Claire, page 15
“I’m sure we could, talk, sometime. But I do have to run. Bye, Ethel.” As she made her escape she caught a reflection in one of the mirrored café walls of Ethel with a hopeful smile on her face, and grimaced. She had a hunch that Ethel would be counting the hours until their next little chat. And she was definitely going to check herself for trackers.
- Ͼ -
Niall had gone to Bigelow’s office to make his daily report on the CLR affair. Once again he had nothing new to say. He expected Bigelow to berate him, but the Chairman seemed lost in thought. To his relief, Doucette was not present.
Finally, Bigelow spoke. “Mr. Harris, what can you tell me about the suits we put on our Drones?”
Niall was stymied by the question. “I’m, not sure I understand, sir. You had a hand in designing them. Certainly you know them as well as I, if not better.”
“Hm, certainly. But I want to hear it from you.”
Niall fidgeted at this pop quiz. “Well, they have several features. They are symbiotic, they watch and ward. The suits protect the Drone while providing Capriccio with real-time telemetry on location and health.”
“Quite right. Anything else?”
He began to bristle. “Sir, I’d rather not tell you things you already know.”
Bigelow was unexpectedly amused. “Oh, very good, Mister Harris. Very good. Forgive me then if I am not about to do the same.” He rose from his chair.
“Do remember that the suits our Drones wear serve a purpose beyond their protective function. They are a method of Control. A Drone sealed into its suit bears a permanent reminder of its status. It would never be mistaken for a human. Its owner is then able to see it for what it is: a product, an item. We think that is why there is a trend lately for the fully enclosed Series, obscuring the face. It reduces that last trigger of subconscious anxiety on the part of the owner. Now, we can solve such problems of the physical form, but there are others to consider.”
“Such as?”
"Novelty, Mister Harris. Novelty, critical thinking, impulsiveness, self-awareness. In short, personality. If, as you suspect, our rogue Drone is in fact the donor, a human, we have a problem beyond our immediate financial concerns. We have made every effort to create a product that has sufficient awareness and intelligence to perform its duties autonomously, whilst suppressing those higher functions I have listed. Drones are conditioned to act and think to a specific level and no higher. It is a most delicate balancing act. Were it to tip in one direction, our products would become useless, unable to perform. And yet, to tip the other way…” He paused, looked at Niall intently. “Consider the response of the man on the street to a Drone who acts like him. That man is also conditioned, Mister Harris, conditioned to expect any Drone he encounters to act like a Drone. Now imagine his response to a Drone who acts like he does. Our sociologists predict a most negative response amongst the general populace."
"Surely that man on the street you describe will tell himself it’s not real, a prank, someone in a costume."
"He might. Humans have an incredible capacity for self-delusion. But were we so fortunate it would solve only half the problem. You see, Mister Harris, the other Drones would also be watching. Watching, and perhaps, learning. They are conditioned to respond subserviently to their masters, but not to another Drone. Their conditioning has no planned response were they to be given orders by one of their own kind. It was never seen as a possibility. It is quite likely they would respond to a Drone acting with authority as they would to a human. They might then learn new protocols, be taught to give and take orders amongst themselves. In short, develop the framework of their own identities, perhaps even their own society. And that is a possibility we cannot allow. One hesitates to ponder what would happen should the Drones ever find a Queen. A Queen like the one we have released from our hive, into the wild." He grew silent, and dismissed Niall with a nod and wave.
Niall meandered back to his office, thinking of the words Bigelow had said and wondering when he had last had a vacation.
- Ͼ -
In the back garden of Lisette’s house a petite silhouette worked her gloved hands through the loam, inhaling its aroma as she contemplated the varied scents that would soon emerge from it in a harmonious mélange. Claire had been making some progress. Much of that involved uprooting a lot of dead plants and tossing them to one side, but she was amazed at how much looked salvageable once she got down and examined it. Her first impressions had been more disastrous than the truth of the matter. Still, there was much to do. She had been at it all morning and had been determined to get as far as she could today. The quiet of the garden and lack of distraction had been a boon, and Claire meant to use it to her advantage.
