Tales from Freak World By Zero Inspired by “Freak World” by Muzzleruffels
Episode I: Hail to the Demon Queen!
As the simulated sun set at the edge of Dome Seven, the sky blazed red, then turned the dark purple of a bruise. Across the manmade forest and mountainside, day-creatures crept back to their homes, while night-creatures began to stir.
In Castle Despayre, fires and torches blazed to life. The mechanism was simple enough – natural-gas pipes connected to ignition plugs, which in turn were connected to computer-controlled timers. To any observer, though, the effect was startling: from cold, dreary, abandoned daytime ruins, the castle was magically transformed into a fire-lit chateau, ready for the night’s revels.
High up, in the tallest tower, Lady Demonique Sangria stirred in her bed. Like the gaslights and hearths, Lady Sangria was timer-operated; when the sun switched off, her systems began booting up. For the first few minutes, she simply stared blankly at the ceiling. Gradually, her limbs began to move jerkily, like a marionette’s, as her motor systems performed a series of self-checks. Her long, slender barbed tail detached from the cleverly concealed charging outlet embedded in the mattress, and her leathery black wings fluttered aimlessly. Then at last, her personality software loaded, and the raven-haired succubus closed her eyes, arched her back, and gave a sleepy yawn.
“Mmmmmnnn,” she sighed, stretching her long shapely arms and legs. “Nothing like a good day’s rest to prepare you for a good night’s partying!”
“Mmnh, so true, Mistress,” Angelique purred beside her. The petite blonde succubus tightened her arms around her Mistress’s waist, snuggling closer as they both warmed up from room temperature. Opening her luminous violet eyes, she smiled up at the larger demoness. “Speaking of which … would you like to pick up where we left off?”
When not in use by a guest, the robot succubi were programmed to seek out other monster-girls and have their way with them. This allowed their own AI’s and sexual techniques to develop during downtime, and served as a kind of stress test for themselves and the other units. If a fault showed up, or a part failed during their “play”, it could be corrected without inconveniencing a human guest.
“Perhaps later,” the Lady replied, giving Angelique a light kiss on the forehead. “First, let’s see what the night has brought us.”
As she rose from the bed, Lady Sangria began picking up bits of her costume, flung carelessly about the chamber the night before. Like most of the girls’ wardrobes, Domique’s was entirely useless except for seduction; her gleaming black boots shone in the firelight, and her one-piece suit was little more than a V-shaped piece of black latex, covering her sex and half of each breast but baring everything else. A few silver spikes at the shoulders added flair, and a pair of spike-knuckled elbow-gloves completed the outfit. Dominique was a BDSM fan’s wet dream come to life: a seductive, demonic dominatrix, with a programmed personality to match.
Striding confidently across her bedchamber, Dominique stepped out onto the balcony. Already, the sky was darkening from indigo to midnight black. The only light came from the stars, and from the shuttered windows of the village far below. Dome Seven – also called the Black Forest – was meant to represent a European woodland, with a dense pine forest taking up much of the area. A quaint little village was located at the foot of one of the two faux “mountains” – the one on which Castle Despayre sat – while another, taller mountain loomed on the opposite side of the dome. That, Dominique knew, was where the Emerald Dragoness and her daughters dwelled – the succubus’s “rivals”, whose mountain was the only part of the environment not under Lady Sangria’s control.
Like so much in Freak World, of course, it was all just a script. Every now and again, Ladia Sangria would forge an alliance with the werewolf pack and “attack” Dragon Mountain, or one of the dragonesses would carry off a “victim” from the village, provoking Dominique’s “wrath”. Any damage done would be promptly repaired behind the scenes, and everyone would be back up and running within two or three days, ready to play their parts in the next skirmish of their make-believe feud.
Dominique sighed as she pulled up her itinerary. Thankfully, the event planners hadn’t decided to have her start anything tonight; no epic battles (so demanding on her lovely, elegant feminine chassis!), no weird or kinky requests from a particular guest (she hated cleaning up the mess some of those humans made; she usually had one of the zombie girls shamble up and take care of things like that). There were instructions to keep out of the village tonight – one of the guests had requested a romantic tryst with a werewolf woman, and did not wish to be interrupted or seduced by any of the other androids. Other than that, it seemed she and Angelique would be left to their own devices for the evening.
“Well, it appears we’re not wanted in town,” she said. “The mortals want a nice, quiet evening, with no spectacular visits from the Lady.”
