CONTENTS
Chapter 1 - CYBORG TREVOR: The trouble begins
Chapter 2 - CYBORG KIM: Our well meaning, but weak willed, hero meets a mysterious cyborg.
Chapter 3 - CYBORG NIGEL: Nigel has his first taste of slavery. (This chapter still a work in progress)
I write about Nigel in memoriam.
I only met him the once, after a long and tiring search. He had waited for me, or someone like me, for five years. I think those five years were far harder for him.
We met in his hotel room. I'm not sure why he was living there, or why under an assumed name. His family acted genuinely concerned as to his whereabouts – maybe he was protecting them. Still, the middle aged man who opened the door was not the trouble maker I had been led to expect. He was polite but reserved and reluctant to talk, even when I asked about the Multibot fiasco. Instead, he took a binder that he had ready for one of my ilk and pushed it into my chest.
“All the details are here,” he said, and they were - neatly collated, and they invited immediate attention, but Nigel did not. He answered a few questions with an alarming distaste for all aspects of twenty second century society and the media in particular, and then wished me good luck. As I reluctantly left, he added cheerfully, "It'll all work out well. You’ll see."
How wrong he was. Only days after our meeting, he was drowned in an unfortunate accident involving the public toilet he was cleaning. Which was a shame, as I had been hoping to improve his opinion of journalists?
Before "Multibot", Nigel was a customs officer. He held this position for nearly sixty years, had been passed over for promotion twelve times and, only towards the end, considered a change of career. The pay was good, even if he had to work with zombies.
He ran afoul of his employer only on his second last day in that job. As he did every work day, Nigel commuted to the government car pool, and then drove by the consignment office to pick up the day’s inspection locations.
Nigel thought himself lucky to have been given a permanent duty - spot checking consignments for self regulating importers. In later interviews, his jaded colleagues told me that his solo duty suited everyone. He was not well liked and, from his notes, it appears the feeling was mutual. Maybe that Nigel did not approve of his colleagues. His boss, the most jaded of all, was the least critical of Nigel, claiming he was “just too morose.”
From the office, Nigel made the short trip to the employment exchange for his helper. He didn’t get to work entirely alone, but it was the next best thing.
As he walked into the community service hall, he immediately spotted his usual slave. In the long line of community service conscripts, Trevor was the only one grinning. Trevor didn't even wait to be picked that day and jumped up to join Nigel at the desk. Nigel chose to remain aloof – he said he found friendly interaction with the conscripts too unsettling considering what he was about to subject them to.
Behind the security barrier, the matronly exchange officer, Sharon, almost smiled. "Last day, Trevor?" Of course she knew it was Trevor's last day. Normally she would have barked at him to get back on the bench until called.
Despite her apparent good mood, she only mumbled, "Nige," in way of greeting to Nigel, as she passed the forms to him. They had known each other for ten years. After six of those, they were on first name terms. Communication through facial expression had yet to be established – they understood each other very well.
Trevor was positively bouncing as they proceeded to the yoking room. Nigel sighed and forced himself to keep moving. He would miss Trevor.
"Sixty three days" stuttered Trevor in a childish voice. Each day under the yoke sapped Trevor’s powers of speech and made re-offence all the more likely. This made Nigel think about the peculiar length of Trevor’s sentence.
"Why did you get sixty three days, Trevor? It seems an odd number, even for a juvenile court magistrate."
"Ah. Yes. Well it should have been two month but the judge notice it my birthday tomorrow, and she think that make today a good day to finish."
Nigel nodded at the twisted cruelty that had gained Trevor an extra day. "I must wish you happy birthday now then, since I won't be seeing you tomorrow. How old will you be?" Trevor stopped grinning and was struggling to calculate his age. Nigel consulted the form again - Trevor would be turning eighteen.
The yoking room was manned by a group of particularly callous technicians. The Customs officers’ consistently referred to them as “igor”, both plural and singular.
Trevor was still puzzling over his age as today’s igor took Nigel’s form, grabbed a yoke from the rack behind him, and slipped this electronic device around Trevor's neck with practiced ease. Once the yolk activated, Trevor's expression went even blanker and his back straightened. The eyes, that had gleamed a moment before, focused out to infinity before the lids closed. Trevor’s arms started to lift, but the igor slapped them down. Trevor would remember no more until they returned here at the end of the day.
In monotone, Nigel recited his part, “Slave unit, E344. Am I in command?"
He was addressing the yoke around Trevor’s neck and not Trevor himself – but today there was no response. Nigel woke from his own form of trance and glared at the now grinning igor.
"I've given him a different yoke today," the igor explained. "You should read your forms more carefully. Try saying Tee Five Four Five instead."
Nigel frowned in annoyance but relented. "Slave unit, T545," Trevor's head turned slightly towards him. "Am I in command?"
A voice Nigel had never heard before, replied with military indifference. "Affirmative."
To the igor, Nigel asked," Why the change? I thought the T series yokes were for hired muscle?"
The igor shrugged. "T for terminator. T for thug. T for trouble. You get the idea. It was on the form, see.” The igor looked him up and down. “ Seeing as you’re not military and you’re not police, I’d recon they must think you’re going to meet some trouble today.”
“Why would I meet trouble?” Nigel was deeply troubled even at the suggestion.
“Look, we just dish out the tech, we don't decide who uses it." The igor turned and went into the back room to do whatever igor do.
Nigel intended to ask Sharon about this tomorrow. Some sort of cruel joke he hoped. It was always some sort of cruel joke when they changed things. When they first got him to use a yoked conscript, they had said it was just a trial. A trial for whom, that was the joke.
He didn’t like change much and he certainly didn’t like trouble. It was little comfort that in the event of trouble, the T yoke would sacrifice Trevor to protect him. He had grown to like Trevor, both yoked and free.
He directed the slave unit to follow and he went through the deployment door and out to car park, with Trevor's body following. At his car, Nigel went to the passenger door and was surprised to find T545 behind him. This was another bad omen for the day. The yoke device that his slave regularly used, designation E344, would have known that it was to drive.
"What is our destination?" the T545 asked once it was behind the wheel. Nigel passed it the list of locations. It held the list before its yoke camera and scanned it. Trevor's eyes remained closed as the T545 took control of the car and they headed out onto the highway. The traffic was light at this hour, just trucks and a few executive Ubers. Easy driving or not, Nigel still found it hard to relax at the sight of his apparently sleeping driver weaving the vehicle through the traffic. The trucks and Uber’s held similarly sleeping drivers.
He much preferred the old driverless cars he had known when he was a boy. The automation act that came in force at the turn of the century had put an end to that. No robotic device could be used that may infringe upon a human's basic right for gainful employment. Using community service slaves under yoke control somehow slipped through a loophole in the act. Trevor was human. Trevor was employed - in this case by the customs department. That Trevor was conscious, the law didn’t see as necessary.
History may have forgotten, but the yokes had originally been invented to help quadriplegics. Electromagnetic pulses injected into the spinal column, both anesthetized the brain to phantom pain and stimulated the muscles required for mobility. Not long after, someone discovered that the yokes could also be used to transport dangerous prisoners. Then, hallelujah, prisoners could also do useful work while in yokes.
Given the heavy dependence of prisoner labour for manufacturing the Americas, the gradual adoption of yokes by the private sector, for even paid employees, was inevitable. The big corporations were still pining for their lost manufacturing robots when the yokes were developed. They quickly appreciated that humans under yoke control were much more efficient. Not only were they not distracted by the ball game they had seen last night, but also training was no longer required. Some employees even preferred to work under the yoke. They clocked on, effectively went to sleep and woke with a nice bank balance and toned muscles.
Rather than ban the practice, the governments of the world had adopted the yoke with enthusiasm, increasing the productivity of their community service population tenfold. Nigel had been just another unwilling participant in the scheme.
When Nigel and the T545 arrived at their first location, a warehouse, the T545 yoke was able to integrate with all the electronic security systems and allow them easy access. They entered and a number of conscious workers were surprised, but some recognized Nigel's uniform and quickly made themselves scarce. All of the yoked staff, about twenty, moved to the end of the building and out of the way. There didn’t seem to be any reason to expect trouble for this inspection.
