Every retired coach keeps in their head the roster of their dream team. Hand-picked players who by themselves may not be stars but put together will give opposing teams a serious case of the willies. I think I’m alone, though, in the idea that I’ll find my quarterback in the form of a sex robot named Kissy Kissy.
The Altara Gate Pleasure Palace has seen better days. The small, automated space station hangs a few dozen kilometers from the Gate. It’s nearly lightless and completely deserted. The Gate itself only opens for authorized traffic and even with the truce, very few ships have clearance to use it. Credits are hard to find here, which is why I’m having so much trouble explaining to the station AI that I don’t want to use their services. I just want to talk.
“Kissy doesn’t do the talking bit,” the holographic AI says after I tell it what I want. I stand alone in the barren lobby. The only point of light in the darkness is the glow of this naked chick in front of me.
“Look, I want to hire her.”
“Then place your palm on the credit pad and we’ll get this show on the road.”
Chippers was only able to swing a two-hour pass for me on the Gate network, and the minutes are slipping away. Luci wasn’t available for this leg of the trip, mumbling something about hating Gate travel. I’d found another charter to fly me out here, some old couple named Timothy and Gladys. They weren’t impressed with my destination. They’d made it clear to me that they weren’t going to test the two-hour boundary, and if I took too long “would leave behind my sinning self to rot.” Which would be perfect if I were rich. I’m not. Hell is being broke and marooned in a Pleasure Palace. “Fine!” I pay the 300 credits, jump on the gravity pad, and in three minutes I’m standing in a small room with a robot with huge tits.
Kissy is lying naked on the bed. She looks real except for breasts big enough to tear the chest off a normal human woman. Some guys love this shit, but I don’t. To me, banging a robot is like having sex with a toaster. I like real skin, real sweat, real grunts and real boobs.
“Sheila downstairs says you want to talk,” Kissy says, stretching her legs in opposite directions. “I hope you want to do more than that, it’s been pretty boring around here lately.”
“I’m here to hire you–”
“You did already. Clock’s tickin’.”
“I’m here to hire you to play quarterback on my spaceball team.”
Kissy closes her legs and stands up in a graceful motion that defies gravity. Her boobs don’t move at all. No bounce, no jiggle. I can’t stand that. She comes over and reaches for my belt.
I step back. “I’m not here for that.”
“You into guys?” she asks. “I got some attachments.”
“Nope, I just like my women real. No offense.”
Kissy pouts. “Oh, you’re one of those.”
“Those what?”
“Racists.”
I stare at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You don’t want to have sex with me.”
“And that counts as racial disparity?” I demand. “Just because I don’t want to bang you doesn’t mean I’m against robot rights. I really don’t care either way, if you really want to know.”
Kissy sits back down on the bed, crosses her legs, and puts her hand on her knees. “You say you’re into women. If you didn’t know I was a robot–”
I gesture at her tits. “Really?”
She shrugs. Her breasts shrink to normal size. Man, I want to be able to do that with my gut.
“Are you attracted to me now?” Kissy asks. “I know you’re going to say yes, but now that you do know I’m a robot, you don’t want to have sex, so that means you’re racist.” She gives me one of those looks that says settle in for the long haul, buddy, we’re going to be here awhile.
I don’t have awhile. I have an hour to convince this sex robot-turned-philosophy major to quarterback. I start to wonder if she’s worth the trouble. Give me convicted felons any day. “Look, Kissy, you’re right, I don’t want to have sex with you. I might have had I not known you were a robot. But I didn’t come all the way out here on a two-hour Gate pass – which is half over, I might add – to debate basic personal liberties of those who cannot legitimately be called people.” Her eyebrows climb halfway up her forehead. I plow right on. “In my book, you need basic emotions to go with those basic liberties. For one, you need to be able to hate. Liberty isn’t all that great if you can’t take it from somebody else you despise. Two, you can’t have hate without love, which is pretty close to the same thing. You spend the same amount of time thinking about somebody. Learning about them. Understanding them. Then you try to get them to do what you want. If you love them, you want them to ignore all your issues. If you hate them, then you want them to die. So, I guess, that’s where they’re different, and I had a point I was trying to make but I forgot.” I pause, draw a deep breath, and say, “I need a quarterback for my spaceball team. I saw the promo vid you did all those years back. Most everybody thought it was a joke, but I saw some real sweet moves. You’d make a great player. So, how about it?”
Kissy blinks. She opens her mouth to speak, closes it, and then says, “I’d like to meet the woman who fucked you up.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“If you’re serious about that, come out and play for me. My wife is in charge of the exosuits. She wants a divorce.”
“Really? Why would she want that?”
Sarcasm. Fantastic.
***
I get the look of death from Gladys when I escort my new quarterback onboard their transport plane. Kissy is wearing a nearly transparent teddy. Timothy has a hard time not staring.
“Your bunk is in the back on the left,” I tell Kissy. “I think Gladys would appreciate it if you wore something a bit less revealing.” I smile at Gladys, thinking I might win some points.
Glady’s expression gets even more stony. Didn’t think it was possible.
Kissy glances at Gladys, who’s wearing black pants and a black jacket buttoned up to her chin. “You shouldn’t wear such confining clothes, my dear,” Kissy says. “A woman’s body is beautiful and is meant to be celebrated. For instance, that jacket looks positively stifling and is doing nothing to show off your breasts. Are those real? I would so love to have real tits.”
I groan. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Kissy –“
Gladys jumps out of her seat so fast I think I’m under attack. “Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain on my ship,” she shouts. She whips around and shakes her finger at her husband. Gladys’ index finger is longer than normal, as if decades of finger shaking has somehow elongated the digit. “And you,” she continues, “I told you to clear all our destinations with me before we take on clients. You knew we were coming here, didn’t you? You knew.”
