Chapter 6

We awoke to the chime of the smart phone alarm which Emily quickly found and extinguished. I lay behind her, spooning her, my pants still low and hers still off. Before she moved my hardness had been pressing between her ass cheeks. It wanted inside that nearby slit, and when she returned to her place there and squirmed against me, I could tell she felt the same.

“I know,” she proved it with a sigh. “But we should probably get up.”

“Hey,” we heard behind us, and when we turned we saw Hannah wearing one of my t shirts expanded by her full breasts, the cover just below them. “I borrowed your shirt.”

“That’s fine,” I smiled. “I should have offered.”

“Looks better on you,” said Emily. Despite the darkness we could see somewhat, like the dome of light the city exuded, why stars are better seen way out in the country somehow made its way through the window and into the room. It also allowed Hannah to see us attempting to covertly pull up our pants, and in Emily’s case, finding them first.

“Did you two...” Hannah stuttered, “... when I was...”

“We did,” Emily grinned.

“Because you were on top of him, and just now...”

“Yep. Next time we can share, okay?”

“Uhn-hunh. Next time.” She climbed out of bed and pulled off her/my shirt. “You’ve seen me already,” she giggled and hopped away. “Gotta pee.”

“Not fair,” I said to her retreating posterior, somewhat covered by French cut panties. Another giggle before she closed the bathroom door informed me she heard.

“You’d rather shower with her than me,” Emily pouted while turning on the lamp beside the bed. It started dim and slowly grew brighter.

“I’d prefer all three of us,” I said.

“All that hot wet soft flesh,” Emily added.

“Sounds like you’d prefer it,” I pointed out.

“You’re right. Three’d be better.”

“Except it looks like the shower only fits two,” I said while Emily headed to the kitchen.

“A Condo built for two,” she sang. “Come look Joe.”

She had the refrigerator opened. “Your favorite wine and beer. My favorite soda.” Pulling out a drawer, she added. “Oranges for juicing. Let me check something.”

She went through the cupboard. “Yep. Both our favorite cereals right next to each other.”

“Creepy,” I murmured.

“What hasn’t been?” she responded quietly, to which I nodded.

We heard a flush and hand washing and the lovely full figured Hannah appeared. “Where do you guys need to be?”

“City hall,” Emily lied.

“There’s an all-night diner nearby there, but you probably already know.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Emily grinned. “Share a shower Joe?”

“Not if we go to the diner. Okay if I piss and have a quick one.”

“Only if I piss while you’re showering.”

“Fine by me.”

“I suppose I should dress,” said Hannah.

“Not on my account,” I said, sliding by her and entering the bathroom.

“What he said,” Emily agreed.

While I showered, Emily entered the bathroom and pissed. “Hannah’s a great kisser,” she informed me. “I had my favorite juice before.”

“Okay,” I chuckled, finishing up just when she flushed. We kissed quickly before she entered the shower having already discarded her clothing. “You brought my clothes.”

“Didn’t want to scare her,” Emily quipped.

“Funny,” I laughed. After brushing my hair and my teeth, I put the clothes on, casual as requested and exited the bathroom.

Hannah waited for me naked, having removed her panties. We embraced and kissed long enough for me to slide my hands slowly down her back to her firm substantial ass.

“You are a good kisser,” I told her when the kiss ended.

She separated a step. “I think I might have dampened your crotch.”

I decided that gave me a chance to investigate, slipping a couple fingers past her shaved pubic area to her slippery slit.

“Maybe I could help you with that,” I offered just as Emily emerged from the shower naked.

“Not enough time,” Emily muttered, hurrying to her case and extracting her similarly casual outfit. Hannah also dressed.

All three of us exchanged kisses before exiting the apartment.

Manhattanites can be a snobbish breed what with the variety and plentiful choices of food, almost every ethnic flavor available and from posh to brutally casual like the Ukrainian diner I frequented in my youth just a block away from my row house apartment in the East Village with their French Toast made from thick slices of black bread (yum), so a family centered diner probably not much better than a Denny’s didn’t impress me, but the food did its job of filling me. I went with the Denver omelet, figuring it was appropriate, while the ladies had the two egg specials, over easy with plentiful uniformly wrought hash browns covering a fair portion of all our plates. Link sausages for them, and we all had slices of wheat toast. Cranberry juice (my preference for fresh squeezed orange juice made me avoid what they offered and the ladies followed suit), and okay diner coffee completed our meals.

