6.17 - Low Traffic Area
I tapped my foot impatiently, trying not to worry too much that Synthia hadn't called back with a status update. It's fine, I thought, there's still plenty of time before the security update would get deployed, There are more than sixty units working in tandem to decrypt that package...
Oh, said that voice of doubt, the package that was encrypted by an ARA so advanced, it's still considered years beyond our current tech? Would that be the package you think is going to be decrypted by a few dozen consumer-grade units from 20 years ago?
My foot began to tap faster.
"Sorry sir," the barista (Vivian, according to her nametag) told me, her social protocols interpreting my impatience as being directed at her, "I don't know why it's taking so long for this machine to update." She made a resigned huffing sound, but was completely motionless as she did so. "I don't usually work with the computer stuff, so I hope I'm doing it right."
Since initiating the Process 12, Vivian's attitude towards Jill had completely changed, presumably as part of her perceptual filtering. While Jill had been sitting with me, Vivian saw her as a patron, and even offered her the occasional drink, which Jill consistently, but politely refused. Even as Jill had fingered herself, stripped, and bent over the table, Vivian continued to behave as though she were simply a customer, albeit a less important one than me. This made sense, I supposed: Guests in this facility probably wouldn't enjoy a 'bot's pantomime service to take priority over their own, paying customer service.
Since initiating the maintenance procedure, however, it became apparent that Vivian now saw Jill as no more than a piece of computer equipment. Whether she believed the nude girl to be a permanent fixture in the coffee shop, or if she thought of her as some kind of portable device I had brought with me, I didn't know. Gives new meaning to the word "laptop" I reflected.
"Take all the time you need," I reassured her. I had initiated Jill's Process 12 with the intention of having her then perform the same on Vivian. Catching Vivian in the burst programmer's radius had been a surprise, and I was tempted to investigate whether other units had been affected outside. The handbook had implied that the devices were intended for one-on-one installation of the VIP program, but the scant documentation I had found in Dr. Meyers's notes only mentioned the operational radius of the prototype unit. The scaled-down components of the final product weren't just less durable, they were far less powerful.
Starting Process 12 on Jill, though... that was before I had learned of the update package. Now, hopefully, the facility-wide deployment of the Lovertoy program would render the process a moot point. As part of the security update, the VIP-exclusive program would remain part of her persistent programming, so there wouldn't be any further risk of a restore-from-backup overwriting it.
Vivian and Jill continued to stand motionless, with Vivian's face peeled down to allow access to her cartridge drive, and Jill's head twisted backwards, her backup compartment open. Despite her apparent change of attitude towards Jill, Vivian remained utterly unaware of her own artificial nature, even as she inserted cartridges into her head, then transferred them back into Jill's backup compartment.
Nothing to do but wait, I thought. I could check Vivian while she finished the process, but if the site-wide deployment was going live soon...
Relying on just one plan, Derek? Tsk tsk. So what if you've got a site-wide update in progress? There's always that slim chance that she is the XR unit. Coffee shop barista... was that "low traffic?" ScenariCorp's customers had tended to be the idle rich, or at the very least, the idle upper-middle class. Would the coffee shop have seemed too bohemian for them, or would that have mattered in a fantasy setting?
"Vivian," I said, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of it, "Could you lift your skirt and finger yourself for me?"
"I'd be happy to," she said in cheery tones, "I just need to finish this up first." Her metallic jaw moved up and down as she replied, the absence of her lips creating a disconcerting out-of-synch effect.
Of course, I realized. She wouldn't be able to take any action which could physically interrupt the process. It was an overprotective feature, but I could see its usefulness. A partial transfer could risk damaging the media. "Actually, nevermind," I told her. "I'll do it myself."
"Mmm, that sounds like fun," she replied, her voice filled with desire, but her body nearly statue-still, and her glassy-eyed gaze still locked on the gaping compartment which comprised the back of Jill's head.
Feeling an odd mix of exhilaration, embarrassment, and bashful hesitation, I reached for the hem of her short skirt. No, I told myself, you don't need to glance around to see if anyone's looking, no one's going to burst in on you and...
"Hi lover!" a voice called from behind me. I nearly fell out of my seat. Turning quickly to see who had said it, I felt the sudden stab of pain in my side again, my surgery wound still not fully healed. I grimaced, first in response to this sensation, but then in response to what I saw before me. I'd realized even as I spun in my seat that it would be another ARA, but didn't immediately recognize this one. Whether that was because I hadn't met her before, or because of her current state, I couldn't tell.
Her face was, thankfully, intact, and her skin wasn't so badly damaged as to render her completely inhuman in appearance - but she'd obviously seen better days. The synthetic skin on one arm was completely gone up to the shoulder, with singe marks around the edges where some of the skin remained. Her other arm ended in twisted metal and torn, sparking wires just below the elbow. More burned patches dotted her legs and side, with gleaming chrome clearly visible beneath.
She was also topless, and the colorful tights she wore were damaged around her nether region, revealing a surprisingly intact, smooth pussy. The clearly mechanical damage clashed with the feminine curves of her sexuality, and I was surprised to find myself more aroused than disturbed. Then the very fact that I was aroused by this began to disturb me.
Her intact arm was clutching something gray, with red lettering...
The handbook! "Susan?" I ventured. It would explain the tights.
"Of course, honey!" she said, beaming. She strolled over to me, her truncated arm swinging oddly. After a few steps, I realized that, had her arm been intact, this would be a kind of catwalk motion. Reaching my table, she bent at the waist, teasingly pressing the book against her bare breasts, and planted a kiss on me. I was still too shocked by her appearance to stop her, and before I realized it, her lips were against mine, her tongue playfully exploring, then retreating. My eyes drifted shut and I began to lose myself to the sensation...
You've got a job to do, Derek.
I broke the kiss, surprised at my own reluctance. "Susan, what happened to you?" I stammered.
"Oh," she said dismissively, "There was a little fire in Ashley's room. I kept the book safe for you, though."
At the word "fire," I reflexively gave a small "eep" sound. Reaching out, I gently took the book and carefully pulled it out of her grasp. She made no effort to prevent this, but did make a brief pretense of modestly covering her breasts with her arm before smiling and pulling it away. "What do you think of my new look?" she said, turning and bending to show me her ass. The scorched hole in the tights also partially revealed her backside, which she wiggled at me. "You said you wanted to fuck me in my tights, but I wasn't sure whether to cut them or tear them." She giggled. "I never would have thought to burn them."
