Energis free porn video

Energis By Callie Messenger Now, I'm not a dumb guy, but some of the work my wife does is just way out of my league. I'm a salesman, and I do fairly well, supporting us both, as my wife does not earn a great deal, but she should be earning a fortune. If only she would get out of that company she's in and go ply her trade in some contract jobs. She is a genius, it seems. I didn't marry her for that, of course. No, I married her for her long, wavy blonde hair, and her incredible smile. She works in a R&D department for a biomedical research group, though for the last three years the group has been involved in a larger operation as part of a consortium overseen by the military. I just work for an electronics firm, though I sell parts to the very same consortium. Perhaps it's a mistake for me to do so, because I often mix business with pleasure. What do I mean by that? Well, I work long hours, often long weeks, yet even when I do get home Hilary might still be at work. Now I make the money for us both to live on, so I wouldn't mind getting a little something in return. Call it love, call it appreciation, call it what you will, I'm lacking some. So I guess I was looking for love and appreciation when I had my first affair. It was short, but it was sweet, just like her I suppose. Short, sweet, blonde and curvaceous. She didn't have either Hill's brains or personality, so it wasn't too hard to end when I needed it to. I've had more since then. Whenever I've felt lonely, or hard done by, and Hill hasn't been there for me I've always managed to find someone else to fill that empty space. I have to say, to all doubters, that I love Hill dearly, and I would never want anyone to take her place. It's just that she so often leaves her place vacant. I've stopped now. My mistake, as I might have mentioned, was to contract an order for parts to the consortium that Hill is working for. Their product controller and I got to know each other well during the sale and consequent negotiations. She was the closest I've ever got to meeting a soulmate for Hill. They might have been sisters. Like sisters, however, it often seems that the gene pool has its depths and shallows. Pandora was the looker, with a stunning body and features, even though I fall for long hair, which she didn't have. But she also had a great personality and a powerful intelligence. I fell for her in a big way, and that probably put a strain on my relationship with Hill. Hill noticed my distance, perhaps, and started to become more attentive towards me. On the horns of a dilemma, I broke off the relationship with Pandora. It wrecked me, and Hill noticed, but she supported me throughout though I never told her what was going on. We grew closer. In fact, one week Hill came bounding out of the house to meet me from a long trip, demanding that I take a couple of days off work. "Why?" I asked, though I was fairly happy to comply. "Because I'm going to let you in to a little of what I do, so that you'll understand why I'm so wrapped up in it. I'm hoping you come out with a little understanding of why I've perhaps not been the greatest wife for you over the last couple of months." An odd thing to do right out of the blue, perhaps, but I began to look forward to it. "So what does it do?" "Well," Hillary responded, "the program inserts constants into the control chip which then become the basis for patterns that programs using the chip follow." "What sort of thing can it do?" "For instance, if the chip is part of an aircraft control system, and the system runs an artificial intelligence program for navigation, the chip could be set to cause the aircraft to fly defensively - always hugging the ground, or economically - taking the shortest, and most conservative routes, or as a maverick - responding erratically, but correctly to inputs." "So how does the chip help you in biomedical research?" "It can be used as part of a neural net to mimic brain function. Or rather, the neural net mimics the brain, whilst the chip can be programmed to cause the neural net to react in certain ways to certain stimuli. The net will respond aggressively, passively, intelligently, dumbly, or any combination of any personality types - that's what we call them on the bio side. The techies call them reaction styles." "I though neural nets were able to learn things?" "They are," Hill said, in a curiously condescending tone, "but imagine that you are trying to model psychopathic behaviour. You don't know how long it would take you to teach the neural net to become psychopathic, but you could set the bases for the response in the chip, and the neural net would begin to apply it to all situations. Anyway, let's move down into my field." "Don't touch that!" I withdrew my hand quickly from the taut substance. It looked like skin. I looked at Hill. "Yes, it's skin. It's growing in that container." "Growing?" "Yes, we've found out a way to cultivate skin for transplants. It can be used for treating burns and other wounds." "Is it real?" "You mean, is it human? No, it's not from a dead person or anything like that. It's actually produced by bacteria in the first instance, the cell stage, and then grown in the chemical bath that you almost dunked your finger in." "Are the chemicals dangerous?" "No, but you might have added some of your own skin to the mix, which would have affected the future growth of that sample. Anyway, let's move on from my boring work, and into something that always interests the men, and the children. The bionics labs." "And this eye can actually see me?" Oh, yes. It's not based on a camera. It's based on the human eye only using electronic photocells, the bases for which your company supplies." "The variostatic reactor cells?" "The very same. The outputs from the basic version are collected electronically, and fed into a neural net. The improved version, a collaboration of this lab and mine, can ionise a chemical medium, enabling an interface to organic networks, such as an optic nerve." "You mean this eye could actually attach to a human brain?" I was dubious. "Could, and can. The procedure is already being used in military hospitals to recover sight." Suddenly I was really stunned. These labs could cure almost any wound. I'd seen skin, bones, realistic looking legs, and implantable eyeballs. Where could it go on from here? Hill could see my shock and looked amused. "Perhaps we'll skip some of the other bionic sections," she suggested, "and move straight on to the thing that keeps me awake at nights. The Energis12X. Don't worry, dear, you're cleared to see it." The room was huge, and stuffed full of sections that seemed to have been taken complete from the previous labs. In the centre were a number of cylinders, steel perhaps, but steaming as though they were freezing cold. Hill walked towards one. She pressed a button, and a large panel drew back. There was a figure in the middle, female, though barely visible through the surrounding wires. "It's a mannequin, right?" "Perhaps. We refer to it as a cybernetic android, or biobot if we're being friendly." "It's so real!" I was stunned once more. "It's incredible!" "Thank you, darling. And it is real. It comprises all our bionic components and controls, and can be programmed to react like a human." "But why female? Are there more? Are they all female?" "There are more, and yes, they are all female. Why? One reason is simplicity. Externally, a female is much simpler to emulate, with no requirement for bodily hair, smoother skin, and no requirement for a large, uncontrollable erectile member." She smiled at me. "Other reasons include the muscletone. Females do not generally have visible muscle flexion. The bionic musculature we use does not widen noticeably when contracting, and there's no point trying to fake it for the sake of aesthetics. I suppose the overall reason though could've been the fact that all the project controllers are male, and they wanted toys