Inspected By

The new rubber floor running down the hall of the testing facility gave strangely under Tara's feet. An upgrade courtesy of another new investor? She turned, blinking as she walked down a corridor suddenly so brightly lit it would give a solar flare a run for its money. No shadows here. Not at Future Pleasures, Inc.

A tech passed her, giving her a brilliant smile--too brilliant for this early in the morning--and she wondered if he was even human. Damon loved to send his creations out to "pass" in the real world.

"Excuse me," she said, the sound partially swallowed by the new flooring material. Her voice used to echo in this hallway.

The tech swirled with the inhuman grace that could only be robotic. As he waited for her to say something, his smile ratcheted up a notch. He was 3300 series, at least. Or maybe Damon had finally readied the 3500s for field testing.

She knew her own smile was getting bigger. Damon had promised her an experience she'd never forget with the 3500 series.

"Miss?" The robot's voice was low and sweet. Damon had worked out the tinniness so prevalent in the earlier models. From the 2700 series on, his creations had sounded increasingly human.

"Sorry," she said. "I thought you were someone else." She expected him to go back to whatever it was he'd been doing.

But he didn't. He said, "My loss," and walked towards her, his footsteps hitting lightly on the floor.

Damon had worked hard on that, too: getting the robots down to "normal" weight so they didn't pound on the floor as they walked. And so the people who'd spring the massive amounts of dollars needed to acquire one of FPI's sex toys wouldn't be crushed the first time they elected to be on the bottom.

"I'm late for a meeting," Tara said.

"I know. It's with me." He took her hand in his.

Warm. His flesh was warm. Not hot like the 2900 series. Not cold like the earlier series or lukewarm like the later. This was ninety-eight point six warm.

"Epidermal heaters?"

He shook his head. "Radiant heat. From the primary generator. It's less detectable under conditions of close contact."

Close contact. A euphemism for sex. FPI was nothing if not discreet. Certainly Damon's clients appreciated that.

They should appreciate her, too. She tested these babies, after all. Quality assurance by Inspector Twenty-Five. Damon was evasive whenever she asked who the other twenty-four testers were, and if there were more than twenty-five. But she thought they were probably like her. Not doing this for the money. Just bored and rich with a taste for the exotic.

The robot pulled her hand gently, leading her back down the corridor toward Damon's office.

"Anxious to get started?" she asked.

He turned and gave her a grin that nearly made her heart melt. Damon had certainly hit the next level with this one.

"Are you?" he asked.

"Always. Every day's an adventure with you guys."

Although more so now with these pass-for-human models. The 1600 male series--actually Damon's first series, but he'd amped up the starting numbers to make the concept look more tested--had been little more than a vibrator with legs. Not that she'd minded. A bad day with one of Damon's toys was better than a good day alone.

"Is that all we are to you? An adventure?" The robot had a convincing ring of irritation in his voice.

Tara had been there when Damon had tasked Peter with upgrading the personality of the 3500s. "Make them real, man," he'd said through the purple-green smoke of the imported cigarette he'd been smoking. "Make me believe they're human."

Seemed like he'd finally hit pay dirt.

"Should you be more than an adventure to me?" she asked.

The robot appeared to consider that. Then he shrugged.

"Ooh, points for ambiguity." Tara squeezed the robot's hand, was surprised to feel him squeeze back. "You're doing great."

"I'm glad you think so." He winked at her. She didn't even want to think of the programming it took for him to do that at just the right moment with just the right amount of levity.

Tara pushed through the double doors that led to the lab's front room, drawing the robot with her. Peter looked up from his drafting table and frowned.

"What?" she asked.

"Why did you bring him in here?" Peter looked at the robot. "Cliff, don't you have a light bulb to change somewhere?"

Tara dropped his hand. "You're human?"

Again the beautiful-for-a-robot, irritating-for-a-human shrug.

"Oh, Cliff, there you are." Damon walked out from his office. "Level five is complaining it's too cold. Go see to that, will you?"

Cliff gave her a "No rest for the weary" look and headed out of the lab.

"I think Tara thought our new janitor was her robot du jour," Peter said, grinning at her.

She glanced back, as if she could see Cliff through the closed doors. "He turned with such grace."

Damon shrugged--a move that she should have realized a robot could never do so convincingly. "Maybe he's a former dancer who blew out his knee lifting one too many ballerinas."

"Maybe." She doubted Damon cared much about Cliff's curriculum vitae. The man was only support, after all.