I couldn't deny it: I had told her that. I'd been talking to these ARA in the crudest, most offensive language I could think of, hoping that maybe one of them would react with something other than total acceptance. If dad's email was anything to go by, they would have made some kind of attempt to discourage sex with the XR unit. It wasn't that she was incapable - far from it. Uncle James, despite himself, had always been at the forefront of every aspect of ARA luxury, and sex was no exception.
No, dad had tried to sweep the 9660F under the carpet purely to avoid a contract dispute. The worst of it was, according to the terms of that contract, the penalty for non-compliance on this single unit in a single facility would have been less than ten thousand dollars. Total. Ever. Had it ever been open for business, this facility would have made that much in less than a day.
So my search process thus far had mostly consisted of seeing how far any given unit would go after receiving the Lovertoy program. This was key: Regardless of her social reactions, Lovertoy would - should - grant me admin-level command over the XR unit. If I was going to have any hope of stopping the virus, I would need every bit of that control.
Unfazed by my lack of response, Susan draped herself across my table, face up, and brought one knee up to more effectively show off her exposed sex. "Can I play with your toys?" she asked, running her hand up Jill's leg, then lightly brushing the naked unit's ass.
"My" toys. I was still getting used to that concept. I had played fast and loose with the letter - and intent - of property and ownership laws after dad's downward spiral, operating in legal ambiguities arising from the existence of untended sleeper units with no clear owner. Corporate shillbots like Jenn often fell into this gray zone when their parent companies got bought out or liquidated, especially if the 'bot's existence was "off the books" for accounting purposes. Was it theft to hijack them? The letter of the law hadn't yet caught up with that question.
But this place was, in completely legitimate, documented form, mine. Lock, stock, and barrel, I hadn't found an explanation in any of his notes, but for some reason, Dad had placed ownership of the BMOC resort in the care of a legal trust, instructing them "Transfer full ownership to my son, when he asks." As the years went on and ScenariCorp's status deteriorated, this place had remained locked down, protected from liquidation while he desperately looked for Mom. When I discovered this little detail, it had taken me weeks to gather the requisite documentation to present to the managers of the trust.
Thanks to this inexplicable legal move, I was the proud owner of a self-contained college fantasy resort complete with 3000 beautiful, willing girls happy to cater to my every whim. I could do whatever I liked with them, for the rest of my life.
Which would probably be less than a week if I couldn't find the XR unit soon, or if I couldn't get it to work, or if its much-vaunted security features were less miraculous than advertised, or if Lovebug had become too sophisticated for her to squash. No sweat, my mind told me, just do the impossible with a mythical ARA, and everything will be just fine. And if you don't, who knows, maybe the virus will go inactive after killing you. Humanity probably won't even get decimated.
I needed to distract myself from that line of thought. Susan, still stroking Jill's backside, had not yet taken further action, apparently waiting for approval or permission. Why not? Don't deny you'd like to see it, part of me said. "Sure," I said, "go ahead."
Susan attempted to clap in glee, not noticing that she wasn't really equipped for that anymore, and sprang off the table, coming around to Jill's side. "Not that one," I told her. "The other one." I indicated Vivian.
Susan gave me a playful grin, then moved to Vivian instead. "There's not much I can do with this uniform in the way," she pouted. "What do you think, lover?" she said, wrapping her arm around Vivian from behind. She ran her hand from between the inert unit's breasts, down to the front of the short skirt, her hand moving as though attempting to caress Vivian's inner thigh, but hindered by the skirt.
I leaned back in my seat. "Skirt's in the way," I agreed.
"I could lift it up," Susan suggested, her hand moving to grip the edge of the garment.
"I'll just fall back down again. Better take it off."
"I never would have thought of that!" Susan said. "You're so clever."
The comment completely failed to bolster my opinion. Probably because she would say that about virtually anything you suggested, I thought to myself. Use an umbrella when it rains? Brilliant. Use a spoon instead of a fork to eat soup? Genius.
Susan worked the skirt down Vivian's hips with some difficulty, still not consciously aware of her missing arm. I could just about visualize the movements she was attempting using the severed limb, trying to grip the skirt with her missing hand and pull it down. When this failed, she reacted as though the skirt were stuck, and moved as though gripping it with both hands on the same side.
So she went, tugging down one side, then the other, gradually exposing the top of Vivian's lacy red thong. She hadn't quite pulled it back up when I had her start on Jill, and it rode low on her hips. Eventually, Susan got the skirt down far enough that it simply fell the rest of the way, pooling around Vivian's feet.
"Hmm," Susan commented. She indicated the panties, apparently stumped. "I still can't get at her cunt," she said in exaggerated tones. She closed her eyes, her good hand drifting up to her breast, squeezing it. "Her cunt, wet pussy, love hole, oooohhhh," she moaned, suddenly lost in a keyword triggered haze. "Needs something in it, something long and hard, in and out of my wet, hot cunt pussy slit fuckhole need a hard one I could suck your-" I heard a sparking noise, and Susan froze. The fire may have done some more damage than was initially visible.
"Love-master-honey-lover" She said, cycling through user labels for me, "Do you mind if I get these off of her?" She tugged at the semi-transparent mesh of the thong.
"Are you feeling okay, Susan?" I said, somewhat concerned.
"Yes," she responded, blinking, "I will feel her okay for you."
Hooking her finger in the crotch of the panties, she simply pulled downward, dragging the thong down Vivian's legs until it too simply fell to her feet. Vivian, still occupied with Jill's process, made no indication that she was even aware she'd just been stripped from the waist down.
"Mmm," Susan hummed, licking her lips. She gently began rubbing the outside of Vivian's pussy with the flat of her hand.
"Ooooh," Vivian moaned, startling me. She remained immobile, but her voice was thick with desire. I could hear the tiny control points on her face whirring into place, attempting to create a passionate expression. Without her facial layer, her face remained a wide-eyed metallic skull, the jaw moving to simulate speech, but lacking lips to complete the illusion.
Encouraged by the positive response, Susan began working her fingers into the wet folds of Vivian's pussy, building a steady rhythm of pumping inwards and outwards.