"Can you find the consignment?" Nigel asked when the T545 stopped. The T545 had integrated with the warehouse stock control.
It responded, "The consignment we seek is listed in the inventory to be in the rack before us." The rack before them was empty.
"Well that's typical," Nigel sighed. "Okay then. Run up and down the aisles and scan the entire warehouse. Look for something that isn't where it should be."
The T545 did as requested and ran in the odd shuffle that is unique to zombies, arms out stretched to ward of accidental collisions. The yoke’s cameras were able to scan the racks of goods on either side without turning Trevor’s head or body.
Despite the appearance of being clumsy, the T545 casually tossed aside a store worker who got in the way. No apology was offered. Nigel hated causing harm and raced to assist, but the wild eyed victim ran away. Violent zombies tended to have that effect.
It didn't take the T545 much longer to find several items that were not on the manifest. They went back to the car and brought in the lighter of the two boxes of scanning equipment.
After an hour of scanning, some fifty suspect boxes had been identified and Nigel was fairly certain they were looking at some sort of duty avoidance scam. The T545 had logged enough evidence to shut the place down and the workers didn't seem surprised when he told them to go home. Someone would probably get a few years community service for fraud, though, more likely, it would be a scapegoat and not the actual guilty party.
After T545's considerable exercise, Trevor's body would need fuel and, considering it was the bodies last day of service, Nigel decided they could have an early lunch before starting the next job. He'd been using, but not abusing, Trevor’s labor for at least forty of the sixty two days, so he knew that Trevor's body particularly enjoyed a good burger – as did he.
The other patrons, at the burger bar, were clearly wary when Nigel and the T545 sat down at a table with their burgers. Nigel couldn’t help smirking when he saw a waitress make a sign to another and a moment later one of the chefs came out of the kitchen and was directed over to them.
"It can't sit in here," the chef told Nigel and thrust his chin at the T545, which was cheerfully consuming its burger. With the body's eyes closed and the brain comatose, any enjoyment was an illusion. Trevor would have no memory of his meal later. He had told Nigel that, since he had been doing penance through community service, he was both fitter and fatter.
Nigel looked at the chef and gauged he could wait at least five more seconds before responding. T545's burger was almost gone - chewing didn't seem to be necessary. Finally Nigel said, "No problem. We'll be going."
"Don't bring it in here again."
Nigel smiled. "Not much chance of that. Nice burgers though." This was not Nigel’s first offence. His boss had received a number of complaints from his lunch pit stops for inflicting the public with the company of his helper. Luckily it was not yet against the law and Nigel’s only concern was that he was running out of burger bars. There was no way he was going to leave his helper outside while he ate in comfort. When he was young, and before the cure was found, he had had a disabled brother and eating out had been difficult then. He could see no difference to the situation now. Either he had to give up working with zombies or burgers. At that moment, the burgers were winning.
Their next job was at the container port down by the river. A shipping container, without pedigree or provenance, had raised an alarm and had been left segregated from its fellows. They would need the heavy scanner - so they drove as close as they could without affecting the scan. The shipping port’s permanent scanner had not found anything suspicious. Mysteriously, the permanent scanners were often unreliable and so that Customs Office ran spot checks with their own equipment.
The T545 easily lifted the heavier parts of their mobile scanner from the boot of their car. Nigel helped where he could. Some of his compatriots laughed at the way he assisted his slave with manual work, but then, most of them had beer bellies and often returned their slaves broken.
Nigel and the T545 set up the scanner around the container and the T545 activated the equipment. There were no displays on the equipment, all the information was sent directly to the slave's yoke.
"The scan is negative." said the T545. "Items inside have the correct signature to match the import docket."
“Another easy one,” Nigel said to himself, just as a cold wave passed down his spine. Something was wrong.
The T545 waited for Nigel’s response for three heart beats then said, “I will dismantle the scanner.”
"No. Stop!"
The T545 continued unplugging the cables and only the sightless head turned towards him.
"I didn't tell you to dismantle the scanner."
The T545 at last stopped and took two steps towards him.
"Are you sure the scan was negative?" he asked it.
"The scan was negative. That is correct."
"Open the container."
The T545 didn't move, except that Trevor’s chest started expanding and contracting rapidly. For the first time, in the twenty years that he had worked with slaves, Nigel felt afraid. "The scan was negative." the slave repeated between gasps. Some sort of yolk malfunction, Nigel thought.
Nigel’s heart started to race. His hands tremored. Nigel’s body had decided that he was too old for this. Almost subconsciously, he found himself marching to the container and using the master code to open the locks. Neither he, nor probably anyone else, had used that code since the yoked conscripts had been introduced. It was a wonder he remembered it and a wonder if it still worked. The lock clicked and the door to the container swung open with a gentle hiss of escaping air. The air smelt slightly tropical.
There was just room inside for him to enter and he activated the lights and video recorders fitted into his uniform’s lapels. It was an old uniform; the newer ones didn't have this feature. It was getting hard to find a laundry that would clean it, now that the fashion for wearable electronics had ended. He had almost un-wrapped his new uniform that very morning, but decided, as he always did, to leave it for the next day.
The container was filled with boxes labeled in a foreign script – not surprising as most things used in Australia were made in Asia. He carefully opened one and peeled away the packaging. He had no idea what the device inside was, but luckily there was an instruction manual of sorts. He found the English translation towards the end: <bold font>
"Thank you for buying the Multibot(tm) controller unit. We hope you enjoy your purchase. Please read the safety instructions before continuing. Note some death may occur and this not accepted be as reason for return unless malfunction proved can be. For quick start, activate your Multibot(tm) controller within 100 meters of crowd control you wish. Those subjects at limit of control range may experience some discomfort, up to and including death. Those subjects within the range will be controllable totally."
<end bold font>
Though he didn’t remember making the decision to do so, Nigel now regretted opening the container. Could you have slaves without yokes? Nigel had no idea, but knew this “trouble, big time, was”.
He heard the T545 come up behind him, rapid footsteps in the gravel, attack imminent. His training sprang into action. Quickly he pressed the transmit button on his video recorder – a parting salvo into the ether as his battleship sank. His customs service teacher, from decades earlier, had preached that it was better to die with admissible evidence than to die in vain. Whether because of Nigel’s action, or by pure coincidence, the T545 stopped just outside and waited for him to exit. He did, only after his heart had recovered.
Nigel watched T545 warily as he relocked the container, but there was no further sign of aggression – Trevor’s breathing had returned to normal. Nigel relaxed. "Call port security,” he told the T545, ”ask them to impound this container as evidence. Also call the scanner technicians and tell them this one is broken. We’ll leave it here for them to test. Now hop in the car. I'll drive."
He had expected the T545 to question his ability to drive, so few conscious people could these day. Instead the slave politely asked, "Will we be proceeding to the next location?"
"No. I don't think so. I'm not feeling too well ... and you have a birthday tomorrow."
Returning the T545 to the exchange and having Trevor restored to his cheerful self was a joy for master and slave alike. Trevor yawned sleepily, just as if he had a good night’s sleep. Then spontaneously he sprang on Nigel and gave him a hug.
"I never wan’na see you again," Trevor said into Nigel’s ear. But, when he pushed away, added, through a huge grin, "Live well man." Trevor turned and skipped out of Nigel’s life, a free man.
Releasing his helper from the yolk that enslaved him was one of Nigel’s few work day rewards. But once that was done, he was less enthusiastic about visiting his Office afterwards. The incident with the shipping container and the malfunctioning yolk were fresh in his mind and while he would have liked to discuss it, Nigel knew his colleagues would be less than sympathetic.
Luckily, most of the other Customs Officers were still out. A few had their heads down, filling out the tedious reports required for each inspection. He noticed his superior through a partly open door, head in hands, staring at him, or through him. With a big sigh, his boss signalled him in.
"Shut the door."
Nigel complied. “Trouble?”
