Chapter 11

DAY ONE

“So...” I said, watching the faux sun rise over my manor house’s glittering roof. In the distance, I could see Penny heading to the meat vats to go and pick out something yummy to put into my tummy. “What the frick do I do now? Everyone thinks I’m Lucy, I’ve bio-hacked my gender into something that makes me happy and not defenestratey. Albert has the voltaic equation ... oh, right, the investigation into Lord Jerkwad and the Mysterious Murder!” I nodded, turning to Mary, who was laying out my clothing for this morning. “How do I do that?”

“I ... I ... I...” Mary blinked at me, then laid down a white blouse. “I ... I don’t think you ... do? You tell the constabulary and then they bring some Bobbies online to investigate it.” She nods. “To make sure that there’s no overreach or anyone’s rights gets impinged.”

“Are Bobbies not normally online?” I asked, cocking my head. “Like ... you know, I was about to say you have to have cops, but I just remembered, we live in a utopia, so, no, actually, you don’t actually have to have cops...”

“A Bobbie is just a machine that takes on the responsibility of investigating any wrongdoing,” Mary said, cheerfully as she laid out some very nice, lacy gloves for me. “Oh, I think you will look extremely charming in these, m’lady.” She nodded, clapping her hands together. “Oooh, yes! ... where was I?” She asked, seeming to have been a bit distracted by her own deep personal delight at having been useful.

God.

It was so fucking cute how robots did that. Like, I don’t know if they knew that I knew just how dizzy happy they were to do ... stuff. Like, Mary hummed to herself when she did the laundry, and Penny danced when she did the cooking, and I’m sure Marci allowed herself to show some pleasure when I wasn’t around to watch her. Note to self: Follow Marci at some point and spy on her.

“Bobbies?” I prompted.

“Oh, right, yes,” Marci said. “Only a machine can be a Bobbie, cause we’ll remember all the rules and not overstep them. Also, we’re better at dealing with implicit bias, which you humans have a real problem with, you poor dears.” She sighed, shaking her head. “But you do try, which does matter. Anyway, once a Bobbie or Bobbies, depending on the severity of the crime that was reported, are chosen ... and, oh, they’re chosen by a communal vote between machines, to make sure that no one is accidentally letting personal bias in!” She nods. “Then both sides of the human affair agree to the number and composition, then the task force investigates, finds a way to make restitution, and ensures a similar crime doesn’t happen again! Then they go back to being Jacks and Jills and Mary’s and Georgettes and Jeanettes and we’re back to our normal state of zero Bobbies.”

“Fuckin’ ACES!” I thrust my arms up into the air. “ ... wait, shit, wouldn’t that mean that the Bobbies would investigate and find out I’m ... not ... actually Albert ... which was why we couldn’t go to them in the first place.”

“Oh yeah...” Mary looked faintly discomforted, her eyes narrowing.

“ ... what do I do then?” I asked.

“Well, you can enjoy scones on the lawn and take a ride down the Burgundy forest. There’s going to be another ball this week, and that dashing Captain Amelia is going to be back. There are books to read and music to listen too and you haven’t even explored the whole grounds!” Mary said. “There’s a lot to do.”

“Yeah, but, like, what work do I have to do?” I asked, fidgeting in my nightclothes.

“Well, none, young miss!” Mary said, sounding cross. “That work’s ours, you can’t steal it.”

I blinked.

I could just...

Relax?

Have a good time?

Get pampered on by maids? Without hanging Damoclesian swords, ticking clicks, onrushing appointments, terrifying social responsibilities, or assorted riff and raff that might get in the way of having a good time? I could just ... exist? And be happy?

I stood there, my arms hunched.

My skin prickles.

My bones started to buzz.

My scalp prickled.

“THIS IS UNCOMFORTABLE AND WEIRD!” I squealed. “AUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH!”

DAY THREE

The door to the study didn’t creak as it opened, allowing me to peek inside at Jeanette Hope, who was reading quietly. Which was annoying, cause I had really been hoping to find her jerking off or something fun and pervy. No, you were going crazy from lack of anything to do. I was perfectly sane. Sane like a fox. That’s why I had woken up this morning and decided to see what all my robot staff did while they weren’t doing their jobs and I had figured that Jeanette would be the first and best choice for my incredibly important cyberthropology (which was like anthropology, but for sexy robots, and with at least 95% less pith helmets and stealing cultural relics. I mean, I made no promises, I looked super cute in Safari gear, and sometimes, my grabbers did get a bit excited when shiny things got too close to me.)

