Anthromorphology

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Plot first. Sex later. Also some talk about heinous direct violence but nothing depicted graphically, but the same warning from the first chapter applies. Reader discretion is still advised)

***

The aircar pushed itself up on nullgrav generators, pulled away from the landing pad. We were a kilometer up, the halfway point of the arcology. A massive neon sign ran down the height of this nearest side. It read 'CRONAUER CORPORATION' in three meter glowing letters. Part of me unconsciously knew the world was bigger than that lab, had to be, but the sight was overwhelming. Towers before towers, marching in neat rows into the foggy distance. Lined with neon signs, bristling with landing pads. The window I looked out of was scratched, yellowed with age, pitted with impacts.

Had to be a military model of some sort. One of the gunmen had clambered into the rear lock-up with the other man. Doctor Forrest, they'd called him. Evidently they didn't like him very much; they'd wrapped him in a lab coat and thrown him aboard. In the front passenger seat, diagonal to me, the older man pulled off his helmet and mouthpiece. Flicked up a screen set into the dash before him. Navigation system, tracking their progress and relaying course corrections airway traffic conditions. A police monitor barked. The guy sounded pissed. Something about a bombing at the Cronauer building.

This was the one who'd told the other to shut up. Evidently the guy in charge.

He looked back at me. He looked satisfied at a job well done. Was that pity in there too? A double-take.

"Shit. Get his mask on."

Next to me, the woman started pulling at her combat webbing. She was the one who'd been told to shut up.

"Sorry, boss. Here, slip those over your ears. It's gonna feel weird."

I looked at the little contraption. Words still weren't easy, it took me a couple tries to push out, "Why?"

Boss looked back at me. Tried to appear warm.

"You'll want to. They augmented your pheromone receptors. Anything you get a whiff of will, well... it'll make you like an animal."

I pulled it over my ears. It was bowl-shaped like a surgical mask, made from thick rubber. I could see a little mechanical box resting at its center. A moment later and it started to let out these little puffs. A filter mask. As soon as it took effect I noticed the difference, aware of the scents now more by their sudden absence. The woman next to me, the two men in the front seat, Doctor Forrest and the last gunman in the rear. I felt like that wasn't normal.

Looking down at myself, none of me was. I was now seven feet. Where I'd been fully average build, I was now like an Olympic athlete. Wide shoulders, round pecs, chiseled. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was bald, thin eyebrows. Heavy brow, strong jaw. The boilersuit they'd given me had glorified foot pads for 'shoes,' so there was that, but I didn't like what I saw between my thighs. It was entirely too tight. Had to open my knees to sit comfortably.

I noticed the woman sat next to me was staring at my package. Eyes darted to my arms, hands. Back. Licked her lips, idly. I shut my legs as best I could.

"Who am I?"

The others were silent at my question. The driver looked at me in the rear view.

"Fuck."

Boss punched him. The look on his face looked like agreement with the sentiment, though. He kept his eyes on the nav.

"You aren't going to like it. We should really wait until we land, I-"

I laughed, more a bark behind the mask.

"Try me. You don't know what this is like."

This time he did turn. He looked a bit miffed at the interruption. "No, son, try me. But I do see your point," he stopped to consider what he should say. "Do you know what an anthromorph is?"

My heart sank. An artificially grown clone. "Yes."

He nodded, turned back to look at the nav. "You're one of them. They, Cronauer, grew you in that building."

I wanted to cry but something held me back. A little part of me that wanted to have some dignity.

"I don't know how to say it but, well, you were made to be a sex slave. That's why they gave you the serum, the modified vomeronasal organ."

I shook my head, unseen to him. The woman at my side was looking at me again, sad this time.

"I remember things, I-- I remember burning my hand on a stove."

She spoke this time, softly.

"Implanted. Engineered, I guess. Meant to keep you from damaging yourself when-"

"What, when somebody bought me?"

Boss again, "Yes, actually."

Something turned over in my mind. Suddenly I wasn't safe. I started to look at all of them, clenching and releasing my fingers.

"You people...stole me?"

Boss and the woman eyed each other. He shook his head.

"We wanted to help you. We're the good guys. Look, I know you don't trust us, but we are. I can't explain it with the time we have left, we'll be landing soon. They'll do the talking."

They?