"Ohh, yes!" Vivian cried, her voice rising in tone and intensity - while her face and body remained as inanimate as ever. "That feels so good, yes!" she cried, reaching up casually to eject the last cartridge from her own drive before replacing it in Jill's open compartment. Her arm smoothly moved to close Jill's compartment, then to roll up her own dermal layer. After a few seconds of odd twitches while her control points reconnected with her face, her expression came alive, and her body moved in reaction to Susan's stimulation.
As she continued to grind and moan in pleasure, Jill's head slowly revolved back around to face forward, at which point she too reanimated, flipping the length of her hair back over her shoulder. "Aww," she pouted, turning to face me. "You started without me." She ran her hands enticingly along her body, lingering on her breasts to give them a squeeze. "Can I join in on the fun?" She pleaded. I ignored her.
"Susan, is she wet?" I asked.
"She sure is," Susan said, sounding delighted. "I think I am, too, but you should probably double-check."
"C'mere," I told her, motioning towards myself. She obediently took her place directly in front of me.
"I'm wet too!" Jill insisted, plaintively. "I'll do anything you want, you know."
I knew. Lovertoy completely overrode any profile-based inhibitions, and cranked the unit's sex drive up to maximum levels. I could almost understand why the IT department had mistaken it for a virus.
I took Susan's hand, examining the glistening juices, and took an experimental lick. "Ohh," she murmured, reacting as though her hands were erogenous zones.
The flavor, I was disappointed to learn, was a sort of berry mixture. Annoyed, I slumped back in my chair. "Not her either," I muttered.
"Or I could just pose for you," Jill persisted. "I've always wanted to be a model."
"You are a model," I said distractedly. "Hell, if I disabled your filters, you could probably even tell me..." I trailed off, my heart quickening, my eyes opening wide. "Could tell me who... made... you..." I whispered. No. I wasn't that stupid. That couldn't possibly work, could it? "Susan, Jill, Vivian" I said, expecting this to fail, "Disable your perceptual filters and tell me your manufacturer and model number."
They replied in the order in which I had named them. "I am an X-Ero Glamor series model number G4700," Susan said simply.
"I am a HerForm SultryStudent series 2, model number H325v," came Jill's reply.
"I am a HerForm SultryStudent series 2," echoed Vivian, "model number H325v."
I am a Peters series grade-A moron, model number ID-10-T, I thought to myself. This whole time, going through dozens of units one-by-one, checking maybe as many as a hundred with the assistance of other units, and all I really needed to do was disable their filters and ask them? It was so stupidly simple, I had to laugh at myself.
Or maybe you're not so stupid, came the doubt. Maybe you were just enjoying yourself, pretending to have a noble motivation.
I shook the thought off. I would need some way to address all of them at once - but humans would have been in charge of things like the PA system, had the facility ever opened for business. Maybe they would have something in the IT department. I reached for the phone, but before my hand touched it, it began to ring.
"Hello?" I answered, curious.
"Hi lover, it's Synthia," came the sing-song voice. "You'll be so happy, we decrypted the update package just like you wanted."
Even better, now I could easily get all the units in one place and have them all report at once. "Great, have you got it where you can modify it?"
"Uh-huh," she affirmed. "I transferred it to my handcomp for editing."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Perfect, how long until it deploys?"
"Eighty-seven seconds," she replied unconcerned.
Another "eep" sound escaped my lips. "Okay, listen, disable your perceptual filters."
"Disabled, master."
"Remove your face's dermal layer," I instructed.
I heard the sound of the semi-sticky material peeling away from the chrome underneath. "Dermal layer removed, master." There was a faint buzzing of tiny motors, presumably her control points being held close to the phone.
"Eject your right eye," I continued.
A clicking sound, then the sliding sound of something being unplugged. "Right eye ejected, master," she confirmed. "Warning, my visual acuity has..."
"Hard link your handcomp to the link port in your eye socket."
Another clicking noise, the sound of a cable being uncoiled, then the smooth *snick* as it was plugged into the port.
"Connection established, master. New hardware detec..."
"Extract binary contents of Rebecca's compiled report from handcomp records. Extract binary components of Lovertoy sensory-based-installation from local memory. Compile as executable package using frame headers to define data sequence." I could to this a lot faster and more reliably if I had an actual interface console to work on.
"Standby," came Synthia's reply. In a console interface, I could have identified exact filenames and defined the correct sequence, but there was no time to have her read those out to me. Fortunately, Lovertoy had been designed specifically to be installed in arbitrary sequence, each data frame containing its own executable and a payload of installation data. Once a unit had been exposed to sufficient distinct installation frames, the package would assemble itself and install. But deploying the whole package as a single executable? Synthia would have to rebuild the installation package data herself.
"Mmm, Jill, I just love your ass," Vivian declared. I glanced up. The girls had entered their idle-activity states, intended entertain or seduce. Vivian was lovingly brushing a hand down Jill's back, lingering on her posterior, and...
Stay focused, Derek.
"Data compiled. New executable filename LToyInstall.aix compiled at file path..."
"Transfer LToyInstall.aix onto handcomp," I said, speaking as quickly as possible. I was vaguely aware of Jill, Susan, and Vivian as they pawed at one another, but tried to ignore what they were saying. I didn't wait for Synthia's response. "Replace security patch in update package with LToyInstall.aix, set auto-install flag to 'true, set overwrite flag to 'true', and set ignore warnings flag to 'true.'" The flags shouldn't be necessary, but I wasn't taking any chances.
"Security patch deleted. LToyInstall.aix added to update package," she reported. "Auto-install flag set to 'true.' Overwrite flag set to 'true.' Ignore warnings flag set to 'true.'"
"Well I think your tits are just as bouncy as Jill's," Susan was telling Vivian. I turned away and covered my ear.
"Report time to update deployment," I instructed Synthia.
"Update will be automatically deployed in twelve seconds," she replied.
"Re-compress new update file. Re-sign using previous decryption key. Transfer new update into deployment system, overwrite existing update."
"Compressing," she stated. There was a pause. I caught a glimpse in the reflection of the window of Vivian and Jill eagerly licking Susan's nipples. "Signing package." Another pause. Vivian pulled off her top, revealing the lace bra she wore beneath. "Transferring package. File exists with same filename. Overwriting existing file." Another pause.
