Chapter 2 #3
“I don’t want that robotic freak to do anything!” The man points at me, wild-eyed. “I know what that is. She should be taken care of by a real person! You do it!”
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Apollo snarls.
“Calm down, man,” AJ interjects, holding the man back. “Let him work!”
The woman has stopped breathing. I begin CPR. I don’t require breath, and I don’t have real lungs, but I am able to expel oxygen in much the same way from my interior, through my mouth, as all bionic assistants can in times of emergency.
I have to be careful when compressing her chest. That is the most difficult part, knowing how much pressure to apply. I could kill her if I’m not careful.
But I also won’t tire. Just as the ambulance arrives, paramedics spilling from the back wagon, the woman begins to cough and sputter, taking in long, deep gasps of air.
I get up and move out of the way of the other first responders, allowing them to tend to her and do their jobs.
AJ and Apollo have let the man go. He runs past me in a panic to fret over her, still holding the baby in his arms, until he’s told again to stay out of the way.
I can’t blame him for losing his mind. Emotions run high in these situations.
But “robotic freak.” That’s a new one.
I know there are people who don’t trust androids. Maybe some people who really hate us too. But none of that matters in the heat of the moment—not usually, anyway. I tell myself that this shouldn’t surprise me.
“Fucking asshole,” Apollo growls under his breath.
I don’t want Apollo to dwell on this. I don’t always get thanked for what I do, and being a first responder can be a thankless job even for humans.
Sure, everyone hails us as heroes, but in the moment when everything’s on the line, oftentimes there’s so much chaos and fear that people forget.
That’s okay. What matters is they’re alive, they survived.
Robotic freak.
That one twists my circuits. Yes, he was hysterical. But I didn’t deserve that.
Still, getting Apollo riled up about it won’t do anything to help anyone. Instead, I redirect him. “It’s fine.” I move past him and pick up a hose. “Let’s finish up.”
Robotic freak.
I’m not sure how much of the house will be salvageable, once we’re done with it. The frame remains, charred and burnt. The woman’s already being transported to emergency services at Carnegie General, her sooty, singed husband left to reassure their three frightened kids.
I feel a small tug on my pant leg and peer down at the little boy, staring up at me.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, “for saving my mama.”
Suddenly, nothing else matters.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him as he gets called away from me and scampers off to join the rest of his family.
I was programmed for this job, this life.
And occasionally, just like that, I’m reminded why it matters.
* * *
When we get back to the station, I spend a few hours in the early morning recharging my battery. At six a.m., I’m up and operative again. As though she senses I was thinking of her all night, I receive a text from Mia at 6:27.
Hi! I’m awake, and I just got out of the shower.
I try not to imagine her naked body soaking wet, but it happens anyway. Part of me wonders if that was her intention. I decide to play it safe and not focus too hard on it.
Good morning! Did you sleep well?
I slept like a rock. How’s the station?
Had a fire a few hours ago.
Oh my god, are you and Apollo okay?
I’m always okay. Apollo’s fine. There were some injuries but hopefully nothing serious. Everyone survived.
Thank god. Do you always get calls like that?
Sometimes it’s more like a medical emergency, if we’re the closest people to it. It’s not always a fire. But yeah, I’d say we get a few calls every weekend, at least.
That sounds really stressful. For people, anyway. I know sometimes it stresses Apollo. Does it stress you, too? In the same way, I mean. Sorry, I’ve never talked to a bionic before. I’m not sure how your programming works.
I wouldn’t say it stresses me in the same way, it’s what I was built for.
I’m intrigued. She’s worried about my stress levels. That’s the one thing nobody asks me. It takes something extremely serious to worry me, and it’s rare that happens. But since I’m a fire bionic, well, everyone just assumes I’m hunky fucking dory all the time.
I wish that were the case. But I’d rather not get deep into those feelings right now, or make Mia worry more.
It’s not bad. Don’t worry.
Do you prefer quiet, or do you like when things are busy?
Both have their merits, but I prefer when I’m not sent out on the job. It means nobody’s in danger, and that’s the best scenario. So being bored is a good thing.
I like that.
I try to think of how best to broach my dilemma. How she has my gratification drive so tangled up, I feel as though I could run from one side of the continent to the other on a single battery charge. But that might scare her. Best not to lead with that for now.
