The slab he was working at mingled familiarity and alienness for Katy. She felt almost déjà vu, seeing something she knew yet didn’t. Inside the steel bands that would protect against even the most ungoverned of Renegades, the android’s body was almost entirely human, save for a slit in the side where Otis had to be tinkering with the interlocuter.
Otherwise, it was only a human, a human Katy thought she might know. That clear skin—all but translucent. The hair like white gold. The physique, robust and yet something gossamer about it, delicate for all its bountifulness. Like something so lovely had to be frail, could not take much more than a single uncouth impact to break. A beer bottle was common, vulgar, it could take being knocked around. She was a glass of champagne… her beauty something that could be dashed in a moment, that demanded care.
It wasn’t the rent in her flank that spoiled the illusion, gave away the trick. It was her face. The mask-like stillness of an unpowered unit, miles away from a real person in even the deepest coma. She didn’t breathe anymore than a picture on a page did. Ironic, considering all Katy knew her from was pictures on pages.
“Is that a Marilyn?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“Yeah. Generation-B, too. One of the first. A real classic. Back when they put a little love into every model.”
Katy raised an eyebrow, but if Otis knew about the double entendre he’d made, he gave no sign of it. The little guy was all sincerity.
“How’d you get your hands on it?”
“I didn’t,” Otis answered. “Her owner passed on, left her to his kid. He brought her over for a tune-up.”
“Shame,” Katy commented, feeling a pang despite herself. She wouldn’t be very good at her job if she started treating any of them, even the non-Mavericks, like they were real. “They spend their whole lives being some guy’s dream girl, then as soon as he’s gone, they’re put to work for whoever’s hiring. It’s like a poodle suddenly having to haul a sled.”
“She’s not going to be digging ditches, if that’s what you’re worried about. The kid wants her reconditioned to be his. A man who appreciates the finer things in life…”
“Is that even possible? Unless the dad bought her five years ago, her whole personality matrix has gotta be tied up in memories.”
“Uh-huh,” Otis agreed. “But she’s still a computer at heart. Those memories are data files. With a little finesse, I can make the old guy yesterday’s news and the kid into her heart’s desire.” He looked at Katy, clocking her reaction. “Y’know, I get you have no appreciation for my craft, but usually you at least think this kind of thing is cool.”
Katy shrugged. “How long was she with the guy?”
“Thirty years.”
“Thirty years?”
Otis nodded. “Ever since his real wife died. Guess the only person he thought could live up to her was… well, Marilyn.”
Katy could only shake her head in disbelief. “Thirty years. She must’ve been like his best friend. Seems weird to mess with how she remembers him.”
“It’s not like I’m making her remember him as Lucifer. Just making her a little more receptive to the new arrangement. If someone could do that for me, the next time my life went totally upside-down, I’d take them up on it.” He looked to Katy again, saw her stare had not diminished. “God’s sake, she’s a microwave! We’re making it so the kid doesn’t have to buy a new microwave! So the old one doesn’t end up stripped for parts in a landfill!”
“Yeah,” Katy agreed, simply to calm him. “You’re making it that way, though. You. Not us.”
“Depends on if this Maverick you brought in has a compatible interlocuter. The kid’s paying me so much, I’m throwing in a ‘gently used’ one just so he’s not back in six months with a blowout. Nothing breeds contempt like familiarity, especially between a customer and his client.”
“Not one for repeat business, then?”
“Not when I’m giving out a Generation-B Marilyn. I don’t care how oversexed the man is, he’s not gonna want a harem when he has one of these. I guarantee it.”
***
Hours later, after Katy had left and Otis had finished working, the Shop was as quiet as all the hundreds of motionless bodies and parts of bodies seemed to demand. Otis slept in a cot in the corner, sure he’d given Marilyn’s memory banks all the massaging they’d need and that the compiling would go off without a hitch.
Sure enough, the first thing he did when he woke up was check Marilyn’s hard drive. It was running smoothly, the modifications fully accepted, her sense of self as stable as if he’d never changed a thing. Which was good, because the second thing he checked was his phone bracelet and Ricky had texted, asking if the Marilyn was ready. Otis sent a message back saying he could pick her up anytime, then washed up in the bathroom: splashing his face with water, running a razor over his jaw, and reapplying deodorant over the last faded layer.
By the time he finished, Ricky had arrived. Otis buzzed him in and barely had time to get Marilyn into a chenille robe and slippers before the client made his way in.
