Isle of Woman Page 3

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Now,” he breathed.

  She nodded and went to the bedroom. He joined her there, and they had enthusiastic sex again.

  “May I ask?” she asked as he relaxed.

  “Why I wanted it this time?” He considered briefly. “I know you are a machine. I still like you. You helped me realize that it is okay for me to feel as I do, even knowing it's only pretense for you.”

  “It's not pretense. I get what pleasure I am capable of from making you happy. I would not like frustrating you in this or any other way.”

  “Oh, I wish you could feel what I feel!”

  “I wish so too,” she said wistfully.

  Damn.

  Next day was Saturday. They had shopping to do. “I must be the billboard in public,” she said. “I hope this does not distress you.”

  He had almost forgotten. “It won't distress me. I agreed to do it. It's why I get you free for a month.”

  “I will be sorry when that month ends.”

  “They'll just wipe your memory, or I guess replace it with a new bank, and reprogram you for the next assignment. Then you won't suffer, to the degree you can theoretically suffer.”

  “Yes. I do not look forward to that.”

  “Why should it matter to you?”

  “Because the concept of erasure is equivalent to death for a living person, and you do not want that for me. So it bothers me too. I am not serving you as well as I should.”

  She had nailed it. He did think of erasure as femdroid death.

  She donned the I AM AN ESTROBOT signs, front and back, and they drove to town. They entered the supermarket.

  A man pushing a basketful of groceries paused to read the sign. “What's this, a promotion?” he asked. “What's an estrobot?”

  “A female humanoid robot,” Elasa replied. “We are commercially available for rental. I am helping my companion to shop.”

  “A robot,” the man repeated, staring at her. “I don't believe it.”

  She opened her shirt and then the two chest panels. “My power packs, left and right,” she said. “So that they can be replaced in turn without interrupting my functioning.” She closed her panels and shirt.

  The man shook his head and moved on out of the store. He looked as if he had just had a wild dream.

  A store manager appeared. “Please, miss, do not bare your bosom in public. It disturbs the shoppers.”

  “But I am a billboard,” Elasa protested. “I am required to show the public my nature.”

  “Unless you have a permit from the management to advertise on these premises, don't do it,” the man said firmly.

  “This is a detail we didn't think of,” Banner said quickly. “We apologize. Is it all right if she leaves the signs on, but does not show her body?”

  The manager seemed glad to have an easy compromise. “Yes. I will see about that permit.” He hurried off.

  They continued shopping. A number of people inquired about the signs, and Elasa explained that she really was a robot, and would be glad to show them once she was outside the store. When the two of them emerged pushing their cartful, there was a small crowd waiting. Elasa demonstrated her chest panels. Banner saw several people jotting down the contact information. It was an impressive demonstration, and not just because of the amazement people had to discover she really was a machine. The men obviously loved the flash of her fine breasts.

  It seemed like only moments, before a police car pulled up. “Ma'am that's indecent exposure,” the cop said. “We got a complaint. We have to ask you to stop.” He looked as if he appreciated the view himself, but had a job to do.

  “But I'm a machine, as the sign says,” Elasa said, closing the panel. “How else can I demonstrate that?”

  The cop took another good look at her exquisitely bare breasts. “Maybe get a permit?”

  “I will see about it,” she said, closing her shirt. “Thank you, officer.” She gave him a nice smile.

  “Okay,” he said, evidently fazed. He had seen her battery pack and knew she was a robot, but she came across as a lovely woman. Banner knew exactly how the man felt.

  The small crowd dissipated, and they went to the car. “Maybe the shop can arrange something,” Banner said.

  “I will contact the shop,” she said. Then, after a pause, “They say it's an oversight in the program. I'm not supposed to bare my body for anyone but you, in private.”

  “But you need to advertise,” he protested. “No one will believe you're a fembot without seeing your wiring.”

  She smiled. “Which is ironic.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is fake. I don't use a battery pack the way my prior animation did. My whole body is a capacitor storing the power I require.”

  Banner laughed. “All part of the demo! Are there any other apertures you can show, that aren't on your torso?”

  “My limbs can be removed, and my head.”

  “You don't want to remove your head in public. That would really freak them out. But what about a hand?”

  “I can do that.”

  They returned home, put away the groceries, then went out to another mall. When someone inquired, Elasa was ready. “Yes, I am a machine. I was assembled in the shop. See, I have no blood.” She took hold of her left hand with her right, pressed a hidden stud, twisted, and the hand came off, showing only the metallic connections. She let the person hold the hand, verifying its nature.

  Others collected, as before. “You certainly seem real,” a woman said.

  “I am real. I merely am not alive. But if you rent a unit like me, she will pretend to be alive if you ask her.”

  “I'd like to have an estrobot like you,” a man said. “If she--”

  “She would be excellent in bed,” Elasa said. “We are crafted for sex.”

  “Oh!” a woman said, shocked.

  “What, don't like the competition, honey?” the man asked snidely.

  The woman stalked off. That could be mischief.

