Page 34 of Operation Iron Heart

“How do you know that?” Marci started at the mere sound of his name and held the sheets up defensively over her nakedness.

“Silver’s just told me,” he explained, sounding calmer than she was feeling.

“Why is he coming now? I thought we were meeting at twelve?”

“Maybe he’s got good news.” He winked at her but didn’t add any more details.

“And that would be?” she asked in alarm.

“Apparently Jill Ambush was as unable to sleep as you were,” he continued with a grin. “During the night, she published an article on her website about you and your company – and your prototype called Robby.”

“And what does that mean exactly?”

Marci looked at him wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open, which Jack not only found amusing but also quite sexy.

“By eight o’clock this morning, there were 300,000 orders from around the world for an escort robot, even though the price is probably more than for a combat robot. There seem to be quite a lot of wealthy female clients who are wild about the idea of a romantically minded escort robot with special features and who can’t wait to get one. And more orders are coming in every hour. I wonder where all the basic models are going to come from to satisfy this meteoric demand?” He looked amused, but Marci had turned white as a sheet.

“Oh, my God! It’ll be serious when MacIntyre finds out. What if he accepts our offer and wants to produce the robots with me? There’s no way I can agree to this deal! That’s not what anyone wanted!”

“And that wasn’t the plan, either,” Jack reminded her. “You just pretend to agree and say that you first need to be persuaded of the quality of his fighting machines, say, to see whether they’re suitable aesthetically to be used as escort robots. Think of something that makes the job so challenging that it’s imperative you visit the production facilities. The wishes of potential clients are bound to be very different.”

“In terms of the body, probably not,” pondered Marci, looking Jack up and down. “It’s more to do with hair and eye colour and the shape of the face.”

“That’s a good way to convince MacIntyre that you need to know more about his production capabilities.”

“And what do I do if he decides to get rid of me and take over the business himself?”

“He can’t,” Jack reassured her. “He doesn’t have the source code for the emotional sections of the robots’ brains. It’s highly complicated programming that almost nobody knows how to replicate and it has to be implanted separately in every new robot using the key. That’s why there’s only ever one of each robot; it’s like with humans, where each one is unique. There’s currently only one programmer who can write such a program without the source code – Cathrin Porter. As the old source code was unfortunately lost when Rochelle MacIntyre was attacked, her ex won’t be able to replace it and there’s nobody else who could. Apart from you.”

“Won’t he ask where I got the source code from?”

“Of course he will,” replied Jack calmly. “I’m surprised that he hasn’t asked before now. Simply tell him that you wrote it yourself.”

“Me?” Marci looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “And what if he asks me for details?” “Tell him it’s a corporate secret.” He gave a relaxed laugh as she continued to look doubtful. “Come on, get dressed,” he said. “The enemy could be on our doorstep at any minute.”

Marci rushed through a hot shower, trying to clear the anxiety from her head. The automatic hairdryer styled her Titian-red hair into a shiny mane and the smart cosmetic robot quickly accentuated her elegant features using a bold make-up palette that created a sexy, aggressive look. The black trouser suit with its upturned collar and the high-heeled black boots completed the transformation – on the outside, at least – from a gentle kitten into a formidable predator.

When MacIntyre appeared in the reception area of their suite, followed by two military-looking robot bodyguards, his astonishment at her commanding appearance was clear to see.

“Good morning, Skyla,” he said, eyes shining with masculine approval as he kissed her hand suggestively. “I see you and your robot have got over yesterday evening’s small mishap. Did you sleep well?” He gave a leering glance at Jack, who was wearing a dark grey suit with a black, close-fitting shirt underneath, and a blank expression.

“Thank you for asking,” Marci responded with a non-committal smile. “We’re fine, especially as Jill Ambush has processed the shock of yesterday in such a positive way. I hear she’s already published her article.”

“Indeed,” replied MacIntyre, raising an eyebrow. “And I hear that your website has already received 300,000 orders. It seems that every woman in the world wants a Robby. And not only women,” he added with a suggestive grin.

“But only those who can afford one,” said Marci gravely.

“With a billion wealthy clients in the target demographic, this could really be something,” said MacIntyre smugly, making his avarice over an exceptionally lucrative business only too clear.

“Perhaps we should crack open a bottle of champagne and toast this unexpected success,” suggested Marci. Cathrin’s base had suggested to her via their link that she should engage MacIntyre in conversation about how they might work together now.

“Good idea,” he agreed cheerfully, although Marci was sure that he was feverishly thinking about how he could grab all the profits for himself without involving her. With a gallant gesture, he led Marci to the cream bar stools, whose previous use was still vivid in her memory.

Jack had not said a single word so far, and now took up position behind the polished mahogany bar, automatically assuming the role of barman, skilfully uncorking a bottle of expensive French champagne and pouring some out into two crystal goblets.

Marci, who’d decided that champagne was her new favourite drink, took one of the exquisitely cut goblets and toasted MacIntyre calmly. As she took a delicate sip, she had to stop herself from seeming too delighted as the sinfully expensive liquid bubbled tartly on her tongue. She wanted to take another sip straight away but her inner voice told her to be cautious. Not just because it would have been odd to down it in one, but because she didn’t know how the alcohol would affect her.

“Have you had any thoughts about what our partnership would look like?” MacIntyre looked at her steadily and innocuously – an expression that didn’t really suit him. “I mean, I provide the robots and you implement the emotional software – that much we know. But I haven’t the slightest idea how that would work technically. I mean, where were you thinking of doing the work? It would be pretty complex to send that quantity of our combat robots to Canada, never mind the fact that it would contravene the International War Weapons Control Act. The Canadian government certainly wouldn’t allow us to import robots that could be used in combat. I’d like to suggest, therefore, that the emotional parts are implemented in our laboratories and that the robots are produced there, too. They then wouldn’t be officially classed as weapons and that would simplify the processes considerably. Also, I already have the logistical framework for a global supply chain, so MfM wouldn’t have to do all of that if you worked with us. What do you think, Skyla?”