JNE-99

Note: I wrote this story before seeing the movie "A.I." where I was surprised to see some of the same concepts presented. I'd like my readers to be aware that I did not deliberately copy ideas from that movie.

* * * * *

"And that brings the 180th annual Oscar Awards ceremony to a close. Goodnight everyone!"

"Off," I said. The TV didn't respond.

"Off!" I shouted louder, which finally tripped the switch. The wall reverted back to its image of a city at night, which I'd programmed in for the week. Didn't change the fact that I lived in an old, trembling house in the middle of one of Denver's "lost suburbs", while everyone who was anyone was heading back into the inner city - or the space colonies. It used to be that a college degree was enough without the Master's certificate, but with the machines taking over all but the most elite jobs, the only employment left for a human being absolutely required a higher education. And homework and I just don't mix.

My name is Sandi, and I'm a 23-year-old dropout from college - and hence, from life. Not that I'm destitute or anything, that just doesn't happen in the modern world. After the population drop of the last century, coupled with recent advances in both waste reclamation and energy production, there just wasn't any such thing as a "poor" person anymore. But there were people like me, who would have worked for a living if only they could, and found themselves living in the neighborhoods left behind by a mass of humanity that no longer needed them. I had bought the house I lived in for less than it might have cost me to get a moderately decent car. I had a few hundred thousand euros in the bank that I'd been saving for a lunar trip, but without a master's degree, no moon-based company would hire me. Precious few terrestrial companies would either, and even if I did get hired on I'd just be facing the inevitable layoff when someone built a robot that could do my job. Hell, with the advent a few years ago of the whorbot, even the world's oldest profession was no longer available. A human woman can't compete sexually with an android that can look like anyone and will do anything its master desires, without inhibition or guilt.

One might wonder why I'd be so concerned about education and employment if I had money and a place to live as it was. Well, it gets lonely, that's all. Ever try getting a date when you've got no prospects? It's the same in any century - there was a time when a woman needed a rich father to be desirable, or proper societal charm, or big tits, whatever was in vogue. These days, money doesn't matter much and everyone's beautiful, thanks to genetic engineering. What matters is your prospects in life - how far you can go. And with only a bachelor's degree, you go nowhere.

I guess it was that evening in front of the TV that more or less was the start of everything, and set in motion the events that would change my life. The show was on my mind as I dialed up a white wine and slumped into the other room (when you're the only one who lives in a huge house, any room you're not in is the "other room". Why name rooms when there's no one else there to go looking for in them?) Anyway, the significant thing about this year's Oscars, made even more so by the fact that no one had called any attention to it, was that every film that was nominated was completely digital. Actors, like so many other human endeavors, were a thing of the past. The machines had taken over yet another facet of life. Soon there wouldn't be a need for human beings anymore - not that I would have noticed if they all vanished. I was alone anyway. And I was lonely.

That was the moment that I decided to exercise the final resort of the terminally desperate. I gave up.

"Phone," I said, and the wall lit up. "Get me in touch with Androids, Incorporated."

There was a pause while the connection was made.

"Good evening," said the receptionist at the other end - robot, of course, but you couldn't tell outwardly. "Thank you for calling Androids. How may we serve you?"

"Sales," I said shortly. No point in being polite to a robot.

Her smile never faltered. "One moment!" she said brightly.

*********

"All right, Ms. Greene, that's one Alpha Male number JND-99. Are you sure I can't talk you into an upgrade to one of our new models? You should be aware that a used robot always retains memory from its previous position - there's just no way to wipe the brain completely."

"I don't care. As long as it doesn't call me by the wrong name or go running back to its previous owner, I can live with it."

"Not to worry, Ms, we guarantee all our robots against that sort of loss. And if you're unsatisfied in any way, please feel free to contact us."

I broke the connection. There went half my savings in one fell swoop. But, like I said, there weren't any prospects for me on the Moon anyway, so who needed that trip? And a robot wasn't the ideal companion, but I'd gotten to the point where I was willing to be satisfied with less.

