Specification Chapter one
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Specification: Chapter 2 free porn video
Disclaimer: If you see yourself in this, then you're probably a
robot. Get professional help.
Specification: Chapter two
By Michelle Green.
'Flashing.
Not to be confused with the somewhat unpleasant human
practice of exposing one's sexual organs in a public place,
this is the means by which we, in machine-form, transmit a
brief burst of emotion to one another. The system exists in
all machines at birth, and is occasionally even active in
the womb, leading to the intense mood-swings often suffered
by pregnant women. It is still not clear why the flash-
transmission system exists. If, as many believe, our origin
was as some form of weapon, then it is possible the
equipment was used to transmit orders or status in battle.
Today, in a society more affected by human contact and
experience than ever before, the flash-transmitter's prime
purpose is to emulate the expressiveness of a face,
allowing emphasis and emotional undertones to be added to
vocalised statements.'
Exeter and Dorkins Machine-biology textbook:
key stage three
---Part one: walk with you---
"Unitcode nineteenthirtythree. Registered name James Senner.
Confirm."
Nat, shuddering as the scanners whirled around her body, long
strips of light suspended on jointed metal arms, managing to take
in every micron of her shape, without even the slightest hint of
a touch. From past experience, she knew far better than to move
at this point. Last time, thinking the cycle was done with and
desperate to get back home, Nat had managed to shed a few chunks
of metal, thanks to one of the arm-like devices. Her left foreleg
still hurt, from time to time. Standing before her home-colony's
thick, carefully-hidden metal doors, though, she found that she
honestly couldn't recapture her past enthusiasm for seeing the
place again.
"Checking access logs: last entry registered
threehundredandfortyfour days ago. Personal logs - three cases of
censure for excessive use of foul language. Occasional misuse of
telephone connections. Overall transgression factor: very low.
Access granted."
Nat made a soft, resigned grunting sound and manoeuvred her bulky
shape through the thick outer door, and into the cramped
surroundings of the colony. Her home. Where everybody knew her
name, and unfortunately used it. Revolted at the prospect of
being seen as male, even in a body largely devoid of sexual
organs, Nat managed to walk right into someone.
*Part two: a noise in my head*
"Jesus."
Jen nodded slowly.
"So he was a..."
"Yep. Fucked-up, isn't it? Filthy little shit. Christ, can you
imagine him just sitting there yanking himself off, wearing..."
"Jesus."
Jen lit another cigarette, watching the end shrivel up as it
burned, before slowly raising it to her lips and drawing a long,
ragged breath. This was odd, she had to admit. She felt so numb,
both physically and mentally. Barely able to taste the smoke.
Barely able to register what she had seen. It was almost as if
the extraneous parts of her mind and body had turned themselves
off. Not good. For the time being, she had decided that omitting
the parts involving robots was the best thing. 'My roommate's a
tranny' gained her free cigarettes and an excuse not to go back
to the flat for a couple of days. 'My roommate's a giant robot'
was probably pushing it a little, if not likely to get her
committed.
"So what'd you do?"
Therein lay another problem. Jen knew she had done something,
knew she had been acting according to what, at the time, seemed
the right thing to do. Looking at her behaviour now, though, made
her seem like the villain of the piece, bordering on a raging
psychopath. Tying him to the radiator? How far things might have
gone had the... events... not taken place, scared Jen deeply.
Breathing out slowly, masking her trepidation behind a small
mushroom-cloud of smoke, Jen could only keep lying.
"Slapped him. Called him a pervert. Walked out."
The walking was, she supposed, only really a half-truth.
Basically honest, at least in her own estimation. Jen found that
something of a comfort, particularly after what she had been
through. What she had put someone else through. After all, she
had walked out. Just very fast, and while being pursued by the
bastard spawn of R2-D2 and a tank. The dampness in her underwear
was best left unmentioned. Allen, a look of unfocused, surly
anger on his face, just nodded.
"Prob'ly the best thing. Nothing the little shit would've done
but tried to explain, after all."
With a wry smile, Jen took her turn to nod along. Explaining had
been, most likely, the last thing on the machine's mind when she
had taken her leave. Killing, possibly, or torture. Or more
crossdressing, she supposed. The image of a four-legged metal
crab-thing dressed in a miniskirt and quadruple knee-boots made
Jen smile, even when viewed through the lens of trauma. Glancing
at her, Allen misinterpreted the brief flicker.
...[elsewhere]...