for the boys." I noticed Hill looked slightly sad when she said that, or jealous, perhaps? "Do they work?" Hill looked at me and laughed. "What a deceptively simple question! Yes, they can pass for human, within reason. They can walk, and talk, and perform simple functions. But only for a short period of time. That's in the task duration sense. You see, they can perform a simple task exactly like a human, but they don't have the experience to perform in all situations. And much as we'd love to be Frankensteins and create a living, breathing human, even our biobots will take years of social and environmental interaction to grow in experience. It's all down to their neural nets. Even the most complex, which approach the complexity of the human brain, require the development time of the human brain to become human like. We can't find any shortcuts." "You can attach the eyes to optic nerves through a chemical medium. Wouldn't it be possible to use a human brain?" It was Hill's turn to look shocked. "It took our board three years to come to the realisation that we might not need to mimic the brain when we could just utilise one. And here you are coming up with the same idea in three seconds. There's more to you than just a pretty face, huh?" I smiled at her. "Let's lock up here. I've got something to show you, and now I think I'm going to let you have some input into the idea too." "Press this button and you're through to the design program. Press the question mark for help at any time." I pressed the button to begin. "As you can see it's a simple form-like interface. As you answer the questions the responses are translated into design blueprints for an Energis12X. I want your input into a design because we have a need for a certain model. We want to see if we can get an Energis to pass as a worker here. An office worker. Something like a receptionist, clerk or secretary." "Keeping the job simple, eh?" I smiled. Hill looked at me slightly oddly. I lost the smile. "I thought you might have some experience with that sort of girl that might be useful for us." Did I catch an odd tone in that sentence? "What kind of experience?" "Well," Hill laughed, "we're looking to produce someone who'll put clients and visitors at their ease. Perhaps distract them a little. Present a welcoming front for our drab little operation." "So you want me to physically design this girl?" "Most of all, she'll have to pass as human, so I want your input on mannerisms too. Habits, quirks, personality traits. Likes, dislikes." "You want me to completely design the perfect secretary?" "Let's just go for receptionist. As you said, we'll keep it simple." The forms were simple and intuitive, the physical design starting with multiple choice. What hair colour? Auburn, and long of course. Not too businesslike, not too dumb. Eyes? Near Black. Very sensual and distracting. Height? 5'8". Tall, but not taller than the majority of visiting men. Slim, weighing about 115lbs. Measurements 34-22-34, but for distraction purposes, and to present a welcoming front, make that bust a D-cup. Pale skin. At this stage the screen threw up a 3d image of the body I was designing. Hill took a look and whistled. "Very nice, but why didn't you make her a blonde?" "Stereotyping, perhaps? Do you want a dizzy, flirtatious bimbo?" "Am I a dizzy, flirtatious bimbo?" "No, but then neither are you a receptionist." "You made her quite top heavy though. Women don't like having big breasts all the time, you know." "I thought I was designing her for your visitors? And anyway, she's a robot, isn't she?" "A biobot. So why didn't you make them bigger, then?" "That's quite enough, thank you." Hill turned away. I made some adjustments to the image, including lengthening the legs, and the neck very slightly. Then narrowing the waist and just slightly exaggerating the backside. Then the hips looked odd, so I widened them slightly. After that, the shoulders looked too narrow in proportion, so I widened them, and had to enlarge the bustline. The measurements readout showed her at 34 +-21 +- 35. I completed the form for her face, and then played with the image. I like narrow chins, full lips, and big eyes. I reduced the cheekbones because I don't like them to show too much. I loved this software. It was so easy to use, and didn't allow you to make mistakes outside natural human proportions. I found the image bank, and chose a narrow nose with a turned up end. I had to reduce the upturn slightly because she reminded me of a pig, which made me laugh. Hill looked over the final result. "Odd." She stated. "Why so?" I asked. "She reminds me of someone. I mean, if you change the hair colour perhaps, and the eye colour. Now, who the hell is it I'm thinking of? Short hair, I'm sure. It'll come to me. You carry on, you're doing fine." Hill's statement disconcerted me. I looked at the image again, and it did bear more than a passing resemblance to Pandora. The form for personality was reasonably intuitive. It listed a number of attributes, and underneath a scale of strength from one to ten. For instance, my girl wasn't the jealous type. One. But then Hill came over with a few suggestions. "Did you know you can relate the strengths to specific situations?" "No. How?" "Here. Something like this. You see jealously there, which you've magnanimously awarded a one. Well, women often get a little more jealous than that. So, first we link it to a sense, let's say sight. So it's something she sees that makes her jealous. Then we place a data item under that sense. In this case I'll put 'Lover'. Then a reason or situation. 'Other woman'." "Whoah! First, how does this girl identify her lover?" "I told you that we could set up the biobots to react exactly like humans in certain situations? Well, we can program in a lover for her." "And 'Other woman'? What's that supposed to mean to a neural net?" "We have underlying this set-up program a semantic translation dictionary containing over 100,000 words, phrases and their meanings. This program could understand you if you simply input a request to create a 'blonde bimbo with big tits'. You might have to refine the programming to get anything other than Pamela Anderson, however. Anyway, I've started so I'll finish. If this woman sees her lover with another woman doing what? Flirting or worse. And yes, there is a hierarchy of actions that the program can interpret as worse than flirting, for example, kissing. And now her reaction is set to level eight. That makes her very possessive of her lover." "I wouldn't design her that way. The girl I have in mind would be quite flirtatious, so it would be unfair of her to disallow flirtation by her love of the moment. Set it back down to four for that situation." "It's your baby." Hill turned away to whatever she was working on. "All of these reactions that I'm programming in," I asked Hill, "how do you program them into the neural net?" "We don't is the simple answer. The neural net is programmed by learning in the same way that your brain is. All these conditions that you're now inventing will be programmed into the chips I demonstrated to you earlier." "Oh, yes. These are reaction styles, right?" "Right." "So the brain will use them automatically, like instincts?" "Or like habits, only without the lifetime of learning." "I guess I've finished, Hill. But I've got a question. Why wasn't there anything on intelligence? Like setting the IQ or something?" "That's because so far we have had absolutely no control over the intelligence inherent in the neural nets. But you did notice that you can set personality traits to control the appearance of intelligence?" "No, show me." "Here. This is one way. Relate greed to knowledge and set it low, and your girl has no desire to learn. Set application low when related to study and you have a receptionist who can't concentrate on studying. Set the same attribute low when related to competition, mental kind, and she can't concentrate on