"Now, Tara, my dearest girl, let me show you what's on the menu for today."

She rubbed her hands together, making him laugh. "A 3500?"

"They're not ready. But I've got a mark-two 3300F for you to work with. I know you prefer males, but I'm short a tester. And I do want to see how she works for women."

"Oh, all right." She winked. She really didn't care who gave her the next mind-blowing orgasm--or twenty.

"Come on out," Damon said softly.

The curtain parted and the robot slinked into the room. Tall, dark, and sleek, she was clearly for those whose desires did not run to the everyday. She stopped by Damon, her eyes on Tara. A subtle scent seemed to emanate from her.

"Perfume?" Tara asked.

"Natural scent. We've been working on that."

Tara sniffed deeply, nodding in approval. This was nice. Spicy. Kind of soft. The first models had smelled like equal parts lavender and motor oil.

"Go. Have fun." Damon made a shooing motion.

The robot took Tara's hand, pulling her toward the entrance and down the rubber-floored corridor to the first of the testing rooms.

Cliff was in there, changing a light bulb. He gave the 3300F a slow once-over. "Hey. Nice one."

"Could you finish up? We're on the clock."

"Oh, sure. Right. Anyway, level five calls." He gathered up his ladder and a carryall of light bulbs. "Enjoy the adventure."

"Very funny." Tara shut the door. She felt the robot's hands all over her--Damon had programmed this series to be pretty overt in the "I want you" department.

"Can we get started?" the robot asked, her voice silky and low.

"If you insist." Tara laughed as they started the inspection with the robot hitting one of her ticklish spots, then moving on to parts just as sensitive for far more interesting reasons.

Tara groaned: her job was such a trial.

"You're back," Cliff said, joining Tara halfway down the hall.

She looked around, trying to spot where he'd come from.

He grinned his cute, non-robotic smile again. "Poof! He appears out of thin air to rescue fair maiden." His grin turned into a gentle leer. "Well, maiden might be pushing it. Unless you've never done it with a human? Have you?"

"That's none of your business."

"So, you haven't." He sounded very smug.

"Of course I have. What kind of tester would I be if I didn't have something to compare performance to?"

"Good point." He stopped, crouched down, and fiddled with a piece of the rubber flooring. "Already coming up. This stuff is crap. That's what you get when you go with the lowest bidder."

"Why did they add it?"

"Sound baffling."

"Oh."

He laughed as he pushed himself to his feet. "Guess the new models are going to make you inspectors very loud."

The old models already did that. Why did Damon suddenly need to muffle noise?

"So are they better?" he asked.

"Are the new models better than the old?"

He wasn't looking at her. "No. Are robots better than humans?"

"Um, yeah. That's sort of the point."

"Well, you can't fall in love with one."

"Oh, you can. It's not recommended, however." She'd heard that Inspector Sixteen had fallen in love with one. Maybe that was why Damon was short a female-female tester?

"So, do you have someone back home you love?" he asked. "Some very understanding someone?"

She used to have someone. But that had been before this job. It had been why she'd taken this job. Rick hadn't just broken her heart; he'd stomped on it and thrown it to the dogs--someone else's dogs.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hit a nerve." Cliff had to be reading her expression.

"You didn't." Why was she the only one getting the third degree? "So, were you a ballet dancer?"

"Huh?"

"Damon said you were." He'd said Cliff might have been, but close enough.

"Do I look like a ballerina?"

"I don't know. You're awfully well built. I did think you were a robot, after all."

"About that..."

"Forget it. I'm sure it seemed like a funny thing to do at the time." The lab door stood before her. "Well, this is my stop."

"Sure is." He kept walking and she thought he seemed a little mad.

"What's your problem?"

He turned, walked backwards. "I have no problem. I am problem free."

"Well. Good." Robots were not this confusing. Just screw them, score them, and move on.

Why was she even talking to him? He was a janitor, for chrissakes.

He stopped walking. "Do you want to get coffee or something?"

Coffee. Rick had asked her to coffee. Which had led to dinners and vids and then living together until he'd run off with an exotic dancer, leaving Tara to deal with his unpaid bills and a nasty little infection.

Coffee was definitely out.

Cliff seemed to get that. "Never mind."

"Considering where you work, maybe this isn't the best place to try to pick up women?"

"Thanks, Confucius." He disappeared around a corner, his footsteps swallowed up by the rubber floor.

"Just trying to help." She stared down the corridor for a moment, then turned to go inside to whatever assignment Damon had for her today.

