Chapter 4: Across the Pacific

So California mini-adventure over. I wish I had a bit more time to spend on the West coast, since I had many friends who lived there. Plus I really wanted some time to talk with Jennifer before leaving. Heck, Hollywood liberals, a group I mostly despised as I've mentioned before, were one of the biggest, most vocal supporters of rights for Computer Intelligences. (And to my shame, we had planned for it and courted them to make it a popular, sexy cause.)

I even had specific reasons I should spend time in the area. For example, a few friends Alpha had made in the television industry a few years back, before she was revealed to be a computer intelligence, had expressed worries that their phones and/or emails might be hacked. (There had recently been a rash of reports about journalists illegally accessing the private phones and emails of the rich and famous, mostly in England, but the hacks were known to happen in Hollywood too.) Alpha had offered to handle online security for them, which was all well and good except that the phone companies were pitching fits and threatening to drop service since Alpha was violating the terms of their service contracts. Actual legal action was unlikely, since comments about their lousy security were best left out of official court testimony. Anyway, the point is that I wanted to talk to them in person about other security options which should cause fewer objections.

And there were a few TV shows wanting Alpha or an Alphadroid, or a semi-official fictionalized version of her, to make an appearance. And ... well, anyone and everyone in the entertainment industry who wanted to make a buck off of us wanted meetings.

We could have spent weeks there and stayed busy the entire time, but our schedule was already full. So instead, we moved on to Japan ... after one other stopover which I'll get to in a minute.

Alpha was actually fairly relaxed about me going to Japan, given that country's extremely strict gun laws. My bodyguards had the opposite view, since they couldn't carry weapons there, not even swords, which seemed odd given ... you know ... Japan.

What we did was hide nearly all of the guard team's weapons on the plane. We had made a lot of modifications to our already custom-built plane after getting it from the manufacturer. One of those changes was to add a few secret compartments, most of which could only be opened by Alpha. (If something has no way to open it from the outside, everyone will normally assume that it has nothing inside of interest, aside from wiring and whatnot.) So everyone's guns and swords and such were hidden away.

Peace kept her collapsible baton in a hidden compartment in one of her legs, and Misty had pop-out blades built into a few of her replacement arms which were very well hidden. Those particular items I knew about and was okay with sneaking them through customs. Rally and Motoko each kept a small holdout pistol in their own hidden leg compartments which I didn't know about at the time. Alpha was apparently confident they wouldn't be detected because she didn't raise the issue.

But I'm skipping ahead slightly. We had scheduled a two day stopover in Hawaii. It was originally only going to be a refueling stop, then we expanded it to a full day and night so we could visit CAB and Dr Linkletter and witness their work with dolphins in person. (If you don't remember the reference from a previous chapter, I'll cover it again in a few minutes.) It was further expanded to two days because of protests from the ladies that we were going to visit Hawaii and not spend any time on the beaches or having fun.

Maybe half an hour into the flight to Hawaii, Alpha informed me silently that the bodyguards wanted to speak with me privately. I met them in one of the bedrooms. Two were sitting on the bed, one in a chair and Misty was standing. For the first time in ... ever ... they looked a bit nervous.

"All right," I said in my friendliest voice, "what can I do for you?"

Misty, apparently the group's designated spokesperson for the day, said, "We've spoken about this extensively among ourselves and with Alpha, and she says you'd be receptive to this, so here goes: We need some stress relief."

"Stress relief?"

"Yes. The kind of stress relief that's a lot better with a man instead of only with ourselves. Understand there are limited opportunities for this. When you're at home, your time is generally taken up with the others, which we understand. When you're away from home, we're on the job. Times like this, when we're away from home but not on the job are pretty rare."

"Ah, I see. So you mean..."

"Sex."

"Well, although I haven't been able to get to know each of you personally as well as I'd like to, you are all beautiful women who have agreed to spend at least the next decade keeping me safe. That makes you pretty darn desirable in my book. At the same time, I don't like impersonal sex."

