We Have a Private Wing, But The Ambulances Aren't Real
We Have a Private Wing, But The Ambulances Aren't Real
Part 1
The faint scent of sausages wakes you up. You squint a little, it being a bit earlier than your normal waking hours, and stretch a little. You have taken the day off from work, claiming "Charity Leave" to work at the Pax Alveria Memorial Hospital as a layman volunteer. You smile a little in the shower as you think about this. You HAD technically requested exactly that from your other job, though you had to make a few baldfaced lies of omission to your official job.
You stretch again in the shower, and momentarily wish you had asked Bronii to just make a cold breakfast like a little milk over some quinoaflakes and fruit. It would have made it easier for her to get away from the stove and into the shower. A small quickie with her curvy, soft, mature body would have been nice. Bronii had a body and a mind that excited you in various ways, always something delicious, sometimes even new.
You give a deep sigh and shake your head quickly. She had become quite timorous in the kitchen and living room ever since being mentally wounded, in as much as she could physically simulate such trauma, at an after-hours event for film buffs. But Bronii had also become... strangely monstrous... when her sexual mode tripped on, which it randomly did at the oddest opportunities for sex. Better not to risk arriving at Pax Alveria with actual injuries requiring actual hospitalisation.
That didnt necessarily preclude the nice boob squeeze to go with your hot breakfast. All she asked for was if you needed anything besides an energizing English breakfast (less the blood sausage, with nobody in their right mind would ask for in New South Harales), and she was wearing such an inviting sleeping coat that you just HAD to feel up one of her inviting breasts, letting the feel of her firm nipple excite you even if the only thing you saw was your mischevious paw taking a little liberty with Bronii. Not too much though - you quickly withdraw the hand, leaving the coat slightly loosened that you can see the pink tipped glory you had just played with, but not too late that you trigger anything animal in her.
She pants softly as she crashes in the chair next to you, a dazed smile on her lips. "Haryanto. That was naughty of you. I expect a full ride when you come home, if you're not too tired by then... She kisses you on the cheek. "I'm so proud that you're doing unpaid work for charity. You are such a nice guy..."
it is all you can do to tug at your collar at how you're being misinterpreted all around. The job DOES qualify you for your honorarium at Berequel Customs New South Harales, for... reasons... You make a meek excuse about how one should serve the community, simple po-faced platitudes to go with your breakfast, though you manage to quickly signal that you'd like not to talk while you eat because you have to rush to Payden Beach about one hour out from here.
It doesn't stop Bronii from giving you the usual kiss, well wishes, and that same oddly childlike exhortation of hers to "SEIZE THE DAY". You momentarily wonder if the original flesh-and-blood Bronii also did this for Dr Saulomon back when she was still alive and capable of doing so, but shake your head from the thought as you board the amphibious Cabb for your trip to work.
The commute is uneventful, boring even, leaving your mind free to think about the details of the job you just temporarily volunteered yourself for...
Pax Alvernia is a hospital chain run by one of many cults littering the United Coalition of Northern Almares Galaxy. Its behavior is more quirky than anything threatening or generally disagreeable, allowing it a measure of freedom to operate however it wants "in the pursuit of the continued ascension of humankind's potential." What it has opted to do with that freedom is open a series of hospitals across mainly UCNA territories, with a few in some more peaceable neutral territories like New South Harales.
With a few choice locations, they expanded their offerings to span not just quality healthcare and charitable assistance in obtaining aid for those with weaker financial constitutions, but also a third 'private medical wing' for a very exclusive clientele. It regularly gets bombarded with requests to accept referrals, but is very picky about whom it serves, ostensibly those of greater worth who can cover the operations of its charity medicine with their splurging on bumped up medical bills that include such clearly non-medical needs as "adjoining rooms for clients' families to rest in", finer cuisine for patients, or even assistance with relocating to the nearest such Pax Alveria with such luxuries.
Or at least that's what the phamphlet they published to provide cover promises. You're under no illusions as to what exactly the medical wing is or what and who it's funded for. The first clue being just how many customers of Berequel Customs get referred to it under the guise of 'medical referrals'.
You pull up in front of the hospital after what seems like an oddly short amphibious road-and-beachwater ride. Paying for your Cabb, you step out of it and examine the building. Unlike much of the architecture around this beachball, Pax Alveria keeps a more muted and consistent pale blues color scheme and blocky buildings, though this one probably adopts many of the local building practices where they improve its ability to cope with the climate without compromising on patient.
Heading on in, your display your Berequel Customs staff ID to the receptionist nurse. She displays an alarming lack of enthusiasm for the job, merely waving her hand in the direction of the doors to the Private Wing, flanked on both sides by nattily dressed security guards. You glance back as you walk towards the doors in question, thinking that she definitely needs a good coffee and a nap before she crashes totally.
The doors swing open on their own as you get closer, heavily transclucent green curtains obscuring the view into the ward. The guards do nothing beyond glancing at you as you go past them, but they're clearly packing stun batons for dealing with intruders. A bit of a wishy-washy approach to security at the gates here.
Using your hand to shift the curtain, the first thing you see is some sort of centaur woman held up on chains on a vertical support rack. A staffer in a medical-looking green overalls suit is calmly groping her unusually stacked breasts with gloved hands as the centaur woman looks forward. You don't stay to see what else he is going to do, hearing him mutter "... idiot isn't going to enjoy it when his archer girlfriend keeps getting her long bow hung up on these 38 Echo power-boobies during the pull..."
You see other assorted Autoslavs of various builds, ages, genders, and even species, going past an actual Arabian horse of sorts at one point. The hallway of the entrance ward is noiser than a real medical facility should be, strange discussions interspersing as you make your way down to where the briefing room should be:
"... we try not to be judgemental, but there are several reasons for your son not to have done this, some of them technical..."