He was right. We were hauling ass over the urban sprawl below, had to be going a few hundred kilometers an hour at least. More arcologies, more glowering signs. One showed the hundred-meter image of an armored soldier, in a rounded insect-esque helmet. Eyepieces polarized, rifle held aloft in one arm. 'ARTAUD GROUPE: See the universe!' was displayed beneath his feet. The aircar pulled up, sidling to the right hand side. We were level with the giant's pixelated crotch when a panel slid upwards in the tower wall onto which it was set. A platform, thirty feet across, crawled outwards. It stopped. Little safety arms whirred into place, providing some protection against falling.

The driver started to take us in. Somebody in a raincoat and air controller's garb waved them in from the doorway that led inside. I didn't want to be seen. Next to me, the woman was digging under her seat. She pulled out another towel, more a blanket really, and tossed it to me.

"Tie it like an apron."

I couldn't decide what to say, so I just took it and got to work. Took some fine maneuvering, I was too tall and too broad. But I had some cover. I looked into her eye for a moment, a tiny nod. She did the same. The aircar touched down. Before it had fully settled Boss and the woman were already opening the doors. He headed to the person who'd guided them in, she went back to the rear compartment. I opened my door, pushed it upwards. Stood. The ground was wet, reflecting multicolored light.

In the moment I felt terrified. But nobody was dragging me out, nobody had tried anything on the ride. They weren't holding me in place. I could walk over, step off the platform and nobody could stop me. Not that plummeting hundreds of meters sounded pleasant but...it was my choice. Mine.

The rear compartment opened, and the woman stepped back. Raised a pistol in one hand. The man who'd been back there came out, pushing Forrest in front of him with prods from the stungun from earlier. He'd gagged the fucker. Hands cuffed behind his back, wrapped in a towel. I wanted to reach out, but what would I do? What would these two do? Stungun noticed, took a harder grip on the doctor's shoulder, pulled him closer to the car and kept walking.

"Ain't worth it for you, pal. Let us catch the charges."

Forrest winced. The woman, pistol in hand, chuckled. "Don't think we're gonna go easy on you, corpo. You're on my shitlist."

She jabbed the barrel between two ribs and shoved. I followed the little procession. The air-controller had walked away, but Boss still stood in the doorway. He was motioning for the rest of us to hurry.

I stopped outside the threshold, swallowed, gathered my courage and stepped in. It was quiet inside, devoid of people and sound except for our steps reverberating off the plastic walls. It was residential sub-block D on the 70th floor, according to the wall marks. We were in a warren of criss-crossing hallways and nondescript doors. My mask kept the smells out, but it looked/felt clean. Probably wouldn't have been much to smell to begin with. Some moments and our group was stood outside a red door at the rough center of sub-block D. Boss stepped forward, knocked, then turned to look at me.

"Good luck in there. We'll deal with the good doctor. They already know he's here, don't worry about him."

I was reluctant.

"Who are they?"

He gazed off, in the room's direction, as the door hissed upward. Lacey curtains kept out the light, provided more privacy.

"They're a good person. Name's Alex. Good luck."

He turned to walk away, motioning for the others to follow. Forrest delayed, looking at me. He was curious. Bad time for that, unfortunately; Pistol brought her handgun's barrel down across the back of his neck. Pointed the barrel forward, yelled a command that sounded more like a bark. They almost frogmarched him away, around a nearby corner. I was alone.

Really alone, for the first time. Probably ever. A voice called out from the doorway, soft but insistent as it said,

"Enter."

I stared in. My heartbeat increased. Can't run. Can't stand here. I tried to walk in, smacked my head on the top of the doorframe.

"You alright?"

I straightened up on the other side of the door. I was in a living room, richly decorated. There were couches, cushions, chairs but no television. The lights were a dim, reddish hue. Not unpleasant, but dark enough to be cozy. I wasn't alone in here. Sergei, or at least I presumed it to be the same, sat cross legged facing the door on a cushion. Wore a flowing, what was it, kimono? It was deep greens and cherry pink, loosely tied at the waist. They wore large-framed sunglasses that obscured the eyes. Didn't seem to see me standing there. Just listened. The door slid shut behind me.

"Can you speak? I'm blind, my friend. I don't know where you are."

I cleared my throat, couldn't decide on anything else to say other than, "I'm here."

Their face settled on me, reflexively from hearing my voice. Nodded. Turned and waved hands to the surrounding cushions, chairs.

