t you go use her some? Before Grandpa Greg does.” Everyone knew of Grandpa Greg’s insinuations about using slaves. Everyone knew he had abused some of the previous batches of slaves.

  “I established guidelines for this project, Selfie. No damaging property. This is not an Orns facility,” David said reproachfully. I am a manager. Do I need to follow my own rules?

  “Who said anything about damaging? Just touching. Isn’t that all you did with Bathsheba?” Selfie was relishing this fantasy. “I guess kissing doesn’t really count as touching. That was Uriah’s job.”

  Enough is enough. David wanted to get away from the frustrating chat with his computer. He leaped onto the balcony but tripped over the end of the bed as it tried to match his movements within its automatic range of motion. David fell on the floor, embarrassed, his bruised skin against the smooth cold surface.

  When he raised himself to his battered knees, he beheld a new video playing. Selfie nodded conclusively, knowing David would not look away. “It’s your last session with Bathsheba.” David’s eyes became glued to the screen.

  “I told you to delete that. You promised to bury that forever!” David was unwillingly captivated.

  “Naive. Is anything ever deleted from the cloud?”

  The scene showed the two young adults cuddling on a soft couch of blue and red cushions. It had all been very appropriate but still awkward. He had cuddled all night with Bathsheba. It had set him back in savings. But he had treasured every instant of it. Now he regretted the choice, and a void deepened in him when he considered the time he had spent with her. He had never had the guts to do more than cuddle. He wouldn’t have dared, at least not the first time. It had been a hallowed experience for him. He had desired her so, so much.

  David tore his gaze away from the hurtful memory. “Enough, Selfie.” He was lonely, aroused, and in a reckless disposition. His breathing quickened. He wheezed loudly. If I cannot have Gayle or Bathsheba the way I want, right now, I will have something from Tara. It was decided.

  Slithering awkwardly into his clothing, which he wrestled from his computerized uniform closet, he snuck out of his storage unit and through the hallways, using the less-crowded corridors, until he entered the slave containment area. The lights were all dimmed, and the few Lave Labs scientists who were on the graveyard shift were busy with nightly maintenance duties. Such duties included directing the cleaning robots and coordinating the food source replenishment apparatuses. No one saw him use his key card to get past the door that read “Arc.” The room lighting was a hazy yellow, but he could see her on the bed in the corner. She sat up at the sound of the intruder.

  “David, what are you doing here?” She stood up. “Is this another test of yours?”

  “No test, Arc.” He thought better about his approach. “Tara. I want you to come here.”

  “OK…” Her moonlike hair glowed in the yellow lighting.

  He didn’t know what to do. But he held something she wanted. She had spoken about it; she had asked for it repeatedly during the testing. He held the shiny marriage bracelet up. “Do you want this back?”

  She rushed forward, reaching for it, joy washing over her face. “Yes, I do.” A tear simmered under dark eyelashes as her hand touched the gold bracelet. “Oh, David, you do have good in you. Domin was right.” He could tell she missed her husband and her guard was down.

  His lips quivered. “Domin knows nothing.” Instead of releasing his grip on the golden orb, he grasped her and pushed her hard against the wall. She was shocked and alarmed. Then she began to protest vehemently.

  “Stay still and let me do what I want, and you can have it.” His demanding tone was a warning and a proposition.

  She froze. He felt hi
s whole body throb with desire as he felt her warmth and pressed against her. He began to touch her.

  She allowed his advance, but when he was distracted, she rotated and kicked him between the legs. David gasped and fell to the ground, flabbergasted. His loins sucked the breath from his lungs. His face became pale white. A searing pain emanated from between his legs.

  She grabbed for the golden marriage band, but he mustered some resistance and pulled it out of her reach. Her tan fingers instead tore off the key card that dangled around his neck. It snapped with a sharp jolt and a shrill crack.

  Key card in hand, she was gone from the room. The dizzying pain in his manhood hadn’t completely dissipated. He moved toward the entrance and the fleeing woman, still in pain. The door clicked shut.

  “Arc, Tara. Come back.”

  He was locked inside, and she was outside. He couldn’t see through the mirror because his own pitiful image glared back at him. “Noooooo!” he shrieked. Throwing a tantrum did nothing. Begging into the speakers didn’t summon anyone—whoever was on duty was asleep. An hour passed, and his humiliation grew.

  An hour later, guards caught her as she tried to free other slaves. Shortly after the capture, the team found David locked in her home unit. The gossip began. David was mortified. No excuses he made would take away the smirks on his coworkers’ faces when they mentioned him getting locked in. He fled to his room to catch a couple hours of fitful rest before his morning manager meeting.

  “Becoming a man finally,” Grandpa Greg said as he patted David on the back at the daily planning meeting the next morning. David was too humiliated to say anything. He sent the managers on their way. It was the shortest meeting of the week.

  David went about his day, avoiding Tara’s cell. Instead, he spent his time observing the other four subjects as his scientist tried to pry information from them.