"... change the mix in the digestion chamber until it doesn't poop out purple shit all over your stables, my Emir..."
"... needs some reprogramming after the AI transfer to paper over the aging you want...
"... don't make the fast response lower-pressure generators in that capacity..."
"... we don't make a module to support speech in that language..."
You finally push your way through into the briefing room, a sort of small room filled with small student table-chair combinations and a white board. A stern black lady is tapping the board furiously as she yells about something presumably bad. "And finally, I do NOT want a repeat of any abuses with your tone generators for the duration you're tapped in. These are all somebody's loved ones one way or another, and we don't need a lawsuit for property damage or destruction or emotional damage. BRIEF OVER! Tap in your cards, get to your goddamned eko-vans and let's make it a good shift!"
She walks right over to you. She's visually a foot shorter than you, and yet she has this attitude around her that makes you feel like she actually towers menacingly over you. "I take it you're the temp Berequel Customs sent over to cover the guy we just fired?"
"I think so, yeah."
The lady eyes you up and down judgementally... after a minute, she figures something out. "Typical. another layperson without some actual skills in on-the-site troubleshooting or fixing things... GERON, YOUR MAGICAL UNICORN FLYBOY IS HERE. GET THE FUCK OVER AND TAKE CHARGE OF HIM."
You look back and smile a little. "Oh, hey there. I didn't know you'd transferred there, Geron."
Geron is attired in the same pseudomedical suit as you, also in orange instead of green, denoting their status in providing on-site diagnosis, light repairs, and conveyance of jobs requiring actual use of the 'private wing'. He sulks a little even as he tries to smile, clearly the past six months have been hard on him. He sighs. "I get transferred to this post, and I still have to be your mentor."
You look away sheepishly "Yeah, I'm surprised to, but... I do think you still have something to teach me even now."
Geron sticks a small cancerstick in one side of his mouth, but doesn't light it in respect of the "no smoking" rule... "You're just doing that to make me feel good."
The short lady runs out of patience. "GET TO YOUR EKO-VANS NOW! Or are you two going to strip naked and have hot gay sex on the tables here? because let me tell you, that's the only way I wouldn't mind you two dilly-dallying instead of deploying!"
Geron rolls his eyes as he drags you along and out of the briefing room. "alright, alright! Jesus, Gertrude, no need to advertise your hard-on for yaoi shit..." The two of you walk in a different direction down another corridor and into the eko-van parking bay. The earlier rush for vans has left the both of you with a small runt that almost feels like it's too small to fit anyone.
Like the Tardis though, it's actually a bit roomier inside, the cockpit driver compartment seats having been ripped out to fit a smaller driverless controller to drive the vehicle itself. Even with the assorted lighter-weight equipment kits pasted onto the walls with some sort of magnets, there seems to be enough safe seating space for the two of you plus a passenger, though you probably wouldn't want to try conveying a centaur. or a horse...
Geron hops into the eko-van and motions to you to follow. As the ekovan shuts its doors and starts hovering slowly out of the bay. Geron fishes out a small list of addresses and issues to read through in the form of a digital pad. "Here's the deal. We're doing milk-runs, no sudden addon emergencies hopefully. Just going to several client locations to address some logs and errors of concern, maybe do one or two fixes, we finish up at about 5pm for this shift, park back home at Pax Alveria, sign off, clean up, and go to the bar for a beer."
You stare at Geron, specifically when he mentions the last bit... Have you really become that much of a homebody that consternation is now your response to that sort of post-work drink rather than cheering?
Geron notes your discomfort and looks away quickly. "Or just go home, some of us are homebodies, I know."
You marvel at how smooth the ride is, feeling absolutely no bumping thanks to the hoverpads beneath the vehicle chassis. "So who are we visiting first?" You ask, offhandedly.
There are a few beeps and clicks as Geron focuses on the pad... "Ah, it's one of them Payden Beach Muscle Mommies."
Those words do not seem to go together, yet they also seem to go together for you. Your only response to Geron's half-gibberish reply is a raised eyebrow, as the eko-van slowly lowers itself outside the first house, a tasteful beige and brown suburban low house atop the usual hillets so many homes on this planet have...
Part 2
There is minimal fuss from Geron as he preps for the trip, which simply amounts to grabbing a bag labelled "General Purpose 1" and pulling hard enough to part its magnets from the steel walls of the eko-van. As the two of you walk up to the house Geron explains. "We have several clients who have fantasies of being close to muscular women in ringside events, they got together and created this sort of fake muscular contest, like the old wrestling events they had on Earth. They script events, fake relationships between their girls, even actual kayfabes, heel turns... very creative. But sometimes it can get out of hand. Maybe one of them accidentally decapitated the other in an acrimonous argument. Not that they're supposed to, there's safeguards in place, but with the heavy weights and forces being thrown around by this lot it's possible for things to happen."
You raise your eyebrow again at the mention of the decapitation. People are weird. You knew this when you did the sex and tech junkets, but you're seeing a new level of this already. It's a damn shame the NDA won't let you write about it, probably. it would take the Adventures In Perversion gig to new heights.
Geron raises the tone generator fob on his staff ID to the door and clicks twice on the white button. There is a brief pause, before the door opens to admit them in. "And they've logged it, and alerted the house staff we're coming in to check on their prized one. With safeguards like this, it's a wonder that idiot tried to abuse this and got fired." He absentmindedly mentions, causing you to think briefly of what Gertrude had been yelling about as you entered the briefing room late.
"Now," Geron motions to you to follow him into the house, "I wonder what Eimi has problems with now."
You notice plenty fast that the house has been designed with considerations for a wheelchair user, with widened corridors around the house, plus support rails here and there. There's a standing bar piano against one wall, above which is a picture of a petite but clearly toned young Japanese woman flexing one of her arms. Sitting in a wheelchair just next to her is an extremely emaciated young Japanese man with his hands balled up in badly deformed permanent fists, smiling as if he was the luckiest man in the world despite clear evidence to the contrary.