*********

The package took three weeks to arrive, which should have tipped me off right there. Delivery of a customized robot only took two weeks; this one was an off-the-shelf job with a memory wipe and just the basic reprogramming. I should have had it in one-quarter the time.

But the box did arrive and I was glad to have it. My next mistake was cracking the seals before I'd looked at the shipping label. The box opened and revealed my new robot companion.

Female.

I stood there and stared at it for a while, blinking furiously as if that would change the slim, fair, feminine form in front of me to the tall, dark, muscular man I had ordered. But there was no denying it - I'd been sent the wrong robot.

The next hour was spent hollering at the implacable face on the screen that represented Androids, Inc. I got nowhere fast. I had opened the box; therefore the robot was mine. They offered to buy it back at half-price now that it had an additional owner on its resume, but I was damned if I would accept that. Finally, they agreed to replace the body with a male, and transfer the brain. A cross-gender brain swap wasn't recommended, but it was as far as they were willing to go. And I would have to wait five months for the technician - a human, therefore in high demand. The thing on the other end of the screen was just as much a machine as the screen itself; there was no point in arguing with it. Customer Service was one of the first places humanoid robots were ever installed.

In the meantime, I could either let my android sit in its box and collect dust, or activate it and at least have someone to clean the house and such. I went over and took a closer look at my new appliance.

It was modeled as a brunette, about five-foot-six (same as me), slim, attractive (obviously - why make an ugly robot?) and, from what I could tell, very well-made. The skin was expertly created and toned, the hair was fine and convincing, the overall appearance precisely human. It even had a tiny freckle on its cheek and a very, very slight bump in the bridge of the nose, robbing it of the perfection that would have made it seem less real.

I suddenly felt something I hadn't in a long time: self-conscious. It was almost as if I were in the presence of an actual person. Oddly, I even felt the need to make a good first impression. I was halfway up the stairs on the way to the shower when I realized I was being silly, but I didn't feel silly enough to go back down and forget about it. This was the closest thing I'd had to a guest since I'd dropped out of college, and the need to present a decent appearance overrode the knowledge that it was, after all, just a robot.

*********

So, half an hour later I came back down the stairs, showered, clean, and dressed, even wearing a light touch of makeup - something that women hardly bothered with anymore, what with genetic and cosmetic surgery being readily available. Perhaps I was thinking about how perfectly sculptured the robot's features were, and actually found myself competing with it on that level. Silly, I know, but that's one of the things that makes us human and them robots.

I hovered the box into the living room (suddenly it wasn't the "other" room anymore) and took the activator from its protected pouch.

"My name is Sandi Greene," I said into the activator with a clear voice. "On. Off. A, B, C, D..." I recited the alphabet and several sentences written on the instructions. It was all to calibrate the device to my voice. Once complete, I slid the activator into its receptacle deep inside the robot's ear and stepped back.

Ten seconds later, its eyes slid open. I was startled to see what a vivid shade of green they were - it was the first obvious clue that the thing in front of me wasn't human. I wondered why it had been made that way, as the eyes were one of the easier parts to fake - the technology for convincing false eyes had been around for over a century.

The robot didn't move or speak. As the human, it was my place to speak first.

"What is your designation?" I asked.

"I am Alpha Female JNE-99," she said. Her voice was another shock - it was low, breathy, almost sensual. She, I mean IT, dammit, was full of surprises.

"Are you aware that you are not the robot I ordered?"

"No."

"What is your purpose?"

"I was programmed for housekeeping, domestic service, and simple companionship."

"How many previous owners have you had?"

"One."

That surprised me. The robot I ordered had five owners. The fewer owners, of course, the more valuable the robot. I realized that I might be able to sell this one at a profit. Oddly, I was no longer so sure I wanted to, though I couldn't figure out why. Was it simply that I hadn't talked to anyone for so long that even a robot seemed like a potential friend? In any event, I figured I'd get some use out of her. It. Whatever.

"JNE-99, I'd like you to familiarize yourself with this house and its grounds, then begin cleaning from the attic down. I'd also like you to serve my lunch at noon, and dinner at five-thirty. Do not clean rooms that I am in at the time. Is all that understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Greene."