The early hour had the place nearly empty and probably quickened the service, allowing Emily and I to relax while we ate, not needing to hurry. We had a couple minutes to walk half a block by the time Hannah, at her insistence, paid for the meals. After exchanging quick kisses, Emily and I watched Hannah walk off and then positioned ourselves across from the mint when our smart phones thrummed. The coded symbols filled our screens, and we carried them in our hand to the back entrance, somewhat covered. I didn’t know where to wave it, the door didn’t even have a knob.

“Look up,” Emily said and I saw a small bit of dark convex glass above the door. Angling my screen towards it did nothing, but when Emily did, both her screen and the glass lightened and the door opened. “See you on the other side,” Emily smirked, passing through and the door closed. I flashed the glass and the door opened again and I slid through.

Inside I joined Emily in an old industrial padded elevator which closed and descended a floor and the door opposite the one we entered opened into doors on our right and a lit up room on our left, our classroom, completely open on the one side where the elevator released us, and, except for a large screen embedded into a wall, otherwise enclosed in bricks painted an industrial light gray. Some sort of metallic silver ventilation system hung from the smooth darker gray ceiling, a quiet hum coming from it, along with several light fixtures dangling down like upside down wide lipped bowls covered by some sort of textured plastic, clear and diffusing and somehow hiding whatever the shape of the light source inside might be. However it filtered the light, it brought a warmth to the space unlike the blue light of fluorescents or even the yellow cast of incandescent bulbs.

Nine broad desks the same deep, almost black gray of the devices had two metal chairs cushioned in what looked like black leather behind each of them. A larger desk and a podium to the side of it rested in front of the embedded screen. A man looking to be a couple inches less than 6 feet tall, wearing casual clothing which seemed to be the uniform for the class, stood beside the front left desk facing the large desk. “This will be where you sit,” he told us in a familiar metallic voice which made me study him closer and what I saw was the most plain, indistinguishable man I’d ever seen, his skin a light tan, almost sepia and his hair a dark brown. He looked Caucasian and yet not. And a third glance made me realize he had a feminine quality too, or rather he somehow had undistinguishable sexual features, even some slight prominences at his chest could be male muscle or female breasts. “Please hang your jackets here,” he gestured to hooks embedded in the far wall.

“What are you?” Emily asked while hanging up her jacket. I did the same and we sat.

The ... whatever ... stood at the podium mostly ignoring Emily’s question except to say, “Call me Pat.”

I laughed. “As in the Saturday Night Live character?”

“Yes, very good,” Pat chuckled, an odd sound. “Who is this?” he said and the image of a naked Hannah in our apartment appeared on the screen.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “You know who it is.”

Another image appeared, of Hannah examining her desk lamp.

“If there was something mentioned about having guests over, I didn’t see it,” said Emily calmly.

“I explained the technology,” I added.

“It is dangerous knowledge,” Pat said.

“She isn’t a threat,” I said. “Just intelligent and curious. Speaking of which, I presume if we are not acceptable or do not accept joining you, we will be killed?”

“Not necessarily. It would be a matter of exposing us.”

“Which you would observe.”

“Yes.”

“And if we made the attempt?” Emily asked. “And were gotten rid of? Wouldn’t the timing be problematic?”

“First of all, who would believe you? Second, you are all geniuses.”

“Meaning it would be figured out so that no one would be the wiser,” Emily concluded.

“Exactly.”

“Except there is already a pattern,” I pointed out. “Geniuses disappearing.”

“It has been carefully done and the selection has been over many years. The earliest geniuses have either had lives in which they were not noticed, being orphans essentially, or more often being on highly classified assignments, disappearing as you say, but only at times, returning to their more normal lives. Rarely has it been necessary to fake deaths, and again the length of time between them made any pattern unrecognizable. Since the next phase is upon us you two have become the exceptions, the most problematic, only to have Emily fix the problem with the submitting of the mystery series to the roommate over time.”