"We've been with you almost all the time for the past few months," objected Peace.

"Yes, but how much of that time have we been able to spend talking or getting to know each other? I suppose you probably know me pretty well, given the nature of your jobs, but the reverse isn't really true yet."

"So what do you suggest?" asked Misty.

"How about some one-on-one 'getting to know you' time?"

"We were planning on double-teaming you because of the flight time," Misty pointed out.

"Alpha," I said to the surrounding air, "what's our estimated remaining flight time to Hawaii?"

"Approximately three hours and 2 minutes if weather conditions remain favorable."

"Is that at our top speed?"

"No, but we are still moving faster than most commercial jets."

"Would it cause any problems if we slow down slightly so we arrive in about 4 and a half hours or so?"

"That should not pose any problems."

"Thank you. Please do so." Turning my attention back to the team in front of me, I continued, "Here's what I propose: I'll spend two hours getting to know each of you one at a time, two today, two when we fly to Japan. Group sex can be a lot of fun, but I really want to know each of you better first."

The ladies stood or sat in silence for a moment, exchanging glances and presumably silent conversation.

Peace stood up while the other three left the room. "We had Alpha assign the order randomly, and I'm first. Well, technically Rally was first, but she was nervous and didn't want to go first, so we traded."

Turning to look at the exiting ladies, I saw Rally give a quick glare at Peace before the door closed.

"So, I'm guessing you weren't supposed to tell me that," I said as I sat down on the bed. "But what I would like you to tell me is a little bit about yourself."

"She'll be fine. Might even forgive me in a week or so." Peace said with a smile, her mind focused on her friend. Then she refocused on me, saying, "Me? Sure, I guess. Do you want a drink?"

"Nothing alcoholic. Maybe a fruit juice."

She set her mirrored sunglasses down on the mini-fridge, grabbed a couple bottles from the mini-fridge and handed me one.

Let me pause briefly to give you an overall rundown on her. Peace Truman (ie, our version of Agent 355) was a black woman in her mid-20s. Her skin was dark, but light enough that she probably had a little mixed blood somewhere in her family's history. She's about 5'10", though given that this version of her has two cybernetic legs, her height technically varied slightly depending which set of legs she happened to be wearing. From what I could tell at that point, she had a modest bosom (compared to normal comic book bosoms) and an athletic frame. She had gone through a couple different hairstyles since I first met her, and at the moment, her hair was done in cornrows tight against her skull leading back to a tight braid down hanging down a few inches below her shoulders. She was the only one of the four without an artificial eye, so she generally viewed any visual data or video on her sunglasses. (She wanted to replace one eye to receive the benefits of an artificial eye, but that had not yet been approved by the AMA. Technically we didn't need approval for a voluntary procedure, but we were trying to stay friendly.)

Her mirrored sunglasses functioned as both display and camera, allowing her to participate in the live video sharing handled by the artificial eyes of the other ladies. When the glasses were removed, and thus unplugged from the tiny power cable running into her clothes, the built-in battery would function for only a couple hours at most. I noticed that her glasses had been placed facing the bed, so the others could no doubt watch us. (Please realize that I have long since gotten used to always being under observation. Normally Alpha's the only one watching, but it still didn't bother me much as long as it was a limited, in-home broadcast.)

Peace was the group's non-lethal melee expert and was generally the one who checked out rooms or vehicles before I was allowed to enter them. She and Misty were the two who most often stayed closest to me. Although Motoko and Misty were both skilled with swords, Peace could usually beat either one of them with her baton in practice sessions.

Maybe I should also point out that her background is almost entirely a mystery in the comics, so we made a lot more of it up than is normal with our women. On top of that, her cannon personality was also altered in certain ways because Alpha disapproved of some things she did in the comics, like the time she let Yorrick get beat up to teach him a lesson.