But the suit had other ideas.
Unbeknownst to Claire, her Drone suit had been designed to integrate with the nervous system of its wearer in order to provide (amongst other things) tactile enhancement. This allowed the Drone a greater awareness of its environment and had a number of practical industrial and domestic applications. Ordinarily, this integration was completed and calibrated over a period of several days at the factory before the Drone was delivered to its owner. Claire had escaped barely at the start of the process, so the enhancement had remained dormant until now. During the nights Claire had spent in the pod it had worked to activate that aspect of her suit. It had completed that repair the night before, and now the suit was coming online.
Her first hint that something had changed came shortly after lunch. Claire had gone in and made herself one of those gloppy nutrient drinks Lis had picked up at the shops, the ones marketed as Drone fuel. The taste hadn’t seemed so bad before, but now it really did taste like what she imagined wallpaper paste would taste like. Lisette called while she was wondering if the can was past its expiration date. She briefly assured her minder that all was going well and she’d be very surprised at the state of things when she got home.
Claire returned to the garden and resumed her weeding of the large, central patch. It had been the worst off, and she had pulled up every plant in it. Soon enough she was left with an oval of little more than dry dirt. She grabbed the garden hose, set its nozzle to a heavy mist, and began to damp down the dirt.
A light breeze picked up and played across her rubber skin. Claire jumped, startled, then looked at herself, confused. It was if she were naked, and a dozen hands had gently caressed her. The breeze kissed her again, and she dropped the hose into the dirt, reflexively covering herself with her hands. What the hell? But she couldn’t cover everything and her arms were as vulnerable as the rest of her. The breeze blew again.
“Ohhh.” She couldn’t help but react to its stimulation. Claire struggled to think. The suit! It has to be the suit that’s doing this. But, why? Fingertips played across her cheek, over her scalp, down her neck, halting conscious thought. She wobbled a bit, unsteady on her feet. Then a strong breeze enveloped her. The caress was everywhere, driving her to her elbows and knees.
She landed in the dirt she had been soaking moments before. The water from the hose, still drizzling from where she had dropped it, was reconstituting the loam, moist and lush. Her hands and forearms sank into the muddy ground, and Claire was hit with a new set of sensual sensation. Her mind was starting to fog over. It had been so long, so very long, since she had felt anything like this. Her illness had caused her to clench up, to set aside that part of herself until she had almost forgotten it. She had been a patient, a broken machine, a thing for doctors to examine and experiment upon. She had gone numb, but she had no idea how numb until now, with this conspiracy of earth, air and sun manipulating her through this infernal suit, reawakening her with feral delight.
She thrust her hips reflexively, straightening out, forcing her hands and arms deeper through the muddy loam, lowering her so the tips of her breasts also made contact. That was too much for her. She lost herself to the sensations overcoming her, gave herself to them, as she straightened out and felt her entire form roll and slide in the mud. The sun warmed her back and buttocks, a golden glow, as her breasts sank and slithered in the cool slickness below. Her eyes closed, focus sent within, mouth open slightly as her breathing became deep and slow.
Claire rolled over, exchanging front for back, sun for loam, her second skin slicked with water and mud. Slowly her knees came up, splayed wide. Her hands drifted low, moving across her body, adding to the building heat. They found their destination, touching, rubbing. She began to grind and writhe, forgetting the suit, the garden, forgetting it all, lost in the moment as it built and thrust towards a release so bright as to block out the sun. Overwhelmed, she passed out.
When she drifted back into the world, Claire found it was mid-afternoon and the sun had passed over the house. She lay where she was, drained, blissful, in the garden where so many pleasant memories had been made. One more, she thought with a languid smile. One more.
Then, as she went to move, her suit awakened her anew. “Oh! Maybe two”, she laughed, and her hands once again began to drift.
