I.Lover , livre ebook

Title Page


A House of Erotica Collection



Publisher Information
I.Lover
published in 2015 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
The rights of the authors have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Copyright © House of Erotica 2015
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.



Human
Jillian Boyd
When disenchanted robotics engineer Kit Calhoun is called to the office of scientist George Adaire, she gets an offer she finds hard to refuse: assist him with an experiment which has the potential to improve lives.
“Please state your name and company.”
“Kit Calhoun. In Media Res Technology.”
Kit waited, idly tapping her fingers against the counter as the holographic receptionist behind the desk seemed to mull over the information. The generic blonde stock model they’d chosen for the hologram seemed frozen, grin twisting her face into a rictus, stuck in an eternal load screen.
“Could not find name in database. Please state your name and company.”
She grumbled. Her mother had told her about how, in her day , she’d seen her fair share of people swearing at the self-service tills in supermarkets. ‘UNEXPECTED ITEM, MY ARSE!’ She wondered what those people were making of the world twenty years on, with half the world running on auto-pilot.
“Right... Kathleen Calhoun. In Media Res Technology.”
LOADING. LOADING. Fingers tapping on the counter, a bit less idly and a bit more annoyed. LOADING.
“Verified. Access granted. Welcome to National Cyber Line. Please report to transporter B, destination floor 14.”
The image of the receptionist briefly made way for a green arrow pointing in the direction of the transporters. Kit took a deep breath, muttering a fuck you very much to the now stationary hologram, eerie in its state of cold stillness. She hitched up her backpack and headed off to transporter B, hoping that this one would prove a less rocky ride than the ones in her office. Thank God stairs still existed; convenient for when a transporter was spitting out antimatter and trapping employees on their way to management meetings.
Kit Calhoun, engineer at In Media Res Technology - IMRT - London branch. Sent to the National Cyber Line buildings in Canary Wharf for a meeting with George Adaire, scientist and assistant developer of a lot of the AI that was prevalent in the world these days. She repeated these facts to herself just before boarding the transpad, hoping that just this once she wouldn’t come out on the other end in need of a sit down and a memory scan. Despite the fact she’d pretty much grown up with them in use, she wasn’t very good at using the newer, faster ones.
When Kit made it to the fourteenth floor without any major damage, she sighed in relief, only to be startled when something warm touched her on the forearm.
“Miss Calhoun?”
It really shouldn’t have surprised Kit that an actual human was standing there, smiling politely at her - it shouldn’t have, but it did.
“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Adaire. I was told to be here for eleven, so I apologize for being a bit early.”
“Not a problem. I was informed of your arrival at the front desk, and sent to collect you at the transporter. Mr. Adaire’s finished his meeting early, so he can meet you right now if you’re ready.”
She nodded, turning to follow the woman down the hall. Kit let out a low whistle, wondering if there was a way to get NCL’s decorators to re-do the IMRT London offices. Plush red lined the walls, along with framed articles and pictures of Adaire and his colleagues being given awards and honours and rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. One of them dated back a year, from just after it had happened. George Adaire had been involved in a major accident which had trapped him and six other people under the crumbling rubbles of the disused Piccadilly Circus tube station. Despite the rescue crews in London now having full access to nanobots, it still took them two days to free the Piccadilly Seven. For 48 hours, it felt like London had stopped to hold its breath.
A year on and Adaire now got along using a wheelchair. It was something that some of the papers had been less than sensible about - but Kit had a feeling that Mr. Adaire couldn’t have cared less about them, even if he tried.
The assistant led her to the end of the corridor, to a pair of frosted glass double doors with MR. G. ADAIRE and the company logo emblazoned on them. She placed one slender hand on the scanner lock, gold bangles clinking on her wrist as she steadied her fingers and waited for the machine to give its approval.
