That had been a month ago and now she was still not working. There was also no word when she'd be going back. For someone who had worked her whole life, this was impossible. She was hopelessly idle and getting crazier by the day.
This break was forcing her to face a hard truth—that she had nothing to fill her days but work. Being a cop was what she'd been bred and trained for. She didn't know anything else. She had never cultivated any outside interests or friendships. Her only sexual experience was early on in her training with a married cop which had fizzled out quickly.
She loved her work and was surprised to find she felt so lost without it. If she couldn't be a cop, then what the hell was there?
Terror seized her. Her future suddenly didn't seem as certain as she'd thought it was. She sat at her communications console and selected the captain's number from the digital menu. A visual of him popped up on the screen just as he was sitting at his desk with a fresh cup of coffee.
Elle hid the beer under the table.
The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “Morning, Eleanor,” he said dryly. He leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you?"
"I need to go back to work, Frank."
"You're not ready yet."
"How the hell would you know? You haven't seen me in a month."
He sipped his coffee and avoided looking directly into the monitor. Do you have so many more important things to do than talk to me?
"The command thinks you need more time,” he said finally.
Elle's throat tightened. Keep a hold of yourself. They think I've lost my edge. They're thinking of retiring me. Shit. “That's a load of crap, Frank, and you know it. You've got to talk to them. I'm coming unglued here."
His eyes searched the desk in front of him. He shuffled some papers around. “I'll see what I can do."
Elle rubbed the back of her neck. She had to say it, had to know the truth. “They think I've gone soft, don't they?” Her voice sounded strange even to her, too delicate, like fine crystal.
Frank toyed with a golf paperweight and nodded.
"Damn it, that bad luck could have happened to anyone! In fact, I know of a few officers who have been ID'd before. It happens. For God's sake, Frank, we're not machines!"
"Of course not, Elle."
"Then what?” She tried to back off the argument and reorganize her thoughts. This was getting her nowhere. “Please just get me something to do. I can't take this."
"Okay, Elle. Okay. But give me some time."
She wanted to yell and scream at him but just cut the transmission instead. She knew him too well. He wasn't planning to do a damn thing. Now if she'd been one of his male officers...
I'm not even thirty-five and my career is over. Elle dropped her head to the table and cried.
Chapter 3
Proteus stalked through the sliding glass doors of the lab, already shutting down his nonessential systems. He stopped in front of the security lock to the inner sanctum and waited while the retinal beam scanned his eyes. The doors slid open. This two hour download would be bliss.
He detected movement behind him and turned around. A female intern he didn't recognize stood there staring up at him with large brown eyes. She was an attractive girl with a short black bob and a silver ring through her lower lip. She wore a pleated tartan skirt and a black t-shirt. He waited for her to tell him what she wanted.
She brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. “They say you were a pleasure machine before they retrofitted you for the Viper series. Is that true?"
Proteus let the doors behind him swish closed and archived his report to the back of his mind. She was very excited by him. He could smell her arousal. “Yes,” he said. “That's true."
Her eyes gleamed. “I want you to fuck me. I want to see what you're like in bed."
He wasn't surprised by her statement. It was a common request from women who'd heard about his past. Sometimes they just wanted to experiment. Unfortunately, each time he accepted their offer, he felt a little more used. This feeling of being exploited was new and disturbing, mixing with his deeper emptiness.
"No,” he said, turning around to allow for the retinal scan again.
She touched his arm and he looked down at her hand. The soft hum of a nearby server filled the silence. The scent of her sex was deeper now, muskier. He looked down into her eyes and felt hollow. “Where do you want it?” he said.
Smiling, she slid her fingers down his arm and took his hand. “In Doctor Miller's office."
She led him away and he followed her.
As he entered the office, he inventoried his system. His assassin programming was still active and running so he disabled it. It wouldn't do to execute a lab intern while fucking her. Killing innocent people was a decommissioning offense.
The intern closed the door behind them. She jumped up on the desk and pulled him in between her thighs. They were beautiful thighs, long and pale. His hands moved up and down them, savoring the warm flesh. He leaned down and kissed her and she moaned. The sound made him feel like a forbidden dessert, sweet, satisfying and completely disposable.
Her hands moved up the tunic of his black uniform. Her thin fingers worked quickly, unbuttoning each button, planting a kiss on every inch of flesh she exposed. She peeled his uniform off hungrily, mauling kisses along his chest.
He wanted to feel nothing, but his old programming kicked in, sparking to life his demanding lust. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, kissing her hard. She ran her fingers through his hair, grabbing great handfuls of it and groaning into his savage kiss.
Leaning back, she pulled her shirt off and pressed her breasts against his skin. His desire charged him, spilling electric power into his system and filling his cock. It throbbed with pounding hunger, desperate to be inside her.
He worked on her from memory, kissing her greedy mouth and the delicate softness of her throat. “What's your name?” he said, speaking against the flesh of her neck.
She laughed. “What difference does it make?” Then, after a moment, she said, “Betty."
The fire for her cooled inside him. Of course it didn't make a difference. They were nothing to each other, not even a name.