- Ͼ -
It was later when Lisette returned a bit early from work. She dropped her things in the hall and peered around. Claire must still be in the garden. She went to the kitchen window to check, telling the tiny voice at the back of her head that she wasn’t hoping to catch a glimpse of her charge’s rubber-coated form moving to and fro as its owner bent to root out some bramble.
That cheery thought was vaporized when Lis looked out and saw Claire splayed motionless in the center patch, half-buried in watery mud. She let out a shriek of panic at the sight. Images of Claire dying in hospital slammed her vision. NO! Oh, God no, please! She rushed out the kitchen door.
“Claire!”
The prone form before her looked up with a start, then leaned back on her elbows, somewhat abashed. “Oh, hi Lis.”
Lisette came quickly down the stairs. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“Yes. Fine, thanks. Very fine. Whooo.” The last was more of a rush of air as she exhaled and lay flat again.
Lisette was trying to catch her breath. “Well, if you’re fine, care to tell me why you’re lying half-buried in the mud? Are you tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“I told you not to overdo it. Can you get up?”
Claire beamed a broad smile. “Eventually.”
Lis was becoming perplexed. “What’s going on? Have you been in the sun all day? Why are you smiling? And, laughing?”
She was, a light little laugh, and with it she proceeded to tell her would-be rescuer about her Drone suit’s new feature. When she was finished, Lisette stood a moment in amazement before letting out a low whistle.
“Talk about a silver lining! Is there a way to turn it on and off?”
Claire shrugged, then paused as a new wave washed over her. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know it did this before lunch.”
Lis cocked a half-smile. “This kicked in during lunch?”
“Right after it. Why?”
“Hun, its half past five.”
“What!?” They both had a laugh at that.
Lisette grabbed the hose. “Well, come on, up with you. Hands up, and close your eyes.”
Claire struggled to her feet, doing her best to ignore the suit’s new wave of caresses. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you off. You’re not tracking all that mud into my house.”
“But Lis, the-“ She was cut short with a squeal as Lisette squeezed the nozzle and sent a shower of water over Claire’s mud-splattered suit. She stumbled to her knees. “Too much”, she panted.
“It’s payback for making me so worried.” She grabbed a garden chair. “Here, then. Have a seat. You’re getting cleaned up, and that’s final. Go on, sit!”
The mock sternness and disapproval in Lisette’s voice sent an unexpected thrill through Claire that had nothing to do with her suit. She lurched towards the white wire chair and sat hard with a bit of a “huf!”, then looked at Lisette with puppy dog eyes, bracing herself.
“Oh, please.” Lisette was unmoved as she squeezed the nozzle, lifting it a bit to let it shower down on her soiled charge. The effect was immediate. Claire stiffened and arched as the droplets splashed across her body, ran down her face, across her chest and formed rivulets that wavered to and fro. Her eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as her tormentor wiggled her wrist a bit to send the spray pulsating across her midriff, tickling her thighs. She walked around the chair, spraying back and bottom, leaving no clump of dirt to escape her gaze. Barely had she finished when, with a final spray from midriff to knees, Claire let go with a violent release that nearly knocked her out of her chair.
Lisette dropped the hose, impressed and a little amused. “Was it good for you too, then?” she asked sarcastically.
Claire, breathless and glowing, replied hopefully, “Yeah, you?” She looked up, and for a moment they caught one another’s eyes. There was an intensity in that moment that washed away time as surely as the water had cleansed Claire’s suit. For a moment they were as they once were. But the moment passed, the present returned, and the bliss of times past dispersed like the lingering mist of the garden hose spray, leaving them dry as the sun set to twilight.
“Come on, then. Let’s get you inside.” She took her struggling, false Drone by the hands and pulled her to her feet, then held one arm as they plodded to the stairs and into the house, both aware all the while that Lisette’s touch was also having its effect.