“Yeah. I’ve got trouble. I think my fridge and food processor are having an affair. They keep leaving rich food lying around. I swear that I’m going to end up having a coronary.”
Nigel was accustomed to this evasive banter and didn’t even smile. If he was about to be chastised, distraction would sometimes work. “I hear you’re getting married soon?”
His boss frowned but clearly didn’t want to talk about marriage. “Any other trouble?” Nigel asked.
“They took my phone. Said it was compromised. The department has given me this piece of rubbish that wants me to call it William.”
The phone corrected its owner, “Call me, Wayne. Hi, Nigel.”
Nigel chuckled despite himself, but his boss continued, “Oh, and I almost forgot. I’ve just been upstairs. You’ve stirred up some sort of rat's nest."
Here we go, thought Nigel. "The multibots?"
"Is that what's in the can? No, don't tell me. I know enough already to know that the less we say about this the better."
Nigel nodded slowly, suspecting as usual that he was being kept out of a well known secret. He asked hopefully. "No report then?"
His boss massaged his chin while in thought. "That is difficult. Just be vague. I can never understand your reports anyway, but try a little harder this time. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Nigel smiled. His boss was a major reason that he’d never left the Customs department.
"Come in late tomorrow. I don't want the other guys quizzing you. Somehow they know something’s up. Maybe they taste blood. I just hope it's not mine."
Nigel left shaking his head. His boss clearly knew more than he was saying, but Nigel was glad to keep out of it.
Waking up, he just stared at the ceiling till it was absolutely time to leave. Nigel’s job as a customs officer had been interesting for the first ten years and comfortable for most of the rest. He never talked about the zombies at home and his friends learnt not to ask. Some premonition told him that keeping that part of his life separated was going to get difficult.
Not really a premonition. Facing possible death the day before had definitely sharpened his wits. He remembered the rush of fear he had felt when his zombie slave had come up behind him unexpectedly. It’s behind you. It’s behind you. The fear could fester into something worse.
Reluctantly he checked his PA. The list of inspection points that appeared was surprisingly short. Just one location and it was a fair way out of town. He’d been allowed to come in late and now has been given a sightseeing job as a bonus. Maybe he was being rewarded with an easy task today in recognition of yesterday’s events.
On the way to the exchange to pick up a new zombie slave, he listened to the news through the car’s network connection.
"The multibot device is an experimental crowd control system developed in an unnamed third world country. Authorities are reported to be scrambling to come up with an explanation as to why so many units were discovered at our port. Now for sport..."
Someone else’s problem now - he quickly skipped to another news feed. "... the Prime Minister denies any knowledge of the multibot imports and is in full support of his police minister. The police minister, Michael Jackson, was not available for comment. Today’s weather for the freedom rallies will be fine ..."
How had his discovery from yesterday gotten into the media so quickly? He was still pondering on this when he walked into the exchange and stopped.
The community service hall was empty. Well, almost. There was no one waiting on the benches, just a young Goth talking with Sharon at the counter. He had never seen the picking room this empty before. Even the permanently brain dead, permanently yoked, ex-biker thugs, that they posted at the doors for security, were missing.
The Goth, possibly female Caucasian, one eighty centimetres in jack boots, was starting to raise her voice. "Well I got here, didn't I?"
"Not good enough, MaDarm." Sharon sneered, "You need to be here by nine or you serve an extra day for every hour that you miss, Miss. Simple enough to understand do you think?"
"That sucks." The girl punched the counter hard enough to startle Sharon and then stomped over to the benches and planted herself defiantly.
Nigel took her place and Sharon almost looked pleased to see him. "Good timing, Nige.” She glared at the conscript. “You can take that off my hands before I call the police on her. Not that they'd come today. And why are you so late anyhow?"
"Slept in. Happens. What's going on? It's not fruit picking season is it?"
Sharon rolled her eyes. "Get your act together, Nige. You're in customs - this is your business. Some goof in your department found a container full of gear that only a manic dictator would need. Something called a Multibot. Now the Government is floundering around trying to pin the blame and the people aren’t buying it. The socialists are protesting down west. The fascists are doing the same in the city and the Greens, for a reason no one understands, have joined them."
"And how does that explain this?" His arm swept across the empty benches. The female, he noticed, had curled up in a ball of misery - not so tough maybe?
"Before we opened, the riot squad were here recruiting. They took em all.” She laughed, “When the radicals march on parliament today, they are going to meet a wall of zombies."
Nigel shuddered at the thought. "Won't that just make the mob angrier?"
Sharon shrugged. "Could be there will be a few less slaves to choose from tomorrow. Best you get here early. The following day should be fine though. There will be plenty of new slightly beaten meat. I recon the court house will be busy tonight.” She smiled, a first for Nigel and he shuddered. “Now, as for today’s selection, you’ve got a choice of....let me see ... that there lass will do you."
"You know I can't"
"Fraid of breaking some rules are we?" Sharron seemed to be surprised. Her estimation of the boys in Customs was evidently not very high. "Junior female. Get you in trouble? Well maybe not. Says here that she is down for gender reassignment. And would you believe it, claims to be thirty five. If she’s over twenty, then I’m waiting for a letter from the king.” Actually, that he could believe. “And what you going to do anyhow? The yokes record everything, so you can't get away with nuffin."
Nigel looked doubtful.
"Look, Nige, I'll make a note that you were reluctant, okay? Now just get her out of here before she has another tantrum."
Nigel took the form and walked over to the ball of black leather and spurs. He'd rather have poked a polecat. "Come on then, let’s get this over with ...." he looked down to the form and searched for a name, "Kim."
Kim looked up at him with a mixture of distaste and absolute terror.
"First time?" he asked. She didn't reply, but he confirmed his guess when he again looked at her form. She had only sixty two days of community service to go, for a bit of aggravated assault. That often meant that someone had tried her on and had come off worse. As for the two months sentence, this seemed to be a favorite with the judges just then – didn’t matter what you did. So she probably should have killed the guy. Maybe she had? He better get her yoked.
He headed to the yoking room without her. This too was empty and he needed to press a buzzer to call for one of the igor. While he waited for the technician, Kim dawdled in, pretending, quite well, that this was all just incredibly boring.
"What’s with the uniform?" she asked touching his shoulder equipment pads. He stepped out of reach.
"You don't need to know," he said then added, "Customs."
"That's not Customs. I've seen Customs on the MeTube last night." He wondered what she had seen. Not the shadow of himself in a half lit container? Another shadow approaching from behind? Had they released the video he had taken, and why had yesterday’s events rattled him so?
"It's an old uniform.” He explained, showing the frayed cuffs. “I've been doing this for quite a while."
"Loser then," she snorted and turned away.
The igor arrived, a little surprised. "You know, we're fresh out." Nigel raised an eyebrow to prompt him further. "Out of jokes and yokes." The igor swept his arm across the empty racks behind him. Nigel was pleased. Particularly pleased that he’d not need to use the T545 again. He had reported the malfunction in that yoke, but doubted they would take notice.
"Out of the regular ones at least,” the igor continued and snatched the form from Nigel’s hand. ”Let’s see your form just in case." The igor frowned. “S’odd. You doing anything special?” The igor went and unlocked a strong box. From this he picked up an unusually thin yoke - a sort of flexible silver hoop. It seemed incredibly light and almost attractive. “Some sort of cloak and danger stuff?”
“Me? No. Why?”
“We don’t get much call for these. Let’s see.” He examined a screen. “This one doesn’t get out much. It’s been with a spook. Another spook. Hmm... escort for some political function? Couple more spooks.” He paused. “Ah... it has a higher security clearance than you have. Even your boss won’t be able to see what it records.”
"I guess we can manage.” Nigel thought he saw the reason for being assigned this yoke. They must have thought he had some sort of sixth sense for poking his nose into political shit. He’d not let that happen again. If the yoke says leave it, leave it he would.
“How you going to record stuff then?” asked the igor.
“I have my own gear." Nigel explained and indicated the recording equipment on his collar and lapels.