Angelique stepped out into the night air, clad in her skimpy fur-collared white costume. “Well, we could always go down into the forest. I’m sure the Slime Queen would be more than happy to receive us. Or we could just make it a girls’ night in….” She leaned close, her fingers walking playfully up Dominique’s arm, and the taller succubus had a pretty good idea what her minion was planning for the night’s festivities.
But Lady Sangria craved variety. Once, she had literally fucked her consort until Angelique’s pussy had worn out – and over the following months, had fucked her until Dominique’s own had needed a tune-up. She had been with every one of her zombie and homunculus servants in the castle, and had had at least one of every species in the Black Forest.
Suddenly, Dominique’s AI made a new and novel connection. “Hmm,” she purred. “Darling, I just had an idea.”
“Who in all the land have we not had our way with?”
“Why, no one, Mistress. You are Lady and Mistress of all the land, and all give you honor and respect. Besides, who could possibly resist an invitation to share a bed with you?”
Dominique smirked. “All except the dragonesses.”
Angelique froze for several seconds. Though they both shared the same basic chassis design, right down to their CPU’s, Angelique’s personality was far simpler than her mistress’s. She was the cute, supportive little minion, only occasionally leaving her side to attend to guests, or when Dominique decided to go off on her own.
Finally, the full import of Dominique’s words was parsed through her semantic algorithms, and her eyes widened in shock. “You want to go to Dragon Mountain? But Mistress, the dragonesses are our mortal enemies! They will kill us both on sight!”
“The Makers haven’t planned any battles tonight, and our last fight was barely more than a drunken brawl in the tavern last weekend.” Come to think of it, Dominique recalled the fight: a guest had requested a sexy catfight between Lady Sangria and one of the lesser dragonesses. She could still remember the feel of those warm, supple, partially scale-covered breasts as they had grappled that evening. Truthfully, it was the closest Dominique had yet come to intimate contact with a member of that clan – the feud between her and the Emerald Dragoness had been established as back-story when Freak World had opened.
Dominique felt a smirk forming. “I have a craving for some dragon tail,” she purred mischievously. Leaning over the balcony rail, the black-clad succubus unfurled her wings. She climbed up on top of the rail, charged the hydraulic pistons in her well-toned legs, then launched herself off into the night.
Meanwhile, Angelique stood, struck dumb, on the balcony. Her simple, heavily scripted AI was trying to formulate a response to her Mistress’s actions. “B-b-but … but, Mistress … illegal thread … solution not found … It’s not safe! Safe! Safe!” The blonde demoness took a jerky step toward the railing, then stepped backward, like a video running in reverse. Her role as Lady Sangria’s supportive minion demanded that she accompany her, even to certain death, but the very idea of traveling to Dragon Mountain – not to fight, but to actually try to seduce a dragoness – was so totally outside the bounds of her role that she had trouble processing it.
Before the conflicted gynoid could make up her mind, though, a pair of technicians stepped out onto the balcony. One of them grabbed Angelique by the throat with one hand, using the other to push her blonde curls up. This exposed a small, recessed button behind her pointed left ear, which the tech promptly pressed.
“Not safe! Not safe! Not … Mistress … not … saaaaaaaaaaffffe….” the droid protested, her voice deepening, slowing, then trailing off as her personality shut down. Her pretty, wide-eyed face lolled forward, her slack jaw resting between her ample breasts.
Meanwhile, the other technician pressed in on her sides, then pulled off a section of skin from her lower back. Inside, the lithe little succubus was a mass of wires, cables and hydraulic lines, with a thin layer of servo-musculature to make her movements seem fluid and realistic. The tech pulled out a small tablet computer, then plugged it into her body with a slim blue cable. “It looks like a conflict between the persona scripting and the AI,” he said, studying Angelique’s error log.
“You think we should give the AI a little more leeway? Let it just take over if the script doesn’t have a response to the situation?”
“Not necessarily,” said the tech with the tablet. “When you give it that kind of freedom, it’s liable to come up with all kinds of random crap. Hell, look what the other one’s doing – breaking character and flying right off to the one place she’s not supposed to go. Honestly, we’re probably going to be picking up pieces of her and however many dragon ‘bots it takes to bring her down.”
The other man sighed. “Well, let’s get this one rebooting and get over there,” he said.
The other tech unplugged his tablet from Angelique’s back, then hit a large red button near the access port. Instantly, the blonde gynoid’s head snapped up, violet eyes staring blankly forward. “Exotiq Succubus Custom Unit Two now rebooting,” she stated flatly, and the tech reattached her back panel. Then the two men picked her up, carried her over to the bed, and slid her tail into the hidden slot sewn into the mattress. There was a metallic click as it found the power coupling. “Exotiq Succubus Custom Unit Two now running on external power,” Angelique stated. “Reboot will complete in five minutes.”
