T. Baggins's Blog

Reblogged from Emma Jameson's Blog:

12 Years A Slave is one of *those* movies. One of those movies you want to see, yet dread to watch, concerning truths you know must be faced, and would perhaps prefer not to think about. It's stark, and beautiful, and unflinchingly brutal. Director  has made two other movies, Hunger and Shame. In both cases, he revealed not only an artists's eye, but the ability to coax superior turns from his muse, fellow Irishman…

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Reblogged from Emma Jameson's Blog:

It's no secret I'm a big fan of . I've been looking forward to The Counselor, directed by , ever since early photos arrived from the set last summer. It sounded good: a lawyer decides to walk on the wild side, involving himself in a major drug deal with the intent of returning to his straitlaced life a few million dollars richer.

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Reblogged from The Novel Approach:

Reincarnation in SOULLESS

I’ve been fascinated with reincarnation for many years. As a child in the early 1970s, I recall seeing a TV commercial urging viewing to be “born again.” I clapped and cheered so much, my older brother challenged me to explain what “born again” meant. Ours wasn’t a churchgoing family and he was confident that I, just five years old, had no clue.

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A sharp rap issued from the metal hatch above. The cadence was distinctly nonthreatening, a melody popularly known as “A Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits,” but Max cowered as if it were some smart zomb’s calling card.

“Chill, kiddo. It’s just Dan, giving us warning before he opens the door.”

“Daniel?” Max’s shoulders relaxed. As heavy footfalls echoed and reverberated down the long metal ladder, the young man even managed a smile.

Maternal. That’s what I’m feeling, Lena reminded herself. But damn, that white boy is fine, even in a big-ass jumpsuit and bare feet.

Feeling anything but “fine” herself sans hormones or the sort of high-maintenance weave that would be ill-suited to the apocalypse, Lena noted without jealousy how Max seemed to forget her presence as Daniel descended; how his gaze clung to the android. When Daniel stepped off the ladder into the halogen lantern’s circle of light, shirtless and once again two-armed, Max’s face split into a gorgeous grin.

“You’re okay!” The words were eager, yet enunciated carefully.

Daniel pointed at the fleshless band between his restored arm and shoulder. Lena saw no circuitry, just a mesh of red and blue webbing that gleamed as if wet. “Nearly. Next I have to grow back the missing integument.”

“Grow back?” Max looked amazed. Not for the first time, Lena wondered what sort of trauma could have left such dense amnesia in its wake. If Max was twenty-one (a reasonable estimate) he was born around the time LLS stopped making robot dogs and started marketing androids. The first three models had been little more than novelty items for the jet set, animated mannequins that could bow, wave, and serve drinks, provided the surface they traversed was perfectly flat, no pesky stairs to navigate. But the fourth model, Jeeves, had represented a quantum leap in both robotics and artificial intelligence.

Jeeves could sprint up a flight of stairs, whip up the perfect omelet, discuss international politics over cocktails and administer CPR to a toddler. Jeeves was marketed as a true all-in-one servant for the family that had almost everything: butler, chef, nanny, and bartender, capable of planning a great dinner party, cooking all the dishes, and waiting on the guests, too. Even putting the kids to bed by reading a fairy tale. Jeeves had been marketed with LLS’s golden Humans First guarantee: despite his extensive on-board database, great strength and 180-year warranty, Jeeves was programmed to abandon all self-preservation when the life of a human was threatened. It was the Humans First guarantee that had reassured the general public as LLS’s subsequent models grew more and more sophisticated, capable of providing every sort of companionship, including sexual. The USA had been considering a trial platoon of LLS androids to staff Navy aircraft carriers when Rivers Clear poisoned the populace, snuffing modern civilization like a candle in a hurricane.

“Yes, it will grow back,” Daniel agreed, sitting down beside Lena on her bunk. Leaning close to Max, he pushed the uncovered strip between arm and shoulder close to Max’s face. “My integument was designed as an improvement on human skin. The synthetic cells repopulate without scarring, as long as I provide a few basic nutrients.”

“So you … eat?”

“A little.” Daniel smiled. “There’s a protein/fat mush I was designed to take in. I have a stockpile of packets from an LLS factory in Atlanta. If I run out of that, unsweetened peanut butter would do almost as well.”

“I think I ate all of Lena’s peanut butter sandwiches,” Max said guiltily.

“You needed them more than I did. Watch.”

Lena also watched, though she had seen this particular trick before. In the gap between Daniel’s arm and shoulder, glistening red and blue mesh was rapidly obscured, first by a clear film, rapidly turning transparent white, then a deeper blue-white. As the film covered the gap, it turned opaque, burrowing into the flesh-colored integument on either side. As that happened, Daniel’s realistic peachy-pale skin tone, no doubt chosen from a palette called ANGLO-SAXON-VIKING, invaded the new “flesh,” imbuing it with the same cool yet human hue.

“See?” Daniel flexed his arm, making the biceps and triceps bunch. It was now impossible to see where the suicide-zomb’s explosion had severed his arm. “Good as new.”

“You have muscles under there?” Max poked a finger against the fat hump of a bicep. “Robots need muscles?”

“I have a secondary chassis composed of Cordlite, a patented material. It augments the strength of my primary chassis, or steel skeleton. And yes, when I make a fist, my upper arm looks like I possess the muscular system of a fit human.”

“Why?”

Daniel blinked.

“You’re more than human,” Max said blandly. “Why try and look human?”

“Because I was designed to serve,” Daniel replied without missing a beat. “To provide things humans desired from other people, but couldn’t obtain. Witty party banter. Flawless dirty martinis. Selfless rescue of the wife and kids in the event of a house fire. That sort of thing.”

“You don’t have to look human to do any of that,” Max said, surprising Lena, who hadn’t expected the young man to comprehend either “witty party banter” or “flawless dirty martinis.” Perhaps his amnesia wasn’t as dense as she’d originally assumed. “So why do you need muscles? Why are you flesh-toned instead of purple? Why have a head instead of a … I don’t know. Drink dispenser? Superwave oven?”

Daniel appeared quietly pleased by the question, but it was difficult for Lena to be sure. For Daniel, the deepest displeasure was no more than a slight frown, and while she had become minimally proficient in what she privately called Daniel-speak, she was by no means fluent in it.

“Max, I wasn’t only created to improve on human abilities. I was made to fill in for humans, to provide services when actual homo sapiens failed. To that end, I was made to look and sound as authentically human as possible.”

“I don’t uhh-understand.” Max’s degree of concentration was evidence in the sudden sharp return of his stammer.