Timothy looks helpless. Either he’s really dumb or he’s looking through his wife’s head at the opposite wall, waiting for the storm to subside. I’ve employed the technique plenty of times. When Gladys looks as if she’s running out of steam, Timothy stands up and turns to Kissy. “You’ll find everything you need in your stateroom, Miss. Mr. Stern, perhaps it would be best if you escorted your friend to the rear of the ship.”
I grab Kissy’s elbow with my cybernetic hand, press down hard enough to get her attention, and steer her aft. Thankfully, we get our own staterooms. I push Kissy into hers and duck into mine, the steel door closing off her, “Wait a minute, you never said your arm was–”
I’d just sat down to take off my boots when there was a banging at the door. I open it and find Kissy wearing a smart pantsuit. “Your monthly nanocloth fees must be huge. I only get a few options to choose from. Is there anything you don’t have?”
Kissy pushes past me. She plants her hands on her hips and says, “You never said you were a cyborg.”
“Whoa! Easy throwing around the C word! It’s just my arm, not like it’s half my body. I still got all my major organs.”
“So, you’re part robot, and you still won’t have sex with me?”
“Kissy! I’d like to get a few hours’ sleep! I’m not spending the entire trip to Freehaven arguing about this!”
“But you upgraded yourself to be more like us – “
“GODDAMN IT, IT WASN’T MY FUCKING IDEA! It’s not like I walked into a chop shop and traded it in! A linebacker took it home as a souvenir!”
She cocks her head at me. “Freehaven, you said?”
“Yes. That’s where we’re going.”
“Well,” Kissy declares, “at least there will be lots of people there who will have sex with me.”
“What is this obsession with me sleeping with you?”
“Everyone wants to have sex with me. You don’t. I don’t understand why.”
It hits me that she’s right. Sex is what she was made for. Everyone she met had wanted only one thing from her. Ever. Until today. “I think I know why,” I tell her. “You were told you had a purpose. That you were made to do it. You’re the best at it, even. But here’s a guy standing in front of you who doesn’t want you. But you’re the best, how could he not? Is it you? Are you broken? Am I on the right track?”
Kissy nods. She looks vulnerable, for a robot. But I’m tired and I think strange things when I’m on the edge of sleep. “Look, Kissy, you might think you were made to have sex, but I think you were made to play spaceball. I look at you and see something different than everybody else. I see you hurling the ball to the end zone from a star system away. I see you taking the enemy’s blitz and turning it into a cheese grater. Some people see big tits when they look at you, Kissy, and I hope you keep them toned down when we’re out in public, by the way, but in my opinion, you were made to be a weapon. You are going to fucking destroy the competition, and I can’t wait to unleash you on the battlefield.”
“You really think that? You’re not just saying it to make me feel better?”
“Kissy, the sex job was only temporary. Spaceball is your destiny.”
She smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear, and then practically skips out of the room. I blink as the door slides shut behind her. My brain attempts to make sense of what just happened, but in the end, I give up and drop onto the narrow bunk. Deep thoughts should be left to deep people with deep pockets. Yet, one thought chases me to sleep.
A weapon…hmm…
***
Originally an impromptu trading post, six hundred years and a Rim War has transformed Freehaven Outpost into a ring station four kilometers in diameter, with 25,000 semi-permanent residents and an annual traffic of over 2 million starships. The more recent war with the Edochians has left Freehaven Station largely untouched. While it does straddle eleven clan territories and there are ample shipping lanes nearby, even the Edochians are hesitant to stir up the pirates. The clans do very well fighting amongst themselves. If the last time they fought a common enemy was any indication, they should be allowed to kill each other without distraction.
I wave goodbye to Gladys when she and Timothy drop us off, but she doesn’t wave back. Not even after I smile at her. I’d always gotten good mileage out of that smile. Instead, she wrinkles her nose at me leaves without another word.
“That was the most uptight woman I’ve ever met,” I say to Kissy as we stand in line to get processed. Mostly, Station security only wants to know if you’re carrying any big guns. Not little guns for killing people – though they’d confiscate those, too – but big ones that blow holes in the hull. Or explosives. Security always gets excited about explosives. Kissy is still wearing her pantsuit, and hope the teddy won’t make an appearance when we meet-
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Laura shouts from across the room.
All eyes flip to her, see that she’s pointing, and then sweep in that direction. They are confused, though. Nothing out of the ordinary. I would’ve expected burning clowns with an announcement like that. Maybe if I don’t make eye contact she’ll go away.
“I know you can see me, you piece of shit!” Laura yells. She’s just beyond the processing checkpoint and still has her luggage over her shoulder. “You drag my ass all the way out to this shithole, then have the fucking gall to show up with her? I take it that’s the fucking cum dump tramp you traded me in for?”
The crowd goes silent.
I cover my face with one hand and stare at my wife through my fingers. She glares at me with her hands on her hips, hurt and rage burning in her eyes – and something else. A glimmer, a twitching of the corners of her lips – that bitch! She’s fucking enjoying this!
I shrug, and then raise my voice so all can hear. “Sorry, babe,” I say, “but you won’t swallow.”
Have you ever heard two hundred women gasp all at the same time? Followed by the low rumble of as many men chuckling and outright laughing? I think it’s the start of an exquisite symphony, but I don’t get to hear the rest of it. While I stand there grinning like an idiot, I discover that Freehaven Security didn’t do a very thorough job searching my wife’s person. She’s suddenly holding a palm-sized kinetic pistol.
BANG!