Tabby opened her eyes with dragging reluctance. She was in the same position she'd fallen asleep in, spooned with her back against Joe's chest, his legs tucked against hers, and Grizz cradled in her arms. She must have lain like a limp brick, not even rolling over. They only thing that now pulled her out of the clinging dark was Joe's hand on her shoulder, shaking her with increasing roughness, and his breath tickling her ear. "Tabby. Tabitha. Wake up."
She tried to ignore him, tried with every last fiber of her stubbornness, but Joe was persistent as only a Mecha could be. When Grizz began to help, tugging gently at the loose flannel arm of her pajamas, she groaned and gave up. "What?"
"Are you awake?"
Why was it that everyone everywhere asked that question when the answer was obvious? Small purple creatures living on a moon somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy must wake each other from lovely sleep, then in squeaking voices ask with that universal annoying brightness, "Are you awake?"
"No, Joe, I'm talking in my sleep."
"Can you answer the phone in your sleep as well?"
"Huh?"
"You have a telephone call," Joe said, enunciating each syllable with the utmost care.
"Who'd call at this time of the morning?" Tabby moaned, pulling the blanket over her head.
"I have no idea who would call you at sixteen and three-quarter minutes after noon. Perhaps you should answer and find out."
There was sarcasm buried somewhere in that specifically modulated, cultured tone, she was sure of it. She refused to let the amusement she could hear even through her blanket's thick fuzz irritate her. "Noon?"
"Shall I have Harold take a message?"
"No. No, I'm up." Struggling out of the bedclothes, Tabby managed to sit up, even to stand and tug on a robe. The heavy, groggy fog around her began to lift just a little, enough to let Joe guide her into the hallway.
Detouring to the bathroom, Tabby took a moment to splash cold water on her face and swish with mouthwash. Glancing into the mirror, she paused and frowned, puzzled. Pulling back the collar of her robe, she exposed the faint shadows of bruises that ran down her neck onto her shoulder. It took a minute for memory to set in, and when it did, a burning blush crept across her skin, especially when she noticed Joe's gaze boring into hers through the mirror, slit-eyed, catlike, triumphant.
Tabitha tried to pull her robe back into place, but Joe prevented her, settling his hand over hers. Tucking his head against her neck, he flicked out his tongue. The tip touched the darkest bruise, one low on her neck that was impossible to mistake for anything but a bite. Pulse thundering, Tabby stiffened, her lower body tightening into a hard knot. Joe's hands slid over her shoulders, inside her robe, and down her arms, tugging the robe lower until it hung loose from her elbows.
It took more will than she knew she had to weasel away from him. "I still need to answer the phone."
"And are you awake to do it?" Joe murmured, anything but innocently.
She felt heat, and pressure, and dampness. And awake. Explicitly awake. "Rat," she snorted, punching at his arm. Joe caught her fist in a steely grip that she couldn't break, his eyes sparkling at her. He held her for a second or two, then relaxed his hand enough to let their fingers interlace.
"Harold wants to know if he should tell Rick to call back," Grizz chirped from the door.
"Rick?" Tabby's hand tightened around Joe's, then let go. "No, I'll be right there."
"Who is Rick?" Joe questioned, sounding so bland that Tabby had to smile.
"My old boss," she answered. "He probably found some way to get part of my last paycheck back."
Harold was in the kitchen, waiting. He gave Tabby a critical look and held out the phone. Tabby smiled sheepishly and took it. "Yeah, Rick? What do you want?"
"Still sleeping at noon? Shit, girl, you must not be too worried about getting a different job," a mildly snide voice answered back.
"Whatever. Tell me what you want and go away."
She managed to yelp "What?!" before she started to laugh.
"Only Rick," she snickered as she hung up nearly fifteen minutes later.
"He's having problems with his new Mecha?" Harold asked.
"Not really. His Mecha's acting just like he's suppose to," Tabby said with a wicked smirk.
"But the way your conversation sounded . . ." Harold started, then scrubbed at his forehead. "What did Rick do now?"
"He wanted to replace me with a Mecha."
"I know that," Harold prompted impatiently.
"He wanted a Mecha with a lot of personality."
"That makes sense. A surprising amount, considering we're talking about Rick Warner."
Tabby rubbed her face as though trying to erase her grin. "Grandfather, he bought a Mecha from Cybertronics." Glancing at Joe, she ran both hands through her hair in a motion that was both frustrated and delighted. "Rick has acquired a Generation Three lover Mecha, and now he wants to re-hire me for a few weeks to get him trained."
"Gen Three?" Joe repeated.
Tabby reached up to tickle the back of his neck. "Don't worry, honey, I can't think of any way to improve over you."
"Gen Threes can do mild S&M if the customer has the right word code, and they have more general knowledge of art, literature, and current events. Though a basic model will only have built-in ports for the downloads," Harold explained. Joe stared at him, and the man shrugged. "Just because I don't design any more doesn't mean I don't keep up. After all, they're still using the programming I wrote. Tabitha, you're not really going to work for him again, are you?"
Sitting at the table with a long sigh, Tabby held her hands out helplessly. "I'd rather not, but I don't have a choice. If I don't, Rick's going to return his Mecha. That means an automatic wipe and re-format. I can't let him do that. It's not the Mecha's fault that he got purchased by an idiot."