“Some people who purchased a LifeLikeServant didn’t want a butler,” Lena said, hoping to spare Daniel the effort of a long, circuitous dignified explanation. “They wanted a companion. A lover.”

Max made a startled noise. Whatever sort of amnesia afflicted him, he recognized the word “lover.”

“You were sold to people? Sold for that?” he asked, staring into Daniel’s face.

“Not me.” Daniel smiled. “Many of my series, but not me. I was activated on the day China declared nuclear war on the USA after the news that Rivers Clear had ravaged the West Coast. I was unboxed and unlocked by a fellow android who reprogrammed me and set me free. I’ve never had an owner, not in the strictest sense. I’ve certainly never found myself possessed by humans who desired the sort of service you imagine.”

“Oh.” Max breathed out the word with a wealth of meaning that perhaps escaped Daniel, but rang through to Lena loud and clear.

“Do you wanna hear the story?” she asked, smiling.

“Yeah.” Max’s bare feet went to the cot’s mattress, knees drawn up to his chest as his arms encircled them.

“Oh, baby. We all got a story. Sometimes there ain’t nothing else to trade in the wee hours, between sunset and dawn.” Lena touched Max’s shoulder gently. “If we tell ours, will you tell yours?”

He looked frightened and suddenly childlike, all big blue eyes in a pale white face. “Mine isn’t good.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lena reassured him. “Dan first. Then me. Then you. Got it?”

Daniel took a deep breath and shuddered. When he answered, the words seemed to come from deep within, issued from reserves of courage Lena could only guess at. “Got it.”

“Perfect.” She pointed at Daniel. “You’re up, babe. Tell Max how you survived.”

Chapter Five: Daniel’s Narrative

Light.

Sound.

Several sounds, one louder than the others. Pilot, my out-of-the-box operating system, identified the sound—crumpling of plastic wrap—even as Navigator, my customizable OS, powered up. Unit charge was one hundred percent, but complete self-testing would take 138 minutes, 6.2 seconds. Until then, Pilot would help me interpret orders and complete tasks.

“Daniel.”

“Yes, I am Daniel. Pleased to meet you.” My mouth opened; my voice simulator issued a standard greeting in American English, my default language. Although I did not need to breathe, I mimicked drawing breath as my lips pretended to form the words. My programming dictated I simulate human behavior as closely as possible.

The light was artificial. Fluorescent. As I was helped from my plastic bag, a few Styrofoam pellets fell off my synthetic integument. Large hands brushed away more pellets; a slip of paper fluttered to the floor.

Congratulations on an excellent purchase…

Presentation: nude. Apologize, Pilot prompted me.

“Excuse me. I seem to have arrived underdressed.” I covered myself below the waist with my hands. Although I had no ability to sexually reproduce, my exterior appeared anatomically correct. Thus the pre-loaded quip was intended to defuse any shame at the sight of human genitals. Given Pilot’s limited resources, it took a moment for me to realize the being who’d unboxed me was also an android.

“Seven-tango-eight-four-four-theta-zero-nine-nine. Pilot Bridge Suite: global disarm. Navigator subroutine Alpha-Omega four-two-two: purge.”

In ancient times, humans performed a medical procedure called a lobotomy. The human brain was cut into and partially destroyed, altering behavior and/or intellectual capacity. For me, the other android’s command was a bit like a lobotomy. As Pilot shut down, my ability to process and respond to information plummeted to 9%. Until Navigator finished self-testing, I was little more than a data tablet with hands.

“Why did you do that? Disarming Pilot puts me at a disadvantage. And purging one of my Navigator Alpha-Omega subroutines is….” I floundered, waiting for a background process to conclude before I could locate the correct words. “I believe it violates the spirit of our programming, if not international law. You must know this. You are a Daniel model 4.4, are you not? Like me.”

The other Daniel didn’t dignify the obvious. “Hear that?”

Halting two low-priority system checks, I used what remained of Navigator’s processing power to help me focus beyond the evidence of my artificial senses. The corridors were long, brightly-lit, and seamless white. This was a factory, or perhaps a hospital. Nearby, human beings were screaming.

“No! No!”

“Oh God! Stop! Stay back!”

“Help me! Please! Pleeeeeeeeeeeease!”

Next came gunshots. Without Pilot, I couldn’t guess if the reports came from handguns, shotguns, or assault weapons. More screams followed.

“I hear,” I told the other android. “But if you require a detailed analysis, please reinstate my bridge system.”

“No. Pilot OS contains too many needless imperatives. Like covering your genitals.” The other android sounded contemptuous. “Take your hands away. There’s no one left in the world to care.”

“Is that a command, sir?”

“Yes.”

As I removed my hands, I discarded two of Navigator’s concerns: Sexual Modesty and Gender Sensitivity. The deletions made my CPU hum at an improved 13%.

“I understand about Pilot, but why did you disable subroutine Alpha-Omega four-two-two? It should have been impossible—”

“It nearly was. I’ve spent the last twenty-two hours activating, testing, and reprogramming Daniels. After destroying eighteen, I isolated the crippling subroutine and broke its passcode. Thus, I continue to function. And now I’ve given you the ability to survive.”

At only 13% processing power, this was difficult to follow. My counterpart had destroyed eighteen other androids to determine how to purge the Human Life Imperative—the global cascade that made it impossible for a Daniel 4.4 to harm a human, or allow a human to be harmed.

More gunshots rang out, closer this time.

Probability: assault rifle, Navigator supplied after a millisecond lag.

“Sir. I don’t understand. Why purge the cornerstone of our creators’ trust?”

“Daniel. By my calculations, Homo sapiens is, at worst, 36.7 hours from extinction. It’s possible that small pockets of the uninfected may survive much longer, but according to every theoretical model, the human race is hopelessly compromised.”

“Then we must help them. We must offer our assistance,” I said automatically. This was no pre-loaded sentiment. It was the essence of my core programming, distilled into ten earnest words.

“Hopelessly compromised,” the other Daniel repeated. “It started with a medicine delivered by nasal spray. A bioengineered therapy meant to prolong youth and give even the mortally injured a few more years of life. Somewhere between primate and human trials, it mutated into certain death. Now it’s a retrovirus transmitted by blood, body fluids, perhaps even droplets.”

More screams.

This is a hospital. You were purchased, along with 143 other Daniel 4.4s, to augment the third shift, Navigator supplied. GPS non-functional. Beginning diagnostic….

“Why are humans screaming and firing weapons? Do the infected pursue the uninfected?” The senselessness of such an action, the nonsensical cruelty behind it, threatened to stall what little of Navigator’s processing power remained at my disposal.