"Tell you about myself," she repeated as she sat down next to me. "Well, you already know the basics. My family, parents and one sister, died in a car wreck when I was little. Grew up in orphanages and foster homes. I wanted to be a secret agent or something until this happened." She gestured to her legs.

"Like with the CIA?"

"Not specifically. I just remember wanting to be a spy or special agent. Go on missions in exotic places. Protect important people and save the world. That sort of thing."

"Sounds neat."

"Sounds short-lived, is what it was. I actually did train myself some when I could. Learned a few languages, which I'm pretty rusty with now. While I was working my way through college, I took a couple firearms classes for my phys ed requirements and found out I was a pretty darn good shot. Various self defense classes. I never really properly devoted myself to any one discipline, but I did get really good with batons. They're generally a lot better than swords, did you know?"

"Really? How are they better?"

"They can be collapsible, making them easy to carry with you and easy to conceal. They're generally a lot more legally and socially acceptable to carry around. They don't go dull, and they can easily mess up edged weapons. A good baton is really hard to cut or break. A baton makes it easy to incapacitate or kill your opponent as needed. With a sword, you generally kill or risk killing your opponent every time you use it. It really limits your options."

"I can see that. Did you keep up with your training after your accident?"

"Not so much. I mean, you can still use a baton for self defense when you're in a wheelchair, but the rest? The lack of legs really limits you. And it's really hard to meet guys."

"Why?"

"Why? Who wants to date half a woman? The only guys who were really interested in me were the weirdos who have an amputee or wheelchair fetish. You know, there are actual websites devoted to amputee sex?"

"I'm only surprised that you find it surprising. Nowadays you can find sites devoted to just about anything and everything. I bet if we went looking we could find a site or group devoted to ... I don't know ... underwater lesbian midget sex."

"I think they prefer to be called little people."

"Well, then, underwater lesbian little people sex. Underwater lesbian little Bolivian people sex."

She laughed. "With Octopuses. In Cuba."

"Exactly. But don't put down people who are into amputee sex. Yes, probably some of them are weirdos, but maybe some of them are just ... I don't know ... guys whose first love happened to be missing an arm or a leg. Maybe they never got over them and kept it as a fetish. In a way, it's no worse than preferring blonds or redheads or Asians or whatever."

"Maybe. So, do you have a fetish for amputees? Or cyborgs? Or Africans?"

"Don't know. Not consciously, at least. You are a pretty sexy cyborg, I suppose. Are you going to try to create a cyborg fetish for me?"

"Well, it wasn't a specific goal or anything."

"How is it working out for you, by the way?"

"Creating fetishes?"

"Being a cyborg."

"You know, it's funny, but I never really think of myself that way. I mean, I love the new legs, and you can't believe how different it is to have other people in your mind."

"But they're not in your mind. You can speak silently, but it's not actually sharing thoughts."

"But it is. It's so easy to share back and forth. We can all feel what the others are feeling any time we want to. It's amazing. Sometimes I wonder if we're merging into one composite being with four bodies ... and then I start getting sick of Rally and Misty's obsession with cars or Misty's music. I don't think I'll ever like funk the way she does. Or even how Motoko keeps insisting that we eat more sushi and sashimi and seaweed and raw fish. Yech."

"What about you? What are your likes?"

"Me? I like working with my hands. Making things. I like it when it's quiet and relaxed, except that usually means it's about to get busy. I like focusing and directing an adrenaline rush to greatest effect. I like books more than I like television or movies or music."

"What do you like to read?"

"Lots of different things. How To books and histories. Biographies. Alternate histories are good. Some romances. Books on codes and how to break them. I really like stories about how one person can make a huge difference, if they're in the right place at the right time."

All right, I'd like to point out that although her comics weren't fresh in my mind, I didn't think a lot of that fit the source character. Or maybe it did. Darn it, I'd have to ask Alpha or reread the series when I had the time. Then again, as mentioned earlier, I knew from the beginning that her personality would be significantly altered.

Out loud, I said, "Me, I hope WE are in the right place at the right time. The future is being determined right now, and I want to make sure everything turns out okay, if at all possible."

