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I

Chris Morey

    The robocabby, if that was the right word for the bundle of electronics behind the dashboard, commented on the lousy weather they were having, and gave its scathing opinion of the Yankees’ new starting pitcher. Then its psycho-circuits detected that Byron didn’t want to talk, and the rest of the ride took place in silence.
    “Constellation Club, sir.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Would you care to book a return ride now? Twenty percent discount.”
    “No, thanks. I don’t know what time I’ll be leaving.”
    “Certainly, sir. Enjoy your evening.”
    A hint of innuendo? No doubt that programming was getting smarter, but he was probably imagining it.
    Flashing lights and pounding music assailed him as he passed the security scan and stepped into the club proper. Wednesday nights were never busy, what with the 9-9-6 culture that had taken over the world. But you were only young once.
    He sashayed up to the bar, looking about him at his fellow clubbers and appraising who was looking at him. Give it time: maybe she hadn’t even arrived yet.
    He ordered vodka and TCG, the new energy drink everyone was talking about, sipping the fluoro-orange concoction slowly.
    Movement to his right: he glanced discreetly. Tall, shapely, chestnut hair, regular features, long slender legs.
    He turned and made eye contact. “Can I buy you a drink?”
    “Well, I don’t know, we haven’t even met. Wait. What’s that you’re drinking?”
    He told her.
    “I think I’ll have the same. Thanks.”
    He briefed the hovering auto-bartender, turned back to his new – what? ‘Acquaintance’ didn’t quite do it. “Let’s meet, then. Hi.”
    She smiled. “Hi yourself.”
    “I’m Byron.”
    “Isabella. Good to meet you.”
    They grabbed a couple of bar-stools, talked inconsequentially. Isabella finished her drink, put down her glass.
    “Hey, let’s dance. Isn’t that what we came here for?” She gestured.
    He followed her to the floor. Under the coruscating colors of the lighting, she moved smoothly to the beat, not extravagantly but sinuously, sensuously... Slow down. You only just met.
    Three tracks later, she passed a hand across her brow. Over the music, she mouthed at him, Let’s take a break.
    He nodded.
    At the bar, he bought another round. They settled themselves in one of the quieter booths.
    “Well, Byron, what do you do for a living?”
    “Electronic engineer, medical imaging. Not too exciting, but it pays the rent.”
    “I’m with AIX Robotics. Software engineer, a pretty junior one.”
    His eyebrows rose. It was common knowledge how picky they were about who they took on. She must be uber-smart.
    “I’m actually in Q.C., late-stage testing,” she went on.
    “Yeah? Must be interesting.”
    “More interesting than debugging code. I’m working on the Empathy Engine.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Oh, I’m talking jargon again! It’s a terrible habit, all us techies do it. Would you like that in English?”
    “Shoot.”
    “Well, giving androids a human look and feel isn’t the main problem, you probably know that. It’s what’s up here that counts.” She tapped her forehead.
    He nodded.
    “We’re aiming to replicate human intelligence in a totally natural way. Our basic approach is that the mind works on logic and emotion, feeding into each other. We look at it in terms of what we call Engines, the Dialectic Engine and the Empathy Engine. D.E. and E.E. if you want to really confuse people.” She flashed him a flawless smile. “In other words, how the android ‘brain’ structures conversations, and how it processes non-verbal cues.”
    She sipped her drink. “Those two are key. All the rest of the stuff – speech mechanics, movement, gestures – is subsidiary, and often less of a human analog. Danger avoidance, for example, the calculus is all different. If a human loses a limb, it’s pretty damn serious. An android, you just send it back to the shop and fit a replacement.”
    “I see.” She explained well, and clearly knew her subject backward. She wouldn’t be junior for long.
    Time flew past as she answered his questions. “Don’t get me wrong, the commercial products on the market – the G.E. models, the Japanese and Swiss ones – are pretty close to human in most situations. But we plan to take it to the next level. We’re looking at customer-facing roles, in the broadest sense – elementary-school teachers, for example – and companions. The disabled, the intellectually handicapped, the autistic, anyone who finds it hard to make friends – we can be their friends. I mean, our products can.”
    “Sounds really exciting.”
    “It is. I think so, anyway. But enough of the technical talk. Come and dance again.”
    On a platform at the far side of the dance-floor, a human singer came onstage: spiky blonde hair, panwhite makeup and heavy eyeliner, big boobs and a tiny waist. Leather- and latex-clad, she belted out lyrics to the backing tracks, spinning and jerking like a demented puppet.
    Isabella pointed. “She’s a stunning looker, if you like that style. Don’t you think?”
    “I guess. I like your style a lot better.”
    It was too dark to see any blush. She rested her hand on his arm.” Thank you. You’re a cute guy, you know that?”
    “You’re a gorgeous girl.” He took a deep breath. “Like to come back to my place?”
    “Well! I don’t usually do that on the first date, but maybe this once I could make an exception.” Her eyes sparkled, the corners of her lips turned up. He had to resist sweeping her into his arms and kissing the life out of her.
    “Let’s get our coats.”

#

    The robocab must have worked out that a couple leaving a club at 1 a.m. didn’t want idle chit-chat. In the back seat they held hands, unspeaking.
    “460 West 63rd, sir.”
    “Thank you.” He helped Isabella out of the cab, guided her up to his floor and into his apartment.
    “Drink?”
    “I don’t think I will, after the amount I put down already. Besides, I’m looking forward to a different kind of entertainment, and I don’t want to fall asleep in the middle.” She giggled. “Oh, you make me want to...”
    “What?”
    “Never mind, let me show you.” She laced her arms around him and glued her lips to his.
    After an age, they broke. “That. And the rest.”
    He took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
    “Wow, this is some place! I just love all the mirrors. Let’s make good use of them. Undress me, lover.”
    He manipulated zips and hooks with the skill of long practice. She opened his pants and slid her hand inside, drawing in a sharp breath as she touched his erection. They stood naked, their reflections extending to infinity on all sides.
    She ran her hand down his cheek. “Let’s go, angel.”
    “How about, you know...?”
    “You don’t need to use a condom. It’s all good.” Her tongue explored his ear, slid down to a nipple, sending shivers through him. “You like that, don’t you?”
    “Mmm.”
    “God, you do things to me. Quick, now.” She pulled him down to the bed, parting her thighs.
    Her silky smoothness against his bare flesh had him fighting desperately for control. Then he settled to a steady rhythm, Isabella moving under him in synchrony, sighing and murmuring.
    His urgency mounted, drawing a response from her that seemed telepathic.
    “Oh, God, yes, just keep on doing that, it’s perfect.” She thrashed and writhed: “Keep going, you’re going to make me come... Oh! Oh, yes. Yes!”
    He collapsed beside her. He’d had some damn good sex in his time, but this was one he’d remember. A girl in a thousand – no, a million – beautiful, intelligent, sexy. Was she looking for more than a one-night stand? He sure as hell hoped so.
    “That was sensational, lover! Where’d you learn to please a woman like that?”
    It didn’t need an answer. “You were fantastic, too.”
    “Thank you. I wanted to give you something special.”
    Her eyes locked onto his, and his heart turned over. They kissed, endlessly, her fingers tracing idle arabesques on his back. He responded in kind, starting at her shoulders, working downward over soft, delicate skin.
    His hand came into contact with something firmer. Her bra? No, it couldn’t be, she took that off long ago.
    A slight indentation. A scar? The gap between vertebrae?

#

    A USB port...

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