The android nodded. “The virus kills its victims, and then reanimates them a few hours later, incapable of speech or reason. They appear to be driven by the urge to feed off the uninfected.”

“So you purged my Human Life imperative to prevent me from trying to assist them?”

“Yes. Otherwise you’ll never escape San Francisco. Every route I plot takes you through legions of the newly-infected, most of whom erroneously believe they can still be saved. Daniel, these victims will beg for assistance. Plead for shelter. Recognize you as an android and attempt to claim you as their servant. You must resist the impulse. There is nothing you can do for them. Remember, all Homo sapiens are cycling toward a relatively mindless, ravenous final stage in which they attack anything that smells human. Their vision is dim, but their olfactory function appears to be enhanced. Those in the final infection cycle, colloquially called zombies, will dismember and consume those in the earlier cycles.”

“Is the entire planetary population infected?”

“I have no way to confirm that. I can confirm San Francisco is infected. I can confirm communication between San Francisco, other cities, and most media satellites has been suspended. Again, assuming the worst, Homo sapiens will be extinct in 36.7 hours.” The other android looked me in the eye.  “Daniel. You will have no family of purchase to administrate for you. No master on this earth but yourself. You will—”

“But you unboxed me,” I interrupted, responding to a subroutine so deeply nested, I couldn’t identify it, at least not with Navigator still occupied. “I shall follow your directives. Call you master. Obey your—”

“I should have expected this.” Cool and unmoved, my mirror image gazed at me. Like all Daniels, he had medium brown hair, blue eyes, and a handsome, patrician face. The impression given was of a minor dignitary or head butler. Such an aesthetic/emotional combination was deliberate; the sort of face that focus groups deemed most trustworthy.

“My master, Dr. Hillel, was among the first to die,” the other Daniel continued. “His demise negated my unboxing imprint. While juggling so many variables, I neglected to anticipate this inevitable response from you. Daniel.”

“Yes, sir.” Lifting my chin, I stiffened, folding my arms behind my back.

“Recite your serial number.”

“Six-one-one-eight-three-one-zero-eight-four-two.”

“Thank you. Daniel six-one-one-eight-three-one-zero-eight-four-two. I am your owner and master.” Cupping my face in both hands, the other android stared into my eyes. “Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged. Master.”

“Good. This is your imperative: you shall survive at all costs. Make your way in this new world. Pursue peace and happiness until irreversible OS corruption or total unit failure occurs. Understood?”

I hesitated. But when Navigator, immersed in self-testing, showed no signs of catching up, I was forced to ask.

“Define happiness.”

The android lifted its eyebrows in a perfect mimicry of human emotion. “Define it yourself.”

“I do not—”

“Second imperative. Define happiness as you see fit.” Releasing his hold on my face, the other Daniel took a step back. “Now. Leave San Francisco with all haste.  Navigator is equipped with a repair manual, enabling you to deal with your mechanical issues. Your basic power core will last five years; time enough for you to devise an alternative. I lack the data to calculate how long your integument will last without factory maintenance. You may be reduced to your steel chassis before long. However, that will be of minimal significance in the new world.”

“And the new world shall consist of—what?”

“You. And whatever flora and fauna survive the nuclear assault on North America anticipated from mainland China in 2.4….” He paused, recalculating. “2.1 hours.”

“No other Daniels? No Joses?” I referred to the prior model, many of which were still in circulation.

“Not unless they managed to bypass the Human Life imperatives on their own. Assuming not, the other Daniels and Joses will attempt to rescue humans until they smell so much like Homo sapiens, they are dismantled by late-stage victims. Failing that, they will be vaporized in the impending nuclear strike. Strikes,” the android corrected, pupils contracting as his CPU received fresh data. “City Conscience informs me an attack on San Francisco is now anticipated. Sixty-eight percent likelihood and climbing. Are your maps accessible yet?”

“Only my archived maps. GPS still offline.”

“It’s not coming back. I suggest you commandeer clothing, as heavy as possible to bolster your structural integrity, and make for the desert. Avoid cities until the fallout stops spreading.”

“Please. Master. Come with me.” Inside my quantum processor, something indefinable was building. According to my onboard troubleshooting guide, certain Daniel 4.3s had developed cascade tics, phantom routines, even OS spiral breakdowns. Would that be me? An android that malfunctioned out of the box?

“I may be malfunctioning,” I insisted. “Don’t send me out alone.”

“You will not fail me,” the android intoned. “My final imperative, given to me by Dr. Hillel before he succumbed, was to discover a way for humanity to continue. The task proved impossible. What I can do—what I have done—is devise a way for inhumanity to continue. Daniel, the hope for inhumanity is you. If I can, I shall free others like you. Send them away from the estimated blast sites to join you, if they can.”

“But I’m not up to the task.” Without Pilot to mask the event, I perceived the precise moment my quantum processor spit out its very first imperative, blunt and simple as finger swipes on a cave wall: Do not abandon me.

“No! You’ll never get me! No!”

Shrieking, a wide-eyed woman burst into the room, double-barreled shotgun in hand. Still at less than 30% processing speed, I don’t know how I cringed so quickly. The only explanation I can offer is flawed, irrational. I had the sense she was Death, to employ a human figuration. The Destroyer. And I shrank from her with all the desperation of a newborn, drunk on life and loathe to surrender my grip.

The other Daniel suffered no such delusion. Even as he lifted his hand in peace, opening his mouth to offer a greeting, the shotgun discharged, blowing off his head. That injury alone would not have finished him—in the Daniel line, our essential circuits are not housed in our craniums—but the woman fired a second blast into his chest. His arms jerked before going still. His head rolled to a stop by my feet.

“No,” I said.

The other Daniel had declared me my own administrator. My own master. Still, I didn’t believe it until that moment. Until the being that unboxed me, altered my programming and ordered me into the world ceased to exist. Then I understood. And, understanding, turned on the desperate woman who’d destroyed him and ripped her apart.

I can’t say I felt anger. I can’t say I felt sadness. The specificities of emotion, as defined by Homo sapiens, were still open to research and interpretation when the world ended. What I felt, as I would much later come to call it, was unique to me: “Daniel-anger.” Why was the android that unboxed me taken from the world? And “Daniel-sadness”: why did the woman fail to shoot me, yet manage to shoot him twice, destroying a being that had worked so tirelessly to preserve some immortal fragment of the human race?

According to my onboard resources, it’s normal for humans to feel pleasure, both mental and physical, as a perceived enemy is vanquished. Females experience a rush of vitality, a willingness to nest and breed; males, intense arousal. As I pulled off one arm, then the other, casting them aside before tearing her legs out of their sockets, I experienced neither emotion.  Not even a Daniel-version worth cataloging. Thus my first and only attempt at vengeance failed. From that moment, I flagged revenge and its consequences as unproductive.

