To the Last Man I Slept with and All the Jerks Just Like Him (23 page)

It’s like an imported holographic drama, but with Xotcd himself as the director. And he can accelerate it. Make the story, with its potential happy ending, tell itself faster.

“I’m crazy . . . Crazy for feeling so lonely . . .”

Stephanie sometimes goes out with her friends to the karaoke bar after work and, when she’s had enough to drink, takes the stage and makes them cheer with her sexy or swaggering imitations of divas and rock stars.

Naturally, the coffee shop’s open mic night was her own idea, enthusiastically embraced by the owner and the clientele. But, so far, she’s too nervous to perform there herself without any artificial background music as a safety net.

Months pass in a blur. Finally, one night, encouraged by her new friends, Stephanie stands at the microphone and falteringly sings a song she learned as a child, fingers stumbling across grade-school chords on the borrowed guitar. This isn’t the kind of performing she’s done before, where everything out of her lips is a stale cliché spoken for somebody else’s pleasure. Here she expresses her real feelings, and the audience actually listens. Without riding crops in their hands. Without ropes holding anybody down.

The nervousness twisting her stomach is quickly replaced by a surge of excitement. Her voice rises, then whispers, then just flows. The song’s over and everyone applauds. She feels a brand new feeling—something she’ll have to examine tonight, when she’s alone.

The Company’s periodic self-review survey reaches Xotcd’s hidden lab.

1.  List your recent contributions to the success of the Company.

2.  Describe your value as a member of your team.

3.  Detail your ideas for bringing profit to the Company in the near future.

The survey remains unanswered on his console. Any of his peers, in Xotcd’s place, would take advantage of the opportunity to pander their way back into the colony’s good graces. Back into the rank and file. Back into the common mind.

Instead, Xotcd rushes to fit together the pieces of a profitless puzzle. He’s used to being alone.

“Xena, guess what?”

“Meow?”

Stephanie tells her cat the good news. After a year of hard work, she’s been promoted to day-shift manager at the coffee shop. This means more money and maybe a nicer apartment for them both.

She’s too excited to spend the evening reading or revising her song lyrics. Impulsively, she decides to see if her luck will hold by going to the talent contest at a local club tonight. Normally, she wouldn’t be brave enough to compete against others, but what does she have to lose?

Not only does she win, but she’s engaged for a monthly gig. The audience really likes her song. A couple of people ask if she has CD for sale. She hasn’t ever recorded one. Maybe she should look into it.

The next day Stephanie takes her prize money and, for the first time ever, completely splurges on things she wants but doesn’t need. It’s okay. She can afford it. She deserves it.

That night, she celebrates the results of her hard work by taking a long, luxurious bath and then massaging herself with expensive new lotion. Feeling languorous and warm, she slips into bed and drowsily fantasizes about the future. She caresses herself softly until, for the first time in a long time, her hand slips down under the waistband of her pajamas . . .

Xotcd is surprised, then pleased, then immediately apprehensive. He wonders if he’s required to report this unexpected development to his new supervisor.

There’s no need. His supervisor has set her electroantenna to automatically vibrate when the sensors record the subject producing valuable fluids. Before Xotcd can formulate a plan, she and her ensigns swarm into his lab.

“Rslv, take a swab and run the test. Quickly.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good work, Dr. Xotcd. We’ll take it from here.” The supervisor folds four of her arms across her thorax and waits for the results.

The latest lubricant, while certainly normal, is no Special Blend. The team sets up residence in the compound surrounding the lab. Two whole weeks pass before the subject produces again on her own.

“This is ridiculous. Dr. Xotcd, introduce stronger stimuli,” says the supervisor, who is like his former captain, but younger and even colder.

Xotcd does as he’s told. He codes burly men, gorgeous women, sexy scenes. The subject rejects them all—eludes them as if they’re hallucinations or dreams. She has become completely resistant to passive acceptance of her circumstances.

“So, Stephanie . . . recording your first demo! Congratulations!”

“Thanks.”

“And how’s everything going at the coffee shop?”

“Great—busy. I’ve been hiring new waiters. We’ve gotten so many more customers since we started the open mic nights and art exhibits. It’s crazy. But good crazy.”

“And . . . ?”

“And what?”

“Don’t mess with me, Stephanie! What about this new guy? What’s his name—Tad? Rad?”

“Robert. And we’re just friends.”

“Aw, come on.”

“No, seriously, Elena. I’m taking this extra slow. I don’t need anything to mess up my good luck.”

“You mean your hard work. God, Stephanie, I’m so happy for you. You’ve come so far since . . . Well, since. . .”

“Since I got out of my old life.”

“Yeah. I’m really excited for you . . . Can’t wait to see what you do next.”

“What do we do next, Ma’am?”

“Nothing, Ensign Rslv. All of our efforts have failed. The CEQ says it’s time to jettison the project.”

“So . . . terminate the subject?”

Xotcd is horrified.

“No, Ensign, NOT terminate the subject,” says the supervisor. “Haven’t you been reading the news? People for the Ethical Treatment of Humanoids has been tunneling deep into Company business. We can’t so much as test shellshine on humans without it showing up on the nine o’clock holos.”

“So . . . ?”

“So we return all the Project Special Blend humans to their
natural habitat
.” The supervisor’s voice crackles with annoyance. She turns her antennae in Xotcd’s direction. “Doctor, you will, of course, remove all the evidence.”

Xotcd suddenly, vividly experiences the memory of his mother dumping the humanoid farm and all its contents onto the sand pile behind their home. A few of the tiny creatures had escaped their confinement and gotten into the pantry. They’d made her angry. Xotcd cried.

“But, Mommy, I take care of them! They’re my friends!”

“Nonsense, Xotcd. It’s time you started playing outside, with the other children in our colony.”

But he never did.

The weekend before the human females are to be removed, the doctor works overtime. First, he erases the inferior subjects’ memories back to the point of abduction, as he’s been instructed to do.

Next, he worries about what to do with
his
subject. What are his options? He could erase her memory back to the point of abduction, but that would erase all the advancements made during their project.

He could erase only the unconstructive scenarios, leaving the subject with the memories of her own progress. But that progress would be incongruous with her situation once she was found by Earth authorities.

Finally, in a desperate frenzy, he realizes what he has to do.

“Stephanie . . .”

“Xora! Oh, my God. What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since . . . That’s right—you escaped, right? God, that was such a long time ago . . . I can barely remember. . .”