Ricky was the image of his father. Same long face, same blond curls, same darkened eyes. It jolted Otis to see him, after so many hours spent in Marilyn’s memories. But the man was younger than his father was in even the oldest of Marilyn’s files, with a fleshy nose he’d inherited from his mother instead of the recumbent snub Rich had. His eyebrows were a little more unruly and his beard not trimmed as extensively. It was like his father’s face was a puzzle and on Ricky, not all the pieces had been put perfectly into place. They were still ajar, sticking out, needing a little pressure to fit.
Ricky evinced shock to see Marilyn sitting on a stool, casually perched like she was just resting her feet for a moment. “Is she on?”
Otis shook his head. “Locomotor systems only. I’d never be able to move her without them. The consciousness boots, I just haven’t let it load yet.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Let’s see how she runs.”
Otis held up a hand. “What’s the rush? Don’t you want to read the patch notes first?”
“She’s a can opener. You think I don’t know how a can opener works?”
Otis chuckled. “This goes a bit past opening cans…”
“Actually it doesn’t. Because all that programming and all that hardware is so she can adapt to me, right? User-friendly? I shouldn’t have to know anything. I should just turn the key and let her go.”
“Well, that’s… true… but you should appreciate the work that went into her—”
“Oh, I am,” Ricky said, circling around her, taking in Marilyn’s glowing skin, her soft hair. He reached out and brushed it. It felt just right. Better than real. A dream of a picture of a fantasy. “You know, I never got it. Marilyn was my dad’s thing, not mine. But he held onto her when he could’ve bought five just like her over the years. I suppose I’m curious. And she’s not bad-looking, even if she is old-fashioned. Total nostalgia trip.”
“A classic,” Otis agreed, or thought he did.
“Outdated,” Ricky corrected. “But then, looking like that is pretty timeless. I don’t suppose she can do my taxes?”
“Actually, she can. This was before the company realized they could make more money selling everything separately. They put it all in her. Home improvement, home security, gardening, first aid… first aid, hell, she’s pretty much a general practitioner. You could get your tonsils out without ever leaving the house.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ricky cupped her chin in his hand. “The body’s great, but the face is so last year. The round cheeks, the nose… I heard that’s what they did with these older models. First, they made them look like real people. Then they made them look like real people who were trying to look perfect. Now they just look perfect. Noses, eyes, chins—they can make them look like paintings.”
“Cartoon characters,” Otis muttered derisively.
“You think I should get a little modding done on her face? Or leave it until I see what all the fuss is about?”
“I don’t do faces,” Otis groused. “Systems work and reprogramming, that’s me.”
“You’re missing out on a fortune. I have a friend who paid twenty grand just to have his bot’s ears done exactly right.” Ricky pinched the Marilyn’s ear. “I hear they have some models that get earwax. I say, if you’re making them that real, why not just get the real thing?”
“She is real,” Otis said indignantly. “For a certain value of reality.”
Ricky smirked at him. “You really get all old-world watchmaker about this stuff, huh?”
“What should a man take pride in, if not his work?”
“I take pride in being six foot two.” Ricky flicked a finger into her eye. She didn’t move at all. “That’s freaky. I’m never gonna get used to that.”
Otis cleared his throat. “I tried for minimal invasiveness with her reprogramming. Downgraded her feelings for your father, upgraded her feelings for you. She’ll remember it as a loveless, ah, relationship. And that she lusted after you for a good long while.”
“Her own personal romance novel,” Ricky said in wonder, taking one last look at Marilyn while she was still nothing more than a big doll. “That all? We’re star-crossed lovers who can finally be together?”
“I thought it would be best to keep things simple.”
“Fine, fine. I suppose we should save making her think she’s a spy out to honeytrap me for a second date, huh?”
Otis’s lips curled. “Just try not to jar her. It’ll take time for her to fully adjust to the new memories. Soon, they’ll be second nature to her, but until then, don’t do anything to introduce discordances.”
“Discordances? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Anything that makes her question her current reality. Try to go along with what she says. Act like everything she does is perfectly normal.”
“Man, you’re telling me to act like she’s the owner and I’m the bot.”
“You wanted a classic, you wanted it modified to your specifications…”
“Hey, c’mon, she was my father’s. It’s not like I can just put her out on the curb.” Ricky snorted. “Besides, I’d never get a decent price for her in this economy.”