Jungle Bunny

Excerpt

I call this one the chemistry lab, which it is. It's not a mad scientist's laboratory. The work done here is research into new inks for printing. There's nothing clandestine, just normal industrial secrets. To say that what I saw intrigued me greatly understates my curiosity.

I couldn't do a thing about it, however; at least not now. I had no doubt that getting caught in there would result in instant termination—and that's not worth it no matter how good she looked.

All I could do is wait until the evening when the building would pretty much be empty. Then, maybe, I could get myself another look. Needless to say, I was less productive than usual the rest of the afternoon, which passed with the speed of molasses in the winter.

I don't take headcounts of people remaining because normally I don't care. Tonight I did. Even though my expedition would only take five minutes tops to see what I could see, I didn't want to be disturbed during it.

I think of the building as being empty by six-twenty, but was amazed how many people seemed to be remaining past that time tonight. In fact, it wasn't until seven-forty-five that things finally seemed to quiet down. This limited my window of opportunity significantly, because the cleaning crew would be starting their rounds soon. They always seemed to get to my area by nine and my cube is pretty much in the middle of the expanse.

Finally I was ready to make my move. If someone saw me now, that sighting alone wouldn't be a problem. I've often worked later then this and would have no problem explaining these hours tonight if asked. I just couldn't be caught in the wrong area.

Like a human trying to imitate a cat I quietly moved through the well-known aisles to bring me closest to the lab entrance without exposing myself to the long wide corridor running in front of it. I wanted to minimize my time where anyone from either end of the building could see me. Like a cat I kept my ears perked and virtual whiskers out for any rustle of movement. I felt certain I had eyes on me from every direction and that I must have looked as guilty as sin, but in truth nobody was there to see me.

My heart was racing as I stood just inside the closest entrance to the long corridor. After waiting what seemed an endless time to triple check that everything was clear, I finally stepped out and walked nonchalantly over to the door.

The sliding doors were stuck nearly four feet open now. They'd turned the lights down for night, which meant that only about every sixth fixture was on, and only one LED in each of those.

That's still plenty of light to see by. I saw the figure over in the corner. Someone had pushed her further out of the way and thrown a sheet over her. I could only see her head, and even that was in the shadows.

I glanced around. Nobody was in view. Nobody had been in view for the last several minutes. Nobody was likely to be in view for the next half-hour. Besides, it was darker in there than out here. Even if someone came by my chances were excellent they'd never notice me. I checked the ceiling for evidence of cameras and saw none. I weighed the odds and then quickly stepped inside.

* * * *

Once I'd committed I didn't waste any time. I moved quickly, yet quietly, to the table. I planned to lift the sheet, get one good look, and then get heck out again.

She lay there, with the sheet up to her neck and her eyes closed, as if sleeping. Her lustrous black hair was straight, but kinky—what some might call nappy. It went well with her rich chocolate skin. Her facial features were proper African to match her hair and skin, with prominent cheekbones and flawless complexion. It was a beautiful, unexpected, face for a fembot—which is what she had to be.

It pleased me to see that someone had finally realized that beauty comes in many forms and that all fembots aren't stamped from a single mold—not that I am an expert on the variety of fembots. They are expensive machines, beyond the reach of most individuals such as myself. I'd sooner have blown money on an unnecessarily fast and expensive car as considered a fembot purchase.

The sheet covered the rest of her body. It had a couple nice bumps in the right places, but didn't show much. I knew I was going to pick it up in a moment and take a good look for a Texas minute, while letting my ears do the work of warning me of any approaching danger.

I took hold of one side and started to lift. As I did I brushed against her hand lying just off the edge of the table. To my surprise it was a warm and soft as any human hand I've ever encountered.

Okay, time for truth. I've never touched a fembot before. Just seen them in pictures and showroom windows. Still I was startled.

I was so startled—I guess I had expected it to be cold and plastic—that I dropped the sheet. As I fumbled for the edge I encountered her hand again. This time to my horror, her eyes popped open. If that wasn't bad enough a moment late she lifted her head and asked, "Are you ready for me to go to work now?"

I jumped! I admit it. I jumped big time. I didn't know she was turned on. For that moment I was the classic kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"No. No," I quickly stuttered out. "No, we're not ready for you yet. You should go back the way you...uh...were."

"Okay," she said in a very human tone of resignation. "But I don't know why you bothered to turn me on if you aren't planning to use me."

In my mind's eye I had this cartoon view of already being halfway out of the lab and still accelerating while my feet still stood by the table, before they would turn and race to catch up.

But part of me felt I ought to at least be polite enough to answer her properly, rather then run away first. I've always been that way with women, not that any seemed to appreciate it very much. The habit, however, remained ingrained. Besides, I've been intensely curious about fembots ever since I'd heard about the first realistic models years ago. I've just never been willing to do the necessary lying to be able to get myself into a showroom to see one up close any more than I've ever gone into a Ferrari showroom, or sat down in a Lamborghini. I knew I couldn't afford one, until recently that is, and as such the showrooms aren't interested in my patronage. They have a rare, expensive commodity, and are pretty picky about whom they let in to handle it or give it a spin.