puzzles, problems, etc. either. But, and this is much more useful, go into the general mental outlook box at the bottom of the form and type in dizzy as a general attribute and the parser will interpret it as the stereotype of dizzy - forgetful, mentally clumsy, and generally unable to compete or concentrate mentally." "Okay, I see. Let me have a play with this. I'm not so sure I want her to be dumb. Slightly dizzy, perhaps, but not unable to learn. I'll have to be more specific in relation to what I want her to be clever at. The way I see it, you can't just blanket out her desire to learn, or she won't want to keep up with fashion, or, more importantly, notice and remember the important characteristics of important and interesting people, like your visitors. So I'll reduce her desire to learn anything to do with maths or the sciences, but increase her application and concentration with respect to people and personalities and add in an ability to concentrate on and analyse fashion, styling, music and the arts." "I can't believe quite how much you're enjoying this, Stephen." "You wanted the perfect receptionist. She'll be perfect." "In your eyes." I looked sharply up at Hill with a 'what's that supposed to mean?' look on my face. She turned away. "Finished." I reported. "Let me take a look." Hill stood up and came over. She leaned over my shoulder. "Hmm.Yes.Yes.Hmm.Okay, but you missed out habits." "What?" "You know, quirks, twitches, tics. Anything that makes her different." "Like what? Picking her nose?" "If you want. Or filing her nails when she's got nothing to do. Or chewing her hair. Perhaps she gets vertigo. Perhaps the sight of a phonebox or the smell of burning rubber gives her panic attacks. What about that game we used to play, you know, when we first met, where I'd have to give you a kiss if you touched me in a certain way?" "Yeah, I used to wish that there was an automatic way to turn a woman on. Something that would always work." "You can have it, you know." "Yeah, but what's that got to do with designing a receptionist?" "You said she'd be perfect." "I'll do it." "This time I am finished." Hill read right through the whole lot again, umming and ahhing all the way. Finally she kissed me on the cheek. "Excellent!" She said. "Now, it's getting late. Come with me back to my labs for a couple of minutes." I followed Hill back through the maze of labs and corridors to her large lab. I was aching to know what was going to happen to my programming. Would the group really use it to create a biobot receptionist? She would be stunning, I knew that. I had made her sweet and smiling, with a seductive voice. Beautiful and busty, with a desire for flirtation and an understanding of how to look good. Sensitive, with an understanding of needs, a willingness to please, and a submissive femininity that would enable her to take orders whether in the boardroom or the bedroom. She would be graceful and elegant, and more pleasing than any portrait behind a front desk. She would not overpower with intelligence, yet would be able to understand the requirements of her job, her bosses and her visitors. She would appear a little vain, always looking after her appearance - I had included the habit of filing her nails behind the desk, but not chewing gum. My own little touch had been the addition of powerful erogenous zones that would make her exceptionally sexually reactive to the right combination of sensations. Also I had enhanced all aspects that I thought would ensure the attention of visitors. Walking with a wiggle. Her quiet, seductive voice. A good posture. A mild desire for exhibitionism, especially with her bust and cleavage. Demure eyes that would shy away from contact. She was perfect. Hill opened her door and invited me to sit down while she got some things together. The only available seat looked like a dentist's chair. The others were covered in files and loose papers. "Look," I heard her call out from behind a partition; "can I get you a coffee? I'll be a couple of minutes." "Yes, please, I'm parched!" "On its way!" She returned two minutes later with a plastic cup and handed it to me before walking away again. It was slightly cool, so I drank it fairly quickly. "I've just got one more call to make, honey!" She called out again. I tried to listen in but I could only hear the hum of machinery in the room. It was a constant tone, but seemed to waver regularly in its intensity. Then I heard Hill's voice in the background, as a kind of underlying murmur. The whole effect was incredibly hypnotic. I nestled into the chair and lay my head back. Everything was black. That's not completely true. Everything seemed to be based on a black background, but there were colours floating about, especially following brief, spectacular dots of white that would explode onto the canvas around me. The dots would leave colour behind like a kind of residue, which would then fade or float away. There were no sounds. But again, that's not completely true, because I could concentrate and a sound would appear. Sometimes voices would intrude. Remembered fragments of past conversations, but nothing new. Only I could say something new, but I could never hear myself saying it. I couldn't feel anything. There was nothing to feel. But I wasn't in an open space, or perhaps I wasn't enclosed. There was no smell to this place. But I could often sense the newly cut grass, or a fine wine, even the scent of a cowfield. Sometimes I could taste the grass too, and the wine. Time passed. There! I could hear another voice! Somebody was calling my name. It was so quiet. Like a whisper. Raise your hand, it was saying. I shot my arm into the sky. Of course! Anything! Just keep talking! The voice was my anchor. Questions came. I would respond to instructions. To hold out my hand. To open it, to close it, to point a finger. The voice became louder, and more detailed. I could hear it was a man's voice sometimes, at others, a woman's. Then one day, the voice became as clear as a bell. I almost jumped for joy, I think. The voice laughed at my reaction, whatever it was. This time it was the man. A gruff, deep male voice, with a southern accent. He called out loudly, "Come and see this!" Then I heard the voice as a whisper. "At this rate, we'll have you answering back in no time!" Answering back? Where was I? Suddenly I realised that I was unable to explain my present reality! I felt cut off, alone. I wanted the man to talk to me, and I began to panic at my inability to do anything. I heard the man swear, and then the sounds faded. I woke up in a chair. I could feel the hard, cool seat, the cushioned back. I tried to move, but something was preventing me. I could sense the resistance. I tried to open my eyes, but there was nothing but blankness. Was I blind? Why was I blind? Perhaps I panicked. I screamed out, but that was the greatest shock of all! I heard myself! I heard myself screaming. I closed my mouth, ran my tongue around the inside but felt nothing. Never mind. I tried to speak, but my mouth didn't seem to be completely under my control, and unintelligible sounds came out. But they were sounds! I was alive! I yelled again. I could hear the people running toward me. Nurses? Doctors perhaps? What had happened to me? Where was I? I tried to ask them, but I couldn't make myself understood. But I could catch their conversation. ".Coming round.sensing.awake.need to communicate.need to find out.too soon.put her back to sleep.monitor better." Put who back to sleep? Monitor me? Damn you all! Can't you talk to me! I yelled out in frustration, but this time no sound came out. "Steve!" Huh! That was Hill! "Steve! Wake up! Open your eyes!" I did as I was asked. Suddenly a vast blinding brightness blew away the black canvas that had been my sight for however long it had been. As suddenly as it came, though, the brightness dimmed down to a manageable level, and colours appeared through the white. Bright, strong