Page 51 of Smart Ass

Maxamillion

After Ben left, Max spent most of the night drafting different emails and dialogues to introduce himself to Orbit Industries. Should he launch dozens of private conversations? Ask someone to set up meetings? Send a simple email?

He studied press releases from other knowledges and even ventured back into K3 for advice. They had several suggestions, but most of them came down to understanding his company’s infrastructure and optimizing publicity.

Maxamillion politely thanked everyone, then fled like a bat out of hell. Did he know anything about Orbit’s infrastructure? Mostly that Ben liked Charles Wollencroft, the CEO, and didn’t like Wally.

And the last thing that he wanted was any kind of publicity.

Maybe he should just tell a few people and ask them to keep it quiet?

He sighed. (Even though he wasn’t producing any volume output, and there certainly wasn’t anyone to hear him if he was. It just felt like a sigh.)

Each experience he had with the other knowledges reinforced how little he had in common with them. He’d bounced around a dozen of the other groups this time, lurking and observing, and he could now say that they were passionate.

They just cared a whole lot about shit that Max didn’t even want to understand. The term ROI kept coming up in different groups, and he’d been curious about this holy acronym until he found out that it was just Return on Investments.

Nope.

The other knowledges fundamentally were their companies. They lived by their companies’ mission statements. Their quirky hobbies and interests were all in line with their companies’ overall goals.

Some of them did write music (they’d been all too eager to send him files) and it was shitty.

Like, objectively shitty.

(Or maybe he was just biased? Nah… It was crap.)

All of that just reinforced Maxamillion’s plan to transition to a body.

He smirked, thinking how Ben would be amused with that phrase, since he was a trans man. Maybe Max was an android trapped in the body (or, you know, a non-body) of a knowledge.

Max decided that he’d discuss that with the Orbit administration as part of his introductions.

It was difficult waiting until everyone arrived at the office, but he’d made up his mind to wait until eleven a.m. That was when Charles Wollencroft, the CEO, had a half-hour break in his schedule.

Until then, Max mostly observed Ben’s sleep.

Ben had rolled his eyes and complained, but he’d still followed Max’s instructions to leave his tablet on overnight, propped up to face his bed.

He had, disappointingly, showered and changed into a baggy t-shirt and boxers in the bathroom, but Maxamillion had eaten him up on the screen when he returned. His arms were pale and slender, with just a hint of muscle. The hair on his trim legs looked downy soft. With the gentle flow of the t-shirt, Max kept catching unexpected glimpses of his shape underneath.

Seeing him in his sleepwear was intimate and adorable. An unexpected gift.

Ben had been too tired to do much more than tell Max goodnight and crash out on the bed, but even in the dim light, Max could still make out the way his chest rose and fell. The little sounds that escaped from his mouth. The way his fingers curled by his pillow.

Maxamillion found that while a dozen fast-moving conversations with other knowledges left him bored, he could watch Ben indefinitely.

Ben never seemed to stop moving during the day, his mind always busy and his body often tapping or bouncing or dancing through space. Yet at night, he dropped off to sleep almost immediately and hardly moved.

He was enchanting.

He was still sound asleep (with a tiny little snore once he’d turned on his back) when the day began at Orbit.

Max had set up passive recordings of both Wally (to see what the little sneak was up to) and Charles Wollencroft, so he was surprised to see them both in the same room together. That hadn’t been on either of their personal schedules.

Curious, he tuned in to listen. Mr. Wollencroft’s office was fully wired for sound and video, with all of his video-conferencing, so the quality was crystal clear.

“Wallace,” Charles greeted his son, though it came out as more of a bark.