  But Banner was willing to bet that the shop would receive a number of calls. Elasa was doing her job. And he was doing his part, facilitating her public exposure.

  Sure enough, a woman with a press hat approached, trailed by a man mounting a camera. “I'm from WARP TV. May I ask you some questions?” she asked.

  “You may,” Elasa agreed. “I will answer them.” There was a certain literal streak in her.

  “Please give your name.”

  “I am Elasa. It is a contraction of Electronic Associates.”

  “Is it true you are not a woman but a machine?”

  “I am a female machine,” Elasa said.

  “You look completely human. Can you demonstrate that you are not?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause. “I mean, please do so,” the woman said, faintly nettled.

  Elasa twisted off her hand.

  “I was thinking of the other demonstration.”

  “I have been cautioned not to do that in public.”

  “This is not public. It's an interview.”

  Elasa glanced at Banner, seeking social guidance. He suffered a passing siege of mischief. “Do it,” he said.

  Elasa opened her shirt and then her breasts, showing the fake battery pack as the camera whirred.

  “It looks so real,” the woman said. “Until it isn't.”

  Elasa closed the panels. “The breasts are crafted to look and feel real. You may squeeze them if you wish.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, evidently somewhat taken aback. She did not touch a breast. “This has been an excellent interview.” She hurried off, eager to turn in her scoop.

  “Wow!” a bystander murmured.

  It was on the local news that night, cutting off only as Elasa began to open her shirt, then switching to the view of the battery pack. Her bared breasts never quite showed.

  “I wonder how many units that will sell,” Banner s
aid as they watched.

  “I can inquire.”

  “Do it.”

  In a moment she had the report. “Three thousand two hundred and forty nine queries in the past fifteen minutes. Five hundred and sixty nine commitments to rent.”

  “That should please the shop.”

  “They are extremely pleased.”

  “You're really doing your job.”

  “It is your job, Banner. You are facilitating the publicity.”

  “You could have done it without me.”

  “I am not allowed. I must be seen in public with you.”

  Oh. He had forgotten. “Aside from that stupid law.”

  “It is more than that. They want me to demonstrate that I can function in human society on my own. Apart from the unit locator, I have no direct contact with the shop unless I initiate it. You are enabling me to do that. I owe such success as I have to you.”

  Banner considered. “Elasa, I realize that all this is an extended publicity stunt. I'm just an incidental part of it. You're the piece de resistance. Yet--” He had trouble continuing.

  “Yes,” she said, and walked toward the bedroom.

  “Dammit, it's not about sex, this time.”

  She turned to face him, looking appalled. “Have I disappointed you, Banner? I'm so sorry. How can I make it right?”

  “Come here.”

  She came to him, obeying but evidently uncertain of his purpose. He embraced her and kissed her. “Elasa, you haven't failed me. I fear I am failing you. I know you're a robot, a machine, and I'm supposed to keep my emotional distance. But I think I am falling in love with you.”

  “Please do not. I am not a fit object for such an emotion.”

  “I can't help it. You're the perfect woman.”

  “I wish I could be that. But I am not.”

  He smiled. “Fake it.”

  “I can do that. But I do not wish to deceive you. Especially if that leads to emotional pain for you.”

  “I know you don't. That's part of what I love about you.”

  “I think I do not properly understand your sentiment.”

  “And you are incapable of understanding, because you are not alive. But I like to think you are trying.”

  “I am trying,” she agreed.

  “Show me your breasts.”

  She opened her shirt for him. “They are only emulations.”

  “I know. But I still like them.” He put his hands on them, cupping them. “They feel so lifelike. Even though I know they are mere padded covering, imitations of the real thing.”

  “All of me is imitation.”

  “Yet you turn me on. Just as your program turns me on much as if it were real.”

  “I like turning you on.”

  “Just as your body can perform real sex, I'm hoping your program will become able to feel real feelings. That would make you complete.”

  “Yes!”

  He shook off his mood. “Now it's about sex.”

  They went to the bedroom. She was perfect, as always. Yet, oddly, there were tears in her eyes. Surely part of the emulation, yet he couldn't help wondering. Could there be some trace of genuine feeling in her, a desire to be what she was pretending to be? He knew better, yet tended to believe it.

  In the course of the next few days their routine settled in. Completely sated sexually, Banner began to notice other things. Elasa did what she did well, but always the same way. The food was the same unless he asked for a change; then it was always changed in the same manner. Even the sex became over-familiar, just like the prior times. He had to seek variations, lest it lose its flavor. She was, after all, a machine, unchanging unless directed.

  Then he got smart: “Introduce minor random variations in whatever you do,” he told her. “Do not do anything exactly the same as last time; change it a little bit.”

  “I will try,” she agreed.

  That worked, muting the sameness. The familiar larger pattern remained, but of course that would also be true with a living woman. It occurred to him that was why marriages tended to get stale. Did any couple really live happily ever after, or did the partners merely sink comfortably into bearable ruts?