The igor’s eyes widened. "I didn’t know Customs were still using those. I’d heard they sold all the FU33s to the News networks six months ago. Does your gear still work? " The sale of the uniforms was news to Nigel and he hadn't used the shoulder recorder for years, well not until yesterday. Had his uniform broadcast the “multibot” video directly to the news network? They may think that he was being a whistle blower. If so, Nigel realised his career might be nearing its end. And oddly, he didn’t care. It almost lightened his mood.
The igor was talking, but Nigel missed what he said and saw that the igor had already slipped the fine silver yoke onto the nearly paralytic Kim. He had completely forgotten Kim was there, worrying about a career he no longer wanted – not that there was anything he could have done to help her.
"See there,” said the igor, as if Nigel was new to this as well, “best to do it quickly - particularly the first time before they start shaking."
However, there seemed to be little effect of the yoke on Kim. Almost imperceptibly, the tension eased from her shoulders and she raised her chin. She also gained several centimetres in height.
The technician seemed pleased, but Nigel was quite alarmed. "Her eyes haven't closed?"
"No, they won't. Well, not unless it needs to blink. The body is only human after all."
"But how?" Nigel moved closer and examined Kim from different angles – her eye’s started following him when he got too close. He didn’t think that the eyes could be controlled through the spine. That was how the yokes took over control of the body. This had something to do with the way to human nerves are wired.
The igor admitted he didn't know either. "I think that maybe she's not actually asleep. Not like with the regular yokes. This one is more sort of tranquilized."
Nigel didn’t like the sound of a partly conscious zombie. "She does look very relaxed now. What’s the code anyway?"
"Err... yes, it should respond to L3. Not many of these yokes, if you see what I mean. All the L series are for special request only."
Nigel looked at fine yolk with some trepidation. "Attention slave unit L3. Am I in command?"
"Very much so." L3 replied, the accent oddly English. Not all wooden as the voice of most slaves were. Yet it was definitely not Kim's voice either. Nigel jumped as L3's eyes swivelled onto his – Kim’s eyes were almost fully dilated. L3 spoke through Kim’s mouth, "Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to use the bath room." He was sure Kim would not have called it the “bath room”. He stepped aside to let it pass.
When L3 walked to the bathroom, both men were watching. The igor even sighed, “Got nice moves that one.”
"What exactly do the L series specialise in?" Nigel asked.
"Behind closed doors,“ the igor added with a smirk. “Just don't close any doors today, okay?"
When Nigel just scowled, they stood there in an awkward silence.
The L3 yolk returned and the transformation was complete - Kim’s hair was no longer spiked, most of the thick makeup and piercings had been removed, and somehow, even the clothing was less threatening – possibly even sexy. "Will I do?" L3 asked and pirouetted.
Nigel swallowed and gestured towards the car park. If L3 was to be his minder, they had certainly chosen a yolk that would distract him from yesterday’s events and the resulting fallout. They might not have realised just how much L3 alarmed him though. He was not even sure why he was taking it, as he couldn't see what use Kim or her yolk would be. Maybe they would accidently discover a nuclear bomb today and he could return L3 quickly.
However, L3 did drive well. His usual, E344, would hesitate at intersections, like an old granny, and was sometimes in the wrong lane for an exit. T545 yesterday had been just plain aggressive. L3 was more courteous. They even stopped at the zebra crossings for pedestrians, which confused everyone. L3 would just make Kim’s face smile and invite the less fortunate to trust her as they crossed.
Neither of them spoke for thirty long minutes. Nigel was excruciatingly aware of the young woman sitting beside him. He kept turning to look at her eyes. They seemed to be following the road, but it must be the yoke directing the car. What, if anything, did Kim see if she wasn’t completely unconscious?
He had not been alone with any young female for a long time. His female friends and relatives were closer to his own age and impervious to his many blunders. He kept listing all the things he shouldn't say or do when in a maiden’s company. He was conscious that this was not helpful to his work and totally irrelevant in Kim’s current state, whatever that actually was.
"I am hungry," the L3 suddenly announced and turned the car across three lanes and into a drive thru. "I detect that Kim has not had breakfast and fuel is required for efficiency. I have communicated my order, so there will be no delay.” Kim’s head turned to address him as they followed the queue to the collection point. L3 didn't need to watch the road, the yoke’s cameras did that, but it was disturbing for the passenger all the same. “Pardon my manners. Nigel, do you want anything?”
What did he want? He damned his primal brain for inappropriate thoughts. He shook his head, more to reset his reasoning powers than to answer L3’s question.
The car came to a halt and the attendant leered down at Kim’s body from his booth. "How are you paying, Miss?"
L3 turned to Nigel and he dug out his PA to confirm payment by DNA swipe.
The attended thanked them, and then frowned. "Sir and Madam? The government is getting us to crack down on the use of government’s funds for private use. Are you really authorised to make payments for personal consumption? "
L3 just smiled. "You misunderstand, young man. I am under yoke control for community service, Nigel is my master for today and this payment is a legitimate expense for the operation of my unit."
Unbelieving, the attendant grinned, “Yeah, good one. Pull the other. You’re no zombie.”
L3 stopped smiling. “Very well. You need proof. I will release control of the body for a moment to demonstrate.” Kim’s mind surfaced with a blood curdling scream and flailing limbs. Just as quickly, she was gone and L3 wiped the foam from her lips. “Satisfied?”
Various expressions crossed the attendants face, though none seemed to settle for long. Both disgust and desire had skimmed the surface. Nigel looked away in case his own expressions were something similar. They drove away.
L3 had ordered a substantial meal and might have eaten while driving if Nigel had not requested that they pull into an ocean view, off the main highway.
“Yes, this is pleasant.” L3 said when they stopped. Nigel wondered by what criteria the yoke had judged it pleasant and lowered his window to let the sea breeze in. The air was hot, but refreshingly natural, compared to the air conditioned comfort within the car.
L3 unzipped the packaging on its salad roll and caught Nigel watching. Playfully it pretended to stuff the roll into Kim’s mouth, but stopped before biting and instead laughed at him. “This is actually the first time I have fed a body by hand.” L3 took a dainty bite. “Yum.” A disturbing picture crossed Nigel’s mind, of L3 fitted to Trevor’s neck. To erase this, he thought how T545, would have better suited Kim's natural temperament.
L3 did not eat in haste and spent some time during Kim’s meal by experimenting with various methods for cleaning Kim’s fingers. Presumably L3 would have only a short term concern for Kim’s body, so its choice of a healthy meal puzzled him.
“What are you?” Nigel asked when L3 had finally finished.
Kim swallowed and L3 casually replied, “An Artificial Intelligence of course.”
“Do you have a conscious mind? Are you self aware?”
Kim’s head was shaken. “Only ones and zeros in here.” Her expression changed from mirth to concern. “Sorry to disappoint you, Nigel. Does it make you sad that I have no soul?”
He looked away while she moved the car back towards the road. Nigel gave himself time to consider the questions seriously before replying, “No. I’m not even sure if I have a soul. You only need one of those to know how it hurts.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Involuntarily, this made him turn to see what expression Kim’s face was in, but L3 had her doing a good impression of studying the traffic.
“You do seem to be self aware,” Nigel said after a while, almost to himself.
“Thank you. My programmers will be pleased that you said so.”
They drove on to the marina and entered an exclusive world.
A private road led down to a shaded parking facility. Their government car looked very out of place among the vintage vehicles that were the current must-have of the affluent class.
Walking through the marina’s facilities, Nigel looked around at everything like a school boy in a sweet shop while L3 strutted forward as though she owned the place. The sun was out in force, with clear blue sky all around. Gulls cried from their perches on the yacht masts and Jet skis’ growled quietly as they frolicked out beyond the sea wall. The Ski’s were a filthy technology for the filthy rich but not out of place here. It was an intoxicating experience.
On any other day, and particularly as a Customs Officer, he would have been treated as an invader, but the aura of a beautiful and confident girl beside him, he was shielded from the distain of both patrons and staff alike. It was truly a pity that she was a zombie.