My heart hammered. Three seconds, by my count. I uncovered my ear, turning back to look at the girls directly. Jill was stroking her fingers across Vivian's bustline now, before eagerly yanking the shoulder straps of the bra down, letting Vivian's breasts out of the restricting garment. Susan was seated on a nearby table, working her fingers in and out of her pussy with no apparent awareness of anything around her.
"You just can't resist yourself, can you," Vivian was saying as Jill began kneading her bare tits. "Mmm, yes, squeeze them ha-"
She broke off mid-sentence, and all three girls froze. This was the moment of truth. "New system updates have been detected," they intoned in unison. All across campus, these words would be echoed by three thousand voices. "Installing updates, please wait." Here it comes. "Warning," they reported. My heart sank. "Auto install package matches signature of program already running in active runtime. Installing as persistent application. Program will continue from active runtime until unit is rebooted. Persistent application installed with warnings."
I blinked in surprise. It had worked. "-rd, just like that," Vivian began again. Jill began playing with Vivian's nipples. Susan brought one leg up in a position designed to show off her flexibility.
I put the phone back to my ear. "Synthia, are you still there?"
"Yes, master," She replied. There was that jolt of exhilaration again at that word.
"Fix your face and re-initialize perceptual filters." I needed to keep my wits about me.
Or is it more fun to play with them when they're more lifelike? Pert of me taunted. Where's the fun in dominating a mere object?
"I'm here until you want me to go somewhere else, lover," she purred.
"Is there a location capable of holding all 3000 on-site units here?"
"Hmm," she said, considering the question. "There's the quad in front of the Library,"
"Great. Send a message campus-wide. Have everyone meet in the quad for a general assembly."
"No problem, lover. I'll get that message out, right away." As soon as she said this, Jill, Susan, and Vivian stopped playing with each other and moved towards the door.
I covered the mouthpiece on the phone. "Where are you three going?" I asked.
"There's a general assembly in the quad in a few minutes," Susan replied.
"We don't want to miss anything important," Jill added.
Puzzled, I uncovered the mouthpiece on the phone again. "Synthia, did you already get that message out?"
"Well," she said, sounding almost uncertain, "I told some friends. They probably told some of their friends, and they told some of their friends..."
Of course, a peer-node network. Would have been useful to know about that before. It would have made installation so much easier. Then again, without the authority that Lovertoy granted me, the individual nodes would probably reject unusual commands. To install Lovertoy that way, I'd have to already have Lovertoy installed. My head hurt. When had I last slept again?
"Anyway," Synthia continued, "It looks like everyone got the news."
"How can you tell?" I asked, heading for the coffee shop door myself.
"I'm on my way there myself. I don't want to miss anything important, lover."
Following just behind my most recent entourage, I was greeted by a campus swarming with activity. While evening hours weren't completely uneventful, chance-encounter-type scenarios were far less likely outdoors at night. There was the occasional jogger, or members of a campus organization on their way back from a meeting, or late-night partygoers lingering to offer an invitation to the party, or the constant stream of girls heading to and returning from the dance club - but other than that, most of the scenario opportunities at night were indoors.
Now, a teeming crowd of women was making its way across campus. There was no consistent pattern to their attire, but they were definitely headed in a consistent direction: All of them were making a beeline for the huge lawn directly in front of the library.
I almost expected them to march, zombie-like, with their arms outstretched and blank expressions on their faces, but instead, the crowd buzzed with conversation. Girls chatted and joked as they made their way dutifully to the open lawn, some of them waving and blowing kisses as they passed.
Anything you want. Anything you can imagine. Any one of these girls - or any group of them - would happily strip for me here and now. Indeed, no one seemed to notice Jill, Susan, or Vivian's nudity as they made their way to the quad. I scanned the crowd now, unable to find them.
Feeling attached, Derick? You can always find them later. There are plenty of toys to play with, and you've got your book back. Besides, they weren't the one you're looking for. None of them matter.
I caught myself as the thought came into my head. Was that really the kind of person I was? Use them up, throw them away? True, they were just robots, just machines created to obey, but I didn't like the idea of being so callous, even to machines. The things we do are part of who we are, Dad had told me once. Abuse, in any form, even without a victim, builds a mindset - moreso with ARAs, designed to so closely mimic the human form and human behavior. They'd called it Ricksburg Syndrome, after the Ricksburg massacre. The killer, Martin Powell, had vented his aggression on ARAs for years, slashing them, tearing them apart, loading them with fear and trauma simulation software - programs which weren't specifically illegal, but usually associated with suspect activity.
It wasn't clear whether he started thinking of his ARA victims as more human, or of those around him as less human, but the effect was the same: He stopped caring that there was any difference between the two.
But Ricksburg Syndrome wasn't an official psychological diagnosis. For every supposed case, there were millions of perfectly normal people living harmless lives, regardless of whatever they got up to with their ARAs. Powell enjoyed causing suffering. It was a part of his personality. Of course it spilled over into the real world.
But you enjoy giving commands, I realized. You manipulate. You trick. You use, then you dispose. Those are parts of who you are. You were prepared to kill Bosch if he didn't give you the book. "Only as a last resort," I said aloud. Thankfully, it hadn't come to that.
Once this was over, if I found the 9660F, what then? Would I keep her? Would she be a new toy for me? Would I just throw her away? What about this place? I didn't know the first thing about running a business. I was a hacker, a borderline criminal at best. Running this place was a suit-and-office job. It was the last thing I had from when my Dad was alive, -really- alive, not that shell of a thing he became when Mom disappeared. Could I bring myself to just sell it?
As my mind chased its existential tail, I suddenly became aware that the crowd around me was thinning, and could hear the more concentrated sounds of movement and conversation coming from the direction of the library. I made my way there, trying keep my thoughts on the here and now. Just get this done, fix this, stop the virus or die trying. Deal with the present. Worry about the future later. ~~ Despite the crowd noises of an informal gathering, the women of the BMOC resort had lined up with military precision into regular, evenly spaced groups, with room to walk between each group. At the top of the library steps, presumably because I was in charge and any order given by me was therefore official, some efficient fembot (or bots) had setup a podium with a microphone. I climbed to the top, and, upon reaching the podium, turned to see my audience from my elevated position... and felt dizzy from what I saw.