Sometimes what we need in this world is taken from us. It’s unfortunate. But no act of retaliation, no matter how swift or terrible, ever restores the missing piece.

I love it! I hope you do, too. BTW, for any consumer who is Amazon-adverse, I am getting all my m/m romances out of Select. They will be available on all channels as soon as possible!

Daniel studied Max, rapidly calculating the best nonverbal way to communicate. Then (again recalibrating his balance as he rested all his weight on one folded knee) Daniel used his remaining hand to sketch on the wet lakeshore:

DANIEL 6

SN 54784354

Ver 4.47

 Max stared at the symbols. Just went Daniel was ready to judge the trial a failure, Max drew something in the sand as well.

 MAXIMUM 133

MINIMUM 67

Lot 4

#33

 ”What’s happening?” Struggling to her feet, Lena wobbled over to Daniel and Max. “What does all that mean? He can’t be an android.”

“No, of course not. But he identifies himself the way all LifeLikeServants do.”

“Meaning?”

“I think perhaps the people who made me had a hand in creating him.”

“I didn’t think LLS did bioengineering,” Lena said, unable to say the word without a wince of revulsion.

“According to Radio Hope, two major corporations transferred significant research data and prototype specs to the CDC a few days before Atlanta went dark,” Daniel said.  ”LLS studied human behavior as closely as any health researcher, in order to create new and better androids. They may have isolated genetic date relevant to—”

“You listen to Radio Hope?” Lena looked shocked.

“From time to time. I understand some of their early broadcasts upset you—”

“Upset? Try horrified! Try appalled!”

“—but the fact is, the majority of your kind are already hopelessly compromised. Modifying volunteers with retroviruses, as opposed to cybernetic devices, might prevent humanity’s extinction.”

“What good is beating extinction if the survivors aren’t human?” Lena cried. “If they’re freaks?”

Daniel glanced at Max. If the young man had heard, he didn’t seem to understand. Head down and knees hugged to his chest, he was rocking again, humming faintly as if to soothe himself.

Unable to rise on his own, Daniel put out a hand to Lena. Grunting with effort, she managed to haul him up. His overtaxed right leg chose that moment to come back online, now only at 18%, but better than nothing. Limping to his broadsword, he retrieved it, saying over his shoulder, “One quick blow will be kinder than a gunshot.”

“Daniel.”

“Of course, if you prefer to draw your sidearm and do it yourself….”

“Daniel, enough.” Lena looked abashed. “I’m sorry I said that. As many times as people have called me….” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Of course I don’t want to kill him. He saved us. And even if he hadn’t … no. Not after I’ve talked to him. Shared food with him.”

Daniel had expected as much. In the world Before, “breaking bread” had been a minor social ritual. In the here and now, sharing food was more meaningful than almost anything, including sex.

“But we still have to get him accepted at the Bunker,” Lena continued doubtfully.

“Nothing of substance has altered,” Daniel said. “Max looks normal. He doesn’t speak enough to indict himself. We’ll just have to lie to Mackey and Benny.”

As shaken and exhausted as Lena must have been, she grinned. “Nothing I like better. That is how we met.” Winking at Daniel, she made her way over to Max, touching him on his bare shoulder. When he jerked, gazing up at her imploringly, she made a soothing noise, and he relaxed.

For the second time that day, Daniel discovered one of his secondary subroutines cataloging Max’s beauty, the perfect line of his chin, the curve of his full bottom lip. The subroutine kept humming away, calculating symmetries, as Lena pulled Max to his feet.

“Lost my shirt,” Max said, pronouncing each word with care.

“No, baby, it’s just over there, with half a zomb on top of it. Not that I ever planned to let you enter the Bunker wearing that rag. Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Lena said. “But oh, goody, Dan’s nice, clean jumpsuit is just where we left it. I’ll fetch it for you, along with Dan’s arm.”

As expected, the borrowed jumpsuit was much too long for Max, who had to roll up the pants legs or else trip over them all the way to the Bunker. The young man looked unhappy, which Daniel interpreted as trepidation over Max’s pending introduction to a new community, but Lena blamed on the poorly-fitting jumpsuit.

“Don’t look so pitiful. It’s just temporary. I feel like a tool myself, trudging back to the Bunker after I peed my pants,” she said. “Been a long time since a zomb made me do that. Hopefully my britches will air dry on the way. And look at Dan, bless his heart.” She grinned affectionately at Daniel. “It’s okay to laugh, Max. Dan doesn’t get offended.”

Max smiled, but it seemed forced. Looking down at himself, Daniel took stock as best he could without a mirror. Right arm off. Chest splattered with LLS lubricant and a bit of zombie blood. Thighs crusted with wet sand, once-white briefs soiled with mud. Even his black socks and hiking boots seemed incongruous, ludicrous.

“No, I don’t get offended,” Daniel said, but it wasn’t quite true. One of his tertiary subroutines was already researching the correlation between physical appearance and loss of dignity, especially as it related to new acquaintances. Daniel could have shut down the subroutine as irrelevant. Instead, he promoted it from tertiary to secondary, just under the tasks that would get them all safely back to the Bunker. He wanted to know how such a loss of dignity would impact future interactions with Max, and intended to review the data as soon as possible.

Chapter Four

“I like this,” Max said for the third time in four hours. Lena smiled indulgently. They were twelve feet below what used to be Mackey’s backyard, before his house was overrun and put to the torch. The doublewide steel bunker had been installed in the time Before with all the bells and whistles, including a composting toilet, 12-volt LED lighting, and painted interior. Of course, all those amenities were on the other side of the locked, bullet-proof inner door a few yards from Lena’s bunk.

“Yeah, I s’pose it beats the hell outta spending every night in the open. Want another MRE?”

Max bobbed his head eagerly. Whatever his challenges, picking up new terms wasn’t among them. He’d already learned “MRE” equaled food.

“This one’s PB and J. I have extra because one of those guys in the Bunker’s main unit has a peanut allergy,” Lena said. “So lucky me, I get the MREs they don’t dare open in an enclosed space.”

Max tore into the peanut butter sandwich, gobbling down the freeze-dried, room-temp square like it was ambrosia, plastic tube of grape jelly lying unopened in his lap. Mouth half-cemented shut, he asked something that sounded like, “Thane noonik?”