Grizz waddled to her side, a large cup of coffee wafting the rich aroma of concentrated caffeine from his chubby paw-like hands. "I don't like it," he said sternly, holding the fragrant mug out to her.
"I don't either, Grizz," Tabby answered. "Thanks."
Roger wasn't as subtle. Not giving her a chance to take a sip, he planted his front paws on her knees and glared at her eye-to-eye, growling quietly and giving the definite impression of a frown, though his canine visage wasn't designed for such an expression.
"Tabitha . . . he dropped you because you turned him down one too many times, and you were too good at your job," Harold grunted.
Flushing, Tabby shook her head. "The man went for anything that could wear a skirt without crossing a social line. My turning him down had nothing to do with it. Trust me, I saw some of what he brought to the club; his offering was not something to boost a girl's ego. He just thought a Mecha would be cheaper. His monthly payments are what he paid me per week."
"Right. You were popular, and knew how to please the customers, what talent to bring in. That damned club has doubled its profits since you started managing it," Harold growled, and Roger yipped in agreement.
"Yeah, he's a jerk," Tabitha said mildly. "But I need a job."
"I suppose you're right," Harold relented, not without a measure of disgust. "Come on, Roger, let's go for a walk. We're not going to be able to talk her out of it anyway,"
"I'll make a special supper tonight," Tabby called after them. "If he gets sidetracked, don't let him be late, Roger. I'll have to leave about six, so the food'll be done at a quarter after five."
Letting her go, the dog-shaped Mecha nodded, gave her one faintly baleful look over his shoulder, and followed Harold through the front door.
Taking a long swallow of the coffee, Tabitha leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Resting his forearms on the back, Joe leaned over her, staring until she cracked one eye open. "Yes?"
"You're not happy," Joe observed, not exactly frowning, but not smiling either.
Tabby sat up straight and dragged her chair around to face him, tugging at him until he crouched to eye-level. Looping her arms around his neck, she studied him for a moment, then smiled ruefully. "We didn't meet that long ago," she commented. "How do you know me so well already?"
"Because he wants to," was Grizz's simple answer.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Tabitha had gone all-out in preparation for her first day back (temporarily) at work, dressing in a deep metallic-green shirt blousing loose over shiny black slacks. The color made her hair look like it was made of flame, and her eyes reflected jade highlights. Her lipstick and even her eyeshadow glittered with subtle sparkles and her pale, faintly freckled cheeks were dusted with a powder that made her skin look like it was glowing. Black high-heeled boots and a scattering of silver jewelry completed the look. Joe watched from the bathroom doorway as she struggled to hook the clasp on a fine-chained necklace, finally edging behind her to fasten it.
"Thanks, Joe," Tabby said a little breathlessly, holding her hair out of the way.
Joe didn't answer, he just fluffed her hair back into order and tugged the necklace gently so it hung in place. Frowning, Tabby turned to face him, hitching one hip on the bathroom counter. "Now you're the one that's not happy. What's wrong?"
Joe lifted his shoulders in a limp shrug, this time not answering because he simply didn't know how to.
"Well?" Tabby prompted.
"I don't want you to go," he murmured.
"Oh, this is just what I need, an insecure lover Mecha," Tabby quipped, half-laughing. Joe drew back and she reached out, taking his arm before he could flee the room. "I'm sorry, Joe, I was teasing. I didn't mean it," she said contritely.
"I know."
Crossing her arms, the girl was plainly getting impatient. "Come on, now, you can't tell me you're jealous. You're the most self-assured, cockiest S.O.B. I've ever seen, even for a Gen Two. I'm not going to run off with Rick, or a customer, and for crying out loud I don't think I could handle another lover model."
Poised and confident, Tabitha almost seemed like another person, but her familiar eyes still lingered on him when they didn't have to, like they had in odd moments during her preparations. Smiling slowly, Joe kissed her, softly so as not to muss her lipstick. Closing her eyes, she let him caress her for a moment before shaking herself out of the enjoyment. "I've got to go. Tell you what, you can come with me if you want. I'm really not looking forward to working with an unused Gen Three lover Mecha."
Joe tried to picture it and couldn't. A weeks-old lover Mecha starving for an Orga's touch . . . it was a cruelty as bad as many at a Flesh Fair, even if it was an unintentional torture. "He won't last," he said quietly.
"I know. I'm going to tell Rick to get a licence and rent him out after hours. Not perfect, but better."
"Better," Joe agreed. "If he can learn the job this Rick wants him to do."
"You could," Tabby said, then held out her hands. "Don't worry, I would never sell you, at least not without your permission. Least of all to Rick. I've got to go. Do you want to come with?"
He was curious, a failing he'd never seen in another Mecha save David. "Yes."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bright sunlight still fell on the sidewalk, but the neon sign above the club's doors flashed bright enough to reflect red in Tabby's eyes. The Laser's Edge wasn't the hottest nightspot in town, but it drew in a large enough clientele that it was already well filled. Tabby gave Joe a small, bright smile before flinging open the doors and striding inside, back straight, confident, her head held at a slight tilt as though disdaining the world around her.
Once inside, Tabby grabbed his hand, not for reassurance or support, but to keep from getting separated when they walked across the dance floor. It wasn't crowded, but the patrons payed little attention to anything besides the heavy music, the other people that moved in a semblance of rhythm, and the alcohol already invading their blood streams, and they were jostled a few times before managing to flounder out of the living current.