"You okay?" Peter looked up as Tara stumbled in with a 3300M.

She felt off balance; something had been different about this one. The sex had been...rougher.

"Tara, done already?" Damon walked out of his office.

"I called time." She'd never called time. "You might need to work on the controls for this one. He's a little...aggressive."

"Aggressive? How odd." Damon took her hands between his own, chafing them as if she was a nineteenth-century innocent. "I'm sorry, my dear. We'll work on this, of course."

Peter led the robot to a diagnostic panel at the side of the room.

"Did he scare you?" Damon asked.

"Was he supposed to?" God only knew what kind of special orders Damon got. But a little warning that kink was going to be on the menu would have been nice.

"Not at all. You've tested how many 3300s by now? Did any of them make you feel this way?"

"No."

"Well, there you go. Just a malfunction. It's bound to happen once in a while."

"I suppose."

"Go home, my darling. There'll be a bonus for being so brave." He patted her hand.

She yanked it away. His charm was wearing thin. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, of course, Tara. Have a good night. Do something...special."

She was halfway down the hall when she realized Cliff had joined her. He pushed her into a side hallway and stuck something in her ear. She could hear Damon and Peter talking.

She tried to pull it out. "What the...?"

"Just listen."

"I think that went well," Damon was saying. "How's our boy?"

"Fine."

She heard a thump. Repeated several times. Damon was probably patting the robot's shoulder the same way he'd patted her hand. She imagined the sound being metallic, but it wasn't. It sounded just like a hand on clothes on top of human flesh.

Damon and Peter talked about specs and performance parameters in their own language--one she didn't share. She glanced up at Cliff, who was listening closely on his earpiece. He seemed to share their language. He looked at her, his smile very gentle.

"How was she?" Damon asked the robot.

"Compliant," the robot answered.

"How many opportunities did you have to kill her?"

Tara met Cliff's eyes. He was watching her intently.

"One thousand three hundred twenty-three."

She swallowed.

"How many would have left no trace?"

"One hundred and fifteen."

She yanked the earpiece out and threw it at Cliff. He caught it easily, then grabbed her arm, leading her down the corridor, to a service area where there were tables and vending machines. He plunked her in a chair and went over to the coffee machine.

Handing her a steaming cup, he said, "They're not just for sex, anymore."

It was bitter. She drank it anyway. "What's going on?" she finally asked.

"You heard what he asked that thing." He sat across from her. "What do you think is going on?"

She realized her hand was shaking and put the coffee down. "He may always ask them that. It's sick but..."

"He doesn't. This is new. New and disturbing." He sighed. "That was a 3500 you just tested. Not a 3300."

"Damon said they weren't ready."

"Damon lied."

"And you care why?" She picked up her cup and drained it, trying not to choke as the hot brew burned her mouth and throat.

"It's my job to care." He pulled a badge out of a pocket she didn't even know he had and flashed it at her. "He's getting some very interesting funding. It's generated a lot of notice."

She shook her head.

"Tara...?"

"Damon's been good to me."

"Damon plans to kill you. Tonight." He leaned in. "Has he ever told you to do something special before?"

"No."

"He's escalated the timetable. Someone must be putting pressure on him. One of his foreign investors probably."

"I'm not some runaway he can just make disappear. I have family. I have friends."

"Yes. I imagine you're exactly like the people his robots will be sent to kill. Rich. Influential. Not expendable."

She looked down.

"He asked how many ways would have left no trace? That question mattered, Tara."

"I know." She pushed the cup at him. "Can I have some more coffee?"

"No. You need to think."

"I need to leave. Now." She got up quickly, heading for a door that she hoped led to the street.

"Tara. It won't happen here. He'll send one of them to you. The final test. In the field."

Yes. It would try passing as human. Just like Damon liked his creations to do.

Would it be a male or a female? It didn't matter, really. Just that it wasn't one she'd tested. Wasn't one she would recognize on sight.

She tried to open the door. It stuck, and Cliff walked over and yanked it open.

"Tara, please be careful. I can come with you if you want...?"

She shook her head, hurried away from him. But then the door slammed and it sounded so final. The alley to the street lay in front of her, but she imagined someone waiting for her at the end of it. Someone who was nothing but metal underneath, metal and purpose.

A field test. How could she be a field test? Damon was her goddamned friend; he'd recruited her after Rick had dumped her. He'd been nothing but good to her.

She turned back and pounded on the cold, metal door so hard her hands throbbed.

