Chapter 9
Aura
The experience of overheating almost to the point of total system malfunction was frightening. Wyl acted admirably. He remained calm, even after I had nearly lost the ability to communicate.
Amendment: He remained calm for a human.
Once I am cool and dry, we are able to outfit me with one of the other all-weather suits.
Wyl was right about the hoods; with the cooling device active, I no longer fear for my wellbeing, nor for his.
The elevated temperature in our suite is now tolerable for both of us, and the construction of the hoods is clever enough to allow Wyl to feed himself without removing it.
While he eats, I check the station’s fuel cell priority roster. It appears that we are well down the list, as several Galactic Authority military vessels are also docked at the station for refueling, and those take priority over all others.
Days could pass before our ship is fueled.
Though I express my displeasure at this delay, Wyl seems unconcerned. He shrugs and finishes his RatPak at a leisurely pace.
As a courtesy, the station had some fresh Ssylinese cuisine delivered to our door.
Our discussion on what to do with the food became quite heated—I do not have a digestive system, so I cannot “eat” it, and Ssylinese food is toxic to humans—until Wyl posited that we could dispose of it via the waste disposal receptacle in the bathroom to make it appear that I have consumed it.
Ssylins have adopted this humanoid method of waste disposal since they began slowly integrating with human society.
Human and Ssylin engineers tried a few times to adapt the receptacle to Ssylin anatomy as the tail is cumbersome, but eventually the Ssylins found that the solution was as simple as sitting parallel to the wall as opposed to perpendicular.
However, in order to make it convincing—and to avoid clogging the station’s plumbing—I have to at least chew the food.
I was designed with taste receptors. Food preferences.
Dislikes.
The Ssylinese meal is … disgusting. I hope it is just my programming causing the foul taste and not that the food was poorly prepared.
It is acidic. Caustic, even. The spices are not the least bit complimentary, causing a cacophony of flavor—if this can be called flavor—that threatens to overload my input drives and short-circuit my processors.
A bitter aftertaste remains even when I spit it back out.
Rinsing with water does nothing to alleviate the unpleasantness, and eventually I have a reaction I would not have thought possible:
Gagging.
“Aura? Aura! Is something wrong?” Wyl puts down his Pak and rushes around the table to my side. “Did they poison it?”
“I … do not … believe so …” I struggle to get the words out between violent, spasmodic strictures of my intake tube. “I am … not susceptible … to organic poisons.”
My sensors do not detect any poisonous material anyway. It’s just food.
Terrible food.
Once the strictures subside, I take a few gasping breaths—not that I require oxygen, but I am programmed to approximate human behavior, so I often inhale and exhale as though I am breathing.
“There.” I look at Wyl, who seems ready to perform rescue maneuvers if need be.
“Surely there is something else I could do to simulate consumption? I do not think I could tolerate chewing this anymore.”
He rubs my back. “Of course. Um ….” He pauses, appearing perplexed. “Maybe you could just squish it?”
“Squish?”
“Yeah. Like, put it in your hands and smash it until it looks like it’s been chewed. The point is to break the food up enough that it goes through the plumbing without any problems, right? So, we’ll just cut it into small pieces, you smash it, and we’ll flush it.”
“Do you think that will be sufficient?”
Wyl pushes back my hood just enough to kiss my forehead, then replaces the covering. “It’ll have to be, since it looks like you can’t stand the food, even when you’re spitting it out.”
His kiss reminds me that we cannot engage in sexual activities while we are on the station.
I find myself greatly disappointed by this realization despite knowing what happened to Archer IX and the other XR-17s.
I do not wish for either of us to meet a similar fate to our historical counterparts, but at the same time, I find Wyl quite attractive.
The fact that he takes care of me and puts my wellbeing before his own adds to that attraction, though I am unsure why.
I certainly do not need him to provide for me, and my programming is not based on such evolutionary responses as an organic being’s attraction might be.
Maybe my engineer thought I should have a partner who can provide.
Perhaps I am programmed this way because of their biological imperatives and evolutionary responses.
“Excuse me, Wyl; I have a query.”
“Yeah? Go ahead.” He drags his chair next to me and sits close, his gaze intense.
Too intense.
A strange feeling starts in my neural processor, a hesitation. I have almost forgotten what I wanted to ask.
“Do you enjoy taking care of me?”
Wyl frowns, concern written on the angular lines of his face.
He takes my hands in his and rubs my knuckles with his thumbs, a soothing gesture.
“What do you mean, exactly? Of course I enjoy taking care of you. I like you, and I want to keep you around. Besides, that’s what shipmates do: They look out for each other and watch each other’s backs. ”
“Perhaps I am not phrasing this correctly.” I pause to reevaluate my words. “Does it give you pleasure to provide for me?”