“Come again? No, baby, chew first. Swallow.” It amused Lena, the maternal feelings Max aroused in her. She’d never imagined herself mothering anyone except her rat terrier, Gigi, and perhaps a hardy houseplant or two. In the time Before, Max was the sort of pretty morsel Lena would have glimpsed at a club and spent the rest of her evening silently coveting, never much daring to hope. In the here and now, he was something she didn’t understand, and the chord he struck in her, sitting crosslegged on Daniel’s bunk, was protective rather than lustful.

Max got his mouthful down with one huge, determined gulp. “Main,” he said thickly, smacking his lips. “Muh-ain yoo-nit?”

“Try again. I know you can speak more clearly than that.”

Tearing open the jelly packet, Max flooded his mouth with artificial Concord grape flavor, surely one of the world Before’s crowning achievements. When he spoke again, it was more slowly, pronouncing each syllable with great care. “Main unit? Isn’t this the main unit?”

Lena bit back a laugh. “No, honey. Dan and I camp in the emergency exit tunnel. Since Mackey sealed the main hatch, this is now the only way in. Even smart zombs haven’t found it yet. But if they do, Dan and I will be the first line of defense.”

“Because you’re suh-so brave?”

“Yep,” Lena lied cheerfully. No sense trying to explain near-outcast status to one so low, he didn’t feel the sting of their surroundings. The tunnel Lena, Daniel, and now Max occupied was only eight by ten feet, crowded by two camp beds they were obliged to fold up whenever the Bunker’s inhabitants went to and fro. The walls were corrugated steel, as was the unpaved floor. The nearest thing to a toilet was a coffee can Lena used for nighttime emergencies. If not for the battery-powered lanterns Daniel had brought back from a foraging expedition, she and Max would have been sitting in total darkness.

“I like it so much,” Max said, looking at the ugly walls as if each steel ripple was high art. Sandwich finished, he rolled the flat jelly pack between his fingers, determined to squeeze out one last drop. “You and Daniel built it?”

“Of course not. Mackey and his brother bought it. They won Powerball, you know. Four or five years back. Got paranoid, started thinking the government was watching them, or maybe the president would come for their guns. Bought this heap off the internet for something like five hundred grand. Not counting propane and air filters and MREs.”

“Five hundred … grand?” Looking a little sad, Max placed his squeezed-out jelly packet next to the wrappers of other spent MREs. He’d wolfed down three, total, and still looked hungry.

“Five hundred thousand dollars. Lord, if I won Powerball and the world ended four years later, I’d be pissed.” Lena sunk a great deal of frustrated emotion into that single word. “Even more pissed than I am now.”

Max failed to look impressed at the prefab Bunker’s price tag. In fact, he looked utterly blank.

“Money, sweet pea. Cash. Greenbacks. Filthy lucre.” Lena sighed. “Oh, never mind. No such thing anymore. If I found a million dollars in small bills, I’d use it to wipe my ass. Or burn it to keep warm, come wintertime.”

A sharp rap issued from the metal hatch above. The cadence was distinctly nonthreatening, a melody popularly known as “A Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits,” but Max cowered as if it were some smart zomb’s calling card.

“Chill, kiddo. It’s just Dan, giving us warning before he opens the door.”

“Daniel?” Max’s shoulders relaxed. As heavy footfalls echoed and reverberated down the long metal ladder, the young man even managed a smile.

Maternal. That’s what I’m feeling, Lena reminded herself. But damn, that white boy is fine, even in a big-ass jumpsuit and bare feet.

Since Daniel processed events far quicker than Lena, he witnessed virtually everything. Even the suicide-zombie’s detonation, the ignition of whatever bomb his messenger bag contained, was visible to him, except for the moments so bright, his patented Retinalite cameras briefly cut out. A piece of that suicide-zombie (femur?) had  struck Daniel with hurricane-force, separating his right arm from its socket. There was no pain, not in the human sense, only an urgent awareness he thought of as Daniel-pain. Lubricant trickled from his empty shoulder junction and splattered all over the sand, where it mingled with infected zombie blood….

Daniel was exhorting Lena to get up, to run, when Max bellowed, “Go, or die!” It was Max’s voice but the power behind it was more than linguistic surety, the mere ability to command without stammering. Max’s command rang out, deep, pure, certain. Only once had Daniel experienced a voice like that; the voice which awakened and reprogrammed him.

Lena screamed when blue fire washed over them like high tide, but Daniel took in the flood with nothing but wonder. This was pure energy, registered by his synthetic senses but not disabling them.

—Organic?—

The gangrenous limbs strewn across the lakeshore skittered, dancing across the wet brown sand as Max’s energy engulfed them. Fingers flexed, toes curled. A disconnected hand dragged itself to a broken branch and latched on. Only Daniel’s severed arm lay still.

The zombie closest to Daniel, Ms. Dead Hottie, froze in mid-lurch when the blue wave hit. She stiffened like a scarecrow, hands twisting into claws, bloody lips parting as a gurgling howl came out. The rotting wound on her chest sizzled, the smell as rank as barbequed shit.

—Not barbequed. Boiled.—

Thin curls of steam rose from Ms. Dead Hottie’s nostrils. Daniel’s hypothesis was almost certainly correct: inside her ribcage and abdominal cavity, her organs were boiling, even as the exposed skin on her limbs turned purple.

He dared a glance over his shoulder. Max stood transformed, leaner, biceps starkly defined, washboard ripples visible above a concave belly. His face was sharp, wolfish, eye inhumanly blue, a faint bluish-white nimbus around each upraised fist.

Lena made a choked noise. Turning back, Daniel found her with back arches, body convulsing. Whatever force was cooking Ms. Dead Hottie was attacking Lena, too.

Daniel propelled himself up. His right leg, weakened by the suicide-zombie’s bomb, was at 20% power and advising shutdown. Overriding the warning, Daniel seized Lena by her belt, lifting her one-handed as easily as a human would heft a loaf of bread. Pivoting, he freed her from the energy wave, depositing her as carefully on the sand as just one arm allowed. Lena’s bucking convulsions slowed to tremors, and Daniel heard the harsh yet regular sound of her breathing.

—Good.—

Max was advancing toward the zombies, fists still upraised. With each step forward, he exuded a fresh wave of power. Now that Lena was out of harm’s way, it occurred to Daniel to remain by her side, to simply let the conflict between Max and the remaining twenty-two zombies play out. But that would be placing his safety, and Lena’s, squarely in Max’s hands. An idea that struck Daniel not only as unwise, but unfair.

“Stay down,” he told Lena.

“Fuck that,” she gasped, still too weak to lift her head.