I frowned, slightly.

“Whatcha doing?”

I screamed and jerked my head upwards – slamming it directly into Jenny Messenger’s jaw. Jenny stumbled backwards, her arms flailing and clocking me in the back of the head. I tumbled forward and rolled along the floor, before crashing into the side of Jeanette’s chair. Jeanette leaped to her feet, her book flying through the air. She grabbed for it, and it flipped, flopped, flooped, and landed right on my tummy. I whuufed and rolled up, then curled onto my side.

“Ack ... slain ... killed to death by a medical text book!” I wheezed. “How drole ... how ironical! How ... what the frick?” I blinked, and rolled onto my belly, my elbows resting against the carpet, all ache and pains forgotten as I held the book.

“The Clockwork Privateer and the Princess of Regula-Prussia!?” I asked, blinking.

The cover had a gorgeous looking machine with one of those crackling laser cultasses in one hand, her other arm looped about a shocked looking blond woman with bazooms the size of her head and a dress several sizes too small. Evil bad guys loomed in every corner, and there were lots of rayguns in every direction – beams shooting out to frame the title.

“T-That’s just a ... a ... a dust jacket I borrowed!” Jeanette stammered as I opened it.

“D- ... Danke...” I read aloud. “Whispered the tremulous Prussian Princess as I took her clammy hand in mine – feeling the quivers of her soft arm transmitting through my fingertips and directly into the core of my circuts. My eyes took in the beauty of her, even as the roaring sound of the railcannons threatened to obliterate all sound in the-” I slapped the book shut, my eyes wide. “OH. MY. GOD. JEANETTE!”

Her cheeks were basically on fire. Jenny, who was sprawled on the carpet behind me and still trying to figure out how to get her limbs underneath her again, pointed at her. “Hah! I knew it! I knew it!”

“Can a doctor not enjoy some privacy without some banged up half rate mechanical cuckoo bird that can’t so much as put one hand down on the control of a rocket without plowing it through three acres barging in and spying on her!?” Jeanette scowled at Jenny.

“In the Jen-sters defense, I was the one who was spying,” I said, cheerfully. “But, dude, this explains the mysterious thing you were longing yourself over way back when I first met and you deflected like, oh, it’s nothing!” I held the book up. “You want to be a space pirate, don’t you?”

“I-” Jeanette started, but I cut her off at the pass, with my rhetorical horse, leaping rhetorical boundaries with the linguistic equivalent of lightning speed.

“Oh, don’t lie!” I said, thrusting the book at her. “You read space pirate books, you’re a down home country doctor, who never goes tearing off on adventures. And yet, in the depths of your boilers-”

“Marceline keeps telling you this, we don’t have boilers,” Jeanette muttered.

“Yeah, we’re not-” Jenny adds.

“-you long, desperately, to trim the space sails, and catch the solar winds, to menace the merchant cargo of the Space Caribbean and seduce the space ladies at space Tortuga!” I said, sweeping my arm wide. “Ahhh, that sounds fun!” I flung myself back onto the carpet, spreading my arms wide.

Jeanette’s cheeks glowed with embarrassment. “It’s ... all rather ridiculous, isn’t it?” she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand.

“ ... wanna do it?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows at her.

“Huh?” Jeanette asked.

“I thought you didn’t have a dick anymore,” Jenny said, her eyes narrowing.

“You are mistaken, Jenny, I have a dick. I have A Dick of the Mind!” I said, sitting up and putting my fingers on my temples. “Also, I can still switch, thanks to bio-organic wonder technology of magnificent awesomeness. But no, I mean, wanna do piracy!?” I asked Jeanette.

“I...” She blinked again. “Well, no. It’d be illegal! And immoral! And mighty dan-” I put my finger on her carved lips.

“Shh...” I whispered. “Let me. I have an idea!”

I scampered off, leaving Jenny and Jeanette looking concernedly after me.

DAY SIX

“Okay, Marci, how does it look?” I asked, pacing around back and forth.

Marci, who had been bedeviling me for several days now, frowned, pursing her lips as she examined the note. “You misspelled Navy,” she said.

“No I didn’t! N, A, V, Y!” I said.

“That’s ... supposed to be a Y...” Marci said, slowly. “Good heavens, Lucy, I know that you’re from another universe, but surely, you still had to write letters there.”