He stops. Blinks. Then his eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “What kind of pleasure are you asking about? I mean, I like seeing you happy, so if providing for you does that, then yeah, it gives me a certain satisfaction.”
“Does it satisfy you sexually to take care of me?”
Perhaps I should not have posited that question while he was taking a drink. He spits out his water and aspirates, sending him into a violent coughing fit.
“What?”
I have not been clear. When he recovers, I try again. “For instance, I enjoy when you care for me. I find it desirable—sexually. As desirable as kissing or other intimate acts.”
“So, what, you thought it was sexy when I dumped you in the shower and drenched you?”
I smile. Good. He understands. “Indeed. Despite not having a biological imperative to find a sexual partner who can provide and care for me, your ability to do so is sexually gratifying for me. I greatly enjoy those moments.”
“Wow.”
Though I had hoped for a positive reaction, Wyl seems conflicted. His mouth opens and closes several times, as though he is about to say something, but no words come out. He does not let go of my hands, however, which I interpret as a good sign.
“Aura, I’m not quite sure what to say to that. It’s … It’s flattering, for sure, but does that mean you’re programmed to be sexually attracted to anyone who treats you well?”
“Interesting question.” I pause and run a brief internal scan, but that part of my code is locked from conscious access.
“Uncertain. I do not know if this is a programmed response or something else. However, regardless of the origin of my desires, they exist, and I wish to act on them when we leave this station.”
His face reddens. There could be many reasons for this response, though, so I cannot determine if he reciprocates yet.
Wyl licks his lips and averts his gaze, and I worry again that I have said something incorrectly. When he looks back at me, there is an expression on his face that I do not recognize. This inability to accurately read human facial features frustrates me. I feel as though I am at a disadvantage.
“You know what could happen if we’re caught.”
“Affirmative.”
He sighs. “And you know that I can’t protect you if we’re caught.
You have, as you put it, autonomy, which means you’d be intentionally breaking the law.
We wouldn’t be able to get you a lighter sentence if we’re convicted because the software techs could tell that you made a conscious choice to break that law.
I’m willing to face the consequences, but I want to be sure you understand the consequences for you. ”
His reticence disappoints me. “You do not wish to engage in sexual activities once we are clear of Declan VI.”
“I never said that. Please don’t try to interpret my words like that.
If you want clarification, ask … but don’t assume.
” Wyl reaches into my hood and strokes my cheek.
My pleasure receptors ignite at the touch, sending waves of satisfaction through my neural net.
“What I was trying to say is this: Yes, I want to have sex with you. I want you so bad that it’s almost a physical ache.
But we have to be careful. If anyone overheard this conversation, we’d be executed. ”
“Then we will not discuss sexual matters in mixed company.”
“Aura, it’s not that simple. Station quarters are protected by galactic privacy laws, but in the hallways, the galley, anywhere else, our conversations could be recorded and used against us.
” His eyes glisten with fresh liquid—unshed tears.
“I don’t want you hurt because I agreed to this.
We have to think about it. When we—When we interacted on Jupiter’s Joy, I wasn’t thinking straight.
All I was thinking was that there was an attractive droid sitting in my bed, one who has anatomical parts that are compatible with mine. ”
That is … disappointing. I had thought there was more than just physical attraction between us. “You … do not care for me?”
He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
“Again, I didn’t say that. I do care about you, Aura, but at that moment, I hadn’t …
. I hadn’t seen all the facets you have.
Your compassion for your fellow droids, your empathy for them.
Those are admirable qualities in any intelligent being, desirable qualities.
So, in a way, even though I’m more hesitant to have sex with you, I not only want you more sexually but also care about you more as an individual now. Does that make sense?”
My processor whirrs as it registers his phrasing and runs it through several interactive algorithms. I want to be certain that I don’t misinterpret his words again. “I believe so.”
“So, you understand when I say that it isn’t that I don’t care about you or don’t want to have sex with you; it’s that I care about you so much that I’d rather not have sex if it means keeping you safe.”
“I see.” Taking his hand from my cheek, I hold it to my chest. “I, too, wish to keep you safe … but I also wish to be intimate. How do humans reconcile feelings like this? The contradictory desires are bothersome. My processor does not like them.”
Wyl chuckles. “Welcome to humanity. Our brains—our processors, you could say—don’t much care for this kind of internal conflict, either.”
“Then what will we do?”
He leans close and kisses my lips. “We’ll wait until we’re off station. Put some distance between us and the GA. And, in the meantime, we’ll talk more. Have more discussions. I really enjoy talking with you, even when you don’t always quite get what I’m saying. It’s nice.”
“And then we will have sex?”
“Maybe.” He winks. “For now, we’ll just ride out our time here until the ship is fueled.”