You quickly catch up with Geron as he enters what would probably be the living room in a normal house. Over here though, it has been converted into a sort of temple to fitness. lighter weights on a rack. A small multifunctional trainer machine. A small concession to cardio in the form of a simple powered treadmill. The only jarring item in this mix is a small single-person bed, of similar build to the one you have back in your home, but much sturdier.
A young, petite yet slightly muscular young Japanese ingenue is sitting on the bench of the trainer machine, her back slumped slightly against part of the bench that has been tweaked into an L-shape to provide back support. You recognise her as the lass in the group portrait above the piano behind you. She is dressed for gym success, wearing a support top of sorts to hold up her modestly large, shapely breasts, in the same pastel pink edging and white fabric as the thong on her haunches and the support stockings trailing all the way from inside exercise shoes up to just below her posterior. Her face is frozen in a smile, as if she was in the throes of euphoria from a good workout when she malfunctioned.
As Geron approaches her, he bends down on one knee on one side of the young woman, and sighs. The unit issues a series of random missives, in a voice that is clearly running several octave ranges lower than intended.
"Hi, I'm Eimi! The White Wonder!"
"Let the evils of the Muscle Devils Beware my fury!"
"Everyone gets to go home today. Nobody left behind!"
"Did I do great today? Praise me, Seiji!"
Geron shakes his head. "Really, Seiji... you were such a genius... why did you have to die this early and leave Eimi alone... and with such corny kayfabe. She can't lift the entire world on her back, not with such an anaemic pressure generator..." He continues softly as he feels along beneath the machine's underboobs, eventually pushing down somewhere to cause a small hatch to slide beneath and out of view into her chest, revealing a series of connector ports and buttons. Geron soon goes quiet, fiddling with assorted tools, as if trying to put what just hit him headlong in the feels out of his mind.
I really should not do this but... I ask anyway. "Friend of yours?"
Geron nods as he plugs his work pad in and starts tapping on it, in an 'anything to ignore something bad' sort of vibe. "Not really, no. Customer of ours a year ago. first through the door. Thought he would get eliminated fast as heck, we tend not to accept customers with issues like Lou Gehrig's just in case they perish prematurely and leave us stuck with unwanted units and maintenance contracts not kept."
There are a few loud 'thuck' noises in the quiet of the workout room.
"Clever bastard, you knew this was going to keep happening with how little you could actually afford to spend... remotely resettable Overcurrent protectors... what a splurge on such a cheap unit..." Geron murmurs quietly as he taps a little more on his pad.
"Thing is he had so much spirit. Apparently, the thing with muscular women fake hammering on each other was a thing back in his home region. very popular there... he was waving his posters and magazine clipouts wildly with his claws, saying Payden Beach would make such a lovely place to start something like it. It was kind of infectious... couple of the neighbours agreed with him, and before we knew it these fuckers had put together something with their own orders. the same ridiculous outfits. the same dumb movements. the same kayfabes..."
There is more silence as Geron works and thinks. "Seiji died three months ago. These days it's the other guys running a trust fund to pay into his maintenance contract obligations. I think they all take turns too to visit this place and clean it too. We do pay attention a bit more to this unit as well during our runs... Maybe if I reduce the carry weight limit she won't pop so often..."
Eimi shudders a little suddenly and sits up properly on the bench, the smiling toothy grin replaced by a gentle smile as she scans the room with her head, settling her eyes on Geron. "Geron, you came to visit us."
Geron sheepishly looks away from the pad and at Eimi's face. "Stupid baka... I told you many times, don't lift excessively. You blacked out again. Had me worried." He adopts a scowl. "You'll worry the other Muscle Mommies guys too."
Eimi shakes her head. There is a sort of ditzy young lady feel to her movements, as if she can barely believe she's already an adult. "I'm sorry, Geron. I just want to be my best form when our charity matches happen two months from now. We all do. Best foot forward and all that, you know. Seiji would want me to be great up there."
Geron pulls the connector for his work pad and watches the hatch seal back up, leaving no sign of Eimi's robotic nature as he puts away his pad. "It's going to be good, if they're all as ethusiastic as you."
Another hard nod from Eimi. "Even Lazi Devil is working out too. You know how terrible she is at working hard normally." Another mirthful laugh. "You should check in on Maximum when you can, Geron, I think she may have sprained one of her shoulders. She wasn't throwing me with the same impact as she normally does."
Geron nods slowly. "Listen, I need to go look after someone else now. Take care of yourself, rest like at least a few hours every hour of workouts you do. Get proper sleep too, okay? I don't want to have to haul your heavy ass back to bed like the last time."
Eimi raps on her head with one of her firsts, sticking out her tongue. "I know, Mr Weak Man.... Seiji would scold me for that too." Her happiness suddenly chips off a little right in front of you. almost imperceptibly. "Seiji will be coming back soon from the hospital, right?"
Geron takes a deep breath. "Yes... yes, I'm sure he'll want to see you be great. it's why he kept this house and workout space for you all this time. Keep going girl, keep that chin of yours up."
"So I can just it like the sharp end of a javelin, right? kyu kyu kyu!" She laughs a little, but it seems to ring falsely.
Geron looks like he's been through the ringer as I settle down next to him in the eko-van, the kitbag clanging as it clamps back onto the walls of the vehicle.
I pat his shoulder. "I'm not saying I'm a robot psychologist, but... Geron, I think she knows he's not coming back."
