Cindy sauntered along the courier ship’s corridor. A soft, pulsating hue of crimson emanated from all around, providing just enough light to confirm she was alone. She decided the colour was pink. The soft, blossoming beats of illumination against the shiny steel walls enveloped her in a comforting, vaginal hug.
Brushing against the wall, the swirls of her fingerprints detected slight imperfections in the steel. Miniscule ridges and crevices sent electric tingles through her fingers, sparking at her knuckle bones and then shooting up ulna and radius, to humerus and scapula. Then onwards into the pleasure sensors of her brain. Synapses fired, releasing a tsunami of endorphins. The sensation flowed in waves back down her spine, to her tailbone, flooding every nerve cell. Around her pelvis, between her legs, and up. Delightfully up. She squirmed inside her silver jumpsuit as a thousand electrical pulses converged at her clitoris, converting nerve energy to pure sexual heat and desire. Just below, the flesh of her vagina moistened in anticipation.
Cindy moaned, took her hand from the wall and felt her own crotch. A clinical inspection. She was wet. The damp jumpsuit clung to the skin of her privates. She lifted fingers to her face and smelled her own sex. It smelled biological. Female. Urgent. She tasted it and her vision blurred as taste buds demanded the sole attention of the brain. Primal and pure. An earthy taste. Alien out here in deep, sterile, space. The taste of reproduction. The taste of fucking. The taste of life itself.
Glistening fingers returned to the wall. Trembling. The sensation heightened as they slid across steel. She kept walking as the corridor curved. Moaning as she walked.
If Cindy didn’t find someone to fuck soon, she’d blow a fuse.
Jake awoke inside his upright pod and knew immediately that something was wrong.
He was still in the ship, not in a client’s habitat. The gravity wasn’t right. Artificial. The centre was off. Clenching and unclenching his right hand awake, he called up the pod’s display with the control pad. They were only halfway to the outer colonies. The ship idle in space. It was broadcasting a distress signal. Okay, some problem with the engines. But they were near enough the busy space lanes that help would come. An engineer would fix the problem and they’d be on their way. He noted the pod to his left was empty. Someone was already on the case.
But something else was wrong. Something inside Jake. He felt a gap, a space. No, lots of spaces. Thoughts missing. Checks and balances not being checked and balanced. His customised programming kicking in. That should never be. As he thought this, channels were re-routed, and he decided that wasn’t an important thought to have. Jake was an assassin. His primary directive was to kill. So, he didn’t have a client? So what? Someone always needed killing, right?
I’ll kill first and find the client later.
Greta’s customised programming had the most difficulty. Trying to fill the gaps caused by the ship’s computer frying her brain stem, as it had done to Cindy and Jake. Her prime directives of benign behaviour and harmlessness were missing too, but the blanks didn’t fill as fast. At first, she thought it ridiculous that the only function she ought to fulfil was to cook. But it soon became apparent to all the cores of her CPU that it was her destiny.
Her original brief of cooking for some well-to-do colonist client and their family could be so much more. She decided she would engineer gastronomical masterpieces seen nowhere before in the inner or outer systems. Unlocking flavours never dreamed of and combining them into rich tapestries of taste that would have diners clamouring for more. The blanks in her mind now dealt with, she glanced around for a way to escape the pod and begin her mission.
I cook; therefore, I am, she thought.
Cindy’s new, one-track mind was busy imagining her body being taken a thousand different ways by countless lovers. But she realised she was walking a circuitous route.
Engineered as a top end escort, her skills still included deductive thought and reasoning, the same as her two companions. She arrived back at the room containing the three pods. She passed her own and stood in front of the next, middle, pod. The occupant was awake and scrolling through the ship’s data projected onto the plexiglass. He hadn’t noticed her yet. He looked a fine male specimen, even when hidden by a silver jumpsuit. His muscles defined, his chest broad and flat. She glanced down at the not insignificant bulge in his crotch. In microseconds Cindy postulated how many excellent uses she could put that penis to.
She needed it. Craved it. Would have it.
I will fuck him.
Jake shut down the data display to see a female android standing in front of him, staring at his crotch. In the dim light, she licked her lips. He knew she was an android. The tell-tale blip on his sensors gave her away. Were it not for that, he could have mistaken her for human. Her silver suit clung to her body, accentuating every curve. Shapely legs, generous hips, a flat stomach and what her makers had deemed “default size” breasts, announced her as female. Sharp cheekbones, a finely sculpted nose and bright, blue eyes. All framed by a very trendy bob cut of lavender hair. He glanced down again. She appeared to have wet herself, a darkening pool of dampness crawled outward from between her legs.
Someone must want this android killed, Jake reasoned. He’d find that person right after he’d dispatched her. Detecting no weapon in the vicinity, he elected to strangle her as soon as his pod had finished its opening sequence.
He checked the display again. Nine seconds to go.
I will kill her.
Greta minimised her own scrolling text display. Lists of exotic ingredients, menus and recipes shrank to the taskbar, and she could see outside. To the left, a strapping blonde male was pushing his way out through the widening gap afforded by the opening lid of his pod. In front of him, a very curvaceous youthful woman lifted her gaze to meet his.
She’s an Android. All three of us are.
Greta’s eyes settled on Cindy’s ass. Round. Tight. Curved. Anyone else might consider the sexual appeal of Cindy’s buttocks. Or if not aroused, they’d appreciate the aesthetic qualities at least. Greta, however, put her mind to calculating how many kilograms of prime rump steak she could cleave from those buttocks.
The male android seemed less impressed by Cindy’s butt, and more interested in her neck, as both his hands were now reaching for it. The movement tightened his chest muscles and Greta speculated that his ribs had just the right amount of stringy meat that an excellent smoky barbeque sauce would cling to.
Jake wanted to kill Cindy.
Cindy wanted to fuck Jake.
Greta just wanted to cook them both.