Sure enough, the doors slid open.
“Welcome to the office of George Adaire,” said the tinny voice coming out of the scanner lock. “We hope you have a nice day.”
“Mr. Adaire, Miss Calhoun’s here,” said the assistant, before dismissing herself. Kit watched her walk away, noticing the slightly peculiar hitch in her steps...
“Oh, that’s my assistant, Cait. Sprained her ankle the other day, hence the walk. She’s human, don’t worry about it.”
“I heard that. Ouch.”
Kit grinned, before turning to see the man himself, sitting behind his desk. Curly, shaggy brown hair, big glasses framing his eyes and a lovely, open grin on his face. He flicked his hand over a sensor on his desk and the doors slid back shut. Another flick, another sensor, and Kit couldn’t help grinning.
“You invented your own wheelchair?”
George waved over the control pad on his chair as he made his way to her, spinning around a couple of times for the sake of flourish. “Indeed I did. Wasn’t too keen on the old school model they’d saddled me up with. Besides, this one’s way more fun. Kathleen Calhoun, welcome to my office. Do take a seat. Drink?”
“I go by Kit, if that’s okay with you. And, I’m fine, thank you,” said Kit, sitting down on the chair opposite George. He grinned at her, and Kit was amazed at just how much she liked his smile. Compared to the holograms and audiovisual screens she dealt with, it was appealingly human.
“You sure, Kit? I’ve got a little fridge built into my desk, so it’s no problem.”
“You’ve got a fridge built into your desk? Mr. Adaire, I’m impressed.”
“So am I, and I’ve been working with this desk for the past five years. Helps if all your mates are also scientist geniuses. Now...”
George grabbed a little device from his desk which resembled her mother’s old-school tablet and switched it on. He placed it in front of them and waited until a small loading hologram appeared. The room automatically darkened while the screen flashed up a set of elaborate blueprints.
“The reason I contacted your company, and you specifically, is your reputation. I understand that you’ve done some stellar work in the field of robotics? London Technology Institute graduate, first in the class, thesis on the subject of interpersonal relationships between robots and humans?”
“Yeah, that’s... pretty much my career in a nutshell, there. I’ve been fortunate to be a part of a couple of IMRT London’s most important projects in the last five years, with a strong focus on robotics...”
“And I understand that you are particularly interested in the links between human sexuality and advanced development in this particular area of robotics?”
“I am indeed.”
“Great. Great. I was also informed that you’ve performed what’s known as the Turing test, and variations thereof, on several occasions?”
Kit’s fingers unconsciously started tapping the chair’s arm rest. For a chilly mid-February morning in London, she was starting to feel uncomfortably clammy...
“Mr. Adaire, what am I looking at here?” she said, gesturing to the humming hologram blueprint in front of them.
She watched the smiling face of the man in front of her shift into something more serious, something earnest that made her sit up straight. “Miss Calhoun... what I’m about to ask of you relates to a project that my colleagues are... not yet meant to be clued in on. It could potentially change lives, but I want to be absolutely sure about its quality first. So, I wanted to ask an external source for help... being you, as you may have guessed. Only if you’re willing to assist, though. Otherwise, I would most definitely respect your decision.”
Kit took a deep breath. “Right. Ask me then.”
George Adaire nodded and took in a deep breath himself. “This... this may take a while to explain.”
So Kit listened. Kit nodded and Kit took notes and, an hour later, Kit walked down the Wharf mulling over what one of the country’s leading scientific researchers had just offered her. Back at work she slipped into her routine: typing numbers, talking to holograms of people who may not even have been in their offices and listening out for blips and buzzes while testing equipment.
“Leave a message on the office phone in the morning if you don’t want to partake in the experiment. Otherwise, here’s my personal home number. If you want to take part, call me on this one - and just say the word.”
That night, over a bowl of pasta, she rang George Adaire’s personal home number.
***
“February 18 th , 2035. National Cyber Line London, basement vaults. My name is Kathleen Dale Calhoun, employee of In Media Res Technology London. This is session one of a p