I had been prepared for variety, but the sheer scale of it was staggering. Maids, waitresses, dancers, girls in stretchy exercise outfits, girls in cheerleading uniforms, girls in swimsuits, girls in classic schoolgirl uniforms, girls dressed as what could equally be secretaries, librarians, or teachers, girls in evening gowns, girls in dance club dresses, girls in more revealing versions of various service uniforms, girls in lingerie, and some girls in nothing more than heels. There may have been a hundred or more different categories of outfits, not counting the more general-purpose casual clothes some wore - though even these were more revealing or form-fitting than the norm outside this little fantasy world.
And BMOC was one of Dad's tamer ideas, I reminded myself.
The evenly-divided groups were almost all, save one in the front, the same size, five girls across, six girls deep, so precisely lined up that there was no mistaking their number from group to group. No extra or missing lines or columns, not a single girl out of alignment with the rest of the grid. The full crowd comprised a hundred such groups, ten across and ten deep. Even at a glance, I could easily tell that this was, indeed, a crowd of 3000.
Well, 2996, I corrected myself, noting the four empty slots in the only incomplete group in the crowd. Probably just the ones from the coffee shop, I thought. Then there was that Yasmine girl. Marilyn had said something about her nearly destroying herself, and Synthia had mentioned that she wasn't available to help with the decryption.
I saw some familiar faces: Nikki, one of the nurses from the night of my arrival, had been repaired and appeared good as new. Professor Weiss was looking her official, down-to-earth self, still clutching an armful of the Lovertoy optical pattern fliers. Jennifer, the swim team coach, stood proudly at the front, wearing only a stocking and garter set with heels. There was Beth, only the shorts missing from her IT outfit. I hadn't even realized she was in the IT department when I'd roped her in - she just happened to be in range when I got Marilyn with the burst programmer.
Reflexively, I tapped the microphone, then cleared my throat. "Uh..." Off to a confident start. "Sit down if you can hear me," I said. As one, every girl before me immediately dropped to sit on the ground. Well, I thought, they can definitely hear me. "Stand back up," I told them. They rose, just as instantly, and just as synchronized. The skirts on many of them had ridden up as they sat, but they made no effort to straighten their clothing. I was surprised at how many of them were wearing underwear.
"Okay everyone, listen carefully," I said, slowly and deliberately, "disable your perceptual filters."
"Disabled," a single, synchronized voice chorused from the crowd. The inhuman timing and precision reminded me of how finely crafted and precisely engineered they were - but it also reminded me of the single voice the virus had spoken through its infected avatars. Priority target. Me.
I took a deep breath. "If you were manufactured by XR Innovations, come up here now," I told the crowd.
There was no sign of movement throughout the crowd. From the moment I had disabled their perceptual filters, even their social chatter had ceased, but none of them even budged from their spots on the grid. Was it possible she didn't know who made her? Need to try another approach.
"Okay," I said, trying to remember the numbers from Dad's memo, "It you were made by HerForm, sit down."
Most of the teacher/secretary/librarian units dropped to a seated position on the ground, as did all of the nurses and cheerleaders, and a sizable portion of the student population. It looked like more than half of them, total. "Next, if you were made by X-Ero, sit down." The entire remainder of the students sat, leaving fewer than three full 30-unit groups remaining, all maids and waitresses. Service staff? Were they low traffic? "If you were made by GySys, sit," I said, looking down, gripping the podium tightly.
I was afraid to look up. What if they were all seated? What if she wasn't here? "No, calm down," I muttered, "You're panicking over nothing. Process of elimination. You narrowed it down, she has to be in this facility, it's the only place left, She's not one of the HerForm, X-Ero, or GySys units. Those units are all sitting down, she's the only odd one out, so you're going to look up, and she'll be the only one standing." I looked up.
They were all sitting. Not a single one of the beautiful, women, clothed, partially clothed, or completely nude, was still standing.
"Don't panic," I told myself, "There may be another explanation." Dad was always concerned about containing sensitive information, maybe he had her programmed with the wrong manufacturer identification. "Everyone stand up," I said, feeling worn thin.
2996 sexy women stood again. The skirts which had ridden up last time were now essentially belts, while some of the girls in evening gowns had managed to tear the slit up their sides this time.
It's the only thing left, I thought. The only thing I can definitely check for.
And don't pretend it's not what you want to see.
"Fine, I won't deny that," I said quietly. "I want to see it. I want to see all of them do it." Then, a bit louder, I spoke directly into the microphone. "All of you, pull up your skirts, take off your shorts, panties, swimsuits, whatever it takes to fully expose your pussies." There was a flurry of activity across the crowd. The units who were already exposed from the waist down made mo move, but those more traditionally dressed tugged, pulled, unbuckled, unfastened, unzipped, lifted, and stepped out of whatever they were wearing from the waist down.
For the girls in one-piece swimsuits, exercise outfits, and some types of lingerie, this meant removing the garment entirely. Cheerleaders reacted by pulling down their tights and lifting up their skirts. Most of those in evening gowns were, to my surprise, not wearing anything underneath, instead merely sweeping their skirt to one side and draping it over one arm. Marilyn had modified her pantyhose since she had taken her own self-shots, and simply lifted her skirt to show the open crotch. Only a few of the maids were wearing panties, all of them thongs, which they dutifully slid off before hiking up their uniforms.
I surveyed the crowd of women... my women, each of them a willing servant to my whims. I could have them all just strip nude, I thought. I could order them to have a record-setting orgy. Nearly three thousand beautiful, sexy women, all standing at attention with their snatches exposed, ready to do whatever I wanted.
Remember why you're here.
"Finger yourselves until you're wet," I said, "then taste your juices."
There is no way to describe the moist squelching sound of thousands of women masturbating in unison, then suddenly stopping. It was almost as strange as the sucking, smacking sound of thousands of women licking and sucking their own juices off their fingers.
My pants were starting to feel a little confining. Why was I wearing clothes anyway? The climate would auto adjust to be comfortable regardless of my state of attire, and the girls would be thrilled to see my cock all the time.
Focus, Derek.
"If you tasted a fruity flavor of any kind, remain where you are," I commanded. "Otherwise, come up here."
No movement.
Okay, so you're doomed, I realized, my head slumping, and maybe the human race is too, but hey. You've got three thousand sexbots ready to fuck you on command.
"2996," I reminded myself, "Not 3000." There were those four empty spots in the front...
My gaze darted back up to stare at the empty spots. Without looking, I pulled out my phone and called Synthia. I heard her phone ring, from somewhere in the third row, then spotted her, still holding up her skirt with one hand while she answered the phone with the other.