Geron nods wistfully, he's not blind to that. "Hope is the last refuge of all women when all else is lost." He sighs and fishes out his pad to look at his next task. "Even when the woman is made of circuitry and soft plastics... let her have that hope, however pointless it is now. At least she has people around to drag her back from the edge whenever she gets close to it. A lot of human suicides don't have that fortune, if you think about it. And whether that was real love for Seiji or just hotwires... love is love, is it not?"
I raise my water flask up. "A toast, to all the women we love and who love us?"
Geron rolls his eyes and looks at me, as if meaning to castigate me for levity at a bad time... There is a clang as he brings out his own drinking flask and taps it against mine. "A toast. Try not to get drunk, okay, we're still on shift. There's only water in mine."
I take a customary swig out of my flask... "That makes two of us." I observe, as the eko-van lifts slowly and takes us away to the next 'patient'.
Part 3
The next 'patient' we visit is about the most normal person we could imagine, even allowing for the general kookiness of people who opt to live in New South Harales.
At least, that's what I thought at first.
More damn fool me.
We are greeted at the doorstep of a slightly larger than normal single-floor house by a simply made up housewife in a white blouse with decorated frilling down the front, a black short skirt that ends slightly just below the bottom of her butt, and long black sheer lace stockings stretching the full length of her legs. Her hair is made up in a short bun updo, and her face is lightly made up in a minimal fashion. A pale blue waist apron completes the outfit.
She looks at us through almond brown eyes, studying us with some interest.
"Hi, Im Laurie Elland. What can I do for you gentlemen?" She asks us in an unembroidered sort of chipper accent, turning her head from side to side to look at us with more focus.
"Erm, hello. We're here to, uh... conduct a survey." Geron half-truths. "We'd like to ask you some questions, Ms Elland..."
She tilts her head after a second or so, smiling wistfully. "I'm sorry, sir, Hugh prefers his privacy and would rather I not accept such unsolicited visitors in his absence."
Geron looks a little discomfited after looking at his work pad, before he lets the tone generator droop off his ID. "Oh, for fuck's sake." He murmurs as he taps out a code on the tone generator... " O_OO_ _ OOO"
Geron snaps briskly as if he's not interested in the facade and just wants to get work done for real. "Laurie, override command, add tech and adjacent person as temporary approved visitor, duration 4 hours. Override command additional, set timeframe Marker Alpha."
The perfectly ordered woman twitches jerkily, eyes unfocused. "valid Berequel Customs tech support override code input. Adding... Geron Marksbach... and... Bob Haryanto... as temporary approved visitor... duration 4 hours... setting Timeframe Marker... Alpha." Her previously gentle tones take on an unnaturally harsh, electronic cadence as she confirms what Geron wants of her.
I raise an eyebrow.
Geron shrugs. "Client has record of being hard to work with. Doesn't want us to leave too many traces of our coming and going. But he did give us rights to override and enter as needed at least."
Laurie's head tilts back into the position she was in barely seconds ago. As if the previous few seconds had never happened... "Why certainly, come on in, she chirps as she stands back and ushers us into the house.
I look around the living room we have both just been sat in. it seems like it's not done up in the local style at all, with pale white walls and cupboards full of ornamented porcelain dishes and things in them, feeling to me at least like I'm the one out of place. I smirk as this comes to mind - technically we're both intruders who shouldn't be here aside from the powers granted to us by our technician jobs.
Laurie comes back to us, a faint clattering sounding in the living room as she lays down a tray with a simple white teapot, two cups on saucers, and a plate of whitish cookies. "I must apologise, Hugh is away on business in... the Antales... at the moment." She apologetically speaks, clasping her hands lightly together with a sort of daintiness that seems almost doll-like.
"None taken," Geron shrugs as he takes a cup of tea from the tray and dunks a biscuit into it, before chewing and nodding. "These are very good cookies."
Laurie smiles faintly. "Thank you, sir. I took great pains experimenting to get this cookie recipe right. In fact, I was just about to set a fresh batch in the oven when you rang the doorbell. Excuse me one moment..." She turns around and walks back into the kitchen, her mid heels clicking on the floor.
"Bullshit" Geron almost inaudibly whispers to me. "this is the recipe my ex-wife worked on for our starter databases. it was a real pain..."
"Is that why she divorced you?" I idly ask as I use one of the cookies to stir my own cup of tea.
Geron deadpans and stares back at me. "Only a fool would let matters of the stomach determine divorce in a good relationship. No, it wasn't divorce... something else actually... I don't want to talk about it." He bites into his cookie again. "God, just as good as I remember them..."
Moments after, Laurie steps back in, primly sitting down in front of the two of us, using one hand to evenly brush out the back of her skirt while doing so. "So, what would you like to know?"
Geron fishes out his work pad from the bag, idly tapping a few things, before looking over. "We were wondering if you have had any recent aches or pains. There have been some interesting new maladies running around this neighbourhood, and we'd like to ensure everyone in our neighbourhood stays in good health..."
"well, my back DOES feel a little sore these days after I stood up too fast in the garden, tending to the petunias. Then I also have a little blurriness in one eye, I think. I must be getting on in age, almost time for my spin on the rejuvenation stuff the Godons have..." She continues on with a long list of various tiny maladies from top to toe ranging from a slight ankle pain in her left ankle to intermittent farting
After a minute or two, Geron can be heard clicking his tone generator again. "O_O_O_O..." "Laurie, override command: maintenance." He utters, before picking up his tea and examining the teabag tag on it. "She's drunk too much of this." He notes, as he fishes out a large vial of what looks like pills intended for horses.
Laurie suddenly gets up and walks off in the middle of her non-stop spiel about her various minor niggles and random observations about her day. As she passes you, you can see her start to unbutton her blouse, exposing a tasteful cream-colored bra supporting a modestly large bosom. You decide discretion is the better part of valor or some such thing the ancient Earth people might have said, and avert your eyes as she enters a bedroom of some sort.