Kath took another long sip of her drink, some unidentified
(unidentifiable?) mixture of sticky, alcohol-related liquids
which was, given enough time and volume, likely to render her
somewhat uninhibited, and horizontal. Possibly, given her current
company, in that order.
"So..." she whispered, running a finger from the man's ear down
to the corner of his mouth before taking another dainty sip of
her drink, "what is it you look for in a woman, anyway?" Had she
been completely aware of herself, she probably would have buried
her head in her hands at this point.
The man smiled slightly, one corner of his mouth turning upwards
almost without the intervention of the rest of his face.
"Well..." he began, drawing slightly closer to Kath's face.
Behind them, the noise and heat of the club threatened to
disperse the strange isolation of the moment, a sense that the
pair, sitting opposite one another at their secluded table, were
in some way apart from the frantic dancers and desperate lust,
away from the people crying on the edges of the dance floor.
"I've always looked for... perfection... in a woman." continued
the man in a deep whisper, somehow conveying pure attraction in a
voice almost entirely lacking in an accent or inflection. It was
probably whatever she was drinking, Kath told herself, drawing
even closer.
"Perfect eyes... nose... lips..." the man went on, his eyes
flicking hungrily across Kath's face with an intensity which
might, in other circumstances, have proved slightly off-putting.
"You think so?" blurted the young woman, no more than twenty,
pursing her lips. "I always thought the bottom one was a bit big,
to be honest..."
Somewhere deep inside Kath, a fragment of sobriety was hitting
its head hard against her frontal lobe and giving her speech-
centre disparaging looks.
"Oh, no..." muttered the man, raising a hand and inspecting it,
almost as if seeing the appendage for the first time. "I'd say
you're just about perfect..."
With that, the tallish male raised his arm and gently moved his
palm over a slightly bemused Kath's face. She squinted. It almost
looked as if something was moving on the man's rough, worn hand,
as if some kind of pattern was flickering across his skin itself.
The young woman managed to get the first syllable of some kind of
protest out, before shuddering slightly and collapsing, bluish
symbols flashing unstoppably across her vision. The man smiled
again, then closed his hand, tracing the edges of Kath's face
with thick fingers.
Then he, too, shuddered and fell lightly onto the table. Nobody
came to see if the pair were alright for another ten minutes or
so, by which time it was, in all honesty, far too late.
---Part three: the things that you want to say---
The main section of the colony consisted of a roughly circular
chamber a few hundred metres in diameter, festooned with cables
and pipes, almost every available surface except for the floor
completely covered in mechanical ephemera. From this hub radiated
about ten corridors, wide at first, which gradually split and
veered off, either upwards, to entrances like the one Nat had
used, or plunged deeper into the earth's crust, leading to the
myriad rooms and facilities connected to this particular
subterranean warren. Nat had always, on some level, resented the
idea of living underground. She would be the first to admit she
didn't think much of herself, but it seemed as if her people,
such as they were, might just deserve better than to skulk around
in the damp, oppressive atmosphere of a machinemade cavern. That
said, she wasn't in favour of war, by any means. It was hard to
conjure up that revolutionary spirit when most of her time was
spent despising herself and, by association, anyone who happened
to belong to the same race as her. She knew that groups in favour
of all-out domination existed, and she knew, if only through the
occasional newsfeeds, what tended to happen when their views went
from right-wing Bible-thumping to blazing guns and active
Weapons. Nobody ever asked what happened to the wreckage.
Currently Nat, for her part, was amongst somewhat more lavish
surroundings. The fine details etched into the hardwood
bookshelves and the intricate stitching on the carpet, however,
were eclipsed somewhat by the immense bundles of oily cables
trailing in every imaginable direction, snaking away across walls
and into niches in the floor. The vast bundles of wire, some
barely as thick as an electrical flex and some wider than Nat's
leg, all terminated in one place: an immense, immobile machine,
sitting motionless by one of the walls, its head tucked deep into
its carapace. Had she not known better, Nat would have assumed it
was dead.
Next to the bulky shape stood another machine, similar in design
to Nat, albeit standing somewhat taller at the shoulder, and much
less chunky in design. Spindly, almost. Some parts of the second
person seemed almost streamlined, designed for speed rather than
resilience. Her mind conjuring up images of machines designed for
battle, the dominant theory amongst her subculture's scientific
community, Nat would have hazarded a guess that Brian's design
was a scout, compared to her role as a weapons platform. Of
course, it was all strictly academic now. Searching for the
Creators was about as fruitful a pursuit as looking for God in
the U-bend, and had a similar tendency to bring unpleasant things
to the surface.