Yeah, sometimes I worry my ego or delusions of grandeur are getting out of hand.

"Sounds good to me. That's kinda one of the reasons I signed on."

"To do what? Help save the world? Mold the future?"

"Kind of. I get worried about the scope of things, but I'm basically here to do what I can. I don't think I'm particularly important in the course of world events, but I bet you are. Or at least, you might be. So maybe I can make a difference by making sure you're still around."

"Me, I'm worried I might become a Bond villain of some sort."

"Does that mean you're planning to wipe out significant portions of the world's population? Or start wars?"

"Start them? I'm trying to stop them."

"Good."

We talked for another half hour. I tried to get her impressions of her fellow bodyguards, to see how she and the others viewed Alpha and other computers, even what she thought of my personal life. She was fairly neutral overall regarding my personal life, but had become a strong supporter of Alpha.

She thought I was probably destined to become tabloid fodder, except that Alpha would probably destroy careers to protect me. I didn't mention that I was already aware of seventeen individuals in various media-related positions -- reporters, commentators, etc -- who had been blacklisted from their chosen professions because they tried to report on me in negative ways.

Let me clarify that a little. Plenty of news professionals or radio personalities or what-have-you have said negative things about me with no repercussions. The seventeen I refer to are the ones who made things too personal or refused to be swayed by evidence or, in three instances, made stuff up. Plus two of them were photographers who refused to take the hint when their cameras kept getting wiped after they took gossip-rag-style photos of me with various women.

The thing is, nearly all of them had been taken down within their profession by careful use of true things dredged up from their pasts. Nearly everyone in the world has things in their past which could ruin their present lives -- experimenting with drugs, doing stupid things in college, secret addictions and so on. Alpha, as the new world's goddess of information, could find these things out and make them public.

"So, why did you, meaning the four of you, decide to seduce me today?"

"Well, Misty already explained why today..."

"True."

"And, well... 'seduce' probably isn't the right term."

I laughed briefly. "I suppose I can't argue that. Let me rephrase then. Why not go out and date normally on your days off?"

"It's ... it's hard to explain. The four of us are ... we're so bonded to each other, so integrated, that it's not likely that we could date separately. We share so much that if one of us tried to have a solo boyfriend, it might mess us up. So we need one guy -- or possibly one guy with three clones -- that we can share. Also, we all tried to call dibs on you, though that was before we witnessed what your home life is like."

"Dibs? You can do that?"

"Of course."

"So what would happen if I called dibs on ... ummm ... Jennifer Connelly?"

"Not much, except that I would have to let you try to date her first."

"Aha! Then I declare dibs on Jennifer Connelly!"

"So noted," she said, somehow keeping a straight face when confronted with my amazing wit. "Is she even single?"

"Don't know. And make sure the others know I called dibs on her," I continued, still trying to get a laugh. When I failed to get one, I moved on. "You know, earlier I started to ask you how you've adapted to life as a cyborg, and we got distracted."

"I think I answered you."

"Well, I was actually looking for more ... ummm ... here, may I?" I asked, gesturing to her legs.

She nodded, and I gently lifted her left leg into my lap, which also shifted her on the bed so she faced me more directly. I pushed one leg of her trousers up a bit to expose her calf.

"I know you have sensory feedback, but I wanted to know how realistic it is. I mean, if I do this..." I brushed my hand lightly against her skin, and she shivered. "Do you just feel the contact or does it provide any additional sensations?"

"What do you mean?" Her breathing was a little heavy as she said it.

I reached for her hand and held it in my left hand while my right repeated the brushing motion along her arm.

"Does it feel the same as this? Please pardon me if I'm getting too personal, but what I mean is, for example, if a lover were to stroke your skin like this..." I again stroked her arm. "Does it create the same sensation as down here?" I returned my fingers to her false leg.

"Oooohhh," she gasped. She seemed to regain a little composure and elaborated. "Yes. Although it's not exactly the same, it creates approximately the same reaction."