"Yes, master?" she replied. I heard her words over the phone, then a fraction of a second later, her voice echoing softly up to my position at the podium.
"There are four empty spots in the front row," I said. "Who isn't here?"
"Yasmine Vicks was damaged beyond functionality, and was being repaired at the time when this assembly was requested," she replied. Right, the girl Marilyn had mentioned. I'd checked her on my second day. "Heather Jennings and Ashley Jacobs were damaged in the fire contained in Ashley Jacobs's room," she continued. "Maintenance units were retrieving them for repairs when this assembly was requested." Okay, that made sense, considering what had happened to Susan.
"Vanessa Reed was disabled at your request prior to this assembly."
I felt like I was going to pass out. Vanessa, the head of IT, a part of campus where guests would almost never go. Vanessa, who had detected the Lovertoy program as a potential threat. Vanessa, who had identified security vulnerabilities in her own system, and was about to deploy a security update. Self-analyzing, self-correcting, threat-neutralizing Vanessa.
And I had commanded Synthia to format her security partition.
The crowd had dispersed quickly after I gave the order, returning to their scripted behavior without complaint - and without making any effort to put their clothes back on. I had Synthia wait for me before proceeding to the IT department building. Somewhat put off by the matter-of-fact nature of Synthia's raw responses, I had her re-enable her perceptual filters. She wasn't more helpful or more informative, but at least she was friendlier this way.
"She's just in here," Synthia told me as we passed through the hallways to the IT Staff recreational area. "I can't believe I never noticed she was a robot until you pointed it out to me. It was so obvious!"
She bent unnecessarily at the door, tugging at it gently while shaking her rump at me. If she had worn panties to the assembly, she must have left them there. "This thing just get's stuck in so tight sometimes," she said, emphasizing the word "tight." "It always helps to shake it a little, just to loosen things up."
"That's a push-door, Synthia."
She smacked her forehead. "Oh, wow, I didn't even notice!" She said, pushing open the door. As I brushed past her, she wrapped an arm around my waist. "I must have other things on my mind," she whispered, her hand drifting between my legs to my lingering erection.
I shuddered, pulling away from her into the rec room proper. The room was comfortably, if simply, furnished. The luxuries were all here: Plush chairs, thick carpeting, large entertainment center (still cycling the rapidly shifting black-and-white of the Lovertoy install data), subdued lighting... but it all seemed far less coordinated than the rest of the resort, as though the furniture were simply present in the room, not an integral part of a carefully-planned setpiece. I I almost wanted to dismiss that as poor planning, but it was too hard to shake the awareness that ScenariCorp never did anything accidentally. If this was supposed to be where the 9660F had been swept under the rug, it made far too much sense for the place to be subtly less inviting.
"She's just over here," Synthia motioned, crossing to the other side of one of the sofas. As I came around the sofa myself, I was somewhat surprised to find a nude girl, separated at the waist, lying on the soft carpet. She appeared inactive.
"Why is she naked?" I asked.
"Well, you wanted me to take her apart and open her up, so it was easier to get at her triggerpoints..."
I noticed a discarded T-shirt, shorts, and pantyhose on the sofa, a stark contrast to the short skirt Synthia now wore. "You're wearing her clothes," I observed.
"Some of them," she confirmed, performing a turn and bringing up one leg in a pinup pose. "I may have lost the panties, though. Want to see?" She played with the hem of her skirt.
I looked down at the dismantled girl. She definitely seemed different, lacking any of the subtle design styles I knew to pick up on. The curve of her ear was wrong for a GySys. Her eyes were too wide and almond-shaped for a HerForm. Her lips lacked the signature pucker of X-Ero. Not that those signs were definitive: Companies varied their likeness designs all the time. Taken as a collective whole, however, these clues jumped out at me as unique and distinct, too many differences to have come from any of the other manufacturers. But was she one of uncle James's designs? He didn't have a recognizable style, or signature traits.
Looking for manufacturer markings had been a longshot, and I was unsurprised to see that she had none. XR rarely used such markings on non-industrial units, and most manufacturers had discontinued the practice shortly before the construction of this facility. What surprised me the most was how... ordinary she looked. Not plain or ugly - Compared to most human women, she was the very definition of feminine beauty and sex appeal - but so did almost every other ARA here. Considering the near-mythical reputation she had garnered over the years, I had almost expected her to be somehow different in appearance. Was it possible this had all been for nothing?
"Vanessa," I said, hesitatingly. "State your manufacturer and model number."
"I am an XR Innovations model number XR9660-F," she replied simply in warm, even tones. I collapsed onto the sofa in relief. She really was here. I nearly cried.
But had she completed the format? "Vanessa, report system status."
"All systems on standby. No ongoing tasks in progress."
A sense of dread grew inside me even as I asked my next question. "What was your last ongoing task?"
"Full format of partition one, partition label SecurityProc was successfully completed seven minutes, fifty-six seconds ago."
"FUCK!" I screamed, losing it.
"Unable to comply," Vanessa replied. "Sexuality software not currently loaded. Would you like to initialize my primary personality profile at this time?"
Synthia slid up to me on the sofa, then straddled me and dropped herself in my lap. "I'm ready when you are, lover," she whispered in my ear before licking it.
"Synthia, no, Vanessa, yes," I said tersely. In fact, I was in the mood for some fun with Synthia, or even with both of them, but Vanessa's question had made me think. If the Quantron chip was all it was cracked up to be, maybe the security partition wasn't necessary after all.
"Initializing primary profile," Vanessa announced. Synthia pouted, but dismounted me, instead snuggling up next to me with her legs curled up under her. "Warning, integrated security components not found. Some functionality may be disabled or impaired."
That was odd. I would have expected that kind of message if I had reset her OS, but she was just loading her personality profile. That shouldn't involve loading any security software. I waited for the standard system messages which normally indicated when the profile was fully loaded and running. Vanessa lay still for longer than I would have expected, then opened her mouth as if to speak - but said nothing. She blinked, and her mouth ran through a series of positions, as though she were cycling through every mouth expression she had on file. Finally, she settled on an open-mouthed expression, and froze.
"Hello," she said, her mouth still motionless. "My name iiiiiiiii-" There was a loud burst of static, then a cycling sound of garbled digital samples, as if she was trying to speak non-verbal data. Through the noise, I was able to pick out coherent words, but they didn't fill me with hope.