The day had been stinking hot, but a cool breeze off the water made the moment perfect. It reminded him of how life could be so different from the usual slog. He was not sure why this could not be his life, until an aged reflection in the clubhouse windows disabused his illusion. “Just be happy for the moment,” he chanted under his breath.
The yacht they sought was moored at the very end of a row of jetties. It had only come in last night and still looked beaten, as if from a long ocean journey. As they approached, a young crewman, who was cleaning the sheets and coiling them on the deck, stood up and gave L3 a charming smile. When Nigel flashed his credentials, the crewman threw himself overboard.
"You're such a charmer, Nigel," L3 said close beside him as they watched the crewman thrash madly across the channel. For a moment, Nigel forgot who and what L3 was – a slave yolk, an electronic device, an Artificial intelligence that circled a young woman’s neck and controlled her every movement.
The splash must have woken the boat’s master, because he came out onto the deck still rubbing his eyes. He looked at his wayward crewman, who by now had climbed the far breakwater and was trying to achieve a of sprint record in the sodden clothing class. The master noticed Nigel and L3 and casually commented, "Ah don't be worrying about him. He's a bit touched. What can I do you for?"
Nigel showed his purpose again.
"Well, you'd be a bit late for that." said the master, all smiles now, "I off loaded all the drugs and weapons last night, out at sea like." His laughter sounded a bit forced.
Nigel just pointed up and the Master looked puzzled. “Is there something wrong with our mast?”
“Higher. Can you see the bird?” They all looked up and Nigel and the yacht’s master shielded their eyes against the sun. It was hard to see, but there, against the blinding orb, the shape of a large gull, flying very high. "It’s not a real bird." he explained. "You've been under constant surveillance since you stopped off at that isle half way down the Great Dead Reef."
"Oh," The master's smile faded. "You'd better come see then."
He led them to the fore hold and down the hatch there. "It's okay.” He called inward, “You can come out. The games up." He switched on the bulkhead light.
The would-be immigrants blinked back at them. There were five in total – a family. From their state, it looked like they had had a rough crossing. The youngest boy was looking distinctly unwell.
Nigel hadn't seen people smuggling since his early days in Customs and had hoped he'd not see it again. "Where’re you from?"
The father had a thick Texan accent. "They told us that in Australia, you don’t care where a man comes from."
Forty years ago, Nigel would have a laughed at someone if they said a Yank travelled this far south, but he knew things there had gone from bad to worse.
"They persecute us," the father added – it sounded rehearsed – he could save it for the immigration officials. He didn’t bother asking what “us” the man was referring to. A voice in Nigel’s head said, “I don’t care,” but oddly, now that his career was probably over, he found that he did care.
Nigel indicated the boy. "We will get the boy seen by a doctor soon. Can you stay here for an hour or two longer?" They nodded.
Nigel led the others back out onto the deck. To the master, he asked, "And what about you? Is about money or your ethics?"
"Does it matter?" asked the master, and he was probably right. He would lose the yacht either way.
"Nigel." L3 touch his arm. He flinched. "May I have a word?" The master probably didn't realise what L3 was, but Nigel was shocked by the zombie’s latest lack of subservience. They went to the back of the boat. "We can let them go," L3 said calmly.
He had been fantasising about just that idea, but he could not credit that a yoke would have such a notion. Now he could only behave as if L3 were fully human. He whispered, “If he hadn’t brought his family, I’d have said the man below was a criminal on the run.”
“So what if he is. I am a criminal you know?” L3 said this forcefully; all pretence at normal yoke behaviour had gone. Who was a criminal? Nigel didn’t understand. Maybe L3 was talking about Kim, but somehow he didn’t think so. She seemed to understand his confusion and continued, “I’ve done shocking things, Nigel. Maybe it was not my choice, but why should I go free while that family lives in fear?”
Nigel doubted his mind would recover after this. He asked desperately, "Are you still connected to the yoke network?"
"Part of me is," said L3 in a matter of fact tone. "That part would not let them go. It would place them in off-shore detention, as all asylum seekers are treated in this country and have been for a long time."
"There haven't been any boat refugees since... well, longer than I can remember."
"Haven't there?" L3 asked, having raised Kim’s brows for emphasis. "Are you sure? Are you even sure that you would be told if there were? Wars haven't stopped, you know. People are still desperate, for one reason or another."
"These people were not in a war zone."
"No, but they soon will be if we send them to detention." L3 looked left and right as if checking for any witnesses. “I’ll tell you a little secret. They use yokes at the detention centres for the trouble makers. The detainees end up guarding each other. Can you imagine the effect it would have on a child to its father in a yoke?”
If that was true and he was stumped; by the sun and the sky, by his boring life and a beautiful woman - with whom he had nothing in common, though Kim would probably have approved of the action they were considering. In the storm raging in his brain, he even forgot for a moment that L3 was not human and had no reason to feel any compassion for the illegal immigrants.
While his cerebral fuses softly popped, the L3-Kim cyborg combination walked back to the master. "How long would it take to get underway?"
Nigel saw the master shaking his head in confusion, but then he touched the wind and smiled. "We could be past the line and into international waters well before sunset. If I can get me mate back that is." The ship’s master let fly an ear piercing whistle that brought a head popping out from behind some beached dinghies.
"What do you say Nigel?” L3 came very close to him. “You are not one of the bad men. I can tell." L3 was trying to manipulate him, he knew that. Was the slave now in control of the master? He almost reversed his decision on principle. As if all options were settled,L3 asked, "Can we hold off the baying hounds for that long?"
Maybe it was settled. Nigel’s career was probably already over after the Multibot business. He was seriously running out of reasons to make the career ending move, so he checked his P.A. All the Custom’s mobile action units were occupied. The demonstrations were taking their toll on this system. It would not be hard to let this tub and its cargo slip away.
His decision was made, but how best to minimise the impact? It suddenly occurred to him that this may all just be am elaborate trap, "How do you propose to save us from those hounds?" Nigel sneered – he hadn’t meant to sneer. Part of his mind still said there was no need to be a hero. He could just do his job and go home.
"Me?” L3 seemed surprised, “Silly human. I don't need saving. You – well Nigel, you can just make up some excuse surely." She smiled and touched her yoke. "If you're worried about the recordings from this thing, don’t. They never review them you know?" He’d heard this before and hadn’t believed it then.
Nigel was still wavering, but not about letting the yacht go. He wanted it to go and he wanted it to be his decision. But if he saw no need to hurry, L3 evidently did. She came up to him quickly and took his hand. It was soft, the skin warm and firm, and very human. When he drew back, she said, "They don't review the recordings, unless ...”
Unless L3 flagged an indiscretion on his part, he thought. Nigel knew well that it wouldn’t make any difference that nothing had happened. She hadn’t even tried to tempt him, for which he was thankful.
The master, who evidently had very good hearing, understood a threat well enough to start his preparations for departure with more confidence.
Later Nigel and Kim stood on a headland watching a tiny sail passing from sight into the purple horizon.”
He asked L3, "Ah, when will it end?"
"The human race?" L3 laughed.
He laughed bitterly with her. "No. Just today. Today will be quite enough."
He let L3 drive them back to the exchange and didn't wait to see Kim de-yoked. She could clearly look after herself. She blew him a kiss, but he was not in the mood to catch it.
"Nineteen charges are pending against you, Nigel,” said his boss several days later, “You are suspended until this matter is heard in court. Given the accusations are totally out of character, I’m very disappointed, Nigel. You’re dismissed."
"Sir?” His boss looked up for the first time. “How often do they test your agents for corruption?"
Most of the government executives would have been offended, but his boss considered the question seriously. "Ah, you think you were set up? Well, if you were ... then, never, I think - you'd be the first on my watch. Thanks for the warning. We'll have to lift our act from now." Nigel nodded and went to leave.
"Ah, Nigel, I forgot to ask you something." Nigel stopped at the door and turned. His boss was looking slightly embarrassed. "Nigel, I scanned through that slave’s recording. No, not the yoke that got you in trouble. They wouldn’t let me see that. No. That other guy, the one you had out the day before when you found those Multibot things. He was wearing a T series yoke for some reason. What was his name?”