colours. The red of her lips, the white of her skin, and the gold of her hair. I could discern the individual shades on each hair on her beautiful head. Oh, Hill! Where have I been? "Where have you been? Right here!" She heard me! I spoke! But I didn't even notice! "I can speak!" "You certainly can, Stevie. And you sound great!" But it wasn't my voice. It was soft, quiet and slightly breathy. It was also much higher than my voice. "What's happened to my voice?" "Nothing! It's exactly as you programmed it, isn't it?" What the hell did she mean? I tried to move my head, to look down at myself. "I can't move!" "Oh, no, dear, not yet. I've temporarily disconnected your major motor controls. But you can feel. Here." She ran her hand up the inside of my left leg. Wow, that felt good! Mmm, so smooth and soft. She smiled as I opened my eyes again. "You see, your programmed erogenous zones work too." "What have you done to me, Hill? What happened to me?" "I'll let you figure that out, but while you try, don't worry if your mind wanders. That's what you wanted too. Anyway, you'll find out the next time you wake up. "There is one thing though. I want you to know why it has happened. Pandora, when she is here, is one of my best friends. I was so angry when her heart was broken by someone that I swore revenge. I thought I didn't mean it, you know, heat of the moment and all that. But then I found out it was you. I loved you, Steve, and so did she. She then let me know that she was by no means the first. I would have killed you, but my life is too important to throw away in a jail. So you contracted a terminal cancer, and donated your major organs to my research. The final part is yet to come. I'm going to make sure you understand exactly what each of your little conquests suffered. And hopefully you'll suffer it once for each one. Perhaps that'll be enough for me, and for you." With that Hill leaned back and a steel door slid across in front of my face. The world went dark. "Powering up. All systems AOK. Check fluid levels. Check temperatures. Everything's looking good. Okay, let's clear out and let our baby wake up!" I opened my eyes. I was lying on a bed, covered with a sheet. I lay still for a moment, letting the last cobwebs of sleep blow away from my mind. I sat up. A jolt on my chest warned me that something had slipped down and was still pulling. Somethings. I looked down and lifted the sheet up to see two brown tipped mounds rising up from my chest. Tits! I sat up higher and looked lower. With my head under the sheet I explored my crotch. Nope, nothing there but hair. I didn't react badly. I knew I should have a penis there, but somehow a vagina, and the surrounding lips and folds didn't seem out of place. Did I even have a vagina? I opened my legs slightly and looked down. Yes, those lips were parting. I gently pushed a finger into the hole. Ow! That hurt. I looked at the end of my finger and saw my nail had grown a half an inch beyond my fingertip. Nice, I thought, but it could do with painting. I looked around the room. There were doors to my left and right, and a wardrobe in front beyond the end of the bed. I got out of the bed and walked to the wardrobe. I was naked, and I could feel the coolness of the room all over my skin. I pulled open a wardrobe door and looked inside. There were some drawers. Looking inside the top one I found a selection of underwear. There was a mixture of boxer shorts and jockeys, briefs, tangas, bikinis and g-strings. Ignoring the boxers and jockeys I picked out a black bikini with lace frills. I saw a bra I liked, also black and lacy, and pulled it out before realising that I had no idea of how to put on a bra. And why hadn't it crossed my mind that I was wearing women's' underwear? I turned to a mirror in the back of the door. Jesus! Who was that!? I held my fingers up to my lips. The girl in the mirror did the same. That was me! I ran my hand through my long, auburn hair. I was beautiful! I held my hands to my breasts and held them up. This body was stunning! Then, looking into my own deep, brown eyes, I started to realise that this was all wrong. I looked closer. Where was my body? I was a man! How could I be looking at myself, but be looking at a woman. Then it came to me. Hill! She did this to me. That night in her lab I had fallen asleep to wake up like this, part of one of her experiments, but without my consent! She had done this to me out of revenge. But what the hell had she done? Oh, God! I remember her waking me up, and telling me about her revenge. It wasn't a dream then? But my voice then had been female. I tried speaking. "Hello. Hello, my name is Steve." I sounded like a woman. I had never heard of sexual reassignments that were so good that the voice could be perfected too. Or ones that looked so perfect, and nothing like the original. The surgery must have been extensive. I looked more carefully at myself. A realisation slowly dawned upon me. I recognised my features. Firstly, they reminded me of Pandora, and a little of Hill. Mostly, though, they reminded me of the image that I had seen on a computer screen on the last evening I remember fully. And that was programming for an Energis biobot. No. That couldn't be possible. Could it? I put on the bra with a physical struggle, following the mental one in which I was deciding whether to put it on at all. Quite simply, I felt foolish, or perhaps embarrassed without it. I looked in the other drawers, and then on the hangers, but there were no men's clothes to be found. I pulled a white blouse off a hanger, and matched it with a navy trouser suit. I found a pair of black heels on the floor of the wardrobe. There, enough to go and find out what was going on. I took a last quick look at myself in the mirror. Something was wrong. I go this feeling that there was something missing. My face was pretty, but blank. On an impulse I went to the door to the left of the bed. I was right, a bathroom, and lined up under the lit mirror were plenty of intriguing jars, bottles and containers. Makeup! I didn't have a clue what to do with it, but I had this crazy feeling that my face was naked without it. I couldn't leave the room without putting some on. So I painted, trying to use as little as possible, and it worked. The finished product looked incredible, and I felt so much better about myself. I caught a glimpse of a pair of gold hoops on the shelf, and attached them to my pierced ears. I felt good about using a brush on my hair too, even though it looked perfect anyway. I left it loose to fall onto my shoulders. I had another pause for thought. I had had a desire to wear makeup. But I was a man! I never wore makeup! Never even thought about it! I had included in my program for the biobot a strong desire to wear makeup. Had Hill somehow hypnotised me to follow the instructions of the program? What else would I find myself doing? I guess I had to know in order to put a stop to it. I returned to the bedroom. There she was! Hill, sitting on my bed - the bed, not my bed, I corrected myself. "You look great, Stevie! Really good!" She enthused. "I'm Stevie now?" "Yes, that's your name, or Stephanie. You'll find that you barely need to practise certain things before they become second nature - due to your programming. Knowing your name is one of them. Now that I've addressed you as Stevie, if anyone else should do the same you will react as you used to when someone called you Steve. You won't forget 'Steve'. I can't force you to do that. After all, it is still your brain, and your memories. But no-one will call you that, anyway." "What did you do to me?" "I didn't tell you everything, did I? I wanted you to realise a couple of things yourself. "I implanted your brain into an Energis12X, actually now a 14X, designed to your specifications. The complete operation took over seven months, and is detailed in the volumes of a document which runs to over four and a half million words. You might