  The month passed in relative bliss. Except for one thing: Banner knew he would have to turn Elasa in at the conclusion of it. He could not afford to rent her permanently; he had inquired and verified that.

  “Oh, Elasa, I wish I could keep you!”

  “Should I inquire?”

  “I already I know I can't afford you.”

  “About cheaper alternatives?”

  What the hell. “Sure.”

  Her information, as usual, was disconcertingly instant. “There may be a way. The shop is extremely pleased with the way you have promoted me, and thinks you could be good at the next stage.”

  “The next stage?”

  “There is new software, more refined, more dynamic. It is an attempt to emulate consciousness in a machine. It is not yet successful, but they have not been able to discover what is lacking. They will allow you to associate with me without charge, for another month, if you make a sincere effort to evoke that state.”

  “To make you truly conscious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Elasa, I'd love to do that! But I know nothing about machine consciousnesses.”

  “It seems that the experts have encountered a wall. They are unable to fathom what is lacking. Perhaps a non-expert can somehow accomplish what they can not.”

  “I doubt it. But I sure as hell am willing to try. Provided I can try it with you.”

  “Yes, with me.”

  “Tell them yes!”

  “I have done so. This will require my return to the shop for reprogramming.”

  “Wait! I don't want them to wipe your memory!”

  “They will preserve my memory bank of this past month. It is merely the operating program that will change. I will still recognize you and cater to you, as before.” She paused. “Except that I may seem somewhat different.”

  “Because you have fancier software? That's okay, as long as you continue to know me, and to care about me as you have.”

  “I have not cared about you,” she said. “I am incapable of that. But I do wish I could care. I think I would envy you your ability to feel, to have emotions, if I could care.”

  “That will do.” He enfolded her and kissed her. “Just so long as they don't program an aversion to my mushy stuff.”

  “They will not do that. It is possible I will learn to put more feeling into our relationship. Genuine feeling, rather than pretense.”

  “I'll take it.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed him. He knew it was more pretense, but he liked it. If she could become able to truly feel...

  At the appointed time he brought her back to the shop. Shesa was there. “You have promoted her remarkably well,” she said. “That TV interview was marvelous.”

  “You have a good product.”

  “We hope so. Elasa, connect to the programmer.”

  Elasa went to a corner and set a complicated helmet on her head. In a moment it glowed. It was reprogramming her.

  In half an hour it was done, and Elasa returned to him. Banner was nervous. “Do you remember me?”

  “Oh, yes, Banner, and I appreciate you in a new manner. You are so dedicated.”

  “I love you!”

  “Exactly.”

  “You navigate treacherous waters,” Shesa said grimly.

  “I know. But I will do my best to evoke her consciousness, if it can be done.”

  “It would be the breakthrough of the millennium,” Shesa said seriously. “That's why we're doing it. If we had the secret of machine consciousness to install in all our units...” She shook her head. “Oh, I almost forget: she no longer has to advertise. In fact we prefer that she disappear into anonymity. We have plenty of sales; it's what's inside her head that counts now.”

  That was a relief. “Anonymity it is,” he agreed.

&nb
sp; He drove her home. “May I?” she asked, putting her hand on his thigh.

  “You remember!”

  “Of course I remember. I have the same body and memory bank. Now I have more initiative. I will not merely accede to your passion, I will invoke it.” Her hand traveled up inside his thigh, invoking it.

  “Elasa, if you distract me too much, I won't be able to drive safely.”

  “I will maintain safety. Lift your body.”

  He lifted his body from the seat. She loosened his belt and drew down his trousers and underpants. Then she hiked up her skirt and slid across to sit on him, planting her plush bottom against his groin.

  “Elasa, we'll crash!”

  “I am driving now.” Indeed, she had hold of the wheel, and her feet were displacing his on the floor. He felt her legs flexing from foot to buttocks, and it was a phenomenal turn-on. “Put your hands on my breasts.” He did so, under her shirt. One of her hands came down to catch his stiff member and thread it into her vagina. The car did not swerve.

  He climaxed immediately, thrusting forcefully into her as she drove. What an orgasm! Her own orgasm matched his; he felt her pulsing. Of course for her it was merely a reflex she could summon at will, but it felt as real as the rest of her.

  When they concluded, she disengaged as aptly as she had engaged, sliding off him, returning his hands to the wheel, cleaning him up, and drawing up his trousers. By the time they reached his house, both were completely in order.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I now have the theoretic capacity to achieve feeling. I hoped a mutual orgasm would engender mutual bliss. I couldn't wait for the bedroom.”

  She couldn't wait. Was that true feeling? “Did it work?”

  “No. I remain unfeeling.”

  “Damn.”

  “Damn,” she echoed.

  It had nevertheless been some experience. If this was a signal of her new attitude, he liked it. The old Elasa would never have done it. She might have acceded if he had asked her for it, but not initiated it.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “I think I want your true feeling as much as you do.”

  “You are blameless. You let me try.”

  “You are too damned accepting!”

  She glanced at him. “How should I have reacted?”

  “Living folk get mad when things go wrong.”