"Profile error. Integrated security components not found. Unable to load personality data from partition one." These words repeated on a loop, even as the noise of her glitched vocal data continued in the background.
I turned to Synthia. "I didn't tell you to format her personality partition," I said, trying not to get angry.
She looked shocked. "I didn't, I promise!" she insisted. "But... you can punish me if you want," she said, turning around in the sofa. She stuck out her ass, and looked at me with a smile on her face. "I really could use a good spanking to teach me a lesson."
I squatted down on the floor next to Vanessa's disconnected lower-body. Spreading the legs wide, I thrust my fingers into her ass and pussy, pressing three times on the triggerpoints inside, and holding on the third press. After a second, the glitch-noise cut off as her systems reset.
"That looks fun," Synthia observed. "You could try that on me if you want."
I ignored her. "System rebooting," announced Vanessa. "Please standby."
"Disable personality profile," I instructed her. I didn't want to listen to that wall of noise again.
"Disabled."
"Open your backup compartment." Maybe Synthia was wrong. Maybe her sleeper protocols were just too comatose to let her be aware of Vanessa's backups, even if she was aware her boss was a robot.
"Understood," Vanessa acknowledged. She turned her head away from me, and there was a clicking sound as the latch on the back of her head released. Gripping the back of her scalp, I pulled the compartment open, clinging to one last thread of hope...
Nothing. Her head was completely empty.
I put my head in my hands and screamed in frustration. Synthia surprised me by rubbing my shoulders gently. Oddly, she didn't seem to have sex in mind. "You seem really tense, lover," she said.
The massage felt good. "Know any good ways to relax?" I asked, almost rhetorically.
"Well, I know a few..." she began.
"Other than sex," I interrupted.
"Oh, in that case... hmm..." She considered the question as she continued kneading my shoulders. "Whenever I'm feeling stressed out, I like to go down to the meditation room to get my mind in order."
"Meditation room?" I asked. "Is that in the gym, or the activity center?"
"No," she replied, "It's right here in IT. One of the perks of the job. We all use it every day."
Something glinted in the back of my mind. "All of you? The whole IT team?"
"Oh yeah. It really helps us get back up to speed. It's just downstairs."
My eyes snapped open. "Downstairs?" I pulled out the handbook, flipping rapidly through the pages until I found floorplan for the IT building. There were two levels, and we were on the bottom one. "There isn't a downstairs," I muttered. I flipped to the map of the underground complex, it's massive ring hugging the edge of the domed structure above - and not a part of it connected with the IT building. The building itself wasn't pictured on the underground map, but I knew it to be located centrally, on the exact spot of the small compass rose in the exact center of the underground map.
The compass rose that isn't present on the surface level map.
The compass rose that doesn't give any indication of North, but was just labeled "AC 14860."
I am such an idiot.
"Show me," I told Synthia.
The door Synthia led me to was visible on the building floorplan, but while the handbook showed only a storage closet, the reality was a long, winding staircase, sparsely lit with minimal lighting. We descended for what seemed like hours, the stairs twisting at 90 degree angles every 30 feet or so. After an indeterminate period, we reached an unmarked door. "Is this it?" I asked.
Synthia nodded. "It's a nice relaxing place where we come to gather our thoughts."
I checked the underground map in the dim light of the stairway. If the compass rose really was a separate underground room accessible only through the IT building, the scale of the place would be enormous. Comparing between the surface map and the underground one, the rose was bigger than the entire IT building. I opened the door, ready for a massive warehouse of a chamber beyond...
It was just a room. More to the point, it was just a small room, devoid of furniture, but with odd line patterns covering the wall, and a hook next to the door. Initially, I took it to be brightly lit, but that was just my eyes adjusting to the light. It was brighter than the stairs, but not unusually so.
Synthia breezed past me and approached the hook. "Hang on, let me just change into my meditation clothes," she said, quickly slipping out of her skirt and top to hang them up. she stood motionless there fore a few seconds, her head tilted to one side, then turned and walked to the center of the room. "I hope you weren't peeking while I changed," she teased, shaking her butt as she said it.
I raised an eyebrow. The only things she was still wearing were her fishnets and heels. "What do you think you're wearing, Synthia?"
She took her place in the center of the room, where a series of line patterns on the floor and ceiling converged. "Just my best yoga pants and T-shirt, but don't worry," she said, running her hands down her sides, "I don't have a stitch on underneath."
I watched as she went through a brief series of yoga-like poses before simply standing with her arms outstretched and her feet shoulder width apart. "This is the position I usually use when I come down here," she said. "It really helps me clear my mind."
I was about to comment when something suddenly shot up from the floor and out from the walls, all directed at her. I ducked, fearing attack, but was relieved, then fascinated. The lines which I had initially taken for decorations on the walls and floor were actually complex mechanical manipulators. They had been folded and collapsed along articulated joints, and held in hidden recesses in the surfaces. Their flat exterior surfaces sat flush with their compartments. making them simply appear to be painted-on lines. They gripped her around her midriff and under her arms.
The manipulator which rose from the floor opened up at the end, revealing the signature angled plugs of a VA Triggerpoint connector. Reaching between her legs, it clamped on her, pushing its probes deep within her... then it continued rising, lifting her up off the ground.
"This place is just so relaxing and quiet," she said dreamily as more manipulators gripped her legs. "I love coming down left leg connection disabled here to right leg connection disabled just unwind and get my waist connection disabled head together." The manipulators lifted her upper torso up, separating her at the waist, while those gripping her stockinged legs pulled these to each side, leaving the pelvis in the saddle of the VA interface.
"Do you feel okay?" I asked.
"I feel right arm connection disabled fine, but you can left arm connection disabled feel me to make sure, if you want," she replied. Another set of manipulators gripped her arms, pulling them off her torso without apparent resistance. "I already feel so refreshed," she said as a headset-like device lowered over her ears. "I just can't wait to get back to worrrrrrrkkkkhhhh."
An activator spike extended from the headset, cutting off her thoughts and freezing the expression on her face. Another mechanical arm reached down to grip her head on either side before twisting it sharply and removing it.
Her arms, legs, torso, and head, were carried to one wall, where some the armatures plugged wired connections into their connector points. A display console flipped out of the wall, revealing a progress indicator which read "Hardware diagnostic in progress, please wait."