Their work done, the techs yanked the covers up over the droid’s body, then headed back through the concealed service entrance to Lady Sangria’s bedchamber. While they rode an electric cart through the tunnels under Dome Seven, Angelique stared blankly at the ceiling, occasionally giving a status update. When she finished rebooting, she would have forgotten Lady Sangria’s unscripted decision to visit Dragon Mountain, and would likely spend the night having sex with the castle servants, or maybe a few girls from the forest. There would be no further software conflicts tonight, and she would remain comfortably within her preprogrammed script.
Tales from Freak-World Chapter 2: The Siren’s Song
Sunlight streamed through the gauzy white curtains, filling the upper room of the tavern. Roused by warmth and brightness, Neil stirred restlessly in the enormous four-poster bed. With a yawn, he sat up and blinked his sleep-gritty eyes.
“Good morning,” murmured a soft, feminine voice beside him. Neil turned to gaze down at the lithe, lovely young woman who had shared his bed the previous night. The sapphire-eyed little redhead had been insatiable last night – not to mention the loudest, most enthusiastic lover Neil had ever had. Now, though, she lounged with her head propped up on her arms, looking like a cat with a belly full of cream. “You slept well, Monsieur?”
“Thanks to you,” he replied with a smirk. Truthfully, he’d been having trouble getting to sleep the previous evening. His body was still on Eastern U.S. time, and Freak World’s artificial day-night cycles were synced to Greenwich Mean Time. Exhausted from the long flight to Ganymede, but with a body that still insisted he ought to stay up for another several hours, he had tossed and turned for roughly half an hour.
Then the innkeeper’s lovely, scarlet-haired daughter had appeared at his door, offering hot tea, fresh scones … and herself.
The first two still sat on the nightstand, no longer hot or fresh. The latter had been the best lay of Neil’s life to date – and she wasn’t even one of the park’s main attractions!
Speaking of which, Neil decided it was time to get up, head out and see more of what this place had to offer. God knew, he ought to make the most of this vacation – it had certainly been expensive enough! A superluminal flight from Earth to Jupiter Station, then a shorter sublight shuttle to Ganymede, followed by a maglev ride out to the park itself – the trip alone had set him back nearly three months’ salary, to say nothing of the cost of staying at one of the Solar System’s biggest, most expensive sex tourism parks.
As Neil sat up and swung his legs out over the side of the bed, he glanced over at the gorgeous woman beside him. Truthfully, last night alone had almost made the whole trip worthwhile. Neil, of course, was single – one of the human cogs that kept corporate America chugging along, slowly making his way up the management ladder through hard work and determination. He had never been terribly lucky with women, and his busy schedule left little time for dating, clubbing, or any of the other distractions his coworkers seemed to enjoy. For Neil Coleman, a fleshlight and a terabyte of Internet porn were all the sex life he generally had time for.
Over the years, too, Neil had come to realize that real women no longer held much appeal for him. While his buddies stood around the water cooler remarking about how sexy the new secretary was, Neil couldn’t help but notice the makeup-smudged bags under her eyes, the pockmarks of some teenage acne outbreak, or the faint nicotine stains on her fingers. A lifetime of watching airbrushed, digitally enhanced porn stars had set Neil’s expectations too high – he just couldn’t get it up for ordinary women anymore.
And then, there was all the non-human porn on his hard drive.
Somewhere along the line, Neil had developed a sort of xenophilia. It had started with some anime porn sites he frequented. Along with the busty cartoon girls that were so prevalent in Japanese manga and doujinshi, there were plenty of cat girls, monster girls, robot girls – flawlessly drawn women who not only captured the essence of human beauty, but promised something more. Over time, the “Cyber”, “Kemonomimi”, and “Furry” folders had become the biggest on his home computer.
Naturally, most of Neil’s favorite sites carried ads for Freak World. If every little kid dreams of going to Disney World, then every adult with a fetish for animal or monster girls (or male versions of the same) seemed to dream of a trip to Freak World. Sure, it was ungodly expensive, but the place was like a sexual buffet. Assuming you had the stamina, you could have sex with multiple partners every day – hell, with lovers of multiple species. As androids, the freaks would never reject a guest’s advances (unless you requested to have them play hard-to-get), and were kept perfectly clean and sanitary between uses, so there was absolutely no risk of STD’s. In fact, since the droids couldn’t get pregnant, there was no need for condoms, pills, or any of the other rigmarole involved with a human partner. You could do just about anything with them, as rough and as often as you liked, bask in the afterglow, then go back for more.