- Ͼ -
Ethel Pritchard watched from her bathroom window with rapt interest as her neighbor helped her new Drone unsteadily to its feet and got it into the house. She could not hear Lisette from up there, but she saw quite a bit. It was many moments after they had disappeared through the kitchen door that she realized she still held a length of dental floss between her front teeth.
She discarded the forgotten floss and walked to the bedroom, her inner vision replaying the tableau in her neighbor’s garden. She’s been changing the tactile settings on her Drone’s suit. She’s turned it up to maximum! And the way she treats it…. The sight of Lisette acting so brusquely towards the Drone, hosing it down like some soiled mannequin, ordering it into the house, sent a shiver through Ethel, a thrill that had her near-collapsing onto her bed awash in reverie. Could it be? she thought with longing. Does she…understand? Her lunchtime confession may not have been in vain! She rolled upon the duvet and imagined herself in that wire chair, Lisette looming above her with an evil smile, garden hose in hand, and moaned.
- Ͼ -
“Sit still and think about the government”, Lisette called from down the hall as Claire settled into a kitchen chair and waited. “That should calm you down. Ah, found it!” She came back into the room with her tabula in hand. “It’s in the manual, under ‘Options: Tactile Enhancement’. I can reset it this evening, once you’ve gone into the pod. When you wake up tomorrow morning you’ll be near to normal again.” She looked at the rubberized figure before her and reconsidered. “Well, relatively speaking.”
Claire barely moved, fearful of setting off another personal avalanche. “Tomorrow? Can’t we do it now?”
“No, we can’t. It’s part of the programmed maintenance period.” She slapped the tabula against her thigh in mock frustration. “Nobody told me that Drones were so high-maintenance. I thought they were labor-saving devices?”
“I’m not really a Drone”, Claire said forlornly, looking downward.
Lisette paused a moment to gaze upon Claire with adoration, for her glum refusal at Lis’ little jape was all she had hoped to hear since learning of the pod’s sinister influence. She’s coming back to me. I mean, to herself. Whatever, she’ll be all right now. Then, aloud, “I know, hun. But try telling the pod that. Rules are rules, and we have to follow them.” Lisette could be a stickler for process. It was part of what made her such a good contracts lawyer. But she also found herself wanting to be a bit bossy with Claire. Maybe it was a response for her showing up on Lisette’s door with this cockamamie problem, and certainly she felt a little structure was best for Claire in this trying time. And maybe, a little voice whispered from a dark corner of her mind, it was something else. She swatted that pesky thought down as best she could, but it retreated to the shadows with a laugh.
“I wanted to make you dinner tonight. Surprise you.”
Lisette had a titter. “I’ve had my surprise for today, thanks, and so have you. I’ll handle dinner. Won’t be long.” She spent the next few minutes whipping up a veggie stir-fry and some rice, putting two plates down and sitting opposite her stock-still companion.
Claire waited as her companion tucked in. “Can I have a fork, please?”
Lisette was deadpan. “Sorry, no. Can’t have you handling tools right now. You might have another orgasm and put my eye out.”
“How shall I eat, then? Stick my face in it?” She made as if to do so, but her breasts brushed the tabletop. With a gasp she sat up again, looking a bit timid.
“The less you move, the better.” Lisette produced a tablespoon and scooped up a bit of Claire’s dinner. “Here, open wide.” She held the spoon over the plate, waiting.
Claire looked at her with surprise, then, like a child in her high chair, she opened her mouth, closing it as Lisette placed the spoon between her lips. She withdrew it slowly as Claire made a “mmm” sound. “This is so much better than that gunk I had to drink for lunch” she said between chews.
Lisette scooped another spoonful. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s unladylike.” Claire swallowed and opened wide, waiting for the aeroplane to enter the hanger. As she once again put her lips to the spoon she looked up at Lis, who smiled and whispered, “Good girl”. Each was too busy shifting slightly in their chairs to notice the other doing the same.