The torso was carried to another wall, where an odd piece of hardware slid out. A more delicate apparatus reached into the base of her torso and, interfacing with some unseen mechanism, opened her back panel. This was smoothly moved out of the way by the manipulators. The device I couldn't identify then plugged another wired connection into what was probably her main drive interface, and I heard a familiar click-whirr sound before realizing exactly what the odd little device was: It was a standalone cartridge drive.
It made more clicks and whirrs for a few seconds before ejecting one of the unmistakeable cartridges. This was taken by another, smaller armature, this one moving along the ceiling via a recessed track. This sped across the room to the wall opposite me, where it paused as a panel slid open revealing a darkened space beyond. It darted through this opening, and the softball-sized panel slid closed again.
I approached the wall and knocked on it. The sound implied a larger space, but I couldn't estimate how big. I slid my fingers across the tiny panel the armature had used, but couldn't find purchase on its edges. I began examining the wall for any other controls or interfaces which might open the panel again, when it suddenly opened on its own. I craned my neck to try to peek through the hole, and was nearly bashed in the face by the speeding armature as it reentered the room.
It wasn't carrying the cartridge any more.
I turned back to the panel, but it had already closed again, its seams nearly as undetectable as those at an ARA's connection points. I once again started exploring the wall, looking for anything which might give me more information, but was interrupted by a soft chiming sound behind me.
I turned to the sound, finding the display console with Synthia's limbs reporting "Diagnostic complete." The manipulators disconnected the wires connected to her parts, reattaching her legs to her pelvis, her pelvis to her torso, and her torso to her arms before lowing her head back onto her shoulders and twisting it back to face forward. "rrriiiI just feel so rejuvenated," Synthia declared, stretching her arms and pointing her toes as the saddle-like interface gripping her between her legs slowly lowered her back onto the floor. Once she touched down, the manipulators collapsed and retracted back into their concealed compartments, the room returning to the plain, lined appearance it had when I first arrived.
Synthia turned to face me. "Did you sneak behind me while I was posing?" she said, acting scandalized. She gasped in mock surprise. "Were you checking out my butt?"
"Synthia, what's behind this wall?"
"Please state access code," she said simply, snapping to attention.
That threw me for a loop. Her personality running, her perceptual filters active, I would have expected a straight answer, or an "I don't know," or even a flat denial that there was anything behind the wall, but this was a completely out-of-character response.
"Access code?" I said, nonplussed.
"Please state access code," she repeated.
I flipped through the handbook, even checking the sections listed in the index under "access codes," but found nothing relevant. Flipping back to the index, I noticed another index entry, this one for "archive chamber," with only one page listed. I checked that page, but found only the underground complex map.
The room I was in definitely wasn't the larger chamber that the rose represented, if that's what it was supposed to be. The "AC 14860" label made slightly more sense now: AC for Archive Chamber. "But why 14860?" I mused aloud.
"Code accepted," Synthia reported. "Oh, that? That's just the archive." She strode over to a section of the wall to my left. "Here, let me get the door for you," she said. She held up her right hand, fingers together, then, grasping her pinky and ring finger with her left hand, mirrored the performance Bosch's secretary had given, splitting her hand down the middle, hinging one half outwards to reveal a cable in a concealed compartment.
"It's kind of tough to open," she said, unspooling the cable and plugging it into a small hole in the wall. "You kind of have to jiggle it a little," she continued, standing at attention with a glassy look in her eyes and a blank look on her face. She gave a cute giggle, contrasting with her posture and expression. "You want to help me jiggle it?" she said in a flirty voice, then in a breathy whisper, "Or you could just watch me jiggle."
"Just open the..." I began, but was startled by the sudden opening of a door sized panel. I hadn't even noticed its seams. That one was intentionally hidden.
The area beyond was dark, but I could make out faintly glimmering lights along a far surface. I stepped through the door and heard the distant clack of an old-fashioned lighting system switching on. Industrial lamps flickered on from far above, and I was suddenly hit with a wave of vertigo.
The chamber I now found myself in was round alright. In the center was a massive column, which included the room I had just exited and the twisting stairway leading back to the surface. I realized with some apprehension that I was standing on a catwalk which formed a pathway around the chamber. Looking up, I could see the lights suspended high above from long cables, but the actual ceiling was too far above them to be visible. Looking down, I saw the walls of the chamber extend for a few hundred feet before disappearing into blackness.
At a spot directly in front of the door I had just exited, there stood a workstation terminal, which switched on as I approached. The display showed a rotating cylinder with blinking lights dotting part of its surface. I realized with little surprise that these lights were blinking in synchronization with those faint, glimmering lights I had initially spotted when I came in here.
I tapped at the controls, and a bright blue light appeared on the spinning model, with a corresponding light appearing in the chamber itself. As soon as this light had appeared, an on-screen message popped up, reporting "NOT IN USE". I tapped at the controls some more, and the blue light moved a few feet to one side, this time indicating a spot which already had a blinking light. The message now read "SYNTHIA_STILES-D0647".
"Hey Synthia," I called over my shoulder, "What's your last name?"
"It's Stiles," she said, coming to me, "but I could change it if you wanted."
Experimenting with the console controls, I eventually found a system menu allowing category selection. There weren't many names to select from, as the chamber apparently only held backups for the IT staff themselves. Makes sense, I thought to myself. The monthlies are enough for the entertainment units, but since the IT staff were in charge of maintaining software integrity, they would need tighter standards on data management. I clicked on the VANESSA_REED label.
Most of the blinking lights on the wall winked out. The console screen informed me that there were 1504 matching results. I couldn't count the lights on the wall, but even with so many others tuned off, I could tell there were a lot of cartridges stored for Vanessa. "This wasn't a needle in a haystack after all," I muttered. "I just wish I'd known about the needlestack from the start."
I turned and grabbed Synthia's ass, pulling her into a tight embrace and deep kiss. "Mmm," she managed between locking lips with me, "I guess the meditation room helped you relax too."
"Relax isn't the exact word I would've used," I said, unbuckling my pants, "But it definitely got me in a better mood." I kicked off my trousers and discarded my boxers, which had been uncomfortably constraining for some time now. "Bend over the railing there," I instructed. "I feel like celebrating."
This day was definitely improving.