by Amanda Milo
While it was possible I was slowly going off the deep end—trudging through alien bush every day fueled by hope and cracking old-dog jokes to a woman-machine—I didn’t feel crazy.
“Any signs of your giant bug yet?”
“Theraracha.”
See what I mean?
“I am getting closer, yes. It dwells in the thick of the forest.”
That made a helluva lot of sense why we were stuck in some mean bush. With a nod, I dragged my blunted nails over my jaw, remembering how Nori’s eyes had stayed trained on me while I shaved. It felt good to have female attention, robot or no. “I’ll believe you.”
She managed to tail Taylor and me with neither of us the wiser. Nori had skills.
I stood, and strode around the fire, hunkering down when I reached her side—I did it simply to be closer to another person. Machine. Whatever. For a while, we stayed that way, me watching while she worked on herself. Absently, I picked up her tool.
The jolt nearly made me drop it. Oddly, something seemed to affect her too.
I reached for her, then realized I didn’t know where I should touch. I settled for taking her hand. “You all right? Did you feel that too?”
Eyes wide, she stared down at my hands, one holding hers, one holding her tool. “Yes.”
I wiggled the tool between us. “Was it weird for me to pick it up?” Maybe this was akin to robot panties. Sure, every woman had them, but a man just couldn’t go around grabbing them without permission.
Smiling at myself, peripherally aware of how her pupils were expanding and contracting as they watched my face move, I started to offer her the—
I peered closer at the tool’s handle. Blood. I checked my hand. Yep. Looked like I’d cut myself. No big surprise. Everything in this jungle tried to flay you open, including the greenery, which you had to shove out of your face at every turn.
I started to wipe it on my shirt, but she plucked it from my grip. “No.”
Curious, confused, I watched her.
She appeared almost... shaken.
“What did I do?” I asked her as she put away her needle.
“Creators chose to give some of their creations heartstones,” Nori said.
I took in her face, my gaze drawn to the tendrils of her hair that had stuck to the skin at her nape.
My brain immediately imagined this was how she’d look if we’d gotten hot and sweaty having sex.
Not having sex, Sol. Talking. She’s trying to talk to you. Pay. Attention. “Sorry, hon. I’m not following you.”
I heard a whirring as her gaze moved down my legs, then back up to my face. “I am not walking.”
Slowly, I spoke. “Sometimes, woman, you are awful interesting to converse with.”
Her lips formed a genuine-looking smile. “Thank you for paying me one of your compliments.”
I grinned at her. “Anytime. You were saying?” Before she could inform me that I had actually been the last one to speak—always so damn literal—I added, “About creators? Stones?”
I actually fucking jumped when Nori’s hand closed over mine.
“You bled,” she said, turning my hand palm-side up. “You blooded what my Creator gave me.”
She held up her tool.
Not sure of what she was saying, I went for, “That so?”
She paused, considering my words. “This is so, yes. Now I live.”
She wasn’t the first female to make me run out of words, but by God she was the best at it. “Now you live? What does that mean, exactly?”
Instead of answering me, she moved her hair before deftly raising the hem of her shirt enough that she could access a panel in her back. Her movements were practiced, and quick, and just like she seemed to enjoy the sight of me dragging a razor over my face, I was fascinated to glimpse her inner parts. She had what looked like a little engine in there.
Her eyes watched the fire as her hands worked, and I flat out admired the ability to essentially do this blind.
When she brought a cloth to her back, trying to wipe something, that’s when she began to show signs of encountering difficulty.
I peered closer. And gaped. “You’re fuel injected?”
She twisted to look at me. “Why does this shock you?” Her expression appeared troubled for the first time. “Is this something you do not like?”
I blinked at her. “I don’t... like—”
Her eyes dropped, and in reaction, so did something in my chest.
“—or dislike any fact of your design. It is whatever it is. No—I was just... caught off guard there. It’s an old system, where I’m from, is all.”
At this, she smiled slightly. “I am an old system.”
I laughed. “I can relate. And commiserate.” My eyes roved over her, more critically this time. “If you’re fuel injected, maybe I can take a look.”
NEVER CUSS AT A LADY.
Until you’re trying to replace her throttle valve, and the little shit keeps slipping. The valve, not the woman.
“I couldn’t reach it to clean the deposits,” she explained sheepishly.
For some reason, my heart squeezed. I couldn’t resist teasing her though. “I understand it’s not your fault, but that of your creators.”
Predictably, Nori didn’t laugh.
I smiled though. “No big deal.” I looked up from the compartment on her back, then had to peel my eyes away from the way her hair was swept over her shoulder to keep it from obstructing my view. “It can be fixed, it’s just going to take a couple tries.”
And take a couple tries it did.
“Mother! Fucking! Swamp! Cunt!” I nearly bit through my tongue. “Sorry.”
“Why do you apologize?” She sounded curious rather than offended.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I stroked her arm in a brief show of thanks. “For a minute there, I was transported back in time to when I worked on that car. You can cuss all you want at a car.”
“You cannot cuss at me?”