“Except the series will end,” Emily offered.

“Why should it? And the excuse of a peripatetic life continues with Joe. Although that will end with Joe’s unfortunate death.”

“What?” I shouted.

“Faked I presume,” Emily calmed me.

“Of course. An unfortunate accident. You will be at his funeral, Emily, before continuing your adventurous life alone.”

“About when we’ll be heading off to space.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you an alien?” I asked.

“I was born here, but with alien technology,” Pat responded.

“Born?” I asked. “Aren’t you mechanical? Wouldn’t it be created?”

“My body is an amalgam of biological and metallic or plastic material. I would say biologics and synthetics, but it’s all synthetic, isn’t it? The complexity of constructing an AI such as me, a cyborg as you label us rather harshly in your science fiction, requires gestation. Essentially I formed in a rather large egg, hatched when the neurological attachments completed and the outer skin had been fully formed. The frame so to speak had been created, but needed time for the connections and the covering if you will. After that, a great deal of data needed to be uploaded. It took over two years to gestate and another two years to mature, to become as much like a human to pass.”

“Your voice,” said Emily.

In a medium high female voice, Pat answered, “I am not here to fool you as I have needed to fool others.” And then in a medium low male voice, “So I have combined my voices to sound what you call mechanical.” And returning to the combination, “I am, as you say, putting my cards on the table.”

“Thus the unremarkable face,” I nodded. “When did this start?”

“About thirty or so years ago when SETI began. A young genius not unlike you two figured sound waves would never be an effective way to listen into the universe, too slow. But light being fastest, he decided to scan the skies for any anomalies from the stars.”

“Sounds ambitious and expensive,” I said, “and he’d need a space uncluttered by manmade light.”

“Fortunately he was a most exceptional orphan adopted by a very rich Australian couple.”

“The Outback,” I nodded.

“Where he started. Eventually he planted his proprietary device on high peaks, and then on a satellite.”

“Sounds even more expensive,” said Emily.

“He invented things, got patents and his father mass produced them, making the family and him of course quite rich.

“He actually discovered the anomaly early on in the Outback, but atmosphere messed with his reception so he went in search of clearer receptors, getting it with the satellite. He brought in another young genius, a linguist specializing in hieroglyphics. They married and conceived a brood of geniuses, part of the pattern we use.”

“Hieroglyphics?” Emily asked.

“The anomalous light ended up projecting shapes, which he filtered...”

“Holograms,” I realized.

“Exactly. His wife figured out the language and it ended up being a technological manual to achieve space flight among other things.”

“You,” I said.

“As something somewhat immortal.”

“Because of the vast distances of space,” I nodded.

“Exactly.”

“And geniuses begetting geniuses,” Emily added.

“Exactly.”

“He decided to base things here,” I said.

“It’s central,” Pat nodded. “Surrounded by potential geniuses in all directions including domestic ones. Plus he found a receptive US agency.”

“The department of education,” I said.

“Genius division,” Emily smirked.

“Willing to keep secrets,” I added.

“A supposedly democratic, open society needs to keep the most carefully kept secrets,” Pat agreed. “And of course there’s plenty of land to utilize.”

“And mountains can be the most secure,” I realized.

“Exactly. One problem was the material they needed to build things required a metal unknown to this planet. Jock, the young genius ended up discovering a tiny bit of it in a meteorite. He went searching for asteroids using spectral analysis and found one large enough to mine.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “Asteroid mining?”

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” Pat shrugged.

“Manned?” I asked.

“All robotics programmed by one of the new partners. The space tankard broke up into small, independent carriers. Quite a show if anyone paid attention on several early mornings, meter showers with the supposed meters landing safely, not impacting like a meteor would, within a few yards of each other. The amalgam of the metal with proprietary plastic created the devices you see, the desks included. It has remarkable strength and plasticity. It also has a unique radiant quality, not radioactive as we know radiation, but it does radiate as well as being receptive. Movement for instance feeds its natural energy, fuels it essentially. The slightest breeze passing over it or it moving to create it.”