That being said, her brother—my best friend—is a real issue. And one I can’t ignore.
By the way, I should let you know the guys here have a rule about keeping our distance from each other’s families. If he finds out we’re talking, he might not appreciate it.
She responds quickly.
I’m not going to blab. But I don’t think I like that rule. I mean, I guess I get it—don’t eat where you shit, stuff like that—but what if you really feel a connection with someone?
She sends a follow-up thought.
He didn’t make it up just now, did he?
I’m curious why she thinks it’s a recent development.
No. A while back, actually. The weekend guys are all pretty close. One of them, AJ, dated this other guy Booker’s sister and it went to hell. Caused a lot of friction. They’ve smoothed it over now, for the most part, but it took a while.
Well, that’s gotta be rough, but that doesn’t mean the same thing will happen every time to everyone. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry. We’re just talking for now, right? Getting to know each other?
Yeah.
I dial back on the seriousness of the conversation, internalizing and processing her words. Talking. We’re just talking. I’m not betraying Apollo just by messaging her.
That being said, I should tread carefully and not push any boundaries too fast. No matter how much my gratification drive wants me to.
Got any embarrassing Apollo stories I can rub in his face?
A few. You’ll hear them all eventually. If not from me, then from Jess. Are you pretty close with him?
He’s my best friend.
Wow. He’s lucky, then.
Another odd thing when we’ve only just met. Apollo, lucky to have me?
You think so?
It takes her a moment to answer. Almost like she’s writing me something, deleting it, and starting over.
My brother and I haven’t been close for a long time. Let’s just say we have some things to work out.
I get the feeling that’s a closed topic, and I shouldn’t pry.
Fair enough.
I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, talking with me. Want me to talk with him?
No, I think it’s best for anything to come from me, when and if it becomes necessary.
Maybe that’s the answer to my dilemma. Bionics aren’t stagnant.
We’re receiving updates, upgrades, changes to our programming all the time.
My grat drive moved fast. I have no idea if this is something that will stick with me forever, or, like with Apollo, it might become unattached and become drawn to someone new.
Except I don’t like that possibility. Just considering it makes my systems revolt, as though to punish me for even thinking it.
Then it’s settled.
She garnishes her message with playful smirking emojis.
If we move past the getting-to-know-you stage, we’ll both handle Apollo our own way. I can’t pretend I’m best buds with him the way you are, but can he really get mad if we’re being cautious?
I like her way of thinking. Either way, I’m definitely going to need to be careful.
I think honesty is the best policy.
So do I. Thanks for making me feel welcome, by the way. I’m afraid to ask, but—what all did Apollo tell you about me?
He said you’re an aspiring fashion designer. That you’ve always been artistic. He showed me a picture of you, when you were fifteen.
Oh god, that awful thing.
She sends me a flurry of embarrassed emojis.
He’s killing me. I had braces back then and everything. I’d like to send you something more recent, if that’s okay?
Yes, of course, I would like to see more photos of you.
Sexy or sweet?
Something tells me I’m being tested. I answer cautiously.
Sweet.
Mia sends me a selfie of her beautiful face, her hair tied up in a towel, and my gratification drive soars all the way to the ceiling on its own. She is so fucking beautiful, it’s hard to believe she wasn’t built in a laboratory herself.
Hey, gorgeous.
What are you thinking?
Honestly?
You did say that was the best policy.
I wish I’d said sexy.
My circuits are thrilled at our banter. A notification of an attachment pops up across my visual feed. Without delay, I open it.
This time, it’s a video. She sticks her tongue out playfully. “Gotcha,” she teases. “Thought it was going to be a sexy pic, huh? Well, you should’ve asked when you had the chance, big guy!”
I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. Mia Bennett has a mischievous side. I can get down with that. A flash of desire hits my circuitry like lightning. I can think of some things I’d like to do with her tongue. That thought by itself is enough to tantalize me.
I replay that video again so I can soak in every detail of hers.
My cock automatically initializes and twitches in my pants without my command as I focus on that pretty pink tongue again.
Another surprise. Arousal is something I can usually control, and I don’t require regular manual stimulation, like many men do.
How easy would it be for me to unzip my pants and stroke myself to release, all while imagining Mia’s mouth?