I shook my head once, even though she couldn’t see it. “Negative. Never cuss at a l—” I stuttered as I realized how I was thinking of her, despite the fact I had her back open like the hood of a Model-T. “...Lady.”
She craned her neck, giving me a view of the left side of her face. “But you are cussing at my mechanics, not my person.”
I felt my mouth quirk. “That’s true. You are not my Charger.”
Her eyebrows sharply pulled in, the little bared mechanical parts around her eye shifting, tightening in a wince.
Without conscious thought, my hand moved to grip her shoulder. “What? What’d I say?”
For the first time, she seemed to show real emotion—or maybe I was just finally starting to recognize it. She squeezed her eye shut, and when she opened it, she glanced away from me. “I do not know why I feel this way.”
My breath caught. “What way?”
Somehow, she managed to angle her head, giving me an overall impression of shyness as she peeked at me over her shoulder. “You liked your Charger.”
No fucking wonder I thought of her as a lady. This was just like a woman; I couldn’t keep up. Not to mention Nori was acting weird—by weird I meant... human, not her normal robotic self. “What?”
She tried to face forward but I caught her chin, startling us both.
I was not going crazy; every second that passed, I was picking up more emotion from her, either because I was becoming more familiar with her, or because something had changed. Her golden gaze shone with... embarrassment?
Unable to escape by moving her head—though, technically, she was strong enough to break me, never mind my hold on her—she closed her eyes like she was admitting something shameful. “You had feelings for your Charger.”
I shrugged. “I loved that car.”
Now she broke my hold, facing away. “You can cuss at me.”
I stared at the back of her head, my shock and confusion—which, admittedly, I felt a lot these days—soared to new he
ights.
My first convoy live-fire exercise went a lot like this. I’d thought I knew what I was doing, right up until it all went sideways.
What the fuck just happened?
NORI
Sol’s eyes were narrowed, and I could see he was studying me. His stare moved off and he blew out a breath before he performed his ritual of dragging his knuckle over the area of his heart organ.
“Why are you searching for the theraracha, Nori?”
His question was fair and I found myself surprised he hadn’t asked me sooner. Looking down, I ran my fingers over my arm.
The skin there was dying. It felt tight and dry, no matter how much leaf oil I rubbed upon it or how much vegetation I consumed or water I drank.
It helped slow the deterioration, but it wouldn’t heal.
“I need uxía to generate regrowth of my synthetic skin,” I finally answered. “Only the theraracha carries this. Without it, my derma will slowly erode.”
Emotion tightened my throat. Spathic, my creator, resurfaced in my memory reserves and I missed his companionship.
My vision in my right eye blurred and something wet slid down my cheek.
“Aw hell, Nori,” Sol groaned, crossing the distance and wrapping his warm arms around me.
This is an embrace.
An embrace I’d experienced in the past, but it was so long ago... hundreds of rotations. The estranged feelings tethered around my circuits and reminded me this felt good. Very good.
“Don’t cry.” The vibrations in his chest tickled against my ear.
Cry. These were tears I felt—the wetness against my fingertips when I touched them to my cheek.
Something else resurfaced...
Embarrassment.
Heat flooded what was left of my face and suddenly I was so ashamed of how tattered my skin was, how out of shape my spinal gears were—the ones difficult to reach.
And he saw them!
This human who held me now, comforted me now, helped me repair myself.
I buried my face against his chest, wanting to hide but needing the comfort he offered too.
These emotions I’d not felt in so long were overwhelming.
“The theraracha have been increasingly hard to find,” I murmured into his musk-scented shirt, the urge to explain my horrendous appearance gripping me. “I miscalculated my skin’s durability. It’s old and the last theraracha I found was too.”
A heavy puff of air escaped my healthy lungs. My body was programmed to reserve nutrients for my internal organs first. My exterior—my skin—would always be the first part of me to lose its hardiness.
“Uxía potency weakens the older the theraracha grows.”
Sol pulled back, his large hands gripping my shoulders and squeezing, the gesture reassuring.
“Nori,” he said my name, staring at me directly. “You’re worried about how your skin looks?”
“Yes,” I quickly uttered. “I don’t want my skin to... die.”
His brow dipped above one clear gray eye, the color pristine enough to mimic perfection, and his calloused thumb brushed away the moisture from my cheek.
I pressed my lips together to prevent myself from admitting that I was humiliated to be seen in such a wrecked state—that I was embarrassed because he had seen me at my worst, physically.
Why this suddenly mattered, I struggled to comprehend.
“Honey,” his lips tugged into a half-smile and his gaze spoke of soft understanding, “your skin could rot off tomorrow and you’d still be one helluva beautiful woman.”
My circuits whirred speedily when his words sank in and my eye uncontrollably watered once more.
“Charger, you gotta stop crying.” His short laugh was almost sympathetic, impatient, as if he were just as confounded at my watering eye as I was.
Startled, my gaze whipped up to his.
“Bingo.” A depression appeared in his cheek, right above his curved-up lip. Then his teeth flashed, his smile growing wide. “I’ll be damned.”
Again, he wiped my cheek. “I’ve never been good around a crying woman.”