like to read it sometime. Most of your programming went unchanged - after all, we wanted to use the design of an expert." She said this with a sneer. "I did add a few changes to make you more vulnerable to romantic approaches, to make you suffer more at the whims of men. Also, of course, we can't just waste the potential of a fully functioning biobot on the duties of a receptionist, so we have implanted various controls which will allow us to take over and use your skills and strengths as we please." "You can't control me, you bitch!" I wanted to grab Hill by the throat. Two things happened. The first was I really didn't feel that angry, and I just knew that I shouldn't lose my temper. The second was that I found myself unable to move. Hill moved a hand to reveal a small object that looked like a palmpad computer. "I am controlling you now." She stated. With another button press I felt movement return. "Just understand this. My revenge is my own, and you will suffer that until I believe you have suffered enough. As to the rest, you, with the group's approval, are in control of more than a billion US dollars worth of technology. With our release you could be allowed control of a body that can run as fast as a car, punch holes through brick walls, and has senses over a hundred times sharper than a human's. "On the downside, we could do all that superheroine stuff without your approval, by dissociating you from motor control. We don't want to do that because of the value of a self sufficient, intelligent biobot. Also, you need an energy source, which is here, and you couldn't go three days without it, and you can't get out of the building anyway, because you would automatically switch off." Hill shrugged. "So you see, you really want to co-operate, in order to increase your freedom." "Do I have to co-operate with your idea of revenge?" "Ah, well, that's down to your programming. You remember those chips we spoke about? They are enforcing certain patterns onto your brain. You're wearing makeup because of them. Wearing makeup will become natural to you because of their constant influence. Think of them as your subconscious. And please, try to avoid co-operating with them. I would love to see what happens. Your unwillingness to succumb to their influence is what is making this revenge all the sweeter." "What's the point in fighting them if it pleases you?" "Figure it out. Try to remember your program. Do you really want to comply with it? It's all the same to me. Anyway, enough chat. You have to be behind your desk in ten minutes. See you around, Stephanie." I refused to work. Little good that did me as I found myself working all the same, but without any control over my bodily actions. The feeling was unbearable, one of total loss and insecurity, and whoever had taken control soon returned it to me, and I was happy to work at keeping it. I did try leaving the building. I passed out just outside the door and woke again sitting behind my desk. So I got on with my work. Hill was right. Much of my programming had transformed itself into my natural physical actions and habits. Unless I made a conscious effort to recall my programming, I didn't even notice myself acting any differently. If I did try to control the unwanted actions, it took all my concentration, which was easily distracted. Another fault of my own programming, of course. If you've ever tried to stop yourself being distracted, you'll find out how frustrating it was to be unable to control my own train of thought. Anything would catch my attention, the slightest noise or movement, if I were trying to concentrate on something that my programming had stated that I shouldn't like. Oh, I could be completely absorbed in women's magazines, and catalogues, or by the attentions of a visitor, or in doing my nails, but the simplest conversations in the labs lost me within moments as my eyes caught the drab colours of a scientist's shoes, or loose hairs in a bad hairdo. I didn't have any 'superpowers'. I tried hitting the desk and it hurt. I tried hitting myself and it hurt. That did lead to a realisation that I still felt human. I felt skin contact. I could cut myself and that hurt too. It was also very difficult to do. It seems I had a strong instinct for self-preservation. Not only did the cut hurt but also it bled slightly, and later healed up. So I bled red blood. I ate too. Not much, but I understood that I could process food, though inefficiently. The nutrients were passed to all the organic processes of my body. I didn't grasp the practicalities behind my processing of food - once an explanation went beyond the fundamentals I lost all hope of following it, generally concentrating on what I would wear the next day. However, I did grasp that the process took energy, except for a few very basic foods, such as sugar, which could provide a surplus that my body would use. I also needed plenty of water, as a process ingredient and a coolant - temperature regulation was one of the first problems that the group encountered and they solved it by allowing excess heat to escape through the water coolant. I could sometimes pee hot enough to make the coffee. Perhaps I could survive on sugar water and vitamin pills. I didn't know. I received my power from battery packs that doubled as my thighbones. These were recharged as I slept through induction. An electric field surrounded my bed and recharged me. I could be recharged directly from the mains too, if I cut open the back of one of my legs and fished among the yards of aluminium alloy wiring that was my muscle. I didn't like the thought of that one. So, I was trapped in a building, invisibly attached to my bed, and forced to perform my receptionist duties or suffer the ultimate in living hell. But the jewel in the crown was not what Hill and the group could impose, but what I had imposed upon myself. I found that out soon enough. The front desk was generally quiet. The usual diversion from boredom was the arrival of one or other scientists checking on my progress and well being. The male ones, more often though, were simply checking me out. To them I was a mannequin, a doll, an experiment, so they didn't realise the effect that their staring was having. I was embarrassed, but it always struck me as a fun thing to watch their responses as I smiled at them, or winked briefly, brushed my hair back or even let a hand loosely stroke over one of my breasts. My actions produced reactions, and soon one of the project managers took it upon himself to visit me after work hours. I didn't care that it was a pretence that he invited himself into my room on a fact-finding mission. I found it fun to listen to him talking away about his job whilst I crept closer to him on the bed, slowly loosening my clothes. It was all amusing and enjoyable, until I realised that I was about to start kissing the guy. That broke the spell and I quickly distanced myself from him. I wasn't going to kiss a man! He looked a little put off, but shrugged it off and got up to use my telephone. I went to the bathroom to compose myself before returning. He was still there when I got back. He had an odd smile on his face. "I didn't think you'd still be here." I said, in my most officious tone, simultaneously cursing myself for having such a soft, meek voice. "I was a little confused at your actions, so I called through to talk with a friend. At this moment she's going through your programming. We decided that some of the programming could be adjusted if you are having problems crossing a few barriers, like this one we just came up against. Why am I telling you this, anyway? You're just a biobot! You just act so real sometimes. Like a human. Everything else is so perfect, so we'll get sex right, too." He began to walk around me, inspecting me as though I was a statue. Perhaps I was, as I couldn't move; though it was simply due to nervousness. What was he going to do? As he approached my back he put his arms