“But that was about money and power,” she argues. “Not about connection and, dare I say, love.”
“It’s a slippery slope.”
She really should listen to Jett. As a chronologist,this is his field of expertise. “There are markets on the network for everything one might need. Why can’t there be one for a real human partner? I could approach the Consumer Rights Protection Agency. Don’t we have a right to such a service?”
Jett sighs. “You’re just being stubborn now, K8. If they didn’t work then, they certainly won’t now. Think of everyone you know. Besides Oro1’s misguided attachment to Purpl, what’s the longest anyone’s kept a manupartner?” When K8 doesn’t speak, Jett answers his own question. “A year at best before they get bored and crave something new and exciting.”
K8 picks up her spin-o-stick, poking the pronged end into the box and squeezing the handle of the device. The two metal forks at the end spin, gathering a delectable bite-sized wad of noodles, which she then stuffs into her mouth, moaning at the delicious spice.
She wants to tell Jett the reason they don’t last is because the manupartners aren’t real. How can you connect with something whose only purpose for existing is to please you? But they’ve been the standard since they came on the market almost a hundred years ago. Manupartners are easy. Safe. Disposable. If she lets the conversation continue, Jett will ask her how many people she knows in a human-human relationship. She’ll say zero. Then he’ll give her a smug smile, as if that somehow proves the point.
No. This time she isn’t letting it go. She is tired of everyone telling her she’s wrong. That her sense of things is off. She can’t be the only one who feels this way. Jett, of all her FRIENDS, should be the most likely to understand. She only needs to try a different angle.
“Picture this, Jett. You could live here with me. We could wake up together. We’d drink our morning pick-me-UP nourishment packets together. After work, you could tell me about your day. Then at night—”
“Is this your way of propositioning me for sex, K8?”
K8 groans. “I’m trying to get you to do a thought experiment with me. I’m describing companionship.” Even she isn’t brave enough to speculate aboutlove.
He gives her a quizzical look. “I don’t get it. Everything you’re describing you can get with a manupartner.”
“But it’s not the same. You argue with me. They only compliantly agree. Aim to please, and all that. Yansy is currently driving Lessa crazy. I bet they’ll call any day needing me to go with them to the recycle station.”
“So add contrary and argumentative to the list of traits. They’ll program your GROW manupartner, then you’ll have exactly what you’re looking for. Besides, I didn’t think we were each other’s type.” With his spin-o-stick, Jett points to her box of noodles. “They’re going to get cold.”
The distraction is good because the argument is moot. As a scientist, she can admit the technology is incredible. A little frightening, if K8 is being honest with herself. But she’s never going to agree, and she’s certainly never getting a manupartner. Not that she hasn’t logged onto the website after one too many glasses of Vine and dreamily clicked a few boxes, imagining the perfect partner in a moment of weakness. Their marketing was that good. The point is, she’s never followed through. Never once clicked Purchase. A point she prides herself on.
Right as she stuffs a bite into her mouth, the smartwaiter built into the exterior wall chimes. When did she order something? The only block of time she has trouble recalling is the few hours before she dozed off on her birthday. How many Spiral Apples did she have?
Shopping! That’s it. She’d spent several hours spending her unicoin on whatever whim struck her fancy. Glorious. Satiating. Coin-dropping. What a delightful realization. If only she knew what she purchased.
Shoes! Hopefully, inebriated K8 bought the several pairs she’s been eyeing. The pay bracket for being an air control officer pays her well enough; still, she rarely splurges. K8 reserves her few indulgences for her birthday and Holiday. Well, and when a new designer puts out something fabulous. And for her FRIENDS’ birthdays, obviously. The scientist in her sees her inebriated shopping as an experiment of sorts. A way to discover her subconscious desires. This isn’t her first experiment. A fact that makes her fairlycertain she’s purchaseda sex toyshoes.
K8 doesn’t give the lukewarm noodles another thought as she rushes over to the smartwaiter, pressing her palm to the lock pad. The chamber hisses, unsealing. Technically, she doesn’t need more shoes, but that doesn’t dull her excitement. What else would she have bought?
She lifts the lid, reaching inside the shadowed space, tugging two boxes toward her. She carries them over to the counter and unwraps the first one.Well, this is no surprise.
“A GROW manupartner would be far superior to this contraption,” Jett says, coming up beside her and running fingers over the slick box.
Across the front in bold bubble letters is the word “PUSSYzapper3000.” Next to the logo is a picture of a woman wearing an opaque virtual reality headset. Her head is cocked back, and she appears to bemid-gasp. The smaller text below reads “Download your FREE virtual catalogue now!”
Jett flips over the box as K8’s face flames. “It looks like a sea creature. What were those flat ones with the wings called?”
K8 snorts. “A manta ray?”
“Yes!” he exclaims. “Looks like our K8 is going to have a good time tonight.”
The sea creature–shaped sex toy came highly rated. Apparently, once strapped in place, different protrusions emerge from the flat surface, vibrating, nudging, and penetrating in response to the user’s reaction, both physically and chemically, through highly sensitized detectors.
“Can we please talk about something else?” K8 snatches the box out of Jett’s hands. “Let’s open the other one. I’m sure it’s shoes!”
She makes quick work of the packaging, but her heart catches in her throat as she sees the glossy black and green letters. “It can’t be.”
Jett makes an excited, strangled sound. “Oooohh! This is so much better than the first one. Happy birthday to you!”
If only she’d been alone when the delivery came. Then she could hide the box in her bedroom until she had time to return it. What is she thinking? The kits probably aren’t returnable.
“I’m feeling a little weak.” This can’t be real. But the truth is in her trembling hands. All thoughts of collapsing societies and dating services flee from her mind.