"Finish up your tea," Geron says as he does so with his. ""We'll be leaving after we're done with this job.""
Geron strides into the bedroom, your meek self peeking out from behind him. You are rather surprised when you see two separate beds with two of the same Laurie lying totally naked atop them. Two copies of a slightly curved, average-shaped woman draped in a light tan. Both of them are lying flat and straight on their beds, arms by their sides. The only difference exists above the neck, as one of them keeps talking animatedly even as the other stays perfectly silent, eyes closed in repose. parked in them are two Maintenance Hubs stacked atop one another, with an additional cable poking out on one side linking the two together.
"And another thing, Ms Franklin next door has been raising quite a pointless fuss. She says the petunias are poisoning her dogs. What a laugh. Everyone knows sugar petunias make for great white cookies and sweet teas in the traditional style... anyways..." Laurie 1 continues to attempt to talk us to death, totally ignorant of the fact that she just totally disrobed in front of two strangers, lied down in bed, and assumed an unnatural pose.
Geron nods absentmindedly as he plugs his workpad into the Maintenance Hubs, working through the displays for actual significant issues. "Yes, I'm sure busy-body neighbours are a scourge, Ms Elland.... hmm, no major issues on this unit... aside from the digester culture perishing from too much sugar petunia tea intake..." He notes idly, as he pops the horse pill vial open and extracts one out, before forcing it against Laurie 1's lips.
Her mouth briefly desyncs. "By the way, did you know baking soda is especially effective for many forms of cleaning? It's true..." Laurie 1's nonstop drone continues even as the pill is firmly shoved in, causing her lips and mouth to stop moving to fit her speech.
"This will tide you over until we send a team to collect both of you for additional work." Geron gets off the chair he has sat in putting up with the nonstop blather. "Laurie, override command, set Timeline Marker Omega. delete last two temporary approved visitors added. delete memories in Alpha-Omega timeframe. Sleepytime, duration ten minutes."
"And... oh... yes... one more thing... goood.... niiiiight..." Laurie 1 finally shuts up, eyes closing slowly as her tirade slows down into a full stop.
Geron turns around and motions to Haryanto. "Bob, let's go, we're done here." he says as he grabs his General Purpose bag.
"You know, there's one thing I don't understand. why did you give the pill to only the first Laurie autoslav?" I ask Geron as we settle back in the eko-van, feeling the bump as it lifts off slightly and goes on to its next destination.
Geron looks up wistfully as he throws the bag back onto the wall of the eko-van, watching it thump as it magnetically clamps back in place. "The Laurie you saw wasn't the one that was having problems. The other one that was in the bedroom all the time, it was suffering from burnout after too many repeated sessions of copying over from the previously active Laurie. Interesting way of backing up a unit by keeping two of them synced, but clearly there's a reason we no longer do it."
A brief pause from Geron. ""Also: I wanted her to be a good neighbour while she waits and not fart harder than a whoopee cushion factory from drinking too much sugar petunia tea."
I bury my head in my lap a little. "This job is designed to cause eventual insanity, isn't it?" I joke.
"Probably." Geron agrees, his eyes focused on his work pad in the absence of any decent window views. He fishes out his drink flask again. "I packed some sugar petunia tea. what a nice host. you want some of it?"
My mind wanders to a nearby future where I stink up this entire eko-van along with Geron because of our repeated farts. "One, I don't want any, and two, don't you dare."
Part 4
I scream at the top of my lungs at Geron as another sniper bullet whistles into the penthouse, cracking the fine italian marble trimmings of the fireplace and causing the house to screech in alarm. I daren't peek out from behind the kitchen isle, as even more bullets crack chunks of it off."What do we do, Geron, I didn't sign on for this!"
Geron is cradling a dead politician's wife in his arms as he closes his eyes. The woman has a bullet hole right in the centre of her forehead, her face frozen in a look of shock as the last thing that went through her mind was said bullet. "Stand by for orders from Gertrude."
I scream again as a good 3D TV panel meets its end, downy feathers floating lazily in the evening sun from a shot hitting the ottoman pillows earlier.
However did this happen?
Geron's communicator buzzes halfway to whereever the eko-van was floating us. The messsage was simple. "Check your workpad with your staff ID against the back of it."
Geron fishes out his staff ID card again, shifting his ass around a little so that I can't get even a peek at what's coming across. He murmurs though, which gives some of it away. "Assigned Crew Accosted by Difficulties. Emergency reassignment to Geron. Apologies for Tight fit in your vehicle. Remainder of appointments for today delayed to tomorrow. Failure will be remunerated at standard rate for successful completion of normal appointments. Bonus will be paid for success..."
"I don't like this. We've just been voluntold to handle a very problematic client, clearly." Geron glances over at me.
"Are we a fucking taxi service?" I ask pointedly, looking around the eko-van's insides. it feels less like a comfy Cabb and more like the inside of a vehicle intended to send in soldiers, except squished to chibi proportions to hold only four people at best.
"Hand me your phone, Bob." He motions to me, as he places it against the back of the pad for a few moments. He follows up with my phone doing the same thing, then hands me back my phone. The first thing I notice is... "Hey... nav and cameras disabled for four hours? What's up with this?"
Geron braces himself as the eko-van suddenly veers wildly in a new direction, clearly going somewhere different. "The client requires additional security measures. I accepted for us, so we have to listen to any additional conditions placed on this job."
It seemed all very cloak and daggery to me as we sat there quietly together in the eko-van for another hour, saying next to nothing. Something about the situation had upped Geron's game, and I suspected that if I tried to pin him down on it I would not be enjoying the benefits of our mentor-student relationship in the response...
The eko-van finally comes to a halt, but doesn't park itself down like it normally would at a destination.