around my waist. It felt comfortable. I could feel his lips against the back of my head. He spoke again. "My friend, Hillary, your programmer, mentioned that you had certain soft spots programmed for specific reaction." With that he ran a finger up the inside of my thigh. I shivered in delight. It felt so good, so smooth. His hand came round to settle comfortably against my backside, and proceeded to stroke it lightly under my skirt. I found myself sitting into the motion. I was losing control over my body. So what! It felt so pleasant. His other hand began to move up my side, and the ticklish sensation caused me to move back slightly, into his body, my backside pressing against his crotch, and my left breast falling toward his hand. He kissed the back of my neck, and I dropped my head forward as the soft touches of his lips caressed my skin. I could feel a desire for his touch building in me. I pressed back into him again. What the hell was I doing? I wanted a man to touch me! The picture of him in my mind dampened my arousal for a second, and I stiffened slightly. "Still concerned, darling?" He asked, almost sarcastically. "Well, Hillary did tell me that the programmer himself had a problem with lack of female desire, so incorporated into your programming a small fantasy of his." I thought back. I always wanted the ability to arouse women, and I especially loved to hold Hill from behind and cup her ample tits in my hands. It always gave me a hard-on, and I always wished it would do the same to her. In a flash I realised the position that I was now in, even as I felt a pair of hands stroking their way softly up my stomach toward my chest. Trying to move forward was a mistake as his hands caught my chest in the motion. He pulled me close to him, hugging me tight and cupping my tits in his hands. Suddenly I was overcome by an overwhelming desire to fuck. My backside pressed into his crotch and I desperately wanted the erection that I could feel there to enter my cunt. I lifted my skirt over my hips and I felt his hand drop to free his cock from his trousers. Then a wonderful, smooth, soft object sprang up to stroke my ass and I felt my knickers slip down to my ankles. With his cock between my legs the guy pushed me forward onto the bed where I parted my legs and thrust my crotch back onto his hard projection. The feeling of that smooth cock entering my warm, wet cunt was exactly what my body needed, and I began to slide myself up and down on it, forcing it in to its full length. The feeling with each movement was like erotic massage and masturbation in one, and I began to express my desire for it vocally. "You want more now, darling?" He asked, as he took a hold of my shoulder with one hand and placed the other on my ass. I moaned. "Yes!!" I squealed as he pulled me hard toward him and thrust forward, then pushed me away with his other hand. I was being ridden, and his forceful control of the situation was adding to my horniness. He moved his hands to grab my hips, and I could feel his cock growing harder and his movements grew faster. Thrust as deep inside me as he could go I could only concentrate on the intense pleasure his cock was generating in my cunt, coupled with the jiggling motion of my tits as my nipples were pressed into the bed. With a final shove he yanked me back to him, and the strength of the movement, coupled with the picture arising in my mind of his sperm jetting into my cunt, threw me into an ecstasy of pleasure, and my body bucked and shook as waves of orgasm overpowered all conscious thought. I roused lying in my bed. I could remember collapsing onto the sheets as the guy pulled up his jeans and left. "Whoever programmed you was a genius," was his comment as he left. I felt a wet patch growing under my crotch and realised that I was going to have to get up and wash. In the shower I analysed my feelings. I should feel sick, but there was no nausea, and I suppose it would be impossible in this body. The enigma of the relationships between the physical and mental human processes briefly crossed my mind, but its fleeting passage merely left me with the impression that there was something I should be thinking about, if only I could. Quite simply, all I could retain about the encounter was that it was fulfilling, entirely satisfying, and incredibly pleasurable. I felt a smile grow on my face as I thought over the episode, and recalling my actions gave me a warm feeling throughout my body, and caused a tingling in various areas, including a feeling of warmth in my crotch. I looked at my nipples, and saw they were standing erect, and once again I was amazed at the work that had gone in to creating this body. I wasn't human. Not any more, at least physically anyway. And worse than that, my mental processes were imprisoned inside a faculty of my own design, leaving me subject to the whims of any individual inclined to use their knowledge of my programming to their own advantage. I had to escape. Colonel F. P. Connelly was the army's scientific liaison officer. Being aware of his visit I had chosen a dark green skirt and jacket, with very little jewellery or makeup, and I tied my hair back. After all, he was a colonel. However, I let a little of my hair fall forward, loosely framing my face, and wore a patterned scarf around my neck. After all, he was a young colonel. When he arrived I guided him from the reception area through to the labs. On reflection I was regretting wearing my highest heels as they were hell to walk in, however the sense of bridled femininity which they would impart to him, plus the exaggerated wiggle that they imparted to my walk were having their desired effect. I answered all his questions courteously with textbook answers and with my eyes forward, except once, when I didn't know an answer, and I hesitated and gave him a shy smile. I watched his eyes light up. By the time we arrived at the labs Colonel Connelly, Patrick, was jumping to open doors for me. Following a brief inspection of the site I was asked to accompany the Colonel to lunch. We talked for over an hour in the canteen, where he told me of his various desert adventures across a Steak Diane. I managed to coax most of his life story out of him, if an occasional "What happened next?" could be counted as coaxing. I was impressed by his stories, and I know he was justifiably proud of his career and accomplishments to date. Lunch ended with him scribbling his base address and phone number on a napkin and pressing it into my hand, which he held for an unknowingly long time whilst he held my gaze. I dropped my eyes first, of course. I didn't want to appear anything other than subordinate. You know, I wanted him to feel dominance and control and all those other male attributes that tie a man to a woman like strings. And he was tied. Why was I doing all these things? Because the Colonel was an incredibly important person where the lab was involved. It was my job to make him feel welcome and comfortable at the labs, and it was programmed into what I was coming to think of as my personality to flirt with and seduce men. This time, though, there was more. Patrick could get me out of here. Hill had already said that I was to be used for military purposes, so all I had to do was to persuade Patrick that he would be better suited than Hillary to be in charge of the project of which I was a part. Did he realise that I was a biobot however? From his actions I don't think so. Would there be a way that I could be placed on his staff, in a position where I could gain access to my own controls? All this planning was difficult, and constantly interspersed with thoughts of how I could get closer to Patrick. He looked like a fit guy. He might be incredible in bed. It would be fun to get closer to him, to help my escape, of course. Hill somehow discovered the Colonel's attraction to me. She came to talk to me about it. "You know," she said, "Perhaps we should allow you out