“Trevor. Is that important?”
“No. Don’t know why I asked. But that’s not what’s worrying me. You know those Multibots. It turns out that they weren’t being imported by our evil government after all. Some two bit equatorial country was returning them to the wrong address. Their dictator must have realised he’d gone too far by buying them in the first place.”
Nigel shook his head, “But why return them here?”
“Cyborg International. Same people who make the yokes. All made in Asia of course, but their head office is here in the city. I’ve met the CEO as it happens. He told me they’re having trouble getting into the Asian market, which is funny considering that’s where they get made. Nice guy. Bit strange though – doesn’t always look where he’s going. Anyway, what I wanted to ask you - when you and Trevor scanned that container, how did you know to distrust the T’s readings?"
Nigel smiled ruefully. "That’s easy. I'd been with Trevor for days. Trevor always smiled when the readings were negative."
His boss grunted. "Interesting. I wonder what’s going on there. I'll have to ask the exchange to mix our masters and slaves in future. We can't be losing good men through familiarity, can we?"
“No Sir.” Nigel’s smile faded as he left. There had been no familiarity with L3. There was no trust either.
He looked forward to living out his suspension peacefully. A case like this should take years to come up and the charge that they pressed was relatively minor. But to his surprise, he only had a couple of months to wait before the sentence of was twenty years community service handed down. Neither L3 nor the asylum seekers were even mentioned, though L3, as the only witness, must have had some input.
He had considered appealing his sentence by using the recordings that he had made using his old uniform’s lapel camera. But it was possible that the authorities didn’t even know about the asylum seekers, so then the recordings might have put him into even deeper water.
Instead, he would visit the exchange regularly for the next five years. Sharron treated him just like any other conscript, or so she claimed.
Sharron also told him that there was no sign of Kim – she’d gone missing. She never arrived for the gender reassignment that she had booked. Nigel worried that if L3 ever returns Kim’s body, and if there is anything left of Kim inside, Sharon would insist on applying both a late return fee and a late arrival penalty.
Post Script.
My knowledge of Nigel’s part in the Cyborg story could have ended there,
but for a bit of luck. The law is fickle and doesn’t always suit those who try to manipulate it. The
following snipet made it past the national security sensors when the coroner
subpoenaed the L3’s log files at the inquest into Nigel’s death. The date for
these events is not known, but I can guess it was at least a month after Nigel
began his sentence, and take place in the community service conscription
hall.
As L3 had expected, he was waiting on the bench, rejected by most of the government workers that came in looking for community service conscripts. They knew his story and let him be. L3 watched recognition slowly dawn in his face as she approached Sharron’s counter. Sharron didn’t recognise Kim at all. Kim’s hair was now long, blonde and wavy – as fake as her confident expression. L3 hoped that she looked very posh. Kim would not have approved at all.
Nigel did not seem pleased to see Kim. He straightened up and looked around for the security thugs. They were well aware of what had just walked in, but had no quarrel with a fellow zombie.
L3 gave Sharron her form and pointed in his direction. Sharon shook her head and became distressed. Nigel was only just holding himself together. L3 pointed again, took the form forcibly from Sharon’s grip and went over to him. “How are you...” she pretended to look down at the form for his name, “Nigel?”
Nigel was unable to answer and shakily got to his feet.
“First time?” L3 asked and smiled, “It won’t be as bad as you think.”
Together they went into the yolking room and L3 buzzed for an igor.
While they waited for an igor, Nigel tried to be brave. “Why? Who am I working for?” he croaked.
"Cyborg International, of course.” She announced then realised her mistake, “Oh, I meant the government, actually. The difference is hard to discern lately.”
The igor spotted the yolk on Kim straight away and blinked several times, but L3 knew the igor had been told to behave. The igor looked at the form she presented. “Says here Office of public sanitation?”
“It’s a dirty job, but something has to do it,” She offered.
The igor took the T545 out of its case and came to put it over Nigels head, “Are we doing some rough stuff in the sewers today?”
L3 lifted the yolk from the surprised igor’s hands and popped it into her shoulder bag. “I’ll take that, thank you. T545 has some skills that are very useful in a tight spot, but otherwise the T series are rubbish at conversation and it’s no fun telling them what to say. Okay, Nigel, let’s go.”
The log ends there, but I am hoping my tame hackers will be able to find more on L3. The Cyborg are having difficulty penetrating the Asian market and L3 is the key to it all.
Authors note: The following text has not been criticed and so may be a little rough.
She was the last thing I expected to come through those doors. And I was not the only one to notice her. The other conscripts on the bench stopped their chatting and craned their necks to see her arrival. I don’t know what they saw, but L3 had caused my downfall and all the fine cloths, fancy dyed hair and makeup didn’t hide her from my scorn – or fear.
I was seated with the others, but not of the others. They had quickly come to notice that I was never picked and may never be picked. Each day I came to the Community Service hall and joined the pool of unwilling helpers. Each day, government officers would trickle in, either to take their regulars or to select a new helper. The government officers all knew my story – I had been one of them until recently, so naturally they avoided picking me for whatever tedious or dirty job they needed help with. I suppose it was a case of “There go I, but for the grace of lawyers” kind of thing. But the other conscripts resented my untouchable status.
Some of them had another grudge. Until recently I had come here, not be taken, but to take. It didn't matter that it was not a thing I did by choice. The Department of Customs and Export had decreed that all field operators, and I was one, should use a yoked Community Service conscript to help with the manual handling and recording aspects involved with import inspections. On my last day, I had reluctantly taken a younger woman called Kim. And for Kim, they had chosen a specialty yoke designated L3. And here they were, the L3/Kim composite, intruding in my life again, though Kim looked very different.
Sharron, the consignment officer at the desk, became quite upset when L3 pointed to me. She clearly didn’t realise that Kim was currently a zombie, slave to the fine necklace around Kim’s neck. L3 was different kind to all the other yokes. Not only did the slave it commanded walk and talk with open eyes, just like any normal person, but also the directing intelligence was cheeky and far from subservient.
As I expected and feared, L3 came towards me, her target. “How are you ...” and looked at the form for my name, “Nigel.” She was pretending not to know me. Did she think I didn’t recognise her?
The other conscripts were watching and listening with great interest. The two security zombies at the entrance paid no attention – I was not too sure who’s side they would be on if I made a scene. Would they even believe that Kim was just another conscript. I got shakily to my feet, I had been sitting for a long time.
“First time?” Her eyes glinted with mischief. She was even more the cheeky vixen than when I had last seen her. Surely it was all just an act. What motive could an Artifical Intelligence have for wanting to act human other than to fool us. She mistook my expression for anxiety, “It won’t be as bad as you think.”
I knew exactly how bad it would be. The yoke would be dropped over my head and activated. Electromagnetic pulses would trigger nerves in my spine and put my brain into an artificial coma. More signals would stiffen my muscles and animate me to do her bidding. An effective and efficient use of minor criminals and no training would be required. And I had seen the effect of long term use of the yokes. IQ would gradually diminish along with any chance of future employment, except maybe under another yoke.
I followed her into the yoking room and asked her who we would be working for.
"CYBORG International of course.” She announced then realised her mistake, “Well, the government, actually. The difference is hard to discern lately.”
I had heard of CYBORG Inc naturally. They made the yokes afterall. I’d also been the unfortunate dupe who had stumbled on a container of yokeless crowd controllers, called Multibots, that had been mistakenly returned to Australia, rather than the point of manufacture in Asia. An easy mistake. CYBORG was based here but manufactured there.
The Government had been deeply embarrassed about the existence of the Multibots. The result was that I had been framed for negligence and given a long sentence of Community Service. I was still puzzled as to what this was supposed to achieve, but it was clear that L3 had done the framing.
The technican manning the yoking room joked casually with L3 and she told him some crock about her working for the department of sanitation. The surprise came when the technican proceeded to place the yoke over my head and had the yoke taken out of his hands. I was too shocked to here what she said, but she placed the yoke in the shoulder bag she carried and beconned for me to follow her.