“In other words, no batteries needed,” I said.

“And you’re made of it?” Emily asked.

“The skin, a particularly unique polymer,” Pat answered. “The metal tends to reject coloring, but the manual had a recipe.”

“How many of you are there?” I asked.

“I’m the second with three more after me. Two more gestate.”

“You say the material radiates,” I prompted.

“Yes it can be heard or seen, received with proprietary devices and translated into sound and images.”

“Little spies,” said Emily.

“Exactly.”

“How many devices are out there?” I asked.

“One of Jock’s devices, a home security device that detects not just intrusion, but heat and gas leakage, happens to be quite popular.”

“Of course,” I sighed.

“A lot of input,” Emily pointed out.

“Fortunately you have us.”

“The egghead who got me into this...” Emily started.

“And the messenger for that matter,” I added.

“Who you call an egghead,” Pat smirked, “is a bureaucrat employed by the Brain Trust without the clearance needed to know everything. The woman on the other hand is one of us, a cyborg like me, as was the messenger.”

I laughed. “You mean she’s a sexbot?”

“She has all the physical characteristics of an attracting woman,” Pat said. “Quite useful as encouragement.”

“Especially among us nerds,” I chuckled.

“Exactly.”

The elevator opened and a blonde young woman confidently strolled out followed by a much less confident young man, smaller than her and looking to be a mix of Asian and African.

“Joe!” the woman smiled. Tall and slim and pretty, she reminded me of a young Joni Mitchell. “And Emily! You finally got together!”

“No thanks to you,” Emily giggled. “By the way I’m Amanda now, Joe Gould’s wife.”

“So you were recruited before us?” I asked.

She looked at Pat who nodded. “I’m actually second generation genius,” she informed us. “Pat told you about Jock and Martha? They’re my parents. Gary’s second generations too. We grew up together.”

“Hi,” Gary said shyly, checking out Emily.

“You were studying Joe’s program, Amy?” Emily asked.

“Mostly checking out Joe, but I suppose that too. We’d known about it from the beginning.”

“From my proposal?” I asked.

“Yep. We changed some things because of it. Improved things.”

“I thought you might have,” I nodded.

“But yeah, I was an insider view. Recruits, and you became an obvious choice, Emily, and not just because of your crush on the big guy. Your remarkably clever mind and equally clever writing skills and of course your beauty.”

“My beauty?” Emily asked.

“Definitely useful, just check out Gary panting for you.”

“Shut up,” Gary muttered.

“And my seduction?” I asked.

“I was ovulating. Unfortunately you insisted on rubbers.”

“As much as you flirted with everyone, and seemed to have succeeded several times?” I reminded her.

“Class slut,” Amy pouted. “Of course.” She put her hand in her large purse and extracted a piece of paper. “I’ve been tested. You can see for yourself.”

“Some other time,” I shook my head, amused.

“Maybe,” Emily glared.

“I saw you checking me out, Em. I’m willing to share.”

Emily sighed an ambivalent sigh.

“Some other time,” said Pat while another couple arrived. This one in their mid-twenties, both quite attractive. The voluptuous woman’s dark complexion had me figuring her to be from the Indian subcontinent and the guy looked like a jock: big muscular frame, nearly as tall as me, confident attitude, short dark hair, looking to be a mix of Anglo and Mexican.

“Hey Tex,” Amy flirted, and less so, “Amira.”

“Amy,” Amira muttered.

Each couple was guided to their desk by Pat standing beside it. It looked like this would be the first day of class for everyone, though no one appeared to be strangers unlike Emily and me. They arrived every other minute until all seats had been taken. Everyone looked healthy and attractive, with the young nerdy Gary probably the least. A mix of races and accents, from Continental French and German, to Arab and African, their age ranged from Emily being the youngest to the Continental couple, the woman French and the man a blond Aryan German, the oldest at around thirty.

