Today was the day that she was going to testify against me.
By the way, I use the term 'she' quite loosely simply because it looks like a female. It's really just a dumb android, some rich man's sexual fantasy because all of his money and his toys and his big house couldn't get him any real woman. Not any real woman who wasn't interested in him anyways. Her designated name was Heather Hunter, her model number was PCX-9981, a 9000-series personal companion machine. Just like her name implies, she was modeled loosely from the 21st century model/actress.
And she could ruin my career. Again.
Being a robot technician wasn't my first love, and it surely wasn't my lifelong goal. Hell, I didn't even care about the damn things, but it was something that I had to do to keep the bills paid, and my nagging wife happy, and our bellies full, and the dog up to date with his vaccines, and on and on. I had to do this because my real career, the one where I was a gynecologist, came to an abrupt end after one of my patients accused me of sexually assaulting her. I'm good with hands, I admit that, but I wasn't that good. In the end, her word overtook mine. The hospital fired me, the state took away my medical license, and the district attorney treated me as if he was doing me a favor by keeping me out of jail. To settle the malpractice suit she filed against me, I had to sell my Manhattan condo, the cottage upstate, and my collection of cars, including the Lotus my father gave me after becoming board certified. It's no mystery why my wife, Lorraine is still with me; if she divorced me, she'd have nothing to walk out the door with.
It was through a friend of a friend of a friend who got me hooked up with this robodoc gig. And it turned out that I was just what they were looking for since most of the androids that were bought were artificial call girls, companions, straight up hookers, and everything else sexually oriented, and they needed someone who knew their way in and out of vaginas, so to speak. They started me at the bottom of the totem pole, and I worked my way up from all of the recommendations and referrals I would get. My reputation built, and soon, I was top dog running the place. Things were looking up again, and it looked as if fate had smiled down upon me once more.
And now it's all falling apart before my very eyes.
I was on trial for sexually assaulting Miss Hunter. The indictment said that I banged her while she sat deactivated in my exam chair. Her owner was the one who screamed to the powers that be to press charges and the media is having a field day about this, dredging up my past and everything. And to top it all off, Lorraine is probably getting set to leave me this time around, money or no money.
Luckily, I still had a few good friends who liked what I do for them, and they came up with a legal defense fund for me, which paid the retainer for Reynoldo Villalobos. Yes, the same Reynoldo Villalobos who managed to get Alston Cooke acquitted for the Mars shuttle hijacking two years ago. If anyone can clear my name from this mess, it's definitely Reynoldo.
Most of the trial had been a blur for me, with a slew of forensics experts, and robot technicians, and other people who had no real jobs but to just go up on the stand and answer the prosecutor's questions like he wants them answered. Yawn material for jurors.
Today would be no yawner. She was the star witness, or to be more exact, their key piece of evidence against me. This is what all of that legal defense money was for, to make sure she doesn't send me to jail and ruin my life for the second time.
She walked into to court dressed quite conservatively, probably under the direction of the prosecutor to make her not look like the sex kitten she was modeled after. No high cut skirt or low cut blouse today, it was all business, and she could've passed for one of the Fortune 1000 CEO's I would see on the train during rush hour. They even pinned her hair up and put glasses on her. I had to use all of my stregnth to keep from bursting out laughing when I saw that. I'm sure the jury wouldn't have found that funny. Her stride to the witness stand was well controlled, too. No swinging hips, no runway gait, all business. At least whoever her programmer was, was on his job. If he's lucky, they might be charitable and give him a bonus for this. They might even bless him with a one night stand with her.
Being that she was an android, there was no need to swear her in. She would tell the truth. She could lie of course, but that would be evidence tampering. If they ever found out that she was tampered with, the judge would call an immediate mistrial, and if they tried to hang me out to dry again, they certainly couldn't use her as my noose. And so it would begin, the testimony of the century of the trial of the century. For now, at least.
The prosecutor, James Wilson, a throwback to the last decade stood up. "For the record, please state your designated name,model number, and registration number."
"My designate name is Heather Hunter, model PCX-9981 companion unit. My registration number is 23Q 1912."
Neat trick, making her voice as dull and unemotional as possible. Almost reminded me of those old 20th century shows with the pointy-ear aliens. She had that unemotionally detached, answer everything as matter-of-fact as possibly thing going good too.
"Thank you, Miss Hunter," Wilson said. "You were scheduled for semi-annual maintenance with Mr. Martin, is that correct?"
"That is correct," she replied.
"And what is involved in these semi-annual maintenance checkups?"
"Mr. Martin's tasks are to perform a system scan on my frame for fatigue stress, perform a continuity test on my memory core and then defragment it, perform a virus scan and update my systems with up-to-date virus definitions, test and align my optical, audio, and tactile sensors, and refill any fluids as necessary."
"Did he also change your oil?" he chuckled.
"He refilled my fluid resivoirs as necessary," she repeated. Obviously I wasn't the only one his humor was lost on.
"At any time during this examination, is Mr. Martin required to perform any in-depth examinations of specific systems?"
"Mr. Martin is not required to perform any detailed examinations unless I notify him of any system errors I log between visits."