"Feel free to sit. You're probably tired. Are you hungry? I've got plenty."

I was tired. Too nervous to eat, though. So I just took a seat nearby to theirs, adjusting so I was comfortable. They turned partially to face me, keeping one ear a bit closer to my direction. A clock, an antique model, ticked away in a corner. Tick- tick- tick.

I looked at them.

"What is this place? Where am I? I don't even know what year it is. I-... I'm not sure I can even trust you, and here I am sitting in your fucking living room."

A nod. They stood, somewhat slowly.

"I get it. Let me show you something."

Started undoing the kimono. I sucked in air and tried to stand, drawing away. They put a hand forward, stilling me.

"Trust me. It's easier than just trying to explain."

I sat back down, balling up a fist. I would not be hurt again. But they were sincere, seemed it at least, and didn't have that controller.

"I'm somewhat like you. You were made in the Cronauer facility. Well, I was made by one of their competitors. Cronauer specializes in cloning, the anthromorphs. My company made androids. Robots."

Topmost layer dropped to the floor. Their body was slender, like a dancer's, but wasn't noticeably male or female. It was...dented too, I guess. They were slightly hunched, noticeable now.

They continued, "Mare Smythii Bioaugmetics. I was their best model."

The undergarment fell. They were wrapped in bandages underneath, obscuring areas all over the upper body. Those came down too, after a moment of unwrapping.

They were dented. Horrible, jagged but bloodless punctures all over the torso and upper thighs. Much of their skin was like the real thing, artificial, but with these plates set here and there. One under the right breast, one at the top of the sternum. Others.

"The people who purchased me did this," it was the first time they sounded anything less than sweet.

"What the hell happened?"

They reached up, took a hold of the sunglasses.

"I said no."

This time I had to look away. There wasn't anything left beneath those lenses. It was worse, almost, than that mess beneath the Doctor's face.

They told the story. Their owners had been the operators of, basically, a mobile brothel. Hopped from mining facilities to refineries throughout the Asteroid Belt and inner orbits of Sol, leasing them out. One night, eight years ago, a customer shot one of their companions. One of their friends. The owners tried to put them back to work, not even an hour later. She was just a bot, and you're just a bot. They'd said no, not a chance in hell.

One of the owners, an angry drunk, found the claw end of a hammer. I didn't want to hear anymore. I was sick.

"Stop-- just stop. I can't."

They stopped, seemed to realize it was overwhelming me.

"I--. The old man out there, yes? He saved my life. Got me to a repair tech, fixed my circuits up. We came here, back to Earth, to find a place to hide. My owner's family, they didn't appreciate some spacer throwing their cousin through a window, stealing his property. Made them look bad. We thought we'd lay low and get out there, go to Mars.

"Instead, we ended up meeting them. The others who rescued you. Tanya, she's a another Cronauer model like you. So was the driver. His name's Ivan, a worker model. Yuri's another Smythii android, he was in the rear with that doctor. He's a combat unit."

Alex crouched down, grasping for the fallen kimono. They started to pull it up, fastened it. The sunglasses went back into place.

"Why show me all this?"

Stopping, Alex considered, before saying, "To prove you're safe here. That there's others like you who've been forced into this existence."

I nodded. Uselessly. Instead I spoke.

"So what happens now?"

Alex had started making their way to the door, turned back to face me. "We get you examined, we have the materials here. Surgery, if we need."

I'd looked down at myself again. "I don't want this body. This isn't my body."

They looked down to the floor. Back to me. It wasn't easy for them to say, "I'm sorry. But there's not much we can do. The operation you were subjected to modified your bones, your muscles. Even your cardiovascular and nervous systems are modified."

"It's impossible to reverse this."

Alex nodded. I felt a tear roll down my face, then another. Heartbeat quickened again. I rocked back and forth, trying to keep from flipping. I wanted to reach out and crush something and to run and hide. I wanted to die. I was made to be stuck in this fetishist's body.

They'd heard me. Alex stepped forward, placed a hand on my shoulder. Kept it in place, pressed it so I could feel the weight of someone there. I kept crying until it turned to harsh, ragged weeping. They never left my side.