Hesitating for a moment on the edge of the corner roped off for gambling, Tabby tugged at Joe. "I see him. Come on, he's waving us over. Oh, good. He doesn't look happy to see you."
Joe wasn't sure he wanted to meet the man gesturing towards them; small, pale, with artificially dark hair and clothes that were simply overdone, he had the oily demeanor of some of the pimps he'd seen on the street, advertising and selling human prostitutes. But Tabby dragged him in the man's direction, and he wasn't about to leave her at the mercy of this Orga.
"Tabitha! I'm so glad you agreed to do this!" the man crowed. Eyeing Joe with clear disapproval, he pursed his lips. "Though I didn't ask you to bring a friend."
"You're having me work with a sex Mecha that's never been used, Rick. I'm not doing it alone. Unless you want him to go nuts on you and lose the warranty, you'd better get a basic prostitution licence and rent him out at the end of the night," Tabby snapped.
"That's an expensive licence. Maybe I'll just give it to the ones that can't keep their hands off me," the man suggested with a grin.
"Whatever, as long as you think you won't get caught. I don't want to see him get hurt because you're stupid," Tabitha snarled. "Where is he?"
Snorting, Rick turned around and whistled. "Eddy! Come here!" he bawled. "Damn useless thing," he muttered, facing them again.
"Only because you made him that way," Tabby retorted.
Watching the thing that stalked towards their group, Joe stiffened. This creature was simulating Orga appearance only on the most basic level. No human face was as utterly beautiful as that high-cheekboned, sculptured visage, no body as fluid and graceful as this machine's wide-shouldered and narrow-waisted form. The hunger radiating from eyes so dark brown they looked black in the club's dim lighting only added to the raw sex that floated around him like a cloud of almost-scented cologne.
"Eddy?" Tabby breathed, her eyes wide.
Scowling, Joe wrapped one arm around her shoulders from behind, pulling her close so her back brushed his chest. She didn't even react, her head swiveling slowly to follow the new Mecha's movements until he stood next to Rick.
"Yes, Rick," he said, his voice a monotone.
"This is Tabitha. She's going to teach you how to do your job," Rick told the robot.
Eddy's eyes snapped to Tabitha's face, and something besides hunger rode his expression; anticipation. He took two steps towards her, and then Tabby reacted to Joe's presence, both hands coming up to grasp his arm. "Wrong. I'm going to teach you a new job," she said quickly.
Stopping in mid-step, Eddy cocked his head at her. His shoulder length golden-blonde hair rippled with the movement, his unblinking eyes not leaving her face. "I'm programmed to be a lover."
"I know. But Rick bought you to do a different job from what you're programmed to do," Tabitha explained slowly.
His gaze flickered to Rick, then settled back on Tabitha. "I can teach you new things," he said awkwardly, confused, more confused than Joe thought the situation warranted.
Shaking her head, Tabby patted Joe's hand. "I don't need to be taught. I have more than I can handle right now." Her voice warmed, and Joe squeezed lightly in response. But he didn't stop watching Eddy.
"He's just a Gen Two," Eddy answered, barely even glancing at Joe.
"And you're just a basic model," Tabby replied. "Joe's kind of . . ." she threw a glance back, her lips twitching. " . . . super-deluxe," she finished.
"I . . . I am only a lover," Eddy repeated, his voice lower now, the rich tone a little less certain. He seemed oddly clumsy, standing there and not knowing what to do, his right arm hanging almost limp at his side.
Staring directly into Eddy's eyes, Tabby slipped away from Joe and stepped nearer the new robot. "If I don't teach you how to do it, he's going to return you."
Eddy remained quiet for a moment, then his dark eyes closed in a slow blink. "Teach me," he said.
"Good. First of all, can I call you Edward? Eddy just . . . doesn't fit."
The robot seemed a touch befuddled, but he inclined his head. "You may call me Edward."
"Thank you." Tabitha smiled warmly and held out her hands in an amicable shrug. "Well, then, we might as well get to it. What has Rick shown you? Do you know how to fill out all the order forms?"
"What are order forms?"
Closing her eyes, Tabby rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment, turned and walked back to Joe, stopping on the way just long enough to give Rick a hard, unfriendly stare. The unctuous little man shrugged and walked away, and Tabby approached Joe with a pinched look. "I think this is going to be a long night," she sighed, blinking up at Joe with a small frown. "He's not going to attack me; he knows I'm not interested. You can go do your own thing and pick me up when the club closes at two." Reaching for the nearest table, she grabbed a flyer that listed upcoming entertainment, pointing to the heading. "Here's the number in case you get in trouble."
"You're telling me to go?" Joe asked carefully, not quite sure he understood.
"I'm not telling you to do anything. You're your own person, Joe. You can stay here if you want, but I'm stuck here for eight hours. You don't need to be. Go, visit someone, see a movie, or take a walk. Enjoy yourself." Folding the paper, she pushed it into his hand, tugging the collar of his red silk shirt away from his operating licence. "Just be careful."
Joe nodded agreement, though he wasn't sure what he would do. He wasn't built to have free time. Apparently being your "own person" was more complicated than he could ever have conceived of. A little lost, he meandered towards the door. Reaching out to open it, he happened to see Edward across the bar, staring after him, as neutral as an unanimated mannequin, but his dark eyes were burning underneath the veil of programming, wistful. Chest feeling too heavy, Joe jerked the door open with more force than the task required and fled.