I look up from my attempt to distract myself with some sort of old Sovinhaya game that apparently involved dropping sets of blocks to form full lines and clear them out. I was not having a good time moments before, as the blocks decided not to float slowly down so much as to crash down in the blink of an eye.
Someone thumps three times on the doors of the eko-van.
Geron looks at me. "Two times."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The door, bang it two times." He nods his head towards the doors.
I do as he asks and sit back down...
a few moments later, someone suddenly opens the doors, a gentleman in all the trappings of some top-tier security guard: jet black blazer, trousers and tie, white inner shirt, patent leather black loafers. In his hands is a sub-machine gun that clearly was kept tidy and serviced with love, faintly glowing with menace as the lighting outside caressed it the same way its user had caressed it with proper gun maintenance.
Geron reaches out to me, hand against my chest. "Stay down, they'll only shoot you if they somehow think you're about to ambush them.
I blink as I see a plane take off in the distance, the canopy of Sheridian airport's passenger apron looking above us through the limited view of the doorway. Two minutes later, the man motions two very beautiful raven-haired women in matching white floral dresses and black bolero jackets. with small pins on their left lapel in the exact same position and rotation.
"Escort, on the highlighted eko-van. Point Epsilon. Watch your six." The guard slammed the doors on us one at a time, before the sound of something heavy clamping onto the doors to secure them followed by welding noises breaks the silence. After the welding noise fades, the neko-van starts moving again, the faint rumble of additional vehicles behind and in front of us.
there is a certain awkwardness in the air as the two women sit on either side of the vehicle next to each of us. A faint sweet scent hangs around the one next to me. At least they were still decent eye candy. warm soft facial features, almost like the kind you would expect a young woman to have after their first baby has its way with them in the form of heavier eating, odd waking hours, and the general hard demands for their mother's attentions... A still somewhat aquiline nose...
I look away from the lady sitting next to Goren and then at the one next to me. At least they were still decent eye candy. warm soft facial features, almost like the kind you would expect a young woman to have after their first baby has its way with them in the form of heavier eating, odd waking hours, and the general hard demands for their mother's attentions... A still somewhat aquiline nose...
I blinked hard. I blinked hard again. then looked back and forth between the two. Mother farking-
"Are they clones or something, dude?" I looked back at Goren, shocked at what I had just noticed.
Goren tapped his workpad a few times, then flipped it to show me a political party logo with a smarmy older man beneath it, smiling an oily smile, accompanied by the exact same woman. If I could hiss and go on edge like an upset cat, I would have done so. "Gogen Halen. of the Return to The Motherland Party." He notes idly.
"We've met before." I responded with icy venom in my tone. "The man is a menace, we're doing okay keeping ourselves in the middle between the great Human powers, and he wants to push New South Harales into the arms of the Sovinhaya. AND ban the local adult industry entirely."
A memory of the man raising his arms grandiosely in front of me, telling me how wonderful it would be if my home was untainted by 'filthy pornography and sex workers and toys' flooded into my mind from an election interview I had volunteered to do two elections ago.When you say that sort of shit to a man who's chummy with the people who need that kind of 'filthy pornography, sex workers and sex toys' to make a honest living, you best believe that pushes them towards not liking or voting for them at all.
I waved my arms at the two fake wives next to us. "This is big news. we're literally sitting next to carbon copies of his wife. That seems like exactly the sort of thing that would sink the party!" His wife was no innocent angel, she had literally empowered him to win several parts of the beachball at the previous election with her sweet words and political shows. It had been a dangerously close vote, and only the neutrals and the UCNA-leaning party gritting their teeth and cooperating as a coalition had kept him from winning the entire pot.
Goren looks down and sighs. "I love your honesty, Bob. Just a couple of problems... Berequel Customs doesn't judge what our clients do, that includes politics. Second, if you're thinking of blackmail, our cameras are disabled, and these guys have means to find out where a leak comes from and plug it. and I don't necessarily mean in a peaceful manner. There is nothing we can do about any of this in the next... two hours, twenty-six minutes and twelve seconds."
"But, but...." I stuttered several times, before it came to me that he was right. There was nothing I could do. Goren was warning me in an affable manner of sorts: tread carefully away from snakes when you are not the snakecatcher.
He looks sympathetically at me for a little... He suddenly puts down the workpad facing towards me, showing a map of our trip ahead and a timer slowly ticking down from two hours, twenty six minutes and zero seconds. "We are sworn to secrecy in such jobs. That includes not one mention or record of what we do exactly for the next... oh... two hours, until they start unwelding the security blocks on our doors." There is a mischevious grin on his face as he raises a tone generator unattached to any staff IDs."Poor fuckers fired the wrong guy for abusing a tone generator. Just don't make any messes that you can't clean up in five minutes each, I say..."
Part 5
I assumed it was an invitation, especially after he clicked the unaccounted-for tone generator in between the two women, smiling as he uttered "All Eliz Halen units in earshot, override command, disable all memory writes. Also: add Bob Haryanto as admin, temporary, duration three hours."
No room for blackmail, no room for big damning exposes, no room to break anything or make any larger messes... My options were kind of limited, I thought as I watched Goren look away and start whistling innocently. He wasn't going to be led on committing to anything ever, but it was clear he was my ally, or at worst a devil's advocate, in what I would choose to do next.
I opted to start by fishing out my work pad and connecting to the fake Eliz Halen sitting closest to me. Hrm... a folder of campaigning resources... speeches. movement patterns, presumably designed to give the quality of life and entice everyone she met into voting for the party, party salutes, editing tools for speeches... A frisson of mischief and creativity blobbed together in my mind.
Ten minutes later, Fake Eliz was reciting a new speech.
Unlike the usual sucker-baiting she was doing in elections, this one was different. She gave a small throat clearing noise as her head and neck swivelled slightly, like the kind of thing you would do just before giving an actual speech. Even without moving the rest of her body, there was a certain elegance in how she presented herself, looking around as if a whole crowd of voters were with us in the eko-van. I was actually a little impressed by the amount of work that had gone into taking a few codes and basic typed text and turned it into a performance so far.