***

Alex waited for the door to slide shut before walking down the hall. He had fallen asleep. Panicked and overwhelmed, it was probably more accurate to say he'd passed out. At that, Alex didn't even know if he was a he. Didn't know if he had a name, either. Names and gender were imprinted by a customer on delivery of the body. They shook their head. The world shifted as they did, the fuzzy outlines showing where walls and doorways sat. Alex was indeed blind, but there were benefits to being a machine. Namely, the sonar implant where their left eye would have been. Sent out waves beyond human hearing, collected the reflections, and software in Alex's brain formed it into a composite image.

Shit. This one would be difficult. As far as first 48 hours of life went, his had been a fucked up little hell. It pained Alex to think it, but that personal hell had been a boon to the rest of them. Doctor Terrence Forrest, in their hands. One of Cronauer's premiere researchers, an expert in the field of cloning. A sick man. They would all learn a lot from him. It was yet to be determined how much time he'd be spending here. The company would want him back. They couldn't be allowed to relocate him. Couldn't be.

Alex stopped outside a door, on the furthest corner of the sub-block from his rooms. Painted red, with a white streak running down the left hand side. Black letters were set there, now faded to illegibility. Pressing the jury-rigged electric lock, it pulled upward. The apartment was much the same in layout to his, but empty. There was one light on, the big front room piece. They'd torn the shade off, casting the whole thing in a stark, uncomfortable white. Doctor Forrest was sat in an office chair, directly beneath it, hands cuffed behind his back.

Yuri had gone to work. He currently stood to the Doctor's right, cradling a stun baton. Forrest kept his eyes on it. Unblinking. Yuri looked up and saw them approach.

"Hey, boss. Alex is here."

The kitchen was where they had decided to store the computers on which they'd record the Doctor's statements, on the small plastic table. Fahad turned to look at them, face rigid. Grim. But it faded somewhat and he stood, walking closer. He was in his forties, dark, with brown eyes and hair starting to fade to grey. Alex trusted him implicitly, felt safe with him. But they were smart enough to understand he was in a foul mood.

Can't blame you, Alex thought.

"Have you learned anything?"

Fahad nodded, turned back to the screen and clicked some icons. Turned back.

"Sure. They've made changes to the VMO since we recovered Tanya, we'll have to modify the corrective surgery."

That was good. Not the height of information Alex knew Fahad had yet to extract. Nodding, they walked to stand in front of the restrained doctor. Looked into his eyes.

"I have questions of my own. Yuri, give me the baton."

***

Hours later...

Tanya stood outside Alex's room, still wrapped in armor. Unsure how to proceed. She felt like an asshole. Here they were trying to free this guy and she'd been ogling him the whole time. But now she had a job to do. He needed to get settled in one of the other units until Fahad and Alex learned what they could try to repair, restore to some imitation of normal function, and they'd sent for her. She'd been in her own room, trying to feel less shitty.

Taking a breath in, she entered the override on the panel and it opened. Brushed aside the curtains. He was awake now, sat upright on the couch Alex had left him. Pulled on the mask as she entered. He held her in a steady glare. Understandably nervous.

"Alex sent me. We're gonna move you to your own room."

He was still. Looked her over. Tanya was about to speak again when he did, finally.

"How do you deal with it?"

She was confused. "Deal with what?"

He started to run his fingers together.

"Alex said you were another model like me," and she nodded. He carried on, "When I was still in that lab I didn't want to, you know...I was terrified and didn't know anything. I couldn't control my own body."

She understood that.

"You feel ashamed."

He nodded, said, "I feel like a freak."

He shifted in his jumpsuit, uncomfortable. Trying to cover his crotch with the towel as much as possible.

"You're not. I -- I get what you're going through," she pointed to a J-shaped scar running down the left side of her nose and around.

"Cronauer are very good at what they do. Very good. But something we have to do," she said this as she sat down next to him on the couch, not too close as to violate his space, "is accept what we are. We can fix some of it. The vomeronasal, so you don't have to wear that. But those scientists make playgrounds of our brain chemistry, wire us up."

She paused. Leaned forward, took one his hands in hers. They were huge.

"Do you trust us?"

He looked her in the eyes, "I don't know."

She stood, trailing his hand with hers until she stood, holding it up. His eyes were grey, sad looking.

"Come with me. If you want."

He was starting to breathe more heavily. But he stood, followed her as they walked to her unit. The trek went by in a blur of turns and hallway intersections.