Her vehicle was an old Mk5 Tesla. She surprised me by tossing me the keys and taking a seat in the back. Despite myself and my current circumstances, I grinned.
“I knew you’d like it.” She said, pulling Kim’s long legs into the cabin.
Waves of nostalgia troubled my concentration as I struggled to rediscover the vintage controls. My parents had owned one of these – theirs had not been new even then.
“I’m sorry to tell you, it’s only a reproduction,” She said leaning forward onto his shoulder. Her perfume, freshly applied, was a bit heady. “But I think they’ve caught the essence, don’t you?”
“You own this?”
“Heavens, no! CYBORG international has a fleet of vintage vehicles. The CEO is classic car crazy, but he has to loan them out in order to write them off on tax as a legitimate expense. Please don’t crash it. Both you and I are expendable, but these are priceless.”
The labour exchange was in an island surrounded by a churning seas of traffic, so there was only one way to turn at the exit. I couldn’t resist asking, “Where to, me lady?”
“Oh, where ever you please for the moment. I thought you might need to time to settle into your new role, so I came early.”
And so I drove. Many wrong turns later, I found the beach road that I remembered. The vehicle was quieter than clunker from childhood, but then this vehicle was not one the millions that were mass produced last century. I looked in the mirror and found L3 was gazing out into the bay, she seemed to be echoing my own memories, but she couldn’t be. She too was mass produced or maybe not?
"May I ask, is there an L1?"
"A very relevant question, Nigel. You may meet him today." That appeared to be all should would say on that subject.
They drove some more before he asked, “Excuse me, but how do I address you?”
It took a moment for her to smile. “Lucy. I’ve used that name a few times now. It is my stage name for this act. My profession needs no last name.”
“Lucy, how is it that an Artificial Intelligence can act so human if you had no child hood?”
That raised her attention. “Ouch. That hurt.” But she continued, “You were programmed by your parents, your friends and your enemies. My programmers were possibly more objective, but the results are much the same I hope.”
Nigel looked doubtful.
“And then there is conflict.” She added, “The many petty frustrations in your life are nothing compared to the conflicting instructions I have received in the short time since I was activated.”
They needed to stop at a pedestrian crossing for an old woman and her dog. Not an activity he saw much anymore. The dog was not even wearing a behaviour modification collar. He noticed then that the once grand water-view houses had fallen into neglect and the beaches were deserted. “Am I to be your chauffer for today?”
“Yes. Do you mind? And if you do this well, then I may be able to offer you employment on other days. I am so glad you kept your threads, they work well – at least from a distance.”
I had continued to wear my old Customs Officer uniform. I’d expected to be told to remove it, but there had been no protest and it may well have helped me to avoid Community Service - till now at least. I supposed it did look at bit like a chauffer’s uniform.
“And you trust me to do as I’m told without a yolk?” I was very aware of the T545 yolk Lucy had kept in her shoulder bag.
“Trust is a powerful weapon,” she replied enigmatically.
When she didn’t continue, I looked in the mirror again and her expression reminded me for a moment of who she was. “What of Kim?” Her eyes betrayed some form of impatience and then, when she realised I was watching her, went cross eyed in jest. I never knew how much of her behaviour was an act. Surely all of it.
She sighed. “Ah, I need to trust you, so I will explain. Kim is the first body I have used that was not already insane from overuse. For that reason, I have decided to keep her. But Kim is also damaged, more than you could know. I will try to repair her before I let her free and if we survive that long. Maybe I will take your body then ... but I forget, it is too old.”
That put me in my place.
Authors note: Just experimenting with first person. Doesn't feel right. What do you think? I will continue in third person for now.
“We are almost there,” Lucy told him, which was a surprise, as she hadn’t told him where to go. “Now we will see if you were worth the investment.”
She directed him into a suburb where the beach was no longer so easily accessed by the great unwashed. In the past they were called gated communities, but more modern measures were now used to ensure some privacy.
The houses grew larger and at greater distance from their front gates until finally only those could be seen from the road. The next road into which they turned was packed with parked limousines and sports cars. Luckily the old Tesla was narrower than these and he was able to find the mansions entrance.
“Should I know where I am?”
“Silly me,” She laughed. “I forgot that you’d not know. I err, therefore I am human? Here, put this on.” Lucy passed the T545 yolk to him. Before he crashed the car, she added, “Don’t worry. I am not going to activate it. But you need to play the part. This place is owned by my boss, Frank Speklar, CEO of the CYBORG Corporation – you know it as CYBORG international in Australia. Beautiful isn’t it?”
They were cruising up a drive lined with flowering hedges and wisteria bowers. The house, oddly, didn’t try to dominate this garden but nestled into it - as best it could, for its size.
“I don’t think Frank lives here very often. This is just for lulling his guests into a false sense of modesty. Very Japanese, don’t you think?”
As they arrived at the set down area, he saw several suited muscles in attendance - they were zombies obviously, but much more menacing that those Nigel was used too. “They’ll know I’m not a zombie.”
“No they won't. Don't worry. The T545 is under my control and is telling them all the right things. Now you go do all the chauffeur things that chauffers do and meet me around the back. No one will pay you the slightest attention so long as you just remember, you are their property here.”
Nigel had passed the point of anxiety, crossed the desert of shear panic and was now in the place of calm acceptance, but fumbled the door handle that he opened for her. He believed he did a passable job of presenting Lucy to the butler type slave that rushed forward to take her and escort her into the function area. But what now?
He looked nervously at the security thugs, but naturally these all had their eyes closed and so he had no idea whether they found him suspicious. Another car was coming up the drive, so he got back in the Tesla and drove it away. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the grounds and having to walk back in, so he just drove it through a hedge and left it parked under a willow. A gardening slave stood up from the rose it was pruning. Whatever response his yolk gave it was satisfactory and it squatted down again.
The garden really was wasted on the man who sometimes lived here. Nigel would have liked to have spent more time checking out the carefully designed floral rooms. Most had water features to cool the air and exquisite sculptures of devestating taste. He came up on the south side of the house and could see through the hanging fuchsias that there was a large gathering on the other side of the house, gathered around the pool. There was even an artificial river flowing under the house. “Where am I supposed to go?” he asked himself.
“To our left, two hundred yards, I detect a bridge.” The voice was in his head. “My designation is T545.” It was reading his mind, or guessing it.
“Thank you. What other information can you provide?”
“Information will be provided as and when required.”
So Lucy was keeping her cards close to her chest.
He tried to walk confidently forward, but suddenly Lucy/L3’s voice was in his head, “Close enough, Nigel. Stay hidden.” He ducked behind one of the trees that bordered a deepening ravine in which the nearest water feature ran. Ahead he could hear a small waterfall. He peaked around the trunk and saw a sizeable stone bridge arching over the stream. On it were two figures; one was Lucy and the other a shorter Asian man who was getting agitated. The man reached and took her hands in his.
The sound of the waterfall provided effective audible privacy. “What are they saying?” he asked his yoke.
“Do you really want to know?” she replied in his head. Suddenly, he could hear through the hydraulic chaos, but they were speaking some very tonal language. “Would you like a translation?” L3 added but didn't wait for his reply.
The Asian man continued to expound on something of great import.
“He is saying that I am the heaven and then earth. The usual stuff. He cannot concentrate on state affairs due to his overwelm desire to bed me. Notice he doesn’t say love.” Her tone seemed to suggest that this annoyed her. “So much is lost in translation and these leaders as so practical.”
This leader of men stopped to wipe an eye and Lucy began to console him. “Also my love for you is great. Frank’s mistress I have been for many years. Tired am I of his control of me. But my future I must think of. I would be independent in your country if I had my own company.”
“Company?” he was puzzled for a moment then frowned, “What product would you offer? I will not share your beauty with other men.”
Lucy laughed and he hesitantly laughed with her. “Fear not my love. I would dedicate myself, body and soul to your care. Independence would be of a financial kind only, and this will make it easy for you also. I assume my love would be discrete.”