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He returned thirty minutes before the appointed time, having simply run out of things to do. Most of the time he'd spent walking and watching. Orgas and Mechas swarmed around him in indifferent packs, largely avoiding each other unless business brought them together. He had encountered several sex Mechas like himself; oddly, they had seemed to skirt his path, avoiding him. One even crossed the street entirely, looking at him with a gaze that could have been called hostile. He thought they had sensed something about him that was different, perhaps knew he'd broken his behavioral protocols, largely erased his obedience programming and gone rogue, but it didn't take long to notice that they were avoiding each other with the same suspicious glares. Strange. Perhaps word of him had reached the street and they were worried about more rogues in their midst.
The atmosphere was simply too disconcerting, so he'd returned to the Laser's Edge. Slipping quietly into the single empty corner table, he watched for Tabby, finally finding her behind the bar, Edward with her. The younger Mecha's eyes devoured her from head to foot, and she was laughing at something he'd just said. Leaning closer, she brushed his arm with her fingertips and said something that made Edward smile, the expression full of fascination and delight.
He was turning up the charm to full blast, treating Tabitha as though she were the most intriguing thing ever created. It was a strategy Joe had used often, and he knew exactly the kind of effect it had on women. The heaviness he'd felt before returned, and something sizzled across his neural sequencers with an uncomfortable heat.
Then Tabby spied him. The open friendliness and honest interest sparkling in her expression shifted and evolved, her smile widening and relaxing. The unfamiliar sensations evaporated from Joe's systems as she ambled to his table; the heat in her eyes was all for him. "I'll be ready to go as soon as it's last call," she said. "Ten minutes or so. Did you have fun?"
"I walked," Joe answered, not sure what else to say.
"Well, I guess it's a start." Tabby ruffled his hair, which made it fall over his eyes; he hadn't bothered to slick it back since she seemed to like it loose and soft. "Don't worry, Joe, you'll learn. I'll see you in a few minutes," she said in parting, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
As promised, the moment last call was announced and the lights turned up, Tabitha appeared through the thinning crowd. "Ready to go?" she asked brightly.
"Yes."
"Excellent. Let's get the heck out of here."
Once outside, Tabby paused, her head thrown back, taking deep, measured breaths of the cool air. "I forgot how stifling it gets in there," she said, yawning.
"But you enjoyed it."
"Did I?" the girl asked.
Digging his sensitive fingers into her thick hair, Joe lifted it away from her neck, feeling her shiver when a cold breeze touched her sweat-dampened skin. "I know when you are enjoying . . . things," he murmured huskily, his voice deepening on the last word.
Tabitha swallowed, then laughed. "Sorry, honey, I just don't think I can tonight," she said with obvious regret. "My entire body hurts right now."
Joe pulled back a little, and his disappointment must have been obvious because Tabby was suddenly serious-faced. "Joe, you know this is how it's going to be if you stay with me. I am going to say no sometimes. You still have a choice, you know." She smirked, though her eyes remained guarded and dark. "Your former owners contacted me earlier, and mentioned re-purchasing your licence, and even renting you from me. There are options."
It took Joe a moment to realize what she was offering, and less time to decide against it. Once it would have appealed to him, simply having a home to return to after nights of bathing in the sweat of strangers, but now it wasn't enough. They were strangers, even his regulars; Tabitha Cooper alone had let him see deeper inside, beyond her favorite sexual positions.
"No," Joe said, frowning, his voice sharp-edged and decisive.
Tabby looked like she didn't believe him for a moment, then she threw her arms around him in a hard hug. Joe returned her embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Sometimes this is almost as good," he observed.
"Sometimes it's better," Tabby shot back.
Joe was about to say he wasn't sure about that, but Rick's sneering voice cut over them before he could open his mouth. "Well, well, you really do own the most popular whore on the street," the man snorted, laughing. "I wasn't sure when he came in with you, but I guess with a personal licence flashing the whole world, I have to believe it. A used one, Tabby, my, my, I thought you had better taste than that."
"No, I have better taste than touching you," Tabitha snarled, shoving herself out of Joe's arms so hard he stumbled. Whirling, she glared at Rick, but her posture softened when she saw Edward standing behind him, staring at Joe with an expression that could only be envy. "Get him a licence, Rick. Let him get used and he'll learn faster. And I don't mean used by you, either. You'd corrupt his files."
Flushing, Rick glared back. "He's a basic. He only does women. More than I can say for your choice of toys. What sick new things has he taught you?"
Lip lifting in disgust, Tabby grabbed Joe's arm to drag him away. "Make sure he's used by tomorrow night, Rick. He's got a million times your personality; once he's safe to let among the customers, he'll do well. Why don't you let your girlfriend take him for a test run; it'll be a pleasant change for her to have someone who can get it up."
"You little bitch. You're just pissed that I fired you."
Her grip on Joe's forearm loosened enough for her to turn back towards Rick. "No, Rick, I'm pissed because you're so damn stupid. If I didn't like Edward, I'd cut you loose and let you flounder. But I'm not going to make him suffer because I don't like you."
"Bleeding heart Mecha lover," Rick spat, jerking his thumb towards Edward. "If I return him, you going to buy him, too?"
"If I have to." Tabby smiled sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes. "But remember Rick, his warranty doesn't cover new damage or an inability to perform tasks he wasn't created for. You'd be lucky to get back half your money."