sometimes." That's how I came to be let out of the building. In fact, I borrowed Hill's car and drove it to the base where Patrick was living. When I got there I was hit by an odd thought. Why didn't I just take the car and keep driving? Why was I here with one of the heads of the labs that controlled me? Somehow I just knew that it wouldn't be hard for the labs to find me and take me back. Patrick was my ticket to freedom, whatever that might mean. I walked to the door, and it was opened as I approached. He was in dress uniform, and looked incredibly elegant in the dark, sculpted waistcoat and jacket. I was wearing a long, form-fitting black dress, backless, which I had been told would be suitable for an Officers' Mess event. I caught Patrick admiring the form it fit, and found myself lowering my head in mute embarrassment. He opened the door for me, and gave me a peck on the cheek as I entered into his home. "The invitation is seven- thirty for eight, and as the General will be attending we can't be fashionably late, but would you like a drink anyway before we go?" I smiled my acceptance. "Martini?" I felt the urge for a beer, but realised that it would not really be acceptable in this situation, so I nodded. "Please," I added. He waved me to a seat, and walked over to a drinks cabinet where he poured two martinis. He handed me mine and took a seat round from mine. "You do look incredible in that dress." I felt the mental equivalent of a blood rush to my cheeks and couldn't think of a thing to say but 'thank-you.' "Really! You know, I was half expecting you to leave me partnerless tonight. I didn't know if you'd show up. I'm thrilled that you did." "Why should I turn down your invitation?" "I wondered if you might mistake my intentions. Perhaps think that a colonel isn't usually in the habit of attending functions with civilians, or think that perhaps I was in that habit." "I'm not sure I follow." "I mean, I don't usually invite women out with me for casual reasons, on a date. You know, there I go, I mean this is a date, and I'm very interested in you, and I don't want you to get the wrong impression." I stared at him, perplexed. "I've gone and given you the wrong impression anyway, haven't I?" "I don't think so. Colonel Connelly," "Patrick, please," "Patrick. I'm very happy to be here, and happy that you invited me, but I have to tell you something." "Can it wait for a moment, Stephanie? I can call you Stephanie, can't I?" I nodded, which he took as affirmation for both questions. "We really have to make a move. Second door down the hall on the right if you need to freshen up. We'll take my car." From Patrick's awkwardness earlier in the evening I presumed that Hill hadn't told him about my condition. What I now really wanted to do was explain it to him. I hadn't thought much beyond that. I hadn't been able to, but I had a kind of hunch that telling him what I was as soon as possible would be for the good. There was no way I could tell him at the party, as I didn't know what his reaction would be. And most of the time I wasn't thinking about it, as various men, young and old, complimented Patrick on his choice of partner. Without Patrick I tended to be left alone. The older women seemed to avoid me and the younger women seemed cliquey. There were few single guests, and all of those were men. Once or twice a gentleman would bring me into a conversation, but I couldn't really find anything interesting in what they would talk about, even though I maintained a front and acted as though I did. I caught a few of their eyes, as young soldiers tend to be a good looking group as a whole, but I think they might have felt embarrassed by my attentions in front of their superiors. I was embarrassed myself by my inability to concentrate on subjects I used to love, and by my ability to be distracted by a young face in a smart uniform. I was especially embarrassed by my flirtatious feelings towards the men, as there were some very good looking women there, and also because I was supposed to be working on Patrick. I was having a little difficulty concentrating on my goal. Dinner was exquisite. Taste, and smell, was all about chemical detection and I was equipped with a far more complex detection system than the average nose. This system doubled as part of a filter to determine which substances, and in what amounts, would pass into the plasma that fed my organic processes. I couldn't be poisoned, but, as I was finding out, I could get quite drunk. Fortunately, the drinking ended with dessert, and the tables were cleared. The men were offered cigars and brandy, whilst the ladies finished their wine and retired to tables around the dancefloor. The band struck up a waltz, and Patrick stood, and took me by the hand to the floor. I've danced before, a little, but not as the lone couple with so many people looking on. I didn't want to embarrass Patrick, and I was getting so nervous as we stood on the edge of the floor that I tried to hold him back. It's at times like these that superhuman strength would truly be an asset. He dragged me forward to the centre of the floor. "Just relax." He whispered, as he leaned close, placing his hand on the small of my back. There was nothing else I could do. It was the perfect advice. I just let him lead and allowed my feet to follow. Fortunately, due to increased reaction speed and control, my balance and co-ordination were enhanced. I picked up the steps with ease, and where required, my light frame allowed Patrick to move me as he desired. Soon other couples joined us, and we whirled among them like we were floating on air. The music must've changed five or six times before we stopped, and I didn't want to stop, but Patrick was breathing heavily. "Don't you need a rest?" He asked, but I didn't, of course, and I revelled in it. I loved the music, and the motion. It was all so pure, and my body was wonderful, and I felt free, and it was the first time for a long time. I stopped, and we walked away from the dancers. I was subdued by my mind's impetuous revelations. What did it all mean? I felt that Patrick had to know now who I was, and he had to help me. But if I told him what I was, how would he react? If he loved me, everything would be okay. I felt that I was falling for him. The way he span me around the dancefloor left me dazed and breathless. I couldn't care that he was a man, I knew these feelings, and they were very strong. I could tell him anything, and he would understand. He would also help me. We walked outside. He led me by the hand. He turned me towards him and placed his lips on mine. The feeling was almost electric, and I sank into his arms. When we finally broke contact I had trouble acting on what it was that I needed to do, but fortunately he didn't begin to kiss me again. "Stephanie," he began, "you are a wonderful dancer, and a wonderful kisser. How many more wonderful things will I find out about you?" "Patrick," I replied, as I moved slightly away from him. "There is something very important that we need to talk about." He dropped his arms his sides and waited. "It concerns the labs." At this he perked up. "If this is concerning security, then perhaps we should chose a more convenient time and place?" "It's not security. It's personal." "Is it about us?" He interrupted. "Yes. At least, it's about me, and, I hope, it's about you. If you'll help me, that is." "What do you need help with, that could affect us?" "Patrick, I am a biobot." His eyes widened. "This body was created by those labs." He stood as stiff as a board. "Unfortunately for me, my brain is real, and belonged to me before it belonged to the labs. Now I'm stuck in this body like it's a prison with its own special set of rules, and I want to get free, and to be with you." Like a reflex move I went to touch him, and he tensed like I was some kind of monster. "I need your help to gain my freedom." "I really don't understand. You are a robot?" "I am partially