What she did next would make me start laughing, even though I was responsible for it.
"My fellow citizens, friends, and family of New South Harales," she began solemnly. "I feel that it is time for me to tell you the facts as they really are. One, peaches are frogs. Two, Sovinhaya cars run on the blood of innocents. Three, the Phicabbe Ocean is insufficiently wet, and could stand to be wetter with the addition of dessicants. And four, my dear, delightful husband Gogen... *long pause*... will ruin all your shit if you vote Join The Motherland into power at these coming elections."
A spoken word rendition of a silly song I once heard in Ancient Memetics came on, choice words substituted for more relevant updated lyrics as to how I REALLY felt about Join The Motherland's ideologies .
Goren leans forward closer to me, a mirthful smile on his face, as he whispers conspiratorially to me. "Shitting Image? dude, seriously?"
"It's a good show, and I see you attended Ancient Memetics in college too?" it was quite easy to tell if someone had learnt the same codes, the same zingers. I was slightly pleased to discover that Goren was one of my kind too.
"I just wanted to bone the hot chick Sarinna. It seemed like a good idea to be in a class where I sat next to her." He says, as if this was a defense, or that he needed to defend himself from liking ancient Earth classics.
It was a little odd to me that he wanted to keep his voice low enough, as if to avoid being recorded over the parody I'd written. I thought nothing of it at the time.
a few more minutes after the quiet laughter from the two of us had died down, I had followed up by slowly unbuttoning the front of Fake Eliz 1's dress, exposing an athletic body. Not the thick, curvy full-throated assets of my Bronii, but that of a woman who watched what she ate, and exercised modestly to present a decent appearance in public, to captivate the red-blooded male supporters of her party... I gulped a little as I realised she had peach fuzz over her skin and her dewdrop-shaped C-cups felt the right kind of soft yet firm in my hands. somewhere down below in her pink lace thong, I found a source of something damp and faintly sweet smelling with my fingers as I rubbed around, quickly withdrawing them as I remembered what it probably was supposed to be.
I keep pawing the body with a slight hint of self-disgust and shame at how I was doing this behind my darling Bronii's back. As I did so, the ersatz politician's wife made matching noises of arousal and lust, which didn't help me keep my tent down. I make a mental note to give Bronii anything she demanded when I got home. Sort of an apology, or maybe to make myself feel less guilty, I didn't know which.
I lean back in my seat after a while and give the fake Eliz the command to dress back up on her own. "You know, I have no idea if these clones are meant to be something for bed, something for rallies, or something else." I breath heavily, betraying how much it had been an effort not to go utterly wild. "Heck, for all I know, Gogen just puts them together and has lesbian orgies beneath our noses. and we can't even do anything about it.
As I speak, I notice an executable called "ThreeElizParty.exec" and almost tempted myself into running it to see what it did, but thought better of it and just shut off my workpad.
"Politicians," Goren shrugs. "All of them are scum. Even the ones you think are good. Anyhow, I thought you'd be a bit more adventurous, than just an hour of speech hacking and a little grope session..."
I look away embarassedly. He knows damn well how much I treasure Bronii both as my wife and a gift of trust from the company's top CEO. everything I'd done after the silly song was effectively a betrayal of one kind or another, something I had quickly decided (but maybe not as quickly as I should have) to have no part of.
Even pawing the fake wife unit was done mainly for curiosity... maybe to also stick it to Gogen. How do you like that now, you bastard Sovinhaya simp? I've deflowered one of your toy wives with my fingers before you even got a chance to stick your dick in. Peener Peener Pee-nuuuur, to abuse the old Ancient Memetics mockery...
Part 6
The eko-van slows down to a halt eventually, landing on the ground. a little bit of thumping and acrid welding smells later, the door is knocked on three times again. This time, it's Geron who knocks two times in response. The door doesn't open immediately like before though - there is a muffled conversation of sorts outside.
"... wants to meet them..."
"... not what the boss ordered..."
" ... hell back her up later when he hears of it."
"... wasting resources on this stupid game of house..."
The door eventually opens to our van, followed by the same guard who'd met us at the airport peeking in. "Come with us, she wants to see you about something, and bring the goods with you."
I'm about to ask exactly who "she" is, but I'm nudged by Geron in the ribs in that familiar "shut up and just play along" manner I've learnt to understand. As the two of us ascend a nearby staircase, accompanied by the guard and the two Eliz units walking in between. I take a look around at the desolate windiness around us.
Apparently we have arrived at the edge of the main continent, atop one of the hillocks by the beaches, and at a sort of small beachside luxury house overseeing a small lighthouse on an isle in the distance. Gogen Halen's preaching about the need to fill everybody's needs first before letting the game of greed commence play comes to my mind, and I wince - another case of preaching but not practicing in action by another hypocrite.
The guard opens a door and ushers the two Eliz-es in, motioning at us to join them.
The living room we are ushered into is a horrendous tribute to excess, albeit not crassly so. An astronomical amount of various colors of marble line the flooring and the fireplace, mahogany wood tables and soft divan sofas clad in the fur of some North Harales animal caught out in the midst of the tough winter the place offers in place of its usual icy chill most months. A nice view of the ocean and the nearby lighthouse is provided by one wall consisting entirely of glass window.
One wall of the room has a corridor leading presumably into other rooms deeper in. The other has a decently accented kitchen, partitioned off by a kitchen isle from the rest of the living room. A lady is typing on a light computer at the kitchen isle, one hand nursing a small Chirav on ice in a classy crystal glass. The hands typing and holding the glass come out of a slightly athletic body clad in simple dark grey lycra workout attire, white and green stripes zipping at some points across the fabric. You recognise the lady from old election material and from having sat with copies of her in the eko-van for two hours...