"Shit," Rick said, and spun around. "Come on, you," he ordered Edward in harsh tones. "Be back at six tomorrow," he threw over his shoulder to Tabby. "And you'd better come through, or I'll sell him to a damn flesh fair!"
Joe peered over Tabby's head, watching the pair leave. Edward was as blank as though he'd never heard the exchange, but Joe didn't want to see him at Rick's anything-but-tender mercies for any amount of time. "Will he let Edward perform the tasks he was built for?" Joe murmured.
"Yes," Tabby assured him, her voice think with rage. "He's too worried about the bottom dollar not to take my advice. But damn it, Edward doesn't deserve the kind of treatment he's going to get. A rabid dog doesn't! Besides that, something's wrong with him. He's slow, Joe, and I don't mean he's stupid. He's taking too long to process everything, and his hands aren't nearly as dextrous as they should be. He even started walking with a limp in the end. I told him to recharge his batteries when Rick got him home, but I don't suppose the little weasel will let him."
"You're upset," Joe crooned, trying to sooth away her fury, but her eyes continued to glitter angrily even when her face smoothed.
"I can't believe I agreed to work with that bastard again," Tabby muttered, stalking away. Joe stayed where he was, waiting, and in a moment she stopped, turning to face him. "Where did you park?" she asked in a gentler tone. Joe pointed silently in the opposite direction and she sighed, trudging back. "Sorry," she said. "I told you it was going to be a long night."
"There weren't any parking spaces nearby. The car is several blocks away," Joe warned her.
She didn't seem unduly upset. "This is a popular club. Not the biggest one around, but the people like it." Pleasure and pride added a rich note to her voice, a suggestion of attitude that might have been arrogance if she were anyone else. It was gone a second later when she laughed, put a hand against his shoulder to shove him away, and darted down the street. "Race you!"
"You said you hurt all over!" Joe called, standing with his hands outspread.
"I lied!"
Joe watched her until she flashed him a teasing grin that he couldn't resist. Darting after her, his Mecha legs stronger and faster than the most talented Orga runner, he was closing the distance quickly when a small sound made him skid to a halt at the head of an alley. His eyes gleamed, piercing the dark as easily as noonday sun, but it still took him a moment to register the tableau in front of him.
It was a Mecha, a prostitute huddled in the deepest shadows, curled on a pile of rubbish. Blonde hair that was almost white would have fallen to the middle of his back if he had been standing, and eyes bluer than Joe's own peeked out from between the dirty straggles that fell over his impossibly beautiful face. It was a Sierra-class model, the first he'd seen or even heard of in Haddonfield, brand new. But something was wrong with it.
The robot was animate, but the gaze it aimed towards Joe had no thought behind it, no recognition or acknowledgment of another presence. Its face was slack, lips parted in a soft gape. Coming closer, Joe knelt beside the newer-model lover Mecha, frowning in puzzlement. It didn't look damaged; aside from the filth coating it, the form was whole and without blemish, with no physical clue to its untimely shutdown.
Some random firing of electronic neurons made the robot reach out and grab his hand with a movement too quick for him to avoid. For a span of milliseconds it dredged up enough wit to speak, a short, scattered string of Swedish that quickly disintegrated into random syllables, then nothing. The light went out of its eyes completely and it slumped to the ground. Its fingers convulsed around Joe's, then dropped, limp and lifeless. When their flesh lost contact, a spark jumped between them, a faint arc of electricity lighting the alley. Jerking back, Joe grunted in pain, wiping his hand repeatedly on his pants. It felt like something was crawling on his skin, no, under his skin, tingling over the back of his fingers and deep inside each joint. The sensation faded, but not completely, and his fingers spasmed with an occasional firing of his pain receptors.
Some kind of short, unusual in its intensity, but something he'd experienced before. Whatever the other Mecha had done must have caused a bad connection, or aggravated an existing one; most likely the latter considering the severity of his reaction. It was nothing to cause concern, he'd ask Harold to do a diagnostic and any necessary repairs in the morning.
"Joe? What is it?" Tabitha squinted at him through the gloom, picking her way through the clutter until she was close enough to lay her hand against his back. "Oh, no," she said when she made out the still form crumpled in front of him. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Joe answered quietly.
"Do you have a light?" Tabby asked, pushing him gently aside to kneel in his place.
Joe opened his left wrist and pulled out a small flashlight, handing it to her. Switching it on, Tabitha aimed it on the fallen robot's neck. She opened the maintenance port, and a moment later its too-perfect face split, revealing the inner workings. Its eyes were dark, the optic array dead. Biting her lip, Tabby slid a finger to one side of the memory cube, opening another small hatch high on its chest. Reaching in, she pulled out the bottle-cap sized battery, its connecting wires trailing after it like bloodless viscera.
"Dead," she said after a moment. "Completely dead."
"That's impossible," Joe stated.
"I know. He's too new. Could be a bad battery, or a bad connection, but he'd have had warnings flashing all over the place. He wouldn't just drop on the street like this." Her frown drawing a line between her eyes, Tabby replaced the battery and leaned closer, inspecting the memory cube from inches away. Eyes snapping wide, she reached in and pulled it out, looking at it from all sides. "Joe . . . Joe, this has been completely wiped. There's nothing here, not even basic programming."
"But . . . he was speaking, just a minute ago," Joe protested. "There wasn't anything nearby that could wipe his memory that fast, or I'd be affected. And he hasn't locked, his joints are still loose."
