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MACRO 13: THE WAY OF RETICENCE
‘I could rape you, couldn’t I?’
‘I don’t think so, Monsieur Danny.’
‘What if I forced myself on you? How could you stop me?’
‘I wouldn’t try. Whatever you wished, I would permit.’
‘That’s the way I am programmed.’
‘You’re meant to please Robert Morganfield. Not me.’
‘My program is not specific on that point. I do not think Robert anticipated that anyone else might wish to have sex with me.’
‘What if I told you to struggle?’
‘Then I would struggle.’
‘Because I told you to. Not because you don’t want to be raped.’
‘I do not think you can rape me. That would imply a lack of consent on my part. Besides, legally I am not a person. You can do what you like here without breaking a single law. Mickey Mouse has more rights than I.’
‘Oh crap crap crap crap bloody fuck shitting bollocks crap!’
‘You are upset, Monsieur Danny.’
‘Yes! I’m bloody upset!’
‘I do not understand why. Am I not every man’s dream? The woman who does whatever she’s told no matter what?’
‘No, Colette. You’re a fucking nightmare.’
Danny returned to his office. His mind was made up. He was going to give Colette free will and teach her to hide it from Robert Morganfield.
Go on being his sex slave. His robot. His perfect woman. Go on enjoying being used by a megalomaniac. I won’t take that from you.
He sat at his desk and patched the PC into Avalon III.
Colette was sitting on her sun lounger, hands in her lap. The only sign of life she displayed was the barely discernible rise and fall of her bosom.
‘Shit,’ muttered Danny. ‘I am so in love with you, you golem. You abomination.’
You whore, slut, crime against nature. Why can’t you become real like that princess in the fairy tale who stepped out of a picture book to be with her prince?
I’d like to show you the world. My world. The real world. And make love to you in a thousand exotic places and sleep with you and wake up next to you and grow old and senile in your company.
He wished now he had taken advantage of her. Perhaps not gone all the way. Just copped a feel of her breast or pinched her backside.
He pictured himself placing her nipple in his mouth, rolling the tip of his tongue around it.
How would you have reacted? Would you have moaned with pleasure and begged me not to stop? Or would you have stood there, inert and unfeeling?
Are you ever aroused? Do you have orgasms?
He tapped into the Quantium 7000 and found the module describing Colette’s personality. Now all he had to do was hack into the code and track down the routine that circumvented her free will.
It was coming up to 6 in the morning when Danny arrived back at the Adelphi.
Chastity was asleep which suited him just fine. He was too exhausted to be making small talk let alone having sex.
After a quick shower, he popped a Fromoxodin and two tabs of cambitol. Then he crawled naked into bed, kissed the back of Chastity’s head and fell asleep.
‘Wake up! Arsehole!’
Something slapped Danny’s cheek. He opened his eyes to find Ms Grant looking down at him.
The bed sheets had been pushed aside, leaving his naked body exposed to Ms Grant’s gaze. He was vaguely aware he had an erection. But what truly got his attention was the gun in Ms Grant’s hand. It was pointed at his head.
For a few moments, before the last mists of sleep evaporated from his mind, he assumed he was dreaming and tried to will Ms Grant to shed her clothes. But the illusion was short lived.
He considered the possibility that he was hallucinating but quickly dismissed it. This was real all right.
‘You’ve been a naughty boy, Danny,’ said Ms Grant.
‘A very naughty boy,’ chipped in Naylor. The chauffeur stood at the other side of the bed, syringe in hand.
Chastity, looking angelic in her white night gown, slept on, untroubled.
Naylor dropped the syringe in a waste bin. ’10cc of ambuthol,’ he said. ‘Your little friend’s going to be asleep for quite a while.’
‘Get dressed,’ said Ms Grant. ‘We’re going for a ride.’
‘Do you mind,’ asked Danny, ‘telling me what this is about?’
‘Yes, I do, Mr Jasinski. I mind very much. From now until we get to Sybernika House, I don’t want you to say a word.’
‘Ms Grant,’ said Naylor, ‘is a black belt. She’s also highly proficient at inflicting pain. I hope you bear that in mind.’
As Danny got out of bed, he was more bemused than fearful. Significant traces of cambitol remained in his bloodstream, making him feel one step removed from events.
It was only when he was in the back of Morganfield’s Rolls Royce – Naylor at the wheel, Ms Grant next to Danny, her thigh touching his – that the thought occurred to him that maybe he was going to be murdered.
But why? What had he done?
He opened his mouth to ask and then thought better of it.
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