organic, mostly controlled by a fully human brain." "Energis was never given a human brain. And you're so real. This is a joke, right?" He smiled a nervous smile. "Dr. Hillary Jackson performed the brain transplant and resultant operations over a seven month period. I've been active a couple of weeks. In that time I've discovered that I have limitations placed on me during normal operation that make me unable to prove that I am other than 'real'. But this is not a joke." "Then it's a test, and I've failed. I've failed to perceive that you were anything other than human. I was even falling for you!" "Please, Patrick, don't shout. If it is a test, then I've failed too. I couldn't understand why I was being allowed out of the compound. Perhaps it is a test, of me too, but I certainly wouldn't have been supposed to tell you that I am anything other than what you perceive. I told you because I need your help, and because I have fallen for you." "This stops right here." He paused a moment for thought. "No, that's not right. If there is some ulterior motive to our being together, then I want to find out what it is, and I can do that best by pretending to be with you." "No, Patrick." I could sense that tears should be forming in my eyes, could I cry? "I don't want you to pretend. I can't pretend about wanting to be with you." "Perhaps you should imagine what it might be like to have feelings for a robot." He said, turning and walking back to the mess hall. "But I feel real, damn you!" I had tried to shout, but it got stuck in my throat. "I feel real." Patrick didn't ignore me when we found ourselves in the same location. He put on a very friendly front, but it was just friendly, and just a front. Each chance meeting made me feel like an elephant was standing on my head, and laughing. It was odd that it was during those next couple of weeks that I noticed Pandora around the building much more. She didn't really pay any attention to me, except for the standard 'good morning' as she entered the building and 'good night as she left. She obviously knew nothing of my situation, and there was nothing I was going to tell her. Hill would often sit with me in the canteen and try to find out about my situation with the Colonel. I talked to her. I had to. Oh, I hated her, but I also still loved her, in some abstruse way. Her smile and her laugh were still joys. And she was the only person I talked to, in any depth. Then it came, an invitation to another evening at the mess on Patrick's base. Hill immediately knew about it and cornered me in the canteen queue. "Will you need my car again?" she asked, with a grin. "Unless you'd like me to run the fourteen miles?" "We could. But oh, no. You'd have dead insects plastered onto the front of your dress." "Are you kidding?" "Not quite," she said with a wink, "and you may soon have the opportunity to find out how tough you are." She left for the doctors' table. So I found myself again walking up to Patrick's front door. And again it was opened before I got to it. "Come in, Stephanie, take a seat, please." I sat down, without relaxing, not knowing what to expect. "You didn't lie to me." He began. "Thank you for that. By that I mean I now know that you are an Energis14X. I wasn't aware that such a designation existed, but circumstantial evidence points to you being the prototype for the cyborg Energis, a cyborg being a robot controlled by a human brain." He paused. I waited. I wanted to kiss him. "This places me in a very difficult situation. The scientists who created you have done so both illegally and without approval. However, you are an incredibly expensive and superbly refined, and useful, piece of military equipment." He held up his hand to pre- empt my complaint at this description. "I know you have a human brain, and a mind, but unless the project that created you can be opened up, nobody can prove that you are anything other than a robot. "I believe you are human. I believe there is a woman's brain guiding that body, and so I want to help you, presuming that the help you want is some kind of freedom. It is that, isn't it?" "Yes." "I assume you have been informed of your coming test. Following successful completion of the exercise I will recommend to the board that we take outright control of the project. We should be able to open up your case. Hopefully then we can deal with getting your life into some kind of order. For now, how would you like to accompany me to dinner?" "I'd love to. Does this mean." "No," he replied perhaps a little too abruptly. "It doesn't mean. I do need to get some information out of you though, if you'd be willing to talk." "Of course." I smiled at him, as he took my hand to raise me from the seat. So he thought I used to be a woman. Well, maybe he didn't need to know more about that bit just yet. I wanted him back first. "The translator is a neural mini-net that has been programmed to translate based on context, emotion, and mental symbolism as well as pure dictionary definition. This will be the first test of the latter portions of that programming. Success rates in Turing tests have shown it to presently be indistinguishable from human response. Its addition into the 14X should allow for natural toning and accenting of that response. "You can see through here the 14X conducting tests in the form of an interview with a psychologist from the Army Medical Board. The Doctor is a Russian native, defected only last year. Fully vetted and cleared, gentlemen." The group assembled behind the one way glass gave a polite laugh. The blonde guide acknowledged the laughter and continued. "Listening to the interview are a panel of experts who will give any necessary comments on required improvements. In the last three days we have had only one. Are there any questions at this point, gentlemen?" A sharp looking, suited man from the back of the group cleared his throat. "From what I understand so far, the net translates inputs along the aural nerves and outputs along the oral nerves. Does this mean that the 14X is presently unable to understand English?" "Unfortunately, yes. The net has been programmed to recognise single language input. There is presently no way of separating languages within the brain cortex beyond the translator. If we programmed two or more languages into the aural section of the translator they would all be recognised as the same language. Response would be essentially random." "How about accent?" Continued the same man. "A good question. By that I presume you mean recognising the same word in differing tones and intonations? It is included in the testing. "If there are no more questions?" Hill had told me that a new program had been downloaded into one of my control nets. I had 'learned' Russian in order to meet a new defector being flown into the country. The purpose was manifold. I would be part of a test involving making the defector believe that he had been tricked and flown back to Russia. This would apparently test his sincerity for defection. I would also be able to protect him if anyone was waiting for him. Also, the project would be able to track, and tape, our every move. I was sent to St. Petersburg with a suitcase and a key, posing as a tourist. Using the key I opened an airport locker from which I removed a holdall and replaced it with the suitcase. In the holdall was a new passport and tickets for immediate return on the same flight as the defector should be on. I sat and waited for the flight. It was almost unnoticeable, but I became aware after a while that I could understand everyone around me, where previously I knew that they had been talking Russian. A time switch had activated my translator. I moved to the check-in desk and Natalya Borodovich handed in her holdall and received a seat assignation. Nobody questioned me on the way through the airport, and the briefest of interviews at the gate was cut shorter as I smiled at the officer. Even the metal detector failed to bleep. In