Betty rocked her hips back and forth on the desk as she hiked her skirt up and pulled her panties off. Once she was naked, she lay back on the desk and opened her legs for him.
"Fuck me,” she said, lazily stroking her pussy.
He knelt down to the swollen flower of her sex. The scent of her heightened his desire and he reveled in the simple beauty of the human body. He placed his tongue on her clitoris and gave her a fluttering lick. She gasped, lifting her hips and stroking her thighs.
He licked and sucked her through two noisy orgasms, then mounted her. “Yes,” she said in a heated whisper. “Do it now."
Proteus pulled out his long, thick penis—a leftover extravagance from his work in the sex trade. He stroked the tender flesh of her pussy with the tip, watching her twist with lusty anticipation. He wondered what this would be like if he had loved her. Would his pleasure be richer, kinder, more fulfilling? He shook the thought off as stupid. Those feelings and that life would never exist for him, he reminded himself. There was no use in wondering about it.
He moved inside her, driving deep with long, hard thrusts. Her body yielded to him easily, sucking him in and encasing him with its moist heat. His system charged with carnal energy and a soft moan escaped his lips.
He fucked her until she was spent and signaled him to stop. Although he'd enjoyed the sex, he didn't allow himself to orgasm. In his mind, he saw his denial as a form of self-punishment for allowing this woman to waste his time.
Satisfied, she jumped off the table and dressed, not meeting his eyes or saying a word.
He watched her, stuffing his penis back in his pants. He was baffled as to why her attitude angered him. He could feel the assassin at the edge of his mind, savage and ruthless, eager to hurt the girl. He carefully held its impulse back. She pa
ssed by him, headed for the door, as if he was just another piece of furniture in the room.
Then he was alone.
He stood there for a moment feeling cold and lifeless. He taped the memory of their sex and replayed it several times in his head. The vague pain it caused him was nagging and undefined, like a splinter must be, lying just under the skin. None of it meant anything. Why had he bothered?
This memory has no useful purpose. Why keep it? Accessing the video file again, he isolated it from others in his mind and promptly deleted it.
Chapter 4
William Cobb lay on the examining table with blinding pain searing up his back. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and he opened his mouth to filter the stench. He clenched his teeth to prevent a scream. Another wave of sharp agony rushed over his nerves and he gasped. He tried to control it by breathing deep and slow, but nothing worked. Finally he exploded, “You done yet, Doc?"
The doctor stopped the injections, letting the pain drain away for a moment. Cobb gulped down a few mouthfuls of air. “I'm almost done, Mr. Cobb. Almost. I know this is difficult. Do you need to take another break?"
"Fuck yes,” Cobb said, sitting up stiffly on the table. He rubbed the back of his neck smelling the stale sweat that clung to his skin. He really needed a shower.
The doctor exhaled slowly and refilled his syringes. Outside, a crazy man sang about happy fishes in the sea.
Cobb staggered out the door, leaving it open just a crack. The alleyway was deserted except for some paper trash, blowing about. His dark depression loomed in the back of his mind, threatening to overtake him. He hated that he'd had to resort to this type of crude pain management, but that was the reality for an old government cyborg. Unless they were young enough to work the mining colony, there were no new parts. Vile rage filled him with the unfairness of it.
And what of those poor unfortunates with aging parts that no longer worked properly? On that the government had been clear: fend for yourself.
Well, Bill Cobb for one wasn't going to sit around and wait for his entire body to freeze up. He was going to find the parts to make himself state-of-the-art again.
His transmitter buzzed in his ear and he hit the receive button, but said nothing. He leaned against the wall. He tried to clear his mind and forget the pain. Try to focus.
He adjusted his earpiece and glanced up and down the alley. He spotted a bum passed out behind a nearby dumpster. “Go ahead,” he said.
"Hey, Bill,” came the familiar voice over a crackling line, “it's Sparky."
"Hey, what's up?"
Sparky paused before answering. “There's no easy way to tell you this, man. The black market stuff is out. The Russians got snuffed by a Viper Series and the connection turned out to be a cop."
Cobb's stomach dropped and his throat tightened. Now what the hell was he going to do? He needed new parts or he'd be hopelessly crippled in a year.
"You still there, man?"
"Yeah, I'm still here.” The bum nearby began a violent coughing fit. Cobb thought about putting him out of his misery.
"I'm sorry,” Sparky said.
Cobb ended the transmission and thumped his head gently against the wall. A cop cruiser floated by, slowed to watch him, and then sped off on a call.
I've got to get new parts. I can't keep living like this. Somehow, I just got to find a way.
* * * *
Cobb sat in the back of the cab watching the scenery whiz by. Running his hand along his balding head, he racked his brain for an answer. The city smog had died down a little and he could see the faint outline of the moon through the envirodome. How the hell was he going to get the spare parts he needed? It wasn't like they were available at ever corner Happy-Mart in town. Even if he could find the parts, he didn't have the money to pay for them on the regular market. Black market prices were bad enough.
There was nothing else he could do. He'd just have to steal them.
With a whine of engine, the cab finally landed in front of his apartment complex. Luckily, it was late and his landlord wasn't around. That son of a bitch had been riding him hard lately because he was two months behind on his rent. The way Bill was feeling tonight, if he saw the landlord, things would surely get ugly.
