JENNY-LEIGH 8
Andy led me to a conference room. The General acknowledged my arrival. The hair stood out against a freshly acquired deep suntan.
I tried small talk. “Up from the Bahamas?”
“No. Stateside. The Florida Keys. And Jocelyn sends regards.”
I thought of my mother-in-law, stopping the recollection short of the recent painful parts shared among the three of us, regarding Stephy their daughter.
The General continued. “Sorry to pull you off leave but there’s good reason.”
“What do you mean?”
He fiddled with a remote built into his chair handle. A map of Florida appeared on the wall screen. After another touch, the display zoomed in on an area midway between Orlando and Ocala. “This is the Quintana installation of Simetrics Robotics. They make the best recreational androids in the world.”
Andy interrupted. “Porndroids is the popular term.”
With a flicker of irritation at the interruption, the General resumed. “The Jenny-Leigh line is the industry’s gold standard.”
“The male counterpart is the Scotty,” Andy said.
“Enough, Andy.” I followed that with the shutdown command.
The automaton immediately sat. Bending its head forward, the life-like glitter in the eyes faded to the barest of sustaining glow. The face assumed the standard expression of quiet optimism or, as some saw it, of vague regret.
An image of the most expensive, complex sex toy in the world came to mind. The factory customized each to the owner’s preferences. They came in a wide variety of physical types, often duplicates of celebrities past or present, all drop dead gorgeous, well beyond the means of a mid-grade government agent. The mass market made do with the three variations of Donnas or Johnnies, none of which you’d be embarrassed to be caught out in public with.
“I can’t imagine what business we’d have with a manufacturer of cybernetic pussy.”
A brief smile crossed the face of my otherwise straight-laced boss. “Quintana’s been working on some sensitive projects for the government.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t see a connection.
“They’ve adapted a Jenny-Leigh for military uses.”
I thought about the most logical possibility. “We’re not talking about servicing the troops are we?”
I tried small talk. “Up from the Bahamas?”
“No. Stateside. The Florida Keys. And Jocelyn sends regards.”
I thought of my mother-in-law, stopping the recollection short of the recent painful parts shared among the three of us, regarding Stephy their daughter.
The General continued. “Sorry to pull you off leave but there’s good reason.”
“What do you mean?”
He fiddled with a remote built into his chair handle. A map of Florida appeared on the wall screen. After another touch, the display zoomed in on an area midway between Orlando and Ocala. “This is the Quintana installation of Simetrics Robotics. They make the best recreational androids in the world.”
Andy interrupted. “Porndroids is the popular term.”
With a flicker of irritation at the interruption, the General resumed. “The Jenny-Leigh line is the industry’s gold standard.”
“The male counterpart is the Scotty,” Andy said.
“Enough, Andy.” I followed that with the shutdown command.
The automaton immediately sat. Bending its head forward, the life-like glitter in the eyes faded to the barest of sustaining glow. The face assumed the standard expression of quiet optimism or, as some saw it, of vague regret.
An image of the most expensive, complex sex toy in the world came to mind. The factory customized each to the owner’s preferences. They came in a wide variety of physical types, often duplicates of celebrities past or present, all drop dead gorgeous, well beyond the means of a mid-grade government agent. The mass market made do with the three variations of Donnas or Johnnies, none of which you’d be embarrassed to be caught out in public with.
“I can’t imagine what business we’d have with a manufacturer of cybernetic pussy.”
A brief smile crossed the face of my otherwise straight-laced boss. “Quintana’s been working on some sensitive projects for the government.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t see a connection.
“They’ve adapted a Jenny-Leigh for military uses.”
I thought about the most logical possibility. “We’re not talking about servicing the troops are we?”
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