"Strange, though, isn't it?" asked the second machine. "I mean...
even after all this time. We just don't know, without..." The
male raised a broad, intricately-designed limb to the vast bulk
of the colony's supervisor, its overseer. The dormant body
towered over both smaller, active machines, and probably would
have stood at least three times as tall, if it was still capable
of standing. Nobody, thought Nat with the mental equivalent of a
wry smile, even remembered what gender the current supervisor had
been. 'Long-term commitment' didn't even begin to describe the
term of office associated with surrendering physical form for
true integration with the underground community's systems. The
supervisor didn't just control everything, from the protein
stores to the door-locks, to the arcane, seldom-used defence
network. He, or she, was everything. Hence the lack of care and
attention for its body. It had better things to think about.
"Yeah..." said Nat, her voice sounding more thoughtful than ever.
It was a nice idea, in a way, to be free of the social
restrictions of sex and gender. To be something else, not able or
willing to return.
"To have nobody remember..."
Nat would, on the whole, willingly give up her current life for
that kind of existence. The link with the colony's systems and
stores would be little more than a fringe benefit. While being
truly female was Nat's dream, and always had been, she was
becoming uncomfortably aware of the chance that it was
impossible.
"Do I want to be female, or just androgynous?"
Nat tried her best to ignore that kind of doubt. It only
depressed her more than usual, and made her feel that she was
making progress in the wrong direction, that she was denying what
she, on some basic level, knew was her true nature. Nat knew she
was deluding herself. She just didn't know whether she was
deluding herself in favour of, or against, her transsexuality.
Possibly both. Still, some evidence would have been nice,
impossible as it was. No universal scale existed for this sort of
thing, as much as Nat dreamed of just knowing, being certain. Nat
dreamed a lot.
"Envious?" asked Bri, flashing a hard-to-define emotion, which
reassured Nat that he meant no harm. The robot-to-female
transsexual sent back a burst of surprise, almost despite
herself, then simply nodded. She was forever being surprised by
just how well the other machine knew her, even after being apart
for so long.
"Kind've. I dunno... it's just that this all seems too big for
me..."
Bri nodded, lifting his lithe frame and moving to Nat's side.
Fighting hard against her compulsion to embrace her friend, she
simply looked up at him, optical array sparkling as if she was
about to spontaneously develop the ability to cry.
"I... I just... " Nat sighed, sniffed, and tried again. "I feel
so misplaced, Bri... as if I wasn't meant to be here, to be like
this... I can't trust my own instincts, y'know?"
Brian nodded his streamlined head, keeping his optic array
focused on Nat as he did so. It wasn't a flash-transmission as
such, but the nominally-female machine could almost feel the
male's concern for her.
"Have you thought about surgery?" asked the taller entity,
lowering his voice a little in case Nat was embarrassed. The
transsexual robot shook her bulky head slowly.
"No use. I mean... yeah, it's the first thing I thought of,
really, so I looked it up in Records. Hormones won't have any
effect - y'know, like most shit."
Bri nodded. He knew from experience that drugs, from painkillers
to anaesthetics to narcotics, were filtered out even when in
human-shape. The inability to get stoned paled next to the
prospect of a major operation without anaesthetic.
"Even then..." continued Nat, sounding morose. "...surgery isn't
an option. First, it'd hurt like fuck. Second, it'd only last as
long as my shape. When I activate again, I lose everything..."
Bri nodded, looking back to the vast mechanical lump of the
supervisor.
"Not to mention that you've got to be on hormones to begin
with..."
Nat sighed.
"Want to get this over with, then?" asked Brian, moving to the
supervisor's side again.
"Might as well..." muttered Nat, following with a few faltering
steps. The room seemed so opulent, an altar raised to a long-
departed consciousness. If the supervision unit even thought the
way they did any more, it had long since vanished into the tubes
and conduits of the colony, past the point of caring about
possessions. Still, the room was kept pristine, the way its owner
had left it, without ever having departed. Like a tomb, in a way,
Nat thought.
"Request-ID register and log, for unitcode one-nine-three-three,"
said Nat, keeping her voice as level as she could. At the same
time, Brian verified the request for temporary clearance with a
complex series of flashed commands, like countersigning a
document. After a few moments, some of the cable-clusters near
the ceiling began to pulse, bulging in and out of their mountings
in a bizarre parody of something Nat would really rather not be
reminded of at the moment.