“I’ll try.” My voice was strangely husky and after a few attempts, I staunched the tears, backing out of Sol’s second embrace. “I need the moisture for my skin, anyway.”
He chuckled and the gears in my chest sped up, causing excess heat. The warmth was pleasurable.
“I’m surprised you need organic material for your skin.” He sat down on the fallen log and I joined him. “Where I’m from, most machines with synthetic material require synthetic liquids for maintenance.”
I nodded. “Spathic, my creator, did maintain my skin with synthetic matter. When he left, I found an organic alternative.”
“Ah.” He picked up his cloth bag of berries and resumed feasting. “Why’d your creator leave?”
I hadn’t entertained those thoughts of Spathic disappearing in a long while. He removed my emotions before his departure from this world as a mercy.
I wouldn’t miss him if I couldn’t feel.
“Kevt’na, the Kahav’s maker, fell in love with one of the females he created,” I began, recalling one of my last conversations with Spathic. “Something went terribly wrong that resulted in not only her death, but that of every Kahav female.”
The detached pity I felt hundreds of rotations ago ghosted over me now.
“Unable to bear it, he left this world. Soon after, Ghishwy, the creator of the Ghians—”
“Those are the ones in the sea?”
“Yes,” I dipped my chin. “She followed Kevt’na, and not long after, Spathic. They were close. Ghishwy and Kevt’na often pitted their valos against each other for entertainment—”
Sol grunted. I remembered his distaste for the way of Sonhadra when we spoke of the other races before.
Today, it warmed me further.
“Spathic was their impartial anchor.” I smiled thinking about my creator’s ability to remain level-minded in all matters.
“They just left?”
Glancing over at Sol, his skepticism was easily detectable.
“They were a triad,” I explained to the best of my ability. “A dysfunctional triad. They couldn’t exist apart. Wherever one goes, the others eventually follow.”
The words tasted rehearsed on my tongue as they’d looped in my memory the many rotations immediately after Spathic vanished.
It was exactly the explanation he gave me—his closest confidante—when he stripped me of my emotions.
“It’s a mercy, my Nori,” Spathic told me, his golden eyes—the color identical to mine—boring into me. “I’m unable to destroy you, and I am unable to leave you behind with any grief you may experience.”
I didn’t understand it then, my ability to feel anything taken from me, but I did now.
The rest of my people were gone long ago. I’d watched them deteriorate and rust, their circuits die, and eventually their forms turned to dust along with our city. The Yolla were wiped from Sonhadra’s memory.
Only I remained.
“They will never come back,” I finished.
The statement rang true—Spathic was clear about that. Kevt’na would never be able to return to Sonhadra: the place he’d mistakenly killed his female.
“Are you... do you feel... about that?”
A cog seemed to grind in my chest cavity. “Yes.”
His forehead developed furrows of confusion. “So, let me catch up here.” He picked up my tool. “I smear blood on this, you ‘come alive?’ And now you feel things?” His brow cocked. “What kind of things, Charger?”
I liked that he called me this.
An odd stirring began in the region of my pelvis. I pressed my hand there, wondering at it.
Sol’s eyes followed the movement, and his nostrils flared.
GERARD
I had to walk away from her. Granted, it’d been awhile since I’d had sex. But that was not why I was hard as fucking granite and ready to blow my load—it was
Nori.
I didn’t care that she had metal components in her body. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t truly human.
I liked her.
I liked her a lot.
The memory of her crying against my chest, of her worrying that she wasn’t pretty.
Nori, you’ve got nothing to worry about, sweetheart.
I wasn’t bullshitting her when I told her that her she was beautiful, and that’d she’d be beautiful no matter what. And I had to shake my head—women and their hang-ups. I was on another fucking planet and I had in my possession a knockout who didn’t believe she was a knockout.
She thought she wasn’t perfect. She couldn’t see herself.
But I could.
Ohhh, I could.
I stopped far enough away from the fire, but not so far that a monster creature wouldn’t see an opportunity and jump my ass, I hoped.
I had to let off some steam.
I unsnapped my jeans, the denim so well-worn that it was almost soft under my fingers. The contrast between the metal and the comfortable fabric made me think of Nori.
Just like everything made me think of Nori. All the positions she could torque that body—
I was a horny old bastard.
I wasn’t going to beat myself up about it, but I was going to have to beat myself off.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything but her smell, of my face cushioned by her hair when I’d hugged her to me.
The feel of her arms wrapping around me.
Fuck. I hissed as I racked myself.
I was about to spit on my palm like I was fifteen, when Nori asked, “Can I help?”
I didn’t know being scared while jacking off would damn near make me come—and give me a fucking heart attack. “Nori! I told you to stay.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Did I just tell a woman ‘I told you to stay?’
Smooth, Sol. With the hand not squeezing my dick, I tried again. “Hon, just—”
She took a step closer to me. “I like when you call me Charger.”
If I ever saw one of those cars again, I’d never think of them the same. “I like when I call you ninja. Snuck up on me. Again. I—”
She wasn’t hesitant. She wasn’t robotic. Her gaze was locked on mine when she brought her hand up to her mouth, and spit on it.