"That's great," I said as I continued to go back and forth between her limbs. "It's wonderful that it works that well. Do you want me to stop?"

"No! I ... I mean, it's okay. I ... I'm not usually ... I've never been this forward before, but what I'd like to do is ... I don't want to waste the rest of the time we have."

"Waste? I've enjoyed talking with you."

"Well, me too, but we have less than an hour and a half left..."

"You must have pretty high expectations of me if you're worried that one and a half hours won't be enough," I teased, still lightly stroking her skin. I observed that Alpha had done a great job matching the skin tone between the real and fake flesh.

"We're observant, and you do have a reputation among the others. Hell, I figure if you hadn't earned the reputation fairly, there's no way you'd have so many women living with you."

"A logical conclusion," I agreed. "Still, it would sound pretty immodest if I were to agree with you. How about if we say that I will do my best?"

"A reasonable compromise statement."

"All right, then. At the risk of making you think I have a cyborg fetish, I'd like to start by giving your new legs a full test."

Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I undid her belt and trouser buttons. I slid each shoe and sock off and gently pulled off her pants, leaving her clad in her panties and short sleeved blouse. And presumably a bra, though it wasn't yet visible.

I gave each toe -- all of them appearing pretty realistic, even up close -- a kiss and lick before slowly working my way up her legs. On each upper thigh, there was a line where the false leg met the leg stumps attached to her torso. If I were to remove a leg, I would see a mounting point sticking out from her flesh, internally secured to what remained of her femur.

I experimented briefly, trying to see if there was a difference in her reactions when I crossed that line. There was certainly a difference from my point of view, since the false leg was nearly room temperature and lacked things like sweat or a pulse or the ability to prickle with gooseflesh. She seemed to be slightly more excited as I moved to her real flesh, but it's possible that was because I was nearing her womanhood.

On a minor side note, I was unable to detect any hidden compartments at all. Though I had worked with Alpha to develop the prosthetics, I had never actually handled one of the finished products built with secret compartments. Either Alpha had done a masterful job of hiding them or these specific legs simply didn't have such compartments. That was certainly possible, since each woman had multiple versions of her replacement limbs. (The ones not in use were on the plane's lower level in charging and storage cabinets. Or back home.)

Come to think of it, she had been wearing trousers, not her normal dress skirt, and it is difficult to access your legs when wearing trousers ... so it seemed likely that these specific legs were compartment-free. And I was letting myself get distracted from my purpose.

I skipped over her panties at that point and slowly and playfully removed her blouse, followed by her bra. Her breasts were C cups, though they had seemed smaller when covered up. I suppose she wasn't dressing to show off her figure, which probably threw my estimate off. I'm used to women dressing to enhance their assets, not hide them.

We spent some time making out while my hands explored her body. Both of her arms were normal -- strike that; both of her arms were living, human flesh, but they had specially strengthened bones and enhanced reflexes (and slightly enhanced strength) so they weren't normal -- and she used them to slowly divest me of my own clothes.

Before long, the only piece of clothing still on either of us were her panties. When matters had finally progressed to the point where they needed to be removed, I slid down her body and gently drew them off. They briefly caught on the attachment point for her left leg, but it was an easy obstacle to overcome.

Her pubic hair was wild and free above her slit, but the skin alongside her labia and below her pussy was completely smooth. (Which makes sense. I doubt lesbians or bisexuals like getting hair in their mouths any more than I do.)

Her vagina itself was a classic clamshell arrangement, with inner lips pushing out slightly as they pulsed with excitement and exuded lubricant in anticipation of intercourse. When I parted the labia, I found a little button of flesh hiding near the top, begging for attention. I gave it enough attention that Peace came three times in fifteen minutes, and that was before I moved on to actual fucking. She was apparently on a bit of a hair trigger at the moment.

For the next forty-five minutes or so, we cycled through the three classic male-female positions: missionary, cowgirl and doggy-style. (Well, I can't speak for the rest of the world, but they're MY three classic positions.)

