Robot Proletariat: Season One by Sean Platt & Johnny B. Truant

Author:Sean Platt & Johnny B. Truant [Platt, Sean & Truant, Johnny B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Amazon: B00HDKG5F4
Goodreads: 20557495
Publisher: Realm and Sands
Published: 2013-12-17T11:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWO

The new sexbot’s name was Chantal. If she were set side by side with Sephora, the two could have been sisters, except that Sephora was stiffer, and neither had DNA sufficient to account for siblings.

She was blonde, with blue eyes. She’d arrived in her crate modestly dressed, but Spencer was immediately drooling as if she were nude, bent over and waiting. Her skin was more supple and softer-looking than Sephora’s. Even immobile it was obvious that she’d move with more grace. There were plenty of other upgrades that Spencer (and any other comers) would discover for themselves, but in general, outwardly, Chantal looked more or less like a very attractive human female.

The delivery service had opened the crate at Mars’ request while the family stood around. Looking into the crate and then back at the Lexingtons (well, all but Montgomery, who was resting and throwing up), Mars found himself recalling some of what Sephora had said. Spencer’s mother and sisters were looking at an object that existed for Spencer to have sex with, but their faces were plain, proper, and void of emotion. Chantal was a very, very expensive piece of elite equipment, and possessing a robot of her caliber was a mark of status. Mars realized they were assessing her like a fine piece of jewelry, not as a semen receptacle. It was incredibly curious, how they were able to draw the line, and keep their prim-and-proper, never-get-naked personas on one side while keeping Spencer and his penis firmly on the other.

“Mars,” said Naomi, “you will tend to the setup?”

“Of course, m’Lady.”

With all the effort of picking up a deck of cards, Mars carried the huge crate top out the front door and set it on the stoop so that one of the gardeners would dispose of it. He laid the crate flat, placed a wheeled dolly under one end, and began rolling Chantal’s crate out the side door, toward the annex.

Spencer came up beside him before he could leave the entryway and put a hand on the robot’s shoulder.

“Hang on. I want to try her out.”

“She’s not set up,” Mars forced himself to add, “ … Master Spencer.”

“What setup does she need? She’s like a doll.”

“She is not a doll,” said Naomi, who’d overheard. She said it in her most proper English, voice dripping with class and high society. It was impossible to believe she was talking about something Spencer was looking to screw.

“Well, not once she’s set up, of course,” Spencer said. “But now, I mean. She’s got … you know … everything in place right now.” He reached for the crate. Mars resisted the urge to slap his hand. Luckily, Alexa did it for him.

“That’s like rape!”

“It’s a robot, Alexa,” said Spencer.

“A robot that will be awake soon enough for you to play with.”

“But still a robot. A machine, that we own.”

“A robot who will look and act just like us: a proper lady.”

Spencer scoffed. “Right. Just like you. Tell me, Alexa. When’s the last time you let anyone explore that ice cave between … ”

“Spencer!” Naomi snapped.

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