A weeklong stay at Freak World might be damned expensive. But then, a guest could enjoy more sex there in a week than most people got in years.
The innkeeper’s daughter turned as Neil got up, smiling seductively as he dressed. The white satin sheets glimmered in the sunlight, highlighting her lithe yet well-sculpted figure beneath them. Her left breast was partly uncovered, its pert pink nipple serving as a subtle but clearly visible offer of further intimacy. Like the park’s famous freaks, she was yet another android. Of course, you could find dozens of humanoid sexbots like her at robot dealerships, online stores, brothels, or street corners in any city on Earth. She had been a great lay, and a much-needed sleep aid the previous evening. But Neil Coleman had come here for more exotic fare, and by God, he was going to get his money’s worth.
Clad in a T-shirt, swim trunks, and beach sandals, Neil grabbed a complementary towel from the bathroom (no sense in getting his own towel wet and sandy), then headed for the door. “I’ll be back later,” he called over his shoulder. Then he grabbed his room key, opened the door, and headed down the hall.
The innkeeper’s daughter lay motionless for precisely five minutes, still gazing with half-lidded eyes at the door. With no human presence in the room, there was no need for her to do or say anything. Besides, the guest might possibly decide to come back to the room – either to take something that he had forgotten on the way out, or for another session of sexual activity with her. Either way, she was programmed to remain available in the room for five minutes.
Once those five minutes were up, however, the lithe, pale-skinned young woman swiftly doffed the white satin sheets that had concealed her. Though not over-endowed, her soft, round B-cup breasts were perfectly proportioned to her slim yet statuesque figure. Her skin was perfectly flawless, save for some strategically placed freckles on her shoulders and cheeks. As she bent over to retrieve her dress and tunic from the previous night, anyone still in the room would have been treated to the sight of a deliciously soft derriere, the pale pink lips of her womanhood just visible between pale, soft yet well-toned thighs.
With her costume draped over one arm, the nude young woman made her way out of the bedroom, through the door, and out into the hall. Through her wireless link to the park’s data network, she knew that the inn’s other guests – an older couple in Room Seven and a young male in Room Twelve – had already left, so there was no need for her to waste time dressing herself.
Down the hall, down the spiral staircase, and through the kitchen, the girl made her way to a nondescript wooden door that might have led to a closet, or perhaps to the pantry. As she opened it, however, bright white fluorescent light spilled out of the room beyond. From the humble kitchen of the Taverne en Bord de Mer, she stepped into a cool, dry, static-free room stocked with all manner of high-tech machinery. A bank of computers whirred softly in one corner, status lights blinking regularly. A cart of tools and spare parts sat in the middle of the room. Three tall, elliptical silver pods stood against one wall. Another door, further back, led further into the labyrinth of support centers, pipeworks, and tramways that connected Freak World’s various environments.
A single human technician sat in a chair, reading a magazine. He glanced up as the android walked in, depositing her clothes in a small metal canister. Detecting the human presence, her social software briefly activated – she flashed him a bright warm smile and called out, “Hello, Sir! I’m ready for my shower.” Then she proceeded to one of the three metal tables that took up the right half of the room. One was already occupied: the innkeeper’s lovely young daughter was often requested by guests of the inn, or was sent up to help guests who were having trouble getting comfortable. Thus, an identical red-haired gynoid lay on the furthest maintenance table, her belly panel open, plugged in to receive power and data.
The newcomer climbed swiftly up onto the table and lay down. Then she spread her legs, at the same time opening her mouth wide. At this point, the tech got up and went over to her. He gave a quick double-tap to the region just above her pussy, causing her sculpted belly panel to slide back and up into her chest. This exposed her battery array, various power and data ports, and her sexual apparatus. Then the technician pressed just behind the girl’s left ear, and the various indicator lights inside her body went dark. The gynoid’s simulated breathing ceased. She stared blankly up at the overhead light, mouth agape, her body rapidly cooling to match the ambient temperature of the clean room.