"Well, it's wiped," Tabby snapped. "I don't know how it was done." She flinched, looking back at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. I just . . . I'm sorry, but there's nothing anyone can do about it."
"No there isn't." Standing, Joe held out his hand to help Tabby to her feet. "Thank you."
"For what?" Tabby asked, taking his hand and letting him pull her up.
"For trying. His licence is still operating, so his owners will be able to find him."
Looking back at the pitiful lump the Sierra-class made, Tabby wound an arm around Joe's waist, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, all sense of playfulness gone.
Tabby let him drive, trusting his Mecha reflexes more than her own. Which was fine, since he'd nearly been on the receiving end of Tabitha's driving skills the first time they met. She was still pensive when they reached home, slipping wordlessly inside and slumping on the couch.
The house was silent and empty. Apparently Grizz and Roger both felt the need to watch over Harold on this night; although they shared a room of their own, it was as dark and still as the rest. Joe sat next to Tabby, head cocked to one side as he regarded her doleful face. "What is it?"
"It was sad, that's all," she murmured. "It shouldn't have happened. You'd almost think a flesh fair got hold of him, but they like to see damage."
Reaching out, Joe took her hand, ignoring the occasional twitch in his shorting limb. Tabby pressed against him, then slid one leg over his knees, facing him as she straddled his lap. Touching her forehead to his, she smiled quietly, and Joe couldn't resist kissing her plump lips.
Snuggling closer, she relaxed against him. Angling his hips, Joe brought their bodies into more intimate contact, feeling her through two layers of clothes. She gasped against his mouth and he caught it, swiping his tongue across her lower lip before delving it deeper.
Tabby accepted the embrace eagerly, her body gyrating against his in a way that made him groan and lift his hips a little higher. Pulling back just far enough to look into his eyes, she let a small smile grow, an expression that gloried in this small power she had over him, and she bore down on him, gently riding him until her breathing picked up.
"You said no," Joe teased, his hands on her hips, rocking her when she began to lose the rhythm.
"I guess I lied," Tabby half-laughed unsteadily, shuddering. "Let's go to the bedroom."
"No. Right here, just like this," Joe whispered, blowing light puffs of warm air against her throat.
Groaning, Tabby pushed herself off his lap, having to brace herself against the couch to stand. "Just like this, maybe, but not right here," she murmured. "Grandpa's not that sound of a sleeper."
Joe blinked at her once, his eyelids sliding down in a slow, sensual movement, then stood and scooped her into his arms, holding her so she faced him, her legs wrapped around his waist. She struggled, giggled, and finally relented, holding tight and nibbling on the line of flesh left bare by the open button on his collar.
Carrying her to her bedroom, Joe held her over the bed, kissing her, his arms easily bearing her weight until his right hand seized, half the pair sensors in his digits firing at once. Letting out an involuntary yelp, Joe dumped his burden on the bed. The pain stopped as suddenly as it had started, but the crawling sensation was back and he wiped his hand over his pants, trying to clear his sensory circuits.
"Joe! What happened?" Tabby cried, frightened. Grabbing his hand, she examined it front and back, looking up at him when she couldn't find any injury.
"It's just a short," Joe snapped, utterly disgruntled. For the first time ever, he had managed to entirely break the mood. His own as much as hers, because the disconcerting sensations continued to possess his hand. "I'll ask Harold to look at it in the morning."
"Are you sure?" Tabby whispered, massaging his palm.
"It has happened before. Use wears delicate wires, it's to be expected," Joe reassured her. She rubbed her cheek gently against the back of his hand, frowning at him, and Joe realized she was truly worried about him. "It will be simple to fix," he said, and smiled. But the expression wasn't as bright as it should have been. Even her soft caresses hurt his hand, and he drew it out of her grip.
"All right, then," Tabby said a little doubtfully. Standing, she stretched on tiptoe to plant a tiny kiss on his nose. "I think I'll read for a while," she said, reaching for the novel on her bedside table.
No one had ever thought a book would be more entertaining than his company. And it was all his fault. Joe scowled at his hand.
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Tabitha was up early the next morning; Joe had been relieved that she'd still wanted him in bed next to her, yet he was just as relieved when he could move his tingling hand without threat of waking her. The feeling had crawled past his wrist; he'd have to tell Harold as soon as he awoke.
The telephone jangled harshly, making Tabby jump since she was standing right next to it. She glared at the offensive machine, reaching for it with a glower. Harold and the other two Mechas walked in just as she picked up the receiver. Joe greeted them and was about to mention the short in his hand when Roger barked, the alarm in his voice making everyone spin to face the sound.
"Tabitha!" Harold cried, lunging, but Joe was faster, reaching her before her boneless legs crumpled, cradling her against his body to slide her gently to the ground.
"Tabitha! Tabby, what is it?" Joe hissed, fear charging through him when he got a look into her colorless face and her wounded, black eyes.
"No, no, no," she moaned over and over, burying her face against his chest. "Oh, god, no. It can't be real."
"What? Tabitha, what?" Joe asked, more forceful, gripping the side of her face to make her look up. "What happened?"
He watched tears fill her eyes, then overflow, trailing listlessly down her face. "Oh, god, Joe. I can't believe it."
"Tabitha? Who called?" Harold asked slowly, his big hand curling around her arm while Grizz patted her back and Roger licked her face.
