CHAPTER 6

A PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP

Alfred wasn't sure what possessed ARTHR to do the things he did. He understood the need to organize, to work, the drive to be well dressed and presentable—all these things were programmed into him so that he could better play the role designated to him. But to make breakfast every morning?

"Alfred!' ARTHR's pitched voice called from within the kitchen. 'Breakfast is ready!"

Alfred swallowed hard and tried to put on his Happy Face.

"Oh, wow, thank you, Artie." He said meekly. "What is it?"

ARTHR's lips drew into a frown. "Eggs and toast."

"Oh! My favorite." Alfred chimed in, sitting down reluctantly at the table.

Al's gaze befell the sad plate before him and he wondered if there was something he could download to make Artie a better cook. The eggs were shriveled, dry, and black around the edges and the toast was hardly recognizable. But Alfred couldn't bring himself to say anything. Especially as ARTHR sat across from him, looking hopeful and unsure.

Alfred downs the breakfast like shots of tequila—trying eagerly to not actually taste anything.

It's only been three days. He tells himself, hoping the Puppy Love will fade and he won't have to endure anymore of the robot's cooking.

….

The morning had gone without much upset, following the strict routine the pair had made for themselves. Breakfast, showers, then off to work. But there was something uncanny about this morning. As the two made their way to Alfred's Androids, Al noticed that the sidewalks were much busier than they'd ever been. Everyone other face was new, foreign, and Alfred liked to think he knew just about everyone in this town. He tried to shrug it off.

ARTHR seemed to notice it too. Or maybe it was all the dirty looks he was receiving from passerby's that made him uncomfortable.

They enter the shop from the employee entrance, and Alfred immediately goes to check to mail. Bills, lot rent notice, advertisements; the usual. The only mail worth notice was a brochure for a new factory that was being built in the uptown area.

"Hey, Artie,' Alfred calls, 'You seen this? I didn't even know they were making a factory out here." He approaches the secretariat and plops the brochure onto the countertop.

ARTHR picks it up and looks it over. "A new type of bot?" He asks, head canted on it's axis.

The brochure reads 'ACER: PRESENTING THE NEW FRONTIER OF GAMING.' The front page features a sleek female android. Her skin is dark, her hair long and wavy. Her eyes are amber in hue. Apparently her name is STAC (pronounced: Stacy) which stands for STREAMLINED, TOUCH COMPATIBLE, AUXILIARY, CONSOLE. According to the information on the brochure, the factory is set to be operational in just a few weeks.

The two exchange apprehensive glances. STAC's 'birth' is going to put their little town on the map and neither seem too excited about that.

Before they can dwell on it much longer, the door chimes as it's open. Alfred's head whips around preparing to greet whomever entered his shop.

"Hey, welcome to-…' He pauses, his stare falling onto the costumer's tie-dye shirt which read 'GOD HATES BOTS'

"Yeah, I just want to let you know that what you do is a sin." The man chimes in.

He's large, with a pasty skin complexion and a shrunken face. His rotund belly peeks out from the hem of his shirt, and he smells of cigarettes and stale cheese. His attention shifts to ARTHR who was standing behind the counter, looking appalled. He points at him.

"Bots are the enemy of God, the enemy of humankind. They're an abomination and you—'

Alfred cuts into his spiel, face twisted with unbridled rage. He's standing close enough to the man to taste his foul odor, and despite being a few inches shorter, Alfred can be plenty intimidating when he wills it. "Get the fuck out of my shop.' He growls. 'Now, before I really snap."

The man takes a few retreating steps, but stops just before exiting to shout "BOT FUCKER!" In Al's direction. The door slams behind him.

Both Al's and Artie's gaze are drawn to the window, where they watch the man join a group of like-minded nut-jobs just outside the shop.

ARTHR sinks back into his chair, shoulders and back slumped with a look of utter defeat plastered across his beautiful face.

"I just don't understand…" He mumbles, more to himself than anyone in particular.

Alfred reacts quickly, moving to be near his partner. His mechanical limbs whirr in protest.

"Hey, now. Don't let that guy get you down, okay?' He coos, trying his best to sound reassuring. 'Some people are just really messed up in the head."

"But what did we do to deserve that?" Artie asks, voice still soft, spirit still broken.

"Well, some people just don't see how robotics has improved our way of life."

"But he called you a 'bot fucker'."

