Page 94 of Smart Ass

“He’s not a wanker. He’s slow to warm up.” By which Max meant that he tried to talk to Wallace each morning, but Wallace barely acknowledged him, except to ask the occasional invasive question about Max’s programming.

“He’s a bully.”

“Possibly. But he’s not turning us in.”

“We don’t know that.” Just imagining it still sent chills down Ben’s back, but with each passing day, it seemed less likely.

Still, Ben hated the stress this was putting on Max to transition into an android body that Ben wasn’t even convinced that Max wanted.

“We agreed not to talk about this,” Max reminded Ben.

See this? This was why Ben didn’t do relationships. They could be having nasty, dirty sex right now, instead of agreeing not to talk about things.

He put all the dildos back on the shelf and returned to the couch. He had his laptop, so he could at least get some work done.

“You wanna…” Ben started, intending to guide them back toward their research, but Max spoke at the same time.

Ben gestured for him to go first.

“Would you prefer me to have a different body?” Max asked.

Yes, Ben thought. I think you’re amazing like this and the body isn’t making you happy. Let’s get back to the evil robots holding me hostage.

“That’s not for me to decide.” They’d been over this.

“I know. But be honest. You laughed when you saw this one.”

Oops.

“You don’t like it,” Max declared. “And I don’t really like it either. I just don’t know why.”

Thank fuck. If Max didn’t like it either, maybe Ben could be honest. He closed his laptop.

“So…. There’s this thing with human standards of beauty. People who are attractive tend to do better on job interviews. They get more dates. Make more money. All that trash.” He waved a hand in the air. “But people who are really attractive? Like, in the top percentile of these arbitrary standards of perfection? They’re intimidating. They make other people feel insecure and inadequate. They get hit on all the fucking time, when they’re just trying to walk down the street and buy some potato chips or something. It’s like… I wouldn’t wish that shit on anybody.”

There was a long silence, and Ben realized that he’d maybe overstepped a little. Or a lot.

“Sorry, Max. I, uh… Sorry.”

“No, Ben. That’s okay.” Another drawn-out silence. “That helps me understand. Would you feel inadequate if I had a body like this?”

“Ummmm…” Yes? No? Maybe? “I wouldn’t if I got used to it.”

“So you do.”

Ugh. “I’m really serious that you should have a body that makes you feel like yourself.”

“Nope, try again. I need to understand.”

“Okay. So… look. People play this game. Which is bullshit and holds up all of these unrealistic standards for bodies and attraction, but it’s still there. And in this game, you get rated from one to ten. That body is a ten. Everyone wants to fuck it, even if its a subconscious desire. Shallow people want to get down on their knees and marry it. I’m… maybe a five. I’d say six, but I’m pretty short for a guy since I started T too late in puberty.” Was he still bitter about that? Only when he dwelled on it.

“You’re a ten,” Max announced.

Ben snorted. “That’s nice of you to say, but I assure you, I’m not. And I don’t want to be a ten. Remember, being a ten is kind of crappy.”

“Then I like fives best.”

Ben couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at that. As improbable as it seemed, Max seemed to enjoy him. Enjoy his body.