Eliz Halen - presumably the real Eliz - gets off her kitchen stool and strides over in a pair of white and pink athletic sneakers, grinning as she does so. "Hello there, you must be the delivery guys..." She coos as she reaches a hand out for a handshake, reciprocated by Goren with a firm shake.
She lets go and walks over to the sofa where the two fake Elizes have sat down, brushing their jacketed shoulders as she lingers on them. "Enemies... I have so many enemies out there. Thank you for bringing me a couple more decoys for the trail. I fear the next election is going to be harder fought. I can't always be present in person, sometimes people might try to end Gogen's campaign by taking my electioneering work out of the picture."
Goren looks away from the display. "Our duty as professionals means everything to us, Ms Halen."
Eliz gets up and walks back towards the gap between me and Goren. "And I appreciate it. sometimes, people refuse to cooperate with us even when we offer other mercenary means of compensation. Where that we could negotiate our way to a better future with more people using more noble ideals and causes like that which we offer." She sighs and turns around to watch the evening sun flood in through the windows, a look of lament on her face.
For some reason, the way she words it, the way she says it... Your head swims a little. Something is wrong - you feel like you'd do anything for Eliz precisely on the terms she just described. But hang on, you hate the party she swims with - this shouldn't be happen-
There is a faint crack.
There is a visible crack in the glass window.
As a pane of the glass shatters, Eliz Halen falls on her back, a look of shock on her face at the bullet that has entered dead center through her forehead.
Goren gets a handle on the situation that has just been created, diving down behind one of the sofas, as another two bullets come into the house, this time impacting into the two fake Eliz units you have just conveyed into the house. They shake a little, but nothing happens except a bit of flying hair as the bullets prove too weak to penetrate their brain cases.
Somehow, Goren still has time to care for you, motioning for you to hide behind the kitchen isle, which you do. Two more shots ring out, but with a slightly different lower timbre... and then the fake Elizes shudder violently, both heads erupting in a tragic waste of greenish brain gel, shattered high-depth memory panes, and assorted quality parts ruined by sheer kinetic violence.
One eyeball lands next to you, causing you to scream in fear, even as the sniper returns to using smaller bullets to ping the entire place into a killzone. Goren motions at you to stand by for new orders while he furiously taps on his communicator, reading the screen briefly. "When the shutters close off, they'll give us protection from the sniper's view. They want us to evacuate Ms Halen in that small window of time and get into our eko-van to get back to base."
"Where I presume we'll get mocked for our failure. Goren, sir, look. they destroyed the product we delivered. they killed the client's wife. I'm sure carrying out a dead body will help redeem us in no small measure." I mockingly yelp.
"Enemies... sssso many enem-enemies out there." A familiar voice warped through critical damage to some vocal circuitry comes on between the two of us. "no-buuuuullll causecausecause sus sus sus need help need help help me me..."
I glance down and wince as I realise something else about the whole fracas. This job will DEFINITELY drive me insane.
I do find that it does help a lot if I focus on just doing and not thinking about everything I'm seeing.
I focus on helping the real (allegedly) Eliz Halen down the stairs with Goren's help.
I focus on bundling her body into one of the bodyguards' cars, watching briefly as it speeds off down the hillock road.
The explosion of a rocket speeding from the lighthouse in the nearby ocean and into the room we have just evacuated helps me my focus meter after all I've used up in a matter of just over two minutes.
I focus on getting to my evac aka the eko-van, one foot in front of the other repeatedly and in a hurry , panting hard like a dog at a dog race.
I am almost completely tapped out as Goren bangs the wall of the eko-van and yells at it to get us out of danger asap, which it seemingly hears and obliges us on, peeling wildly out and slamming the doors shut with inertia.
It is almost two hours later that I am sitting quietly next to Goren in a private booth at a bar near Pax Alveria Hospital, that I can stop just doing and start thinking about stuff. "How's our mission look?" I ask, worried about how badly we may have flarked it up.
Goren smiles faintly and turns his workpad to show me the report. "it's a success, Bob. we delivered, they signed off on it. The fact that they had it blown up is all on them for not securing it properly. We got extra brownie points and maybe a few thousand dollars apiece from the client as well... but you know what it's for: a little thanks for a job well done, and maybe a little threat to keep silent about all we've just done."
I close my eyes and sip at my chosen drink. While the bartender refused to serve us Eren's Yaegermeister neat, he was still willing to chill and ice it nicely, letting me soothe my nerves a bit before I go home late for dinner.
It takes a while before my next question comes out. "Who, or what, did we just talk to in that house, Goren? it certainly wasn't human, I'm sure. probably an autoslav or android... but I've never seen one take a shot to the case like that with normal rifle bullets and still talk."
Goren looks on sympathetically, before patting my shoulder. "Maybe it was another decoy model. Maybe they ordered something on Sleepers Dream terms. Maybe it was one of them aliens disgused as a hyooman. Or maybe, just maybe, Eliz Halen never truly existed for real."
I glance over. This man has deep depths, but at the same time, he will, then, now, and in the future, forever be a shitposter. A troll. I smile anyways. At least he's on my side... I think. "Or maybe I should just give the fuck up on this line of inquest since I'm not exactly Mulder or Scully."
"Ah, yes, fellow student of the dark arts of Ancient Memetics!" Goren gives a fake, almost racistly oriental bow to me at the table.
We part ways soon after, and aside from being spooked by him recommending I wash my hands because i'd picked up a strong dose of euphorics playing with the fake Eliz unit, I cannot think of anything else untoward that happened as a result of how the last part of my layman volunteering job went.
But if you ask me to come in again, I think I will just ask you to fuck off a short pier into an ocean full of sharks.