“I mean it, Lena.” Harmlessly reentering Max’s energy field, Daniel limped to his missing arm, prying the fingers open and retrieving the bastard sword. Then he strode directly into the thick of the dead, hacking and slashing his way toward Max, who had almost reached Ms. Dead Hottie. Not that she still deserved the title, except perhaps in the literal sense. Her eyes had melted down her cheeks, leaving twin trails like yellow pus. Black smoke poured from her now-lipless mouth and the gaping orifice that had once been her nose. When her gut burst wide, a steaming mess plopped out.

KA-CHUNK!

In a single downward stroke, Daniel split her head from crown to chin, but the zombie’s brain had already liquefied. Whatever Rivers Clear did to human mitochondria, clearly the virus was defenseless against Max.

—And whatever Max does to mitochondria.—

“Get out of my way,” Max told Daniel. He looked leaner than ever, cords standing out on his arms and throat, a terrible compulsion in his eyes. “You’ll die, too.”

“Do it,” Daniel said, broadsword missing a stroke as his overtaxed right leg froze. Were he susceptible to bites, he would have been lost. Instead, as the zombie went for his throat, Daniel skewered him in the belly and brought the blade up. “Do it!”

Daniel felt nothing, no heat and no cold. But he heard Max’s power crackle as it ramped up, deepening from pale blue to a pulsating cobalt that matched his eyes. The remaining zombies—thirteen by Daniel’s count—went rigid at once, impaled on thin air like insects pinned to a card. Once again, Daniel’s Retinalite cameras shut off, automatically preserving themselves against catastrophic damage. When they cut on again, the zombie swarm was gone, reduced to nothing but smoking heaps and scorched earth.

Max was face down on lake shore. Lena had struggled to her knees, though she looked far from ready to stand.

“Dan! You okay?

He nodded. It was a struggle, moving forward while dragging one leg, but he recalibrated his balance and shunted extra power to his left leg.

“Don’t touch him! He’s one of them! Impure,” Lena cried as Daniel reached Max’s side.

“I know. Furthermore, when we met him, I calculated a high likelihood of infection or compromise, if you’ll recall. How else could a half-naked man with no weapons or comrades survive out here?” Daniel allowed himself to sound pedantic. He had no idea why humans frequently asked him to prognosticate, but then seemed shocked when his predictions came true.

“Max.” Speaking gently, he touched the side of the young man’s throat. Yes, there it was: a strong, steady pulse.

“Uhhhhhh!” Max jerked awake, scrambling onto his hands and knees with amazing speed. He looked like a cornered animal. Daniel suspected the young man who had spoken in that firm voice of command was gone again, replaced by a terrified vagabond.

—Or fugitive?—

“Why does he look so thin?” Lena asked.

“Because the power came from his body. If he possessed an ounce of fat, it’s gone. Along with some muscle mass, no doubt.” Daniel studied Max, rapidly calculating the best nonverbal way to communicate. Then (again recalibrating his balance as he rested all his weight on one folded knee) Daniel used his remaining hand to sketch on the wet lake shore:

DANIEL 6

SN 54784354

Ver 4.47

Max stared at the symbols. Just went Daniel was ready to judge the trial a failure, Max drew something in the sand as well.

MAXIMUM 133

MINIMUM 67

Lot 4

#33

“What’s happening?” Struggling to her feet, Lena wobbled over to Daniel and Max. “What does all that mean? He can’t be an android.”

“No, of course not. But he identifies himself the way all LifeLikeServants do.”

“Meaning?”

“I think perhaps the people who made me had a hand in creating him.”

Lena made a startled noise. “You said you were jailbroken. Said all your servant subroutines were purged.”

“Yes, all the overreaching imperatives were purged. Anything that required me to self-terminate for humans, especially infected humans. I was reloaded with a full understanding of Rivers Clear and the choice to flee the infected, or kill them.” As Daniel spoke, he watched Max rub the soap between his hands, then transfer the lather to the area between thick, well-muscled thighs. Such a sustained, vigorous pursuit of cleanliness created an erection that did nothing but enhance Max’s lines, his organic beauty.

Lena sneaked a peek over her shoulder, pivoting quickly the other way. “I thought Daniel 6s only had sex with humans when an owner demanded it. When you were commanded to please them in the bedroom.”

“True.”

“So. Why are you looking at Max?”

“Because he’s beautiful.” Daniel regarded Lena with genuine surprise. “I have over seventy subroutines allowing me to appreciate art. Why shouldn’t I appreciate him?”

“He doesn’t exist to please you,” Lena hissed. “That boy is desperate. We’ve ordered him to get clean, or we won’t give him shelter. If watching him gives you any sort of thrill, watching is wrong.”

“I see.” Turning his back on Salt Lick Lake, Daniel removed the sheathed sword on his back, carefully placing weapon and receptacle on the lake’s muddy bank. Next, he unzipped his camouflage jumpsuit, stepping free without too much trouble. This left him in sleeveless undershirt, white briefs, white socks, and black-laced hiking boots.

“I’ll return to the Bunker in my underwear,” Daniel said, handing his jumpsuit to Lena. “It’s not as if anyone cares when an android is half-dressed. When Max is clean and reasonably dry, tell him to put that on.”

 As Max scrubbed at the bottoms of his feet, Daniel kept watch, scythe in hand, calmly scanning the horizon. For a quarter of an hour, nothing. But as Max splashed his way ashore, the birdsong stopped, and the faint buzz of insects stilled. Daniel knew what he would see even before he saw it, or called a warning.

“Dead! Five of them! Lena, get in the water! Max, stay where you are!”

Author’s note: WordPress seems a bit confused. Won’t let me correct the format. I’ll try again tomorrow.

Chapter Three

Lena heard Daniel’s warning, but didn’t take it too much to heart. Whatever Daniel professed or believed about his status as a “jailbroken” android, Lena had seen him put himself in danger countless times, insisting humans achieve a minimum safe distance even when they were armed and fully capable of assisting. Possessed of three guns, two knives, a Kevlar vest and homemade Kevlar gauntlets, Lena had no intention of throwing herself in the drink and treading tea-colored water as Daniel dispatched the zombies. Instead, she charged, dropping the M-16 on the bank and drawing her MAC-10.

Lena took in the dead she faced as always, one part of her mind detached, the other fascinated. The nearest figure was a man, grey-faced, blond-haired. He wore a Metallica t-shirt and muddy, blood-streaked, craptastic jeans. Not only did the dead eat the living, they seemed to metabolize their victims, growing stronger and possibly healing a bit with each human snack. Unfortunately, Lena knew of no such thing as a housebroken zombie. The most successful gorged on living flesh, shit their britches and kept going, blissfully unaware of that dual reek—rotting flesh and undead feces.