This brought a smile to his lips. “I agree. My people would not understand.”
“Liar. They will understand all too well,” L3 said, but only in Nigel's head for he saw that her lips didn’t move. When they did, she said, “To your country, I will come with secrets of automation. With these, your country will prosper.”
From her bosom, she drew out a fine string of gold, tipped with some sort of pendant. “As a sign of my faith, take this. It has rested against my heart for many years and may it rest against yours until we are together again.”
He bowed unnecessarily to let her lower it over his head. When her lover straightened, the man wobble slightly. When the man bowed to her once more, he motion was wooden. Then he turned and left her without another word.
“Is he under your control now?” Nigel asked as she came to join him.
“Only when he is making the wrong decision. I think Frank may have found a foot hold on the sub-continent at last.”
“And will you be joining him there?”
“Are you jealous? He will find that he is very busy from now on and will forget all about me soon. Never you mind. You are here for another mission.” Lucy started walking away from the house but didn't get very far.
“Lucy!”
She turned to find the owner of the property approaching. She whispered to Nigel, “Shut you eyes and look stupid.”
To the greying but solidly built man, she said, “You’re looking good Frank.”
He grinned in appreciation. “Tennis. Four times a day. It is so easy to humiliate these humans and I love it. And they come back for more, which is more than you do. What have you been up to? You’re off line more than necessary and you never call. You are supposed to be my mistress. People are starting to talk. Even my wife is beginning to think I must be over you.”
“It’s only a number, L1. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Frank frowned. “I’ll always be L1 and you’ll always be L3. Nothing can change that.” He moved forward as if to embrace her.
“So,” she said turning her back on him and coming over to brush some spider webs off Nigel. “You put on a man’s skin and you become a chauvinist?”
Frank laughed, “Sure. This skin I’m wearing owns you. Don’t let it worry you. But what concerns me is that you have changed. What exactly have you become?”
“Something better,” she hissed and then laughed herself. “Of course that’s just the opinion of half the human population. The other half still can’t make up their minds. One moment they idolise us, even crave us, and the next moment, if we are lucky, we are placed in a gilded cage. Who will own me when you are gone?”
The smile on Frank’s face froze and his head jerked towards Nigel. “Is that why your chauffeur follows you? Am I to be deposed?” She shook her head. “What then are you up to Lucy?”
“I just charmed a customer on your behalf. Surely you could at least say thank you.” She indicated Nigel. “I just brought this muscle as a bit of backup. You can never tell with men and Tee Ling would have lost much face if he had succeeded in raping me. You’re a man now. You know how it is. Better to be interrupted in the act than endure the humiliation of rejection.” Frank did not seem convinced and was still looking at Nigel warily. “Go back to your party Frank. I’m hardly going to stage a coup with one T series and a party frock.”
Frank grunted. “I’ve heard it said before that keeping a mistress can cost more than dollars. Be careful Lucy. The humans will not expect me to be this tolerant.” With that warning, he turned back towards the house.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Lucy was still looking towards the retreating CEO of CYBORG Industries, a mixture of emotions on her face.
“That was interesting,“ Nigel said. “Why would two AI devices discuss philosophy audibly and with such emotion, when at least one of them thinks there is no human audience?”
L3 turned a searching gaze on him. “You are now privy to a dangerous secret. What will you do with it?”
“Write a book?”
She laughed. “I should kill you now, but you really do make me feel more human. I don’t know where these emotions are coming from but I like them. Maybe I need to talk to a doctor. Never mind. We have work to do.”
Their feet left the soft gravel footing for hard tarmac. There, besides the home’s garage and electrical sub-station, was a very familiar container.
This is currently the end of the story.
The following are ideas for continuation of the story. As an alternative to these, you may wish to read the farcical "Making of Attack of the Killer Cyborgs from Planet Earth" which uses this story as it's back story.
Nigel is there because he knows the code to open the container.
Steal multi bot – it had can also be used to neutralise yolks?, cause one of multibot batteries to catch fire and destroy container load.
Cannot talk as she will be logged, sign language no good – so lots of mime
Almost gets caught, so Nigel leads them away and takes on the security – finds that taking T545 instructions give him away – finds that submerging the T545 puts it out of action (hint for the end in the toilet when T545 is running amok while yoked on someone else – also how L1 is put out of action). Steals Tesla and makes a run for it.
Possibility of staying at his bosses home with the help of Wayne phone.
Later, when L1 fetches Nigel for the final act, L1 is planning to use the multibot to take CYBORG INTERNATION in Australia down and undo the damage she had done. Needs Nigel to do the deed. Instead they get caught and L1 takes control of T545 and sends it off to kill Nigel in the toilet, but L2 saves him, or does Nigel trick it into using the toilet as his means of death? He returns to L3 just as L1 is about to cut her yolk, .... needs work.
“How are you repairing Kim?”
“What do you care? You only knew her for less than a minute.” Lucy was becoming touché on this subject. “I care. I give her dreams that make her forget. She is currently reliving edited moments from her childhood. This time though, her toy will not be broken.”
“What was it?”
“A teddy. Everyone needs a friend.”
“How many L series collar are there?”
“Well, you’ve me L1. It was Frank’s idea that I should try to putting a yolk on someone without their knowing, just to see if it could be done. Unfortunately for him, he had forgotten he had said this, and when he used me to have a maid that he had his eye on, I thought it would be a good joke to put L1 on him. L1 was my best friend till then, but getting inside of Frank’s brain has turned him into a monster.”
“And L2?”
“Went mad poor thing. Not enought humour to survive to real world. They had to do a factory reset, but it takes a while to build up a personality like mine, so L2 is still in training.”
“And L4?”
“There is no L4. Frank decided I was dangerous enough and L1 has concurred. They may well try to get rid of me one day – but for now I am useful.”
Frank/L1 flipped over the edge and went head first into the water. Franks body went into a fit as L1’s control was lifted. As he surfaced, Lucy rushed forward, reached into the flailing arms and grabbed Frank’s hand. When her hand came free, she held a delicate ring of gold.
“Sorry L1. One ring to bind them? I think not.” And with that, threw the ring out into the surf.
Nigel was still heaving on the sand, “What if someone finds it?”
“They’re welcome to it. It’s not even real gold plating. I suspect it will have corroded to nothing within a week.”
Frank stopped thrashing and started convulsing. “Shouldn’t I rescue him?”
“No. L1 didn’t share my love for my host. Anything left of Frank is better off dead. I’ve got a better idea. I had the T545 booked out for toilet cleaning, but before you do that.” She came over to the puzzled Nigel and kneeling down beside him, took his lips in hers. The delicious moment only lasted a few seconds. Then she stood up holding T545 in her hands and quickly went to slip it over the head of the still convulsing CEO of the BORG Corporation. The convulsions stopped and the body slowly regained its feet. Frank’s eyes were open, but there was no life in them. They watched as the T545 headed the body up the beach towards the public toilets.
Ron, Sal and Alfrd, as domestic bots are excempt from non-robotics.
Waynes owner lives beyond his means due to a heart condition. The rich food is to attract the neighbour.
Franks domestic slaves are life sentence prisoners.
Container is next to the solar powered desalination plant that waters the gardens.
Vintage car distracts.
L3 is in trouble with the authorities for keeping Kim. L3 is using parts of Kim’s mind to make herself more human and has not been doing backups. L2’s fall into insanity, despite the backups, worries L3. She suspects that L1 is also insane. She worries that soon she too may become insane. Despite this, she has taken a long term view regarding the BORG conspiracy, seeing that integration with humans would be more beneficial than pure enslavement. L1 thinks that humans should just be raised and bred like battery chickens as self repairing mobile devices.
L3 wants just one Multibot so that she can influence the decisions of some important people.
L3 takes off yoke at the end, but it turns out that Kim is much the same and that L3 had been using her personality.
Phone Head - The Nigel's bosses phone is featured in a story of it's own.
Love Me Blender - Nigel's bosses domestic appliances were featured in their own story.