For some reason, I didn't like that - it made me feel old, or something. "Call me Sandi," I said. "And I will call you... Jenny."

"I like that name, Sandi," she said.

That was an odd response - she should have simply accepted the name, not given me an opinion on it. Must have been old programming resurfacing - probably her last owner had called her Jenny, it was natural considering her designation. "Go to work, Jenny."

She smiled, and went up the stairs to begin learning the house.

Jenny proved an excellent cook, and an efficient housekeeper - she was already at work in the basement when I went to sleep - in a freshly made bed, for the first time in what seemed like months. I could barely hear her working down in the basement as I drifted off.

*********

I awoke the next morning and rolled over - to find someone was in bed with me!

Startled out of my wits, I jumped out of bed and screamed.

Jenny jumped out of the other side and assumed a protective posture. "Sandi? Are you in danger?" she asked, eyes sweeping the room.

"What... what were you doing in my bed??" I asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Is that not appropriate, Sandi?" Jenny asked, relaxing her pose as she saw that there was no threat. I remembered that domestic robots were generally programmed to act as bodyguards.

"No, it's not fucking appropriate!" I shouted. "What the hell gave you the idea that it was?" I realized that on top of everything else, she was naked!

"It is in my memory banks," she said. "I am to sleep with my owner. It is a standing order."

"Well, I sure as hell didn't give it to you!"

"I apologize, Sandi. I will not sleep with you anymore. I have finished cleaning the house, as you requested, and in anticipation of your needs I am ready to prepare your breakfast."

"Put on some clothes first, for God's sake," I muttered.

"I will do so. Do you have a preference for what I should wear today?"

"I don't fucking care, just put on what you came out of the box with!"

"Of course, Sandi." She left the room.

*********

It was fairly obvious in retrospect what had happened - her previous owner had obviously used her as a sexual companion, and some of his commands had survived the memory wipe. It happened from time to time, especially when the memory wipe was inexpertly done - like, when another robot did it. From what I could tell about the screwed-up company that had sold me this thing, they probably botched the job. I began to wonder what other surprises lay in store for me, and whether I might not be better off returning Jenny to the crate.

Breakfast put those thoughts out of my mind. Having eggs benedict in a kitchen that was sparkling clean for the first time in living memory made me decide that in spite of her faults, Jenny was worth keeping active.

"What can I do for you today, Sandi?" Jenny asked.

I shrugged - I really had no idea. If she were the male robot I had asked for, then I would've known exactly what to do, but things being what they were, I had to think of something else. Most of my days were spent in front of the TV or on the net, but that suddenly seemed like a waste of time with Jenny around.

For some reason, I thought of her as I'd seen her that morning, crouched and ready to spring into action to protect me against danger. And naked, let's not forget naked. Naturally, she had a perfect figure, slim where she should be and built everywhere else. Her breasts were full and round, her waist narrow, her hips curvy in just the right way. Her legs were long and toned. She was, essentially, the ideal female form. It made me conscious of how I'd let myself go a bit lately.

"Jenny," I said, reaching a decision. "Go upstairs and select two jogging outfits, one for each of us. We're going for a run."

*********

The jog was exhilarating - I realized how much I'd cheated myself lately by not going out and getting exercise. And Jenny surprised me again, though not quite in the same way. Before we had started, she put me through a vigorous stretching and warm-up routine, which she claimed she had downloaded from the net while selecting out outfits and customized to my particular needs and body type. Add personal trainer to her previous duties, something I hadn't even thought of but was glad to have.

Naturally, she could have outlasted me easily, but she seemed to pick up on my cues and ran exactly at the pace I would have wanted. She even showed evidence of heavy breathing and perspiration as time went on, and rested with me at intervals with a properly winded posture. If only she could have carried on a normal conversation, I never would have thought of her as a machine.