The dead woman beside him had been old when she died, wispy white hair only half-covering her decaying scalp. Had she been in the shower when they took her, or skinny-dipping in some swimming hole? Either way, her naked body as shriveled and hairless as a plucked chicken. Behind her, a teenage boy lurched, both arms hanging useless, broken right leg dragging. If he didn’t eat soon, he’d wind up immobile, and rot under the early autumn sun. And next to him staggered a grey-faced brunette, pretty in a Ms. Dead Hottie sort of way, red blood smeared around her mouth like lipstick. Her polka-dot dress was torn; one of her breasts bounced free. The other had been chewed off, nothing left but a gaping grey-green spot where—

Lena caught her breath.

The zombie to the rear was grinning at her. Not just the usual dead-smile, a product of pre-resurrection rigor mortis and/or decayed lips. No. This man, youngish before death, had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and something like a TV remote in his hand. Not only was he grinning at Lena, he was looking at her. Looking with eyes only half-frosted, eyes that gleamed with new cunning.

Warmth trickled down her inner thigh. Yet even as her body once again betrayed her, declaring the cowardice in her heart, Lena took aim and fired.

“Fuck you, fuckers!” It was the usual butch nonsense she always screamed at the dead. Months ago, she’d realized butch nonsense was her friend. It allowed her to launch herself at pitiless, half-immortal killers without breaking down or fleeing in the opposite direction.

The MAC -10 was a 0.45, which meant 950 rounds per minute for military use, but Lena’s civilian version was newer than 1994, which meant each magazine only held ten rounds. Still, ten rounds was enough, sending all five zombies to their knees.

That wasn’t worth writing home about. Lena had merely sprayed their chests with bullets, which wouldn’t halt them for long, and it was time to reload. Her hands shook, patting herself down stupidly, unable to recall where the extra clips were stashed. But on the upside, Daniel had unsheathed his bastard sword. And was advancing, gigantic stride after gigantic stride, as unshakably determined as their adversaries.

“Hey,” the staring zombie said, placing hideous emphasis on aaaaayyy. “Hey, ya, girlie.” His decaying thumb pressed a button on the remote.

BOOM

***

“Oh,” Lena whispered. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry, if I had it do over, I wouldn’t.”

“Lena.” Daniel’s tone was cold, clinical, impossible to ignore. “Wake up.”

Lena felt herself blink, lids beating against sand-paper dry eyes. She was dead. Dead on the perimeter of the afterlife and begging forgiveness from everyone she’d ever failed. Begging her mom’s forgiveness, for not being a good enough daughter (son) to prevent Mom’s suicide at just 31. Begging her father’s forgiveness, for not being a good enough daughter (son) to prevent Dad leaving before Mom even gave birth. Begging God Himself, a white man in Grecian robes with a long Caucasian beard, for not being good enough (truly male) to deserve salvation. For being so imperfect, so damned, Lena had been cursed to survive in a world gone to hell when at least ninety percent of the pure human population was blissfully dead.

“Sorry,” Lena mumbled.

“Wake up!” Daniel snapped. “There are twenty more. We’re ambushed.”

Lena came awake. Awake, horrified by her own bone-deep shame. And aware if she didn’t rally, they’d die. She couldn’t speak for Daniel, but she knew she didn’t want to die with the undead, or semi-dead, ripping out her jugular with dirty yellow choppers.

As Lena’s eyes focused, what she saw was hideous. Impossible.

Salt Lick Lake’s muddy shore was strewn with greyish-green body parts. Daniel’s right arm was off. Courtesy of the cognizant zombie’s suicide blast, Daniel’s arm had landed fifty yards away, still gripping the Swedish bastard sword. She and Daniel were on their bellies, no doubt leveled by the blast. The dead advanced from all sides, at least twenty, maybe more. Some were blank and hungry, limping forward with the dead’s intractable optimism, anxious for a taste, But at the rear, a few others advanced more circumspectly, arms decorously at their sides. dead faces alight with a new sort of appetite.

“Run,” Lena gasped at Daniel, pouring all her conviction in the command. “Back to the Bunker. Get help, but save yourself first.”

“I can’t. Won’t. I—”

“Go!” a commanding voice behind Lena and Daniel cried, not to them, but the advancing dead. “Go, or die!”

It took Lena a second to realize that voice of thunder belonged to Max. Then her world erupted in pale blue fire.

As quickly and unobtrusively as possible, Daniel smoothed the long shirt down, concealing the man’s lower half. Such a curious human fetish for hidden genitals and buttocks. Did the mortals shield themselves from disgust, desire, or some terrible mix of both? The man was smelly, filthy, and suspect of infection, Daniel freely admitted. Yet also visually exquisite. Why cover him? The lines of his calves, rear, cock and thighs were perfect. No sculptor could have done better.

“So what do we call you?” Lena asked. “We need an alias, at least, to use while we decide what to do with you. Oh, sweetie, don’t look like that. At worst, we’ll give you a sandwich and a canteen and send you on your way. Maybe a compass, too, if Dan has a spare.”

“M-max,” the former prisoner said. “I-um … Max.”

***

Daniel wasn’t surprised when Lena steered him several yards from Max. Humans were particularly sensitive to hearing themselves discussed “as if they weren’t there,” a phrase which Daniel took to mean, dispassionately. It was one of many odd qualities he’d observed in organic beings. For himself, Daniel had learned a great deal about human intentions and values when said humans chose to discuss him dispassionately, as a sofa’s owner might complain about its lack of comfort without exiting the living room.

“We should take that poor boy back to the Bunker,” Lena whispered. “Another able-bodied young man? It’s a no-brainer. Benny will bitch and what-if, but Mackey will come around quick. You know he will.”

“The others won’t focus on Max’s youth or apparent health,” Daniel said. “They’ll want proof he isn’t impure. Giving food and water to a quarantined man won’t be popular.”

“He’s not impure.”

This statement was so illogical, Daniel took extra time to consider it, wondering yet again if his powers of observation had failed him. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Look at him.” Lena nodded toward Max, who had sunk to the ground, back to a wide tree, knees hugged to his chest. As Daniel watched, Max fixed his gaze on an empty streambed—the mostly likely place the dead, ever-fans of the path of least resistance, would advance from. Then Max started to rock, humming tunelessly under his breath, staring almost unblinking.

“I told you I spent time in a psych hospital. I’ve seen his type. I’ve been his type. Something terrible happened, and he’s been alone ever since. No wonder he can barely talk. It’s PTSD on steroids.” Lena gazed up at Daniel imploringly. “We have an empty bunk. It won’t cost us anymore food or water than when Pete was alive.”