Satisfied that the unit was powered down, the tech reached his blue rubber gloves into her exposed mechanics. With practiced ease, he unfastened a series of screws holding a soft, pink tube in place. Then he grabbed her pussy lips, forced them wide open with one hand, and used the other to push her vaginal tube out through the opening. While users often gushed about how soft, warm and realistic the bots’ pussies were, at the mechanical level, each unit was basically a well-designed fleshlight, surrounded by strips of artificial muscle to simulate contractions, with a small reservoir of flavored antibacterial lubricant connected to the top end. Once the sculpted silicone “love tunnel” was ejected, the tech simply threw it in a small trashcan attached to the equipment cart. While most android owners used a simple cleaning apparatus to wash and sterilize the silicone “vagina” at the heart of their sexbot, Freak World simply replaced them with fresh tubes after each use. It was considerably more expensive than reusing them, but given just how many guests the average android served, the risk of STD – as well as the “gross out factor” of sharing the same pussy as God knew how many previous guests – demanded that the park adopt more stringent sterilization procedures.
Once the replacement vaginal tube was installed, the tech took the opportunity to top up the lubricant reservoir, then closed the belly panel. Next, he walked over to stand by the gynoid’s head, her mouth and eyes still wide open. Grabbing it on both sides, he gave a quick twist, and the head detached from the top of the unit’s neck. Gently, he pulled the crimson-haired module away from the body with one hand, using the other to undo the various wires and synthetic-muscle strips that normally connected the gynoid’s head to her body. As he pulled the head, a long pink tube slid up out of the unit’s neck, trailing behind the base of the head module. Like the vaginal unit, the sexbot’s throat was designed to enclose, lubricate and pleasure a user’s penis, then catch any ejected semen. The unit’s vocalizer was, of course, outside this silicone catch-tube, safe and dry, further back in the head module.
Without the neck to get in the way, the technician was able to hinge the unit’s jaw back further, forcing the mouth to stretch into a grotesque yawn, the lower jaw hinged a full 180 degrees from the normal closed position. With the mouth thus opened wide, the tech detached the upper and lower palette, complete with teeth, gums and tongue. As the unit’s oral module slid out through its open mouth, the interior of its head was left almost half empty, with a gaping, toothless cavity behind its stretched-open lips. Only a stub of servo-muscle and gray plastic – the mechanism that moved the tongue – remained attached to the carbon-fiber curve of the lower jaw.
The tech laid the head module on the table, turning his attention to the long tube of reddish silicone in his hands, the upper and lower palettes still attached. While the park’s impressive admission costs allowed it to discard a few simple silicone tubes, replacing ceramic teeth after each use was simply too expensive. Thus, the tech tore the silicone throat liner away, exposing the gleaming white sets of molars, canines and incisors. The throat liner could hold about a liter of material, including a small amount of chewed food if necessary (some guests still liked to take their “girls” out to dinner, even though the androids possessed no sense of taste – however much they were programmed to say otherwise). Still, lacking a stomach, the food would simply sit in the catch-tube, and some guests complained that their lover’s breath smelled rather rank the morning after a dinner date. The androids, naturally, were programmed to decline food, unless doing so would offend a guest.
So, while the throat liner went in the trash bin, the ceramic palettes and teeth went into a metal canister about the size of a large camping thermos. The tech clipped them into place, closed the lid, then hit a button to activate the wash cycle. Within minutes, the teeth were sparkling clean, steamed and smelling of mint-flavored detergent.
Once the palettes were ready, the technician plucked them from the canister, then carefully fitted them into a fresh new throat liner, each tooth fitting precisely into a hole in the silicone gums. Retrieving the still-yawning head, he guided the catch tube into the oral cavity, then back and down through the stump where the head and neck would reconnect. Locking the upper and lower palettes back into place, he carefully adjusted the tongue until it was properly sheathing the nub of plastic and servo-muscle that would allow it to move. Finally, he swung the jaw back into its normal closed position, then went about reconnecting the head to the body.
Within seconds, the innkeeper’s daughter was back in one piece, all panels closed, her sexual organs clean and sterile. Of course, there was still the matter of her exterior – though the androids lacked pores, and were thus incapable of sweating, there would no doubt be traces of semen, saliva, lubricant and other contaminants all over her lovely silicone-latex-composite flesh.
Hitting the concealed switch behind her left ear, the tech waited for the gynoid to boot back up. A soft beep emanated from her chest, and her eyes fluttered open. “Exotiq Andronics Model 3524 now online,” she said flatly. “Maintenance stage one in progress. Calibrating….” She opened her mouth wide – not the unnatural position that the tech had forced it into earlier, but more like a human yawn. Then, in a surprisingly cheerful singsong voice, she sang, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G,…” This, of course, was meant to test her oral mechanics’ ability to form vowels and consonants. Meanwhile, her back arched, her artificial abdominal muscles stretched and contracted, and between her legs, the layer of synthetic muscle around her vaginal tube performed a series of contractions. By the time the song ended, her diagnostic software was satisfied that the new parts were properly installed. “No faults detected,” she announced. “Oral and vaginal modules both fully functional. Maintenance stage one complete. Would you like to proceed to stage two?”