“Good,” Pat said. “Take out your laptops if you haven’t already and click on the house icon. You’ll find lists in the ribbon menus of outside and inside additions. If you wish to add to the list, use the proprietary internet. The size of your house cannot be changed, but walls can be configured however you wish. The design menu has the wall configuring. Just tap four places in the room, two at top and two at bottom of course and the wall will materialize. Further changes to the wall, color, wallpaper and windows added or whatever, are in the design menu. Dragging edges moves the walls or resizes them. Remember to include a room or rooms for your children. Each woman is required to have two and can have more if desired. Remember that. For now I wish you all to work independent of each other. I prefer if you don’t peek, but can’t prevent it. No criticism please. Eventually the couples will synthesize their ideas, but not yet.

“Also, as far as your virtual outside, except for the front area facing into the ship, use your imagination. If you’re lacking, we have one advisor here. Emily? Please stand.”

“Really?” Emily responded but stood.

“Emily is a writer, short stories and novels. Of all of you, she has the most creative imagination, able to invent people, places, things and events out of her fertile mind. Only she can be consulted at this point, and you should be completely honest with her. Tell her your fantasies.”

Snickers followed.

“About your house, geniuses. Other fantasies you can share on your own time.”

“Definitely,” said Tex.

“In your dreams, cowboy,” Emily responded. “Or unless you invite Amira.”

Everyone laughed.

“Any questions?” Pat asked.

Gary raised his hand. “Just speak it Gary,” Pat said.

“Sorry. I was wondering if like there’d be like a room for my ... uhm ... work?”

“You mean the constructing and testing of devices?”

“Yes.”

“Not per se. You will have your lab where your physical work happens at a separate location. But you bring up a good point. Offices, your own or shared.”

“Definitely his own,” Emily whispered and I nodded.

“Okay,” Gary smiled. “Understood.”

“Good. Anyone else?”

“You wish us to work separate,” the gorgeous French brunette asked carefully, “so we can have a free idea?”

“Exactly.”

“So when we ... combine...”

“I will observe and assure each compromise has equal weight.”

“Thank you.”

“Shit,” Emily muttered quietly while Pat asked for any more questions and had us begin when there were none. “The German must be an intimidating asshole. How did these couples form?”

I could only shrug.

Two great minds aligned, both Emily and I clicked on the internet icon, a pair of conjoined rings with an image of Earth in one and Jupiter in the other. A search engine popped up apparently just called Q, the big letter filling the background.

Emily giggled and I saw she wrote “sexbot” in the blank.

I wrote security alarm panel wondering if I could find an image of Jock. Apparently someone else ran the company that created the “remarkable, all knowing security system.” Eventually patents brought him forward, an intense looking narrow face blue eyed blond. Jock Eddinger. Highlighting his name only brought up one more image, of him as a young teen winning some tech contest in Sydney creating something quite advanced for his age since boy genius had been the title of the article, his adopted father looming over him, proudly smiling while the boy looked nervous at the attention, the father’s dark hair and wide face made the adoptive relationship obvious.

I tried Martha Eddinger and came up with a similar result. Not just another tall blonde who resembled her daughter, but intense eyes in the only photograph, the one used on the sleeve on a monograph about Sumerian hieroglyphics which seemed to stir up quite a lot of controversy in the academic world with her claim that the ancient civilization had been a lot more advanced than had been accepted.

Rich and attractive and somewhat famous and only two photographs of their mature faces seemed strange except for my becoming immersed in their secret world.

Emily laughed and I asked, “Did you find her?”

“Yep,” and she turned the laptop to me.

“Holy shit,” I said.

A voluptuous brunette posing sexily stared at us from her add in a cosplay site. “Meet a real live fembot,” it said.

Emily clicked on it and a page appeared with several more provocative pictures, and one in which she wears her nerd outfit. “That’s what she looked like in the park,” Emily giggled. “We can see more of her with a membership.”

“Unfortunately we have no credit cards,” I reminded her.

“But I do have a phone!” she grinned and pulled it out, programming it to reveal her number and called the phone number. “My name’s Amanda and I’d love to meet a real life fembot. If you’re ever in Denver, give me a call.”