Cliff opened it. "I guess you changed your mind?"

"Yes."

He walked over to the timecard scanner, ran his FPI badge under it, and grabbed his coat. "What the hell. It's quitting time, anyway."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

They walked down the alley, toward the street where no one was waiting. But maybe they had been? Maybe they saw Cliff and backed off. For a while, at least. They'd still come for her. With one of their hundreds of ways to kill her without leaving a trace.

"Are you hungry?" Cliff asked.

"No." She'd throw up if she had to eat now. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating. This was fear. No--this was total terror.

Damon was going to kill her. For no reason other than that he needed a subject for a field test.

Cliff put his arm around her, pulling her close. "Let's get you home."

She nodded.

"Where is your home?"

She imagined that he knew exactly where she lived. But it was nice of him to pretend not to. Easier on her. "This way," she said, turning him with a bump of her hip against his.

"What happened to you, Tara?" He tightened his hold on her. "Broken heart?"

"Yes."

"What was his name?"

"Why? Are you going to give him a hard time?" Wasn't that what men like Cliff did? When they weren't investigating sex robots turned assassins?

"If you want me to. I can even rough him up a little."

"Funny." She indicated they should turn again. "You know his name, don't you? There probably isn't much you don't know about me."

"I know his name."

She took a deep breath. "I wasn't enough for him."

"Some men just cheat, Tara. It has nothing to do with you or how well you loved him."

"Right."

"Is that why you like robots? They don't ask anything of you?"

"Profiling part of your training, Cliff?"

"Yes, actually." He kissed the top of her head. "You're such a sweet woman. But you've turned yourself off."

Like a robot on standby. He wasn't wrong.

Her apartment was just ahead. She didn't want to let go of him, and he laughed gently.

"I intend to come up. You're getting the full-service plan."

"Good."

They took the lift up to her rooms. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the view, and she kicked off her shoes, then went to pour them drinks.

"This is an amazing place."

"All the view money can buy." She handed him a glass. "This is top drawer, too. Enjoy it."

He put the glass down.

"Drinking against your religion?"

"Not something I enjoy."

She felt an absurd need to play it cool. "Ah. Ever the in-control G-man, huh?" But it made her feel better that he wasn't drinking, that he was looking out for her.

He went back to the windows, then pulled the shades.

She turned away, unwilling to watch as he locked the world away from her even more. "What will they pretend to be when they come for me? A delivery man? Cheerleader selling candy for her school? The friend of a friend?"

"Your knight in shining armor, I think." His breath was warm on her ear.

She turned slowly. He had crossed the room and she hadn't heard him move. She realized he smelled good. A spicy scent. Kind of soft.

"Cliff?"

"Damon asked me to do it fast. If that helps?" But he didn't reach for her.

"It doesn't."

"No. I guess it probably wouldn't."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get it done, Cliff. Do it fast." Would she feel it? Would it hurt?

"I don't...want to." He frowned. "I like you."

"That's not programmable."

"I'm 3500 series. We're something...more."

"Human?"

"Not quite. Not robot entirely, either." He seemed to consider her question. "Something in between."

"You're an assassin, though?"

"Yes." His thoughtful expression didn't change. As if he was still trying to understand all that he was.

"If you like me, then you can't kill me."

"I can. You're the mark. You always have been." He touched her hair and she forced herself not to flinch. "Rick will pay for making you so sad."

She brought her hand up slowly, nothing threatening as she stroked his cheek.

He shuddered.

He was something else. Something in between. And he liked her.

She leaned into him, her lips finding his. He was warm with that radiant heat that made close contact so deceiving. He'd never lied to her.

"Are the 3500s programmed for pleasure?" she asked.

"We are."

"Then kill me later." And she pulled him into the bedroom.

He did not resist. Was, in fact, quite helpful in getting clothes off and sex started. And he was definitely something in between. There was a warmth to being with him that she'd never found with the other robots.

Had she been looking for it with them? Was that why Damon had picked her?

They lay quietly finally, and as Cliff kissed her cheek, she felt his hand steal up her chest, toward her throat.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I like you, too."

Gerri Leen lives in Northern Virginia and is originally from Seattle. She is pleased the first appearance of her original fiction is at Fusion Fragment. Her work has been included in the Star Trek anthology Strange New Worlds (vols. VII, 9, and 10--due out in summer 2007) and is scheduled to appear in the Sails & Sorcery anthology and other upcoming publications and anthologies (a full list can be found at her website).