"Are there any other times that Mr. Martin required to perform these examinations?" he asked.
"Mr. Martin is allowed to perform extended examinations should his initial test results require it."
"I see," he said.
He went back to his table and looked at his notes. He was probably going to change his line of questioning. "On the day of the examination, what did you wear to the appointment?"
"Objection!" Reynoldo jumped up out of his seat. "I don't see the relevance here."
"I'm just trying to set a picture for the jury to see what happened on the day in question," Wilson countered.
The judge nodded towards Wilson. "I'll allow it as long as I see relevance. If I don't see where this is going, I will strike it from the records. The evidence may answer" Reynoldo sat back down, dismayed, but not defeated.
"On the day of the examination, I wore a turtleneck sleeveless sweater, a plaid skirt, and knee-legnth boots."
He went back to his table and picked up a picture. It was her, dressed exactly as she had described it. "Would the clothes in this photograph be what you wore on the day of the examination?"
She looked at the photograph. "Yes, they are."
"Would you please replay to the court verbally what happened on the day of the examination, from the moment you entered his examination room until you walked out?"
"I entered his office on time, at 10:30 am. I walked in, and Mr. Martin asked me how I was doing. I told him that all of my systems were working within normal parameters. He acknowledged my report and directed me to step onto the diagnostics platform. He then began to perform his diagnostic routines on me, starting with the memory test and defragmentation, then the virus scan and update and finally the frame test. After completion of the frame test, he told me that the test results showed that my vaginal unit lubricant injectors was malfunctioning."
"Did your internal scans ever detect this malfunction?" Wilson asked.
"Did this malfunction ever show up on your logs?"
"What steps are taken to remedy this malfunction?"
"I am able to perform my duties with a minimum of one lubricant injector. Repairs are usually not necessary for this malfunction."
"Did you tell that to Mr. Martin?"
"Yes. Mr. Martin, however, felt the need to ensure that I was operating at 100% and insisted on making the necessary repairs."
"How did he plan on making those repairs?"
"Mr. Martin told me that he had a spare vaginal module in his inventory. It would be a simple component swap with minimal downtime."
"Did you have any objections to Mr. Martin performing this repair?"
"I had no objections."
"What happened next?"
"Mr. Martin instructed me to remove my skirt and sit down upon his examination chair. When I sat down, he shut me down to standby mode. I was deactivated for a period of thirty-four minutes and twenty-three seconds. When I was reactivated, he told me that he had completed all of the repairs and I could re-dress myself."
"Did you notice anything unusual after your reactivation?"
"No, I did not."
"Did you perform a self scan after you were reactivated?"
"No. When I undergo my semi-annual examinations, Mr. Martin's test results are entered into my system logs. Because my internal scans would reflect what his test results were, I bypass them to reduce any redundancies."
"Then how do you know that you were sexually assaulted?"
"When I am in standby mode, although my high-level functions are disbled, I am able to perform low level logging for debugging purposes. An internal scan performed the following week indicated that my vaginal lubricant nozzles had been activated during the time I was placed in stand-by."
"But wouldn't that indicate that perhaps he was testing your module after he installed it?"
"It would. However, my logs also indicated vaginal and oral penetration during the time I was placed in standby as well. Additionally, my mammary pumps were activated, and I had discovered that an additional sexual protocol program was added to my memory core."
"Given the times indicated in your logs of these activities, do you have any reason to come to a conclusion that is different than what is on the indictment?"
"I have no further questions for this evidence."
I had to admit, that was some damning stuff she said against me. But this is what Reynoldo is paid for, to turn all of this around.
He got up from our table, and buttoned up his silk suit before he asked the first question. "Miss Hunter, I noticed that when you prepared yourself for the module replacement, you only said that you removed your pants."
"That is correct," she replied.
"And what about the panties?"
"I did not have any."
This caused quite a murmur in the courtroom, followed by an angry "Objection!" by Wilson, which was quickly overruled.
"It was for easier access."
"And who told you that?" he asked.
"So how did you come to this conclusion?"
"It is in my programming that every male that I encounter wants easier access to me. Underwear has been determined to be an unnecessary barrier to accessing me."
"I see," he said. "Are you wearing any underwear now, by the way?"
"Objection, your honor," Wilson interjected.
"Sustained. Watch your tongue, counselor."
He nodded before proceeding. "Miss Hunter, how many time has Mr. Martin examined you before this alleged incident occurred?"
"I have been examed by Mr. Martin four times for scheduled maintenance and twice for repairs."
"During those previous examinations, has he ever behaved in what your protocol would consider to be an unprofessional manner?"
"My encounters with Mr. Martin have not exceeded the boundaries of professional or ethical conduct."
"What were the nature of those two repair sessions?"
"The first repair session was to perform a factory service recall. My vaginal sensory units were mis-aligned during my assembly. Mr. Martin re-aligned them. The second repair session was to replace an optical sensor damaged in an encounter with my owner's ex wife."
"Let's talk about that realignment," Reynaldo said. "During the vaginal re-alignment, were you placed off-line for this repair?"