"I didn't realize I'd turned you on," I replied. I thought that required a control box.

"You're right," she said, now looking directly at me. "I didn't mean that you had turned me on. I was speaking about the man earlier who had activated me, then left me here with no further commands to execute."

In spite of my fears of discovery, this was fascinating. I'd never realized that you could just talk to a 'bot this way. 'Bots were the current rage on all the sitcoms this season, but all of them are jerky and mechanical, and always getting things wrong because they literally go and do exactly what you tell them. Even though human actors play these 'bots and pretend that you can't tell them apart from regular people, you always knew who was a 'bot and who wasn't. It was a joke that was funny twice, and never after that as far as I was concerned.

"He just left you here? That doesn't make sense."

"Actually," she said in a warm contralto voice I was finding very appealing, "He told me to lie down on this table and turn myself back off."

"Didn't you do that?"

"I can't. Turning me off requires my control box and I'm not allowed to use it. But he didn't want to hear that, so I came over and pretended to be turned off to make him happy."

"And did it?"

"I guess so. At least as happy as he is ever going to be with me I'm afraid."

Intriguing as this all was, the internal clock in my head knew that I should have been out of here already by now.

"And then you touched my hand," she continued in a friendly talkative way, "And I thought someone finally wanted me."

"I really have to go," I told her as gently as I could.

"Oh," her face fell. I was amazed at how real—human—her reactions were.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It was just nice to have someone to talk to."

I felt like a heel—to a 'bot, no less.

"I'd like to talk with you more," I told her truthfully, "But I'm really not even supposed to be in here." I kicked myself as I said that, wondering if she would now have to report me. But instead her face brightened as she realized that I wasn't rejecting her personally.

"Maybe there is there some place else where we can talk," she suggested with the simplicity of a child—and the logic of a genius. Such an axiomatic comment, thrown into such a complicated situation.

"Well, there's a conference room down at the end of the hall," I said before I could think of a good reason not to. "But we'd have to wait until later on when no one else would see us."

She seemed to accept that caveat at face value."How much later?"

I thought for a moment. The cleaners do the conference rooms first, and then work their way this direction.

"At least an hour," I said. "You'd have to wait until the cleaners are done with this half of the building. They'll come through here on their way by." That was probably not strictly true. The cleaners probably wouldn't care about anything unusual any more than I let myself get involved. But I absolutely was not going to take any chances.

"Okay," she said with a smile. "I'll talk to you more after that happens."

With those words she lay back down on the table and closed her eyes once more, looking again exactly like I'd found her.

I stood there feeling I should say something, but there seemed nothing more to say. I realized that, the longer I took here, the greater the risk of discovery. With one last look at her I quietly bolted for the doors. I didn't start to feel safe until I was three full rows deep back in cubicle land.

I wasn't sure what had just happened, or what I'd agreed to do. I went back to my desk confused. I decided to work some more on my project and maybe my mind would sort things out. I actually got back into working on the graphic I was preparing, and soon my concentration returned and I forgot about the outside world.

* * * *

About forty-five minutes later I leaned back to take a break and rest my eyes when my phone suddenly rang. It was her voice on the other end.

"Hello, Sam. The janitors have finished in here. Are you ready to go and talk with me some more?"

"How did you know my name?" I asked dumbly.

"Your name badge, of course."

"But how did you get my phone extension?" I continued, showing how dumb I really can be when dealing with an attractive woman who is actually showing some interest in me.

"The company telephone list, silly," she answered lightly, and very humanly, while making far more sense than I was at that moment. "You are still going to meet me, aren't you?" she added wistfully, in the manner of someone who has been disappointed a lot lately. I'm sure a real woman would have already hung up on me by now, given how lame I was acting towards her.

"Uh...yes."

"Great!" she squealed in excitement. I immediately looked around to see if anyone else had heard.

"Keep it down," I cautioned quickly.

"Okay," she said so softly that I could barely hear the words.

There was a pause. I think each of us was waiting for the other to speak. Finally she said, "Where do I meet you?"

I was tempted to come get her. But that would be hard to explain to anyone we did meet, unlikely as that might be this late. Better to hook-up inside the conference room.

"Here's what you do. Come out of the lab and turn right in the corridor. Go straight to just before the end. It's the last door on your right. It says 'Conference Room 201B' on the plaque beside the door. Get inside as quickly and quietly as you can and close the door behind you. Can you do all that?"

Again I'm sure real woman would have been insulted by the insinuation that she couldn't follow simple instructions. This woman wasn't.

"I will be there in three minutes," she replied, followed by a click.

"Be sure you have some clothes on," I added frantically into the dead phone.

I grabbed at my phone list to find the lab number, but quickly realized the futility of it. She'd either come as she was, or know enough to not be so indiscreet. Either way, she was on the way and I couldn't change it now.