"Simone," she choked. "Grandpa, I . . . it can't . . ." Tabby shut her eyes, shivering against Joe as if a chill had reached past her physical body and touched something deep inside. "Rick is dead, Grandpa. Rick is dead."
"What? How?" Harold barked, drawing away. "What happened?"
Opening her eyes, Tabby turned her wet gaze to Joe's face, blinking sluggishly. "Edward killed him last night."
"But . . . that's impossible," Joe said after a moment of unbelieving shock.
"Who's Edward?" Harold demanded, then looked at the way Tabby blinked up at Joe from the circle of his willowy arms. "He's the lover Mecha Rick bought," he whispered. "Did Simone say what happened?"
"Just that Edward went apparently nuts last night. Rick's girlfriend was there, and Edward attacked Rick completely out of nowhere."
"Did the authorities take him in to find out what went wrong?" Harold questioned in a heavy voice.
"Yes, but . . . it was weird. Simone said he collapsed afterwards. His memory banks were completely wiped, erased from the inside out."
Joe opened his mouth, closed it, and his gaze jerked down to Grizz and Roger's level. "Don't touch me, either of you," he ordered, edging carefully away from the paws that grazed dangerously close to his body.
"But you didn't . . ." Tabby started, then she gasped so hard her body shook. "Oh, god, your hand. You touched the other Mecha, didn't you?"
Joe nodded slowly, his careful expression fracturing enough to let fear peek out.
"There was another Mecha?" Harold asked. "Where?"
"It was a street prostitute, Sierra-class," Tabby whispered, both hands grasping Joe's arms hard, her nails biting through his sleeves. "He was in an alley, just laying there. I checked his memory cube, and it was completely blank."
"What happened when you touched it? What makes you think something happened?" Harold questioned Joe.
"He grabbed my hand. He was talking, but his words just . . . faded away. He went completely limp, and when he let go, it felt like a small shock, nothing that would cause any damage." Glancing at Tabby, he found her eyes intent on his face, worried, and he couldn't offer any kind of reassurance since he was just as worried. "Later, my hand started spasming and my pain receptors kept firing. I thought it was just a bad connection, but it has gotten worse."
Harold just looked at him for a minute, then, turning to Grizz and Roger, he jerked his head towards the living room. "You two get out of here. It might be nothing, but then again . . ."
The two smaller Mechas fled the kitchen, glancing at Joe uneasily. Standing, Harold helped Joe to his feet, then Tabby. "Let's go into my work room. I want to do a couple tests," he said. "It might just be a bad connection, and if it is, I can fix it."
"But you don't believe it," Joe murmured.
Silent for a time, Harold finally nodded slowly. "You're right. But I don't know what it could be."
The man led the way into the basement, Joe right behind him and Tabby lagging at the rear, pale and drawn, still shaken and now concerned for Joe's safety. The comfort level didn't increase for her or Joe when they entered Harold's workshop; the place was littered with wires, scattered bits of electronics, and Mecha parts, leftovers from repairs and designing brainstorms. Most of it looked like it had been scavenged from dump sites.
"It's just freaky down here, Grandpa," Tabby moaned, crowding a little closer to Joe.
"It is," Harold sighed. "But I couldn't work in those stuffy laboratories. Besides, here I could work out at least some of my ideas without subjecting a thinking Mecha to the tests. If something didn't work, I could scrap it without worrying about it." Opening a large cabinet, he pulled out a small instrument with two electrodes attached. Joe recognized the machine from his own maintenance appointments; it measured the sensitivity of the electronic "nerves" that picked up pain, pleasure, and general tactile sensations.
"Sit down, boy, this won't take long. I'm sure you've had it done before, so you know it might sting a little."
"A lot," Joe muttered.
Harold laughed. "Don't worry, we Orgas don't like going to doctors any more than you do. Probably less. Come on, the sooner I start, the sooner it'll be over."
Sitting obediently, Joe rolled up his right sleeve, holding out his arm. Attaching the electrodes to his palm and the back of his hand, Harold made sure each connection was solid, then activated the instrument, sending a mild shock into Joe's hand.
He didn't feel anything, and his fingers barely twitched, not even close to balling a fist as they should have. Harold frowned, carefully avoiding his gaze, and did it again. The reaction was a bit better the second time, but Joe still didn't feel pain sizzle through his arm.
"Did you feel anything?" Harold asked quietly, his voice solemn. Joe shook his head and Harold sighed. "I don't like this. I'm not sure how, but the neuronal lines are degrading, and fast. It won't be long before you won't have any use of this hand at all."
"Can you do anything about it?" Tabby asked, except her tone made it clear that she wasn't asking, she was demanding.
"I suppose I could take of the arm and replace it," Harold mused, ignoring Joe and Tabby's twin grimaces. "That might clear up the problem, but . . . here, let me see." Disconnecting the electrodes, he moved the machine to Joe's leg, removing his sock to attach it to his foot. This time when Harold pushed the button, Joe's entire limb clenched and he yipped in pain, but Harold's scowl only deepened. "I'm sorry. I don't know how, but you're entire system has been affected. I don't . . ." Leaving Joe tied, Harold moved to the compact computer system that sat in a brightly lit corner. Turning it on, he sat in the office chair and touched the screen. "I'll see if Cybertronics has any news about anything like this."