I rubbed my wrist ( ... ladies) cause my wrist had gotten a lot of work ( ... ladies) over the latest draft of the letter I had been trying to get off to Amelia since I had had this idea. You know, past Lucy would have given up on this idea by Day Four of being stymied by being distracted by delicious food, riding horses, and trying to figure out how to actually get into contact with Amelia. It had involved talking to Maci about posting letters, and then getting tutored on Georgette on how to write letters, and now, Marci and Georgette were both being really snooty about my handwriting.

“Actually, we just had Siri write stuff,” I said. “ ... wait, can I dictate the letter?”

“Yes, but you really should learn how to do hand writing first,” Georgette said.

“Dearest Amelia!” I said, clapping my hands behind my back and beginning to pace, and putting on my best General Grant voice. “I write this to you, using my own personal machine servant to write my words down, for, as you may know, my handwriting...” I paused. “Dot dot dot ... put in an ell-ips-sass there. Did you do it?” Marci was frowning at me with her eyes. I pouted at her, cutely, making a tiny whimpery sound. Finally, Marci she sighed.

“Yes. I have put an ellipsis there,” she said. “And it is pronounced ellipsis.”

“Noted! Resuming letter: ... is terribad.”

“That isn’t a word,” Marci said.

“Precisely! It is a neologism!” I said, cheerfully. “And so, I write to you, my dearest Captain, to ask if there is a possibility that we could hire your ship for a simple mission – my dearest doctor, Jeanette Hope, has a deeply held dream of being an interstellar pirate. As you know full well, interstellar piracy is both immoral and illegal! However, with my vast wealth, it will be relatively simple to purchase decommissioned ships, fill them with autonomous, non-sentient crew, give them simple routines, then run your ship past them, giving Jeanette a taste of the adventuring life she so dearly craves! ... you in?”

I smiled. “Signed, with love and affection, your most humblest and best gal pal, L.” I beamed. “How is that for a letter, Marci? Read it back to me!”

Marci sighed, then read it back to me, her voice as dry as the Sahara. It sounded even better sarcastic! Perfect!

DAY ELEVEN

“PENNY! PENNY!” I screamed.

“Yes, what?” Penny asked, walking into the library.

“Penny!” I hissed. “Do you know how to make popcorn?”

Penny blinked. “You mean the snack that has been delighting humans since three thousand years before the common era? The delicious treat, enjoyed by every human being in the entire Galactic Concert for the past three centuries? The food that requires nothing more than corn and heat? That popcorn? Do I know how ... to make that popcorn!? You might as well ask if I know how to SLICE BREAD, LUCY!” She put her hands on her face, then tugged her cheeks down, groaning visibly.

I blinked.

“ ... are ... you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” Penny said, blushing a bright pink (well, pinker.) “I’ve just had the worst da ... why is your pocket talking?”

“What’s a pocket?” I asked, while more muffled sounds came from my pocket.

Penny crossed her arms over her immense tracts of land (which was our nickname for the apron she wore over her MASSIVE TITTIES) and gave me a look. Since she had mobile lips, unlike every other machine, she was able to seriously pull off that dreamworks ‘seriously, guys? Serrrriously?’ expression. It was pretty impressive.

I sighed. “Okay, fine,” I said, then pulled out the curio. As it emerged from my pocket, a shimmering light escaped past my fingers and my palms, projecting outwards. I tossed the orb up and it floated in the air, and surrounding it – making it utterly invisible – was a perfectly clear holographic projection of my old body, Albert himself, shaving his chops as he stood in a rather nice looking apartment, humming Auld Lang Sung (aka, The Sad Song You Sing When Years Die) to himself. He was actually looking better than I had when I was in the body. Less paunchy, taller. Also, like, he had gotten a hair cut that really suited him?

Hmm...

Was this the dreaded autogynophilia I had heard so much about? Cause, like, I was kinda getting turned on by Albert in my old body. Hmm, add it to the list of weird fetishes. “Is this your old body?” Penny whispered. “Can he hear us?”

“Nope. I shouted and threw books and poked him in the head and said ‘ahh, ahh, ahh, I’m crushing your head!’ while doing the head crushy thing with my fingers,” I said, nodding. “Nothing doing. I think he turned on a projection feature by accident.” I grinned. “ ... so you see why I need the pops, right?”

Penny nodded. “Butter?”

“So much better.”

And so, less than three minutes later, Penny and I settled down to get to the second half of this absurd chapter’s ridiculous title. I popped some corns into my mouth and Penny cuddled up to me as we watched Albert step out of his room and ... hey, that wasn’t my apartment. For one thing, it was bigger and nicer, and also, it had no annoying family members anywhere. He pulled out a phone with one hand, then frowned and began to tap away with it.