"Yeah, well… I've been called worse." Alfred rubs a hand across the expanse of ARTHR's back.

ARTHR remains quiet, sullen, and after a moment or two Alfred elects to give him some space.

"Is that all I am?" ARTHR asks, finally breaking his several hour silence.

"What?" Alfred inquires.

"I'm just a bot, then?' ARTHR bristles. 'I'm just a bot and you're just a 'bot fucker'?"

"What…? No. Not to me. You're Artie, you're my partner."

Partner? Alfred thinks to himself. Are we partners? It's only been a few days, but we've already shared so much… He pauses. ARTHR is still silent, brooding. Yeah. We're together—partners.

ARTHR lets his man-made body slump further into the cushion of the couch. Silently, he resents his creation. He resents what he is, and yet he knows he has no control. If he'd been born, rather than designed, maybe things would be different. People wouldn't bother us then. He thinks.

"Al,' He begins, 'What do people think about… people like us? What does society think about humans and androids being together?"

Alfred looks hesitant, his lips drawn tight and flat, his eyes shift around the room.

"Well,' He starts, but then gives a lengthy pause before continuing. 'People don't really like it, I guess. But I wouldn't let it—'

"Don't let it bother me.' ARTHR suddenly stands from the couch, 'I wish it were that easy, but it does bother me. I guess that settles it then."

"Settles what, ARTHR?" Alfred asks, a look of concern upon his visage.

"You and I can't do…' ARTHR wafts his hand listlessly. 'Whatever it is we've been doing."

Alfred bolts from his sitting position to follow after the android.

"Hey! Wait!" He makes a grab for the Englishbot's slender wrist.

ARTHR whips around. "What, Alfred!?"

"Hey… Don't let society dictate what we do. I don't know what's going on in your head, but I know what's going on in mind. I like you—us. I like this thing we've got going on. And it's only just started, I want…' He hesitates. 'I want to see this through."

ARTHR's face hardens and he scoffs. "Don't be an idiot, Alfred. I've seen the news. I know what people do to each other. Violent and volatile; that's what humans are! And if you don't fit their mold they'll kill you!" The bot rips his hand free of Al's grasp.

"No one's going to kill me, ARTHR, please."

"Well, if they don't kill you, they'll kill me." ARTHR bellows in rebuttal. "Anyways, you can sleep on the couch from now on. We have to be strictly professional, now."

….

Alfred lays on the couch, an old and stiff pillow behind his head and nothing but a sheet to keep him warm. Apparently ARTHR couldn't bear to part with any of his pillows or blankets—Wait. Alfred thinks, brows furrowed. How did any of this shit becomes HIS anyways? That was my bed, my pillows, my blankets… He grunts to himself and rolls onto his side, but it doesn't matter. The couch is nearly a foot too small, and not even near wide enough for Al to get comfortable on.

Then suddenly he sits upright, brows still furrowed and his lips hard pressed. Dammit. That's my bed.

Alfred immediately begins making his way to the bedroom, feet creeping slowly to not disturb the resting android. He steps into the room, cautious of the creaking door hinges, then slides into bed.

ARTHR murmurs and stirs, but is not roused out of his sleep-mode.

Alfred curls his body around that of his counterpart's, who fits so perfectly in the bowl of his torso. The moment their bodies meet, Al begins peppering the back of Artie's neck with delicate kisses. He begins inching down the android's back, slowly, dragging his lips across silken, porcelain flesh with each move.

ARTHR coos, "Al-…Mmh. This is not very professional of you."

"Shh." Alfred replies, nipping the bundle of flesh betwixt ARTHR's shoulder blades.

ARTHR's verdant-lit eyes flash to the clock near them, the time projected being 1:37 A.M.

"Alfred, it's very late…-' He begins twisting his body so that he might face Alfred.

"Shh…' Alfred retorts again, now littering ARTHR's thin lips with pecks. 'I'm not doing anything. Go to sleep."

ARTHR stifles a laugh and tries to force himself back to sleep.

"Stop grinding into me, then." He purrs.

Alfred stills immediately. "Mmh, stop sleeping naked, then."

"We wouldn't have this issue if you'd stayed on the couch."

"It was cold." Alfred pouts.

Alfred finally crashes at about 2:00 A.M, allowing ARTHR to drift off as well.

Bloody hell. I can't keep myself away from him. ARTHR thinks. I guess we'll just have to be extra careful.