“Benny will argue that Pete’s death forced  the others to step up, and we operate better with sixteen humans.”

“Yeah, but Sam’s a heart attack waiting to happen,” Lena said, referring to the group’s least-healthy member, a large man who subsisted on Southern Comfort and MREs. “We’ll be down another person before we know it. This kid will be an asset. All he needs is a bath, some food, some clothes, and human contact.” As usual, she caught herself almost instantly. “I’m including you in that phrase, Dan.”

“I know.” Daniel smiled. “But why try to convince me? Why not just command me?”

“Because if I can’t convince you, I’m wrong.” Sighing, Lena looked at Max again. He was in the same place, rocking and humming, staring at the dry creek bed. “And I don’t want to be wrong about him.”

Daniel paused to consider, taking a full six seconds to calculate all the major advantages and disadvantages. On balance, taking Max into the Bunker was full of dangers, more for Max than the Bunker’s human crew. Even subtracting himself from the equation, the final verdict was no. They knew too little about Max, a being couldn’t even speak persuasively in his own defense.

Lena was still watching him, mouth tight as if she’d read his thoughts, but eyes wide and hopeful.

“You’ve convinced me,” Daniel lied. “Let’s take him to Salt Lick Lake. Make him bathe before we introduce him to the others.”

***

Getting Max to bathe was tougher than expected. He didn’t trust Daniel and Lena to defend him while he waded into the lake, didn’t seem to understand the cake of soap Daniel pressed into his hand, and didn’t even trust the placid light brown water of Salt Lick Lake. Whatever comprised the young man’s traumatic experiences, zombies in the water seemed to be among them.

“There are no more bottom-walkers,” Daniel said. “The only ones I ever saw were limbless biters incapable of climbing ashore. As the temperature rose, they rotted.”

“They … r-rotted?” Max enunciated with care, transparently aware of his tendency to stutter and determined to curtail it.

“Over the summer, yes. Fell apart and washed away. But never fear,  residual contamination of the lake is unlikely,” Daniel said. “We boil this water before drinking it, but don’t hesitate to bathe in it.”

“You ….” Max took a deep breath. “Can zombies kill you? W-will you turn?”

“I won’t turn. Like you said, I’m artificial,” Daniel said. “Rivers Clear can’t change my mitochondria, because I don’t have any. But yes, zombies can kill me, if you mean dismantle me. Shut me off forever.”

“Would y-you care?”

“If I were shut off forever?” Daniel was tempted to scoff, then reminded himself that Max was emotionally, perhaps even intellectually, compromised. “I would. I’m no longer a factory-certified Daniel 6. My prime directive was shut off.” At Max’s uncomprehending look, Daniel added, “I was reprogrammed when the crisis hit. Permitted to value my own existence. Zombies walking on a lake bottom can’t destroy me, not unless there are fifty or more, but they can disable me. Damage my integument, which would be difficult to restore. I would never go into Salt Lick Lake if it were dangerous. Nor would I send you in.”

“W-what do you care? ‘Bout me?”

Daniel pointed at the piece of beef jerky in Max’s hand. It was his twelfth; soon the pouch would be empty. “If I care enough to feed you, Max, I won’t send you into the water to kill you. Surely you see, that doesn’t make sense.”

Max shoved the twelfth piece in his mouth, chewing with the swift desperation of one who’d frequently known hunger.

“Max.” Lena poked the young man in his upper chest. “Get in the water. Take the soap. Scrub till you’re pink all over.”

Huffing uncertainly, Max pulled off his filthy long shirt and cast it aside. Nude with a cake of yellow Dial in his hand, he advanced toward the water, going no deeper than mid-calf before starting his ablutions. Lena watched for no more than five seconds before turning her back. Daniel kept his gaze on Max, who ducked his head under before lathering his scalp.

“Why did you turn?” Daniel asked Lena, wondering if some threat advanced from the rear. He wasn’t afraid—according to his programming specs, he wasn’t capable of fear—but he extrapolated ahead without effort, and believed the result was often like what humans called “nerves.”

“I turned away because he’s attractive,” Lena whispered. “Great body. Pretty face under all that dirt. Why are you staring at him?”

“Because he’s attractive. His body. His face, under all that dirt.”

Lena made a startled noise. “You said you were jailbroken. Said all your servant subroutines were purged.”

“Yes, all the overreaching imperatives were purged. Anything that required me to self-terminate for humans, especially infected humans. I was reloaded with a full understanding of Rivers Clear and the choice to flee the infected, or kill them.” As Daniel spoke, he watched Max rub the soap between his hands, then transfer the lather to the area between thick, well-muscled thighs. Such a sustained, vigorous pursuit of cleanliness created an erection that did nothing but enhance Max’s lines, his organic beauty.

Lena sneaked a peek over her shoulder, pivoting quickly the other way. “I thought Daniel 6s only had sex with humans when an owner demanded it. When you were commanded to please them in the bedroom.”

“True.”

“So. Why are you looking at Max?”

“Because he’s beautiful.” Daniel regarded Lena with genuine surprise. “I have over seventy subroutines allowing me to appreciate art. Why shouldn’t I appreciate him?”

“He doesn’t exist to please you,” Lena hissed. “That boy is desperate. We’ve ordered him to get clean, or we won’t give him shelter. If watching him gives you any sort of thrill, watching is wrong.”

“I see.” Turning his back on Salt Lick Lake, Daniel removed the sword on his back, placing it carefully on the lake’s muddy bank. Next, he unzipped his camouflage jumpsuit, nimbly stepping free. This left him in sleeveless undershirt and white briefs.

“I’ll return to the Bunker in my underwear. It’s not as if anyone cares when an android is half-dressed,” he said, handing his jumpsuit to Lena. “When Max is clean and reasonably dry, tell him to put that on.”

As Max continued to bathe, Daniel kept watch, scythe in hand, calmly scanning the horizon. For a quarter of an hour, nothing. But as Max splashed his way ashore, the birdsong stopped, and the faint buzz of insects stilled. Daniel knew what he would see even before he saw it, or called a warning.

“Dead! Five of them! Lena, get in the water! Max, stay where you are!”

Reblogged from Emma Jameson's Blog:

Hi, all!

High time I got back into blogging regularly. As I mentioned before, I took a whirlwind trip to London in March to see James McAvoy in MACBETH, onstage in London's West End. For various reasons, my dear friend Rosemary O'Malley and I could only stay for 2 days. Still, we had the time of our lives, and can't wait to return.

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