“Yeah, sure,” the tech said. As the gynoid dismounted the table, he went and resumed his seat on the chair, grabbing his magazine. Meanwhile, the innkeeper’s daughter made her way to one of the three man-sized silver pods leaning against the wall. With the push of a button, the front of the pod split open, revealing a contoured cavity in its center roughly the shape of a human being. While the park’s non-humanoid “freaks” had to be sterilized and dried by hand, the red-haired gynoid was just a consumer-model sexbot. So, the inn’s service center featured standard sterilization pods like those used by most brothels in the Solar System.
Once inside, the gynoid shut her eyes and mouth, and a small valve in her nasal cavity closed, protecting her vocalizer and air-cooling system from external moisture. The pod sealed shut. Instantly, a hundred high-pressure jets of boiling water and antibacterial detergent sprayed the unit from all sides. A human would have been scalded, their skin cooking off their bones from the intense heat and astringent chemicals. The gynoid’s silicone-latex-composite skin, however, was specifically designed to withstand such intense sterilization procedures. Within moments, any trace of external contamination was scoured away. Then the spray switched to a cooler, gentler rinse cycle, applying rose-scented shampoo to the unit’s hair and a slightly musky perfume to her body, to help mask the scent of her artificial skin.
A quick blow-drying later, the pod hissed open, revealing a radiant, beautiful young woman, her hair and skin glistening with residual moisture. As she stepped out of the pod, the gynoid’s nasal valve reopened, and she took a deep breath of the cool, dry clean room air. Her CPU, located in her chest, needed to cool off after her high-temperature scouring, and her simulated “breathing” was used to vent the hot air from her chest cavity.
“Maintenance stage two complete,” she announced. “This unit is now cleaned and ready for use.”
The tech got back up and inspected her. The redhead’s skin was as clean and flawless as the day she had stepped off the assembly line. Satisfied, he said, “Okay. Lie down on that table over there.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied cheerfully – her maintenance complete, the gynoid’s social software was back up and running. Still stark naked, she lay down on the same maintenance table she had vacated just a few moments earlier.
Meanwhile, the technician walked over to check on her twin. According to the indicator LED’s on her battery pack, she was now fully recharged, and the nearby computer console said that her software was fully up to date. The technician unplugged her, closed up her belly panel, and hit the power switch behind her left ear. There was a beep from behind her perky B-cups, then her eyes opened. As she registered the technician’s presence, she smiled up at him. “Hello, Sir!” she said brightly. “How are you today?”
“Fine,” the tech grunted. “The other one needs to recharge. Head out and start cleaning up.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, then swung her legs off the edge of the table. As she made her way out of the clean room, she grabbed the costume her twin had placed in the laundry canister earlier. By now, it had been washed and dried, and as she put it on, her olfactory sensor detected a faint smell of laundry detergent.
Meanwhile, the technician turned back to the second redhead, her skin already nearly dry in the low-humidity environment. Opening her belly panel, he plugged a power cable into the socket on her battery pack. According to the LED’s, it had been down to just above 50% power. Then he connected her to the computer tower in the back corner. The redhead jerked slightly as the computer assumed control of her systems. “Exotiq Andronics model 3524 is now connected,” she intoned. “Software update in progress. Estimated time remaining: 5 minutes.”
Satisfied, the tech went back to his chair and pulled out a small tablet PC. On the screen, the three identical redheads who staffed the Taverne were represented by status readouts. The one that had just left still read as 100% charged, with an estimated battery life of eighteen hours (slightly shorter if a guest decided to have sex with her, of course). By the time she needed to come back in for recharge and/or cleaning, both of the other two would be available to take over for her.
His work done, the technician headed out through the door at the back of the maintenance bay. Like all the rest of Freak World, Dome 4 was built over a system of pipeworks and access tunnels. This concrete-and-metal labyrinth allowed technicians to move about under the carefully crafted environment, without attracting attention from the guests. Now that the girls at the Taverne en Borde de Mer were taken care of, the tech searched for open help tickets, chose one, then hopped in a small electric golf cart and drove off down the corridor.