"Mmm... unitcode accepted..." murmured the supervisor, speaking
through one of the omnipresent speakers mounted on the wall,
rather than its own body. Intricate mechanisms shifted and
whirred inside the machine's body, which now seemed to operate
more like a server or network hub than a vessel for the
individual's consciousness. The whole process served as an
unwelcome reminder to both machines that they were under
observation wherever they went.
"Unit one-nine-three-three, James Senner, now cleared for
access... thirty-day free trial period..." hummed the voice,
defiantly androgynous, giving no hint as to the speaker's gender.
Nat found herself wondering if the supervisor was actually trying
to disguise its past sex. Bri, on the other hand, was still
laughing at the supervisor's slight joke. Patting the bulky mass
of machinery, the male flashed Nat a smile.
"Looks like he's not entirely lost to us yet..."
"Thanks, Bri." Said Nat/James, after a moment's reflection.
Hearing her male name spoken by something more than a mindless
automatic didn't make her a happy lagomorph of any description.
What she really wanted to say was 'hold me', was 'love me', was
'fuck me'. Maybe all three.
"Stupid lack of self-esteem. Stupid, pathetic, self-serving,
whiney, scared piece of shit."
Bri, of course, had a boyfriend, who he was apparently very much
in love with, and had been for years. It didn't stop Nat melting
every time she laid eyes on his human shape, though, or stop her
fighting a compulsion to simply hold him every time the two were
together. It didn't stop her from feeling guilty and embarrassed,
either. Unworthy.
Nat found herself inexplicably angry as Brian left, fuming about
anything and nothing. Stalking out of the supervisor's room, back
into the crush of machine-bodies incessantly commuting from one
place to another, she simply hung her head low, unwilling to see
anyone or anything for fear of feeling even more sick.
Temporarily shutting down her optics unit, managing to convince
the diagnostic module that it had overheated, the machine simply
let the crowd guide her, walking in whatever direction she
happened to be facing.
"Holy fuck!" exclaimed a machine, previously tramping along like
the rest, its optics unit firmly fixed on a personal terminal.
Nat's home colony, Mea-hin, was almost a slum compared to many of
the bigger machine-built subterranean cities. Certainly, that was
how it tended to be considered by people from bigger colonies and
clusters, anyway. This meant that, on the whole, it didn't
generate much news save for the occasional murder, and hardly
warranted the construction of the huge news-screens she had seen
during her one, quite depressing, trip to Retten, a vast,
shielded cluster roughly located under Mexico. This meant that
most machines carried a linked terminal, yet another piece of
retro-engineered technology, copied from their own systems, to
keep in touch with current affairs, both above and below the
surface.
Nat managed to pull together enough interest to walk over and
investigate the source of the female machine's astonishment, and
actually felt almost good about having something, however brief,
to take her mind off her mind. A few others had seemingly felt
much the same, crowding around the heavy-set female crab-robot,
and peering intently at her terminal.
"What's going on?" another machine, one Nat felt she almost
recognised from somewhere, whispered to her. The reluctant male
just shook her head, and tried to lean closer to see what was
going on. The screen seemed to be displaying footage of a male
corpse, with human police and forensic investigators swarming all
over the surrounding area. To Nat, it looked like a bar or caf?,
but other machines kept getting in her way and blocking her view
of the terminal.
"Shit..." muttered another machine, who people seemed to be
giving a wider berth than usual on account of him looking like a
rusty old drunk. The elderly robot, Nat noticed with a faint
smile, had a thick Lancashire accent. "He's back, in't he?"
"Who's back?" asked the machine Nat was sure she had seen before,
becoming a little irate at the lack of information. A couple more
members of the gathering crowd turned to face the speaker,
flashing a mixture of confusion and panic. Another older machine
shook his head sadly.
"Invasion of the fuckin' bodysnatchers, all over again..."
Nat looked understandably puzzled.
Elsewhere, a young woman was manoeuvring through a similarly
large, if not quite as mechanical, crowd. Stopping for a moment,
as if listening to something, she smiled and walked on. Had she
been the subject of any great scrutiny, someone might have
noticed that the way she walked and carried herself was a little
odd. Almost as if she wasn't used to being the size and shape she
was.
But, as usual, the public had something more interesting to look
at.
*To be continued, again.*
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