It took him a few minutes to establish a connection to find the information he sought, and when he succeeded, whatever he saw on the screen made him pale. He read for several minutes, tapping the screen now and then; Joe waited patiently and Tabby stood behind him, massaging his shoulders quietly. The Mecha was too intent on waiting for news to fully enjoy the touch, but it did mute some of the uneasiness worming its way through the wiring in his head.
It returned full force, however, when Harold shut down the computer and turned to them. "I . . . I am sorry," the man said hoarsely. "It's a virus."
Tabitha's hands stopped massaging and dug in painfully. Joe sat quietly, feeling her shiver in increasingly violent waves until she managed to squeak out a sentence. "What kind of virus?"
"A cruel one," Harold answered hoarsely. "No one has been able to determined the source, but it's spread by touch. It degrades the neural sequencers through the entire body, until it reaches the brain. Then it starts erasing the IBCs and the memory, until there's nothing left. Once the virus enters, it can't be stopped. Even trying to copy the affected Mecha's memory doesn't work, because the files corrupt whatever they're loaded into, including a new body."
"But . . . there has to be something," Tabby choked, her voice breathy.
"No. Edward isn't the first Mecha to go insane after being infected," Harold said. "Three other people have died. The Mechas with the most sophisticated responses are most susceptible to the madness. That means lover models, and any others programmed to imitate human emotion." The man dropped his eyes, staring at his knees. "A complete wipe takes anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours from the initial exposure."
Tabby whimpered softly. Joe reached up and brushed her hand, and the touch broke through some barrier; breath heaving, she wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed against the back of his neck. Harold watched her, his own face twisted and hurting, and he rubbed both hands over his face.
Joe stared at the man, who looked more elderly in that moment than he ever had before, his shoulders slumped and tired, his broad, strong face sagging, the lines etched there deep and sharply defined. "Harold," he said slowly, "you have to wipe me. Now, before I do something to injure one of you."
"What?" Tabby cried, her voice high-pitched and frantic.
His big hands clenching, Harold looked away, then nodded. "You're right."
"No," Tabitha said, the soft breath of a word coming out in a painful moan. "No, Grandpa. You can't."
It tore him up inside, like a rat chewing on his innermost hardware, but Joe slipped out of the tangle of her arms, holding them away when she tried to clutch at him. Facing her, he reached over the chair to touch his fingertips to her face, silencing her next outburst. "Tabitha, you can't let me stay functional, running with a virus that could make me kill you."
"But . . . we could take precautions," Tabby whispered. "We . . ."
"Did Simone say what Edward did to his owner?" Joe asked, his voluptuous lips pressing into a hard line that slashed across his face as severe as his words. "How did he kill Rick?"
"He beat him to death with his bare hands." Shaking, Tabby refused to drop her gaze. "I don't care."
"But I do." Kneeling backwards in the chair, Joe leaned over the back and gripped her shoulders with both hands, making sure she could feel the odd twitches that plagued his right limb. "Tabitha, it's going to happen anyway. I want it to be now, by my choice, not dictated by some stray electric impulse that's taken residence in my brain. Please, I don't want to hurt you."
The girl had to swallow three times before she could speak clearly. "Grandpa, please, there has to be something you can do."
"Child, Cybertronics has the best minds in the field working on it right now. Even they can't come up with a breakthrough and implement it in twelve hours. I'm sorry."
"Couldn't you shut him down and remove his memory cube until they do develop a cure?" she begged desperately.
"That wouldn't stop the virus," Harold explained tiredly. "By the time we could get any cure they develop, all we'd be doing is purging a blank memory cube. Joe's identity and memory would still be gone. We'd have a Mecha body with no programming to run it."
"But . . ."
"Tabitha, I thought you didn't want to treat him like a Mecha," Harold said, his voice sharp.
Bristling, Tabby jerked away from Joe to glare over his shoulder at Harold. "What is that suppose to mean?"
"It means that you're taking away his right to make his own decisions. If I had a fatal illness, and could only look forward to pain, would you deny me my choices?" Harold demanded, his tone ruthless.
Tabby's face drained, leaving it white and indistinct, as though part of her had been erased. After a long pause she wilted and shook her head. "No. No I wouldn't."
"Thank you," Joe whispered.
"Joe . . ." Tabby choked. "I don't know what I'll do without you. I l. . ."
A small smile lifted the corners of Joe's mouth and he pressed a finger to her trembling lips. "Don't say it. I already know. Will you stay with me?"
Nodding, Tabby pressed her cheek to his for a moment. When she drew back, Joe sat in the chair and gazed expectantly at Harold. The man inclined his head, moving slowly to his cabinet of tools. The instrument he pulled out was deceptively small, just a fist-sized box with a slot for a Mecha's memory cube. Once plugged in, it would emit a powerful electromagnetic pulse, strong enough to break down the shielding built into the cube to protect from everyday exposure to outside electricity and magnetic charges. The girl beside him made a small, involuntary sound, one hand curling around his, the other petting through his hair in a movement that was oddly comforting. He felt no fear, only relief; already he could sense the virus eating away at his body, slinking its way towards his brain.
"I'm sorry, boy," Harold whispered in a rasping croak, his grey eyes shiny. "I can't tell you how much."
"I know," Joe answered.
The man gazed down at him in surprise for a moment, then touched his forelock with a snap of his wrist in a kind of salute. Then he opened the control compartment in the side of Joe's neck.
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