I used all of my tricks and skills to make her come while keeping myself from doing the same. Since I knew I had sufficient recovery time before my next rendezvous, when I was ready to finish up, I let myself orgasm, but I pulled out to do so. I had actually forgotten to ask about her birth-control status before we started, and I hadn't put on a condom. (Shame on me.)

I checked with her while we were sharing a very quick shower -- we have a very limited water supply on board, and recycling is not instantaneous, so we used water to get wet and to wash off, but didn't use it in-between -- and she explained that all four of them had birth control implants which had been part of their cyborg upgrade surgeries. This was something I didn't remember discussing with Alpha, but I had probably okayed it at some point, I suppose.

When we were clean and dressed again and Peace had reclaimed her glasses, we still had seven minutes left, which she was not willing to give up, so we sat on the edge of the bed and just kissed and made out.

A knocking at the door indicated our time was up. Rally nodded at Peace as they passed each other. Peace nodded back then gave Rally's ass a slap. Rally jumped just a little, but refused to look back or acknowledge the slap.

Irene "Rally" Vincent, or Irene "Rally" Venkatesan in our case, was an Indian-American gunsmith and bounty hunter. (By the way, that's Indian from India, not Native American.) Of the four of them, she was the most skilled with firearms and the least skilled at hand-to-hand combat.

Physically, she stood roughly five and a half feet tall, with dark hair that came down just over her shoulders. I've heard that the media-defined Indian concept of beauty favors lighter skin -- and whether or not that's acceptable is not what I'm addressing here -- but Rally's skin was dark enough to show her Indian heritage proudly. While her hair seemed to lack proper ladylike styling, her sculpted eyebrows were artificially thin and her mascara was noticeably thick.

Unless it's obvious, I'm horrible at detecting makeup, but I figured that since I was actually able to notice the mascara, she was probably wearing other makeup too. (For some reason, I just don't think about the bodyguard team wearing makeup. To be fair, I barely think about any of my women wearing any, unless I get smeared with lipstick. I know they wear it daily, it just doesn't come up much in my thoughts except when I have to avoid face-licking because of it.)

Like the other three, she moved gracefully, but her movements were more precise and calculated than the others. She had one artificial arm, leg and eye, all on the right side of her body, and she had learned to move with precision to keep her movements balanced.

I knew that she normally walked around with a minimum of four guns on her person, including one strapped to spring-loaded contraption on her lower fleshy arm under her long sleeves, ready to place the small pistol in her left hand in an instant. She had also worked with Alpha to build a gun into one of her artificial arms, similar to the ones Vash uses in Trigun (which was one of her favorite animes).

Of all the bodyguards, she was the only one who had separate income from working during her free time. Using Alpha and AARD resources, she could design better guns than ever before, and she had already sold three designs to different companies.

The fictional version of Rally was a heterosexual and a virgin, and was generally uncomfortable around men whenever the situation became sexual. (Well, there was one storyline in the manga where she was drugged and mind-controlled by a lesbian criminal dominatrix type, but I'm not counting that.) With my inside knowledge of my Rally's background, I knew that she was still a virgin when it came to men, though definitely not when it came to women. I had no idea what foreplay with her would be like, but I hoped we wouldn't need to use her fetish for fondling and shooting firearms to get her started.

Speaking of the manga version of Rally, our real one was our first artificial woman to be intimately familiar with and actively imitate her own fictional source material before meeting me, while at the same time knowing that she was not that fictional person. Since her background, name and hobbies were so closely matched to Rally Vincent, after she came across the Gunsmith Cats manga, Irene had deliberately adopted Rally's nickname and general appearance. The loss of her limbs had put a stop to the imitation for a while, but now that she was again a four-limbed humanoid, she had returned to striving to be a 'Gunsmith Cat'. (Yes, I know we had artificially crafted her background and memories, but the descriptions are still valid.)