"No. The re-alignment required me to be activated to give feedback to the sensory inputs."
"What sensory inputs?"
"From the vaginal stimulator. It's a probe used to perform the alignments. Once it is inserted into my vagina, it emits various stimuli into me. I would indicate what I sensed and he would then tune me to factory specifications."
I remembered that exam well. The probe was really just a vario-speed vibrator hooked up to a computer. I set it to different speeds and she would tell me if she had any sensations or not. Halfway though the alignment I hit the wrong key and turned her vaginal sensitivity up too high. It acitvated all of her sexual programs, and then it triggered her arousal and orgasm subroutines simultaneously and made her crash. I chuckled to myself when I remember how freaked out I was watching her moan and buck wildly while strapped down to her chair with a vibrator plugged into her. I was so freaked out that I would get fired for it. Dave, one of the other technicians who worked with me later told me that it was the kinkiest thing he's ever seen. Good thing he didn't testify for me.
I discreetly looked at the jury. Juror #6, the woman I nicknamed 'The Housewife' seemed to take a particular interest in that answer. I wondered if she noticed how aroused she looked.
"During that repair, was Mr. Martin's behaivour outside the limits of professional and ethical behaivor?" Reynoldo asked.
"No, it was not," she replied.
"Miss Hunter, did you access the internet between your examination with Mr. Martin and your scheduled internal scan?"
"Yes, I did."
"Did you download any programs, or attach yourself to any peer to peer networks?"
"I did not attach myself to any peer to peer networks, however I did download some role-playing programs to playback with my owner."
"Is it possible that the programs you downloaded contained malicious coding?"
"It is highly unlikely that I recieved a virus since my virus definitions were recently updated."
"But it is possible," he questioned.
"Did you engage in any internet conversations with other users?"
"Is it possible that they may have accessed your logs and altered them during your chat sessions?"
He sighed. "At any given time during your chat sessions, how may ports do you have open?"
"I have a total of 65,536 ports open during my sessions."
"That sounds quite unsecure," he commented.
"All of my ports are monitored," she replied.
"Including the one I am on now?"
"Objection!" Wilson shouted.
"Counselors, approach. Now." I looked around. The courtroom was abuzz with murmurs. Wilson and Reynoldo were engaged in a heated discussion. I didn't know what they were talking about, but it looked quite serious. Finally, the judge sent both of them back. Whatever argument Reynoldo had used must've been good, because Wilson looked ready to burst at the collar.
"Miss Hunter, are you aware that I have a hired hacker that has access to your systems?"
"All of my scans show no activity on any ports."
He nodded. "Can you repeat your account of your visit to Mr. Martin in it's entirety?"
She began her story again. It was verbatim to what she had told Wilson.
He nodded agian. "Can you repeat your account one more time to the court?"
She began, but something was different. Midway through the first sentence, she stopped speaking. Her head tilted slightly as if she was looking at something, or more specifically looking for something.
"Unable to complete request," she said. "File not found."
This was interesting. I didn't even know that was possible.
"Can you repeat your account just one more time?"
I thought she would give her file not found error again, but this time she did remember what happened, only it wasn't what happened. This time her account seemed to come out of one of the letters sent into Hustler magazine, where she went there, seduced me and I banged her senseless with the old vagina. Then I replaced her old vagina with the new one, and did that vaginal alignment test, but this time I turned all of her sensors way the hell up, shut her motors down, and poked and probed her with the probe.
"It was a most intriguing feeling," she said, "Being unable to move but still feel everything that he was doing to me. It was like being his little love doll, ready for ravaging."
This account was quite detailed, so to speak and when I looked at The Housewife again, I swear she could've just had a mini orgasm. She was writing something down furiously, and I'm pretty sure it was notes on how she can recreate this wild fantasy.
"Can you please repeat your account just one more time, I'm having trouble trying to figure this all out.
Her third account matched her orginal, word for word.
Reynaldo paused for effect before he spoke again. "Miss Hunter, having experienced what you just went through in the past five minutes, do you feel that you have been controlled by outside elements without your knowledge?"
"Yes, I do," she replied.
"And given that you were controlled by these elements and had your personal experience altered, can you say with any certainty that you were not tampered with between the time that you walked out of Mr. Martin's office and your first internal scan?"
"No, I cannot."
"No further questions."
I was shocked. Just like that, my high priced lawyer had proven beyond a reasonable doubt that I couldn't have done what I did. I didn't think it was even possible to compromose her security, let alone do it without her being able to detect it. Wilson was beet red and I could see why. As far as he was concerned, his case was thrown out of the window with that crazy sideshow. Reynoldo had certainly earned his pay that day.
It took the jury six hours to acquit me, but in the end it didn't matter. After my name was dragged through the mud by the media, my reputation was shot. My client list shrank to the point where I was fired from the repair company because they thought I was a liability against them. And my wife left me, taking the dog because it was the only thing she could take.
So here I am, now I'm an auto mechanic, fixing cars for a living. And if they come equipped with any AI systems, I refuse to take them. The last thing I need is some car taking me to court accusing me of popping her clutch one too many times.