The cabbie, a standard issue service unit, turned around with a mindless smile on his face. “Nineteen credits, please,” he said.
Cobb dug for his wallet. I'll bet he has some well maintained parts. The service units usually do, lucky bastard.
In that moment, Cobb found the answer to all his problems. Service units were everywhere and easy picking's for anyone who knew what they were doing. He could just take the parts he needed off these units. No one would ever know what happened to them, and even if they did, Bill would be brand new and far away before he could be busted.
He paid the cabbie, slid over to the door and groaned in pain.
"You okay, buddy?” the cabbie asked, looking concerned.
Cobb nodded stiffly. “Yeah, but you think you could give me a hand to the front door?” He smiled at the cabbie and shrugged. “Old parts don't work like they used to."
The cab driver got out and walked over to the side door. Grabbing Cobb's arm, he helped him out.
"I really appreciate this,” Bill said, leaning heavily on the cab driver and digging for his keys.
The android grinned at him pleasantly. “I'm happy to be of service to you, sir. Ready Cab is always eager to help."
Bill pushed the door open. “Good,” he said, “'cause that's just what your aiming to do, help. You're gonna be a big help to me, cabbie, in ways you can't even imagine."
Bill pulled the cabbie inside and closed the door behind them.
Chapter 5
The night was cool and dry as Elle made her way home along the damp city streets. She could have taken a transport but she wanted time to think. The call from headquarters had finally come, but as she expected, it held little good news. She would be allowed back but only for a desk job. They just wanted to make sure she was all right. What a load of bullcrap that was.
She spent her first day back, running and fetching for Frank and making copies. It was almost worse than sitting at home. She'd never been so humiliated and depressed. Colleagues, men and women who'd known her for years, avoided looking her in the eye. Fuck them. This could have happened to any one of them.
She passed by Neil's bar and popped inside for a drink. There were more people here than she thought there'd be. Four men sat at the bar, and another played electronic poker with a service bot in the corner. From the look on the man's weathered face, the hand wasn't going too well.
Elle climbed up onto a stool and waited for the android bartender to take her order. He was a newer unit, looking more like a New York model than a bartender. Good-looking service bots were all the rage lately.
He sauntered up and smiled. “What can I get for you?” he said in a grainy voice. Must have a broken voice box. A discount model.
"Beer—whatever you have on tap is fine."
He poured her a beer and offered her an electronic survey taker. “Would you care to let us know how we're doing?"
Elle sipped her beer and ignored the handheld device. “Fuck off,” she said. It was easy being rude to something that didn't have feelings. He ignored her obscenity and walked off to serve a new arrival
"Care for some company?” a deep male voice said. She turned to her right as a cyborg climbed on to the stool next to her. He was an older man, looking somewhere around fifty with a thin face and neck scars. He was stocky and muscular, his right arm and left leg bulky and mechanized. Most unnerving of all was the metal plate in his head. His right eye was a glowing amber orb and his cheek was polished metal, the entire package gave him a demonic look. Tiny hairs rose on the back of her neck.
Not wanting to annoy him, she said, “Sure.” There was a long pause as he got comfortable on his seat. She glanced down at his arm and leg. “That's some old hardware you've g
ot there."
He coughed out a bitter laugh. “You could say that, baby. Then there's the stuff you can't see, like my spinal reconstruction. Great stuff when it was new, but I'll be damned if it ain't breaking down right from under me."
Elle frowned. She knew from other cyborgs how painful that could be. Wasn't it funny that a man who was part machine could feel pain at all? “Won't the government give you any replacement parts?"
He waved his hand at the bartender and gestured at the counter in front of them to indicate refills. “I'm too old. They won't bother with me anymore. They say I have a greater chance of rejection but I know that's a fucking lie."
The bot came over and refilled their drinks. He held the survey taker to the cyborg who slapped it out of the android's hand. It clattered to the floor noisily. The bot's smile never wavered. He crouched down, picked it up and walked to the other end of the bar to clean some glasses.
Elle twisted her glass in a circle, watching the ring of condensation on the bar grow. She knew how he felt. People were used up until they were no longer useful, and then dropped. She suppressed the urge to scream in frustration. “What's your name?” she said.
He held his hand out to her. “William Cobb, but you can call me Bill."
She shook his hand.
He pulled out a can of chewing tobacco, pinched out a small amount and stuffed it into his cheek. “They may think they have me by the balls, but no one is going to sign off old Bill. No, ma'am. Not yet, anyway."
Elle tried to ignore the tobacco in his mouth. She sipped her drink. “So what are you planning to do?"
He leaned across the bar and spit into a nearby trash can. “Can't really talk about it, but I have a plan."
Before she could ask him any more questions, she was distracted by a woman entering the bar. Not a woman in the traditional sense—a pleasure android. She was stunning, tall, and leggy, and had the face of an angel. She was dressed for sex, with a high riding miniskirt and impossibly high heels. She trolled the bar looking for a client. She was so beautiful, she made Elle feel like a man.
The Android's Kiss Page 2