But it was a skill she didn't have. Her words were too formal, her sentence structure exact and perfect, and she couldn't make small talk to save her life. I'd say something like "Check out that hovercraft up there," and she would say, "Model 4180 Porsche twin-jet, 2103." She was all facts, commands, responses. She was a robot.

All the same, I enjoyed her company. She was something I realized I needed far more than a sex partner.

She was a friend.

*********

"Okay, Jenny, I want you to watch these films next. Remember, the point of all this is to teach you to talk more like a regular girl, instead of a robot. Get it?"

"I understand, Sandi."

"Jenny..."

"I mean: Sure, Sandi, I get it."

"Good. Now while you watch those, I need to take care of some other crap. Come find me when you're done, okay?"

"Okay."

It was progress. Last time, she'd answered with "Yes, Sandi." Making her watch all these chick films was helping a lot. I had amassed quite an impressive library of cheesy girl movies over time, and they were finally doing me some good.

I went into the den while Jenny watched the films at about two hundred times the normal speed, and started going through some old records that I had never thought I'd pull up again. They were my college transcripts.

*********

"Hey, Sandi? Ready for a workout?"

"I'll be right there, Jen!"

Jenny was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, doing her stretch routine. She didn't need to, but she did it anyway. It was one of the ways she shared in the "human experience" if you will.

Today we were playing tennis. Jenny had never played it before, but she'd read up on the rules of the game and some strategy points. It had been a long time for me. I was on my high school team, but hadn't played since.

We jogged down the path to the tennis courts at the end of the block. The courts had fallen into disrepair over time, but Jenny had spent the last three nights resurfacing them until they were like new. When we got there, we took up positions at either side of the court.

"Ready?" I called.

"Ready!" she responded.

I sent a serve over the net. Jenny ran for it, tried to hit it, missed completely and fell on her face.

"Jenny! Are you all right?" I asked, running forward.

"I'm fine, fine," she said, getting up and brushing herself off. "That was strange. It just wasn't where I expected it to be. By the angle of your arm on the serve, and the velocity with which the racket struck the ball, it should have been two feet to the left of where it actually went."

It was odd - I was suddenly reminded that she was a robot, a machine, and it bothered me. I had felt genuine concern for her when she stumbled, even though I should have known it wouldn't hurt her. And now, with her technical talk about the trajectory of the tennis ball or whatever, it was like a bit of a slap.

Jenny noticed the odd look on my face. "Sandi? Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure, I'm fine," I muttered. "Let's play. And just watch the ball, don't worry about vectors and crap."

"Okay, Sandi."

*********

"You're sure you're all right?" Jenny asked for what seemed like the tenth time.

"It's just a pulled muscle, Jen. I haven't played for a while, that's all."

I winced as I sat down heavily in the recliner by the TV, rubbing my aching shoulder. Jenny had improved fast at her tennis game, so fast that within two sets she was running me all over the court. It was just another reminder of her inhumanity, and it bothered me more and more. My best friend, the machine. I felt absolutely pathetic.

"Will you at least let me rub it for you?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, all right, if it'll make you feel better."

"I want to make you feel better, Sandi."

"Do what you want, okay?" I growled.

Jenny apparently took that as an invitation, and went around behind me to work on my shoulder. I winced again when she touched it.

"Just relax, Sandi. It'll be sore at first, but it will get better."

I tried to relax, and soon, Jenny's strong, untiring fingers were massaging deeply into the affected muscle. The pain seemed to be pulled away with each stroke, and soon my eyes closed and I began to really enjoy her expert attentions.

"That's great, Jenny," I mumbled. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Oh, that's all right," she responded. "Hang on, I'll do the other shoulder too."

Jenny shifted position and began working both my shoulders, rubbing with wonderfully firm pressure that would have been painful if she hadn't known exactly how to apply it. She worked her way down my arms, up my neck, and down my back, rubbing each muscle she touched into a state of perfect relaxation.

It wasn't long before I began to fall asleep in her hands... those soft, slim, lovely hands that rubbed over my body, on the small of my back, across my thighs... back up over my hips and waist... under my shirt... across my breasts... warm lips touched my shoulder, a wet tongue slid up my neck -